What is maintenance mode? Maintenance mode is when someone falsely maintains hope of getting back together or getting even instead of getting over things. People do this all the fucking time. You know why your ex- boyfriend won’t give your stuff back? He’s in maintenance mode. Rather than accepting the reality that the relationship is fucking done, he’s trying to “maintain” just enough contact to hopefully get back with you someday. Guys, this is the same reason your ex-girlfriend won’t give you the results to last month’s paternity test: She wants to maintain contact with you. Why do people do this to themselves? Just give your ex-girlfriend back her fucking crossbow and get on with things. Don’t be like King Ludwig of 19th-century Bavaria, the dude simply didn’t know when to call it quits and move the fuck on. And, he ended up destroying his life — losing his throne, his castle, and even the woman he was obsessing over.
In 1847, Ludwig met a stage dancer by the name of Lola Montez. Sure, she was pretty, but she was also an absolute fucking wreck with a history of dragging dudes along for the ride. Despite Lola’s warning signs and tumultuous past, King Ludwig gave her a royal home, a royal salary, and even a royal title. Feeling entitled by all that Ludwig had bestowed upon her, Lola began to overstep her bounds, abuse her title, and shake shit up in all the wrong ways — pissing off the nobles, the royal family, and even the townsfolk — but Ludwig still kept her around. He couldn’t move on, he was too fucking obsessed with her.
And, in 1848, just a year after meeting her, the lords of Bavaria forced King Ludwig to step down from his royal throne. If he wasn’t going to get rid of Lola, they were going to get rid of him. And, they did. Then, Lola got rid of him as well. (Because nobody wants to date a has-been.) In the end, Ludwig lost it all by simply not knowing when to throw in the towel and move on to a healthier relationship.
Don’t be a fucking dud. Don’t hang on too long like King Lud.
SEXUAL SWORDPLAY
S-E-X. You know, knocking boots, tappin’ ass, answering the bone phone — whatever you choose to call it, no topic in society is discussed as often as sex. As humans, we’re simply obsessed with it. So, naturally, sexual innuendos have found their way into pretty much every aspect of life over the years. Albeit, some of these innuendos were made far more obvious than others.
For example, single girls in 19th-century Finland would attend parties wearing an empty sword or dagger sheath around their waist. The single men in attendance, well, they’d slip their sword into the sheath of whichever girl they were interested in “getting to know.” The girl could then decide to either remove the sword and return it to the potential suitor, or let the sword stay and allow the man to take an actual stab at her. Oh, and they were also now engaged. Yeah, engaged. A sword in the sheath was a marriage proposal. How fucking lame of a proposal is that? Imagine going to a bar as a single female nowadays if this same dating ritual were practiced today; there is absolutely no fucking way you’d leave without a fiancé.
Your mom would be like, “So how did you guys meet?” And your answer, “Silly story, Mom. So I got drunk at a bar and I thought I was carrying the sword of this tall, handsome doctor I was talking to earlier in the night. So I didn’t return it, but, yeah, it wasn’t. So now, Kyle and I are engaged — surprise!” And then your dad would be like, “Goddamnit, Lindsey.” And you’d be married to some piece-of-shit wannabe DJ for the rest of your life. Terrible, just terrible.
Now, aren’t you glad guys at bars are only trying to poke you with their dicks instead of actual swords? The latter sounds pretty fucking dangerous.
THE SMELL OF VICTORY
Making an entrance is fucking important. Trust me, there’s a reason people continually stress the fact that you only get ONE first impression. Pretty much any time you decide to turn off Netflix and actually go interact with other humans is an opportunity to make a good one. You remember what humans are, right? Of course you do — you’ve seen them on Netflix.
Anyway, do you want to know who the literal queen of making an entrance was? None other than Cleo-Motherfucking-Patra. Yeah, she didn’t just master winged eyeliner; she mastered pretty much every aspect of sensory seduction. And there’s nothing more seductive or memorable than the sense of smell. For example: It’s not the sight of a particular alcohol that will make you remember every aspect of your treacherous twenties — it’s the smell. Cleopatra knew the nose knows long before scientists were running tests about scent recollection. So, before she set out on a diplomatic voyage in 41 B.C. to meet the Roman general, Mark Antony, she made damn sure his nose met her well before he did.
How did she do this? Well, in order to ensure she made the best first impression possible, Cleopatra had her ships adorned with beautiful, purple sails that were absolutely fucking soaked in her favorite perfume prior to taking sail. Thus, the same winds that would carry her boats to Rome, would also carry the scent of her perfume to the shore before her own arrival. Goddamn, say what you want about Cleopatra being a crazy snake lady, but she basically invented the art of arriving fashionably late. I mean, when your scent gets there before you do, you’re setting quite the stage for yourself.
And, well, it fucking worked. After catching wind of Cleo’s arrival, Mark was head over heels for her days before her feet even touched Roman soil, and the two quickly became lovers and allies — forming the original “power couple.”
So the next time somebody tells you that you’re wearing too much perfume, tell ’em you’re just allowing your reputation to precede you.
YOUR DOG KNOWS BEST
They say dogs can smell fear, but do you know what else they can smell? Bullshit. If your dog doesn’t like somebody, it’s because that person is a fucking loser. And if a dog doesn’t like you, well, it’s probably not the first time you’ve failed to make new friends. Humans have been using dogs as dickhead detectors for centuries. The Irish definitely did, and as early as the 5th century, they began adding the prefix “Cu” to the names of the noble kings and warriors who had proven themselves worthy of a dog’s loyalty and affection. This way, you could immediately recognize the good guys because of their “Cu” title.
Take for example, Cu Chonnacht O’Reilly, Lord of Bréifne Ó Raghallaigh. In simpler terms, he was the King of Bréifne. Basically, this dude was a king who owned some badass dogs. And the “Cu” before his name means he had earned the trust, love, and affection of those badass dogs. Thus, he was a man you could trust. In other words, if you met a noble without the “Cu” before his name, he might be a cat owner and was somebody you should probably run from.
Basically, cat owners are fucking sketchy and the Irish knew this. You want to be a king? Get a fucking dog. You want people to love, honor, and respect you? Adopt a puppy. You want the world to know you’re one of the good guys? Strut with your mutt. But, if you want to be a weird, sick lowlife, living in a small basement apartment — eating undercooked TV dinners while plotting the demise of your enemies — get a cat. Stroke it, talk to it, and together you can watch your evil plans fail, again and again. Nobody ever defeated their enemies with an animal that rhymes with mittens.