Hey Ladies! Look at me! I'm a dick!
disgruntledhousewife.com
The Dick List began 7 years ago at the Pasadena house. It was a very girly house for a long time. It was also a very listy house. So in honor of both of those characteristics, we developed an often-revised, publicly posted Dick List in our kitchen. It had a two-fold purpose: 1) promoting girly solidarity through bile-spewing; and 2) reminding us that certain guys were real dicks (which seems obvious, except that at one time or another, due to liquor or just plain bad judgment, it seems like every man on the dick list ended up in the house while his name was still on the list. . . sometimes the libido overpowers common sense. . . .).
Just checking to see if my name was there.
~.~
---no honeymoon
LEVI B** (Los Angeles). He asked me to marry him the day he left his ex wife. He then killed his ex-wife the day we were to be married. The police showed up at our wedding and arrested the BASTARD!
LOUIS E******* (The Woodlands, TX). This stupid f*ck was scheduled to be married at three o'clock sharp. My closest friends and I were bridesmaids in this wedding. When three rolled around, he still hadn't shown so we called him at home. He was still there, drunk and not even dressed. He told us that his car had stalled and that his cab wouldn't get there for another twenty minutes. So we agreed to wait for him. Well, we waited and waited and waited, for exactly 2 and a half hours and the bastard never showed up. Finally, everyone went home and we called him informing him that we were still there. The f*cker was probably up to his ears in empty scotch bottles. He actually asked who we were and why we were calling. The bastard didn't even remember his own wedding! Poor, poor bride, she didn't even know what she was getting herself into!
KADER A. (London, UK). I met him in a honky-tonk country & western bar in Picadilly Circus, full of pasty, puffy, Travolta-Winger wannabes. He was tall, dark and Mediterranean, and I fell for his cockney accent and conversational French Algerian mother tongue. We're talking French literally here; turned out later the guy was too goddamned fastidious--or unschooled or whatever--to go down on me. (He wouldn't even fuck during my period.) So anyway, we go to my hostel-style London room and screw all night long, and the next and the next through my stay. We exchange numbers, I fly home, then the phone calls start. "I love you, you're like no woman I've ever met," blah, blah, blah. So I invite him to California over Thanksgiving stay to meet the folks and see how we get along. And end up taking photo after photo of him (his camera, his direction) in front of every California landmark. And going jean shopping with him for hours while he tries to get the right crotch fit. And wait around at night while he channel surfs cable and gets sucked into these really mindless B-movie reruns. So he meets my family and friends (none were impressed), the sex is still good but I'm starting to realize I took up with this narcissistic, bigoted, Western-wannabe but smug Muslim at heart balding, big-dicked egomaniac. But I've already booked my winter ticket to London (cheap and more frequent flyer miles). So I go, and he is increasingly withdrawn, and we have this strained visit, and he puts me on the plane back home with not a fucking phone call or letter since I forgot to mention that the only correspondence I ever got from the guy are these cheesy porno letters which are funny because his broken English precedes and follows these letter-perfect porno scenes between us that I realized he's cribbing from some other source. And don't get me wrong, I like porno as much as the next girl (but it got tiresome with all his "then you spread your legs and hike up your skirt and say 'more baby, more' crap.). If I'd known what a pea-brained, shallow DICK he was that August night, I could have saved myself $1000 in tickets and half as much in long-distance phone bills and just bought a dildo at one of the Piccalilli sex shops. I could have named it Kader. |
