Man Whores And Angry Italian Dudes

If you’re still with me after my cautionary tale of how my inner asshole bought me a one way ticket to Hell, thank you for believing in me despite my obvious eternal damnation. I’m going to be renting a bus for the trip, if any of you need a ride.

On Fridays I often like to review how the past week or weeks have been going and ponder the great mysteries of life. This week, I’m pondering Man Whores.

A friend, who is newly divorced, has announced on her Facebook that she is posting a “douchebag of the week” because of the insane number of gross, weird and downright vulgar messages she gets on Facebook. Her first one was a PM she received from some guy who skipped all the niceties of “hey how are you?” and went straight to “do you want to fuck?”

I chuckled at this post, thinking I was glad that really doesn’t happen to me as much anymore. I’ve learned that putting “married” as your status on social media profiles acts as a pretty good filter most of the time. Posting pictures like this of your husband doesn’t hurt either:

But there are ALWAYS a few numb-nuts who don’t see any of that as an obstacle. After chuckling at my friend’s conundrum of douchebaggery, I had one of my own the next day.

It certainly wasn’t as blatant as my friend’s, but still irritating because the implication is there.

A friend of The Husband Dude sent me a friend request. I don’t know this woman personally. On my personal Facebook page, I only accept friend requests from people I actually know (and like) and on rare occasions, friends of friends if the mutual friend can vouch for that person, and most of the time that only include people The Husband Dude is friends with.

So I accepted this woman’s request and no joke, within THREE MINUTES, I get a friend request from some dude I’ve never seen nor heard of before. I’m thinking it’s another friend of THD, but when I checked out this guy’s profile, we only have one mutual “friend” and that person is the lady whose request I accepted three minutes earlier.

I proceed further and discover this guy has over a thousand “friends” on his Facebook page…and they are ALL female.

Ok. Maybe not all. I did see a handful of dudes with the same last name, so they are probably family, but everyone else was female.

His profile also indicates he is married, but it doesn’t “tag” his wife, so that automatically becomes suspicious. A lot of hackers will clone an account pretending to be someone and then pull this kind of stunt. But based on the comments I could see, his wife actually exists and was laughing about his inability to tag her on that post.

So my next thought was…Lady, you clearly can see your husband’s Facebook page. Can’t you see that he only friends females? And that he is sending friend requests to females he doesn’t know at all?

Luckily, I just completed coloring a page in my adult coloring book that perfectly fits this situation:

I ignored the request and then laughed about it on my own Facebook page, referring to him as a “Man Whore”, and then it wasn’t long before I get a text from The Husband Dude: “Who sent you a friend request?”

THD is not an overly jealous guy. He’s cool with the guy friends I have. Of course, that could also be because at least seventy-five percent of my guy friends are gay, but that’s beside the point. He trusts me and he knows I only “friend” guys I know from way back or from work or who are fellow writers. He knows most of them in real life too.

That being said, he does not appreciate other males sniffing around with ulterior motives. I asked him if he knows this guy and he confirmed he doesn’t and then he texted me an angry emoji which roughly translates to:

I’m not going to lie. I do get a warm, fuzzy feeling when I see his hackles raised at another male giving me attention.

A couple of months ago, we were leaving a store and I actually walked out and went to the car before The Husband Dude.  When he got into the car, we had this conversation:

The Husband Dude: That guy was looking at you.

Me: What guy?

THD: The guy that was coming in as we were leaving.

Me: I didn’t see him.

THD: He saw you. And I saw him. He watched you all the way to the car.

Me: What did you do?

THD: I looked at him.

Me: What kind of look?

THD: The kind of look that says you better keep on moving, fucker.

Me (smiling at how serious he suddenly was): Well I didn’t see him. What did he look like?

THD: He looked like a fucker that better keep on moving.

I’m pretty sure this is the human version of beating his chest. At least he didn’t pee on me to mark his territory.

This would be the reason I waited two years before I told THD that the Man Whore at work who got fired for sexual harassment actually put his hands on me once. This was long before the MeToo movement, and though my workplace has a “zero tolerance” policy for sexual harassment, it still took nine women coming forward to get rid of this guy.

He only did it once. He came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders and started rubbing them. Pretty tame by his standards and what he did to other women, but still inappropriate, considering he and I had never even had a real conversation and he was most decidedly NOT invited to give me a shoulder rub in my cubicle.

When he touched me, I guess I jumped and my elbow shot out instinctively, narrowly missing his face, which was apparently much closer to the back of my neck than I realized. I wish I could find my self defense instructor from college and tell him I’ve still got it!

My reaction startled him and he backed off quickly and never returned. That’s why I never told anyone. What was the point? We all knew he was a perv but we also knew  our H.R. liked to ask questions like, “Are you sure you weren’t in a relationship with him that just went bad? Why would a married man with a family just start harassing you out of the blue?”

*SPOILER ALERT* Because he’s a Manwhore!

They were (finally) investigating the repeated harassment of one of my coworkers when my supervisor called me into his office to talk about what I had witnessed (plenty) and then the conversation turned to me and he asked if  Manwhore McPervertson had ever harassed me.

I recounted the incident with the shoulder rub and that I shrugged it off, literally.

Supervisor: Did you tell you husband when that happened?

Me: That would be a negative.

Supervisor: Why not?

Me: Because I really need this job and having one’s angry, Italian husband beat the shit out of one’s coworker in the parking lot is not conducive to one’s employment.

Supervisor:

Apparently, the new thing now is receiving unsolicited dick pics. Luckily, I’ve never received one.

Actually, I’ve never solicited one either, so what I should really say is I’ve never received any dick pics at all.

Maybe I’m an old lady, but I just don’t get this. What is the thought process?

“Hmmm…that lady looks hot. I’m sure she wants a picture of my junk to share with the girls at brunch.”

Or…”Hmm…this chick is so cool. I’m not going to try to talk to her, pay her a compliment, be charming, or wow her with my sense of humor or intelligence. I’m going to woo her with a blurry photo of my Johnson.”

Or worse…”Hmmm…her profile says she’s married/in a relationship, but I’m sure I could lure her away with a badly lit photo of my flag at half mast.”

 

As I was taking a break from writing this post, I hopped on over to my buddy Allen’s blog, The Midnight Goose, and his latest post at that time was all about receiving an unsolicited dick pic from some old Peepaw. You need to read it. It’ll make you laugh! The comments are priceless too.

By the way, if you’re worried that the subject matter here might get The Husband Dude’s hackles up again, it’s ok. He really doesn’t read my blog anymore. Something about “he lives it so why does he have to read it?”

Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring.