P.L.O.P.

Sorry ladies, this one is just for men…oh, sorry, forgot…and butch lesbians.

Okay, huddle up, I know that we’re not supposed to have any serious discussions within our group but….yo, Mark, was that you? Pickled eggs and pepperoni, am I right? Beauty! Has a pretty good hang time too! Let me wipe my eyes here and then I’ll get to the reason why I’ve called this meeting…

…Right, here’s the deal, our plan to help our fellow man – what’s that Donalda? Listen ‘man’ was just being used as a general species term, not…uh huh…yes…yes, look who are you calling a dickless wonder you frigging…on what wall?...I suppose that any publicity is good publicity, right guys? Guys?...

…Can I start now? Thank you. I called this meeting about helping out our fellow…muffin munchers, any one object to that? The Alberta chapter of P.L.O.P. (Pudgy Lefties Opining Piously) has been…What’s that, Gerald? The chapter song? Fine. Plop plop fizz fizz Ooooooohhhh! What a relief it is! Happy now?

For the past few years, the Alberta chapter has been running the campaign “Think before you drive” in an effort to educate the youngsters of the dangers involved of picking up the wrong type of chick at the bar. It’s been working…to a point. Women aren’t picking up on the real message; they’re assuming that we’re warning about the consequences of putting a key into the ignition after tipping a few back so none of our members have lost our little men in retaliation…what’s that John? You can’t call yourself a martyr for the cause; if you haven’t been able to see your little man for years when you look down, you can’t honestly expect women to either…

…Anyway, as I was saying, “Think before you drive” isn’t working for its intended demographic…They aren’t getting it and…what’s that Murray?...well, yes, I suppose they are getting it but…Carl, Murray’s beer looks a little empty, pour him another one will ya? Thanks. The point is that I saw something last night that made me frightfully aware that the youngsters weren’t picking up –open your mouth, Murray, and I swear to God I’ll rip your tongue out – weren’t getting the educational aspect of the commercial.

I was at the bar last night and witnessed first hand that we have to come up with a more effective strategy without endangering ourselves to estrogen onslaught that would castrate our members for spreading the truth about a sector of their population. I saw it with my own two eyes, I’m not shitting ya!...

I watched as a young lad was playing pool with one of the good ones, she took turns buying drinks, used her own money to play the jukebox, asked if there were any songs he wanted to hear, didn’t get pissed when someone stopped by to talk to the boy for a couple of seconds…it was beautiful…then one of those kind walked in…the gonad grabber infiltrated the sanctuary of the bar. What’s that Jim? Fine, I’ll describe the gonad grabber again for you, but this time, keep your hands out of your pocket – last time you almost spilt my beer.

The gonad grabber is one of those women, who figure that since they have either naturally, or restructured through surgery, their bodies to the point where they have the curves, bazookas and butts that can make a man drool…until they open their mouth and you realize that they have the attitude that they are better than everyone else and that the world owes them anything their heartless self serving orifice’s desire. They’re stuck up and rude and don’t care that they are because they figure they have the perfect body so who needs a personality.

Anyway, as the night progressed, the lad forgot about the one that was actually normal and began to hang around with the gonad grabber, buying her drinks, putting money in the jukebox as she chose all the songs and then giving him shit when a friend would have the audacity to talk to him when in her presence. He was hooked, he couldn’t see the danger – I tried my hardest to make him see, subversively, of course. I tried to reveal her true nature by casting the Holy Scotch upon her ‘accidentally’ and throwing an odd peanut at her, but he just didn’t see her for what she was. I noticed that she whispered something in his ear, to which his eyes lit up and nodded his head vigorously – I knew it was the hook being inserted into his mouth, but they were a whole three bar stools away – too far for me to pull him back from the edge.

The gonad grabber stood up and without even saying anything walked out, the lad followed. I immediately got up to stop him from making the mistake, first I had to finish my drink, and the bartender automatically brought me another one, so I couldn’t let that go to waste, played a game of pool, but as I got out the door – the boy and the evil creature had vanished!

Sniff…I am sorry to say I failed the lad. He has no idea what is in store for him. The humiliation, the whininess, that he’ll go through until she has bled him dry and then casts him away when the next poor schmuck catches her interest. He’ll be a mess, wondering how he could have been such a fool, his self esteem will be shattered…all because I failed to ensure that he had the accurate intell on the arena he was going to deploy his soldiers in…..I’m sorry, lad….