|The following is the famous post-valentine's column from last year. It is one of the most popular GBHP pieces of all time.|
I have a problem with women. It's not that they don't like me. No. They love me... as a friend.
I don't know how many times I've been on the phone with a woman and she says: "Greg, you're such a good listener. You're so caring and sweet. I wish I could find a guy just like you."
Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but generally one would assume that I'm just like me. Her response: "Well, like you, but not you. I just don't think of you that way."
Guys, beware of this. As soon as she doesn't think of you that way, she'll suddenly feel comfortable talking about anything in front of you. I was once out with three women. Three women and me, they're all good looking, and they're all my friends. They start talking about sex. Then they start talking about how long it's been since they had sex. These girls were talking in terms of days and weeks. Me, I'm talking in terms of terms... presidential terms.
Then one pipes up and says "I really need to have sex." The other two chime in with "Me too. I need to have sex too."
It was finally too much to bear. I motioned them close. "Ladies, you may not know this," I said. "It's really a closely guarded secret, but... now keep this under your hats... I have a penis. Not only that, it's but a mere part of a complete and fully functioning set of male genitalia. But wait... male genitalia? My goodness, that must mean I'm a guy. And you know what? Even better than that? I'm a guy who's just like me."
But, of course, they want a guy who's like me, but not me, so until they find him I guess they'll have to settle for something that's like a guy, but requires batteries.
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