Fishman here. The title of this rant is taken from the Richard Gere flop, “Dr. T & the Women.” I forget the plot, but I think he’s a gynecologist and all of his patients love him. Who would NOT want to see that movie? The answer is 96 percent of America. As you have read, women were not my strong point. I have rejection stories, my friends. Ghastly stories that will make you scream and cry. Luckily for you, I’m leaving out the awkward high school stories because my last two rants were about high school. Anyway, the prom tale was my longest horror story with women, but some are just as bad, if not worse.

I am Dr. F and these are the women.

July 1993

It was my second summer at Camp Equinunk, a sleep away camp. I was 11 years old. I liked Equinunk, but we had to have “socials” with the girls’ camp, Blue Ridge. The girls at that camp were the biggest bitches in the world. They were horrible creatures that must have been spawned from the deepest reaches of Hell. Every social with them made me want to vomit. So you could imagine my joy when I heard that we had to Square Dance with them! Yes, Square Dancing – the dumbest dance ever to come out of Bumblefuck, Kentucky…or wherever the hell it came from. They marched us to the tennis courts, teamed each of us up with an unwilling girl, and the Square Dance guy – whom I will call Fat Douche - taught us how to dance. We would have to be there for 2 hours every day that week. Could you imagine sitting on an open tennis court for 2 hours in 95-degree heat, sitting next to a girl that hates your guts, while listening to some fat hick talk about a dumb fucking dance style that proves white people just plain suck? I thought so.

Anyway, Fat Douche decided to change things that summer. Along with the normal Square Dancing that we had to perform, he made every camper form a long, swerving line on the tennis courts. The boys were facing one direction, and the girls faced the other direction. This means every boy was facing a girl. Fat Douche taught us this ridiculous jig, and when we finished “jigging” with our partner, every boy moved over to the right, therefore giving us a new partner. Well, this lasted for an hour. Not only was the dance humiliating, but also it was scorching hot and I was sweating quite a bit. Eventually, I moved on to a certain girl, and I knew that I was in deep shit. The moment she saw me coming, she rolled her eyes with the most disgusted look ever. Even people who saw the Elephant Man in person gave kinder reactions than this girl did. I didn’t want to make eye contact, so we began the jig. Two seconds into it, she stopped.

“EW!” She said, rather loud. “You’re sweaty and ugly!”

SLAP!

The fucking bitch slapped me! A solid open-handed slap right across my face! It stung quite a bit too! I didn’t know what to do! If it was the same situation and I was 22, I would have slapped her right back, spit in her face, and call her a piece of shit whore who sucks cock for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But I was only 11 - I’ve never been slapped before! I stood there, shocked. Not only did the slap hurt, but also what she said – at the risk of sounding lame – really hurt my feelings. It felt like someone jabbed me in the stomach with a searing poker. As the music played, I just smiled like a doofus, hoping no one saw my humiliating experience. Meanwhile, the bitch also stood there, looking into the distance with her arms crossed, and tapping her foot impatiently. I don’t know who the girl was – and I never will – but I dearly hope that a dog is mounting her somewhere.

The worst part is when I explained what happened to my bunkmates, one of them told me that it was my fault for sweating in the first place. The kid, Ian, was a narcissistic asshole who spent all day looking at a mirror. He was one of three boys that Blue Ridge girls actually talked to. Ian stayed that way throughout high school, but by then everyone realized that he was just really gay. Fuck you, Ian. By the way, that is NOT Ian Kardys. That guy rules. Read his stuff on this website, folks.

February 2001

Like all dumb freshmen, I began to pledge a fraternity at college. SUNY Buffalo isn’t huge when it comes to frats, but there are some cool ones out there. I liked the kids in the frat that I was pledging, but the truth was I already had a solid circle of friends by the second semester of freshman year – I didn’t need to pay for more. Nevertheless, I still planned to attend a mixer before dropping out. The girls of this sorority were just plain ugly. I remember the sinking feeling I had when they marched through the fraternity door. Then again, beer solves all problems.

I was so blitzed during this mixer. I couldn’t even see across a room, let alone tell if a girl was hot. I was talking to this girl who I will name Marlene, because the name Marlene just isn’t used enough. Something was up with Marlene. Even though I had major beer goggles, her teeth stayed the same. I’m fairly sure some of her teeth were missing, but all I could stare at was this one razor-sharp tooth that jutted out of her gums. I didn’t care - It was the first time a girl was paying attention to me all semester. She even let me fondle her boobs right in the middle of the party! Then Marlene leaned in closer to me.

“I live in a dorm room with 3 roommates,” she whispered. “They’ve all gone home this weekend.” Angels singing went off in my head. I pictured the people at NASA throwing their papers in the air, cheering. Keep in mind, I was still a virgin at this point, so my excitement was incredible.

“This is it!” I either said or thought (I was so trashed that I have no exact recollection). “THIS IS IT!” Suddenly, a hand grabbed my shoulder from behind, pulling me away from Marlene!

“What is this?!” I screamed. Was it God? Did the Almighty Lord Himself not want me to get laid? I knew that God hated me, but not to the point of Divine Intervention! I turned around to see Todd Grimes, whom we all know is just about the closest thing to God.

“We’re leaving.” Todd said.

“NEVER!” I retorted, probably drooling in the process. “I’m going to get laid!”

“We’re leaving,” Todd repeated, ignoring my pleas. He led me outside despite my constant protests.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you know what you have done?! Do you have any idea the consequences of your actions?! UNHAND ME!” Todd continued to ignore me and he threw me into the car.

“I did you a favor.”

“YOU FOOL! THIS COULD HAVE BEEN IT! I’VE BEEN WAITING 18 YEARS FOR THIS!”

“You just don’t have beer goggles, my friend. You have beer binoculars.”

“NO! I…Dammit, you’re right. She was hideous, but that hideous lump of a woman wanted me!”

“Can’t let you do it, Fishman. Sorry.” I think that I cried on the drive home.

DECEMBER 2000

I’m really bouncing through the years here. This one took place 2 months before the story you just read. Anyway, the year 2000 was ending, and my friend Peter held this massive New Years Eve party at his house. There was an endless supply of alcohol, not to mention plenty of women. I parked myself at the bar and rarely left the stool all night. About an hour before 2001, I overheard numerous girls asking guys to kiss them at midnight. I figured I had to get a kiss, right? I’m 18 and a college student now, right? I waited for a girl to ask me for a kiss, but obviously that never happened.

Wow…I suddenly feel very depressed.

Anyway, out of nowhere, this attractive young girl sat next to me.

“Ugh,” she groaned. “I have no one to kiss at midnight.” I should have jumped at this, but I am a good friend. My friend Jeremy, who doesn’t drink and therefore was having a lame time, needed something to improve his night.

“My friend Jeremy is available,” I said. “He’s my designated driver.”

“No, I need someone drunk.”

“Well, I’m drunk.” She looked me over.

“No.” The girl then walked away. OUCH! I don’t feel horrible about that because the girl was never interested in me. She had a slight crush on my friend Jordan and knew that I was friends with him. She was using me to get to him, which if you ask me, is too complicated a plan for a party filled with drunken idiots. All she had to do was ask him for a kiss…which she later did. Jordan also made out with her and got her topless. I’m sure he also scored, but I never got any specific details.

It was mere minutes before the ball dropped. Everyone crowded into Peter’s living room. There wasn’t enough space for so many people, so I sat on a windowsill in his dining room. As the ball descended, I looked around at all the guys who had girls to kiss. The ball dropped, 2001 arrived, and nearly every guy made out with a girl. People started to head back to the basement, and I felt like a total loser.

“I didn’t get a kiss,” I slurred to Jeremy. “Now I’m going to Hell.” Luckily, a girl from my school named Jackie overheard me. She walked over to me, leaned in, and gave me sweet kiss.

“Bye!” Jackie said, and left the party with her friends. Exuberance filled my soul. I was kissed on New Years Eve! Not only that, but also that was the first time a girl ever kissed me! Yes, I know that’s pathetic, but I’m man enough to admit it.

“Jeremy, I did it!” I was so happy that I leaned back on the windowsill. Little did I know that the window was open. I nearly fell out, but I caught myself just in time and Jeremy pulled me back in.

An interesting side note about this story is that I met my girlfriend Shira at this party, but I don’t remember. Apparently, she walked over to me and said hi. This is my response in her words: “You gave me this dirty look and ignored me.” I don’t believe her.

MAY 2001

This one is the worst of the worst. The penultimate reason that I simply wasn’t ready for women until I turned 19. It is so bad that Shira, my own loving girlfriend, called me a fag after hearing it. Even my mother, the woman who raised me and always reassured me, hung her head in shame after this tale. Before you go on, just know that I am no longer like this.

Second semester of freshman year, I took Archaeology with Paul Feuer. Why we took that course is beyond me. We actually failed the midterm, which really sucked. Anyway, there was this incredibly cute girl in the class. She had short red hair, and we all know that I love short hair. She always wore black too, which further enticed me. I wanted to speak to her all semester, but as you have read, my past experience with women was atrocious. How could I approach her without looking like a loser? I decided handing her a letter would be best. A LETTER! A FUCKING LETTER! THIS WASN’T HIGH SCHOOL! GOD, JESUS, ALLAH, OR WHOMEVER, IF YOU LET ME TRAVEL BACK TO MAY 2001 TO PUNCH MYSELF, I WILL FOREVER WORSHIP YOU AND SPREAD YOUR NAME! Amen.

So, I wrote the letter. To be honest, I totally forgot what I wrote. I’m not pulling your leg either. I think my brain wiped out that certain memory because if remembered, I would be driven to suicide. All I know is that I gave her my screen name at the end of the letter. It was the last day of Archaeology and I didn’t sit next to Paul. It was difficult, because Paul is so damn sexy that I find it hard to stay away from him. However, I managed to overcome my Paul addiction and sit three seats away from the girl, whom I will call Red Girl. I was going to say something during a brief pause in the lecture, but some kid asked her for a pen. BASTARD! Before I knew it, class was over. Red Girl was leaving, but I couldn’t just let her leave. Carpe Diem! Seize the day! I caught up to her as she was leaving.

“Hey, wait up,” I said. She turned to me and gave me a polite smile. I froze. My mind turned blank. My mouth stayed open, and if it weren’t so dry from me being nervous, saliva would have poured out like a waterfall. I took out the letter and gave it to her.

Here it is folks - the part where Shira called me a fag and my mother lost all hope of me ever giving her a grandchild.

“My friend gave me that letter. He told me to give it to a girl with red hair. I guess that means you.”

WHAT A FUCKING LOSER! AS IF WRITING THE LETTER WAS BAD ENOUGH, I COULDN’T EVEN CONFESS THAT I WROTE IT! The funny part is that Red Girl totally bought it. I must be a great actor because she had no clue. She was so excited too!

“What do you think it says?” She asked me.

“Uh…I don’t know,” I stammered, struggling to improvise. “He just gave me the letter and told me not to open it. I…uh…hope you’re the right girl.” Smooth. Real smooth, you fucking loser. I even pretended to read over her shoulder when she opened the letter, but apologized and walked away. As I turned the corner, I ran back to my room. I told Paul and Jim Byrne what happened, and they were actually impressed - probably because I didn’t tell them that I wussed out by confessing like any normal person would do. Actually, any normal person would just ask Red Girl out to eat or something.

I didn’t expect to hear anything from Red Girl. I was wrong. That same afternoon I got an instant message from her. I told Paul and Jim about it and they ran into my room, amazed that Red Girl was interested. I had a fairly good conversation, but she didn’t understand why I (a kid that she thought she never met) couldn’t hand her the letter in person. The whole stupid situation soon got to me, and I told her everything. Obviously, this freaked her out quite a bit. I tried to explain that I had bad experiences in the past with girls, but she didn’t care. I was losing her, so I had to lighten the mood to stand a chance.

“Were you expecting someone better?” I said jokingly.

“Actually,” her instant message reply said. “Yes.”

1985

I don’t know the exact date of this story, but come on – I was 3. This is my first bad experience with the opposite sex. Unlike most kids at that age, I was still in diapers. What can I say? I’m a slow learner and I like to feel shit in my pants. A girl named Chelsea in my nursery school was having a birthday party. Everyone in class was invited…but me. She didn’t want me coming because I was still in diapers. Throughout elementary school, middle school, and high school, I have hated Chelsea because of that incident in 1985. The funny thing is that she probably doesn’t remember doing this.

There are more stories, but I feel this torture has gone on long enough. If you made it this far, I must say one thing: Hold me, I’m very sad.

Questions? Comments? Mounted by a dog? E-mail Fishman347@yahoo.com