Life & Death of The Party

"Life & Death of The Party"
a social guide
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
Chapter 9: Drinking Too Much & Blaming Your Friends

Your friends suck. I mean, right? They take you to this party, they offer you free beer, you drink too much and they totally let you call the host's girlfriend a "rabbit whore." And then, they scold you. Oh, talking monkey is so sorry! He never let it happen again! Bananananana?

Sure, sure, your friends were trying to cover your mouth and tell you to stop talking, but they were also the ones that brought you and gave you beer.

And I'm sorry. I didn't realize that I was signing a contract upon coming to this box social. I was under the impression that it was a party and the host's girlfriend was, in fact, a total "rabbit whore." And no, I have no idea what a "rabbit whore" actually is. Shut up. Anyway, the point remains: don't give me free alcohol and then try to put me on lockdown. That's like giving King Kong a whole handful of Ann Darrow and then trying to take him down like a vet with a nuke.

In fact, I'm sick of this entire conversation. I'm just gonna nod my head until it falls off or drifts off. Or until I'm lucid enough to pee in the salsa. Salsuck, methinks!

You know what? Just for that "rabbit whore" getting on my case about the whole rabbit whordeal, I'm stealing her birth control pills.

I'm outta here.

What the hell? Unhand me!

I said, unhand me!

Clean Camping

"Clean Camping"
a guide to politeness in the wilderness
by Nicky Clark

AN EXCERPT:
Listen, I'm not saying you have to love nature. I don't. I think nature is like a bad boyfriend, constantly inviting you into his lush softness and plush beauty, but then he starts putting marks on your body that make you itch. Pretty soon, you're sleeping in a tent, freezing to make breakfast. Even making coffee becomes a difficult and defying effort.

But I like swimming. So I guess...that's like a good New Year's with the boyfriend on his best behavior. But if it's winter, it's cold. Just like a bad boyfriend. It stings you. It wears on your heart. It hurts your privates.

Somehow, you'll make it to the top of a great mountain, and you'll think, "I did this. Me." And on your proud march down, you'll notice how much nature helped you. The rock was perfectly sloped, the ground was perfectly solid and the insects were perfectly calm. Should you thank nature? No. Nature can go suck its own egg.

Before you realize what you're doing, you're kicking any plant that even remotely hangs over a path, you're swearing off hiking and you're actually punching trees.

"Hiking boots! Attaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!" you scream in a god-awful melody that only the birds can hear. Nobody's around for miles. The relationship is not doing well.

"Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!" you scream as you miss men now. At least they never gave you bug bites, at least they never made you pee in an outhouse, at least they never made you carry your own stupid water bottle because the river had scat in it.

"I'll kiiiiiiiiiiilllllllll yooooooooooooouuuuuu, naaaaaaattttuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuure!" you wail, panting and undressing as you run down the hill, tripping over your own feet, cutting your legs on branches you didn't see and thinking only of eating honey.

But you still want to preserve nature. It's here to stay, in all of your apathetic and unruly delusional moments speeds. Kill, kill, kill! Save, save, save! You're fighting against yourself and your better instincts.

Well, keep it clean and maybe you won't have to worry about your impact, chuckles.

Stop throwing your beer cans. You suck.

Stop leaving candy wrappers. You suck.

And stop saving the whales. They suck.

No, seriously, find something better to save, jerks.

How To Seduce Everyone

"How To Seduce Everyone"
a guide for the ride
by Eyvette Min

PREFACE:
Dear reader,

As I write this, it is 6:32 a.m. and I have a martini in one hand and a boy in the other.

Did I just get up or did I just get home? Is it going to be a wildly fantastic day or was it a fantastically wild night? I suppose it's the age old question that has nothing to do with old age; it has to do with your fevers, what makes your body clock tick like a timebomb during a weekend on the town.

Which are you taking home, the taxi or the man? Here's a hint: one saves you time and money. One's fare and the other's fair. Drop that F. Now what are you: "are" (concrete and stationary) or "air" (free and angelic)?

Nobody paying fare is playing fair, girl. Didn't they teach you that as soon as you learned how to paint your fingernails and wiggle your tush? Oh my, have you been paying for you own meals? Well, let me tell you, I haven't paid for a meal since Jack-In-The-Box was serving kangaroo meat.

You have the answers. Now you just have to make those boys question themselves.

Ah, these questions, these challenges, these wonders, these battles...so alarming and charming, like a book of poetry set on fire and put out to sea to die.

Health vs. wealth, property vs. luxury, nature vs. nurture, strawberries vs. cream....

Why not have both, I say?

I can exercise all right and exercise my right, I can have my stake while having my steak, and I can have my wilderness with my wildness, all with some strawberries & cream, of course.

Boys are easy, not flimsy. Girls, well, we're another war. And we invented the rules, just so you know; scrawled in lipstick and vodka. Maybe finalized by a scream down Fifth Avenue in a limo.

This is your time, your night, your life. I mean, who else is gonna dance for you?

Ever seen a hot tub before dawn? Well, I'll tell you, it sparkles, like a glistening bath of diamonds. Sugardaddies aren't just candy, darling. Sometimes, they're sweeter.

And, if you must know, after midnight, I often drop the "ward" and keep my wardrobe down to a slim minimum....a sliminmum? Wow, that's a mouthful.

Which brings me back to boys being easy.

You can always have it good by being no good. But remember the three Cs: classy, coy and celebrationious.

Fine, ok, that last one's not a word. But I'm sure if you dropped your lip gloss and bent over to get it in front of Webster, he'd make anything you said a word. You could be a word, but you're more than that; you're a phrase, a sentence, an essay, a novel, in fact, you're the whole goddamn language, really.

So, here's your new motto, ladies (cherish it):

You don't have to be easy to have it easy. You just need to make it look easy.

Work it and you'll never work again.

Well, you have to read this book and I've gotta jet (am I leaving or did some nice young man actually buy me a jet? I suppose you'll know the answer by the last chapter).

So, I'm off, even when I'm dead-on.

Ciao,
Eyvette

p.s. Yes, I did make it so that Chapter 15 smells like Strawberries & Cream. That's the sexy chapter.

You Will Learn Nothing

"You Will Learn Nothing"
a college guide
by Jake Kilroy

BACK COVER:
Ever hate that kid who always had his hand up in a lecture class? Ever lie during club rush to get free stuff? Ever attend rallies and protests because you thought the pseudo-hippie was hot? Ever…hey, read this book!

AN EXCERPT:
I wasn’t always the smoothest when trying to score with sorority girls either.

“Yeah, I’m in a fraternity,” I told a hot blonde in my math class once.

“Oh, cool. What fraternity?”

“I can’t pronounce it.”

“What do you mean you can’t pronounce it?”

“It’s in a robot language of some kind. Or maybe Egyptian. I don't know. I've fallen asleep in all of my classes having to do with Asia.”

“It’s Greek.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s Greek.”

“How do you know anyway? Aren’t you, like, a public relations major?”

“Yes, but I’m also in Alpha Delta Phi.”

“And that’s what…? Like, a secret group of government operatives?”

“Huh? Do you seriously not know what your fraternity is called or are you just trying to score?”

“No, I’m in…Delta Force Gamma Ray Alpha Dog…”

“Wow.”

“Impressed?”

"No."

"Oh yeah? Well, this entire time we've been talking, I've been staring at your boobs. So...I win. Deal with it."

Manahandled

"Manahandled"
a restaurant guide
by Kevin Manahan

AN EXCERPT:

Olive Garden
3755 Alton Parkway
Irvine, CA 92606

RATINGS:
FOOD: 6
ATMOSPHERE: 5
ATTRACTIVE PEOPLE: scattered
SERVICE: simply the word "putz"
OVERALL SCORE (OUT OF A POSSIBLE 10 MANAHANS): 5

The food was like any Olive Garden meal, so I won't go into that. I mean, it's a chain. So let's talk about the resident chain potsmoker and my waitress, Julie.

From the Olive Garden:
This lady is high. She is totally baked out of her mind. She's probably eating all of the breadsticks while listening to the Allman Brothers. I bet she thinks that her hands are flashlights and her legs are being massaged by gnomes. At some point, I'm sure she will burp up a Cypress Hill CD.

"So, what can I get yooooouuu?" (I spelled that accurately, I assure you)

"The Coke I asked for twice already," I replied in my most forced tone. My teeth are grinding from kindness.

"Ohhhhh, ok. So two Diet Cokes?"

"What? No. Wait...no. Just one. Regular."

"Just one regular Diet Coke."

"What...? No, lady, listen to me. One Coke."

"Haha. It sounded like you said onecoke."

"What the hell is onecoke?"

"I don't know. You said it."

Long pause. Visions of strangling flash.

"I see. May I please speak with your manager?"

"Can't. He's, like, busyyyyyyyy?"

"Yes, I'm sure he is, but...wait, I'm sorry, but how is that a question?"

"What's a question?"

Long pause. Visions of red painting walls.

"Meaning, what is a question or what part of what I said was a question?"

"Three!"

Stunned. I freeze. My body hurts.

"You know that wasn't a math question, right?"

"Anytime someone asks me something hard, I figure it's math."

"I see. Well, send your manager over whenever you get the chance. I think he might've accidentally hired a broken VCR hooked up to a toaster."

"I don't get it."

"Didn't think you would. Quick! What's the difference between a bunny?"

"Three!"

"Wow. Stellar work there. Just stellar work. Get your manager."

"I'll tryyyyyy. And don't worry, I'll make sure he gets you that Pepsi."

"What...? Wait, you can't serve Pepsi and Coke at the same place."

"Well, we also have lemonade."

"No, I'm saying you can't serve both Pepsi and Coke in the same restaurant."

"Well, I could try to stir them together for you. Do you want me to use Diet Pepsi as well?"

"No, listen, you crazy piece of insanity, give me my Coke without spit in it and tell your manager I want to slap you with every breadstick that you somehow didn't eat. Pothead!"

"I wouldn't spit in iiiiiiiiiiiiiit."

"Good. Because I have a machine in my pocket that can detect spit."

"Really?"

"Yes, it looks like a phone, but it's not. It's a spit-detecting machine. Now, go get me my Coke."

"Okaaaaaaaaaay."

Some minutes later, she approaches me again.

"Hi, welcome to Red Robin, my name is Julie. What can I get you?"

"Are you smoking clown farts? This isn't Red Robin."

She laughs. "I know. I thought I could trick you."

My brain explodes.

How To Make Men Love You

"How To Make Men Love You (Take The Money And Run)"
by Cheryl Asico

PREFACE:
Men are like butter. If you want them to pan out, you better melt 'em or smash 'em. And you know they taste delicious with wine!

Really though, when you get a hankering for a man, how many body parts are you thinking of? What do you have to do to get what you want? How much effort? How much time? How many lipsticks do you go through before you realize all you wanted was a decent man who didn’t care?

Oh darling, you worry too much.

But who knows how far the modern man is willing to go for the goods? Or the bads? I suppose the socialite in you thinks it all really just depends on how thick your high heels are or how short your skirt is. And maybe that quiet housewife in you constantly wonders if it's just seeing how much you can take. And that teenager in you thinks that love is a feast where the leftovers never go bad and the only important word in your vocabulary is "want."

Or maybe it just takes some good sassy nerve. And, let me tell you, girl, I’ve got plenty.

I suppose you have to wonder how that nervous system works anyway. You wonder if the men in your life have a spine sometimes, because they don’t move when you want them to. They don't take you dancing and they only get off the couch for beer, booty or the bathroom. But you know they've got themselves a vocal chord because you can see that bulge in their neck and they never stop talking when they should and can burp and grunt like their mama ain't home.

I wear hoop earrings and I hear football. I wear a pretty blouse and I hear cars. I could wear a dress until it disintegrated off my body and I’d still only hear about Burger King.

That was the old days for me though.

Maybe you're still living with medieval era, waiting for your white knight. I did too once. But all this that I'm talking about is from my dark ages. Did I mention that I’ve got boys taking me to movies, men taking me to mansion parties and sugar daddies taking me out on their yachts these days?

Oh, I didn’t?

Well, it’s a good thing you bought this book, honey.

Because I'm gonna get you some.

I'm gonna make it so all you have to do is blink and you're getting foot rubs from three college boys. You're gonna sigh and your high school sweetheart is gonna beg for you back, with a new letterman jacket that he stole of his athletic son (who also wants you). You're gonna snap your fingers and a millionaire is gonna steal you away to a country that you can't even pronounce.

"What is it? Pastila? Partstrili? Where the hell are we? Oh, it don't matter. There's a 20-year-old boy with abs flatter than that kooky ethnic food they served me for breakfast. Oh, and palm trees and a sunset that looks like a margarita? Daaaaaaaaamn," you'll say as you admire your own bikini.

You'll have legs like Tina Turner and arms like Ike. Nobody's gonna ever see another woman love/beat men harder.

"You ever seen smoother legs?" you'll ask yourself when no one's around, groping yourself with lotion, listening to a techno song nobody else can hear.

You ever eaten off of strong man's stomach, a cut man's chest or a buff man's butt? Listen, sweetheart, you're gonna. Throw away those good plates. I found you something better. I mean, why have good China when you can have a good man from China?

All it takes is a few easy shakes to get a few easy steaks.

Maybe with some butter.

And some garlic mashed potatoes. And a dinner salad with blue cheese. And a basket full of some goddamn dinner rolls.

Damn, I’m hungry.

How To Meet Chicks

"How To Meet Chicks: a sexy audiobook"
narrated by James Park
a spoken word introduction by Jake Kilroy

BOOK SLEEVE:
Exhausted from being rejected? Rejecting the exahustion? Exhausted from rejecting the exhaustion from being rejected? If only there was some kind of wizard of women, a guru of girls, a lord of the ladies!

Well, there is. He's just been in laying low for a while, because once you love half of the chicks in the world, they're bound to fight the other half.

And you can't have that. No, sir. No freakin' way.

But who is this masked man of manliness?

James Park.

And he said everything in this audiobook. You're damn right it's not a real book. Why not, you may ask yourself so stupidly? Because James Park doesn't have time to sit down and type his glory, like some monkey that learned how to poorly dress himself. Nope. Not James Park. He narrated this entire book in the car on his way to parties and dates. All of Chapter 11 was recorded while he was WITH a woman.

Oh, you doubt his ways? Well, he just dated your ex-girlfriend. Just now. What do you think of that?

Oh, still doubt him? Well, he just hooked up with your mom. Deal with it, homeboy. Becuase that's where you're going to be for a while if you don't listen to this sleeve. You're going to be home every night. You won't be at the roller-skating rinks, the drive-ins or the cornfields, or wherever you meet chicks (I wouldn't know, I'm an audiobook sleeve, so I'm asexual).

But if you ever want to be with another chick again, you better listen to James Park.

NOW.

So, get dressed (pansy), listen to this audiobook (dork) and go attila the honeys.