Men I’d Like to F*ck!
(Better Read on in Case It’s You, Guy-at-the-Office)
Guys, lets face the cold hard truth: nobody gives a shit about you. Specifically, your purple-headed warrior and other dangly things. In fact, the ‘Y’ chromosome itself garners plenty of ridicule from credible sources. Unbeknownst to you, women laugh at your curious cucumber every day. And it’s wrong. Totally wrong. And unfair. You and your petrified slinky deserve better.
Now if society actually does care about you and the one-eyed snail, it’s nowhere near as much as people praise hot chicks and the omnipotent V.A.G. Online lists abound of all sorts of female fuckables and you’re just feeling . . . left out right?
As you cry yourself to sleep at night, you wonder: doesn’t anyone wanna bang ME? Doesn’t anyone wanna make a list of me and say how bangable I am? How many publications really feature me and say sexy stuff about ME?
Men, I think you can see where I’m going with this. You and I both know
that the world needs more of you naked, looking gorgeous, and cleaning my house.
Glad we can all agree.
So for the greater good, I introduce a new kind of MILF (Men I’d Like to Fuck!) Manifesto to the collective psyche, starting with only a few of you. My elegant list will address each of you
beef thermometers dignified male pioneers individually - for a more personal and heartfelt experience. Get ready.
#1) Brad Pitt, who used to be the ‘Sexiest Man Alive’
Mr. Pitt, oh first and sacred one . . .
Congratulations! I began hoarding and making sweet sweet love to your magazine covers when I was 11-years-old, which effectively ruined me for all of the other human pez dispensers I eventually dated. Notwithstanding the paper cuts, our time together was actually my favorite form of exercise back then, second only to watching illegal fuzzy versions of the Spice channel when no one was looking. Anyway, you were 31 at the time. And now, you’re definitely not.
Alas, 200 years later, you’re still a magical sex leprechaun. How you got your body back after having all those kids I’ll never know.
That said, it can’t be denied that you’re an old man now and probably have saggy balls. But fear not! I would still do you. This says a lot about your face cream regimen and my nostalgia for a mispent youth.
Come to think of it, I’m also missing Shark Bites, Gushers, and Fruit by the Foot.
But I digress, Mr. Pitt.
Now, because I was in love with you, I had planned to save myself for our wedding night but . . . it turns out that I’m in love with me more.
Lucky for you it’s never too late. And the good news is, I finally have plenty of pubic hair for you to play with. I braid it every day.
So if you’re not ‘dead inside’ after years of being tortured by She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and can still muster the strength, I think we should hook up.
Please contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org if this can be arranged. And just in case you were worried, grey man-pubes don’t offend me.
Big Dick Richie, if you were a man-maid in my house, you would be doing the dishes topless. And bottomless.
Oh you’re cold, you say? Too bad :’(
The only accessory I like on a man is a wallet . . .
Moreover, scientific studies have shown that buying me things will extend your lifespan.
Big Dick Richie, I do hope you’re getting your fair share of ‘George Washingtons’ in your current job. I demand equality around here dammit!!
Now, I wouldn’t be unreasonable enough to expect you to have a personality, but I do require for the sake of feminism that you at least provide some free naked pics online, which you clearly haven’t done.
Even more upsetting, I hear that you’re kind of Italian. Yet you share no cannelloni or meatballs! Without question, you have left me here to starve to death.
Does ‘contraDICKshun’ mean anything to you?
This offense is punishable by the UN as a crime against humanity.
If you wish to seek forgiveness or otherwise atone, you may contact me at email@example.com and we can discuss a shorter-term imprisonment.
Jamie Fraser, I have oddly not imagined sex with you yet. Probably because you are always having TV-sex with your co-star. I will remedy this injustice immediately once I figure out how to eliminate “her” from the mental picture.
But hey - love the way you look in kilts and other dresses. Who wore it best? YOU WORE IT BEST!
Yes you are indeed the hottest ginger in the world.
Are you red *everywhere*? Does um, the carpet match the pubes? Can’t wait to find out! Either way, I don’t want you to be self-conscious.
I just want you to know that I’m open-minded and not easily scared off by bright colors or loud noises.
Speaking of which, your home alarm system is super relaxing. Like a lullaby. Don’t worry, I’ll be back.
If you would like to contact me before I surprise you at an undisclosed location tomorrow, please use the following email address: firstname.lastname@example.org.
First of all, Richard-on-TV, feel free to ignore me at your earliest convenience per protocol.
You know, you were always an odd MILF choice for me. Mostly because you resemble a coy Edward-Scissorhands version of my ex-husband, otherwise known as Husband-on-the-Couch, who was wildly jealous of you and I. The way I threw myself at you . . . and the way your silence drove me to greater depths of bliss . . . Since then, galloping into a brick wall is the only pastime that gives me the same release.
Poopsy, I have already exhausted my passions for you HERE and HERE. I even employed an email outreach template to extract responses from you, to no avail. All schemes to get your attention have failed me. You clearly respond to no one in the world ever. If this kind of message below doesn’t inspire a prompt reply from you, I don’t know what will:
! Me is a representativ from the centraL bank of Vagina. Yiu is in debt to our trustees. Pleaze remit payment here: email@example.com.
See? Nothing moves you.
Still, l want you to know that I’m a forgiving person and will accept sexual favors and your long letters of apology here: firstname.lastname@example.org. *Note: This is not an ideal receptacle for dick pics. Save that for Twitter.
First, Mr. Pleasure Piñata, you should feel special that I memorized your name and have decided to follow you on Twitter and Instagram. I’m hoping you’ll post some sexy pics for me but so far you leave me disappointed. And nearly every pic I find of you online basically makes me angry.
I say this with love.
Anyway I hope to see you soon as a flesh-eating zombie! With rigor mortis in all the right places, your glorious comeback on FTWD will be epic. Speaking of which, if you’re looking for your next zombie *snack* don’t be shy! My secretions are loaded with vitamins and antioxidants.
Which reminds me! Please add the following to your IMDB résumé since you did have a starring role:
“Juliette’s Fantasy Series: Fun in Corporate Bathrooms with Fluorescent Lighting” ~
Episode 1, 2, 3, 4, & 5
Remember these? SAG Ultra Low Budget agreement? You were well endowed, had excellent arm strength, and were very talented.
Can’t wait til you choose a better location to seduce me again. Like a beach! Next time you can be the surfer and I’ll be the jelly fish.
Please contact email@example.com immediately and my administrator will fit you in to my schedule.
#6) And finally: Short-and-Out-of-Shape-Guy-at-the-Office . . . (Can’t put a pic of you here just in case someone finds out, so here’s a pic of Kitteh instead . . .)
Guy-at-the-Office, I have a thing for you because like being in jail, we make do with our options.
Ok the truth is, if our lives were a bad movie, I’d be the hot chick and you’d be Seth Rogan.
Even so, I look at you and imagine you’re hung like Ron Jeremy and start to squirm at my ergo desk. I mean, you can’t possibly be that confident for any other reason . . . ?
Now listen, Guy-at-the-Office, I think you should probably be fired to protect my honor. After all, your presence is rather disruptive to my productivity. Every time I hear your voice over Webex I have to recite the following monologue to my vagina:
“What’s this strange tingle sensation? Is the eczema flaring up again?”
“Good God Kitteh, Momma says no to you, for the millionth time.”
“You already had a groom sesh this morning.”
“Lets go to that bathroom with fluorescent lighting and take the warm kombucha bottle like I promised . . .”
“Oh, you want a Coke bottle instead? Once again Kitteh, high-fructose sodas are vulgar and we have principles.”
“Where’s Daniel Zovatto when you need him??”
In the sage words of Maya Angelou, sometimes it’s better to go fuck yourself.
Guy-at-the-Office, with any luck, you will never know who you are and will never contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org. Now stop antagonizing Kitteh or she’ll tear up the carpet as usual.
For the rest of you MILFs-in-waiting: more of your brethren will be added to our growing list later. In kind, respectful, and benevolent ways.
Finally! You’re welcome. I hope it was as good for you as it was for me . . .