I Prove Something Here

Judas Priest—Nostradamus

MoTW—Quantum of Solace

I got this following email from Cindy who doesn't like me too much:

"i've been reading your stuff occassionally and when I do I notice that
you call your wife 'the woman' or something like that. don't you think
this is demeaning to her? doesn't she have a name? i bet she wouldn't
like being called the woman if she reads your crap. you seem too sit
around and do nothing all day except look at porn as you say so she
obviously is the dominant jean in your household so you should maybe
treat her with some respect or she'll dump you. your a dick."

Wow. It's a shame that all the writers of "Chick Shit For Chic Chicks"
are either dead or missing since they'd also be tearing me a new one I
guess.

(EDITOR'S NOTE: The investigation is still ongoing regarding the
disappearance/death of those writers. Right now Jerome is "a person of
interest" which is kind of silly since he's really not a person any
longer or interesting in any way whatsoever. Plus, I can safely rule him
out as a killer since he doesn't have a middle name.)

But, to prove Cindy wrong, I decided to check out this "dominant jean"
theory of hers.

I went to my local Home Depot and bought what I needed to build a
wrestling ring in the backyard. Then I called my friends and invited
them over for and afternoon of He vs She fightin'.

Sadly, the only friend who showed up was Spunky who never has anything
better to do anyway and, after collecting the $300.00 entrance/parking
fee, I led him to his second row seat and then ran inside to get ready.

I dug around in a pile of (finally!) clean clothes and found what I
needed. Then I interrupted the woman from her Ebay addiction and
explained what was going on then went to her closet and picked out what
was needed for her.

I went out to the garage and queued up my music and when the first note
hit, I slowly made my way to the ring to Phantom, Rocker and Slick's
"Men Without Shame", careful to duck every so often lest I get pelted
with garbage from the fan.

I climbed into the ring and picked up the microphone for the ring
announcement:

"LADIES AND…….", I began but then I scanned the crowd and saw it was
still only Spunky so I tossed the mic out of the ring and explained the
rules to him.

When I was sure he understood the rules I left the ring, walked over to
the time keeper's table and rang the bell.

I ran back to the ring and threw a pair of my Levi's in along with a
pair of the woman's Ralph Lauren's, waited until they hit the canvas,
pulled on my referee shirt, climbed back into the ring, found the Levi's
covering the Ralph Lauren's and made the three count.

"AND THE WINNER IS……THE LEVI'S!!" I announced to Spunky who sat in
awe.

I then collected the jeans and pulled my trusty screwdriver from my back
pocket and began to dismantle the ring.

I had started to loosen the first screw when I was hit on the side of
the head with a tomato.

"Hey!" I yelled, looking around. "Who threw that?"

"Duh," was the reply.

Spunky was now standing and he was looking pretty agitated.

"You mean I paid three hundred bucks for THAT?" he asked.

I realized he had a point and thought about it for a minute.

"How about two out of three falls?" I asked.

"Damn right!" he replied and sat back down.

Back into the back pocket went the screwdriver and I started round two
of the match.

This time the jeans landed apart from each other and I had no choice but
to make a ten count and declare a double countout.

"Match of the year!" screamed Spunky who was now sitting on the edge of
his seat.

Round three started and this time a little bit of the Ralph Lauren jean
was underneath the bottom rope and I had to pull the Levi's off.

Round four and this time the Ralph Lauren's dominated, holding the
Levi's down for the three count plus more if I bothered to keep
counting.

I conferred with myself and called the match a draw, much to Spunky's
dismay and delight.

I thanked him for coming and then began dismantling the ring.

What this should prove to Cindy is that the woman DOES NOT have the
"dominant jean" in our household so she should just shut her fucking
mouth.

COMING NEXT: How did the plant fall and did it scream since I wasn't
around

Stephen Johnson

The idea of building a website with Bob came from Stephen in the days of message boards and chat rooms. We settled on the name TheWeirdcrap.com and the rest is history. Retired since he hit the ripe age of 25, he spends most his time doing odd-jobs around the house and digging thru trash bins for "stuff that's still good." Stephen has contributed several short stories and hosted the "Lunatic Ravings" column since the beginning (1999). The idea of writing weekly columns came from Stephen before blogs or blog sites ever existed. So, I guess that makes him THE FIRST BLOGGER IN THE WORLD!!!

https://theweirdcrap.com

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