Not Chosen, Just Posin'

I just got a job with a Jewish magazine. I'm not Jewish. They think I am.


Monday, November 20, 2006


Manwhore Mondays.

I’ve officially succumbed to giving the Manwhore his own day. This is not because he wants his own day (although his pompous ass really does – he thinks this might be his new favorite dating site due to a comment left here for him last week), but more so because I usually hang out with him on the weekends and he always does something noteworthy that I feel obligated to report. More importantly though, Monday starts with an ‘M’ and so does Manwhore. This is a compelling fact in and of itself, and can not be overlooked.

So, to recap, in last week’s Manwhore Monday I reported that the Israeli girl broke up with him when she realized that his nickname was rooted in truth. What does this mean?

Is the Manwhore devastated about the break up?
Sure -- why not? He liked sleeping with her.

Will he be able to move on?

He already has. I had the pleasure of watching him make out with a Puerto Rican chick at his brother’s birthday party the other night. On the couch. On the chair. At the kitchen table. It was very Manwhore-esque, to say the least. (The Manwhore has introduced a new group of adjectives to the lexicon: Manwhore-esque, Manwhore-ish, Manwhore-like, Manwhore-iffic)

Will he continue practicing Judaism???
Nope. He’s already dropped us (you) like a sack of papas calientes. He’s now a Catholic Puerto Rican guy. But don’t fret. This might be a good thing. When I initially met the Manwhore, he was a Catholic Puerto Rican (I actually thought he was Puerto Rican although sources have told me he’s not—none of us know for sure what his true origins are). This could definitely be a cyclical process. I forgot what he was after he was Puerto Rican. I think there were a few different cultures/religions/nations between Puerto Rico and Israel, but I’m sure he’ll be back soon.

In honor of Puerto Rico, let’s pay quick homage to the Manwhore’s first Puerto Rican playmate. She was a dancer down at a club called Tantra in Miami and he wasn’t in it for her brains. For instance, when one weekend he imported* her up here to hang out, we all went out to dinner and to some clubs (where she got hit on by more girls than any of us did) and she couldn’t stop dancing. Any sign of music, and there she was, bouncing around. At first, we just went with it based on the assumption that it was no more than a tacky bi-product of working in her industry. Finally, the people at the table next to us started singing “Happy Birthday” and she started dancing in her chair to the sounds of the song's funky, hypnotic melodies. The Manwhore treated her so poorly afterwards that we all actually felt sorry for her. Hopefully Puerto Rico: The Sequel will be a better match.


*His word, not mine. The Manwhore talks about women the same way he talks about buying products in bulk. I’m sure the correlation is clear.

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