Going to the gym is actually the
fourth most popular way that is not associated with the Internet and social media
to meet a chick in today’s world. The third being going to the nearest Barnes
& Noble and browsing over the love and relationships section for a few
minutes until a girl stops by who A. does not have a wedding band chained to
her finger, or B. has smears of mascara wiped away on the upper sides of her
cheeks, thus indicating she is on the rebound. More than likely there is a
carton of Ben & Jerry’s stowed within 50 feet of Type B girls in this
scenario.
The second most popular way to find
a girl is the age-old, “head to the bar” method, which surprisingly is one of
the oldest methods out there, however does not lead to more successful relationships
than it does to one-night stands. Statistically speaking, alcohol turns
people's brain functions off as the night continues to drag on and no one has
hit on them, and/or vice versa, they haven’t found anyone worth tossing lines
at. But it is a proven method that the later you are out, the more intoxicated
you become, the more appealing that single chick wearing a turtleneck that
doesn’t fit over her love handles becomes Kate Beckinsale, and before you know
it you’re doing the walk of shame.
It’s ok buddy, join the club.
The previous three all have merit
and all have proven success rates if used with proper caution and
planning, however the number one way to meet a chick in these modern times is to
steal a child and go for a walk in the park. And when I say steal a child, I don’t
mean create drastic situations that will be aided by milk cartons, I do mean
monopolize on all of your married friends who can’t keep their hands off each
other and offer up your services as a blue-ribbon babysitter. Within seconds
you will have a newborn placed in your lap with a diaper that needs to be
changed, all so the parents of that lovely child can have the privilege of
taking a nap longer than three minutes.
It's a rather bold statement to
say that parents hate their children, but oddly enough, that is the nearest
emotion I can think of to describe how all of my married friends view their
physical offspring. Maybe not hate, how about, loathe with unfathomable
comprehension? Yeah, that sounds better. I say this because anytime I offer my
services to watch their kids, the child is offered up like a human sacrifice,
tossed out the door like a form of terminal cancer. They want to rid their
house of this pestilence for as long as they can, just so they can get a small
taste of what it was like to be an actual human being, and not a parent.
And I’m telling you that kid works
wonders. Take him anywhere you want and you’ll find women following you around
like Justin Beiber groupies. The grocery store, the mall, Wal-Mart, the best place out of them all is to
take them for a walk in the park on a Sunday morning. You’ll have more girls flocking to you than the salmon of Capistrano.
The kid is your weapon, your
warhead, your secret form of artillery that takes down stone fortresses and
melts girls’ hearts like warm butter. And the best part is that he behaves. He
doesn’t know you, he’s not used to the way you act, he’s unsure how to handle
you. All he knows about you is that you show up once every six months to pat
him on the head, and your face may or may not show up on his refrigerator
around Christmas. That’s it. You’re not a stranger, so he doesn’t go into an
atomic tantrum because you didn’t buy him candy like his parents always do.
He’s on his best behavior, and little does he know he’ll get you a girl’s
number before it’s nap time.
And that my friend, is the reason why you should steal a baby the next chance you get.
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