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About Phil Torcivia
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Blog postI started watching another HBO series — “My Brilliant Friend.” It’s set in Napoli, Italy in the 50s. Being 99% Italian (1% Dark Chocolate M&M) myself, I recognized my family in the scenes. My elderly aunts cooking and fanning themselves while wearing mumus, occasionally yelling at their lazy husbands. The younger women exhausted by raising litters of children.
But, the thing that struck me most was the anger, especially from the males. Maybe this was an ethnic thing. Italians were9 months ago Read more -
Blog postYears ago, my baseball buddy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Basically, one day we were playing pregame catch, a month later he was dead. It shocked me just how fast things unraveled.
I went to visit him near the end. He was in bed, vaping some THC to kill the pain. The first thing he said when our eyes met was, “Ain’t this some shit?” It was.
And here we are in another bowl of shit. I’m healthy (enough), but this virus has changed the world. I keep thinking I’ll awaken9 months ago Read more -
Blog post“Hey, aren’t you that artist who paints sunsets?”
“No.”
“Wow. You look exactly like him. I forget his name.”
“George Clooney?”
“No, silly. I’m not trying to hit on you or anything. Wait. I’ll look him up. Oh, here he is. See?”
“All right. He’s a handsome fellow, and he’s not me.”
It was a picture of some 50ish guy with a baseball cap and goatee. We’re about as rare as winos at a winery. I’ve tried trimming and shaping my goatee to be unique. I’v11 months ago Read more -
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Blog postWhile sampling wine I struck up a conversation with two ladies. This was an attempt to overcome my introversion. I quickly discovered that one was single and the other was living with her man. I dove right in and asked the single one out. She responded by saying she has someone she’s kind of interested in.
Hey, at least I swung.
The other woman began unloading on me about her current relationship. This happens a lot to me — the available woman is not interested but the unavail11 months ago Read more -
Blog postI don’t know if it’s worse that people are spending hours balancing a broom on its end, taking photos, and posting to Facebook, or that I’m wasting time seeing and reacting to this silliness. We must be bored. We must need another election, deadly virus, or storm to keep us occupied.
Maybe mate scarcity is the cause of boredom. Are hitched people less bored? I can’t remember. I was hitched in 2000 and unhitched in 2013. Marriage should reduce boredom. Sex takes longer when you’re not11 months ago Read more -
Blog post“Where’s the damn book?”
“Buddy, I’m squeezing the final words from my brain. It’s like getting one more dollop out of the toothpaste tube.”
“You promised. You said it would be done by the end of the year. That means today.”
“I’m on it.”
After working a long shift behind the bar, I want nothing more than to sit quietly in front of someone else’s bar while cradling my bourbon with one cherry. College football on TV. Lasagna. Bulleit. Bliss.
Ever notice h1 year ago Read more -
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Blog postWe men have all been a bit creepy from time to time. My creepiness has given me a keen sense of identifying someone excessively creepy and potentially dangerous. I’ve assumed most women see these guys coming and avoid them. Still, others seem oblivious.
A young and stunning wine server poured my sedation yesterday. You see, I can tell you she was young and stunning without being creepy. If I told her, that would be slightly creepy — not because I’d be lying — because it may appear tha1 year ago Read more -
Blog postI heard my friend Buddy describe someone as, “About as fun to talk to as a sore dick” last night. Buddy’s a bit older than I am and he’s from the South, so he has different idioms. As a writer, I appreciate these more than most and think about the origins. Could this have originated from a woman who was talking to a sore dick perhaps post blowjob?
“This is no fun, Arthur.”
“Alice, you were a bit toothy.”
“You didn’t seem to mind at the time.”
“I didn’t want to1 year ago Read more -
Blog postI’m at what I consider to be the third stage of my sexual life. I’ve gone from fuck-anything to fuck-often to fuck-it. This likely applies only to men so my lady friends may not relate nor appreciate my honest depravity.
When I first hit puberty I was aroused easily and easily confused. Heck, a bra listing in the Sears catalog on the back of the toilet would get we wedged under-seat. Impromptu wood abounded. All I could think was how to hide it, where to put it, and how to make it go1 year ago Read more -
Blog postI’ve never been cut off at a bar by anyone except my own stomach warning me that the next drink would cause an embarrassing reversal of my gears of ingestion. Yet, as bartender and bar owner, I’ve cut off many.
This is one of the most difficult things to pull off because I’m attempting to reason with someone incapable. Usually, I suggest a water or appetizer before proceeding.
“Hey, let’s mix in a water. Always good to hydrate.”
“I’m not running a marathon, and fish fu1 year ago Read more -
Blog postThis is the conversation starter of the season. I’m a talented conversation ender. My response is, “I have nobody to buy for. Just me.” This response is met with either pity or envy. Those who assume introversion causes loneliness pity. Those who have gone further into debt by checking off all of those recipients envy me.
I used to send Christmas cards. It’s easier to text. I used to send gifts. They morphed into gift cards. Now, I buy me some wine and I’m fine. Don’t get me wrong. I1 year ago Read more -
Blog postGuess what washed up on a California beach in large numbers this week. Yep, penis fish. Thousands. I mean, they’re not actually called penis fish. They’re urechis unicinctus, but penis fish is more fun. To be fair, they could be called tube fish, sausage fish, or finger fish. What fun would that be? Nobody is clicking an article about sausage fish. Click the penis. Click it.
Many things around my house could be made more clickable if I described them with “penis.” I have a dozen penis1 year ago Read more -
Blog postAs I first watched the infamous Peloton ad, here were my thoughts:
Dang, she’s hot.Wait. What? He bought her an exercise bike. OMFG! This isn’t going to end well.Oh, stop it. She must be faking. There’s no way she’s this happy about it. What meds is she on?Her eyes — she looks abused. Is this some Fifty Shades garbage?Every single ad agency and Peloton rep who approved this ad must be fired. Even if my woman asks me to buy her an exercise bike, gym membership, or fucking cookware, I w1 year ago Read more -
Blog postTwo lovely ladies walked past as I was checking in at the gym. The gorilla behind the counter had to chime in.
“Caught ya lookin’, huh?”
“What?”
“It’s cool. My girlfriend catches me all the time and gives me shit for it.”
“You see my girlfriend here?”
“Naw, man. It’s cool.”
“The way I see it, I admired the ladies. If they interpreted that as a stare, it’s on them. If they found it creepy, that’s on them. I didn’t ask one out. I didn’t whistle. I1 year ago Read more -
Blog postI just read a headline (click bait) about a man masturbating outside a grocery store who was arrested and continued spanking his monkey (in the article they call it “self-love”) while in custody. First, why didn’t they cuff his hands behind his back? Second, were the arresting officers uncontrollably aroused? Third, how could this story be creepier? Oh, many ways.
When you have a resting BAC approaching 0.08% and an overly-active imagination, you think of how to do odd things. Yes, I’1 year ago Read more
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You need a nice guy.
Forget that nonsense about how anything worthwhile is worth working hard for. If you wanted to buy a horse you could ride around the neighborhood, you would never opt for a wild bronco that would scream, thrash, and resist every attempt you made to civilize him. You’d go for the broken stud, and avoid a broken neck.
That’s why I suggest you recalibrate your penis-homing device. If you’re in a bar, and you spot a tanned God in a vintage T-shirt and sandals who winks and slaps your ass as he walks by, run away. Run toward that kind fellow over there—the one who has been down the aisle a few times, and learned how to behave.
Have a nice guy!
Frightened by the wacky desires and twisted history of the gorgeous, boob-a-licious, young mogul, Bea Plastique, Mormon Silver has ignored all warning signs, and asked for her hand in marriage.
Desire for Bea’s butt still dominates his dreams, and when she proposes a route there, Mormon cannot resist. They continue their sweltering sexcapades, and Mormon learns more about the disturbing past of his hungry, obsessed, and insatiable lover.
While Bea wrestles with her sex toys, Mormon must deal with the fury and cock-blockage of her Grandmother, who came before her (of course), and make the second most important decision of his life—whether or not to reveal that he has had a vasectomy.
When silver-chinned blogger, Mormon Silver, first met the horny and hungry young entrepreneur, Beatrice Plastique, it ignited a boff-fest that left mattress stains and sore hineys. Frightened, curious, and still hardened by Bea’s twisted erotic tastes, Mormon struggles to keep up. Determined to match her raging sexual desire, he turns to ED medicine and adult toys.
Now, Bea and Mormon have it all: syrup, toe-curling orgasms, and a world of freaky kinkery ahead. But, Mormon knows that peeling her away from her evil grandmother and douchie ex, Chris, will pose challenges he could never expect. Mormon must somehow learn to participate in Bea’s fetishes without serious injury. And, Bea must overcome her desire to hip-check Mormon into the third row of an skating rink and screw him senseless.
Just when it seems all is well, their murmuring together will cause bystanders to point and say ew, banks will threaten foreclosure, and a single blog post will determine their fate.
It's not easy being the nice guy.
Would you rather your man be genuine or nice? Don't you want honesty? To be the nice guy I must constantly look for your best traits, admire them, remind you how much I appreciate them (but, not too often as that would be creepy), and avoid any sensitive areas. This is a chore I must endure if I'm to maintain any friends or lovers. Sad.
Well, this book in my Nice Guy series lays out a bunch of crass, sarcastic, swear-word-laden essays chronicling my best efforts, which have failed because I still have two cats and zero vaginas in my bed. I hope that you vicariously enjoy my relationship struggles and that they somehow make your relationship situation seem so much better.
You're welcome.
What is Nice Guy Syndrome?
Nice Guy Syndrome is an affliction where a heterosexual male is frustrated because he finds himself caged within the friend zone of women he'd prefer to be dating. Often, he is a kind and sympathetic person who listens well, and lends a shoulder for women to cry on. He's loved and admired, but not the type of fellow women sleep with.
If there is a hell, this is it, and I'm in the penthouse.
I was raised to be a nice guy. My relatives and teachers instilled in me the importance of:
- Treating women gently
- Protecting and providing for women
- Listening to women without judging
- Understanding what it is women want, even when they don't say the words
- Opening and holding doors for women
- Handling certain tasks for women
- Writing love notes to women
- Complimenting women
I'm a master of the above and, thereby, block my own access to the physical parts of women I long for.
So, what's a nice guy to do? Should I shed my skin, get a Harley and tattoos, lose all concern for how I'm perceived, and begin banging lonely chicks by the dozen, just to please my pecker? I can't do it. All I can do is vent, and hope someday, some woman will realize she deserves something better than bad boy bruises.
Women love it.
"Only in the head of Mr. Torcivia will you find such a mix of wise truth about men and their behavior. Don't read this smut in the middle of the airport, LOL, or you will find your face turning the same color as this book cover." - Cathy Cook
"Congrats to Phil Torcivia on the newest book! Here's hoping I don't get my Kindle taken away from me by my Doctor's assistant for giggling too loudly in the exam room." - Anita-Michelle Miller
"Phil's day to day kindness and sharing of relationships knows no bounds. I most definitely did not believe in the Nice Guy Syndrome until this book. Romantic, delicious with a touch of intrigue and blood." - Gracey Castro
Read this book and laugh with (not at) me.
Seriously. I'm fragile. Be nice, dammit! I promise a giggle or two from me to you.
You single? How’s that dating thing working out for you? Getting your recommended nightly allowance of love and affection? Or are you at the point where a bottle of Pinot, a good TV series, and a pet or two are all you need?
Thirteen years of being single, after thirteen years of marriage, has left me in a peculiar place—on Nice Guy Island.
I’m not the aggressive bad boy who hooks women with his mysterious behavior. I’m polite, kind, and considerate, which translates into “fucking boring” for far too many potential mates. Hence, all my paddling away from the island lands me in strong currents, taking me back where I started.
If you visit my island, what you’ll find is an often-sedated, yet content population of one and two-thirds (male felines, Syd and Symon). The fridge is full of beer, tuna, hot sauce, and prepared meals. The freezer has ice packs for sore, old muscles. Nothing else to see here. Not exactly Barbados.
On this island, even masturbation has become tedious, so I venture out nightly in search of stimulation. These pages document those travels. May you find humor in my message—it keeps me afloat.
Yours, stranded,
Phil
Relationships - Who needs them?
Relationships have become more exhausting than exhilarating. Is it just me? When I'm single, I'm prowling for my love. It's costly to my sanity and to my wallet, trying to determine if she likes me—then doing things to make her like me more (and get naked). When I'm in a relationship, I'm juggling texts, dates, her family gatherings, and baseball, doing my best to avoid disappointing my lover.
Is it better to be married or single?
Do you wonder what life would be like on the other side? When married, how peaceful single life could be. When single, how marriage might cure loneliness. Having been on both sides, I'm unsure which is better. There are great parts of both.
Either way, you'll relate to these essays.
Whether you're male, female, or something in between; whether you're eighteen or eighty or something in between—you're going to relate to the following pages in some way. I guarantee it. I also guarantee I will push your buttons. I'll make you giggle and piss you off. That's intentional. I just hope you're entertained by my relationship disasters. Heck, maybe my mistakes will save you from a similar fate (another pet).
Let's drink, drink, and be single.
Enjoy the ride, my friends. If you ever see me at my office (a bar), put a hand on my shoulder, share a frosty beverage, and let's steer each other away from the dangerous cliffs of love.
So, you want a man?
Allow me to guide you through the jungle of hairy beasts.
99% of your romantic relationships have failed.
You are the common denominator, so logic would say you suck at relationships.
The problem isn't in the picker, it's in the picking.
In this book, I lend my expertise as the datee, not the dater. I’m the man who knows men, and how you can net the one you want (for the time being). True, we men are slightly different, so you need to approach your prey appropriately.
Don’t go hunting birds with hammers.
Let’s say you’d like to date a married man whom, I assume, you’re not married to. That’s quite an evil desire, according to some. I’m not here to judge. Perhaps you want to bed a man who desperately needs something new, and who will leave you alone thereafter. Fine. Well, you need to approach this fellow a certain way. (It’s in here.)
Learn how to net Mr. Right.
After reading this book you will know how to approach all types of men, including:
- Older Men
- Short Men
- Brown Men
- ... and many others.
It works. I've gotten women laid.
"Phil guided me through meeting the man of my dreams. I think I'm ready for my next dream, please." - Anonymous
Please buy the book, so I can continue my research ...
and drink better wine while I'm at it.
Enjoy the Thrillogy!
Parodies: All three books in the Fifty Shades of Silver series are bundled into one box set--or, if you prefer, boxed into one bundle. Whatever tickles your tushie.
Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks
When old fart blogger Mormon Silver goes to interview young entrepreneur Bea Plastique, he encounters a woman who is stunning, smart, and scary. The unsophisticated, horny Silver is startled to realize he wants this woman (from behind, mostly) and, despite her mysterious love of ice hockey, finds he is desperate to get close to her (and honk her boobies). Unable to resist Silver's oral skills, silver chin fur, and argyle socks, Plastique admits she wants him, too--but on her own terms.
Stunned yet delighted by Plastique's kinkiness, Silver hesitates. For all of her success--her multinational assortment of lubricants, her gay assistant, her condo on a high floor (I mean, really high--you're almost above the clouds, for Christ's sake)--Plastique is a woman haunted by her past and consumed by the need to have hockey-related sex. When the couple embarks on a bold, twisted physical affair, Mormon discovers Bea Plastique's secrets (including a naughty uncle) and explores his own icky, sticky desires.
Silly, sexy, and deeply disturbing, Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks is a tale that will make you horny, tickle you, and give you some great ideas to try on an unsuspecting lover.
Fifty Shades Shadier
Frightened by the wacky desires and twisted history of the gorgeous, boob-a-licious, young mogul, Bea Plastique, Mormon Silver has ignored all warning signs, and asked for her hand in marriage.
Desire for Bea's butt still dominates his dreams, and when she proposes a route there, Mormon cannot resist. They continue their sweltering sexcapades, and Mormon learns more about the disturbing past of his hungry, obsessed, and insatiable lover.
While Bea wrestles with her sex toys, Mormon must deal with the fury and cock-blockage of her Grandmother, who came before her (of course), and make the second most important decision of his life--whether or not to reveal that he has had a vasectomy.
Fifty Shades Effed
When silver-chinned blogger, Mormon Silver, first met the horny and hungry young entrepreneur, Beatrice Plastique, it ignited a boff-fest that left mattress stains and sore hineys. Frightened, curious, and still hardened by Bea's twisted erotic tastes, Mormon struggles to keep up. Determined to match her raging sexual desire, he turns to ED medicine and adult toys.
Now, Bea and Mormon have it all: syrup, toe-curling orgasms, and a world of freaky kinkery ahead. But, Mormon knows that peeling her away from her evil grandmother and douchie ex, Chris, will pose challenges he could never expect. Mormon must somehow learn to participate in Bea's fetishes without serious injury. And, Bea must overcome her desire to hip-check Mormon into the third row of an skating rink and screw him senseless.
Just when it seems all is well, their murmuring together will cause bystanders to point and say ew, banks will threaten foreclosure, and a single blog post will determine their fate.
Love ... Who needs it?
I don’t know if this just comes with age or what, but I’m less patient with my relationships, when I should probably be more patient. The first sign of any drama, no matter how sexually starved I happen to be, and I lose her number. Perhaps this makes me unpopular with the ladies. Maybe I’m getting a reputation.
Meh
What I am hoping is that by reading my take on the whole mating game, you’ll have a better appreciation for whatever predicament you’re in, be that anything between marital bliss and been lovin’ your fist.
Karma Kicked Me
Sure, I’m bitter sometimes. Aren’t you? How many times do you let karma kick you before you become jaded like me, and begin to expect it? So, you’re pissed. He dumps you for a skank-hole. Go ahead and be hurt—that’s natural. It’s an ego slap. As you get older, you’ll begin to take these more in stride. Sure, you’ll complain about it to a friend, relative, or co-worker, but you’ll get over it.
Look at this book as my way of getting over it. A collection of irreverent, sarcastic, vulgar, crude, whatever-you-call-it essays containing my odd perception of life, which might actually lower my blood pressure by writing, and generate a giggle or two for the reader.
WARNING: F-Word Used Over 160 Times
Before we go any further, let me warn you that I love to cuss. F-ing love it. You’re going to read plenty of bad words, so reading aloud is strongly discouraged, unless you’re in church.
Also, since I have taken certain liberties with our language, and I am a bit whiny and insensitive, I’ve decided to enhance this tome with—drum roll, please—recipes!
Yay, Recipes!
Cheers, my dears.
I’m at a New Year’s party with a bunch of friends, most married. Midnight is approaching, and I’m holding the tallest Bombay Sapphire and tonic I can find, because I haven’t found Miss Next. A married friend remarks.
“Dude, who are you going to kiss at midnight?”
“No idea.”
“Why don’t you mingle and find someone?”
“Maybe I don’t see anyone I’d like to kiss.”
“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Neither can married men.”
“But...”
“Careful, lad. You don’t want to confess infidelity to a writer.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying, if I wanted to kiss another woman, I could.”
“Right, and you might be caught and forced to pay the consequences, which would be more significant than mine.”
“So, you like being alone because it’s safer.”
“Single. I like being single, because it offers nearly limitless opportunities.”
“What about the sex?”
“Really? You want to go there? How long have you been married?”
“Never mind. Enjoy your drink, nice guy.”
I am nice—to a fault. Then, after being poked enough times, I stray into naughty land. Although I know it’s what many women prefer, I can’t seem to transform myself into a bad boy.
I witness bad boys treating women badly. Often, these women complain to me about it. Then, I watch them walk away from me, and swoon back into the beast’s arms.
Insanity, if you ask me.
This is what makes me fall from niceness. Women constantly saying they want one thing, while selecting the other. Women don’t want to fuck nice guys. Women want bad boys to fuck them. There’s only one way to describe it:
Nice Guy FAIL.
When old fart blogger Mormon Silver goes to interview young entrepreneur Bea Plastique, he encounters a woman who is stunning, smart, and scary. The unsophisticated, horny Silver is startled to realize he wants this woman (from behind, mostly) and, despite her mysterious love of ice hockey, finds he is desperate to get close to her (and honk her boobies). Unable to resist Silver’s oral skills, silver chin fur, and argyle socks, Plastique admits she wants him, too—but on her own terms.
Stunned yet delighted by Plastique’s kinkiness, Silver hesitates. For all of her success—her multinational assortment of lubricants, her gay assistant, her condo on a high floor (I mean, really high—you’re almost above the clouds, for Christ’s sake)—Plastique is a woman haunted by her past and consumed by the need to have hockey-related sex. When the couple embarks on a bold, twisted physical affair, Mormon discovers Bea Plastique’s secrets (including a naughty uncle) and explores his own icky, sticky desires.
Silly, sexy, and deeply disturbing, Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks is a tale that will make you horny, tickle you, and give you some great ideas to try on an unsuspecting lover.
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