Every Guy Ever.

Once, my sister sent me this email forward she got from a male friend entitled, “Every Girl Ever.” I laughed my ass off. It’s just too funny, as it’s clearly written from a male perspective. In response, I decided to make my own, called, “Every Guy Ever.” Yes, I wrote this myself. Yes, it’s happened to me before, as I’m sure it has happened to many ladies before me, and after me. I was a young and inexperienced dater when I thought dates were like this. Now, I can proudly say that I can spot one of these doucheass species from a mile away.

*knock knock* 

Hey, it’s me, Every Guy Ever. I’m here to take you on our date. I’m not nearly as personable and funny as you remember me being at the bar last weekend because I haven’t had my regimen of Jager Bombs and Red Bull and vodka doubles yet. Why don’t you show me your place so I can take notes on how I’m going to woo your pants off later? I see you like magazines about sex and make-up. Guess that makes you a tiger in the bedroom, huh?! 

Do you mind if I use your bathroom before we hit the road? I want to look through your mirror cabinet to make sure there’s no Valtrex in there. I also want to check my hair one last time before we go to this really expensive dinner I’m going to buy you so I can justify trying to get you out of your pants later on. Daddy’s not laying down a Benji for nothin’! 

Here, let me get the car door for you. I’m sure you’ll remember this gesture and what a gentleman I am later on when I’m shooting to get my hand up your shirt. Really, I’m just staring at your ass as you slide into my dad’s, I mean, my Mercedes. Are you cold? The seats are heated. Want me to turn them on? What? I can’t hear you over this really horrible, female-degrading rap that I have blasting through the speakers. I want to make sure everyone in your neighboorhood can hear it.  

Well, here we are at this overpriced trendy restaurant where I have to valet the Mercedes and it’s so loud we won’t be able to hear each other talk. I’m not really interested in your life anyway. I’m just trying to figure out the best way to get you drunk and naked.

Did I mention this place has $5.00 martinis? Why don’t you have a couple while I try to come up with an interesting and hilarious story about my fraternity brothers from college and the things we used to do the pledges? I know that stories like these make my penis seem much bigger than it really is.  

Do you want dessert? I was thinking we could go to a really crowded club where they play trance music and I can show you my killer dance moves. Then I can rub my crotch all over your leg to show you what I’m packing. Sorry, I get a little excited when I hear 50 Cent. Watch your head! I just have to raise my hands in the air while I sing “bottle full of bubbly.” It reminds me of college. You want a Jager Bomb? I’ll get four. And a couple of Red Bull and vodkas. Are you drunk yet? 

What? You’re ready to go home? That’s cool. I just want to let you know that I’m really drunk, so we should take a cab back to your place. I can crash on your couch (wink, wink). Although, I’m going to insist I sleep in the bed with you, and then I’m going to get really angry when you refuse to let me touch you after I spent all that money on you and got you really drunk.

My favorite part is the awkward moment the next morning when you wake up next to me and remember I suck and that you have to drive me to my car since we cabbed it to your place, where I played on your sweet innocence to get some cheap cuddling since you wouldn’t let me have the ass.  

Thanks for the ride to my dad’s car. I’m going to tell you I’m going to call you again, but I won’t because you didn’t put out and I don’t think you’re worth it.