FYI

Man clauses has been temporarily abandoned by myself... basically because I currently have no women in my life at the moment. Too busy with moving, work, and school...

Perhaps one day I will find a girl that passes the test. In the meantime, you should all check out my friend Elaine's blog called Seriously Rad. I decided.


Best,

T

Clause #30,000 - 30k Millionaires

For those of you that have been in a hole for the past 10 years, I'd like to address 30K Millionaires. A 30k Millionaire is a person, usually a guy, who makes around 30k a year, usually from working at a window tinting shop, loan office, or an occupation that does not by any means require a college degree. With his pitiful income, he spends it all on bottles of champagne at clubs, a boat, a nice car, and sometimes a 3-day trip to Vegas only to be left with nothing in his account but overdraft fees and possibly a pending loan.

A 30k Millionaire does this in order to make himself look like he's somebody, but in reality, he goes home at night and jacks off, using his own tears as lube. You see, it doesn't matter how much the person really makes. Anyone who lives well over their means to act cool and obtain notoriety is really in essence, a 30k Millionaire. This is specifically applicable for all you d-bag promoters and VIP hosts. You are usually the worst ones: Since you are, A. working for people that actually do well for a living, and B. are so easily swayed to want to be like them, you are generally laughed at by most of the normal population. My question is simply this: Why do you want to feel so "cool"?

Las Vegas has it's fair share of 30k Milli's, but I've actually heard that Dallas has the highest per capita 30k Milli population in America. This remains unverified. In Las Vegas, 30k Millionaires are easy to identify. First of all, they are "service industry". Did you hear that? Yes, I said SERVICE INDUSTRY. That means when I go out, you get to SERVE me and that is your life's purpose. Why would anyone slingin' drinks in a smoke-filled environment think that they are "the shit" at ANY point in time? To me, it seems like the antithesis of reason. Now don't get me wrong, I have quite a few completely normal friends that are bartenders, club promoters, and VIP hosts. However, they don't run around peeling out in their entry class Mercedes' as they pour out bottles of bub for the homies. These are normal, classy people that enjoy what they do, and take pride in their job.

That being said, there are complete idiots that ruin it for all of them. These people are completely into debt, wearing suits that are entirely over their pay grade. (Don't think I don't notice ya wearing the same one four times in a week). They drive imported cars, but rent out rooms in people's houses. They have no sustainable income (i.e. a salary). Their business is the cash business, and when they have it, they spend it. When they don't, they mooch free drinks off of my bottle in the club. Don't come at me like that and try to be my friend, little promoter, because I surely didn't drop your name to get in the door.

Las Vegas is like a 24/7 high school prom. Every night seems like everyone's "last" night to show off what they have. There is no future planning. Basically, the world is going to end tomorrow. Every 30K Millionaire that has $1,000 bucks in his pocket or some plastic is living for today only. Are you REALLY a baller? What is your investment strategy in the current burgeoning US economy? How many houses are you flipping right now for profit? What is your company matching for your 401K? What kind of tax breaks is your personal corporation getting you these days? I am an engineer and can make your yearly salary in ONE MONTH, bud. Seriously, I have made $30,000 in one month, and the only person I served was myself :) Why try to "floss" in front of me, player? Bottom line: I don't rub it in your face, so don't rub it in mine.

Not having a lot of money isn't a crime.(1) Acting like you do IS.

30K Milli's: Turn from your ways and I will spare you from Satan's grasp.

Just Sayin' -T



(1): Yes, I know that is a double negative. Just play along. -T

Clause #24 - You Are NOT a "Model" and That "Photographer" is a D-Bag

I think it's hilarious how every girl thinks she's a model. This is partially because there are some very desperate/horny "up and coming" photographers out there. Let's be honest: Any douchebag with an SLR will do a free "photo shoot" for the simple fact that he might get to see some nip. In the biz, we call this a TFP (trade for print). Basically, the wannabe "model" is approached by a "photographer" and propositioned for a deal that consists of her time being traded for free prints. While she gets the pictures, he gets a chance to "update his portfolio". This translates to me as a false self confidence booster in trade for free sex. It all stinks... just another reason for sleazebags to get with 7's.

So in this entry we'll confront the holistic entity of the insane levels of douchebaggery that is modern "photography". First, we'll talk about girls that are wannabe models. Second, we'll address the wannabe photographers and their schemes.

The "Models:

Now don't make me bust all of you out and post pics of what you really look like, please. That would be too easy, and I am just too classy. You parade around Myspace and Facebook with your digital images, fat with slutdom. You were probably not given enough attention as a child. Maybe that boy in 9th grade turned you down underneath the bleachers when you wanted to go "all the way". Maybe all your hot friends consistently get hit on by more men when you're out socially. It is a sad lesson, but why not learn it? You are not attractive enough to be a model. Let me say again: YOU ARE NOT ATTRACTIVE ENOUGH TO BE A MODEL. If you say that in the mirror ten times a day, you might get some healing. Luckily, there are men out there that aren't concerned about just what's on the outside. The most attractive women I know don't post pictures of themselves with 1.75 stitches of clothing on. God has blessed them with something called self-worth, which you do not have. The attention you seek, simply put, is a fire that will not become extinguished. The hole is bigger and deeper, and you're only making it worse for yourself. You crave attention from men like you craved that last Double Whopper you just ate.

At no point has any seasoned, rational, and noteworthy model scout ever given you the time of day. Instead, Jimmy Douchebag with his brand new SLR wants to see you with your top off in his private "studio". You are starved for attention and sadly mistaken. And the most saddening part is that smart people like me see through it like just-cleaned glass. However, for you there is hope. You are the victim of manipulation, and there is still time to turn away from your antics.

The Photographers:

For you, there is no hope. You are God's wrathed stench: a foul excuse for a human soul. You are scheming, detestable, and malicious. You prey on women with low self esteem and capitalize on the opportunity. I wonder exactly how the scene plays out... do you fill them with self confidence, give them a false sense of comfort, and then take advantage of these girls? Do you say things like "It's nothing I haven't seen already"... Trust me you snot, I am there with you in spirit.

I hope everyone sees you for what you are. You feed internally broken women, these Vegas girls, horse pills of cunning that most cannot seem to decipher. They're already depressed and you know that. I know because I used to be a photographer. I had ample opportunities to take advantage of certain situations, but I didn't. I don't need a scheme...

So, girls: Have some self-worth. Be a little more cautious the next time someone approaches you. If you have an experience that relates to this, tell us about it in the comments section. Has any photographer ever weirded you out? Perhaps you were too wise for his scheme and saw it coming.

Douchebags: Rot in Hell. I'll see you when you get there.

Just Sayin'

T

Clause #7 The "Vegas" Girl

Let me preface by stating that the following post, in addition to enlightening our readers about manclauses, will also serve as my introduction as the newest author to this blog. Having said that, the chosen title for this post does not reflect every woman that lives in Las Vegas. On the contrary, during my years here I've met women from all different backgrounds. Las Vegas has become a melting pot over the years and I love its growing diversity. When it comes to women I choose to date I don't have what most people refer to as a "type" or "style." I don't look for blonde or brunette, light or dark, short or tall. As far as I'm concerned, you're hot or you're not. I joke around with this saying but never the less it's true, I'm an equal opportunity employer. And during my survey of the women in Las Vegas I've come across a new sub specie of woman as unique as the city in which she resides. I'm talking about the "Vegas" girl.

I also need to clarify some things about myself. I have spent a significant amount of my adult life traveling this country. I recently began a rewarding career in education. However, before the ball and chain consequences of the 9 to 5 took effect on my life, I was working random jobs, living off of savings, and quite frankly going and doing what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. Although my "headquarters" is here in Las Vegas, it was quite common for me to go live for months at a time with friends all over, from Hawaii to South Beach and various locations in between. I mention all of this because I want the readers to know that I've dated women all over this country, and from all walks of life. And in the process I've been able to establish a personal foundation upon which I may, more accurately, asses compatibility. Ipso facto, I know what the hell I'm talking about! I know this sounds strikingly similar to Ben Stiller's "Calculated Risk Program" from the movie "Along Came Polly." And I realize you may also think this is overkill, however, as I get older I can't help but become more particular, or selective if you will, and I will, about who I date, (those words sound better than picky). And let me be clear about another detail. When I say dating, I'm implying a serious relationship is taking place. I realize there are places in this country where dating is considered to be a revolving door of women and one night stands. I however, do not consider a few nights of small talk, dinner, and an occasional drunken/sober roll in the hay, to be dating. Go ahead and call it "old school" but I prefer getting to know the upstairs before the downstairs.

I'm going to be honest, I'm writing this post in part because I am feeling a little jaded about my dating experiences recently here in Las Vegas. Since I officially moved here in 2000, I've dated 2 women that live here. The rest have lived in places ranging from California to Florida. Why is that? How come it's so difficult to find a woman here in Las Vegas? The honest truth is that if I knew, I probably wouldn't be writing this! So the best I can do is describe what it's been like for me, and hopefully shed some light on the "Vegas" girl. Keep in mind that I'll be sticking with manclause tradition by using my actual experiences to illustrate my point. Let the outline begin.

Education. Or as I like to call it, Round 1. "DING!" I figure I should start where most "Vegas" girls fall short. Usually after round 1, they are KO'ed. After all I am a educator and I know what this town is up against. Nevada is second to last in national test scores and look no further for proof than the "Vegas" girl. Now Las Vegas is what you call an service industry town. Most jobs in the Casinos require menial labor and don't require much education. And let's give some credit (or blame) for the high level of uneducated people of Las Vegas to the Casinos. These executives aren't dumb, these Casinos aren't building themselves! These guys want their employees uneducated (for financial reasons obviously) and so goes the Bible, "ask and ye shall receive." And it's hard to blame the kids who drop out of school. Hell, they can make more money than me in tips alone! And to be fair, if there was ever a place where you didn't need an education to make it, it's Las Vegas. But let me get back to the point, I understand that people can succeed without an education, it happens. However as far as I'm concerned, if you don't have the discipline to graduate from high school, what do you plan to do if Las Vegas doesn't work out? And that brings us to round 2.

Image. "DING!" The "Vegas" girl is convinced that she can replace her lack of intelligence with her looks. In Las Vegas this can work. There are several options the "Vegas" girl has when it comes to employment. Most of which are in the entertainment/nightlife department. As a result of working in such a department, the "Vegas" girl is more susceptible to the vices of drugs and alcohol. Which is not necessarily the deal breaker unless she is 0.01% insane in addition to those substances, then we have problems! Now, as a single man I've frequented this department, on the proverbial prowl. And while prowling I met "Jessica." "Jessica" immediately passed my "appearance" test (appearance sounds much better than looks) which isn't very easy, remember I'm picky. We exchanged information and shortly thereafter she called and wanted to go to the Bodies exhibit. When she said that I though to myself, self...., this girl's "hot-stock" just went up. I was truly surprised and at the same time exited at the thought that she could actually be spotted on the intelligence radar. But alas, it was too good to be true. Shortly after we went back to her "department," where the alcohol mixed with (what I assumed was a normal) personality. She agreed to let me take her car from the club that night to drop off some friends. When I returned she had called the cops on me in a drunken rage claiming I stole her car! 0.01% insane? I think so. Safe to say (referring to manclause #69) we never saw each other again. That brings me to my next point, the complex makings of the "Vegas" girl.

Goals. "DING!" The "Vegas" girl is actually very easy to spot. Chances are that the "Vegas" girl was once upon a time, the brace-faced, flat chested, insecure girl who is now cashing in on newly discovered attention. The kind of attention that only a flattering Casino/club uniform can deliver. The "Vegas" girl doesn't stop at the uniform however. If some is good, more is better. And by more I mean a new hair style, wardrobe, make-up collection, and who can ignore the effect of physical alterations? Now the "Vegas" girl is ready for success. So what exactly is success for the "Vegas" girl? That all depends on her age. You see, all "Vegas" girls are in a race against time. A race that can never be won, simply a window of opportunity that gets smaller with each passing day. Consider the "Vegas" girl to be a modern day Cinderella, desperately hoping to find her "Prince Charming" before the clock strikes 12 on her youthful beauty. The younger the "Vegas" girl, the less concerned she is about the "time," hence she considers success to be getting attention and praise from those who otherwise wouldn't give her the time of day. As the age increases, so does the desperation and consequentially her standards start to fall faster than President Bush's approval rating. Success for these "Vegas" girls is measured in dollar signs and trips around the world, usually provided by rich, tourist schmucks that the "Vegas" girl meets while flirting extra hard. Ultimately the "Vegas" girl, in her waning moments, has become so hopeless that she only concerns herself with two things. The size of a man's wallet and the size of something else, either will suffice at this point. For proof, look no further than "Karen." I met "Karen" a few years back. "Karen" at that point in time was a model from South America. A gorgeous woman, but old in model years. To stay with our Cinderella theme, let's just say she had already lost the glass slipper. "Karen" could no longer compete with the younger girls for the more prestigious jobs in the industry, and as a result she had succumbed to doing promotions. Simple jobs such as handing out bottles of beer while wearing ridiculous costumes. Now I understand that bills need to be paid, but "Karen" didn't have to settle for that life, but she had fallen victim to the "Vegas" girl lifestyle and she couldn't break out. We were hanging out one night when she was approached by a man who looked like Borat's friend. The fact that he was short, fat, and unusually hairy didn't even register with her. She was invited to join his table. She insisted that I accompany her, so I did and we enjoyed ourselves. And as the night went on it was obvious this man and his friends (probably from Kazakhstan) had money. And as I found out later, her night ended in a hotel room, with several Borat look-a-likes and a hair brush! Don't ask.

The moral of the story is this, I understand that a woman's gotta do what she's gotta do. Just be up front and honest about it. Because let's be real, Las Vegas is where people go to pretend they're something that they're not, have a good time, and return to their otherwise boring lives. The "Vegas" girl is the perfect match for such an objective. All I'm saying is that after my experiences with the "Vegas" girls, I prefer the ugly step sister after all is said and done.

Just sayin,

Coach

Please Welcome COACH

We have a new co-author in our midst. His experience in writing is only under-mitten by his ability to rock a dance floor.

We present to you, Coach. 

Enjoy.

Clause #1 - NEVER BUY A RANGE ROVER

Sorry, this doesn't have much to do with life on Man Clauses. Let me save you all some trouble if you have ever considered buying a Range Rover.

Three things (and understand them well):

1. Never buy ANY vehicle from Land Rover 

2. Never buy ANY vehicle from Land Rover

3. Never buy ANY vehicle from Land Rover

Implore Uncle Jeff

I think it goes without saying that we here at Man Clauses like nice things. I for one love a nice looking website. The user friendly features therein give me a warm fuzzy feeling that is second to none. Nice looking websites make you want to come back, and I want all of you to come back.

Some of you might know that Uncle Jeff is an amazing graphic designer. He doesn’t even know I’m even writing this. I am blessed to call this man one of my best friends. The projects that I’ve seen of his are nothing short of mind-boggling. He’s never done something half-assed. Jeff takes the time to really learn about his product, interact with his clients, and produce an end product that everyone is always excited about. Armed with some sort of super human ability to enforce his amazing taste on a screen, I think now is a good time we implore him to make us an amazing looking logo.

Our current logo was made by myself, an idiotic wannabe oil-field engineer, who knows nothing about making things look nice or tasteful. So don’t blame it on me, as I plead ignorance. I’m thinking if enough of us write comments below, Jeff might take a keen interest in building this blog up into the greatness that I know it soon will be.

So leave a comment. There is no doubt he’ll see it. Tell him to take 10 minutes out of his busy day to make us something special… for the PEOPLE!

Just Sayin’ -T

Also, if you are in need of any website/man-whore graphic design/etc work and want to pay for an outstanding product, feel free to contact us on our email: manclauses@gmail.com

Clause #37 - I was wearing the Beer Goggles

First of all, I don't drink. Ever (read: never in my life, ever). In other words, I can confirm with certainty that I have never donned the Beer Goggles. Don't get me wrong, I have my weaknesses, but the affinity for this hip ocular accessory is not my style. For this reason I feel I can objectively evaluate the meaning and origin of this man clause from the perspective of one that has never been tainted by this human frailty.

And now to the point. This clause probably goes without explanation. I don't know of anyone that does not know of the expression and meaning of Beer Goggles. It is a term of self-exoneration that immediately follows the aftermath of a moment of poor judgment. On the surface it may seem simple enough. You drink. Your eyesight is changed drastically along with your ability to reason. You become attracted to someone you would not otherwise be attracted. You do things with that person. When your buddies charge you with your crimes, you acquit yourself by alluding to your sense of fashion - specifically your taste for vision-altering eyewear. You and your friends get a kick out of it. The end.

However, I believe there is more to it. I see serious issues with blaming your mistakes on what you are CHOOSING to wear. As an example, who, in his right mind will approach someone they are attracted to while wearing Crocs? Who after being shunned by everyone at the pool because of his bacteria-resistant footwear can rightly say, "they rejected me because I was wearing my Crocs!" (clause coming soon, I'm sure of it) and expect any sympathy from his jury of peers? Of course they rejected you because of your Crocs, moron! All that is good on this green earth screams in unison in rejection of your choice in footwear and value as a human! The point is, YOU put on the Crocs and YOU chose to wear them at the all-important moment of breaking the ice.

To continue - if you wear Crocs, fine by me. Well at least fine by me after I finish verbally and/or physically abusing you. That's your choice. Blame a one night stand or similar event on beer goggles - although you may think the other effects of alcohol were worth the risk and justify your actions - and you will get no sympathy from me. It's a choice. A bad one. Period. Don't put them on. And if a good friend warns you that you're wearing them again, even though you can't feel the slightest sensation anywhere in the region of your upper cranium, trust him.

That is not all. Our English language has been negatively effected by the goggles. Idiomatic expressions like, "Look what the cat dragged in!", "Walk of shame", and even "Don't tase me bro!", and "I made out with you?", are literary and linguistic bastard children...errrrr...offspring of this recurring situation since the beginning of mankind.

There is hope. You are not alone. There are those that have gone before you throughout the centuries and survived the punishment and ridicule, and actually reproduced with attractive mates. As a final historical observation, I think it can be argued that the beer goggles existed before regular goggles. Whether you believe me or not, clause #37 is eternal.

Just sayin'
-Uncle Jeff

Clause #531 - The F.O.B.

It is a commonly known fact that white guys like Asian girls, or perhaps don't mind them. Given, there are many different types of Asians: crazians, gaysians, diversificasians, amazians, etc. (1) They are usually very family oriented and brought up with real values. They have great skin, and most don't talk much. Some can be very beautiful, and some can haunt your dreams. I suppose it's the same for every race. However, Asian women are usually smarter than white girls (which I happen to like), and they also have a unique sense of independence that can only come from learning from their family member's stories of oppressed freedom. That is honorable.

That being said, I think now would be an appropriate time to mention the acronym, F.O.B.

Exhibit A: F.O.B. = Fresh Off the Boat

You might have heard this term before if you live anywhere near the west coast where, naturally, most of the boats land. You could have a person in mind while you're reading this entry that could possibly fit into this category. They probably weren't born in America. They speak their native language fluently and so do all their friends. They don't have many non-Asian friends, and they've always made really good grades in school. They canNOT dance and when they do try to speak English, they make everything plural.

I've dated Asian girls far and wide. If I had an exact number, that would be something. For the sake of the article, let's just say I have pertinent experience. It's safe to assume that during a drunken night meeting someone new, their degree of FOBness can often go undetected. I like to call these Undercover FOBs. These are the tricky ones. You might be on that exact level of an alcohol buzz that you just can't put your finger on it (I think it goes without saying that I like to be slightly intoxicated before I attempt to go out amongst any amount of people). They might have a strong accent or perhaps never make eye contact. What's up with that by the way? Humor me as I describe to you some of very traits in which FOBs are to be noticed that are generally seen as an abomination to white men or people in the West in general.

1. Terrible, Terrible Breath: Now this could be because they ate radishes, seaweed, and fish innards all day instead of my amazingly well made Capriotti's cold cut submarine sandwich. Perhaps they have different hygiene habits on the East side of the world. Wait, do they even have toothbrushes? All I know is that every time I go to the Vietnamese place to get some Pho, I am blown away and utterly disgusted by my waiter's kickin' breath. Yes, you're four feet away. And yes, I can still smell you. And for the girls: Why do you try to kiss someone with breath that contains a higher octane than most premium gasoline? It's not polite and I will not stand for it any longer.

2. Makeup: There's always one thing they forget in their makeup repertoire. I recently got out of a "thing" with a girl who's lips were always chapped. What's the deal? I know we live in the Mojave Desert, but they make stuff for that. It's not the 1800's where you have to go skin a whale for enough blubber to moisten your face for the next season. It's called chap-stick and you need to find out about it. And what's up with the drawn in eye brows? You're ASIAN, it's expected that you don't have eyebrows. It's not like you're deficient. We know to not expect them, so don't draw them in. Your face is not a coloring book and even if it was, you're coloring outside of the lines.

3. Conversation: Now this one goes for any race. Obviously it's hard to understand someone who can't speaka ingles very well, or has only been here for a short time. Granted, you're at least trying to learn. That's more than what some people are doing. But really, don't try to date a white guy. Because you surely don't know my mannerisms and you definitely don't know my language. I refuse to give you hand signals and pretend that you're Helen Keller.

4. You're the First White Guy She's Ever Dated: MAY-DAY, MAY-DAY. This one's the kicker and it comes from personal experience. You see, I just got out of a thing with a chick who was the sweetest ever, but talking to her was like talking to a brick wall. Nothing clicked. I got more reaction out of having a conversation with my bulldog. I have deduced this is because she was an Undercover FOB. There's nothing wrong with her, but she should not date white guys. Stick to the Koreans. Maybe if they get fed up with you enough, they'll nuke that ass (which is a bit more than I'm willing to do).

5. The More She Drinks, The Dumber She Gets: Is there something in the (Asian) alcohol that is causing this? Is there a gene that ignites a chemical reaction that is only existent in FOBs? I swear that by every drink, her brain cells decrease exponentially and somehow regenerate in the morning. What happened to being the smart race?? I'll never forget the time I had to tell a LOCAL LAS VEGAN girl how to get to LAS VEGAS BLVD (where I live). WHAT IS GOING ON? (2)

I rest my case. If you can't identify them by now, there is no hope. Stay out of Chinatown and don't try that funny looking sauce.

Just Sayin' -T



ps. To all my Asian friends, this doesn't apply to you. Because if you are my friend, then you aren't a FOB. That goes without sayin. -T


(1): Source: www.disgrasian.com
(2): Don't drive drunk, kids.

Clause #29 - The Armpit Vagina

What's up with the abnormally high ratio of people with armpit vaginas to people without armpit vaginas? Is there some kind of disease going around that I don't know about? Perhaps it's like an Anthrax through the mail thing: You open up that birthday card that you thought was from your grandmother, take one sniff, and BLAM-O, you have an armpit vagina. Or maybe it's through all the bottled water we drink here in America. The brand Aquafina is just processed city water anyways. Perhaps they forgot to add the chemical that kills the armpit vagina virus. Or maybe someone that works for Pepsi (makers of Aquafina) decided it would be funny to add the virus to the water right before it was bottled, thus to remain undetected.

All jokes aside, I have deduced that armpit vaginas come from three things: genetics, age, and that little thing called the body mass index, or BMI.

Genetics: I'll mark the first one off as tragedy. There's basically nothing you can do about it. It's extra skin, and you're probably a nice girl. Your grandmother has it. Your mother has it. And you'll probably give it to your kids if you decide to reproduce. Perhaps you should rethink that?

Moving along...

Age: Now this one goes without saying. Obviously with a higher age, your skin loses it's resiliency. You have finally found the one thing that you can't cover up with makeup. Sorry, but true. I will say this: Getting older is ok. However, I probably wouldn't notice you as much if you and your cougar friends didn't hang out at all the same places me and my attractive young friends did. (Just sayin')

Saving the best for last...

The BMI: Please understand that 95% of this article is directed towards you. Besides uncontrollable conditions i.e. pituitary diseases, eating disorders, and the like, I'd like to come out and say that you are part of the problem. Armpit vaginas are the direct result of your crappy lifestyle. Not only do you stay completely inactive and lazy, but you decide that everyone is better off knowing about it when you decide to wear that pink halter top out with your friends. You have a complete disregard for my well being when I'm eating dinner at a nice restaurant and you come walking by with that insanely large quantity of skin and fat smushed up into an extremely small area. I can even see the hair stubble inside your vagina lit up with cheap white deodorant, because you didn't care enough to shave before you left the house either.

One piece of advice I will give freely to those with armpit vaginas, so that they may not infect the world any longer... okay, maybe two:

1. Work out. Go the gym. Jog. Whatever you can do to get that heart rate up and burn calories can only be beneficial to your situation. On the contrary, sitting on your fat ass and watching terrible public television drama shows while eating an entire bag of Lays will NOT be beneficial.

2. Consider plastic surgery. Now I normally do not condone plastic surgery, so listen closely. If you are a completely normal person with bad genetics, this small operation could be the right choice. Always check the doctor out to make sure he's a licensed Plastic Surgeon (read Clause#101 for more tips on finding a good doctor). If , however, you have a armpit vagina because you are old, then you should NOT get surgery. It's completely elective, and not exactly beneficial to your health. Bottom line: I shouldn't see it anyways. Keep your ass out of the bars, or I'm going to have to call your husband whose name is Bubba. Capish?!

For those of you that have friends with this problem, I think it might be time for an intervention. Friends don't let friends walk around with armpit vaginas. At least I wouldn't.

Just sayin' -T





ps. We love your feedback. Keep it comin'. -T