Clever Skippy Icon

Skippy is back from his three month sojourn, bursting with happiness and love for you all. Except you, yes you, the pathetic mouth breather with the unsightly stains on his clothes. What the hell are you doing in my column? You will never understand it you know. You will spend the rest of your sad little existence screaming, "SKIPPY SUCKS!" on our rant page, all the while wondering what I am talking about. Do us all a favor and go cruise the porn sites looking for barely legal hotties, we"ll both be much happier.

Speaking of hotties, we are welcoming a new writer to the fold this issue kids. That"s right, we haven"t just been hanging out watching sporting events around here the last three months, we"ve been working to improve your SCROOM experience. So it is my distinct pleasure to welcome Michelle Martin and her new semi-regular column, Hey!

Of course she is painfully misguided, but then what can you expect from a female columnist that would deign to write for this rag? I know you haven"t read her column yet (cause you always run to Skippy first thing) so I will pause a moment while you go and check it out?

Back? Good. Let"s get started here shall we? First, what is talk about pre-bathing suit season? This is the first I"ve ever heard of such a thing. Pre-bathing suit? That"s like pre-strip club season or pre-beer drinking season. That"s just unnatural, every season is bathing suit season. Hell, I"m writing this in my favorite pair of low cut Speedos right now. Pre-bathing suit season, that"s un-American, why doesn"t she move to Russia or Pakistan or Milwaukee or some other foreign state if she wants to experience such a thing as pre-bathing suit season. Next thing you know she will be claiming that we shouldn"t have football all year round. Communism is dead baby, get with the program!

Then of course we have the "Why don"t men want a smart girl?" rant. Because we aren"t that bright. Think about it, would you really want to spend your life with someone that makes you feel like an idiot all the time? Well, that describes most women that men ever meet. You are all smarter than us. You can match colors for God"s sake. You read books without pictures. You probably understand the mystifying popularity of Rosie O"Donnell. We figure if we find one of you who is reeeeally stupid, we might have half a chance of retaining our manhood for more than six minutes into the relationship. We"re wrong of course, but that just proves how dumb we are.

Next she hits on the "Magazines are spoiling my self image" vibe. Oh please. First, I"ve met Michelle, she needn"t worry too much about her self image. Second, who asked you to read Maxim in the first place? That"s our magazine, that"s why it has all of the scantily clad young women and hundred word articles about beer, because it is a magazine designed for men. "Well about all of the women"s magazines that feature half naked women?" you cry. Somebody must be buying them. I mean I somehow doubt that the folks that put out Cosmopolitan every month are sitting in their offices and saying, "Well, we lost another several hundred million last month, but damn it, we are going to continue putting all those pictures of half naked supermodels in our magazine whether anyone buys them or not!" Trust me ladies, you stop buying magazines with half naked women in them and you let them know why you are no longer buying them, those models will disappear faster than a "Get in touch with your feminine side" workshop at the SCROOMtimes world headquarters.

The common theme for all these rants is that somehow women are dictated to on what they will buy, read, eat, think and feel by men. I have news for you ladies, men can barely figure out what they want for lunch, let alone operate a vast penis dominated conspiracy to hold the sisterhood down. You say that all these supermodels make you feel that you will never be able to find a man? Please, go to any bar on any night of any week and see how many pathetically nice guys are sitting in the corner, staring at you from afar, desperately trying to summon up the courage to talk to you. And when you see these guys, and you will if you stop looking at the steroid monkeys at the bar, why don"t you take that long walk over to where they are sitting. Why don"t you let them look you up and down while they decide whether they will allow you to buy them a drink or if they will use your sad attempts to start a conversation as a springboard for a witty remark that makes you feel an inch tall. Why don"t you then return to the taunts of your friends, as they revel in what a loser you are because doing that means they don"t have to wonder what kind of a loser they are. Why don"t you do all of that for few years while your waistline expands and your hairline recedes and you watch every possible mate that you might have had get married to an abusive gas station attendant named Earl. When you have done all of that and you have experienced the life of the average male, then you can tell me how pictures of supermodels make you feel bad.

We aren"t dictating any thing to anyone ladies. We are just trying to get through this life with some semblance of happiness and maybe, just maybe, a little love. We look at two dimensional renderings of attractive women because they are attractive women. We know we"ll never have them and quite frankly, know we couldn"t handle it if we did. We aren"t expecting the women in our lives to look like supermodels any more than they are asking us to look like George Clooney. It"s just that we are honest enough to say "My God, that is one attractive young woman, I think I would enjoy looking two dimensional renderings of her semi-clothed form." Try it sometime ladies, go out and buy a GQ and check out the underwear ads, I certainly won"t tell anyone if you won"t. Now if you"ll excuse me, I have to run down to the newstand, I hear Cosmo has a major babe on the cover this month.

Welcome Michelle, love your work, hope we can do this again soon?

signed, Skippy
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