Here's an Excerpt from Bob Saget's New Book

The following is an excerpt from Bob Saget's upcoming book, Dirty Daddy: The Chronicles of a Family Man Turned Filthy Comedian, which will be available April 8, 2014.

The length of this chapter is dictated by the number of lawyers involved with this manuscript. I am not one to name names, much to the dismay of a large sector of our culture. I am of course a rehabilitating name-dropper, a condition I don’t think there is a cure for. But to talk about lascivious things I’ve done and name the people involved is not morally something I am capable of.

I’ll do my best, though. I’m sure someone will say, “Bob, please tell that story where we got all fucked-up in Vegas and we were in that suite together and that one dancer wound up in your room and another dancer wound up in my room.” Sorry, Stamos, I’m not telling it! One of those girls owns a pet store she needs to protect, as well as her relationship with her boyfriend—so no, those kinds of stories are not going to be in this chapter! Oh, wait—shit, what did I just do!? Truth be told, in the end “nothing happened,” as guys in tenth grade say. Although it’s possible Stamos shot B-roll that night.

But alas, I am not currently in a romantic relationship. At this point in time, all of the significant and meaningful relationships I have been in have met their endings. And endings are as important as beginnings. I had to put a few of them down—or they had to put me down, which is why I put them down. People can be so petulant sometimes.

I have nothing negative to say about any relationship I have ever been in. Unless you’ve got a couple hours.

One thing we all share in life is that relationships are tough. Even if you’re fortunate enough to be in a wonderful, long-lasting relationship, you know that it can be hard work at times. It amazes me that anyone is able to last more than two and a half years together. The famous term is the seven-year itch. I went out with a girl once and I ended up with a four-day itch. During a first date is not a bad time to mention that you’re a carrier of some kind.

If you want a relationship to have any chance of lasting, you have to be really honest with your partner and tell them what you want. “What you really, really want. / I wanna, I wanna, I wanna.” You have to be able to Spice Girls–up your relationship. I’m not suggesting ever bringing a third party into your bedroom. I’m suggesting bringing an all-girl band from the 90s into your bedroom.

“If you wanna be my lover / You gotta get with my friends.” The writing was right there on the wall in those lyrics. Nothing to decode.

I don’t know if I’ve made it completely clear, so I’ll reiterate it just once more—I am single at the time of this writing. Although I’ve been receiving some very hopeful texts. I still believe I can find someone who understands me. Isn’t that the core of most good relationships? We just want to be understood. And we must also desire to listen to the other person. What’s that like?

Another way to go is to look for someone who doesn’t speak your language at all. A few years back I went to Ukraine to shoot a TV show pilot about helping guys get mail-order brides. That was the opposite experience. Not one woman understood me there. It was kind of a dream. I got the same kind of reaction that I get when a woman who speaks English listens to everything I say to her: blank stares.

I was amazed how many American men wanted to bring home a bride who spoke no English. On one hand I understand it, but then on the other hand, it’s hard for me to relate; I’ve always been such a head-y person. Obviously not now, with this book and all. With therapy and counseling as tools to help a relationship work, communication is key. With two languages being spoken and neither person knowing the other’s, you are reduced to hoping for good connected sex, and beyond that, a few good meals and perhaps enjoying puppet theater together. What have I been talking about… Sold.

Maybe Jim Cameron was right. An Avatar love relationship may be the perfect one. Communication can be best without words. Words are what mess everything up. Texting doesn’t seem to be helping either. I’m looking for a woman with no thumbs. Also would rule out the possibility of her hitchhiking to get away from me.

Some of the best moments in every relationship I’ve ever had actually required no words. Maybe if I’d never spoken at all, painted my face blue, and just thrown in an “I see you” every couple days, I’d be married right now. That would be a dream. I could say one of my lame jokes, like, “Honey, you’re looking a bit blue in the face tonight.” She would just stare at me with no response.

If there’s one thing that tests a relationship more than anything else, it’s kids. Kids change everything. It’s hard to keep the romance alive through the years when you’re raising kids. There are only so many dead bolts you can put on your bedroom door. Peepholes, security camera, electric fencing… I’m embellishing. I’d never put a peephole in my bedroom door. That’s just creepy.

Then there’s work and the strain it can put on a relationship. It’s a vicious circle. I find that in my hardest-working periods my relationships take a hit—whereas when I’m in between projects, even though I’m always working, I’m more inclined to spend time seeing if this new relationship could be “the one.”

There’s that wonderful period that usually starts when you first meet someone and then miraculously it sustains itself. I haven’t been so fortunate as to have that last for all time. “All time” is a bit dramatic. “All time” means you’re with someone until the end of at least one of your lives. I think a lot of young girls do fantasize about being with their guy forever. But do they understand what that means? Till old age, till one day you’re sitting on the couch with your man watching your favorite TV show—and his eye falls out. I’m ever the romantic.

But if you have found “the one” and you’re both reading this together and you are in perfect sync, you are very lucky. Either you’ve both perfected denial or there is an unspoken agreement that one of you completely controls the other person—and they dig it.

I’m looking for my emotional and intellectual equal. Truthfully, I’ve stopped looking; I’m creating one with my own DNA in a lab. I’ve decided to make a female clone of myself rather than keep looking to meet someone. Because I listen. I’ve heard what all my past relationships were telling me. As we broke up, they all imparted upon me the same wisdom, all saying in their own way, “I wish the best for you.” One of them said that by saying, “Go fuck yourself,” but that was just her way of being playful.

Falling in love is the magic time in a relationship. We all love falling in love. It’s fun. Everything’s more fun when you’re in love. Flowers, chocolates, expensive shoes, diamonds. Until women actually quote Marilyn Monroe’s rendition of “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.”

If someone’s singing that to you every day in a happy positive voice, your radar should go off. You’ve just been told that you are not this girl’s best friend. Diamonds are. Shoulda noted that when you saw her on Craigslist or JDate.

I think about relationships a lot. It frustrates me that people who fall in love, myself included, can’t cultivate that love and let it grow. I once said to a good friend of mine, “I’m 50 percent responsible in my relationships.” His reply was, “No, each one of us is 100 percent responsible.” He’s right. You can’t blame anyone. Because you were there too. A’ight, I hear you, “it was all my fault.”

I wish it could all be that fun gooey shit it’s supposed to be that fills us all with butterflies and gets our hormones happily raging. But I think the difficulty of modern-day relationships is also partly cultural. People get bored and let in a bunch of bullshit from our reality-show-driven culture and just give up.

Everybody wants everything now—like Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka: “I want it now!”—and if they’re not getting what they think fills their bottomless well immediately, they flit off to a better offer. I’ve never done that. When a relationship of mine ends, I need some time to be alone, get back to myself—move back in with my mother. Take her out to dinner: “Freud, party of two, please!”

I know this chapter may be causing blue balls in some of my homeboy fans who thought this was gonna be 15 pages about pussy. What can I say? I’m not great when it comes to having a purely sexual relationship. Oh, wait, they don’t exist, do they? I am so looking forward to my 80s. I am gonna get laid so much in my 80s.

When I’m 84 all I’m gonna do is have sex. Dirty sweaty veiny old-people sex. With the most beautiful, highest-tech machines on the market. That’s right, I got it all planned. It’ll be the year 2040, and I’ll have the hookup! I’ll be getting me some old-man techno pussssayyy!!

Sorry, needed that outburst. Forget everything I just wrote. In 2040 I’d like to be spooning in bed with someone I love. Please submit your applications in double-spaced writing. John Stamos need not apply.