Ladies and kenzy-6 gay men, generations of magazines, wise old grannies, and random homeless crackheads have commented on this issue, and I'll add my two cents: men are extremely, horribly mentally handicapped, especially in the romance department (even more so after playing Xbox or watching Skinemax). I actually had a guy ask me why his ex got so angry that he hooked up with her best friend within 4 days of dumping her. He left the conversation with his tail between his legs and a stiletto in his throat. Here's the sitch, clueless, chromosomally-challenged little dogs: for the most part, we hate you. We hate your Gameboys, Budweiser, and your friends who spill beer on random girls' white T-shirts and make it look like an accident. However, you do have some redeeming qualities, all three of them. And they are: credit card, make-out skills, and car. Yes, I'm a bitter little bitch, but I'm a bitch who knows how to land the man of your money fantasies. All it takes is one skill: flattery. Compliment him like hell and dress in a short skirt while doing it. So simple.

Bend... And Snap! Goes Your Neck

I have a theory for why so many teens are attempting suicide, and/or succeeding. Here it is: Justin Beiber! Studies show that his music routinely hits a frequency that sends depressing waves into teens' heads. Okay, maybe I just fabricated so more people would see him as the transvestite sociopath he is. Frankly, I don't trust a boy who dances that good and wears skinny jeans. I can't help thinking of George Michael and sex offenders and I find it disgusting. And no, I am not homophobic or trannie-phobic. In fact, they scare me way less than normal people. Serial killers and rapists are often desribed as being, "the most normal, good kids," in high school. Whereas we perverted weird kids grow up to be singers and actresses. Or Arby's general managers. Either way, my resolution is to resist the urge to stab myself in the eye with a rib bone when a J.B. song comes on the radio. As for all the little kids who have the dreaded fatal disease Beiber Fever, just gently let her (or him) know that J.B. needs to take a nice little vacation to the underside of his Range Rover. Then nicely smash his CDs and use his posters as toilet paper. She'll thank you for it.

1,2,3, Turnaround... So I Can Punch Your Face

Know that story that ends with the guy in tights rescuing the girl with glass shoes, which, by the way, probably hurt like hell? Now, I know these stories don't exactly show real love, like Cinderella paying the bills while Charming goes off with strippers, but these girls never seem to have anything to do but sit around and wait. For a guy in tights. Who probably took a wrong turn trying to rescue his prince. Also, they never have girlfriends. Ever. And that's baffling. Who else are you gonna call when Prince Queer Eye leaves the toilet seat up and forgets to clean the gutters? And we all need someone to play the Why Is He Not Calling game. The one where you take tons of random guesses and that one honest girl who nobody likes says, "Maybe he just thinks you're super-possessive and not that hot." Of course, sometimes girlfriends are overrated. Like when they de-friend you on Facebook and say they're cutting you out of their life for no good reason... but I digress. But hey, once again, I have a solution, and a simple one: just hire someone's bipolar, ADHD five-year-old to drop off at her house for a day. And make sure he bites :). Meow

Some Hearts Just Get Stomped All Over and Murdered Sometimes

Well, it's official. Not Facebook official... yet. But I will no longer be writing as a taken girl. I will be... the dumped girl. The girl who got dumped an hour ago. I'm sure you can understand that I'm not exactly in my normally pleasant mood. So, I will share a poem that I wrote for your pleasure about liars who need to have their balls ripped off and chewed by sharks. Such a lovely image :).

Here they come, the same sweet words
Rich, warm, soft like honey
But underneath, I can taste
The dark bitterness of truth
Always there, boiling in my blood
Sometimes visible, sometimes not
Your voice of silk says lovely words
Snake venom sweetened with sugar
But i see your cold eyes, shards of black ice
And though the honey tastes so sweet
The bitter herbs sting my tongue
You look surprised, darling
Do you take me for a fool?
More sweet lies pour into my ears
Begging forgiveness, promising to change
You put on quite a show, such entertainment
As I ride off into the sun

A Bitch and Santa

Is there really any difference between Santa and an annoying friend? They both steal your food and give crappy Christmas gifts. Of course, BFFs are inclined to be a little more considerate, seeing as how you have the most dirt on them. Now, in case you think I'm just jaded and cynical, that I had that one best friend who betrayed me in childhood and turned me spiteful and bitter, you'd be wrong. It was actually 2 friends, though they were never BFF material. But I digress. The point is, because I know what it's like to have a friend who thinks they're the shit and a bag of Cheetos, here's a little trick: say you have a few cute friends who you swear she'll love who want her number. Go onto Craigslist.com and put an ad for her online. Accept offers from the most nerdy, socially inept dorks you can find, and send them her home address. Watch her face as Yu-Gi-Oh! cards and invitations to Star Wars conventions show up by the boatload at her house. Oh, and don't forget to mention that she absolutely LOVES men with long beards and crusty toenails. Enjoy :)

R.I.P. Christina

As I'm sure you all have heard, a shooter at the mall recently shot and killed nine people, including a 9-year-old girl born on September 11, 2001. Despite what a few of you may think, I'm not a total heartless bitch. And so, in honor of Christina, I'm sending my best wishes to the family. Happy trails, random people.

Valentine's Day and Taylor Swift

Surprising fact: it is impossible to get sick of Taylor Swift music. Especially while eating slightly stale peanuts at Logan's Roadhouse and watching your brother make his various Exorcist-inspired faces. I confess, I'm really missing the spring. The flowers, the sunshine, the pants-less homosexual bunny with the clown-like fake cheerfulness who hands out rotten eggs to little children... But wait, we still have one more winter holiday to endure before that fateful time. What was it again? Something about hearts, a fat kid with a bow and arrow, and homemade cards from that artsy teacher who gives back massages? Ah, yes, Valentine's Day. A slap in the face for the single and hopeless and a pressure for couples to pretend they are still as in love as the day they first saw each other in bathing suits. For my fellow Valentine's nonbelievers, I offer an alternative: instead of flowers, make bouquets of poison ivy. Disguise and distribute to your cheating exes and bitchy frenemies, making sure they hold it to their face often to smell. Enjoy ;)

Gentlemen Prefer Freaks

Ever notice that when you're hyped up on coffee, soda, or illegal performance enhancers, even the most boring details seem to sort of captivate? Whereas, if, like me, you are suffering from caffeine withdrawal, even Taylor Lautner's abs seem about as charismatic as that old perv who hangs out on the street. Of course, there's nothing Pizza Hut and Sprite can't fix. And so, for your pleasure, here is a technique I've learned about dealing with boys who just don't know when to quit. Show him your extensive photo collection of him, and the dress you've already designed for your wedding, and, of course, the adorable photoshopped pictures you put together of your future children. Show him said decorations, and make sure to sniff his hair and shirt extensively, breathing heavily and muttering, "You are mine." Trust me, he'll soon back off. Or, more accurately, run off ;).