Size Queens and Bad Behavior

Dear Jen,
I'm having a problem with the guys I'm meeting online.  I'm just looking to get laid, but am getting discouraged because of all the lying!   If I meet one more guy who tells me he's hung, and then I drag myself all the way over there only to find out he's not, I'm going to go crazy.  What is up with that?   Do they think I won't notice that they're handing me a pencil when I asked for a can of spray paint?  Why is everyone wasting my time?  I'm very honest and clear in my ads.  I wish they would be too.
- Fed-Up Size Queen

Dear Queen,
I'm having the same sort of problem finding a couch on Craigslist.  I'm looking for a very specific size (under six feet long, unlike some people around here), but it has to be super comfortable, and I keep running across people who are like, "sure!  Come on by and take it for a spin - you won't want to get up once you sit down!"  I realize it's open to interpretation, but since when is a spring up the ass considered comfortable?  I think the same thing to myself - do they think I won't notice?  Do they hope I'll be so smitten with the two decorative pillows they're throwing in for free that I'll take it?  Or were they born without ass nerves and truly believe that this, this is what comfort is?

In your case, perhaps the people you're dealing with think their members are larger than they really are.  Kind of like ugly kids whose parents tell them they're beautiful - maybe they were deluded by concerned fathers who were lovingly trying to boost their egos so they'd feel confident later in life.  "Holy Jesus on a stick, will you take a look at the size of that thing, son?  It looks like you've got a gorilla in your pants!  We're gonna have to get you a lumbar strap so you don't blow out your back."

Either that or they're hoping that once you meet them, you'll be so blown away by their charm and skill that you'll abandon your Meat Quest and take on a lighter load.  Or they're resentful of your shallow ways and want to teach you a lesson.  Who the hell knows?

Either way, a lie is a lie.  It's one of the Big Three that we all learn as children:

Don't lie.  Share.  Always say please and thank you.  This goes for penises too, people.  (And presidents - helIo!)  I have nothing against the lesser-endowed, but I have a big problem with people wasting other people's time.  Think about it - we all have a very finite amount of it.  It's a precious commodity, so I don't blame you for being annoyed. 

My only advice to you is to make it even clearer on your ads.  Ask for measurements and photos.  Explain that you're looking for a bowling pin, not a boyfriend.  And charge them for gas if you show up and you're greeted by Tiny Tim.

Dear Jen,
I'm having this crazy affair with this guy at work.  He's married, and that, along with the fact that we do it at the office, during work hours, makes it really taboo, which I guess makes it even hotter for me.  I could lose my job (that I love) and ruin his family.  I know it's really stupid, but I can't seem to stop.  It's like I'm addicted to everything that's bad about it.  What can I do?
- Bad Girl

Dear Bad,
Um....stop doing it?  Or keep doing it and stop pretending you want to stop?  I'm not really even sure what your question is here.  It sounds more like a confession to me, like you feel that because you're admitting you know it's wrong, you're somehow less guilty, and can now get back to leaving your ass prints on his filing cabinet with a clearer conscience.  Nice try.

The other day I took a hit off what I thought was a regular old joint, but what ended up being weed with a little tobacco rolled into it.  I was an avid smoker for many moons, but haven't touched a cigarette in over five years because I want to sit through a movie without being distracted half way through by nicotine tugging on my sleeve.  And I'd also like to live and exercise and not speak like Tom Waits and stuff.  I still crave them all the time, even have wet dreams about them, but can't have so much as a drag because I'll be up to a pack a day instantly.   When I took a hit off that joint, every single solitary cell in my body stood up, fist in the air, and shrieked "hell yeah!  We is home!"  I was flabbergasted, instantly wasted, and couldn't believe how something so bad could feel so so so damn good.  Sigh.

Lungs, life, a great job, integrity - all things worth not being a butthead for.  If you want to stop doing something, all you need to do is stop.  There really isn't as much mystery around this stuff as we like to pretend there is.  But if a butthead you must be, at least be a butthead quietly.  Don't make it worse with passive attempts at justifying it.