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.

• Hairies. Featuring Greeks and Italians, this group includes people with constant shower drain clogs and an arsenal of clippers and razors.
• Saggyderryarius. Old folks with droopy butts.
• Whorpio. Also known as "sex junkie," obsessed with enjoying the finer things in life in exchange for putting out.
• Borus. This includes people who dominate every group event and keep us all on the edge of our seats with their Facebook updates, or so they think.
• Gleeyo. One with obnoxious laughter hiding a deep depression.
• Hebra. Man with boobs.
• Ginani. Martini addicts. People who drink from triangular glasses and act catty.
• Furgo. Women with hairless privates that make it easy for men to find glory while fantasizing about their high school sweethearts.
• Glancer. Voyeurs who can't talk to women without staring down the cleavage.

• Construction Zone. Visit Del Mar, La Jolla, or Scottsdale to discover wild packs of these Botox-laden beasts.
• School Zone. Cougars out to teach youngsters how to make a Cosmopolitan and find the G-spot.
• Yield. A sign of indifference. I use this one often. It represents someone who would rather receive directions than guess what you want. It also means that I don't care what your sign is.

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.

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.

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.