Well, there you have it. You just learned some hound history. So, the next time you meet someone who claims they’re “not a dog person,” report them to the authorities — immediately — because they’re probably a terrorist.
PARISIAN PROSTITUTION
Transitioning to another kind of dog owner, like most great things, the French Bulldog is the result of selective breeding — kind of like the creation of Hot Pockets. Little bit of this, little bit of that, and eventually you end up with something wonderful. But, what you probably don’t know about these stubby, little, bat dogs is they largely gained their popularity in the mid-1800s as the go-to accessory for socialites and streetwalkers to exude class, and thus, attract men. And, yes, streetwalker means prostitute. If you ask me, these ladies were fucking smart. Nobody can resist a French Bulldog. Everybody — man, woman, or beast — is going to approach you if you have one of these little dudes on a leash. And, that created the perfect opportunity to seal the deal and make a little money. French Bulldogs were basically the working girl’s wingman.
Given the information I just presented about 19th-century French culture, it was safe to assume that if you saw a lady walking down the street with her hot pocket creation of a dog, there was a pretty good chance — with a little bit of money and some sweet talking — you could negotiate your way into her “hot pocket.” Now, fast-forward to today, I’m not saying every girl who owns a French Bulldog is a hooker, but there’s a pretty good chance she is. I’d say, something like 80/20. The 20 percent being the girls that are just trying to look rough around the edges — it’s called streetwalker chic. And you know what? I love it. Because, as humans, we all have two basic needs: The need to pet dogs, and the need to touch butts. So for that reason, any girl that owns a French Bulldog is a girl I’d like to know.
DISCLAIMER: It’s totally not my fault if you get punched in the dick for approaching a girl with a French Bulldog assuming she’s a prostitute. Times have changed (I think).
DON’T LOSE SIGHT OF YOURSELF
Ladies, there’s absolutely no guy in this world worth losing your shit over. There’s no reason to get jealous, obsessive, and allow yourself to become insecure. If a guy doesn’t like you, who fucking cares? Find one who does. If your boyfriend or husband makes you feel like shit, he’s fucking shit — bury his ass in a sandbox, forget about him, and move on. Don’t be like Joanna of Castile. Don’t ruin your life and your reputation over some guy. Now, let’s learn about Joanna.
Born in 1479, Joanna (Spanish spelling, “Juana”) was the third child of Queen Isabella of Castile and King Ferdinand II of Aragon. Although she was born into privilege, that didn’t stop her from working hard to improve herself. As a young woman, she spoke six languages — including Latin — excelled in religious studies, was active in equestrian sports, played music, and could dance with the best of them. Plain and simple, Joanna was a fucking badass. She was smart AND beautiful; this obviously attracted the attention of men. And, in 1496, she married Philip of Habsburg, also known as “Philip the Handsome.” Seriously, the dude’s nickname was PHILIP THE HANDSOME — are you fucking kidding me? He must have looked like Ryan Gosling and David Beckham had a baby. My point, even Philip’s handsome ass wasn’t worth losing her shit over. But, Joanna couldn’t resist, she let her imagination get the best of her and she became absolutely paranoid he was going to cheat.
Joanna’s insecurities continued to intensify and her mental instability grew evermore apparent around the kingdom. She was like a fucking vulture, constantly swarming over Philip, checking his iPhone, and demanding his email passwords. (They obviously didn’t have that stuff back then, but if they did, that’s what she would have been doing.) Needless to say, it was sad to watch. She was once such a smart, intelligent, confident woman. Not even Philip’s surprise death in 1506 quelled her insecurities. She wouldn’t allow nuns to approach his corpse before his burial — afraid he’d put his ghost boner in one of them.
In the end, Joanna of Castile became known as “Joanna the Mad.” Leaving behind a reputation of being pathetically jealous, instead of beautifully badass.
ASHLEY’S FAKE EYELASHES
Jealousy. It’s a hell of a thing. There is literally no other human emotion quite like it. It’s powerful, it’s sickening, and it causes people to do some ridiculous shit. Destroyed marriages, broken friendships, shattered careers — people will completely fuck up their lives over stupid feelings of envy, anxiety, and resentment. Guys are jealous of another guy’s car, girls are jealous of another girl’s guy, and everybody is jealous of somebody with great eyes and eyelashes.
Yeah, you heard me. Don’t act like you don’t wish your eyes were fucking pretty. Yes, even you, Mr. Macho Man, you know you’d blink the shit out of Paul Walker eyes if you had them. (R.I.P.)
People say eyes are the window to the soul, but that’s some bullshit. Eyes are more like the doorway to your dreams. Seriously, if you have a sweet set of peepers — and you know how to use them — you can pretty much write your ticket in life. You can brainwash people with your baby blues and get yourself into all sorts of fun and/or trouble. You can even bounce from bedroom to bedroom if you’re into that sort of thing, because everybody wants to have sex with a pretty-eyed stranger.
Speaking of sexy eyes, the Ancient Romans believed eyes — in particular, the eyelashes — were directly related to how much sex a person was having. Long eyelashes? She’s a good, wholesome gal saving herself for marriage. Short, thin, ragged eyelashes? You better believe that girl is homie hopping. In fact, Pliny the Elder once said, "Eyelashes fall out from excessive sex, and so it is especially important for women to keep their eyelashes long to prove their chastity.” Ha, now that’s some bullshit. However, it was this belief that contributed to the invention of fake eyelashes and eye makeup… yeah, fake limbs for your eyelids have been around since Ancient Rome.
Well, there you have it, now you know why your friend Ashley refuses to leave the house without her fake eyelashes — she’s just trying to look like Roman marriage material. “Lookin’ good, Ash.”
NO CHILD THANKS TO CROCODILES
Let’s be honest, condoms suck. Nobody likes them. Not your mom, not your dad, not even the lady in your building living in 6E. (Yes, even Carol hates getting it with the use of a dick mitten.) But, sadly enough, condoms work. They keep your junk from burning, your crotch from itching, and most importantly, your life from falling apart. Because unless you’re absolutely ready for it, pregnancy is a soul-crushing experience.
Accordingly, people have been finding ways to avoid the destructive nature of children long before the invention of the weenie glove. Even as far back as 1850 B.C., a time when the Ancient Egyptians got rather creative and resourceful with crocodiles. Yes, crocodiles. Toothy, reptilian, ferocious creatures — you know, like your boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend. And with anywhere from 60-72 teeth and a 4,000-lb bite force, I would imagine putting your dick in a crocodile’s mouth is pretty fucking awful… again, probably similar to the blowjobs given by the girlfriend before you. (God, you are just so much better than her, right?)
Anyway, the Ancient Egyptians made good use of the plentiful Nile crocs when it came to keeping a baby out of your lady box. So, how exactly did the Egyptians use the crocodiles? Well, it’s actually quite simple. (Fucking gross, but simple.) They mixed crocodile dung, mud, and honey together to create an all-natural, highly effective spermicide. The pH level of crocodile dung will pretty much kill any little swimmer trying to find a home. First, I don’t even want to know how the fuck the Egyptians figured that out. Second, the first lady to volunteer to cover her vagina in crocodile shit, mud, and honey must have been into some seriously kinky stuff.