A FLY ON THE WALL: What Men Really Say About Women

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Thanks to Kelly G. for this transcript!

EPISODE THREE

June 7, 2007

–INTRO TO SHOW-

Welcome to another episode of A FLY ON THE WALL…

Guy #1: I love girls who are just like, you know, strong and take charge kinda ladies.

Guy #2: You know, somebody who’s uh, you know, loves you, cares about you, wants you, but doesn’t need you to, uh you know, make her feel okay about herself.

Guy #3: No drama, I don’t do drama.

Guy #4: You know, what fascinates me is Goth girls. They’re so devoted.

Guy #5: All day woman. Smart, good looking nice body. Good cook. Good hair. Great mom, good fun to be with.

Guy #6: Definitely someone who can put up with my bullshit.

Guy #7: You know, I need a really sweet girl, but she’s got, her body’s gotta rock.

Guy #8: A very exotic look. Part Italian, a little Armenian, a little bit of French, and a little bit of that, a little bit of everything, So kinda that olive skin, beautiful eyes.

Guy #9: I like sweatpants, and uh t-shirts, and uh clogs.

Guy #10: Yeah, I’m an ass man, all day long, all day long. Hahahahaha. Ha.

–SEGMENT 1—

KIRK: Hi, this is Kirk, and welcome to A FLY IN THE WALL. Okay so Mike couldn’t make it today because he’s working on a pilot and he’s totally stressed out so we’re really sorry. But he’ll be back next week, and it should be a really good show. We got a couple good things planned for ya. So I wanna use this opportunity to give you our contact info. You can write us if you have questions about our show at kirk@whatmenreallysayaboutwomen.com or mike@whatmenreallysayaboutwomen.com. You can also visit our website, which is whatmenreallysayaboutwomen.com. Anyways, so I have the microphone here and I have all this stuff, and I thought, hey, I should have my wife Pamela, who’s really sweet, she should record this little poem I wrote for you. So here it is.

PAMELA: My first tango.

I’ll never forget.

It was in New South Wales where I was visiting down under for the first time.

My girlfriend and I were drinking this anis-flavored local concoction.

Tango music was wafting up the valley from a little barn at the edge of the village.

The music was burning, burning and making me hot, calling me to the barn, overflowing with the culture of Argentina, immigrants gathered to preserve their waves in a land of tea and crumpets.

The women in daring, strong, tight corsets, dangerous black heels that must have come from the old country.

The men, sweaty and refined at the same time.

Straw on the floor.

A couple in the throes of passion in the shadows of the band.

She was biting his neck like a savage.

I was dizzy with love—flames—I was desperate with aching.

The young man called Hector approached me, wiry but gentle, strong but shy.

I placed his hands on my full breasts and smelled the same anis drink on his breast.

We slid into dance, effortless, wicked, graceful, and filthy.

His body’s contour was mine.

We moved perfectly. His hands sliding up my dress, I slap his face, fuel to the burning fire.

Oh Hector! Hector, Hector! Oh Hector, hurt me, tango with me!

And we tangoed, in New South Wales.

Oh Hector…