Goodnight, You Princes of Maine, You Kings of New England

Since the economy has lost as many jobs as it would have if the state of Maine had somehow sunk into the ocean like a really Protestant lost continent of Atlantis, this time HoNSA (I'm abbreviating it now) goes to The Forgotten State (actual motto) and trawls up a lobster pot full of frigid Nor'Eastern beefcake. Also, I really wanted to use that Cider House Rules quote for the title.

And in case any of you are wondering why it's been mostly women up until now, it's because men are skewered SO much more effectively at the Why Women Hate Men Blog.

And because none of the women will date me.





"Trying to find my nitche."

Before you critique his spelling too harshly, remember: B is right next N on the keyboard.

"Sorry, ladies. Taken."

"Wait, none of you knew "Tool" was a band? But I've had this shirt for years and-- oh."

"Now where did I put my 'Tool' shirt? Hey, that would be a good name for a band, too."




"Oh, you wanted to put your peanuts in my mouth. Yeah, sure, that's fine too."

The joke is he looks like Lance Bass.

Come on, I can't be the only one who sees it!

You've chosen curtain number three, and it's... a poorly decorated apartment and an aging hipster boyfriend! Guess you should have stuck with the Tappan range.