A month after my 19th birthday I moved in with my best friend, Juan.

Our co-worker had this condo slap dab in the middle of Ex-con-dido. Seriously, this place was ghettorific. For $700/month he let us risk our lives rent his pad.

Our next door neighbors were these crazy Cubans. Every Sunday they would get drunk on cheap malt liquor and grill the most amazing food while shooting their assault rifles at our terrified neighbors. I’m pretty sure it was dog meat they cooked and cop killer bullets they fired, but they were always cool to us. When the Swat Team showed up on New Years because they were really drunk, we didn’t narc them out and they let us live (and shared their leftovers).

Our upstairs neighbor wanted to kill me for six months because (allegedly), I said something offensive when I was drunk when I moved in. I never thought, “I’ll stab that fat bitch” was a threat, but apparently, her recently paroled son felt otherwise. The neighbors across the way loved meth. In fact, they loved the nose candy so much that one night they knocked on our door tweaking out of their minds. Fidgeting like ADHD toddlers in public, they asked Juan, “uhh, hey bro. We noticed that you and your skinny friend, uhh… are up late. Are you guys holding?“. We explained to them that we’re both unemployed, have insomnia and get drunk a lot–we’re not crackheads.

They never talked to us after that but they did steal our doormat a few weeks later.

One Tuesday morning it was 3am and Juan and I were grilling hot dogs with a lighter on the patio. We had a couple girls over and all of us were totally bombed on the Champagne of Beer. We would routinely grill Bic-flavored hot dogs on the porch in the A.M. because our neighborhood resembled a bad episode of COPS. If the Cubans weren’t hunting stray dogs and (cooking them) or the methylated neighbors weren’t scouring the bushes for a missing crack rock, SOMETHING exciting was going on.

Before I could put some Tapatio on my under-cooked wiener, this crazy bitch runs head-on to our house screaming bloody murder. She looked hot… from a distance. I’m thinking I could play Captain Save-A-Ho and get something out of this, but I was horribly wrong. When she staggered to the patio I realized she’s ‘Courtney Love hot’, not crack whorish but definitely not someone you would bring home to your mom. More or less, she looked like somebody that sucked miles of dick and siphoned bleach by the gallons.

Terrified and panting, she explains to me that ‘a Mexican’  is trying to ‘kill her’. The last thing I need is someone getting murdered on my patio, especially by a weapon-wielding Danny Trejo type of dude, so I tell her to kick rocks. Around the corner comes a Mexican dude with a knife. This is the last thing I needed.  I want to eat my damn hot dog in peace and possibly get one of the girls drunk enough to accidentally punch my dick with her mouth, and this guy comes around the corner acting like a drunk Rambo wanting to ruin my party? Not on my turf, homeboy. I don’t know if it was alcoholic courage or the fact Juan would die protecting me, but I put up my hand like Neo in ‘The Matrix’ and said, “stay right there!”. By this time, the girl is in my patio crying and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. I got a Mexican dude with a knife in one hand (and what appears to be a gun in the other) and some bitch trying to hide in my patio at 3am. And an undercooked hot dog.

I invoke my inner Dr. Phil and ask the Mexican guy why he wants to slaughter the bitch in my yard. His adrenaline is causing him to doubt his primary intentions, which is good for everybody involved. He responds,

“Que?”

I pretend I know Spanish because I live in San Diego, but in moments of life and death, I couldn’t recall any words that would resolve this situation. I summoned all my manliness and yelled out, “JUAN! HELP! THERE’S A FUCKING MEXICAN WITH A GUN/KNIFE/WEAPON AND I THINK HE WANTS TO TAKE OUR BEER!”. Juan comes running out like a Spartan warrior ready to do battle.

Juan and the killer Mexican begin communicating in their made up space language (Spanish) and I finally get the story. According to the Mexican assassin, the cowering girl in my yard is a prostitute. She took his blowjob money and instead of bobbing his knob, she took off running to report him to the Better Business Bureau. Angry because he got shafted (pun not intended), he decided that his only recourse was slicing her internal organs open with a very sharp kitchen accessory and (possibly) shooting it out with the cops if they showed up. Realizing my hot dog needed more lighter fluid and my beer was luke warm (and potentially getting cock blocked by a hooker), I asked Juan to ask the Mexican Jason Vorhees what would fix the situation. All he wanted was his money back. I asked the hooker to pay the man and she claimed she didn’t have his money. I’ve been in a relationship before so I know when a woman is lying to me, (*yeah babe, you have the biggest dick evarrr*. *No baby, I’ll never leave you!*), so I recognize bullshit when I hear it. Since I am fed up and not getting any drunker, I give the guy $20. Her life wasn’t worth the shit stained penny in my jacket pocket, but I’ll be damned if somebody is going to die on my property unless I’m the one doing the killin’. Much to the dismay of everybody witnessing this crazy event, he calmly walked away with my paper Jackson.

Once the hooker/slut/thief realized she was out of harm’s way, she looks at Juan and asks, “oh hey, can I have a cigarette?”.

Moral of the story: Take a machete to the whore. Good guys never prosper.

Victoria Secret supermodel Miranda Kerr recently shared some dating advice on AskMen.com.

Her advice is horrible. This is why Miranda Kerr takes her clothes off for a living. Hot girls don’t know jack shit about romance. They think love is about cute puppy dogs and engagement rings. Sadly, most guys believe the quickest way to a woman’s heart is by being a romantic gentlemen. When in reality, the quickest way to her heart is through her bra. Women have stripped away masculinity and replaced men with pansy boys who cater to their whims. That’s not dating OR romance, that’s bullshit. It’s time for me to bitch slap some truth back into dating before it’s too late.

TOP 10: NICK’S ROMANCE & DATING TIPS

‘Putting the ‘man ‘back in manly since 1983′

By Nick Sterling from LifeAsNick.com

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10. Save the stripper clothes for the strip club.

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Chicks love lingerie. Girls are addicted to feeling pretty like guys are addicted to buffalo wings and beer during football season. The novelty of having your cock princess play pretend stripper might seem fun at first, but we’re guys: we like to get down to business. Any man worth his weight in testicular fortitude should never buy a woman lingerie, ever. Not only is it insanely expensive, but you have better things to spend your money on like pure, uncut Bolivian cocaine and solid gold Cuban cigars. Besides, most hot chicks have a stash of slutty clothes hidden in their closet. Why spend your hard-earned dinero on glorified underwear for a girl that probably won’t fit into them in six months?

You know how much it costs to be naked? $0. That’s free ninety nine.

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9. The sensual approach only works for lesbians.

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When my first demonslut ex-girlfriend broke up with me, we’d often exchange unpleasantries over the phone when one of us were drunk. I would call her a “moronic throwback of evolution” and she’d call me a selfish asshole. I’d tell her she was a penis-curling she devil and she would say I’m a raging dickhead. She was never really that good with words, but she definitely knew how to use her mouth. One night during a heated exchange of insults she said, “AND YOU KNOW WHAT, NICK? YOU NEVER FUCKED ME IN THE ASS!“. It’s no secret that I think the rectum is an exit only hole, but to be called out for not butt fucking my ex? That’s when I realized some (mostly all) girls like to take dick in multiple holes. Why pussy foot around the issue when you can find out by trial and error?

Besides, women like assertive guys. Be like Nike and just do it!

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8. She is a human being. Not a spoiled princess.

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Telling a woman that she is sexy, beautiful, “blah blah blah” only reinforces her ego. Tell her she’s as ugly as a syphilitic horse that was rejected by the knackery. Before she has time to process all those big words, throw her on the bed and fuck her like she owes you money.

Her brain will be so warped with feelings of passion that she’ll completely forget you just insulted her! Your clever lingo will be perceived as stand-offish, yet mysterious and attractive. When she acts like a princess, act like a court jester. Women love a guy who can make them laugh, so have a laugh (or ten) at her expense. She’ll reward you for it in topless, sloppy blowjobs. Always remember, *you* are the catch! You’re not lucky to have her, SHE’S LUCKY TO BREATHE THE SAME OXYGEN AS YOU! If Super Mario had learned this before he became a plumber, he wouldn’t have spent three fucking games trying to rescue that idiot Princess.

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7. By all means, don’t listen to her.

Sure, women will tell you that listening to their bullshit babble and giving your undivided attention to what they say is important, but that’s a load of horse shit.

One minute you’re on the way to a nice dinner with a cute girl when suddenly she perks up and says, “I know a short cut!”. No, she doesn’t. She is challenging you to prove her wrong. If you listen to her, you’ll end up in Abu Dhabi selling your Volvo for a camel because you’re out of gas and she’s totally confused on how she ‘missed the exit’.

If a woman wants to explain the merits of certain hair care products, or which Twilight character is her favorite, then by all means, listen away. She knows what she is talking about. Otherwise, nod your head and do the exact opposite. You don’t ask a dumpster-diving raccoon for nutrition advice, do you? Then don’t listen to a cocksure female when she suggests something. You know better.

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6. Know (and take) what you want.

Even the smartest girls get confused sometimes. It’s in their vaginal DNA to be indecisive. She could eat at McDonald’s 365 days a year but when you take her to Mickey D’s she’ll look at the menu with a dairy cow stare. It’s clear as day that she’s totally McFlabbergasted. She can’t help it–she’s a McDumbass so just order for her. As long as it looks good, she’ll put it in her mouth (remember that!).

Always know what you want. Nothing says, “I want him to pile drive his cock in my vagina” like taking charge and being the alpha male. Women love that shit. If a girl is 18, 47 or a centenarian,  she’ll respond to a guy who knows what he wants nine times out of ten.

MAN: “I am going to tattoo your face with my dick.”

HER: “OK!”

Money, baby.

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5. Don’t be afraid to tell her the truth.

Regardless of what a woman will tell you, none of them like direct honesty. Try telling your girlfriend she looks like a mountain troll. She’ll go batshit insane and throw a tantrum that makes a caffeine-addled toddler look like a Harvard scholar. Sometimes it’s better to invoke your right to remain silent when the fairer sex is concerned.

She may not appreciate your blatant honesty towards her, but most women can respect a guy who’s not afraid to admit his fault(s). Do you own an opium poppy field in Pakistan? Maybe you kill old people for insurance money? Whatever it is, it’s often best to get it out in the open ASAP. Full disclosure is the best policy with any woman, because no matter how sneaky you are, you’ll never compare with the ferocity of a woman scorned. If she thinks you’re cheating or being secretive, she’ll find a pubic hair in the neighbor’s septic tank with her McGyver skills and get all CSI on your ass. Ja Rule said it best, “every thug needs a laaaady…and a thug needs a down ass bitch“. Keep it (mostly) truthful with your lady friend or she’ll take your ass down. Then testify and take half of everything.

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4. Compliment her like she’s going out of style.

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Girls love attention. Women love it even more. The more you pay attention to a girl, the more she’ll believe you actually buy into her bullshit. Women are a little more world-weary. They know you’re full of shit but they realize they are depreciating assets, so they suck it up and let you get away with playing Call Of Duty for six hours straight. They don’t bother questioning you when you come home from the bar smelling like a Summer’s Eve feminine douch because she’s happy you didn’t find another swamp donkey to replace her. Using that knowledge, compliment her. It takes years of emotional neglect and daddy issues for a woman to date YOU! If you meet a woman that looks like she’s so fed up and under appreciated, she’ll sport fuck your socks right off. You better build up her self-esteem to keep the charade going, stud. Otherwise, those types of women take years of date rape, domineering boyfriends and emotionally unavailable men to be that complacent. They are truly diamonds in the rough.

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3. Don’t get a babysitter, just baby sit her.

Girls are emotional creatures. One day she is professing her undying love for you, the next day you find her getting triple teamed by a porn star named ManDingo. Sure, his real name is Darius and he is the star for BLACKMONSTERCOCK.com, but suddenly she’s pregnant and in loooove with him.

Not all girls are lying sluts, but it’s safe to assume that most of them are. Remember, what you don’t give your girl, someone else will. And chances are, he’ll have a bigger dick. The worse thing you can do is treat your woman like a baby. But that doesn’t mean you can’t babysit her. If she’s drunk on two Strawberry Daiquiri’s and wants to drive home, take her fucking keys. Of course she’ll maintain that she can drive because she’s I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T, but she’s only thinking in the moment, not the future. By keeping her safe and out of handcuffs, she’ll appreciate you standing up to her drunken defiance.

That way, she won’t end up banging the guy wearing a rhinestone covered Ed Hardy t-shirt at the Indian casino. Sure, he is manscaped like a Jersey Shore Guido and flashing his platinum Wells Fargo debit card like its straight cash, but he’s a tool and your lady deserves better than that. Step up your game, player.

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2. So fresh and so clean.

When you look good, you feel good. Girls appreciate a guy that keeps his pubes, chin stubble and back hair in check. If you aren’t stabbing a girl with your toenails or resembling a zombie that’s been dead for three weeks, a girl is more likely to put your genitals in her mouth. I know that’s common sense for most dudes but sometimes we need to spruce ourselves up. Toss on a little sunless tanning lotion, maybe get a nice fitted Hanes tee and invest in a Braun electric razor so you don’t look like a Yeti. Even though you might feel like a metrosexual, your concubine will appreciate the attention to detail.

Sure, after a few Vodka tonic’s she’ll punch her mouth with your dick, but she might go the extra mile and swallow your illegitimate children if your well groomed mantensil is eye appealing. That goes for ladies, too. If her shit looks like an Arby’s roast beef fur burger, you gotta evaporate like a fart in a hurricane and find a girl with better genetics. That’s not a dick move–that’s having standards.

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1. Her insecurities are not your problem.

Girls are the most insecure species on the planet.

“Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut and still think they are attractive to the opposite sex.”

They pretend like they need fake boobs, make-up, and tons of other shit so they can feel pretty. The truth is, all women hate other women and they have a naturally competitive streak with each other. The best thing a real man can do is ignore chick drama. When she’s poppin’ off about needing a new Fendi purse (when she already has four and three of them she doesn’t use), tell her to fuck off. A woman will get away with as much as you let her get away with, so cut that shit out. The best time a guy can have is when his lady vibes with him in a way where both of them are happy with each other. Fuck the drama and bullshit. Man up and be a positive dick. That shouldn’t be too hard for her to swallow.

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Miranda Kerr and countless other [super hot] females think romance/love is a fairy tale. Not in real life.

The last thing a guy wants is for his girl to treat him like a bitch. He’s a man and he should act like one. Girls need to remind their men why they have balls. And men need to step up to home plate and swing their bats and hit a home run with girls, otherwise, they are going to get thrown out by a self-entitled, stuck-up princess who thinks she pisses Cristal and shits diamonds. And nobody likes a bitch.

I’m not a big fan of Mother’s Day. Like Valentine’s Day, I think Mom’s Day is an artificial holiday sponsored by Hallmark. Plus, why celebrate motherhood? I know most of you are brain-washed to think being a caretaker of some other human being is the greatest gift in the world, but it’s not. If I wanted to clean up shit and deal with non-stop crying I’d date my first ex-girlfriend. Nobody consciously wants to be a parent. It’s all roses and kittens until you wake up every hour to non-stop crying. Try changing a rancid diaper filled with half digested Gerber applesauce that looks like a tapioca abortion and smells like the underside of a Tijuana porta-potty. Financially, say goodbye to any extra money you had. I could get a better price on pure, uncut Peruvian cocaine compared to an affordable canister of baby formula nowadays. And when your little bastard fuck child is old enough to sass you, he or she will grow up to be a third generation welfare recipient. Nothing says, “Happy Mother’s Day” like getting a 3am collect phone call from the county jail. Knowing your child is keeping the state penal system in business is every mother’s worst dream.

But hey, my mom still finds a way to come up with my bail money! I gotta remember to thank her for not digging the best parts of me out of her whorish 1983 womb. Somehow, she still loves me. Even after reading this web site.

Mother’s Day is a bullshit holiday anyways. We’re supposed to pretend we care more about our mom’s, wives, sisters and friends because they suffered through child birth? I’m sorry, but celebrating a woman’s inability to take her birth control on time shouldn’t warrant a special day. Any kid that gives a flying fuck about his or her mother reminds her every day that she’s special. I sure as hell do. When I drink all my mom’s wine or stumble home at 4:21am so drunk I’m legally comatose, I say, “just think, you could have prevented this from happening if you slapped a jimmy on my dad’s tree trunk cock!“. There’s no love like the kind of love that a mother and son share when they both realize, “holy fuck, I can’t believe I’m stuck with this person for life”. Even after 26 years, I constantly remind my mom how much I appreciate crawling out of her baby incubator covered in placenta juice and vaginal goo. To me, every day is Mother’s Day. Each day I’m alive is another day to remind her she should have used that coat hanger.

Being a mom is a full time job that nobody in their right mind signs up for. Even the most ambitious woman I know, my best friend Dizzle, gets overwhelmed with her mothering duties sometimes. She’s a Superwoman, but even she can’t fathom how the hell she stays sane enough to raise her son sometimes. Jayson is only six but he’s already a handful. I can’t imagine when he’s 14 or 15 and bringing home high school girls he just boned behind the rafters on the football field. I’ve already set aside a bottle of Scotch for those dark days when Dizz wonders if spreading her kitty for Jayson’s dad was really that good of an idea. Happy Mother’s day, sis. You’re definitely going to need a drink… or twelve.

Why isn’t there an ‘Only Child’s Day’? Sure, my mom kept me from playing in traffic or french kissing rattlesnakes, but that’s a piece of cake. Raising kids is as easy as letting them play Wii Sports and pawning them off to the public school system. I crawled out of a hole in my mom’s body the size of a coinslot and learned how to walk, talk, fuck, feed myself and drive a manual transmission. Where the hell is my special day? Somebody should Photoshop an award that says, “World’s Greatest Son” with a picture of me bench pressing a Komodo dragon. Put that shit on a calender and celebrate it as a national holiday! And when the retards @ Hallmark finally catch up and recognize ‘Only Child’s Day’ as a national holiday, they can market greeting cards that say, “You’re an only child because I aborted your siblings!” and I get royalties for thinking of such a revolutionary idea!

Cha-ching!!

I understand the desire to be a parent. It’s apparent (hah, clever use of words there, I know). Maybe not so much as my ex-girlfriend Becca or the demonslut, but I can’t help but look at motherhood with a figment of disdain. I wouldn’t want to raise someone like me. I’d rather not be responsible for whatever over-developed sperm that swam faster than the others. I guess if you look at Mother Day’s from the angle that she tolerated you enough and didn’t kill you when she had the chance, then maybe your mom is worth celebrating. To me, the entire premise of being a parent sounds a lot better on paper. It’s all hunky-dory until you actually have to change a diaper, pay for day care, not slaughter their teenage crushes, and somehow maintain your sanity long enough to instill enough values/morals so they don’t end up on a MTV/VH1 reality show or pregnant at 18 because they are sooo in loooove!

Life isn’t a movie, but if it was, I’d highly suggest any prospective mothers take the blue pill. You might get a holiday once a year, but you’ll never have a day to yourself again. If you want to be a mom, get a dog first. If you’re already a mom, invest in a time traveling device and go back in time and apologize to your child(ren). Because you only get one day a year to be appreciated in exchange for a lifetime commitment with no guaranteed result. And to think, your little hell spawn is the gift that keeps on giving you problems! Knowing that, doesn’t being a mother sound so rewarding?! (thinly veiled sarcasm most definitely intended).