We all know that men and women differ in many ways. Too numerous to count, really. Here are two more to throw on the pile. Both are illustrated with pix from one of LG's photo albums.
1. Man in Port-A-Potty
This is a photo of a pal of LG's who shall remain nameless. LG, being a considerate friend (while being a bastard at the same time...) cropped out the bottom half of this photo. Despite the fact that the patented "Wiener-Finder" did not show any signs of a male appendage, The LG Report Bored of Editors (yes, that's spelled correctly, not a typo) decided that decorum and discretion should rule the day.
So how does this photo illustrate a difference between men and women?
It was taken about five years ago, during a leisurely round of golf. LG's anonymous friend felt the powerful call of nature knocking on his back door, if you know what we mean (and we're sure you do), and so he availed himself of the course's Port-A-Potty. By the way: he's not a midget, he's sitting down in this picture, in case you couldn't tell.
Yes, The LG Report has reached a new low....but only in the interest of social science. Please don't poo poo our motives, no matter how cocky you think we are.
Anyway, if a female foursome were golfing and one member needed to use the on-course facilities, you can bet that her three friends would stand by, guarding the outhouse from heathens like LG and his friends. Meanwhile, this being a foursome of men, when
2. The Lying Sack Tourist
This is LG's friend Chris at the Roman Forum (which, coincidentally, happens to be in Rome) in 1993.
Shortly after this photo was taken, LG and Chris walked over to a railing and stood looking down at a football-field sized piece of land that had been excavated, thousands of years ago, to about 20 feet below ground level. It was, essentially, a sunken football field. About five steps to our left stood a very nice, and innocent-looking, family from the Midwestern United States. Let's say Michigan. No, strike that, let's say Iowa. Iowans are inherently nice.
It was clear that this family and their 2.5 kids were within earshot of us, so Chris, being the devious male that he is, said in a loud voice, "This is where they played Kring Krang."
What's "Kring Krang?" you ask. Good question.
With the family's curiosity clearly aroused, Chris proceeded to explain the rules of a game that he fabricated on the spot.
"The players would run around in the field below while a large boulder would be perched on the edge of the precipice up here," he said. "At some point, the king would arbitrarily push the bolder off the edge and a player below would have to try to catch it without allowing it to crush his skull. The sound that a crushed skull would make if the player wasn't successful was 'kring krang.' That's how the name got its name."
Total B.S. Total.
Chris went on to explain additional intricate rules, including how the crushed skull was scooped up and paraded around the arena. LG saw the youngest boy in the Iowa family clasp his head as Chris spoke.
The Iowans clearly ate up the tale. The parents stood silently nodding and gesturing as Chris spoke.
|The site of the mythical Kring Krang|
competition. Please do not try Kring Krang
at home folks; it's only for trained