Not Chosen, Just Posin'

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


Monday, February 12, 2007


Today I’d like to present you with an episode endearingly titled, “Pick-up Line Goes Terribly Awry,” starring, of course, our Monday hero, the Manwhore.

On Friday night we were out at a bar, the caliber of which played host to more intelligent women than those with whom the Manwhore is used to consorting. As you know, within a mere minute of walking into our normal bar(s), the Manwhore has usually hoisted a woman (err, girl) onto his shoulders and/or face to dance with her. This bar had fondue with filet strips for dipping. Need I say more?

I left to use the restroom and when I came back, I accidentally walked in on the wrong part of the Manwhore’s momentary philosophy (read: thinly veiled pick-up line). What I heard was this: “Men are wolves, I’m a wolf.”

Drunk, I couldn’t contain myself. “You’re a wolf?” I asked him, laughing. This not only effectively ruined the Manwhore’s game, but also his night.

The girls he was talking to took to his new name immediately, not only calling him “wolf” the rest of the night, but using “Wolf” as a verb, an adjective and a tragic pun when at all possible.

Here are some examples listed from beginner to intermediate (and possibly of the “you just had to be there” genre):

When ordering another drink: “The wolf would like another drink.”

After hearing one of the Manwhore’s sordid tales: “Is that a true story, or are you just wolfing with me?”

When the Manwhore claimed to have put down $100 for the bill, but instead put down $80: “Put your money where your wolf is.”
(I think I’ve told you that he’s always trying to get out of paying his tabs)

When the Manwhore got so drunk that he was slurring and was thus incomprehensible: “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you. I don’t speak Wolfanese.”


When discussing his occupation: “I already know what you do. You’re a chef, Mr. [Wolfgang] Puck.”

In response to him saying that he called in sick, when he wasn’t, thus using one of his sick days: “You know what happened to the boy who cried…” Well, you get it.


On me, who caused this whole mess in the first place: "Your friend here isn't much of a Wingwolf, is he?"

It was this night that it occurred to me that the Manwhore’s success is dependent, and directly correlated to, the stupidity of the chicks he usually “dates.”

Smart girls, on the other hand, tend to really outwolf him.

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