American Horror Story: Georgia College Football 2015

Unless a parallel universe opens up in which a real college football playoff tournament and not this farce of a thing called a “playoff” exists, college football around America is mostly wrapping up this week with in-state rivalry games and so-called “backyard brawls” (patent pending at the University of Pittsburgh…NO, WEST VIRGINIA!  NO, PITT!  NO *couches set ablaze*)  Here in Georgia, the college football season is divided up into four categories:  Georgia, Georgia Tech, Georgia (yack, spit, hiss, vomit) Southern, and “whoever the hell else is in the state.”  Let’s take a moment to look at all four categories and how their respective seasons went.

Pause now for the funeral march.

University of Georgia

“Are you pondering what I’M pondering, UGA?”  “I think so, but isn’t it YOUR turn to give Coach Richt his walking papers?”

The Bulldogs season began with high hopes, buoyed by the emergence of superstar running back Nick Chubb, who appeared to be ready to assume the mantle of heroism from former running back and memorabilia signing extraordinaire Todd Gurley.  Things were all set for Head Coach Mark Richt to finally meet his destiny as the one would restore balance to the Force, but Chubb and a collection of Bulldog offensive linemen learned quickly what fans have known for years; college football has all the logic and reason of blind dartboard throwing tournament.  Sadly, Chubb’s season was cut short by a knee injury best described in particular phrasing heard on TV when it happened “Goood GAWD!”  At that very moment, Bulldog Nation knew the season was in jeopardy and, despite their best efforts, the men in Red and Black were unable to save their season from the true kiss of death:  Mark Richt being featured in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.  Once that particular article ran, the season was unofficially over, but made official when UGA became a light snack for the powerhouse that was Florida.  Other losses included Alabama and some other team which nobody gives a crap about, but they did manage to score some brownie points by this writer’s opinion when they beat Georgia (puke, gag, crap on the pavement) Southern.  Georgia  recovered some shred of dignity in the remaining weeks of the season and, in this year’s installment of “Good Ol’ Fashioned Hate,” was able to send….pause for dramatic effect while we go into the season of….

Georgia Tech

NCAA Football: Virginia Tech at Georgia Tech
Don’t be fooled…they just found out Wal-Mart has an on-campus store.

The Yellow Jackets had high hopes for this season, and it showed when they managed to, in a historic moment for Tech faithful, crushed some team from Mississippi or something, we don’t know.  What really matters is that Touchdown Jesus laid the whammie on the Jackets as a loss at Notre Dame sparked a memorable five game losing streak featuring losses to the greatness of Duke (really), North Carolina (facepalm), and Pittsburgh (double facepalm – South Florida once beat these guys!).  A “miracle” home win against Florida State appeared to be an optical illusion perpetrated by the Tech physics department, because the Jackets went on to lose to not only Virginia (seriously?) and Virginia Tech (good grief) but also Miami (reportedly Coach Paul Johnson banned all trips to South Beach that week…it didn’t work) until finally, the Jackets, led by nobody we really can remember being worth a giant crock of roach crap, stepping forward to be pounded into submission by the greatness of the…drum roll please, now spit…Georgia Bulldogs, losing at Athens, between the hedges, off the scoreboard, around the Arch, down Highway 10, split the uprights, 13-7.  While Paul Johnson admitted he hates losing, players were unavailable for comment, likely because their friends in the quantum physics department somehow replaced them with clones set on fourth quarter self-destruct.  Of course, this leads us to the amazing but highly reliable and annoying, but don’t take our word for it, just go there and see how alcohol soaked the campus is…..

Georgia (gack, ack, hiss, burp) Southern

Where’s Bugs Bunny with a really BIG ANVIL when you NEED HIM?

For the sake of this writer’s stomach (and associated bowel movements), this passage will be kept as brief as possible.  The Eagles took it easy, took it eeeasssay (sorry, couldn’t resist!), and managed to start the year off in promising fashion, getting drilled with the West Virginia Mountaineers.  Now, note I said with, even through the score of 44-0 suggested by.  This is because this was the one chance the Eagles had to get so drunk and hammered and lose by a ton that they just rolled up the tent and let their practice squad do the work.  After that, it was all business, and the Eagles demolished the greatness that is Western Michigan, Citadel, Idaho, Louisiana Monroe, Louisiana Adams, Louisiana Jackson, and Tippecanoe & Tyler II.  This, of course, led to the greatest moment of infamy in Georgia (Please don’t me say the damned name!) Southern (DAMMIT!) history since the famed “Empty Seat Games” of the mid 1990s, when the Eagles got walloped by Appalachian State, only to come back and bury not only Texas State (who?) but Troy (Motto:  Taking being Greek a little TOO seriously) in so much bird dung they actually forgot to save some for the Georgia Bulldogs, who managed to defeat them by offering up UGA the Dog in ritual sacrifice as a distraction, or so they claim.  As of this moment, they are playing a team from Alabama who is neither the Tide or Auburn, so nobody, and I mean nobody, outside of Statesboro gives a damn (and most people in Statesboro don’t really either care either – the beer is still flowing, that’s all that counts.)  Their season wraps up against Georgia State, who is reportedly preparing for this game by tackling MARTA riders.

Everyone Else in Georgia

Now starting at Quarterback for West Georgia, numberone….uh…uh…what’s this dude’s name?

Well, here goes:  Valdosta State did something – we really don’t care what.  West Georgia, once the toast of the Peach State until everyone realized that Carrollton really does suck as a college town, defeated Valdosta State (oh, that’s what happened to them) to advance to the NCAA Division II Playoffs, and likely to never be seen or heard from again.  Fort Valley State and Albany State appear to have merged, or was that with Darton State…still not sure on that.  Mercer’s football team debuted, and subsequently forgot they had a team, or at least forgot to tell the news about it.  Savannah State relocated to South Carolina to escape consolidation with Savannah College of Art and Design, but that was thwarted when Darth Vader appeared and placed a force choke on University Chancellor Huckaby, only for viewers to learn that Huckaby is really Vader’s father.  Finally, Kennesaw State University debuted on the gridiron for the first time ever, beating a lot of teams and somehow losing to a team called the “Zips” (don’t ask).

We look forward to recapping college football in Georgia again next year, assuming we aren’t forcing into hiding by an angry throng of Bulldog fans.  Wait, they’re going to Mark Richt’s house?  Okay, we’re safe…for the moment.

The Most Wonderful, Blood Bouncing Time of Year

That most wonderful time of all is here, and it means we all should be thanking our respective deities for their intervention for peace on earth this year. It is also a time when we sing songs, celebrate together, and drink large quantities of distilled beverages.

I am referring, of course, to that most magical time of year:  hockey season.


I challenge ANY college football player to come back and after this sort of hit.  This dude DID!!!!

Disclaimer for American Southerners:  Hockey is a sport where players “hit” each other in order to score goals while traveling at high speeds on razor sharp skate blades.  Layman’s terms – way more badass than college football.


Now, those of you who are actually into watching blood bounce on ice (seriously), we are already well into the pro season, and the National Hockey League (now granting franchises to anyone with a pulse and a few billion in cash) is seeing incredible action.  Last year’s pro championship team, the Chicago Blackhawks, defeated my favorite team, the Tampa Bay Lightning, despite the fact that everyone, including Pope Francis and Lrrr from Omicron Persei 6, laid the money line on “da Bolts.”  It’s okay, though, because Tampa Bay still won the Cup before the Florida (MIAMI!) Panthers, so nyah!

Speaking of the Cup, it’s time for a history lesson of sports, one which even non-hockey fans can appreciate, because it involves frequent incidents of urination involving a sports trophy.  The Stanley Cup is the trophy given to the winner of the NHL’s Championship Series, the Republican Debates.  The actual “cup” is about a foot tall, but mounted atop a platform which features five large rings underneath three smaller one, with rotating turrets, photon torpedoes and the ability to make grown men beat the living crap out of each other for no other reason than to be able to hoist said trophy over their heads and jump around like little kids.  Yes, folks, it’s that important!

The Stanley Cup.  All hail its glittery goodness and, if you look really close, you can see a FLORIDA team on there!!!

For all its glorious, glittery sports goodness, the Cup itself has a rather checkered history in the possession of the players, owners, staff, management, and associated farm animals of said winners.  For example, former Pittsburgh Penguins superstar Mario Lemieux (pronounced La-MEWWW, not Lay-moo!) became infamous when the Cup ended up at the bottom of his swimming pool, leading to the title of the best selling book Who Moved My Cheese?  In other instances, the Cup was found along railroad tracks, in a strip club, and even in a urinal filled with pee, which seems redundant but, upon further reflection, I don’t even want to think  how it got there.  Whether it was used for drinking afterwards (seriously, they drink champagne from that thing…the Cup, not the urinal.  Let’s be clear here!) is still a matter of conjecture.  Either way, the Cup itself is a revered piece of sports history.

There are three Cups in existence today.  The original Stanley Cup is housed inside the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto, where it can be viewed through a special glass vault impervious to all forms of entry, including Mission:  Impossible-style rope-suspension burglaries.  The full-sized current trophy is in the joint custody of the Hockey Hall of Fame and National Hockey League, which divorced in 1962 but managed to work out a child-support agreement involving the Cup and several expansion teams.  It tours with the league during the season and is carried by a “Keeper,” which attaches itself to the Cup and influences things, and can kill the Cup, but usually lets fans and children put their fingers all over it instead as punishment for its various misdeeds.

There is a certain mystique among hockey fans about the Cup; that it radiates energy and those who are true fans can tell if they have permission to touch it.  In my case, I was told “NO WAY, JOSE!”  My Lightning won the Cup that year (2004), no thanks to my tactile involvement.  Winners of the championship series receive a smaller version of the Cup for display in their own cases.  Losers receive a consolation prize in the form of several thousand dollars for showing up, and the honor of their cities’ Mayors having to settle bets with that of the winning team.  In one memorable bet, Vancouver Mayor Gregor Robinson, his team battling the Boston Bruins in the 2011 installment of the series, offered to wear a full-body yellow Lycra spandex suit worn by some sports fans (look it up!).  Boston’s mayor wisely declined.

Yes, those are bare fists, folks.  It’s hockey, not the SEC!!!!!

That history lesson done with, time to go back to the part of the hockey we all love – blood bouncing on ice.  Hockey players often “drop the gloves,” which means they start fighting, usually for no apparent reason other than the fact they looked at each other wrong.  Unlike baseball, where there are bench-clearing brawls, basketball, which are usually shoving matches or two players wailing on each other like high school girls, or football, where players have the luxury of ten billion layers of padding, hockey fights are much more “Roman” in their nature, meaning players actually throw punches.  Fortunately, hockey players have the good sense to avoid the MMA-style of fighting, since a skate blade can nearly kill someone (it nearly once happened), so they instead go to the old-school, bare knuckle punching fest.  Of course, every hockey team (at least, every good one, sorry Toronto fans), has at least one “enforcer,” whose job it is to keep the best talent safe by the committing acts of ritual bodily sacrifice wherein they take the opponents players, lift them up like the Incredible Hulk, and toss them into the crowd.  This sounds a lot like pro wrestling, the difference being these players don’t use an actual script.  Seriously though, enforcers “check” their opponents, meaning they use their bodies to block and drive opponents off their best scorers to assist during the game.  This often results in bad blood between teams, though certain teams, such as the Toronto Maple Leafs, have grown so accustomed to losing they simply send surrender papers to the opponents in advance of every game.

NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman, the product of genetic engineering through cross breeding of the DNA of former President George W. Bush and Russia’s Vladimir Putin

Other terms used in the world of hockey include “boarding,” “high sticking,” “deke-ing” (really), “butterfly position” (don’t ask), “spearing” (really, don’t ask), and “game misconduct” (usually this comes when a player or coach insults High Commissioner and Grand Marshall Gary Bettman and are sentenced to life in the gulag of the NHL:  Columbus, Ohio.).  These terms are usually used by commentators and announcers, who are often about as informed about the sport as a cat is informed about showing empathy to a mouse before killing it.

One thing to bear in mind – hockey fans are generally extremely knowledgeable, and love to teach newcomers about the sport.  Hockey players, however, are extraordinarily (generally) humble creatures who, unlike their pro sports brethren, are grateful for every chance they get to lace up the skates and hit the ice.  Despite their newfound wealth, most hockey players come from small towns across Canada, the United States, and parts of Europe, though a genetically engineered version of hockey players have recently appeared in Syria, reportedly designed by Russia to use explosive pucks to attack ISIS fighters.  The only problem with this is that the Russians have yet to develop a means of footwear which can be adapted from the rink to sand.  From what I’ve been reading, they may be looking to place an undercover agent in the Florida Panthers locker room in the hopes of being able to perfect the MiG-95, an experimental jet capable of doing what no American jet has been able to do at this point, come in under projected construction budget.  If this is successful, we may as well begin to kiss American freedom goodbye but, since Russia likes hockey, we will still be able to enjoy the wonder of the Stanley Cup, though Russian President Vladimir Putin may decide to perform a pre-emptive strike to take control of the Cup, citing “security concerns.”

The Cup, when reached for comment, referred all questions to Commissioners office, which promptly reminded us we were still in the penalty box for a game misconduct committed in 2002.

Some more fun things about Virgo men

My last post I decided to go off on a little rant about some things people don’t know but should be aware of when it comes to Virgo men.  This one I have chosen to expand it a might and look at a few things about Virgo men (and women, in many cases) people just need to understand and come to grips with.  It’s very easy for our fellow sign friends to point the finger and say “well, there he/she goes being a Virgo again.”  News flash:  none of y’all are perfect!  Aries can be damned stubborn and argumentative, Cancer bossy and obnoxious, Leo attention hogs, Aquarius flighty, Gemini so scattered you need a butterfly net to catch em, and don’t even get me started on Sagittarius!  That being said, here they are, in no particular order

When we are “dialed in” or “in the zone,” we are damned near unbeatable.

Here’s something most of you non-Virgos just seem to forget, or don’t want to get, about we of the virgin:  we have ridiculous, almost laser-beam focus.  Taurus, Cancer, Capricorn can focus and win with the best of them, and Sagittarius hates losing, but none of them hold a candle to Virgo when we are dialed in and focused on our goals.  The funny part is, when we are really “all in,” it’s not because we want to win (granted, that feeling reinforces our self esteem, which feeds into other things), but because we doing it out of love whatever it is has got our attention.  For example, when I write, and I absolutely loving what I do and what I’m writing about, I am literally researching, double checking, learning, absorbing…everything and everyone on the subject I can find is chatted up.  You want to see a serious laugh, put a Virgo in a competition with a Sagittarius and a Cancer where the latter two think they have the game won with six months to prepare.  If Virgo is even CLOSE to being interested in the subject matter, you can bet the other will, at the least, come away thinking “where the hell did he come from?”  When I think of being a Virgo in that regard, I think of the late Herb Brooks quote “We may not be the best team, but we will be the best conditioned team…that I’ll guarantee you.”  Virgo is about conditioning (we are natural gym rats and fitness nuts, of course) and being ready and focused.  As Hannibal from the A-Team says “give me six months…I’m unbeatable.”  Guarantee you he’s a Virgo.

When we’re heartbroken, you just don’t recognize us.

There are few signs which button up the emotions better than Virgo, but there’s a flip side to that; we do it because we wear our hearts on our sleeves so regularly.  Virgo men are aloof and stoic in many ways, but only because we can’t seem to find the right person for our lives.  Many of us try to soldier on, but you can just tell we are “off our game.”  Something’s wrong.  Something just doesn’t make sense.  Virgo is never like this – he’s usually well kept, handsome, on-point, on-time, organized.  His desk is a disaster (and I mean a genuine scattered heap, not organized chaos as Virgo men are very good at creating), his hair is looking mousy, his clothes unpressed, and he’s late!  That’s not him!  Completely true.  Dig deep enough, ask the right questions, and you’ll learn that he’s probably suffering a profound heartbreak.  Virgo likes to lose himself in his work when hurting, but when the wound is deep (and I mean really deep), even his work can’t shield his mind from negative self-talk, feelings of inadequacy, and an all-around sense of defeat.  I don’t ever advocate Virgo men having casual sex (the Virgo male’s psyche doesn’t operate quite the same way with intimacy as other men – we have to feel to do in that regard), but this is one instance where I make the exception – if a Virgo man is suffering severe heartbreak, get him a night of unbridled passion to break the slump, and you’ll see him back to normal.  The explosive oxytocin release (Virgo men are VERY sensitive in this department) will literally “reboot” him, and repairs will begin almost immediately.

Pets just get us

I have yet to meet the Virgo who doesn’t have at least one pet of some sort, be it a bird, fish, dog, cat or snake.  We love having something to take care of (and if it’s an animal, it helps curb our predisposition to codependency) and we tend to form extremely deep bonds with our animal companions.  When they pass, we ache and mourn, and then we have to move on with life.  But the joy we get from their company just does something to us because they understand our way; they come when they want to but, more often than not, when we need them, and they love unconditionally.

News Flash: Subtlety is not Virgo’s strong suit.

I had a friend recently remind me that I am not subtle.  Well, guess what – I’m a fucking Virgo!  What do you expect, that I wrap a sweet nothing in a box of chocolates and act like Mr. Debonair?  Sorry, about the best I am capable of in that department is wrapping an insult in a compliment and shoving it down someone’s throat.  Virgo’s (especially men) are constitutionally incapable of anything even close to subtlety.  You wanna see bluntness?  Don’t go to a Sag when you want the truth, or an Aquarian when asking the meaning of life, ask your Virgo male his opinion about an outfit you just bought.  True story:  a friend of mine, when he explained how a guy was treating a woman he had it bad for, get this reaction out of me – “That dude is a fucking idiot,” and I then proceeded to start walking towards said boyfriend to give him a piece of my mind before my friend restrained me.  That’s Virgo “subtlety.

If you’re a Virgo, you obsess…it’s what you do.

Now, I’m not talking crazy, over-the-top shit.  Virgo has way too much sense to do that, mostly because he made that blunder years prior to his situation (though his Gemini and Libran friends would vehemently argue otherwise).  I’m referring to the constant second-guessing that happens when a Virgo decision blows up in his face.  Yes, we are calculating, sometimes scheming, and often very deliberate, but it’s a rare moment when a decision we’ve made hasn’t been agonized over and obsessed about for months and years on end (days and weeks are for rookies).  Also, we tend to obsess over “what could we have done different,” “what might have been,” and “how did we go so wrong.”  Yes, there is a way to break the cycle – we find another thing to obsess about, be it a hobby, a book, or a line of work.  By the way, it does take a while, so just be patient.

It is the rare Virgo male who loves casually and when we love, look out!

Okay ladies, let me ask you a question:  have you had a Virgo male love you?  If so, count yourself among the fortunate ones.  Virgo men, when they truly love (I don’t mean a passing crush or fleeting fling, we are famous for that as part of protecting our hearts), are probably the most “all in” signs out there.  We don’t just love for days, weeks or months.  We love for years, and ours is not the sort which turns in an OCD thing – we know how to put it in perspective and be scarce when necessary.  Still, don’t ever confuse retreat with surrender; when our opportunity comes, or when destiny calls, we are ready.  Funniest of all is how Virgo men are dismissed as bedroom prudes – hardly!  We may be the most crazy of all in that department because we are so damned repressed in life.  Match us with the right person, and nothing, absolutely nothing, is off limits!  We may not have the suave seductive approach of a Scorpio, or the pretty-boy allure of a Taurus, but Virgo’s is a rock-solid love which Shakespearean sonnets are made from.  The first person who ever spoke of loving another “across space and time,” was likely a Virgo.  We can reduce a fire to its embers, but it never truly goes out.  We are the folks who, when someone is getting up there in age or just needs someone to hold on to late at night, get the call because, even after all those years, the fire remains and, if they are truly available and interested, it’ll burn just as bright as ever.

8 Things About Virgo Men You Probably Don’t Know

Okay folks, today I’m going to take a slightly different tack than usual.  Being a Virgo and a male, I have seen a TON of websites devoted to the mistakes and predilections of other signs but, having dealt with some issues of my own in recent weeks, months and years, I’ve chosen to “lay it on the line” for the Virgo men and, of course, those who are either THINKING about dating a Virgo man (very important info you will want to read here, trust me) or are already in a relationship with a Virgo man (be prepared to laugh your ass off at some of this).  Yes, much self-deprecating humor is involved, as usual.  Here are Seven Things Virgo Men Need to be Aware Of About Ourselves:

  1. We spent entirely too much time in our heads.

Ladies (and gentlemen), every wonder why the hell your Virgo male friend (or lover) seems to be looking like he’s about to split in two as the result of some bizarre particle collision?  It’s because he’s too busy considering all the goddamned possibilities and talking to every single person he can get the opinion of (swearing them to confidentiality in the process, by the way) before finally making that decision.  Of course, when he does actually make a decision – usually rushing headlong into it without thinking about the consequences, mainly because he’s fucking exhausted – he spends the next six months agonizing over why, why, why did he do it in the first place?  Speaking from experience:  Virgo men, let’s get out of our damned heads and take a look at our hearts.  You might be surprised how much wisdom is actually in there!

  1. Nobody is perfect, especially in relationships

Let’s face facts:  we all get heartbroken a time or two.  Virgo men are the Bachelors of the Zodiac (unless dumb enough to get married – more on THAT later) for a reason; we have a standard of perfection in a mate that nobody can achieve and when we do finally find that person, guess what?  Ain’t happening!  Shocker!  Now for a little nurturing (since Virgo men need the occasional head pat from time to time):  it’s nothing you did wrong as much as what you aren’t understanding – you can’t script life!  Love happens when, how and as it’s supposed to (yes, I know, pot and the kettle on my end – no lie!)  Things happen the way they should – Virgo men can benefit from learning how to relax, loosen up and just go with the flow.  Easy?  Fuck no!  Lifesaving???  You have no earthly idea!

  1. The world won’t end tomorrow and, even it does, what can we do about it?

My dad is a Sagittarius (yes, I know…I was screwed from the jump!) so me being his son, he’d totally laugh at this:  you’re friend watches a news story about a meteor coming this way and he has to verify the source, go to Snopes, and check out a billion conspiracy theory websites!  Yes, we are the eternal skeptic, but we are also nervous nellies from hell!  I swear to Christ, Niles Cranes is a damned Virgo!  I myself am a Virgo with a Virgo ascendant, so I’m doubly boned in that regard!  I used to have panic attacks about stuff Nostradamus predicted would happen in the year 4000!  Come on, if that’s not Virgoan panic, I don’t know what is!  My advice:  deep breaths and a really stiff drink.

  1. Virgo men can be The. Biggest. Attention. Whores. PERIOD!

When a Virgo male is having a rough patch, he will do anything and everything to get the attention of his friends.  Unlike Leo, who thrives on attention by nature, and Aquarius, who are natural social butterflies, the Virgo’s attention-demanding behaviors stem from deep-seat issues, usually some sort of emotional need, which was never found early in life.  This isn’t to say that Virgo isn’t capable of attaining a level of self-love which can help mitigate this but, unless he has a  Sag, Scorp or Leo bestie who wouldn’t hesitate to bitch-slap him a few times, there is almost nobody out there capable of stopping a Virgo male when he is full-out self-critic and meltdown mode.  We simply are like runaway nuclear detonations.  Best advice to anyone who knows a Virgo in this state – be there with kind words, an understanding ear, and patience.  Otherwise, get the hell out of the way!

  1. We’ve got notoriously bad tempers.

While Virgo is ruled by Mercury, our “technical” ruler is the thunder god Vulcan (save the Spock jokes, alright?).  Because of this, we have extremely explosive tempers, though we keep them in check using every last ounce of strength we have.  When we finally do pop our tops, it can be very, very, very bad.  Again, when this happens, get the hell out of the way!  The lone upside to this is when a Virgo blows his stack, it usually clears the way for something really cool later – like a new relationship, a great new job, or Virgo realizing something about himself which helps him hit that next stage in life.  Just an FYI;  Depression is almost ALWAYS followed by an emotional explosion, and they can last for weeks!  My advice to my fellow Virgos – when you feel the volcano erupting, go to a safe place you can wreck some stuff you don’t need, or figure out a very productive physical activity which can calm you down.  Nothing, and I repeat nothing, can prepare most people for the explosiveness of the Virgo male temper.

  1. We absolutely need boundaries in relationships

A Virgo male is best suited in a life with structure, and relationships are no exception. Marriage is the one area where Virgos are celebrated failures because it is so difficult for a marriage to have boundaries.  Virgo men are ridiculously tight-lipped about their emotions until they have the aforementioned emotional meltdown, and then the gloves come off.  When boundaries and rules in ANY relationships (especially marriages and friends) are established, then a Virgo is able to keep those boundaries almost without fail.  If a friend says “we don’t talk about this,” or “I don’t want to hear about that,” you can bet Virgo will ask permission three times before talking about it.  If Virgo makes that rule, you best not break it, or its game over.  We Virgo males can tolerate a lot of things, but breaking the rules because you think they don’t apply to you isn’t one of them.  Our stilted sense of fairness DOES come in handy that way – Virgos aren’t doormats, as much as we might be highly agreeable.

  1. A Virgo male will usually get married more than once for a reason – we aren’t good at find the right partner. When we do find “Ms. Right,” HOLY HELL!

Virgo men are historically lousy at finding at finding the right partner.  We can go on for years pining for someone who isn’t the right fit, or isn’t interested.  It’s just our way – there’s no rhyme or reason to it, it just is.  That said, we tend to get involved in codependent relationships very easily, and they tend to turn bad quickly, and it’s very hard for us to get out!  A Virgo male will sacrifice his own identity to save a relationship if he thinks there is hope, but if he managed to establish a boundary during the course of rebuilding, that’s a built-in escape button he can push mentally.  Hit that button, and he will be a “good boy” but ultimately will find the door.  Now, that said, here’s some hope for Virgo men – we do, more often than not, find Ms. Right later in life.  Sometimes its someone we knew all along, sometimes its someone who came out of the blue.  Either way, it almost always, without fail, happens when we step out of our own heads, open our hearts, and learn to love ourselves, set boundaries, take no shit from anyone, and begin to live as the men we are, rather than what everyone wants us to be.  We are people pleasers, and when we please ourselves first, we create the environment for magical things to happen faster than almost any other sign for one reason – we are relentless!

And Finally….

  1. Virgo is the one sign you can take to the bank from a friendship and caring standpoint.

It’s hard to imagine, but Virgo men are the most steadfast, loyal, and downright committed friends there are.  They may not always show their feelings, they may get jilted by that lady friend they develop a crush on, and they may feel like the entire world is aligned against them but make no mistake.  When the chips are down, when it all falls apart on you, and when you are absolutely at the end of your rope and the one friend you haven’t reached out to is your Virgo male (even if you violated a boundary – in times of crisis we do tend to forgive), send that message, make that call!  You will be astonished at how quickly old hurts go away, the caring and compassion ramp up like it was just yesterday, and you see his truly loving side come out.  We Virgo men are a lot of things; neat-freaks, freaks in bed, crazy ass obsessive compulsives, and downright nitpickers, but there is one thing we absolutely are when it comes to our friends and those we care about most – loyal.  When your Aries is butting heads with you over opinion, your Aquarian is telling you to go with the flow, and your Leo is turning it around back on them, Virgo will listen, give SOLID ADVICE (not some platitude), and not hesitate to jump in and get our hands dirty.  We were built for service, and nothing is higher to use and than serving our friends and loved ones.

Max: World Domination, One Fart At A Time

There’s nothing quite like the feeling you get when you cook your own food, get ready to sit down to enjoy said delicious meal with a quality beverage and, out of the corner of your eye, notice your cat (or dog, depending on your pet preference), licking him/herself in the most unflattering position possible.  My cat, Max (Latin:  Maximus Sparticus Fatticus Felinus) does this frequently, and I have reason to believe it is part of his plan to attempt world domination.

Max is a black and white “tuxedo” who appears to be genetically engineered to weigh at least four tons heavier than an ordinary cat.  The funniest part about Max is his tendency to simply jump up into my lap at the weirdest moments possible and, in an impressive display of the cat sport of Competitive Napping, conk out right atop my key…aogiqhjnaldcoxizeslzdfcv…yeah, you get the idea.  The crazy part to all this is, despite his impressive build and muscular physique, Max is still a gentle giant.  He meows like crazy when I’m around, though I’m fairly convinced this is a ruse.  Through the magic of the internet, I have come across this information which links Max’s behaviors to cat plots to take over the world.

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Max came in several different varieties, but I went for classic style.

World Domination 101 – Courtesy of Pinky and the Brain!

Of course, this is merely a simulation.  Pinky is far less capable of world domination than Max, and the Brain is much more like my other cat, Rex, who suffers the bizarre split gender and personality disorder of being a female cat who thinks she’s a male dog.  Yet, despite her low-pitched bark, Rex is clearly inferior in the domination department, as Max has proven, time and again, that he is more than capable of delivering a very pacificying purr which can render just about any person, including most politicians, susceptible to a state of complete relaxation and sleep, upon which Max will, according to a good friend of mine, attempt to work the can opener and, if successfully, will proceed to slice us all to ribbons using his mighty claws.

Now, knowing Max, I highly doubt he will actually stoop to the level of clawing anything.  In his case, I believe that he will meow so much that, at some point, he will locate a pitch which causes instantaneous paralysis and mass breakage of fragile objects, then proceed to pass so much gas in a confined space that a single spark from plugged in appliance will sent off a reaction which could annihilate at least half of metro Atlanta.  You heard it here first; Max is the Next-Generation Fuel Air Explosive.

His strategic value cannot be understated.  Max has demonstrated a talent for releasing noxious fumes which, upon inhaling, can render any person vomiting within seconds.  If Kim Jong Un really wants to do in the United States, he may end up catnapping Max and, using a crack team of research scientists and over-the-top public relations experts, the Dear Leader – A Trump Enterprises Production, may figure out how to manufacture a digestive system which can take North Korean food and, through the wonder of science, make Max’s farts even deadlier.  That level of stink, when mated to an ICBM, can rain down the single most dangerous weapon the world has ever seen:  the Flaming Death Fart.

I love Max, and I know he loves me.  When we are together, we are inseparable, and I only know of only thing which can rip us apart; the sound of the food bag opening.  Then again, he also runs to the water bowl when the other cats are done drinking, and enjoys sitting atop the water heater and meowing at anything and everything, so what the hell do I really know?