Alfalfa Was Right

2011-01-03T16:04:00.001-08:00

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A Long Overdue Explanation

2007-08-13T13:59:00.000-07:00

Guess who finally
checked in?
Uploaded by Biff Humble

Editor's Note:
Biff had planned to make an appearance at the Wizard World Chicago convention, but was unavoidably ... ahhh ... detained when trying to reenter the country. While he "vacationed" in Tijuana, Joe Willy and I (James Hitchcock) attended the convention in his stead. Biff did send along the following note:

Dear Readers:

The emails have been pouring in, asking where I've been, and what I've been doing. While I don't normally feel obliged to explain myself to anyone, in this circumstance, I decided to break my silence.
You see, a good friend of mine in the radio business (who will remain nameless, but I will henceforth refer to as R.L.) and I were traveling through Southeast Asia doing research for my new college psychology textbook titled, The Three Feminine Personality Types: Bitches, Dykes, and Hoes.
One evening, having completed my research before R.L. (who is meticulous about traveling every path during an investigation), I was sitting in the waiting room of a local service establishment. I was browsing through the pile of magazines, looking for an issue of Asian Mail-Order Brides that I hadn't already read, when I came across a comic book.

But not just any comic book. This was no cape-and-underpants jaunt, but a voyage into the psyche of an artist coming to grips with his deeply religious upbringing, and his discovery that all might not be as he was led to believe.

Red Flag Publishing
Presents Matjaz Bertoncelj's
Eppur Si Muove (And so it Moves)

My first reaction was, "Man, this is dark." My second reaction was, "Man, this is funny!" My third reaction was, "Man this is FUCKING GREAT!!!"

Imagine The Inquisition, with soft, furry animals. You can't? Matjaz Bertoncelj can. And he has created a religo/socio/politcal masterpiece titled "Eppur si Muove" (And So It Moves) to do it.

I decided right then and there to put my academic research on hiatus and track down this artist. R.L. and I set off following the trail that this comic book had traveled to land in the waiting room at Girly To Go. The hostess there said it had been left behind in a room by a client who exited rather quickly after asking for a double dip when only having paid for a single. She said she thought the gentleman was Japanese, and was able to locate a credit card receipt from Hakodate, Hokkaido, Japan.

After making sure our luggage was free of prescription medications other than our own, we clambered aboard the first airliner to Japan. Within 24 hours, we were canvassing every comic book shop in the city of Hakodate. Luck was with us, in the sixth store in little over a mile, the clerk spoke a bit of broken English, and told us he had bought the book from a Russian tourist who was down on his luck and trying to raise bail money for his traveling partner. He wouldn't tell us any more than that, so while R.L. distracted him with a search for a particular X-rated anime book, I rifled his file cabinet, and found a Xerox of a Mordovian drivers' license with an address in Saransk. Close enough to Russia, I thought.

The hero of our story, Lupus

I won't trouble you with our journey from Hakodate to Saransk, but suffice it to say there is NO direct route, and no cheap way to get there ... and the price one cab driver charged was more than even R.L. would pay - and he's usually up for anything that involves a dirt road and a 1950s Volga.

So, tired, dirty, and in R.L.'s case slightly worn, we reached Saransk, only to discover that English-speaking comic book store clerks were about as common as hot water from the hotel bathtub tap. After a week of pantomiming and speaking VERY LOUDLY, we found a clerk less surly than the others, who pulled out an atlas, and pointed out Skofja Loka on a map of Slovenia.

The route from Mordovia to Slovenia proved the previous leg of our journey to be the easy one, but after $1,500 in bribes, a case and a half of vodka and the promise to smuggle a barrel of caviar with us on the return trip, we arrived in picturesque town of Skofja Loka. Located at the confluence of two rivers and with an imposing castle looming over it, I fully expected to see Julie Andrews break into song in the middle of the street at any moment.

The people of Skofja Loka were a refreshing change over the previous locales through which our journey had taken us. Helpful and friendly to a fault, they would have made it an enjoyable vacation, simply wandering the steep, winding and slightly mysterious streets lined with quaint 16th century buildings - but I was a man on a mission.

I stopped everyone I met on the street to ask if they knew this artist. Finally, famished, we stopped for lunch at a stone-walled wine cellar, the gostilna-galerija Plevna on Spodnji trg (the Lontrg/Lower Square) in the historic Kašča, or granary building.

Every hero must have
a trusty sidekick

I had set the comic on the edge of the table while I perused the list of Slovene wines, when the waiter exclaimed, "You know of Matjaz??" I very nearly knocked the carafe of mountain spring water from the table in my fervor to find what this man know of Bertoncelj. When I finally calmed down enough to be intelligible, I explained that I was, in fact, searching for the artist.

The waiter immediately took me upstairs to a gallery hung with the hauntingly dark visions of painter France Mihelič, who was born nearby, and introduced me to the curator. A lithesome young Slovene of full lips, hazel eyes and wild brunette hair, I would probably set immediately to work on gaining admittance to the valley created by the two cream-colored peaks straining beneath her white silk blouse, but I was too excited to be this close to finding the subject of my quest. I will never again say her name, "Irena," without seeing her beautiful face.

With the waiter interpreting, the Slavic goddess soon understood the object of my search, and offered to take me to him. We walked for nearly an hour in the waning afternoon sun, through narrow shadowed streets and alleys, checking the darkest corner of each bar and pub and saloon we passed. When we finally reached a point that I was sure I would never find my way back, we stopped in a little hole-in-the wall bar, where she led me to the rearmost booth, which was occupied by a man, dressed in black, with his head on the table.

"Matti! Matti!" Irena said, striking him about the head and shoulders. He stirred, and lifted his head, and for the first time I stared into the eyes of a genius.

Even a story about
the Inquisition needs
a little T & A

Irena made the introductions, and then, as Matjaz was fluent in English (perhaps nearly as fluent as he was in his native tongue at that moment, considering the level of his intoxication), scurried off to wherever it is curvaceous Slavic goddesses go in the evening, leaving me alone with Bertoncelj.

I showed him my dog-eared copy of his book, the book that had led me so far to find him, and told him I was a comic book publisher from the U.S. I told him just how important it was that his work reach an American audience. I told him that my publishing company was just the right company to do it.

And, because he was drunk, I talked him into signing a contract that paid nothing up front.

Hey, business is business.

So, I hope you enjoy the brilliant work of Matjaz Bertoncelj that we are presenting, in downloadble form, on our website. Please check it out, and read the free sample pages from the first episode. We think you will be as blown away as we were.

Biff is Back!!!

2007-05-21T18:52:00.000-07:00

Guess who finally
checked in?
Uploaded by Biff Humble

Editor's Note:
Dear Readers,
I received the following note and manuscript in a crumpled DHL envelope this morning:

Dear R.F. Peons:

I have tried to remain incognito and let you jokers run things while I was doing research for my new college psychology textbook, The Three Feminine Personality Types. But I can no longer stand to watch you pussy-up my column! Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT under any circumstances post any more of your namby-pamby limp-writsted liberal advice on MY BLOG! Enclosed is an entry for What Would Biff Say?

Below is a commentary which is to be posted immediately on Alfalfa Was Right.

Oh, by the way, my shit better be where I left it when I return,and keep your damn hands of Darla!

Biff

Capitalism = Feudalism + Lies

- an economic model by Biff Humble

How blatant is the noble-capitalists'
disregard for us peasants that
they named their private equity firm
after the hound guarding the gates of hell?

It took a while for the news to reach me about U.S. automotive giant Chrysler being acquired by Cerberus Capital Management, a private equity firm. (click here for a great one-paragraph explanation of private equity buyouts)

This is not the largest private equity buyout - if you look close at the numbers you realize Daimler actually paid Cerberus to take the company off its hands - but it was still a landmark, as the New York Times headline read: Cerberus goes where no firm has gone before. And, it connects the logical circle I drew nearly 20 years ago from feudalism to capitalism and back.

At the close of the 18th Century, a number of problems were beginning to make apparent the limits of financial success available through the current economic model, Feudalism.

The First Problem (in two parts):

(A) In Feudalism, responsibility for productivity lies squarely on the shoulders of the owners of capital and the means of production - the nobility.

Hmmmm, should I starve
my peasants, or beat them?

The peasant does as little work as possible, since any additional effort only enriches his feudal lord. The lord has several recourses available to improve productivity, among them: withholding food, or physical punishment. Both motivational methods are self-limiting. Withholding food will quickly lead to starvation, and reduced productivity. Beating peasants also has a diminishing return in that the physical damage serves to further reduce productivity. So the nobility walks the fine line between too much and not enough pressure to ensure maximum productivity.

The peasant, on the other hand, does everything in his power to save energy and time to create items he can barter, thereby cutting the lord out of the transaction. Creating the concept of taxation attacked this problem, but is ineffective and costly to administer, and adds to the resentment of (B).

(B) The nobility, living in great castles and mansions, become a visible target for the revolutionary wrath of the peasants, whose lives are sliding deeper and deeper into squalor each generation as they are forced to subsidize the nobles' parasitic lifestyle.

The Solution:

Step 1: (A) Transfer the responsibility for productivity from the owners of capital and the means of production onto the backs of the worker. Industrialization forces the serfs into the cities, where they no longer are assured of "three hots and a cot" as they were on the farm.

The Lie:
"There is no more nobility, and all men are created equal (although some were created with much more capital - the result of generations of their noble ancestors fleecing the peasants). Now each has the ability to better himself, through hard work and saving money. If one simply works hard enough, and saves enough, one can become the "new" nobility - the rich capitalist."

The Truth:
If you manipulate the economy to keep a certain number of people jobless, it puts pressure on those who do work to be productive. "If you don't work hard enough, we will fire you, and you and your family will starve."

Step 1: (B) Create the concept of "Democratic Government" to redirect the wrath of the peasants from the nobility to a group of themselves. Transfer the right of taxation from the nobility to the "government."

The Lie:
"You will now govern yourselves. You each have a vote in who leads you, and if anyone fails in the duty to lead, he can simply be voted out of office. This 'government' will protect you and provide for you as the nobles once did, but in order to do so, must collect taxes."

The Truth:
The "new" system of government relieves the pressure of revolt through an escape valve called 'elections.' But, since the new governmental system is still beholden to capital for its continued existence, those with big purses maintain control via puppet strings. "Government-funded programs" use capital from taxation to benefit businesses - so the noble-capitalist continues to siphon off the peasants' capital without appearing to do so.

The Second Problem:

Much of the financial risk of doing business still lies with the owners of capital and the means of production.

No longer able to squeeze the peasants harder when more money is needed, the noble-turned-capitalist is betting on his business success to continue subsidizing his parasitic lifestyle After all, if a company goes belly-up, the workers can look for work elsewhere, but the noble-capitalist has lost his capital - his only means of earning a living.

The Solution:

Step 2: Transfer the financial risk of doing business from the owners of capital and the means of production onto the backs of the worker.

The Lie:
"You can now own the companies for which you work." Noble-capitalists sell ownership "shares" of their companies on the open market, for a price even a peasant can afford.

Please sir, may
I have a share?

The Truth:
While the peasants now feel like they have an ownership stake, the noble-capitalist maintains enough ownership that the peasants' stake remains voiceless in matters of management. The peasant now has financial risk without the ability to control the success or failure of the company he "owns." If the business fails, the noble-capitalists' investment is no longer completely on the hook, and the loss of capital is now spread to the peasant, thereby lessening the risk to the noble capitalist.

The Third Problem (in two parts):

(A) The noble-capitalist does no "work"; he is a completely unproductive member of society, yet he still earns "income." So, unlike the peasant, who offers productivity in return for his pay, the money paid to the noble-capitalist simply is siphoned off without any benefit to the company.

(B) The noble-capitalist wishes to maintain the lifestyle of his noble forebears, but two factors limit his income: He has turned the authority of taxation over to the "government," preventing him from simply squeezing the peasants for more money; and he has turned partial "ownership" of his business over to the workers, and must pay them "dividends" to continue the believability of the lie that they are owners.

(A) and (B), along with the noble-capitalists' continued aversion to investing his own capital in his business, leave him with a situation where, over a period of generations, he must bring in more and more peasant capital to continue the growth of his business to support his own lifestyle.

Finally, we reach a point where peasants notice they collectively own a large enough stake in the company to actually demand a voice in its management. They band together in shareholder groups that, united, create a voting block that threatens the noble-capitalists' free hand in wringing maximum profit at the expense of his workers and consumers, and the environment. Add to this equation that the "government" - a creation of the noble-capitalist to reduce his risk to revolution - begins to realize that it has two masters - the noble capital, and the peasant voter - and sometimes acts in ways to benefit the latter over the former. This leads to governmental regulation of the business and finance operations of "publicly-held" companies, further limiting the noble-capitalists' free hand.

The Solution:
Step 3: Taking a page from the peasant shareholders' notebook, the noble-capitalists simply band together to take the companies out of the peasant-shareholders' hands through acquisition by "Private Equity." While this does increase the financial risk of the noble-capitalist, it effectively transfers the means of production out of peasants' hands and back into the hands of the feudal lords - and it moves the business and financial operations out of sight of the workers and that ungrateful child of the noble-capitalist, "government."

As a plus, the means of production is now vastly larger, more productive, and more profitable thanks to the use of generations of peasant capital. This ripe capital fruit can be harvested by the new private equity owner, who then resells the company back to the public market.

The Lie:

"Fuck you, we don't need to lie anymore. We now own the company you fuckers built with your labor and capital, and we will do with it whatever the fuck we please. And, by the way, you may now again address me as 'your highness.'"

A Tertiary Point (Or, There is a Shortcut):

Shortcut #1: Borrow someone else's money, spend it in irresponsible ways which, while providing short term profits lead to long term losses. Take the profits, then leave the investors with the losses.

A writer at Slate.com seems to think there is an upside to this in "Why Economic Bubbles are good"

In essence, the author says economic bubbles are good, because, while initial investors lose their shirts, those that come later can take advantage of the infrastructure created from those shirts. It's the financial equivalent of two people picking up their drycleaning: Person #1 dropped off a dozen Hugo Boss dress shirts, and paid in advance. Person #2 dropped off a tattered JC Penney oxford. When they pick up their orders, Person #1 is told, "I'm sorry, we've lost your shirts. No refunds." Person #2 is presented with his tattered oxford, and 12 Hugo Boss shirts, and only charged for his tattered oxford. After all, the 12 Hugo Boss shirts have already been paid for. It seems to be a zero-sum game ...

... unless you are playing it. Take the sub-prime mortgage industry: The noble-capitalists took advantage of a real estate market bubble, lied to peasants to sell them mortgages they could not afford, and borrowed capital from peasants to finance the mortgages. And when the bubble burst and the foreclosures started, the noble capitalists simply declared bankruptcy, and walked away with the cash they earned from selling the mortgages. The peasants were left holding the bag - on both ends: the mortgagees are kicked out of their homes, and the investors watched their investments disappear down the same capitalist rathole from which all the "wealth generation" on Wall Street emerges.

Shortcut #2: Declare bankruptcy and hand the company, lock, stock, and barrel, over to the creditors (the noble-capitalists), eliminating peasant shareholders' equity in one fell swoop.

Delta Airlines explains how, as it comes out of bankruptcy, it reissues "NEW" shares. Because it went bankrupt, the company is now owned by its creditors, who will sell the "new" shares and pocket the profits. The old shareholders are left holding the bag, and that bag is full of a lot of completely worthless "shares" of ownership in the company. So, who really owned the company in the first place? Why do creditors get a spot in line ahead of the "owners" who invested in good faith? Hell, even the company management (which led it into bankruptcy) gets a spot in line in front of the "owners."

Same for Northwest Airlines here

So, like the old song says, "Meet the new boss; same as the old boss."

-Biff Humble
May 21, 2007
from a bar in
Karst, Slovenia
BUY OUR BOOKS

Work Begins on new RF Anthology!

2007-03-30T13:36:00.000-07:00

Where in the World
is Biff Humble?
Uploaded by James Hitchcock

Dear Readers,
While we search for Biff, our editorial director has offered to step into Biff's shoes, and do some of the marketing and promotions for our next publication. Pencils are beginning to come back from the artists working on Red Flags Anthology (Watch for upcoming announcements on our new collaborators) so James dug through Biff's desk, and found the following notes on the project that Biff had scribbled on a series of cocktail napkins:

A new Anthology
From Red Flag Publishing!

The book employs a variety of genre to explore Druckerian cautionary tales in comics format, borrowing heavily from the vintage EC Comics storytelling style.

For anyone not familiar, economist Peter Drucker described human progress not as a linear upward trajectory, but instead, a series of steep upward slopes toward plateaus, each ending at a wall that demarcated some limit in social or technological knowledge.

A wall-shattering discovery, Drucker said, brings about societal and technological progress on a cataclysmic scale, so completely changing the world that the generation at the beginning can no more imagine what life will be like for the next generation than the next generation can imagine what life was like for the previous.

Indeed, the shattering of the wall leaves far behind those who did not recognize or heed the RED FLAGS of the impending change.

So, what is to become of those of us who are born within the period of the current cataclysmic shift in the dissemination of knowledge? How are we to discern the RED FLAGS indicating there is a freight train bearing down upon us? And, even if we see the train coming, to which side of the tracks do we step? Can we look to where we have stepped before to avoid danger?

Drucker argues that the changes he describes are so complete and world-altering, that looking to the past for solutions is futile.

So, does that mean the old axiom, "Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it" is no longer valid?

Or was it ever? It assumes that everyone learns the same lesson from history - the one WE want them to learn. Yet, time and again, those who've studied what are accepted as the facts of history have come away with vastly different lessons from it.

A cocktail napkin
found in Biff's blazer

What about the effect of Point of View on our understanding of what truly are the facts? As they say, "History is written by the victors."

And finally, what happens when the facts no longer exist in tangible form? We are rapidly approaching a time when our collections of facts are stored as a string of ones and zeros, rather than on countless pieces of paper bound into millions of books. Will that allow the victors to constantly rewrite history?

I see some big friggin' RED FLAGS out there, waving like crazy.

I'm not sure I can figure out what to do about them.

I love fresh-caught crabs

2007-02-15T11:56:00.000-08:00

Where in the World
is Biff Humble?
Uploaded by James Hitchcock

Dear Readers,
While we search for Biff, our editorial director has offered to step into Biff's shoes, and promises to answer your questions with as much humor and insight as our fearless publisher ...

Crabs are easy to find
in New Jersey

Dear Biff

I am from the midwest, and will be vactioning out east this spring, and I was wondering if you can tell me where I can catch crabs in New Jersey?

Signed,

Matt, from Battle Creek

Dear Matt,

My friend Joe Willy called a friend who lives in Mt. Laurel, New Jersey, and he says, "On just about any street corner."

I'm not sure what this means, but Joe assures me it's very funny.

I hope this helps,

James

We are at day 45 of Biff Watch, and our most recent reader sighting was near the Horn of Africa.

We are still asking our loyal readers to keep an eye out for Biff. He should be easy to spot: he's over six feet tall, late 40s, prematurely grey hair usually greased back, and prone to smoke a pipe. His personal hygiene tends to slip when he's off on one of his trips, so he may be sporting several days' beard growth.

If you see him, please snap a photo or get some video, and send it to jehitch@redflagpublishing.com, along with information as to where and when it was shot, so we can track him down.

Please, we need your help. The really scary guy in sunglasses and a black sedan came back and he said,

"Tell dat Daisy boozehound he's in da dutch wit Shy. Da big man don't care dat Biff's on a nut, he wants his vig for them Gs Biff put down on da bangtails, and if Biff don't cough up the cabbage soon," he'd be "back with Roscoe, and dey'd start spittin' metal." And, he said, "Chin-time was done; even tho day useta drink from da same bottle when day was in da bit, bizness was bizness," and Biff "better be heeled next time I sees him, or he'll end up aired out in a Chicago overcoat," and that he "didn't care what schmoes went on da trip wit him."

At least that's what I think he said, I was writing as fast as I could, and when I asked the guy to repeat himself, he said,

"Ya dumb as well as queer, palooka? I gots no time ta bump guns wit you, jus' give Biff the message, or your tits'll be in da wringer, too."

I have not idea what any of that means, but I think it has something to do with Biff being gay, or something.

Thanks,
James Hitchcock
Editorial Director
Red Flag Publishing

Oh, and PLEASE ... BUY OUR BOOKS!

Biff Watch, Day 35

2007-02-05T14:54:00.001-08:00

Where in the World
is Biff Humble?
Uploaded by James Hitchcock

Our readers have a rather peculiar sense of humor ...

Dear readers,

Since I posted the entry "Red Flag Publishing needs your help! We can't find our publisher, Biff Humble," we have been flooded with reports of Biff sightings.

Some of them are serious, and some of them, -ahem- let's say, not so serious. Unfortunately, those that were not so serious were most likely to include photos:

I said, "he may be sporting
several days' beard growth"
Not, "He looks like
a homeless John Huston."

Our first photo, from a reader in Boston, appears to be a really old guy who resembles what movie director John Huston might look like were he living on the street for several years and eating rats. This is definitely not Biff, by about 30 years and a thousand lice.

Remember, I said Biff "has been gone for more than three weeks," not "he's been living on the streets most of his life."

Biff is not an old
English fart, either

Second on the list is one sent by a UK reader. Bad news: Biff is also not some Brit plonker who looks like his idea of a brilliant Saturday night is a six-hour solo piss-up capped by wanking his willie whilst looking at PR glossies of the Queen Mum taped to the loo wall, and fantasizing that he's busting his knackers in her arse.

Another Brit wanker

Our next entry, from the Commonwealth of Virginia, is nothing but the image of Sir Walter Raleigh from a tobacco tin.

Come on, show some ingenuity, people.

Not Biff, either, but getting closer

From a reader in Kuwait, we have this wonderful example of ... I'm guessing not active military, but maybe a reservist?

While too fat, and a bit too old to be Biff, at least this is a more likely place to find him. But, while Biff does seem to have an affinity for war zones, any place that does not allow alcohol quickly falls from the list of likely locales where he might be found.

Frosty the Biffman

These next two from Midwestern U.S. readers, are really disappointing.

Come on.

The "Biff Clause" in our
publishing contracts

How much effort did you expend for these entries?

15.026 seconds on a Google image search???

The holidays are over. Pack away your holly berries 'till next year.

Biff on a cold morning?

Our last entry this week is from a reader in Georgia who either completely misunderstood the assignment, or was watching The Squid Billies while reading my post, and missed an important part of the search.

I said, Biff is "prone to smoke a pipe," not ...

Uhhhhhh, well maybe this reader is actually the most brilliant one of the group (sort of like saying he's the brightest Special Ed student), because Darla just leaned over my shoulder and said, of the bunch, this photo most closely resembles Biff - at least on a cold morning.

So, we are now a month into our Biff Watch (I hear Fox News is working up a logo), and we are no further ahead, thanks to our smartass readers.

Again, we are asking you to keep an eye out for Biff. He should be easy to spot: he's over six feet tall, late 40s, prematurely grey hair usually greased back, and prone to smoke a pipe. His personal hygiene tends to slip when he's off on one of his trips, so he may be sporting several days' beard growth.

If you see him, please snap a photo or get some video, and send it to jehitch@redflagpublishing.com, along with information as to where and when it was shot, so we can track him down.

Please, we need your help. Our computer nerd has hacked the password to the Cayman Islands bank account, but this really scary guy in sunglasses and a black sedan keeps dropping by to ask for Biff, and he's really creeping me out.

Thanks,
James Hitchcock
Editorial Director
Red Flag Publishing

Biff is Missing!

2007-01-25T07:48:00.000-08:00

Where in the World is Biff Humble?
Originally uploaded by James Hitchcock

There's trouble in Rivertown!

Dear readers,

Red Flag Publishing needs your help! We can't find our publisher, Biff Humble.

Now, we have grown used to Biff's tendency to disappear for a week or two at a time, but he's been gone for more than three weeks. Plus, he disappeared under somewhat mysterious circumstances (even by Biff's rather peculiar standards).

He was last seen by Darla celebrating New Year's Eve at L'Ambassade in the Patong suburb of Phuket, Thailand. She has told us that when she met him there, he was drinking tequila shots - and apparently had been for quite some time - with a famous photojournalist friend (whom has asked we not mention his name) that he had worked with in Central America in the '80s.

Darla tells us she struck up a conversation with Biff's friend, and, at some point, they decided to go to dinner together. They left Biff with instructions to meet them back at the bar before midnight to ring in the New Year.

Darla reports that she and the photojournalist returned to the bar about 11 p.m., but Biff was nowhere to be found. In asking around the bar, they found a waitress who remembered seeing Biff talking with another man whom the waitress described as "fat and ugly, but with a good voice" who was accompanied by two young Asian women in British schoolgirl outfits. The waitress said she saw them leaving the bar together.

Darla knows Biff as well (probably better) than we do, so she didn't worry about pursuing the matter. After all, with Biff, some things are better left alone. She continued to celebrate the evening with the photojournalist, figuring they would hook up with Biff in the morning.

But, the next morning, Biff did not answer his hotel room door when Darla knocked. When she finally convinced the hotel manager to open the door, they realized there was a problem. She reports that the room contained nothing but the discarded schoolgirl outfits, a couple empty pill vials, and a broken 35mm camera. All of Biff's belongings were gone.

Darla and Biff's friend set off to search every bar, back room, and bordello between Phuket and Bankok, but found no trace of Biff. Several ladies remembered seeing Biff, but no one had a clue where he might have gone.

So, we are asking our readers to keep an eye out for Biff. He should be easy to spot: he's over six feet tall, late 40s, prematurely grey hair usually greased back, and prone to smoke a pipe. His personal hygiene tends to slip when he's off on one of his trips, so he may be sporting several days' beard growth.

If you see him, please snap a photo or get some video, and send it to jehitch@redflagpublishing.com, along with information as to where and when it was shot, so we can track him down.

Please, we need your help. The bills are piling up, and he's the only one who knows the password to the Cayman Islands bank account.

Thanks,
James Hitchcock
Editorial Director
Red Flag Publishing

Biff Wrote a New Poem!!

2006-11-14T11:46:00.000-08:00

Just like my winter sheets
Originally uploaded by biffhumble69.

Award-winning poet and all-around Renaissance man Biff Humble has penned another masterpiece of poetic inspiration:

Winter Sheets

I put on my winter sheets;
Soft, jersey cotton.
Soft like a rabbit fur.

Nothing's as cozy as
Warm, jersey cotton.
Warm, like rabbit fur gloves.

I tucked them in
Tight, jersey cotton.
Tight, like rabbit fur driving gloves.

I have to pee, but my bed's so
Comfortable, jersey cotton.
Comfortable, like old rabbit fur driving gloves.

Can't hold it until morning; If I'm quick it'll stay
Warm, jersey cotton
Warm, like rabbit fur gloves

It's cold; I run; I pee; I shake it and run back.
But, not quick enough; I got goosebumps.

And then I slid back into my bed,
It was warm, soft, and tight.
Like a six-foot vagina.

Buy Biff's Comic Books!
Read Biff's Advice Column!

2006-06-22T15:50:00.000-07:00

A Sad, Sad Story

People have often asked how I became the man I am. So, I am publishing my official bio from Red Flag Publishing here for the first time.

Biff Humble was raised in a Las Vegas topless bar by his dancer mother. Biff never knew his father, although it was rumored to be Hunter S. Thompson. He spent most of his formative years backstage, waxing his mother's fellow dancers. Certain that there was more to life than a career as a professional depilatorist, Biff saved enough money for the cheapest bus ticket available, which just happened to be a Greyhound special to a small Midwestern town.

Biff Before the Accident

Once there, he decided to follow in his father’s footsteps, and enrolled in the journalism program at the local state university.It was there that Biff met his lifelong friend James, another journalism student, when he found himself vomiting in the toilet next to him at a local punk rock bar. James was also studying journalism, and while the two were polar opposites in temperament - Biff outgoing and gregarious; James quiet and reserved- they developed a friendship that lasted throughout college.After graduation they went their separate ways and lost touch for a number of years, as Biff traveled to Central America as a war correspondent, while James went to work for a small town daily paper and settled down to raise a family.

Biff at War Correspondent Training Camp

Biff Working on a Tan in El Salvador

Biff became independently wealthy when the rights to a book he wrote detailing the clandestine programs approved by the CIA (under a former director who would later become president) were purchased by a political party and all copies of the manuscript classified top secret.Biff began spending his riches in earnest, launching a career as a fashion photographer and becoming a regular on the New York City club circuit.

Biff After the Accident

Things seemed to be going well, until he was horribly disfigured in a freebase cocaine explosion at a well-known New York nightclub. Since then he has lived as a recluse, his only contact with the outside world through the Internet.

Recently Biff launched Red Flag Publishing with the money he received in a settlement with the nightclub that was the scene of his accident.

Do you hate Celine Dion as much as I do?

2006-05-17T19:45:00.000-07:00

Do you hate Celine Dion as much as I do?
Originally uploaded by biffhumble69.

I was reading a blog entry today by a comic book artist, about when he and his girlfriend (also a comic book artist) met a more famous comic book writer at a convention.

Sounds like a great opportunity, right?

Except that the famous comic book writer decided he wanted to get with the less famous comic book artist's girlfriend. So she promptly threw the less famous artist out like yesterday's coffee grounds, to get with the more famous guy.

Why did she do this?

Why does a dog lick his balls?

Because he can.

I believe that beautiful women have little or no ability to love anyone other than themselves. Why? Because they don't have to. My friend Joe Willy blames construction workers and the stereotypical hooting they unleash whenever a woman walks by. But it's really all men.

I have long held that any woman can walk into any bar on any night, and be 100 percent assured of leaving with a man. The same cannot be said for a man. Why? Because not every woman in a bar is looking to get laid. Every man is.

So, women develop the attitude that they can always be shopping for the next best thing, like a monkey jumping from tree to tree, always hoping to land in the biggest tree with the most bananas. And beautiful women think you should put up with whatever psycho shit they exhibit, because if you don't, there's a line of men at the door, behind the velvet rope, waiting for bouncer to wave them in, as if her vagina was Studio 54.

But, are they looking for the next guy to be kinder, gentler, and more understanding than the last?

Nope. As indicated by the artist's girlfriend, she was only interested in what the writer was, not who he was.

For a more extreme example, take Anna Nicole Smith. As my always-ready-with-a-great-line friend Joe Willy said, "One must assume that at least once, she had sex with that 90-year-old liver spot." What could such a beautiful young woman see in such a decrepit old man?

$$$$$$$$

What he was, rather than who he was.

Which brings me to Titanic. I have often (well, maybe not often, but once in a while) wondered why girls loved this romantic tale so much that they would see it a dozen or more times? After all, the guy she loves dies in the end.

And then it struck me: Girls loved it because the guy she loves dies in the end.

It's the perfect love story: Beautiful young woman of privilege meets rough-around-the-edges Irish guy, has wild, passionate sex in the back seat of a car, and then can say good-bye with no regrets (because he's DEAD!) before she has to move past the cardboard cutout image she has of him, and has to face who he really is: an uneducated loser. A loser who, upon reaching the USA will be disappointed in the promised land when he's forced to take some menial job digging coal or shoveling shit to support his family, begins to drink too much, gets fat and bald, and then dies by middle age of heart disease and a body broken by too much physical labor.

Instead, she can jump to the next tree, and move on with fond memories, and no regrets.

Too bad all those movie watchers' real boyfriends can't just die when they decide it's time to brachiate* to the next tree.

*Credit where credit is due: My friend Joe Willy supplied the word "brachiate," so I thought I should give him credit, as he is truly my Richie Sambora.

I'm a semi-finalist!

2006-04-17T07:31:00.000-07:00

Maya Angelou
Originally uploaded by biffhumble69.

Maya Angelou's Nostrils
by Biff Humble

Maya Angelou's nostrils fascinate me, my friend said;
Large and black like a slave's eyes as she says, "Rise, I said rise!"

Maya Angelou's nostrils lure me, my friend said;
Black, like spring-fed pools on a moonless mountain night.

Maya Angelou's nostrils transfix me, my friend said;
They flare when she speaks, calling me,
beckoning like the outstretched hands of a black Beelzebub,
inviting me to come and sit by his side and pass judgement on the damned.

Maya Angelou's nostrils frighten me, my friend said;
Black, like the double barrels of a shotgun,
waved in my face by the crack-trembling hands
of a thug robbing me of $68.12 during the graveyard shift at 7-Eleven.

Maya Angelou's nostrils paralyze me, my friend said;
Black, like the bottomless pits in a recurrent dream,
into which you fall and fall,
until you suddenly awake with a start, drenched in sweat;
or die if you don't.

Maya Angelou's nostrils terrify me, my friend said;
Black, like the opposite of headlights,
illuminating the path that lies in front of me, straight into hell.

In an attempt to test whether everyone who enters the poetry.com contest wins, and hence is published in the beautiful leather-bound, gold-leaf-edged coffee table book (available for the low price of just $69.99), I set out to write the worst possible poem, using everything that makes bad poetry bad, and picking as its subject, the matron of wanna-be poets everywhere. Afterall, what could be more offensive than to attack the grand dame of American poetry based on a physical feature.

Guess what? I won! I'm a semi-finalist!

George Orwell Bush

2006-04-11T07:48:00.000-07:00

George Orwell Bush
Originally uploaded by biffhumble69.

Let me see if I understand this correctly:

Leaking classified info is illegal.

But, as the president, he could never be accused of leaking classified info because, since he has the power to declassify info, if he leaks classified info, he's declassifying it, and therefore, not leaking classified info.

I would not have been smiling

2006-04-07T12:20:00.000-07:00

Little Biff
Originally uploaded by biffhumble69.

If I had any idea what the next 40 years had in store for me.

2006-01-31T12:59:00.000-08:00

Alfalfa Was Right

The Test Results Are In ...

My doctor says, in order to get my good cholesterol up, I need to have more sex.

Well, he actually called it "aerobic activity," but that's just a euphemism for sex, right?

He also told me that drinking 3/4 cup of a cocktail of 4 cups apple juice, 3 cups white grape juice, and 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar will lower bad cholesterol.

First he tells me to have sex, then to drink vinegar; what's next, smoke pot so I don't need bifocals?

2006-01-11T14:37:00.000-08:00

So, You Want a Confident Man?

I'm working on a new internet singles profile. I think it's time to be brutally honest:

It amazes me how many women's profiles on the internet start out, "I'm looking for a confident man."

What you don't realize is that the only people who are blindly confident in themselves are those that are too stupid to realize their own limitations.

I am constantly wracked by self-doubt. But, self-doubt is not a bad thing; it often protects one from making really stupid decisions. Note that I say, "often."

There are some things about myself of which I am sure:

I tested out at the genius level on every I.Q. test I ever took. Unfortunately, as my ex was fond of saying, "Genius I.Q. is not an indicator of future financial succss."

I cannot work at something which I do not find personally rewarding. I become incredibly bored when I don't enjoy what I do, and then do it very poorly. Unfortunately, I have found nothing as personally rewarding as journalism, which pays very poorly, hence the proof of my ex's hypothosis about I.Q. and financial success.

I am a very talented writer but I don't have enough ambition to become hugely successful. I am not driven to succeed, and am happy doing what I do for a small newspaper in a medium-sized market.

When I find the right woman, I will make her deliriously happy. I like romance: I do little things like hide poetry in among the classified ads, I buy flowers for no reason, I like to cook candlelight dinners (and I'm a damn good cook), I love to touch and feel my lover's body in ways that are sensuous but not overtly sexual, and, by all reports, I'm great in bed.

When I fall for a woman, I give her my whole heart. I could no more cheat on a committed partner than I could commit murder.

I don't expect my partner to be perfect. I am easy-going, and willing to put up with almost any imperfection in my partner, as long as she is willing to put up with mine. But, begin nitpicking my failings, and you can expect me to point out one of yours for every one of mine you feel the need to address. I call bullshit when I see it, and I will not brook hypocrisy.

I often make stupid decisions when I think with my heart. These include:
spending 20 years with an abusive, self-loathing bitch; falling for a much taller, skinnier, prettier self-loathing bitch; and falling again for an incredibly beautiful, passionate, intelligent, rich, self-centered woman who could be a real bitch when she became angry, and in the words of my therapist, has "portions of her personality that are not fully integrated."

So, yes, I'm wracked with self-doubt. Self-doubt is the curse of high intelligence.

Only stupid people are sure of themselves. Just look to the White House for proof of that.

2005-12-03T08:57:00.000-08:00

Rudolph gets a raw deal

My favorite thing about this time of year is watching the special holiday programs on television.

Especially the ones that I watched as a child, which continue to make their annual appearance sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I watched my favorite of all the specials, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, for probably the 41st time this past Wednesday on CBS.

Now, perhaps I'm a little slow, but this year it just struck me that the message of the show is not nearly as nice as I always thought it to be. Just in case there is anybody on the planet who has lived in a cave from mid-November to the end of December every year since 1964, this is the plot of the show, in a nutshell:

Rudolph is born with a glowing red nose, for which the other reindeer ostracize him. Hermie, one of Santa Claus' elves, is also ostracized because his career aspiration is to be a dentist instead of a toy maker.

They run away from the intolerant North Pole society and embark on an adventure that lands them at the Island of Misfit Toys (the residence of such losers as a Jack in the Box named Charlie, and a toy train with square wheels).

They go back to the North Pole to tell Santa about these toys, so he can find homes for them, only to find Rudolph's mother and his girlfriend are lost. They set off to find them, battle the evil Abominable Snowman, and defeat him when Hermie, the elf-dentist, pulls all the creature's teeth, rendering him harmless.

They return to the North Pole, only to find Santa is planning to cancel Christmas because of a terrible storm. Santa realizes he could see through the storm with Rudolph's shiny red nose lighting the way, and now Hermie and Rudolph are heroes, welcomed back by the very people - well, actually elves and reindeer - whom had once wanted nothing to do with them.

What a nice story.

Gosh, it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Except the real message here is that it's O.K. to be different from the rest of society only if that difference makes you exceptional.

Now, I hate to be one of those leg-warmer-wearin', spotted-owl-kissin' liberal wimps that think every children's story should be a message of acceptance and tolerance. But, this particular story, masquerading as just that, teaches a very different message.

It teaches that it's O.K. for your parents to be embarrassed by you; for your teachers to penalize you; and for your classmates to torment and exclude you, unless you can prove to them that your shiny red nose does, in fact, have a valuable use.

Rudolph's sad tale has many of the trappings of another case of discrimination based on a physical handicap: the story of the Ugly Duckling.

Only, in that case, it is not a single physical deformity that causes society to exclude an individual, but just a general lack of good looks.

Oh, but there is hope, for after a miserable childhood, the Ugly Duckling hits puberty, and suddenly grows into a beautiful swan.
Great, a happy ending for all concerned. The ducks no longer have to bear the pain of looking at someone who does not meet their aesthetic standards of beauty; and the newly beautiful swan can now date gorgeous supermodel swans that wouldn't be caught dead dating a duck.

The problem is, in the real world ugly ducklings don't usually grow up to become beautiful swans, they just grow up to be ugly ducks.

And there's not much hope for an ugly duck in this story.

As an aside, swans might be pretty, but they are just about the most nasty-tempered waterfowl that you will ever meet. Don't get too close, or they'll peck your eyes out, kid.

Editor's note: My apologies to anyone who read this when I originally published it in a newspaper three years ago, but I am known to occasionally resort to plagiarism of myself when I can't think of any new ideas ...

2005-11-17T09:22:00.000-08:00

The Ultimate Catch 22

Every day I thank God for those dads that instill low self-esteem in their daughters, for without them there would be no adult entertainment industry.

After all, if there was no adult entertainment industry, where would I go to do research for my next detective novel?

And, judging by how many porn stars and topless dancers there are out there, lots of daddies must be doing a good job.

Here's how I think it works: Daughter does something to make daddy notice; daddy ignores. Daughter feels unloved, so she does more to impress daddy; daddy ignores. It's a downward spiral that continues throughout childhood as daugther unsuccessfully tries to get daddy to show her that he loves her, and when he doesn't, she begins to feel that she is not worthy of love.

Then, she hits puberty, and suddenly lots of other guys out there are interested in her ... at least what she can show them.

It prepares her perfectly for a career earning a living one dollar at a time.

And, it keeps plastic surgeons driving fancy Italian sports cars and Dow Corning producing more silicone, which is good for the economy.

But, believe it or not, there is a down side to low self-esteem as well.

For, Low Self-Esteem Woman repeats the daddy/daughter pattern in all of her love relationships: She keeps seeking out guys who won't love her, and tries to make them love her so she can prove to herself that she is lovable.

Not a problem for all those assholes out there that treat women like shit. Their futures are pretty secure as women endlessly try to get them to love them.

But, it's the ultimate Catch 22 of love for nice guys who end up getting screwed:

Faced with a choice between two guys, Low Self-Esteem Woman says to herself:

"Guy Number One won't show me love, therefore he must be worthy of my love;"

"Guy Number Two loves me, and since I am not worthy of love, and he loves me, he must not be worthy of my love."

"I'll take Guy Number One."

So, you have the setup for the perfect love triangle, especially when Guy Number Two is Low Self-Esteem Guy, who always picks the most beautiful woman in the room, and then decides he needs to get her to love him.

Especially when, in my experience, in what may be the greatest of cosmic ironies, the most beautiful woman in the room is also Low Self-Esteem Woman.

Making me just like them, as I keep seeking out women who won't love me, and trying to make them love me so I can prove to myself that I am lovable.

Damn you, self-awareness!!!

2005-11-07T17:05:00.000-08:00

My female coworkers said my internet personals profile was too sweet and sappy, so I asked them to write one for me. Here it is:

Self-Centered Metro-Sexual Writer Desperately Seeks Rich, Refined Woman To Support Him

She must have at least 4 children and want more children with me. She must enjoy being pregnant and be emotionally needy.

She must listen to my every word intently, and put me on a pedestal and worship me constantly. She must be financially able to provide the lifestyle to which I am accustomed, yet not complain about my freeloading.

I need someone with a high IQ, but not one that exceeds mine, which is impossible, since mine is so high.
We can discuss your faults, but since I have none we won't be discussing mine.

Since I am going through my mid-life crisis, I'm trying to impress women with my flashy sports car and speed boat, so don't complain when I spend every spare moment polishing them.

I prefer a tall blonde but a short brunette with green eyes will do if she is hot enough. Age is not important, but I prefer someone who looks like a high school cheerleader and will role play.

Unacceptable women are the following: Weight over 120 pounds (because that is all I can carry to the bedroom), red or brown hair (especially with brown eyes), country girls, women that speak their mind, or women who have an opinion different than my own.

I prefer a long term commitment preferably after the first date, but a one-night stand is not out of the question.

I prefer someone who has a ravenous appetite, and likes variety in the menu, but anything you bring to the table will be fine, as long as we dine together daily.

Must like Nancy boys, for I am not very masculine. And size better not be an issue. On the bright side, I'm like the energizer bunny ... I keep going and going and going - whether you want me to or not ... hopefully you are an endurance runner rather than a sprinter.

********

I believe they wrote this after listening to my Alfalfa Was Right He-Man Woman Hater's Club oral reports ...

... I cannot attest to its truth or lack thereof, although the ideal woman described remarkable resembles Crazy Rich Girl That I Almost Married. Oh, wait, she only had two kids ... I guess there really isn't any resemblance after all.

2005-11-06T08:38:00.000-08:00

"Let's talk about our relationship"

How many times have all you guys out there heard, "You never want to talk about our relationship"?

Please, don't answer all at once, the noise is deafening.

Or, in what may seem like the diametrically opposed conversational direction, heard your date say, in response to something you've told her about yourself, "That's a big red flag!"

I'm not sure who popularized that phrase, by my best guess would be Oprah, the queen of pseudo-self awareness.

I've come to call this attitude in the women I date "Oprah Self-Awareness."

Joe Willy, fellow founding member of the Alfalfa Was Right He-Man Woman Hater's Club describes it thus: "If her self-awareness was a river, it would be a mile wide, and an inch deep."

For, it's not really self-awareness. It extends as far as understanding what one wants from a relationship, but not so far as to understanding what one has to offer in a relationship.

How better to make this plain than to declare that something you've discovered about me is a "red flag" to the success of our relationship? What that tells me is that she is spending all of her time examining my past and my behavior to see if I have something to offer her, and none of her time examining her own past and behavior to decide if she has something to offer me.

This is, of course, (club members, you should be able to repeat this in unison by now) because all women assume that, "of course we have what you want, but it's up to you to prove that you have what we want."

But, I digress; back to my original point, which is not nearly as diametrically opposed as one might think: "You never want to talk about our relationship."

This is an almost universal complaint among women. That is, until you decide you want to talk about your relationship.

Have you seen the cell phone commercial where the couple is at dinner and, she says, "I need to know where this relationship is going"? She becomes angry when the guy ignores her to ask why he has to pay for incoming calls.

Try asking a woman that same question, and you will get a whole different response. Some examples from my life:

"Why do you have to analyze everything? Why can't you just enjoy what we have?"

"That seems like a pretty serious question, after all, we've only been dating (and sleeping together, and sharing our lives with each others' children) for six months."

"This is making me uncomfortable. We were having fun, why do you have to break the mood?"

"I'm just not ready to leave my husband yet. You need to live with that, or we can't continue."

In my experience, every woman I have been with becomes very uncomfortable with questions about the relationship. My theory? Because they feel they are the cruise control in the relationship. They determine the speed at which it progresses - or doesn't progress - because (again, club members, in unison):

"It's all about what they want and need, not what we want or need."

Oprah self-awareness: watch for it in a woman near you.

2005-10-31T08:06:00.000-08:00

Apparently, I'm not the only one with who digs librarians. This article is taken from riverofdata.com , and begs the question: what is it about a tall, thin blonde in a sensible cardigan standing behind the reference desk that makes me want to undress you using my teeth to remove each button from your sweater, one by one?

The Image of Librarians in Pornography

Librarians are always concerned about their image, and much attention has been paid to that image in novels, television programs, and advertising. However, there has been little attention paid to that image in pornography. I presented a paper on this topic at the 1990 Conference of the Popular Culture Association / American Culture Association in Toronto.

This survey of hard core pornographic paperback novels covers 49 books published between 1978 and 1988. As most have been purchased in the western United States or by mail from western distributors, west coast publishers predominate. There are undoubtedly many other novels of this type that have been distributed in other parts of the country or that have escaped the my notice; for example, other hard core novels may describe libraries but lack titles or covers suggesting that fact.

In all of these novels 90 percent or more of the text is explicit description of all types of sexual activities. The remaining passages that describe a setting and characters are the subject of the annotations. Unless otherwise noted, all of the novels contain passages describing vaginal, oral, and anal sex in a multitude of positions, and lesbian sex. The characters, most frequently female, portrayed as librarians are always library employees, but may actually be paraprofessional, clerical, or student assistants.

The libraries described include public, academic, high school, and special libraries of a variety of types and sizes. Some library descriptions seem to have been written by librarians or by regular library users, as they're quite realistic; other authors have apparently never even been in a library. The annotations further describe the characters and settings, give a brief plot summary, and provide information about sexual activities other than those mentioned above, such as male homosexual sex, bondage, violence, rape, and animal sex.

Titles include:

* Bang the Librarian Hard. PP7315
* Campus Lust. SH/105
* Chained, Whipped Librarians. BH8197
* Degraded Raped Librarian. BH8203
* Eager Beaver Librarian. GR2411
* Eager to Spread Librarian. PP7351
* Eager Young Librarian. PP7354
* First Rear Entry. HGL 103
* Helpful Head Librarian. PP7480
* Horny Balling Librarian. PP7091
* Horny Hot Librarian. CB4345
* Horny Licking Librarian. PP7245
* Horny Peeping Librarian. AB5443
* Hot Bed Librarian. DN458
* Hot, Licked Librarian. DN492
* Hot Loving Librarian. GR2387
* Hot Mouth Librarian. GR2365
* Hot Pants Librarian. TB1011
* Hot to Trot Librarian. PP7190
* The Hottest Librarian. LL330
* In Heat Librarian. PP7087
* Lash the Librarian! BB109
* A Librarian Enslaved. BB101
* The Librarian Gets Hot. CB4517
* The Librarian Got Hot. PP7403
* Librarian in Bondage. LB1238
* Librarian in Chains. LB1117
* The Librarian Licks Big Ones. LE106
* The Librarian Loves It. CB4545
* The Librarian Loves to Lick. CB4564
* The Librarian Slave. LB1302
* The Librarian With the Hots. DN 473
* The Librarian's Boys. MST-104
* The Librarian's Hot Fun. AB5489
* The Librarian's Hot Lips. PP7095
* The Librarian's Hot Urges. GR2382
* A Librarian's Training. BB129
* Licking the Librarian. AB5379
* Line Up for the Librarian. AB5287
* Naughty Voyeur Librarian. PP7273
* Nympho Librarian. YW-128
* The Oral Librarian. DN 485
* Overeager Librarian. PP7270
* Raped and Roped Librarian. LB1106
* Sally - Sexy Librarian. ILL-1017
* Sex Behind the Stacks. LL0338-R
* Three-way with the Librarian. PP7079
* What a Librarian! GR2468

2005-10-29T16:38:00.000-07:00

Diana was a princess ...

A new relationship book for women hit the shelves recently It's titled "It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken : The Smart Girl's Break-Up Buddy" by Greg Behrendt and Amiira Ruotola-Behrendt, also the authors of "He's Just Not That in to You."

So, first the authors had to explain to women that there may just be a guy out there that doesn't see her as the perfect mate, and now, how to tell if he is trying to break up with you.

Only a woman could be so self-absorbed that she would not consider that a guy doesn't call because he doesn't dig her, or that he might actually be trying to break up with her.

After all, didn't daddy always tell her that she was his special little princess, and any guy would be lucky to have her?

I've run into this attitude more times than I can count since I began dating again after my divorce. Women see the first date as a job interview - for me. They question every aspect of my life and past. When I try to ask them questions, they brush them off, or in once case, actually told me the first date was a time for her to get to know me.

"After all, you asked me out," she said, "so you are already interested in me."

Wait a minute, she decided to go out with me without knowing if she was interested in me?

Of course she did. I saw an on-line advice column in which a writer complained she kept scaring off men by moving too quickly. By the third date, she was wondering if he was "the one." The advice columnist said she needed to relax, and look at dating not as a gateway to romance, but just a way to make new friends and have fun.

Of course dating is just a way to make new friends and have fun ... when you aren't paying.

I shell out, on average, $75 to $125 for a date including dinner and drinks. That's a really fuckin' expensive way to make new friends.

I don't know about you, but I have a two part deal with a friend: First, when we go out, we each pay our share. I might buy a round, and he might buy a round, but by the end of the night we are pretty much even. Second, we don't end up in bed together at the end of the night, no matter how much we've drank.

Any woman who lets a guy take her out, and lets him pay, with no intention of romance is being dishonest. Now, before you women jump all over me, I'm not saying you have to sleep with me just because I bought dinner. But, there really is an implied contract here. I'm buying you dinner, or taking you to a concert, because I have romantic feelings toward you.

If you have no interest in me romantically, you damn well should pay your own way.

Any woman who thinks that she is such a joy to be with that men are willing to pay just for the pleasure of her company is drastically overestimating the pleasure of her company. I have never met a woman whose company is so stimulating that I would pay just to enjoy it.

And, she is drastically underestimating the intentions of her date, unless I don't know men as well as I think I do.

And for those of you who think you just might be worth it, I'm writing a sequel to "He's Just Not That In To You." It's called, "Diana was a Princess, You're Just Another Piece of Ass."

2005-10-10T07:44:00.000-07:00

"Everybody Loves Raymond" Except his Bitch of a Wife

If I were ever to miss my ex-wife (other than the sex, not likely), all I would have to do is turn on an episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" and watch the way his wife uses whatever tools at her disposal to manipulate and denigrate the man she supposedly loves. It feels just like being at home.

Typically the plot goes like this: She asks him to do something, then when he does it, complains that he didn't do it right, or that she changed her mind, and didn't really want him to do what she had asked, but something else instead.

In one episode, frustrated by their noncompliant daughter, she asks him to disciplline the kid, he does, then she gets upset because now she has to follow through on the discipline.

She decides they need a parenting class, drags him to it, and then Ray does a better job of active listening, so she gets mad about that, too.

So, Ray gets laughs by walking around looking dumfounded as he tries to figure out the woman he loves.

The woman who doesn't give a crap about how he feels, assumes her feelings are the most important consideration in any situation, and has no reservations about browbeating him for whatever real or imagined way he has slighted her.

When she's the one who slights him. Over and over, episode after episode.

It reminds me of an on-line advice column I read, in which a woman wrote that she was so frustrated by her husband because he worked two jobs to help put her through school, and he still tried very hard to help around the house.

Where's the problem?

Oh, when he helped with the laundry, sometimes he didn't do it right. Or he didn't clean the house the way she liked. Or didn't put the dishes away where she wanted.

Talk about looking for thorns in the rosebush.

It never ceases to amaze me that, no matter how good she has it, a woman can find something that could be better ... and then acts like her life sucks if she doesn't get it.

Another one of the major plotlines in "Raymond" is his bumbling efforts to get his wife to "put out."

She acts like she finds him disgusting, and has little or no interest in having sex with him.

He complains that she never initiates sex, and she says, "What about last week when I asked you to give me a backrub?"

Wait a minute ... if she wants sex, why isn't she offering to give him a backrub? (as an aside to all the ladies reading - if any made it this far - the best way to initiate sex with your husband is to shake hands with Mr. Johnson - he won't misunderstand that clue.)

Comedy is funny because people understand it. They've lived it.

My ex would withhold sex to control me (not conjecture, she admitted it at the end). Any slight, whether real or perceived, might be used as an excuse. I found myself practically begging.

But, conversely, I had better be ready any time she was, or I would have to listen to hours of being accused of cheating on her.

I finally had enough, and quit asking. After about three weeks, she came to me, and I said, "No." She went through the roof. After she had screamed and yelled for about an hour (can any guy out there imagine how it would be received if we screamed and yelled every time our significant other said "No"?) I finally told her, "I'm done begging for sex from you. And, if you treat me like shit, and then want to have sex, I'll say no. I don't need to humiliate myself to get laid."

Things changed after that. For a while.

The funniest thing was that we had more sex than ever during the month between when I told her I wanted a divorce, and when I actually walked out the door. What was that all about?

An epilogue:

After I left, I was seeing a very tall, thin woman. When my ex (five feet tall and fat until I left her) found out, she felt the need to tell me, "You should probably be with a more petite woman."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"You were always enough for me, but you might not have enough to satisfy a taller woman."

She then went on to tell me, "Oh, by the way, I now have independent confirmation that I'm good in bed."

"Having a freakishly tight vagina does not really qualify you as 'good in bed,'" I told her.

Two things I've realized since my divorce:

1. Love and hate are not really opposites. They actually lie very close to each other on the continuum of human emotions.

2. I don't have to humiliate myself to get laid.

Oh, and one more thing, in my defense, I now have several independent confirmations that I do, in fact, have enough to satisfy a taller woman - just in case you were wondering.