Let’s Read Godek: Romantic Essentials 🌭

During my distinguished career at, I wrote several articles questioning the romantic competence of Gregory J.P. Godek. He is responsible for the best-selling 1,001 Ways to Be Romantic featuring tips like “buy her a pizza with her choice of toppings” and “hire a local youngster to teach you and your lover Nintendo.” Godek rewrote that same book many, many more times, and every single one had tips for fucking near food or the exact words “Go miniature golfing… in your wedding dress and tuxedo!” His mind is a clogged Pizza Hut toilet, but he has the heart of an aspiring clerk who was “a bit too much” for the Hallmark regional manager. You will never love again after reading the 27th version of Godek’s only and dumbest idea: Romantic Essentials – 401 Ways to Show Your Love.

Before we get into Godek’s sexy romantic tips, let’s talk about the cursed lore of my particular copy. It was previously owned by someone named “B. Haechler” who highlighted none of Godek’s ideas for “free backrub” coupons or any of his weird lists of popular love songs. In fact, there were no signs whatsoever B. read a single page. Andrea McMillam, if this gets to you I want you to know your friend “B.” threw your garbage wedding shower present away. You deserve this pain for what you’ve done as a terrible friend and a worse gift giver. It would have been kinder and less confusing if you gave B. a $7 gift card for “Fat Bitch Medicine.”

The introduction says “Hide this book” because it’s your “Romantic Secret Weapon” and its power will be mitigated if your partner discovers you’re using it to cheat at love. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. Romantic Essential Tip #77 is a reminder that women are still horny… still sexual after menopause. Try bringing that up and see if your date cares what the source was. Romantic Essential #300 is just the word “Care.” Is Godek concerned someone is going to find this in your scrapbooking drawer and scream, “Care? CARE!? I knew you stole that idea!” Maybe. He does take for granted the reader is and is dating a cartoonishly nerdy fuck machine with every learning disorder. Still, it might be fun for us both to keep in mind the dumbshit who wrote this thought he was writing some kind of emergency handle you can pull to get out of any romantic trouble.

If a woman wants to sleep with you after you do this, great, but keep in mind you’ve just clinically proven she will have sex with anyone who asks under any circumstances. There is nothing less romantic or sexy than putting a pun on a calculator. It’s what a think tank of geniuses would come up with if you gave them an unlimited budget to define unsexiness. It’s a Hemingway legend from an alternate dimension where he was challenged to dry the panties of a nation in only twelve words.

Remember how this book was meant to be your secret romance weapon in case of emergency? Well, romance emergency lovers, one of the entries is “here are two novelty Three Stooges gifts that exist.” And since he came up with the idea of buying the wristwatch and the necktie, Godek counted it as two separate entries. I don’t care how low your expectations were for a cute little relationship book for squares, but no one could have gone into this imagining “maybe a Three Stooges product?” would be two of the 401 essential romantic tips. If this was a blank page under the words “BITE OFF HER TOE AND PLACE IT HERE,” it would be less strange. 

So I page my lover with the message “0-1-1-3-4.” And then what? She calls to ask, “What’s so important!? I’m at work!” and I explain “0-1-1-3-4” means HELLO and it is, in fact, quite romantic? And then what? I wait on the line to see which of her ovaries collapse into sand? Godek, did you fucking just tell me to use a communications device to fucking say “HELLO” to someone I’m already fucking!?!? I’d call you a basic bitch, but Romantic Essential Tip #366 has proven there is literally no instruction manual for a beeper more basic than you. Tell your lover HELLO? I need you to take a look at yourself here, Godek. You’re worse than a failure. The government should tie you to playgrounds to prevent local child predators from ever getting in the mood.

One of Godek’s worst features, and he sucks hard, is his inability to distinguish between “romance” and “anything.” Suggesting pizza is romance. Saying HELLO on a pager is romance. A Three Stooges watch is like a dear friend watching you slap his wife’s tits from the other couch. In only the second tip of this book, he’s taking some troubling trend in American employment scheduling and duct taping it to the concept of love with the unsupported desperation of a YouTuber explaining why Alita:Battle Angel disproves feminism. Give an extra calendar month to your lover? Godek doesn’t suggest how you might achieve this in even the broadest strategy. He simply suggests you work 160 hours less every year and spend that time at couples pottery classes or walking tours of the Cuyahoga Falls historic downtown district. How!? With what shall we slow the passage of time, Godek? A Three Stooges chrono-lamp “eye gouge! silly face!” available for only $79 at

Godek does this a lot. And when I say “this,” I mean he starts talking about really crazy shit as if you were already in a conversation about it. I’m not leaving some transition out between Romantic Essential Tip #2 and Romantic Essential Tip #3. He went from time sorcery to heart waffles and linked them with the words, “and then, of course.” These things aren’t related, Godek. You can’t shriek, “Time is a construct! Quit your job to pork and furthermore: did you know breakfast can come in shapes!? Visit and put in offer code SLOW-TIME-AND-THEN-OF-COURSE-HEART-WAFFLE.”

Godek learned Pun as a second language so he could seduce Laffy Taffies. He sits at his desk with a bowl of candy penetrating cubes of banana after whispering to them erotic homonyms. “What’s the best day of the week to open your wrapper, my sweet?” he asks. “Hump day!” he giggles, playfully not giving it enough time to answer. “And what cut of meat did the romance writer buy Bazooka Joe? Chuck steak- wait, no, I meant ‘fuck’ steak. ‘FUCK‘ stea– no, don’t leave, bowl of candy! Did you see my note? Check your wristwaaaatch!”

Sure, go for it. It’ll help remind your lover which one of you is always needy and horny and which one of you does chores.

Jesus Christ, Godek. Maybe attach a note to your face: “Fuck me and everything about me.”

The world has a few empty slots it will always need to fill for the role of “romance guru.” For instance, every daytime talk show or radio station needs a love expert in their media contact database to give sexy Valentine tips or explain which anal beads make the best Grandparent’s Day gifts. Any, any, horny idiot with a passing knowledge of cultural stereotypes can stumble into this job. And once you have it, Godek demonstrates how this job has no fail condition. You can’t “debunk” folksy romance wisdom. Oprah is never going to grab her love expert guest and scream, “Imposter! Virgin! These are all cliches from edible arrangement packaging!”

When you start to believe you’re smarter than everyone else, you lose your grip on what’s wisdom and what’s too obvious for anyone who has ever lived to disagree with or not know. Godek maybe isn’t stupid when he says, “Women are not men. And Men are not women.” But, and I made a similar point earlier, say something dumber than this, Godek. It’s impossible for this to be anything other than duh to anyone. Pick any words about any subject and arrange them in a less necessary way. If you spent 30 minutes explaining how you always give farts Halfling names like “Elevator Cloudberry” or “Pop Beandigger” it would be no more or less wise. It would simply be a different kind of pointless fart noise.

Maybe… sure, sometimes? Was there a study to discover how often this is true? And if not, how is this more helpful than saying, “When I fart on my wife I call it Eggsy Hogpen!” And speaking of Godek’s wife, he has one, so he’s only really scientifically tested his love expertise on the one subject and its cervix gets wide when exposed to pizza or calculator puns. That’s no challenge, Godek. And whatever, get after it, stud, but it means your entire identity is no different than entering a kitchen for the first time, following the instructions on a Hot Pocket, and declaring yourself a master chef. Incidentally, readers, microwaving a Hot Pocket counts as foreplay in Godek’s house if you hiss, “Nyuk! Nyuk! This is only the first warm crust of cheese my tongue will tickle tonight! But first meet, hrrnhh… Poofnik Proudburrow!”

Okay, dickhead. Feel. Thanks, I’ll try this one while I look at the Three Stooges necktie you told me to buy. Oh. Oh god, is j-joy? I feel like I understand heart-shaped waffles. Oh, god, I get it now! The note on the wristwatch! Everything!

Fucking why? Are we trying to outsmart the ghost of a dead florist? Is this type of Garfield-in-sunglasses zaniness honestly easier than developing a personality? I get you’re only 25 entries away from finishing your book, but have some self respect. This forced goofing like a robot intruder pretending to understand the hu-mor of a novelty tennis mug. This is cuteness black face.

It’s in every book. Every fucking book he has ever written. To Godek, there is no single piece of wisdom or act of affection more worth mentioning than this, his idea of playing miniature golf… while dressed in your wedding gown and tuxedo! If tomorrow you watch your roommate scald his dick on 45 different Hot Pockets, you’ll now be able to say, “I’ve only seen one other person be so certain a dumb idea was a brilliant idea this many times in a row.”

Thirty five entries ago this pizza fucker thought I didn’t know what a woman was, and now he’s just tossing me four blank lines and telling me to go crazy? Fine.

“An authentic boomerang?” Bitch, only you would brag about how interesting you are for buying yourself an airport gift, but I do admire your bravery in writing a note this unlikeable on something designed to be thrown at you.

If I wrote this note on a boomerang it would also say, “Consider this note part one of your PUN-ishment for touching my weapons. Part two is duck. Too late. This was not my only authentic boomerang and the rest of this note is now for the people who find your body. Hello Mister Police duck. Too late. Why do you idiots keep thinking I’m out of boomerangs? They’re like four bucks at any gift shop!”