Ask Christy

Christy Fantz has relationship advice and she’s not afraid to dish it out. Send your questions to .

Eear Christy,

When did guys decide that they no longer have to ask girls out on dates?

Chivalry is NOT dead.

Just Saying

Phrase for a Name:

Actually, chivalry passed dead like six turns ago. It died when you turned two-bit brothel tricks as a whore in your past life.

Chivalry even passed the stench of decomposing flesh and made its foray to thrift store scent — kinda like your cobweb-infested downstairs.

What? I’m totally talking about your basement, pervert.

Chivalry involves rules and customs of medieval knighthood and gallant warriors and fair ladies. It’s archaic.

Since we are all but different snowflakes, let’s be sexist and stereotype boys.

We’ve got pricks, duds and good eggs.

We often inadvertently woo assholes to incur a warped challenge (inadvertently, my ass). But those tight assholes’ wads of frugal cash harbor firm in their Armani briefs — so you’re aren’t necessarily getting “courted.”

We usually screw the nice guys (not in the good way), since we bitches crave a challenge. Those sweet boys would happily donate to our charity. We suck.

However, we’re not heartless. This becomes apparent when that squishy muscle cracks from dating assholes.

Alas, we settle by courting losers who couch surf and have the ambition of your dog who got into that hash candy.

Ergo, chivalry — in the courtliness sense — is not dead. We just refuse to date it.

Dear Christy,

I run with a large crowd. The crowd includes a bunch of hot chicks. They all “like” me and think I’m “rad.” None of these hotties want to accept my pork sausage into their fish taco. How do I go from friends to fuck pals?

I’m crying (wanking) myself to sleep over these bitches.

Like But Not Loved


I have two words for you: You’re ugly.

Um. I mean you’re a “nice guy.” A good egg (see above).

Really, it’s just. Uh. Your feet are small.

I’m messing with you. You’re a hot piece of ass with sexy bitch written all over you. Sure, your mom scribes the phrase on your back with a Sharpie weekly, but that’s neither here nor there.

Get aggressive. Make them an offer they can’t refuse.

Cash will suffice. Sure it’s illegal. I won’t tell. (Call me.)

Or shell out some plastic and court an escort — no, not that strung-out waif on Federal in Denver.

This can make the girls jealous that you scored a hot piece of (polluted) ass. And they will. We’re twisted.

Last resort: Slip them a roofie.

Joke. Roofies are bad. Hold please while I mentally prepare for an influx of hate mail.

Good talk.

Christy Fantz’s Fantz in Your Pants runs every Thursday in the Colorado Daily.