Tuesday, May 16, 2006


There comes a time in every man's life when he must replace his waterbed. For me it came suddenly, last week, when a feisty physical therapist punctured my mattress with her teeth, capsizing the entire evening with a Poseidon-like rogue wave. Untangling under the shower of my bed's final gasps, I removed my blindfold to discover I was weeping. Fortunately, Tina's face was still wedged between the box spring and frame, saving me from further embarrassment.

I've broken hundreds of beds in my duty as gentleman caller--kings, bunks, trundles…even a Murphy--but through it all, the Pequod held strong through encounter after acrobatic encounter in my apartment. Sponging through the wreckage, it occurred to me that she was my best and most regular sex partner: always willing to try anything once, never complaining about the bunnies I'd bring home, no attempts at pillow talk. Replacing this bed seems impossible, but sadly, necessary: like a surgeon, I'm unable to perform without the proper instruments.

As I initiate my new bed research, testing everything from mattress firmness and spring decibels to the feasibility/aesthetics of attaching handlebars to a headboard, I find myself reflecting on my late waterbed and ten very special memories I've shared with her.

My Almost Four-Way: Very technically one was an animal, but numbers rarely lie.

Professional Surfer Chick: Wow.

"The Handstand"

St. Patty's Day Parade '98: One day, six guests.

St. Patty's Day Parade '00: Five guests.

Pogo Kate: 'Nuff said.

Sunday Morning Crosswords: Just kidding.

Bicycle Bed: Affixing pedals to the ceiling…genius.

Bolshevik Revolution: Replacing the water with vodka and hooking up a straw.

The Hairdryer Snafu: Nearly electrocuting myself one evening with a cosmetologist.

I will miss you, Pequod, but you will not be forgotten. Your old headboard hangs from the wall as a memorial of our special times together and, also, as a shelf for handcuffs.

Tuesday, May 9, 2006


TO: All employees of Nicholson, Hewitt & West
FROM: Barney Stinson
RE: Clark Butterfield

To Whom It May Concern:

We all know Clark Butterfield. Great guy. You know, with the big ears and the weak chin. But how many of you, his co-workers, truly understand what a great man he is? Well, I do, and I can be silent no longer. Knowing he would be too modest to ever share his accomplishments himself, I write to you all so that, if you get a chance, you can stop by his office personally and say thanks.

So thank you, Clark Butterfield. Thank you for your tireless work on behalf of the recently imprisoned. Thank you for agreeing to mentor six to eight residents of an undisclosed halfway house in Jersey, taking them to work with you day in and day out for the next three weeks. Thanks for meeting them in the lobby every morning beginning next Tuesday at five A.M. sharp. They're early risers, the recently imprisoned. Thanks for helping them get a fresh start.

Thanks for making Nicholson, Hewitt & West a friendlier place to work. Thanks for that basket of free latte vouchers you keep on your desk just in case someone's having a bad day. I bet a lot of people didn't even know about that! Thank you for offering to take everyone out to steaks today after work to celebrate the opening of your one-man, ten-minute semi-autobiographical play, "I'm Clark Butterfield." I just hope they aren't all too star-struck to take you up on your kind offer, since we all know it's good eating when Clark's treating. Maybe you'd be kind enough to do a monologue or two from your show. I bet everyone would like to see that. I know I would.

Thanks for volunteering to build houses in Tijuana during the months of July and August. I know it took you forever to save up all that vacation time. And to spend it helping deserving families help themselves… well, it makes me almost speechless to think about it. I don't know why you picked July and August, though. It's going to be really, really hot down there. Be sure you bring plenty of water.

Finally, in light of all these good works, I ask that all the employees of Nicholson, Hewitt & West please be kind to Clark Butterfield. I know what some of you have been saying about him, that he's personally offputting and has sweaty palms. I know it's easy to pick on the guy with the strong personal scent and the novelty ties, but that really only hurts people who have to work on his floor or go to meetings with him. So next time you're about to rip on Clark Butterfield, take a moment. Think about how by helping society, he's really helping everyone. Head on up to his office. Grab a coupon for a free latte. Ask to see his wallet photos of needy Cambodian children. And say thanks. For all of us.

Very truly yours,
Barney Stinson

Friday, May 5, 2006


Your online profile is your calling card, the way you represent yourself to babes across the land and seas. So it needs to kick ass. Profiles can be roughly broken down into two parts, the picture and the witty blurb. Both are important, but if you had to choose one to really nail, it should be both of them.

First you'll need to choose a handle, which protects your privacy and allows you to pretend to be a vast number of different people at the same time. Any four-word phrase whatsoever makes a good handle once you remove the spaces. I have cribbed panty-melting handles from weather reports, Supreme Court decisions, and the backs of cereal boxes. In fact, "anyfourwordphrase" is a pretty sweet one. Dibs on that.


A picture is worth a thousand words, and it's vitally important for luring in chicks who are foreign or can't read. The shot I most often recommend is the extreme close-up. An extreme close-up says a lot about you. It says that you are mysterious and artsy, and that you possess at least one body part. Plus, it's extremely flattering, capable of turning an ordinary dude into a smoldering sex god. Observe:

even he doesn't think
this picture will get him laid


hello, ladies

     you want a piece of me?

Other good pictures to include in your portfolio are pictures of dogs and expensive cars. This ensures the full spectrum of single girls will be attracted to you.


Brevity is the soul of wit, so don't be suckered by many sites' open-ended "get to know me" formats into any unnecessary soul-baring. Now is not the time to explore your hopes and dreams for the future or ponder the lyrics to your favorite Tori Amos song. The stigma of Internet dating may be gone, but the stigma of being an irritating loser will never die. Instead, keep your profile Zen and uncluttered, full of white space and none of your own ideas. You can answer direct questions with vaguely-related quotations of famous dead people.

Don't be too specific in terms of your likes and dislikes. You don't want to alienate any hot 19-year-olds just because they have crappy taste in music. That would be wrong.

Observing the rules set forth above, we learn that the perfect online dating profile would look something like this.


Age: prefer not to say
Height: tall
Religion: prefer not to say
Music: I like music.
TV: I don't watch TV. [note: idontwatchtv is another good handle]

Who I am:

"A witty saying proves nothing" --Voltaire

Who I want to meet: I think you know.

Finally, if you're still unsure about what to write, it's probably not a problem to just find a profile you admire and copy it word for word. I've thought about this for minutes, and they're never going to find out. And even if they did, they would probably be flattered and/or not really able to sue you. I would like to see them try. Don't forget to sub in your own photo and email address... or, if it's a really outstanding profile, feel free to use mine, barneystinson@yahoo.com.