How not to get laid

If you are trying not to get laid, here are some tips. For this lesson, the prospective non-getting-laid guy’s name is Carl. (Sorry Carls.)

Step One: Do not say drink in the invitation
Most the time a woman wants to get a drink, she wants to lose her ability to think reasonably and to forget how to keep her pants on. Instead, invite Carl out for lunch or early dinner. Lunch is a definite boner bender. Early dinner suggests you’ve got other people to bang later. I’m not saying you can’t get a drink when you are out, just don’t suggest it in the invite.

Step Two: Call it a meeting
Meetings suck the life out of anyone. No one gets laid at a meeting. When you invite Carl to lunch, say you want to discuss a specific topic that does not include ex-boyfriends. Architecture and retirement are great topics to keep Carl from boning up. Again, you don’t have to discuss that at lunch, but it will keep Carl’s expectations at a bare minimum.

Step Three: Schedule a gynecologist visit right before your meeting
You are weak and might fuck Carl despite your attempt to con me into thinking you don’t want to. As a back up, schedule a Pap or a regular gyno visit right before your meeting with Carl. This will destroy any chance of you wanting to get busy. Ensure you mention that you are late to the lunch because of the gyno appointment and, for added realism, let a speculum fall out of your purse and on to the table. Follow that up with a, “So that’s where that went.”

Step Four: Order Wings
Wings are greasy, disgusting and delicious. A chick eating wings is hot only is she is eating them off your chest during sex. Watching you suck down twelve, greasy wings will turn Carl off. If he starts to get excited watching you lick the sauce off your fingers, remember to mention that wings give you the shits.

Step Five: Burning Itch
Scratch a lot. Complain of burning while you pee. Ask Carl what has been happening in local politics since you’ve been overseas in Thailand.

Step Six: Dutch
Splitting the bill is the universal sign that no one is getting laid. If Carl insists on paying, wait until he hands the waiter his credit card and say your good-bye, insisting that you are about to have a blow-out from the wings tearing through your intestines. If he pays in cash and tells the waiter to keep the change, ask him in a loud voice how his counterfeiting operation is doing. Sneak out when the manager comes to the table.

Step Seven: Fuck him
Oh well. At least you gave it your best shot.

Ask HolyJuan: A Drunken Friend

Dear HolyJuan,

I’d like to continue on the topic of getting laid as initiated by Marcie.

I went out drinking this past weekend. I was about to leave the bar when I spotted a chick that I knew. I stopped by her barstool and found that she was really drunk. I had been sporting a crush on this chick for some time, and decided to sit next to her.

After a little conversation, this chick basically threw herself at me. We made out for a while and she told me that she wanted me.

I was planning on taking her home when she slurred, “I love you Scott. I really do.”

I sat back while she kissed me and thought, “This is just too easy.”

After I made sure this chick had secured a ride home from one of her friends, I went home alone.

So HolyJuan, does this unusual moment of conscience on my part signal a new age of maturity and respect for others?, or is it an early sign of gayness? I trust your judgment implicitly. Please advise.

Best Regards,
Sleepy Scott

Dear Sleepy Scott,

This act of honor, thoughtfulness and chivalry is not within my capabilities to judge nor of which to make light. On my best day, I would have taken advantage of this drunken lady in two or three of her rum infused orifices. In my bestselling book, “Get Drunk, Get Wet, Sneak Out,” I describe this as the holy trinity of hook up situations: drunk friend, the barstool make-out and the “I love you” line. Maybe, at best, an average guy can get two of these criteria in a five year span at Ohio University. I’ve heard tell of someone getting an “I like you,” but this… this is completely unheard of. And on top of that, you ensure her safe departure.

Sleepy Scott… you honor me with your question, but I cannot answer your query. I can only ask a question of you: When you got home that night, did you cry yourself to sleep masturbating to gay porn or did pop in an old Transformers cartoon VHS tape and rub one out to that you big, no moist dick, wet dreaming, pussy?

Remember, regret is for the morning, not that night.

Love,

HolyJuan

PS Oh yeah, and that “trusted friend” who drove your girl home that night… he banged her while your tears dripped on your belly and intermingled with the half-kids that filled your belly button. The light from the television and Optimus Prime’s shiny metal skin would have cast a reddish glow upon your pasty, white, unlaid skin.