* An older woman can wear any hat she chooses and nobody will laugh. A younger woman wearing the same hat will always look like a lampshade in abrothel.
* An older woman will never wake you up in the middle of the night and ask you, “What are you thinking?” An older woman doesn’t care what you think, if you think at all.
* An older woman always carries a purse full of emergency supplies. Young women go hungry and bleed to death every time there’s a natural disaster.
* An older woman always carries a condom in her purse. A younger woman is still hoping the guy might have one on him.
* An older woman is a cheaper date. A younger woman will cost you 12 beers, but an older woman will sleep with you after a cup of a herbal tea.
* The older a woman gets, the stronger her libido gets and the older a man gets, the weaker his libido gets… which is why nature intended young guys to go out with older women and young women to go out with older men.
* An older woman can wear bright red lipstick during the day without looking like she just had an adventure inside a jam jar. This is not true of younger women or drag queens.
* Older women can run faster because they’re always wearing sensible shoes.
* An older woman is into free sex! An older woman is almost always already attached to someone, so there’s no need to develop a phobia about committing to her. The last thing she needs in her life is another clingy, whiny, dependent lover!
* Older women are more honest. An older woman will tell you that you are an asshole if you’re acting like one. A young woman will say nothing, just in case it means you might break up with her. An older woman puts herself on a pedestal.
* An older woman will never get pregnant and then suddenly demand that the two of you get married. In fact, if you impregnate an older woman, you will probably be the last to know.
* Older women have jobs with dental plans. Younger women can’t help you when your teeth get knocked out playing hockey.
* An older woman will never accuse you of “using her.” She’s using you.
* Older women take charge of the situation. An older woman will call you up and ask you for a date. A younger woman will wait forever, by the phone, for you to call.
* Older women know how to cook. Young women know how to dial Pizza Hut Take out.
* An older woman will introduce you to all of her girlfriends. A younger woman will avoid her girlfriends when she’s with you, in case you get any ideas.
* Older women are psychic. You never have to confess to having an affair, because somehow they always know.
* Older women often own an interesting collection of lingerie that they have acquired from admirers over the years. Young women often don’t wear underpants at all, thus practically eliminating all possibility of a strip-tease.
* Older women know what Kegel exercises are.
* An older woman will agree to go to McDonald’s with you for a meal. Younger women are too nervous to eat anything in front of somebody that they might possibly boff later.
* Older women are dignified. They are beyond having a screaming match with you in the middle of the night in a public park.
* Older women are experienced. They understand that sometimes, after 12 beers, a boy just can’t get it up. A younger woman may need some time to grasp this fact.
* An older woman has lots of girlfriends and most of them will want to boff you too.
* An older woman will always meet the minimum height requirement to go on an amusement ride.
* An older woman will never accuse you of stealing the best years of her youth because chances are someone else has stolen them first.
One day a housewife was going about the usual business of cleaning the
house, when she suddenly felt intensely horny. Unfortunately, her husband
was still at work, so she resorted to stripping off all her clothes and
started to masturbate.
She got very excited, rubbing herself and moaning, and when her husband
walked in, she was writhing in the middle of the living room floor.
He glanced through the mail and said to his wife, “Honey, when you’re
finished vacuuming the floor, could you get started on dinner?”
An essay by Alyssa Lerner Junior, Boston University
I just got back from a semester abroad in Europe, and let me tell you, it truly was the most magical, amazing experience of my entire life. The French countryside was like something out of a storybook, the Roman ruins were magnificent, and the men, well, European men are by far the most romantic in the world.
You American men all think you’re so suave and sophisticated. Well, think again! European men make you look like the immature, inexperienced little children you are. They really know how to make a woman feel special over there. Unlike the so-called men here in the States, European men know how to treat a woman right.
For one thing, European men aren’t afraid to come up and talk to you. And they know how to start slow, with a nice cup of Italian espresso or a long walk on some historic street. They know the places you can’t find in any tourist guide. They know the whole history of the cities in which they live-who the fountains are named after, who the statues are. I remember one unforgettable night in Athens, I sat and listened to a Greek sailor for hours as he told me about the countless men who fought over Helen back in ancient times. Afterward, he told me he loved his homeland even more now that he’d seen it through my eyes. I ask you, would an American man ever say something as deep and beautiful as that?
European men know the most romantic little cafes and bistros and trattorias, candlelit places where you can be alone and drink the most fantastic wine. They tell you what’s on the menu and what you should try. (If it wasn’t for a certain young man in Milan, I never would have discovered fusilli a spinaci et scampi.) And the whole time, they’re looking deep into your eyes, like you’re the only woman on the entire planet. What woman could resist a man like that? Then, after a moonlit stroll along the waterfront and a kiss in the doorway of their artist’s loft, you find yourself unable to-well, I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
I’ll never forget my magical semester abroad. One thing’s for sure-I’m ruined for American men forever!
American Women Studying In Europe Are Unbelievably Easy
An essay by Giovanni Di Salvi
I’m a 25-year-old carpenter living in Rome, and I don’t mind telling you that I get all the action I can handle. I’m not all that handsome or well-dressed, and I’m certainly not rich. In fact, my Italian countrywomen could take me or leave me. But that’s just fine, because Rome gets loads of tourist traffic, and American co-eds traveling through Europe are without a doubt the easiest lays in the world.
Being European gives me a hell of an advantage. I’m not sure why, but there’s something about the accent that opens a lot of doors. All you have to do is go up to them, act a little shy and say, “Would you like to go with me, Signorina, for a cafe?” I actually have to thicken up my accent a little, but they never, ever catch on. After a cheap coffee, which to them always tastes better than anything they’ve ever had, because they’re in Europe, it’s time to walk them. Now, all they know about Rome is what they’ve read in Let’s Go, so you can pretty much just make up a whole bunch of crap. It’s fun to see how much they’ll swallow: As long as I refer to Italy as “my homeland” and other Italians as “my people,” they’ll believe pretty much anything. I don’t know who most of the local statues are, so I tell the muffins they’re all great artists and poets and lovers. Once, just for the hell of it, I told a psychology major from the University of Maryland that a public staircase was part of the Spanish Steps, which she’d never even heard of. Another time, I told this blonde from Michigan State that the public library was the Parthenon, and she cooed like I’d just given her a diamond.
For dinner, I usually take them to some cheap little hole in the wall, someplace deserted where not even the cops eat. American girls think candlelight means “romance,” not “deteriorating public utilities,” so they just poke their nipples through their J. Crew sweaters and never notice that there’s no electricity. Just as well, because Roman restaurants aren’t exactly the cleanest. After a bunch of fast-talk about the menu, I get them the special, which is usually some anonymous pasta with spinach and day-old shrimp, and whatever cheap, generic, Pope’s-blood Chianti’s at the bottom of the list.
By this time, they’re usually standing in a slippery little puddle. Going in for the kill, I walk them past one of Rome’s famous 2,000-year-old open cesspools. Then, as we open the door to my shitty efficiency, I kiss them on the eyelids so they don’t see the roaches, making sure the first thing they see is the strategically positioned artist’s easel I bought at some church sale. That’s usually all they need to see and, like clockwork, they fall backwards on my bed with their Birkenstocks in the air.
I mean, they’re hardly Italian women, but we have a saying here in Europe: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?