Saturday, June 04, 2005

scientific personality test

Which Revenge of the Sith Character are you?
created with

Thursday, June 02, 2005

How to survive "That Time Of Month"

This is a post for guys. As some of you know, through my years of experience with the weaker sex, I've become quite the expert on issues of male survival. Besides, being a very empathic and understanding man, I feel I have learnt to really relate to the irrational and emotional upheaval a woman necessarily goes through once a month.

Understanding the problem
Understanding the emotional hysterics a woman goes through once a month is half the job. As Sun Tzu said, those generals who know themselves and know their enemy have won the battle before it has started. Any man who has ever entered a female dominated outhouse, will understand what I mean. At least five different packs of sanitary towels, neatly arranged by size and at least four packs of tampons, will line the walls as a clear warning signal that the sanity of the woman of the house could snap at any moment and a bloodbath of genocidal proportions is about to ensue. It is not out of a perverse sense of sadism or a sick sense of humor, that women tend to stock their toilets and bathrooms with their bloodsponges. It is rather a cry for help. And I am here to teach you how to give that help.
It is not a woman's choice to go berserk once a month. It is not that a woman consciously decides that it is time to start barking at every man she can, behave like a complete and utter lunatic and in general create a very unpleasant atmosphere for the more logical-thinking specimens of the human race. Rather it is a sick joke the creating Gods played upon the fairest of our species. A jest of cosmic proportions.
Now that we understand the basics and background of the problem let's learn how to deal with it.

Phase I: Preparation
Be sure you have plenty of chocolate and paracetamol stocked in the house. However make a note not to stock it next to your gun-cabinet. (A woman's sense of smell can be greatly enhanced when she's on one of her midnight "where's-the-chocolate" prowls. We don't want her to find anything that might make her do anything that would slightly embarrass her when she returns to her senses.)
The best way to prepare for upcoming PMS, I've found so far, is to calender her menstrual cycle. It may be a a little hassle in the beginning, so be sure to ask your woman to help you out. Hang the PMS-schedule in an obvious place like the living room or toilet, and check it each time you notice a sign of upcoming PMS.

Know the signs of upcoming PMS:
1. She wants to talk.
2. She reacts irritated over minor things like coming home drunk or lipstick on your collar.
3. She refuses to have sex with you.
4. She wants to have sex with you.
5. She has a sudden urge to clean the house.
6. Any form of cramps, pain, tiredness, symptoms of flu, sudden outbreaks of skindisease or bloating.
7. Any suggestion on you improving your behavior. (e.g. "Why don't you ever change your underwear.")
8. Any sign of emotion, like crying, irritation or even simply smiling can point to an upcoming murderous PMS attack.
9. Any aberration whatsoever in her behavior can and will be interpreted as a sign of upcoming PMS.

Phase II: Survival


Phase III: the Aftermath

When finally those days of utter horror and sheer hell are over. It is up to us, men, to pick up the pieces and try to mend our wounded lives. However, like a great man once said: Crisis means opportunity. Being the great guys that we are, we should seize this chance to improve our relationship by having one of those wonderful conversations about "our relationship", that women are always so keen on having.
The best way to prepare for this kind of conversation is to make a small list of all the insane things your woman did to you and herself during her period of mental instability. A typical list would look something like this:
1. You wanted to talk and made me miss a great footballmatch on television.
2. You asked me to take a shower at least seven times this weekend.
3. I had my drinkingbuddies over for pokernight and you behaved like a bitch, making me ashamed.
4. You were in bed with cramps and I had to do the dishes and cook. You aren't pulling your weight around the house anymore like you used to.

Now sit down with your woman, make her feel comfortable, and confront her with her behavior. Just read from the list and give her a chance to explain herself. When she is finished, (This may take some time.), stare at her and after an uncomfortable silence quietly say: "You hurt me!"
This will launch your woman in another rant that may seem to go on forever, but bear with her. Really try to pretend you are listening and that you are interested in her silly excuses. The best way to do this is by repeating the last word of every sentence she makes and make it sound like a question. Once again when she is finished look her square in the eyes, count to five to be sure that the silence is making her feel really uncomfortable and say with a concerned expression: "But..... You hurt me!"
It is not uncommon for women to give up at this point and walk away in anger. This is a clear sign that the PMS is not over yet. Follow your woman asking in a friendly voice whether she is still suffering from it, and confront her with the obvious fact that she is always the one that wants to talk.

I hope this little pearl of wisdom will improve your understanding of the inferior sex. I hope it may even improve your relationship a little. Trust me on this. It works. You can ask any of my many ex-lovers.

Tuesday, May 31, 2005

My friends are assholes

Most of my friends are assholes. No shit! Maybe I'm spoiled. I've spent so much time with psychiatric patients, that I just can't respect "normal" people anymore. So any friends of mine reading this (except K. and her kids), go fuck yourselves. (K., sorry, you're not "normal", and neither are your kids.)
When a psychiatric disorder "falls" on you. And yes, it can happen to anybody. Your life is in shambles. Every dream you ever had about your future is gone. Every avenue of life, once envisioned, is closed off for good.. Completely out of the blue, from being on top of the world, you fall down into the "ultimate loser" status. Your life is gone. Where once you were able to illicit feelings of friendship, jealousy, love and lust, now the only feelings you can provoke are pity and fear.
And there you are. Rock bottom. Katabase. Stripped of every role you ever starred in. And nothing but the prospect of a long hard road back to society. And don't forget, you'll never be able to be what you once were. You'll never be able to be what you could have been.
Until I quit my job. It was my role in life to observe those that took that hard and long road. Not help. I haven't got the illusion that an hour a week is going to help. Just observe. And quietly adore the inner strength of those who fell..
Those that chose to walk that road, they used their imagination. No more cut-and-paste roles. They had to reinvent the fucking wheel. They could have just sat down. Refused to move. Given up. But they didn't. They went on.
Fuck! This is making me emotional. I've had the privilege to work with MEN! To work with WOMEN! Not fucked-up neurotic "normal" assholes and housewives. I had the privilege to work with human beings who had to fight for everything that is "given" to "normal" people.

Mr. Salsa, Mr. Could-have-been-a-pro-football-player, Mrs. Used-to-be-a-doctors-wife, Mr. Labassistant, Mrs. Leanon-living, Mr. Not-Bin-Laden, Mr. Torture, Mrs. Beauty-specialist, Mrs. Daughter-of-victim, Ms. Broke-Mother, Mr. Antisocial, Mrs. Prostitute, Ms. Found-death-in-the-bushes, Ms. Full-House, Mr. Restauranteur, Mr. Feeling, and anyone I forgot........ this one's for you. I love you guys. And don't' forget "fuck normal".

Monday, May 30, 2005

Those bastard urang utangs.

The following account really happened. My memory of the events portrayed is a bit hazy, so I might be exaggerating a bit here and there.

Today, after work as usual, I went for groceries. On the way to the supermarket I was accosted by two of the cutest little girls I've ever seen. They couldn't have been older than five or six, a red blush on their faces, brandishing notebooks and a pen.
"Sir, can we ask you a question?", the first girl asked. The other one, obviously the spoiled impatient type, didn't wait for me to answer but immediately set off on her quest for world domination: "What do you think about people cutting down the forests were the Urang Utangs live?"
"I don't know.", I answered in complete honesty, "What's wrong with cutting down the forests where Urang Utangs live?"
The little girls needed a moment to collect themselves, obviously taken aback by the sheer amount of stupidity I was exhibiting. "Because without the forests they will die.", the first girl ventured cheerfully.
"But I don't have a forest, and I'm not dead yet.", I retorted feigning a healthy dose of impatience.
Without so much as blinking the second girl said: "But you're not an Urang Utang." Which of course made me utterly dislike girl number two.
"See, that is the whole problem. These Urang Utangs claim that they own the forest. But do they? Where will we get our wood?"
I looked little girl number one straight in the eyes and said: "NAH?" My gaze drifted to girl number two, I looked her straight in the eyes and said: "NAH?"
"These Urang Utangs are not like us. None of them ever had a decent job. They don't vote. And if they did, they'd be communists. They steal our forests, and all the while they make a big show of how through no fault of their own, they are nearly extinct."
I was really getting in to this, and since the girls didn't seem to have the audacity to question my obviously superior wisdom, I decided to go on: "Everybody knows that Urang Utangs are some of the ugliest dirtiest creatures in the world. They never shower you know.", I claimed shaking my finger as if lecturing a couple of little kids. (Which in fact I was.)
Just when I was in the middle of explaining the detrimental effects of Urang Utang teenage pregnancies, on the ozone-layer, girl number two interrupted me. "Sir, can we have your signature to save the Urang Utangs?"
I looked at her. She looked at me. For a millisecond two great minds were locked in a battle of willpower, until I broke and said: "Sure. Why not."

From the above we can learn two things about me.
1. I'm a great guy. I just helped save the Urang Utangs.

2. I need to get laid. I'm turning into a republican.

Sunday, May 29, 2005

On quitting my job

I quite my job last week. Best damn job I ever had. I have no idea what I'm going to do next. A year ago I was thinking, I would be in this job for the rest of my life, and that prospect looked good.
It was a good job. I drove around in Amsterdam, visiting my patients, drinking their coffee, listening to their problems. Once in a while I'd open my mouth to bring forth one of my worn platitudes, and for some reason, my patients sometimes were able to improve their lives a bit. That was the good part. But everyday after rounds when I went back to my office, I had to fight the evil dragon of "administration". Bullshit! If God had meant me to be a paper-pusher he'd have given me a bigger ass! Who the hell decided that it was more important to fill out forms and write reports than to actually do what I'm paid for. Talk to people.
It wasn't an easy decision. I was awake till 5 in the morning thinking about it. What if I couldn't find a good job? What if I couldn't keep my car, or had to skip my mortgage payments. What if I........ What if I were the kind of fuck who stayed in a job out of fear instead of living life. Sell the goddamn house! Screw jobs! I can always make a living as a metermaid if that's what it takes to live.
So now the future is open again. No idea what I'm going to do. I got some diploma's and a shitload of skills. We'll see. Life seems adventurous again. Bring it on.