7 Reasons I Will Bone the Next Dude Who Yells at Me from His Car

Oh man, is there anything quite so tingly or juice-inducing than the random dude screaming at a lady out his car window?

And lo, I say unto you, no. No there is not.

In fact, there are 7 reasons it is highly likely I will bone the next dude who uses this ridiculously effective method of getting me all hot and bothered and ready to bear eight strapping sons for said dude (there’ll be at least eight strapping sons, because clearly, this dude has a higher, more aggressive, and more potent sperm count than any other dude out there).

So, without further ado:

7 Reasons it’s Highly Likely I Will Bone the Next Dude Who Yells at Me from His Car

1. It just makes me feel so good, you know, on my insides.

When a man yells “YEAAAHHHHH!!!” in a cracking, over-loud voice from his car, it makes me appreciate all the hours I’ve spent reading books and getting an education, especially that Master's degree. It also makes me feel super great that I’ve worked really hard at being a good conversationalist, that I’ve gotten over the notion that women should be docile, consenting creatures, and that I no longer feel the need to apologize for being a strong, to-the-point lady. When he screams praises for my ass at me, all of those things I really care about deep down? Oh yes, they suddenly matter so much more, and it brings me the most joyous of joys.

2. I like a man who gets to the point.

Oh men. You are so silly sometimes with how much you LOVE to communicate! Your overly verbose ways can be, well, a little annoying, you know, with how you only want to talk about feelings and “What, like, ARE we?” and stuff. But when you yell at me out of your pick-up truck, I just know what you want. And it makes it that much easier. You want ME! And only me! TLF, like FOR REALS.

3. It’ll be so fast, just like his 1998 Accord.

I’m a lady who just doesn’t like to be wooed. In any way. Wooing—though a fun word to say—is just a bunch of time wasted where we could totally be boning. When you proposition me in the form of loud honks and “Get in my car!” my nethers get all in a dither, because I know we can skip the niceties and get right to fornicating. Score.

4. It restores my faith in dating and relationships, and by god, I just know that one day, I’ll be made the happiest woman alive by this man.

I know I’ve talked before about the Disney Movie Lie, but deep down? I WANT a knight in shining armor because my wee lady brain can barely handle life as it is. Or at least, if I can't have a knight, I'll take a recent college graduate in a beat-up Ford Tempo who is on his way to Target to buy his first can of shaving cream and a pack of condoms, you know, just in case.

5. I know that it doesn’t matter what I look like. If I have tits, ass, and decent--though unshaven--legs, he can still appreciate me from afar. And I don’t even have to wax! You know, down there! (Psst...MY VAGINA.)

All those things that women are supposed to do to look attractive? Yes, it’s true! We DON'T HAVE TO DO THOSE THINGS to be hollered at on the street!

In fact, just the other day, I was pouring sweat while panting up the last hill of my hour-long run, my hair a bundle of fuzz because of the humidity, my face as red at the setting sun, and my ratty t-shirt wet enough to need wringing out. BUT! That did not matter to the kind gentleman in the rusty dually who shouted such words of encouragement as, “WOOOOO!!” and “Ow, Ow, Oowwwww!” to me. Had he not been being a bad-ass and violating the 35 mph speed limit of the quiet, tree-lined street up which I thundered, the fresh burst of speed I felt would have led me right to his driver’s side door, where would have ripped off my rank, stinking sports bra and said, “Take me, you sexy monster! Thank you for loving me just the way I am!”

6. I trust his driving skills. He can wolf-whistle, drive a manual transmission, and barely miss that old woman in the cross walk, all at once!

We all know that women are terrible drivers. DUH. But a man who can multi-task while driving through a residential neighborhood and not manage to violate the probation terms of his last DUI while loudly professing his love for me is a man who must put seed in my womb immediately. I don’t mean to be crass, but yeah, I’ll pretty much ride him until my uterus says, “Halt! I can hold no more.”

7. It awakens my soul. And my loins.

Oh, my poor dead soul and loins. You were asleep, dead from misuse and one too many nights home alone with your 72 cats, "give up" shoes, and Cosmo, hoping you'd learn another trick about his 6 Secret Sex Spots that maybe, just maybe, one day you'll be able to touch on the off chance that some man will think you're worthy enough to dry hump at the local 18 and older dance club. BUT! I feel you awake anew each time a young lad or three hollers his adoration from his vehicle on a dusky Tuesday evening. Who knew you would find love while walking the dogs, a bag of their poo in hand, your heartsong changing its minor melancholy tune to the key of C and singing aloud, "Love has come at last! Now I am truly worth something to someone!"

So there you have it! Men, keep up this practice, because next time, it means you are getting laid. By me.

PS—Thank you, Jerry Seinfeld, for this bit of education on this phenomena (hit it up around 7:00)