And last, but not least:

14. If a dog leaves, it won’t take half of your stuff.

The first did a total make over. She went to a fancy beauty salon to get her hair done, new make up and bought several new outfits and dressed up very nicely for the man. She told him that she did this to be more attractive for him because she loved him so much.

The man was impressed.

The second went shopping to buy the man gifts. She got him a new set of golf clubs, some new gizmos for his computer, and some expensive clothes. As she presented these gifts, she told him that she had spent all the money on him because she loved him so much.

Again, the man was impressed.

The third invested the money in the stock market. She earned several times the $5,000. She gave him back his $5,000 and reinvested the remainder in a joint account. She told him that she wanted to save for their future because she loved him so much.

Obviously, the man was impressed.

The man thought for a long time about what each woman had done with the money he’d given her.  Then, he married the one with the biggest boobs.  Men are like that, you know.

There is more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra today than on Alzheimer’s research. This means that by 2040, there should be a large elderly population with perky boobs and huge erections and absolutely no recollection of what to do with them.

Her note read:
Take The Tent Pole Down,
Put The Canvas Away,
The Monkey Had A Hemorrhage,
No Circus Today.
John read the note and quickly scribbled a reply.
Then, he asked his son to take it back to “the lady in the kitchen.”

His note read:
The Tent Pole’s Still Up,
And The Canvas Still Spread,
So Drop What You’re Doing,
And Come Give Me Some Head.
Laughing, Heather answered the note and then asked her son to take this to the poor dude upstairs.”

Her note read:
I’m Sure That Your Pole’s
The Best In The Land.
But I’m Busy Right Now,
Do It By Hand!

I got a vasectomy.

I met a girl soon afterwards. She was nice and attractive but with a selfish streak that raised a big red flag. She was 32 at the time and I could practically HEAR her biological clock ticking. Regardless, she was a good lay, easy on the eyes, and reasonably good company.

I did NOT tell her about my vasectomy and I always used a condom with her to protect against STDs. She assumed, obviously, that the condom was only used for birth control. Silly girl.

We date for a few months. I never made any move towards commitment but she brought it up ocassionally. For me, this was a casual but pleasant relationship. For her – as I was to find out – it was part of life-changing series of events that she was planning very carefully.

Four months into dating, I get the “I’m pregnant” talk. She’s going on and on about how the condom must have broke and now we really need to think about getting married “for the baby”. She’s positively giddy. She has a baby in her and she thinks she’s gonna have a good meal ticket (me) to go along with her new 7lb annuity.

At this point, I’m just as giddy. I get to pull the reverse “oops” on her. I figured that she slept with some bad boy and got knocked up. Good thing I was using condoms! Better still that I have a serious mistrust of women who can’t think beyond their own uteri.

So I wait a couple of days to “think about all this.” I meet her again. I say I don’t want kids and that she should have an abortion. I know where this is going and sure enough it goes there. She goes completely batshit insane on me. There were the usual insults about my manhood. There were threats of legal action. It was all very ugly and I was loving every minute of it.

Well, I let her stew for a few days. She leaves me nasty messages on my phone. She sends awful emails. I’m laughing hysterically.

It was time to drop the hammer. While she was stewing I was busy. First I get a notarized copy from the urologist who performed the vasectomy. Next I get a notarized copy of the TWO test results indicating a “negative test result for sperm” to show I’m sterile and shooting blanks. Finally, I get a letter from a shark attorney stating he has seen the other documents and is prepared to litigate against this woman if she continues to communicate with me in such an unpleasant manner. Also, the letter states that we will insist on DNA testing to show that the baby is not mine. I’m ready.

I meet with this woman at her place. I bring flowers and a small bit of jewelry to show I am willing to reconcile and assume my responsibilities as a new father. I also have stuck in my pocket the documents I have prepared.

She’s all giddy again. Her plan is going perfectly – or so she thinks. We talk about our future. We have some pretty good sex. Then, as I am about to walk out the door, I ask her the $64,000 question. “Are you sure that this baby is mine?”

Well, she goes batshit insane again. Hell, she ought to. Her plan could completely unravel if there is ANY question about my paternity. Oh, she’s really screaming now. How dare I question her morals. Do I think she’s a slut. I’m just trying to weasel out of my responsibilities… blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I’m not really mad. I’m kind of embarrassed for her. But since she won’t shut up and the neighbors can hear all of this, I ask her to step back inside and sit down. She sits on the sofa and calms down a bit. She is glaring at me with all the moral self-righteousness that only a woman can muster up. She thinks she has me trapped. She is 100% convinced her plan has worked. Oh, the tangled web of lies and deceit she has wrought around herself and I am about to hack through them with a few pieces of paper.

I reach into my pocket slowly. I extract the three pieces of paper and unfold them slowly and deliberately.

I tell her simply, “You’re screwed”.

Her look doesn’t change. There is no way she can fathom what I have prepared.

I continue. “I am sterile”

Her look changes just a bit. Something is beginning to sink in. Naturally, she reverts to women’s logic. “You’re full of shit. You’re trapped and you know it.”

I hold up the letter and the test results. “Three months before we met, I had a vasectomy. Here is a notarized letter from him stating what I had done. Here are two test results showing that I tested negative for the presence of sperm. Blanks. I am shooting blanks. That baby inside you is simply not mine.”

This woman is not to be swayed by logic and clear documentation. “Bullshit, those are fakes.”

I was ready for that. “No, they are real. This last piece of paper is from my attorney. It’s a simple letter to you that states if you pursue any kind of legal action against me for child support that I will insist on a DNA test to prove paternity, that is, to prove that your baby is not mine.”

I give the woman all the documents. She reads them slowly, deliberately. With each passing second she can feel in her soul that she has made a very bad mistake. With denial swept away, she started to cry. It’s a small cry at first. Then it becomes deeper and more painful. By the time she gets to the letter from the lawyer she is sobbing.

I had no sympathy for her. I turned and walked out the door. Even after I closed the door I could still hear her sobbing.

Epilogue -

I never heard directly from this woman again. I did hear through my friends that she did indeed have the baby. I also heard that the real father was some guy in a band she had met. I assumed that after 30, women stopped going after musicians, bikers, criminals, and thugs. Silly me for thinking the best of American women.

The Moral of the Story -

Get a vasectomy but keep it a secret.

While tying the homeowner’s wife to the bed the convict gets on top of her, kisses her neck, then gets up and goes into the bathroom.

While he’s in there, the husband whispers over to his wife, “Listen, this guy is an escaped convict. Look at his clothes! He’s probably spent a lot of time in jail and hasn’t seen a woman in years. I saw how he kissed your neck. If he wants sex, don’t resist, don’t complain… do whatever he tells you. Satisfy him no matter how much he nauseates you. This guy is obviously very dangerous. If he gets angry, he’ll kill us both. Be strong, honey. I love you!”

His wife responds: “He wasn’t kissing my neck. He was whispering in my ear. He told me that he’s gay, thinks you’re cute, and asked if we had any Vaseline. I told him it was in the bathroom. Be strong honey. I love you, too.”

Dumb man + smart woman = marriage

Dumb man + dumb woman = pregnancy

SHOPPING MATH

A man will pay $2 for a $1 item he needs. A woman will pay $1 for a $2 item that she doesn’t need.

GENERAL EQUATIONS & STATISTICS

A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband

A man never worries about the future until he gets a wife.

A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend.

A successful woman is one who can find such a man.

HAPPINESS

To be happy with a man, you must understand him a lot and love him a little.

To be happy with a woman, you must love her a lot and not try to understand her at all.

LONGEVITY

Married men live longer than single men do, but married men are a lot more willing to die.

PROPENSITY TO CHANGE

A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn’t.

A man marries a woman expecting that she won’t change, and she does.

DISCUSSION TECHNIQUE

A woman has the last word in any argument.

Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.

HOW TO STOP PEOPLE FROM BUGGING YOU ABOUT GETTING MARRIED

Old aunts used to come up to me at weddings, poking me in the ribs and cackling, telling me, “You’re next.” They stopped after I started doing the same thing to them at funerals.

After the US published the study, France decided to do their own study. After $250,000.00, and 3 years of research, they concluded that the reason was to give the woman more pleasure during sex.

Arkansas, unsatisfied with these findings, conducted their own study. After 2 weeks and a cost of around $75.46 and 2 cases of beer, they concluded that it was to keep a man’s hand from flying off and hitting him in the forehead.

“Tomorrow,” his wife angrily told him, “there had better be something in our driveway that goes from zero to 200 in two seconds flat!”

The next morning, the wife looked outside and saw a small package in the driveway. She brought it inside, opened it, and found a brand new bathroom scale.

His funeral is on Saturday at 2 p.m.

I took a drink from my can of Busch Light, wiped the cold foam from my lips, lifted my darkened Ray Ban sunglasses, stared directly into this nosey-ass neighbor’s eyes and calmly replied….

“I am. That’s why she’s cutting the grass.”