One-dick wonders. They were young and they needed the money.

I am a man. I have viewed porn in my lifetime, it’s no secret. In the time that the Internet has invaded my home, porn has made an appearance or two on my computer screen. Ok, ok, understating aside, there is a lot of porn on the Net. Approximately 12% of the total websites on the Internet are porn, which accounts for a lot of women who have made some bad choices in their lives. Some have gone on to make a good living from it. Others, however, are just one-dick wonders. Not every porn star is necessarily a ‘star’. They can’t all be Jenna Jameson, or Tera Patrick, or -insert popular fake name here-. As I put two and two together, I realize there are a lot of women out there who probably lead normal lives and have normal families, but have one or two pornographic videos floating around the World Wide Web that they'd wish would just go away. Have you ever thought you’ve seen some of these ‘actresses’ at the mall? There's a reason for that. Or did you have a girlfriend that was all too eager with the kinky stuff? There's a reason for that also. I've always wondered what becomes of the women who decided to give up their career in porn after doing just one or two 'movies'. 2 years ago: Her name was Bobbi. She went to UCLA to study Business Administration, but could never make the grade. After flunking out, her parents stopped sending her money and suggested she find a job. She went straight to the classifieds in hopes of finding something that didn’t involve flipping burgers. That's when Jane happened to stumble upon the cliché porn ad, “Models needed. Same day pay.” and jumped on it. Long story short: She shot one video, got paid, felt cheap, swore to never do it again, then did it again, felt cheaper. Now: Her real name is Jane. Jane has never looked back. She still resides in California, as opposed to moving back in with her parents in Montana. She also, ironically, is an assistant manager at an In-N-Out Burger. Flipping burgers isn't so bad now. Every six months or so she has to play dumb when she is recognized by a customer. How do you argue with a video of some guy balls-deep in your throat on some kid’s video iPod? Wow! She looks just like me! 5 years ago: Her name was Sheerah. She thrived on drama classes in high school and even had a couple lead roles in some school plays. It was her dream to become a famous actress like her idols Hillary Swank and Meryl Streep. In following this dream, she drove out to Hollywood with nothing but a suitcase full of clothes and a phone number of an ‘agent’ she met on MySpace. Her first audition consisted of a handheld video camera, a hot apartment, the removal of clothes for ‘possible nude scene consideration,’ and a couple of shots off the face on film in exchange for money and future call backs. Sheerah tried to forget this little speed bump in her career, but she needed to pay rent and she bombed all of her auditions, so she went back for more. Now: Her real name is Sherry. With two years of community college, she is now a secretary for a successful accountant. She’s been married for three years (to a man who apparently never saw either of her two Internet videos, but has no complaints about her inherited kinky behavior) and has a two-year-old daughter. She never told anyone about her stint in porn, and probably never will. Sherry would no doubt either lose her job or become the most popular girl on the floor if one of her co-workers recognized her. She still has nightmares about her experiences with Rock Longcock and friends. Last year: Her name was Trixie. She lacked skills, talent, and imagination (hence the name), but she loved to have sex. After starring in amateur production of “I Can’t Believe I Did The Whole House: Magna Cum Louder” at a recent frat party, her video became a big hit on Greek Row. All this attention gave her the idea to get paid for doing what she did best. She emailed a popular porn site that a friend recommended and flew out to California the following month. After making guest appearances in four videos, she came to realize that it was actual work and not the fun she had once hoped. Trixie learned a valuable lesson that summer: Bukkake is not for beginners. Now: Her real name is Betty. She works at a clothing store in the mall during the day and goes to school at night. She’s still has to ignore snickers from her classmates at night and reluctantly confirms suspicions to the male customers during the day. She’s not ashamed, but she wished she picked a less popular web site to be a part of. She's still slutty, but now she does it strictly for the fans. None of this is actually true, but it could be. If that is you in one of these picutres, please don't sue me. I have no money.

A softer side of me.

I have three joys in life. This isn’t counting family or friends or anything/anyone else I love. These are just my joys, and they all start with ‘B’. Blackberries, Basketball and Blowjobs. These three things always make me happy, no matter what. I find enjoyment in watching or playing a good game of basketball. I find enjoyment in receiving a blowjob because, well…I really shouldn't have to explain. I also find enjoyment in picking and eating blackberries for numerous reasons to be explained later. It’s my dream to be eating a bowl of blackberries, while watching a basketball game, while receiving a mind-numbing blowjob. I might propose to a girl after that. I could die when I finish and be ok with it. Too bad it may never happen. Blackberry season and basketball season don’t coincide, therefore making the trifecta not conveniently possible. I’d have to buy berries from a store. I’m not a complainer though; two out of three ain’t bad. I had my first blackberry of the season the other day. I was out for a run when I passed a huge juicy berry hanging from a bush. That's when I remembeed it was that time of year. It’s my little guilty pleasure. Well actually, picking them is my guilty pleasure, eating them is just the payoff. I am never more at peace than when I am in the burning sun, getting stuck by numerous thorns, and turning my fingers and clothes purple with berry juice. It’s a Zen-type of thing, I guess. Soul clensing. It brings me back to a simpler time when I was young and innocent and I would pick a bucket full of berries and eat them on my friend’s porch while talking about whatever came to mind. Not having a care in the world. While out in the sun earlier this week, reliving my childhood, I had a revelation. Picking blackberries is really just a metaphor for life: Sometimes you have to get pricked a few times to get what you really want in life. I know it sounds corny and cliché, but its true.

Every joy in life has its downside

Feel free to add your own in the comment section Sleeping Naked → Getting a mosquito bite on your ass Having crazy, steamy sex → This question: “Remember me? We hooked up 9 months ago.” Catching a good movie → The $9 popcorn and $7 water A hot, July day → Having sweaty balls A quiet night with your girlfriend → This question: “So, where is this going?” Accomplishing something big at work → No one cares Hooking up with a hot girl you met at the bar → Having to drive her back to her car Getting a big pay raise → FICA Watching the Super Bowl → The always disappointing halftime show Partying Friday night → Waking up early Monday morning Sleeping in Sunday morning → Waking up early Monday morning Having a memorable weekend → Waking up early Monday morning (It’s the exact opposite to any great part of the week.) Getting drunk → Getting a hangover Enjoying a day at the beach → Seeing the old guys in their Speedos Finally losing your virginity → This question: "Is that it?" Masturbating → That guilty feeling afterwards Receiving a free bag of weed → Having to share it Receiving oral sex → Reciprocating (actually, I take that back) Game Seven in any sports finals series → It's the last game of the season Getting ten hours of sleep → Realizing you missed breakfast A great, Adam Sandler movie (oxymoron?) → Rob Schneider is probably in it Sunday Nights on HBO (Entourage, The Sopranos) → I don’t have HBO Winning a game → Eventually losing A new Sopranos season → Episodes 2-9 (where nothing ever happens) When the new Jordans come out → Paying $200 to be ‘cool’ When a new Tupac album drops → Suge Knight makes money Your first car → Your first jump start (we can’t all have our parents buy our first car) Hooking up with the hottest girl in school → Going to jail (because you’re 27) Having a night of drunken greatness → Not remembering said greatness Drinking a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day → Lemonade always makes you more thirsty Receiving birthday cards in the mail → Realizing they don’t come with money inside anymore Passing out after great sex → Trying to avoid the wet spot Hearing from an old friend → Remembering why they're an 'old' friend Learning something new → Forgetting something old A new season of Chappelle’s Show → There’s no Dave Chappelle Getting the last piece of pizza → Eating it cold Hooking up with your best female friend → Losing your best female friend

Random childhood memory

Girls always ask me about the scar on my hip. The smart ones don’t ask because it’s fairly obvious. I had my appendix removed when I was ten or so. They told me I almost died. Not something you should be telling a ten year old. I did learn one thing though: Never get appendicitis in a foreign country. My mom’s husband was in the Air Force for a number of years, then the Army for a couple. He’s a loser, but that’s another story. We were stationed for a year in Ansbach, Germany to fight Nazis or something. I dunno, nor do I care. On one cold, German day, I started experiencing sharp stomach pains. No one really thought anything of it. Could have been just gas. When my pains turned to crippling torture, it was suddenly a good idea to see someone about it. We went to see a doctor later that night. Not just any good doctor mind you, just the closest doctor possible. What I didn’t mention earlier was that we lived off base, on what they called ‘the economy’. Thinking the base with the English speaking ER was too far, the closer, non-English speaking doctor’s office was the better choice. We soon arrived at the German hospital. This is when the crippling torture turned into violent puking, power puking if you will, up and down the hallways. In an attempt to either get me the hell out of there or actually help me, they gave my mother a bottle of ‘Not For Oral Use’ suppositories. “This is to settle the stomach. If symptoms don’t go away, call me in the morning.” At least I had hoped what he said translated to that. For all I know, he could have been the janitor who was tired of cleaning up my last 6 meals. I really should have paid attention in Deutche class. That night I was subjected to take pills ‘the old-fashioned way’. It was more or less a bonding experience between mother and son. After I completely emptied my stomach, I passed out. I woke up the next morning paralyzed from the waste down, sort of. I could feel my legs and probably move my them, but doing so would drive me to chop or gnaw them completely off. Getting out of bed was not an option. Suddenly the long drive to the ER didn’t seem like such a bad idea. The Army doctor said another couple of hours and my appendix would have ruptured, resulting in my early death. I knew he said this because he spoke English, as did I. If I had a dollar for every time someone said I almost died, I’d have about twelve dollars and some change. Who knew a useless organ could be a cause of death? I ended up getting it removed and spending close to a week in recovery. Moral of the story: make sure your doctor speaks the same language as you do and has some sort of degree and medicine. I can remember that, but I can never find my car keys!?

Things I do when I drink, that I wouldn't regularly do.

The High Five The high five may be the gayest celebrating gesture ever. It may have been cool when Magic was giving one to James Worthy during Showtime in the 80’s, but now? Next time you’re out and sober, try giving a friend a high five and see how awkward it feels. It feels like a wet kiss from your Aunt Gladys. It’s just awkward. But when I drink, I give’em out like crack in the Central District (of Seattle, for the non-locals). Good joke, high five. Hot ass, high five. Excellent point, high five. Gonna go piss, high five. Saying ‘Awesome' I’m a hip-hop fan. Not just the music, but the whole sub-culture. I say things like: “That’s really hot. (pre-Paris, that whore)” “It’s somethin’ serious.” and “That’s kinda crazy.” One thing I tend not to say is, “That’s awesome!” When I have a drink in my hand, however, ‘awesome’ rolls off my tongue like a wet... Advil. The word ‘awesome’ is pretty much anti-me. Its something a ninja turtle would say. Remember the Ninja Turtles? The Obscene Text Message My go-to text usually involves the words ‘drunk’ and ‘horny’, in some kind of combination accompanied by a curse word or two. Oh, and don’t let me get a response. A response to my already-stupid message will just encourage me to say the most off-the-wall shit, only to escalate to a drunk-dialing adventure or some sort of lame attempt at sex. Then the next day I get a random girl coming up to me saying, “I got an interesting message last night.” When I’m not drinking, I send nickel-wasters like, “Hi” or “Bored?” and the infamous, “Boo!” The Dance Floor I am not a dancer. I don’t like to do it. I think I look stupid. Sure, I got a little rhythm, but it doesn’t mean I am obligated to shake my ass every time something with a period asks me too. Give me a few drinks, now I’m Usher without the 8-pack on the dance floor. I don’t really have to be drunk, just loose enough to believe everyone is laughing with me and not at me and to believe the girl I’m dancing with isn’t thinking about her boyfriend. Singing 80’s Rock Songs As stated above, I’m a hip-hop fan. I also like R&B, Jazz, Soul, and even Classical if the mood strikes me. I’m not a big fan of 80’s Rock, but a lot of my friends listen to it, so I hear it a lot. Its fun music I guess. It’s not like I hate it. You’ll know this if you see me drink. I often belt out these songs in some drunken harmony that karaoke was invented for. I’m talking me and my friends, top of our lungs, spilling beer type shit. “Ohhhhhhhh, sweet child o’ miinnnnneeeee!” I become that typical drunk that sings to every song, and I love it.

Lessons in Lying

I don't believe in lying. I figure that I'm a grown-ass man and I don't have anything to hide or be ashamed of. I am the most honest person you'll ever know, so I expect the same from others. Every now and then, however, a question is asked where lying becomes a necessity. I was thinking about the uses of truths and lies and came up with some guidelines that we all should go by. I gave you lessons in urinals, nakedness, and cinema; now here's a lesson in lying. I. It is ok to lie about your age so you can drink alcohol, unless you are under 18. For my sake, and anyone I may know's sake, save everyone some trouble and let us know you're jailbait. II. When a girlfriend asks you for an opinion about her looks, always say something positive no matter how big her gut looks. When any other girls asks, give her the cruel honesty of a five year old. "What do you really think about me? You suck at life and your scoliosis makes me dizzy. III. When given the opportunity to incriminate somebody, either lie or keep your mouth shut. If they were good enough to get away with it, don't ruin it for them. Rats sleep with the fishes. IV. Lying and sex go hand-in-hand. Questions involving size, quality, "Will you call me?", and "Did you cum already?" all demand lies or exaggerations. Although, never lie about birth control. Ever. Or your period for that matter. V. Only lie to protect a friend if they would do the same for you. In such a case, always do it and without hesitation. Kinda like breathing. VI. If someone asks you if you'll promise to keep a secret, don't say yes and then tell everyone. Same goes with friends. Although, if someone asks you to keep a secret without a promise, say yes and tell everyone. There are no secrets without promises, which explains celebrity sex tapes. VII. Here's an easy one. If you're lost, lie and say you're not. If you need directions, lie and say you don't. You always know how to get there. VIII. Always lie to save your job. Face it, you need money. Lying will make sure that you keep getting money. Don't lie to save someone else's job. Your job may be put in danger, and that will stop the money. Lie for money. IX. What did you do to it? Nothing. Always nothing. Or you don't know. You never know. You don't know what happened, because it did it on it's own. X. Keep every lie alive. Deny, deny, and deny. If you give in once, you will always be a liar...liar...you have slacks that may or may not be on fire. Oh, and... Yes, they are real. Yes, I've done this before. No, I don't know who drank the last beer. No, I'm not cheating on you. No, I've never had sex with her/him. Yes, that is all I have. Yes, the check's in the mail. Oh yeah, it's fucking huge.

One of my nights of drunken greatness.

I got a call from a friend the other day telling me about this party a co-worker is having. I don’t turn down many drunken adventures, so we agree on a meeting place where I can dump my car for the night. Its always a good idea for me not to drive since I have a horrible since of direction and I never actually sober up. The party was further out than my T-Mobile service will ever go, but it was worth the ride. It was a long enough ride for me to start drinking in the car to pass the time. Not the most responsible thing to do, but I’m not at all responsible. Besides, you should always have a good buzz before arriving late at a party. I think it’s a law or something. I began with a bottle of Bacardi I’ve had at my apartment for a while (I always bring alcohol to a party, usually something I don’t like and I wanna get rid of). I hate rum, but it's what I had handy. Then I took a shot or two of my friend’s tequila after the rum got gross. Mixing liquor is not a good idea and this was no exception. We finally got there, and after trotting up the Gone With The Wind-esque walkway, I made a bee line (or b-line, I don’t know which one) to the kitchen to drop of my contribution and see what the party had to offer. Although a great party, it was like being in high school again. Hot girls everywhere wearing roughly the same outfits, half-gallons of cheap liquor, the obligatory passed out chick in the corner, trendy rock music blaring, a 4 guys to 1 girl ratio, and light beer as far as the eye can see. I start pounding Bud Light (lesser of the evils) and attempt to finish off the tequila. Back-to-back double shots of Patron will always ensure a fun night. Before doing the second shot, I openly state to my friend that I will indeed be puking tonight. Its not something I look forward to doing, but it felt like one of those nights. Little did I know that phrase was an accurate prediction to the end of my fun. In a nutshell: I watched girls repeatedly grind on each other like they were working for tips (hey, I'm only 24, I thoroughly enjoyed it), danced and sang to 80’s hair band music, fell off a coffee table (twice) while dancing to said 80's music, watched a suspenseful game of strip air hockey (the girl lost of course, I took pictures), ‘wasted’ 2 or 3 cans worth of beer in an artistic fashion, suggested to a girl she should get naked for me as a prize to winning a game (I got a smile instead, but I later learned I has getting my ass handed to me in the game), some other perverted stuff that I shouldn't be proud of I’m sure, and finally fulfilling my earlier prophesy. I’ve noticed recently that most of my drunken nights end with me stopping in mid-conversation with a really cute girl and saying my newly trademarked phrase, “Yeah, I’ma go puke now.” Not exactly a turn-on I'm told. I laid out on the porch and gave the shrubbery some vitamins and minerals that, apparently, I no longer had use for. Then I wandered in the kitchen and continued in the sink until, I’m guessing, I collapsed on the kitchen floor and passed out. I have no recollection of such an event, but I woke up in a living room chair with a fat lip, dried blood and puke on my lips, a banged knee, and my ears ringing from the blaring of a tennis match on TV. I was later told someone found me dead to the world on the cold tiles I then called a bed and brought me to the chair. Not one of my finer moments. I didn't get a chance to test my BAC that night, but I did blow a 0.07 at 10am when I got home the next morning. I found that impressive. I learned one thing that night. I learned that my mom was right, I am a winner.

Where would men be without...

The Pinch-N-Roll Probably the greatest discovery in man-history. Ever wonder how men got rid of itchy balls before the pinch-n-roll? For women who don’t know, a pinch-n-roll is just what the name says. Rather than dig our fingernails into the most sensitive part of our body or shove a co-worker’s pencil where our future leaders of America come from, we merely pinch a little scrotum skin then roll it as if it were the world’s smallest joint. This one move has saved us from embarrassing trips to the ER and kept us able to reproduce. “What’s wrong you ask? I have blood running down my legs mixed with millions of my would-be future high school dropouts.” Fruity Alcohol No real man regularly drinks these things. One every now and then when someone else buys doesn’t count. The reason why they’re so great is because girls get drunk off of them. Your average girl doesn’t get trashed from beer too often, but she’ll drink till she pukes if it tastes like a Jolly Rancher. And everyone knows a drunk girl is a fun girl and a sober girl is a dull girl. Sluts Let’s be honest, getting laid isn’t all that easy for most of us. Unless girls are just throwing it at you, we still have to work for it. Sometimes harder than what its worth. That’s why we should be thankful for sluts. Not the ones you pay for, just the ones that have lower standards than community college and are more open-minded than brain surgery. They require minimal work and they're just as fun, if not more fun, than an average girl. Without sluts, 75% of us would have lost our virginity five years later than we did if at all. God bless them and the clubs they hang out in. Big Rims It sure as hell beats sticking your head out of your car and yelling, “I’m cool and I have disposable income that I would love to spend on you.” Hip-Hop Videos In the 70’s, men had to be a professional dancer to approach a girl at a club. In the 80’s also, to some extent. When hip-hop became mainstream in the 90’s, girls wanted to do what the strippers did in the videos. Women nowadays shake their ass like there's something stuck in there while we get to just do a two-step until nature rises. The songs even come with explicit instructions to help us out: “Bend over to the front, touch your toes.” “Shake it like a salt-shaker!” “Skeet skeet skeet skeet!” “Now make it clap!” Way better than: "Do the hustle!" or "It's electric!" Phonebooks in cell phones When I was in high school, I had a pager. I had to look at a 10-digit number and remember whom it belonged to. I kept a friend/girl directory on my dresser to decipher these numeric combinations. After I graduated, I had this big Zack Morris phone with an LED readout that showed me the number I kept misdialing. I would frequently lose numbers and potential hook-ups. Now I can scroll through my cell’s phone book and not only recall a number wherever I may be, but I can also store a corresponding picture to remember if she was hot or not. Sports Without sports, we’d all be murderers. Too much aggression and adrenalin going to waste to just be sitting there watching the OC. The middle finger Sometimes we’re just too lazy to come up with a clever quip to insult someone, so we just flip them off. Sometimes the driver next to us or in front of us has their windows rolled up, so we just flip them off. Without the trusty bird to flash, we’d have to come up with more effective ways to express our anger when words won’t do. Throwing heavy objects would probably do the trick. Oh, and girls seem to like the many uses of our longest finger too. Cosmopolitan Magazine How boring would sex be if women didn’t know “Ten ways to make him scream” or “His secret G spot” or my favorite “How blowjobs and losing weight prevents cancer”. Beef BBQ’s would not rock as much as they now do if all we had was chicken and sausage to burn. Blockbuster Video How else besides a one-legged, blind, pirate hooker could $4 cover an entire date and almost guarantee sex? Porn Yes, porn. But it's not for the obvious reasons. Because of pornos, women now are more open to: swallowing, threesomes, role playing, deep throating, breast implants, watching more porn, and whatever kinky things your perverted mind desires. Just another thing that keeps sex from getting boring. Give me time, I'll think of more...

Does your tattoo suck?

I value my own opinion a lot. When I say that, I mostly mean I believe I’m right all the time. With that being said, here’s what I think about tattoos. Mostly. How to tell if your tattoo sucks. · If it can be construed in any way as gay, and you are not gay, your an idiot and your tattoo sucks. · If you got at a tattoo from a parlor inside the mall, your tattoo probably sucks. · If the artist shook his head repeatedly throughout the whole sitting, your tattoo sucks. · If the artist said, “Are you sure?”, your tattoo might suck. · If you have a matching tattoo with a former friend, your tattoo sucks. · If you picked the only tattoo you have off the wall in the parlor, your tattoo sucks. · If your only tattoo is one bearing a boyfriend/girlfriend’s name, your tattoo sucks. · If your tattoo is a verse from a rap song that wasn’t done by Tupac, your tattoo sucks. · If you have even an ounce of self-doubt about your new tattoo, your tattoo probably sucks. · If your tattoo is of a ball from a sport you don’t play professionally, your tattoo sucks. · If your only tattoo is a matching tattoo from a celebrity you never had sex with, you tattoo sucks. · If your tattoo is fairly straightforward and yet no one can tell what the fuck it is, you tattoo sucks. · If a teenager did your tattoo in his parent’s garage, you possibly have hepatitis and your tattoo probably sucks. · If your tattoo makes a beautiful body part (such as your tits, vagina, stomach for women and whatever girls like about men) suddenly ugly, your tattoo sucks. · If you are female and have a tattoo on the small of your back involving a butterfly or some swirly shit or a combination thereof, you're unoriginal and your tattoo really sucks. · If you got an Ozzy Osborne tattoo when The Osbornes TV show was big, your tattoo sucks. · If you have a tattoo of an idol of yours that has since been accused of a serious crime (O.J., Michael Jackson, Kobe, etc), your tattoo now sucks. · If your tattoo is of an advertisement that paid less than a million dollars, I hope you invested it because your tattoo sucks. · If you have this tattoo or most any tattoo found on this site and this site, your tattoo really, really sucks. How to tell if your tattoo rocks. · If you got your tattoo in prison, your tattoo rocks. · If your tattoo was done at a casino in Vegas, your tattoo rocks. · If numerous people from the opposite sex ask to lick your tattoo, your tattoo rocks. · If you have to explain the complication of your tattoo, your tattoo rocks. · If your tattoo is of my name (and you are female), I love you and your tattoo rocks. · If you are female and have a tattoo on the small of your back, and it is not of a butterfly or some swirly shit, your tattoo rocks. · If your tattoo is truly one-of-a-kind (meaning you designed it yourself), your tattoo rocks. · If your tattoo covers up an old tattoo, your new tattoo probably rocks. · If your tattoo looks gay, and you are openly gay, its gross but your tattoo might rock. · If you got an Ozzy Osborne tattoo back when Black Sabbath was big, your tattoo most certainly rocks. · If you got a quote by Tupac tattooed on your body after he died, your tattoo rocks. · If your tattoo has some hidden meaning that you don’t care to discuss, your tattoo probably rocks. · If your tattoo is of an idol of yours that was accused of a serious crime before you got the tattoo, your tattoo probably rocks. · If your tattoo is of an advertisement that paid at least a million dollars, enjoy your new house and new car because your tattoo rocks no matter how ugly it is. And finally, if you thought up your tattoo the very day you got it, your tattoo either really rocks or really sucks. There is no middle ground, but you have huge balls either way.

Cinema Etiquette

I watch alot of movies. Well, I watch movies alot, over and over again. Wait, I'm getting off-track. Anyway, I frequent the local cinema on an almost regular basis. Even the retarded chick (I'm sorry, mentally-challenged broad) that takes the tickets knows my name. I enjoy spending my hard-earned $6.00 (I hardly ever pay full price for anything) watching a movie that may or may not suck. But, there are some people out there that may ruin it for me. Sometimes I feel like the universe is out to ruin ALL of my fun. In the effort to change the world to more of my liking, here is my next installment of my lessons of etiquette. I. Thou shalt not bring small children to a horror movie. They can never finish the movie due to accidental wettage of the garments. Also, if I hear someone screaming bloody murder, there better be a bloody murder. II. Thou shalt not attend a late-night movie if you are under the age of 18. You annoy me when you ALL get up to piss or talk on the cell to someone you just saw ten minutes before the movie started. And yes, I am getting old. III. Thou shalt not sit within viewing distance of a man (namely me) and his date. By viewing distance, I mean if my date dislikes the movie and chooses to 'occupy' her attention elsewhere, you shouldn't be able to see her do it. If you happen to turn around and get a glimpse, keep quiet so not to mess up her concentration. IV. Thou shalt not stare at me and bitch to your friends when I comment on or talk to the movie. Its a part of the entertainment experience, deal with it. Stop with all the dirty looks, you are not better than me. Stroking the ego by laughing or responding is encouraged. V. Thou shalt not get pissed at me for checking out your girlfriend when she passes by. Sometimes I sit at the front in the handicap seats to spread my legs. I will look at her as the air conditioning combined with her tight baby tee overcomes her shyness, and you will deal with it and go sit down. VI. Thou shalt not sit directly behind me unless you are forced to. It just feels weird, that's all. VII. Thou shalt not expect me to be quiet during 'The 20'. It is not part of the movie, so if I want to discuss a sexual experience out loud with my friends, I will not adhere to such frivolous rules. Tell your kids to cover their ears. VIII. Thou shalt already know what movie they're seeing before the front of the box office line is reached. I'm usually late enough as it is. IX. Thou shalt not view a sequel before viewing the first installment. All the questions you have about the story and characters can be answered with two hours of DVD viewing in the privacy of your parent's basement. X. Thou shalt not put their feet over the chairs in front of them if they are in a three seat radius of me. Even if you're a 5 foot Asian chick with size 3 feet and they smell like honey, I don't wanna see them unless you have your panties wrapped around them. One day they will post these rules at the box office and concession stands, just to be ripped down by me because I don't adhere to such rules.