I own this town, bitch.

I was instant messaging with my dear friend Minnie, yesterday. She mentioned that she had just gone to one of those fancy, all-day spa treatments. She had a chocolate body wrap and then 500 naked slave men washed her in Crystal champagne while virgin turtledoves flew down from heaven and fed her cheese nips.
Or something like that.
I replied that men would probably enjoy things like that if we didn’t have to beat ourselves up afterward to stay manly. Later it dawned on me that if men did have a spa day, it would be a jillion times cooler than any girly spa. The typical spa day for us would be:
The next time I spill pasta sauce on the expensive pair of white jeans Natalie bought me, be sure to remove the wallet before soaking them overnight in hot water.
“No doctor. It only hurts when I ___________.”