13 08 2008

Porn, if you think about it, is perhaps one of the most ridiculous creations of all time. Women (and men) are paid to get naked in front of a camera so that people who will never ever meet them get to whack off to their likenesses.

The reason I have a problem with porn is that I’ve never understood men who get excited by the mere presence of attractive women. Wet T-Shirt contests, Coyote Ugly bars, ‘Lingerie’ parties, and cheerleaders have never made sense to me because what the hell is the point of looking if I can’t touch? That’s not to say that I won’t oggle a hot thong-bearing woman if she happens to pass by – but a club flyer advertising “FEMALE HOT OIL WRESTLING” is more likely to make me avoid the event than attend it. I digress.

Figure 1: Yes it’s hot…but so fucking what?

Porn magazines (Playboy, Hustler), and pseudo-porn magazines (Maxim, FHM) make the least sense to me because all the models are airbrushed to a perfection that could never exist naturally. Some guys argue that there is nothing wrong with choking it to the sight of a woman rendered physically flawless with Photoshop, to which I respond that they are effectively beating off to a cartoon character. I am then usually called a ‘fag’ and the discussion is pretty much over.

I didn’t realize exactly to what extent people are airbrushed, however, until I had the retina-searing experience of watching the worst type of porn in existence (home-made porn) starring one of my best friends and Jen from The Real World Denver (see the end of this post for the full story). If Jen were in a porn rag, her likeness would be very similar to the one here from the MTV website:

Figure 2: Jen from The Real World: Denver, roundly defiled by ‘Tom Harkin’

The girl pictured above is two things: 1.) fairly attractive, and 2.) a lie. The girl my buddy made sexy time with was definitely Jen, but to say she closely resembled the woman in the picture would be stretching the truth like a 280lb woman stretching a size 6.

Anyways, let’s move on from still-image porn to good old motion picture porn. Since we already know it sucks, I’m going to use the rest of this post to give you ways to enjoy it as best as can be expected.

The best way for the intellectual pornographeur to enjoy video porn is to examine the actresses for the physical flaws that kept them out of mainstream Hollywood or Indie films. The following is a list of some of the more common flaws* I’ve discovered:

  • Gigantic feet
  • Cock-eyedness
  • Huge Nose
  • Enormous, bulbous head
  • Bullet wounds, C-Section scars, visible drug needle marks
  • Botched boob job
  • Asymmetric booty
  • Toofusses

For those who aren’t familiar with porn, you should start out with the amateur stuff to cut your teeth because it’s very easy to spot the flaws. Once you’ve got a few callouts under your belt you can move up to the high class stuff with good production values and maybe even a semi-plausible storyline. Spotting flaws in mainstream porn actresses like Tera Patrick and Jenna Jamieson [sp?] is quite challenging but nonetheless possible.

Figure 3: Well, maybe not all that challenging.

You can increase the fun by getting a bunch of your friends together and making a drinking game out of the whole affair. Everytime someone spots a flaw that everyone agrees on, everybody takes a shot. You can also toss shots back when the following things happen:

  • Revelation of bizarre piercings (anal and scrotal are particularly unique)
  • One of the actors shouts out something ridiculous mid-coitus (e.g. “TAKE IT TO THE NEXT LEVEL!!!!”)
  • Actress fakes an orgasm
  • An ass gets smacked unusually hard
  • An insanely unattractive male actor shows up on screen (take another shot for every ten seconds you can look at him without blinking or vomiting)
  • A named sex act occurs (e.g. hot carl, dirty sanchez, jersey meat hook, angry dragon, sneaky indian, rusty trombone, dutch oven, etc.)

Drinking games aside, porn gives you some pretty depressing insight into the American male psyche. An inordinate number of us seem hell-bent on fucking teenagers and asians (and the coveted asian teenager), looking up the skirts of unsuspecting women, and banging chicks in their fifties. Do not even get me started on the Japanese shit – the rule over there seems to be “the more pain the woman is in, the better.” And the Germans. Dear sweet Lord let’s not even talk about the Germans.

Figure 4: Why the fuck is this supposed to be sexy?

And then, in a class all its own, is shit like Two Girls One Cup. Jumping Jesus Christ it’s only Wednesday and I already need a drink…

Aside: The Real World Sex Tape Story

A friend of mine (who has commented on earlier posts in the blog as ‘Tom Harkin’) somehow ran into Jen from The Real World: Denver at some dive bar in Alabama. Drunk off her ass, she pulls Tom Harkin aside and says “YOOOOUUU’RE HOT!” Somehow, they wind up in a motel room, and Tom Harkin says “I’m going to record us fucking, ok?” (he always has a camcorder in his car to document illegal things done to him by the cops when he gets pulled over).

Tom Harkin then proceeds to fuck the living bajeezus out of this girl for well over an hour. The grossness of the episode was mitigated somewhat by the hilarity of him keeping his glasses on the entire time, occasionally sticking his tongue out and nodding approvingly toward the camera, and, as the coup de gras, having Jen say “Signing Off” at the end of the video.

You may be asking “why the fuck did you watch that tape?” There are three reasons. First, I didn’t believe the motherfucker and I demanded proof. Second, we had to watch the whole tape in order to see Jen from enough angles to actually confirm that it was, indeed, Jen. Third, Tom Harkin barged into Shabooty’s condo and hooked up the camera to the TV before any of us could ask him what the fuck he was doing.

End Aside

* Interestingly, nearly all of these flaws apply to Angelina Jolie, and yet she isn’t in porn – not including all those times she openly admitted to celeb journalists that she just got done porking Billy-slob Thornton.


6 08 2008

There is perhaps no bigger pain in the ass than getting your hands on condoms once you get out of college.

When you’re in college, condoms are free and everywhere (kinda the way white dudes view asian chicks). At UMCP, they used to have a little woven basket filled with a couple hundred of them, and the resident assistants would occasionally tape them to the message boards next to inane “safe sex” billboards*.

Once you’re out of college, however, you’ve only got two options: you can order them online, or you can get them from a pharmacy. Ordering them online is a pain in the ass because it requires foresight, shipping charges, and waiting. Ordering online also rarely happens because, unless a guy is in a relationship, he tends to ‘Forrest Gump’ his way into sex without any real warning. As a result, he’s forced to go to the pharmacy.

The embarrassment** of buying condoms at a pharmacy, in addition to the annoying lack of sensation (which is self-evident and will not be discussed here), is the reason that condoms are annoying.

There are exactly two places to buy condoms – pharmacies in the hood, and pharmacies that are not in the hood. If at all possible, you must avoid buying condoms in the hood. Condoms in the hood are typically kept under lock and key somewhere near the front of the store where there are the greatest number of people.

Figure 1: Goddammit…

In order to get the condoms, you either have to a.) ask for assistance directly, or b.) push a fucking button near the condom cage that makes a obscenely loud fucking noise, saying to everyone present:


Buying condoms outside the hood is a little easier. The condoms are not kept under lock and key, but they are in a location that’s just as bad as the front of the store – namely, they’re at the back of the store where the pharmacy counter is, and there are usually just as many people here as there are in the cashier’s line. The best time to go get your condoms here is in the middle of the morning, around 9am – 10am. This puts you in the store after all the old people who show up at the butt-crack of dawn to get their psoriasis and diabeetus medication, and before the nine-to-fivers who rush in at lunch time to refill their Zoloft prescriptions so they can deal with their TPS Reports and eight different bosses for another couple of weeks.

Figure 2: 9 out of 10 black men would have sex with this Aryan cartoon model

Even if you get spotted, though, it’s not that big a deal. After all, you may be picking up condoms, but a person who’s there for prescription strength topical cream for her uncontrollable warts can’t exactly talk shit. As for the pharmacists themselves, they’re happy to see you buying condoms since you’re one less person who’ll be coming in trying to find a delicate way to say “I’d like the morning after pill, please.”

Regardless of where you buy condoms, you are bound to be spotted – so there are a number of ways to deflect the attention:

1.) Buy a shitload of condoms. Get a small basket and buy 20 fucking boxes (the big ones) so it looks like you’re stocking up for a health center, dorm, hospital, or porn shop. It may cost you hundreds of dollars, but no one will believe you’re buying all those for yourself, and it’ll be years before you have to buy condoms again.

Figure 3: Tell them you’re working on a collage, or sculpture

2.) Get on the phone. Call a good friend and chatter away the whole entire time. This may draw more attention to you, but at least you’ll be mostly oblivious to it since you’re engaged in conversation. It’ll also keep you from having to look the cashier in the eye when you finally make it to the register.

3.) Buy an equal number of similar items. Balloons and latex gloves are good choices. If you buy all these items together, it’ll look like you’re planning to use the condoms for something other than sex – like a huge (but decidedly bizarre) waterballoon fight. This strategy could easily backfire, though, as highly freaky people would have no problem finding sexual applications for balloons and latex gloves.

Good luck, and good hunting.

* I refused to ever take any of these condoms out of fear that some sick bastard was running around the dorms poking invisible holes in them with beading needles.

** I’m not really sure why I find this embarrassing, because I am not a prude in any sense of the term. In fact, until I was a teenager and received my ‘adult name’, my Algonquin name translated to ‘Naked Boy’ because of my predisposition to running around the house mostly or completely nude – a predisposition that persists to this day, much to the chagrin of those unfortunate souls that can see me through my balcony window.


18 07 2008

I went to a bar in Bethesda a couple nights ago. It was one of those weekdays where a friend of yours convinces you to go out and, even though you don’t intend for it to happen, you wind up getting faded and wondering how your self-promise to have only one drink turns into five, including two Long Islands*.

There were a lot of things to be pissed off about in the bar that night – The shitty alternative music blasting over speakers way too loud even for an Irish bar, the fat white chicks everywhere wearing sandals and empire waist tops, one racist goofy-looking bartender who wouldn’t serve me and the two other black people in the room…you name it.

Figure 1: Why my boy was so happy after waiting 20 minutes for a drink…I don’t know

There were also, however, an unusual number of cougars in the bar – especially for a Wednesday night. Five years ago, I would have been delighted by the presence of cougars, but in my increasingly old age I just find them angering – even when the cougars are hot (as many of them were on Wednesday). As an Indian, the most infuriating thing about cougars is what they represent: the fact that no one listens to their elders anymore.

Aside: Old People

I’m going to guess that people stopped caring about the elderly sometime during the ‘Free Love’ movement in the mid to late 1960s. I base this assumption on absolutely nothing. Ever since then, old people have been viewed less as an invaluable resource of wisdom by virtue of their having actually lived their entire lives already, and more as an inconvenience to be locked away in retirement homes to die alone and away from the only thing they care about – the very families that abandon them.

Cougars are proof that nobody is taking advantage of the wisdom old people have to offer, and I know this because many members of my family a.) are cougars, or b.) happen to be friends with a lot of cougars. In most cases, cougars are single at their ripe old age because – in their own words – they spent their youths concentrating on their careers. Contrary to popular belief, most cougars aren’t bored/neglected married housewives with affluent husbands that are too selfish/stupid to spend time with them. Rather, they tend to be very successful career women who spent their twenties and most of their thirties throwing themselves into their work and neglecting their personal relationships.

Figure 2: Hope it’s worth it!

Women aren’t the only people that to this. Men do it all the time, but the unfair truth is that men become more appealing as they age (this is women’s fault, so maybe it is fair), and they won’t find themselves shit out of options when they suddenly come up for air at age 40. Life’s a bitch. Then you die.

What the hell does this have to do with old people? Simple: people that actually listen to the invaluable things that old people have to say NEVER EVER sacrifice personal relationships to focus on their careers. Why? Because if you’re smart enough to ask an old person “if you had your life to live over again, what would you do differently”, NOT ONE OF THEM would say “you know son, I wish I’d spent more time working and less time with the people that care about me.”

All you readers out there (women in particular) thinking that they’re going to focus 100% on their careers and adopt a “live to work” philosophy, listen carefully: you WILL regret it. Especially if one day you stumble across some smartass 25 year old mocking you on the internet to an audience of thousands.

End Aside

Beyond that, cougars themselves aren’t really all that irritating. What IS irritating is the behavior of the twentysomething idiots that try to hit on them. A ‘converstation’ with between a cougar and some dickwad in a Banana Republic shirt usually goes something like this:

Biff: [approaching Cougar at the bar] “Heeeeeeeey!”
Cougar: “Well hello there.”
Biff: “What are you ladies drinking tonight?” [cougars typically travel in pairs or in threes]
Cougar: “If a handsome young gentleman is buying, I think I’ll have a Stinger”
Biff: “Oh yea, you bet!”

Biff orders three Stingers which, of course, the bartender doesn’t know how to make because it isn’t one of the drinks typically ordered by unsophisticated neophyte college educated jumping jackasses who’ve never heard of anything that isn’t in:

SELECT FROM drinks AS d WHERE IN (‘Rum and Coke’, ‘Red Bull and Vodka’, ‘Incredible Hulk’, ‘Sex on the Beach’, ‘Long Island Iced Tea’, ‘Cranberry and Vodka’, ‘Seven and Seven’, ‘Jaeger Bomb’, ‘Car Bomb’)

Sorry for the SQL. I couldn’t help myself. Fuck you. Anyhow, the conversation continues:

Biff: “So, you ladies in school or something?”
Cougar: [laughs annoyingly] “Oh ho, you’re too kind.”
Biff: “What?” [pretending to be confused]
Cougar: [adopting the ‘sexy eye’] “I’m old enough to be your mother.”
Biff: “No way. My mother’s nowhere near as sexy as you.”

[Sound of vomiting in the background]

Cougar: “What was that?”
Biff: “That tall black/indian guy just yacked…and now he’s pointing a gun at me.”

Maybe I shouldn’t pick on them, since after all any initial conversation between two people trying to get in bed with one another is pretty damn annoying, especially if white men are involved. What’s particularly angering about conversations with cougars is how utterly formulaic and predictable they are:

Figure 3: Sad

My last interaction with a cougar happened about six months ago when Chicken Jon and I were approached by three of them at Union Jacks in Bethesda. I vaguely remember telling one of them that I was gay, while Chicken Jon tried (and failed) not to mock them to their faces. They were all southeast Asian, they all lived together, and apparently ran a ‘massage parlor’.

I’d never in my life been in more of a hurry to go home alone after a night of drinking.

*Actually, I know exactly how. The bartender was giving away $4 drinks


13 06 2008

For the third day in a row, I had to put up with some moronic teenager on a fucking cellphone telling her life for everyone to hear. This particular day, however, I got to hear this particular little gem:

Idiot on phone: “Yea, Steve and I have been totally serious for like a year now.
Idiot on phone: “No no, we’re pre-engaged. We’re not quite really engaged yet.”

I heard this same shit from one of my idiot 20 year-old cousins at a family gathering this weekend. My understanding is that there are exactly two types of women in relationships between the ages of 18 and 20:

  1. The type that’s in a relationship with a guy between 18 and 21
  2. The type that’s in a relationship with a guy 25 or older*

Like most people, regardless of gender, these girls want to exude a sense of maturity so they’ll be taken seriously by the world at large. Most people accomplish this by earning it: they go to school, achieve measurable success in a career or their own business, buy a house, travel, volunteer their time and/or donate to charities, mentor children, and otherwise do that thing you have to do to be taken seriously as an adult – namely, growing the fuck up.

Figure 1: The difference between a child and an adult

Most girls aged 18 – 20, however, try to take a shortcut: they get engaged.

I often find myself at an odd type of social function that puts people between the ages of 18 and 30 in mixed company: powwow after-parties, also known as 49s. During the 49, people meet, greet, talk shit, and bark at the moon pretty much like they would at a house party. Sometimes there is fire water present, and tongues (and genitals) can get a bit…loose. The fire water also makes young(er) people a little more bold than they would normally be, so inevitably you have to deal with a group of 18 – 20 year old girls running around everywhere manufacturing reasons to bring up their significant others and the fact that they’re engaged. Now this 19-going-on-20 year old thinks she has the ethos required to participate in a serious conversation of shared experiences with people my age because some dude gave her a 1/2 karat please-don’t-fuck-other-people ring.

It’s never long after mentioning the engagement that the girl begins to wax retarded about being ‘different’ and ‘more mature’ than other girls her age**. This nonsense is immediately followed by the list of standard reasons why her relationship with this dude is destined to succeed for some reason other than sheer dumb improbable luck***:

  • We’ve lived together for a year
  • We already act like we’re married, so nothing will change
  • We’re both very mature for our age
  • I talk to Jesus

Figure 2: Analog to a 20 year old’s marriage

The game is on and I’m way too tired to get into the flawed logic behind all this shit, so instead I’m going to focus my laser-beam rage on one group of chicks in particular: the pre-engaged.


I had another idiot cousin of mine**** show up to Christmas dinner wearing a ring on her left ring finger. Since she was 18 years old, it was clearly my duty to interrogate her roundly:

Me: [pointing at the ring] “What the hell happened to your hand?
Cousin: “Ha Ha. It’s a promise ring.”
Me: ….
Cousin: “What?”
Me: “What the hell is a promise ring?”
Cousin: “My boyfriend gave it to me.”
Me: “That’s not what I asked.”
Cousin: “It’s…a precursory token of commitment”
Me: “What the fuck did you just say?”
Cousin: “We’re pre-engaged
Me: “Really? Do you refer to the living as ‘pre-dead’, too?”

Figure : Promise Ring

Young girls aren’t the only ones that do this shit, either. I know a 33 year old woman that’s been pre-engaged for 18 months. Interestingly, pre-engagement isn’t a female invention. It’s a remarkably effective device conjured up by men to give their women the illusion of commitment and buy them more time to continue screwing around. Any chick that’s dumb enough to sincerely accept a pre-engagement ring deserves to be pre-engaged forever, so here’s what you should do if your man ever gives you one:

  1. Accept the ring lovingly
  2. Sell the ring on eBay
  3. Use the proceeds of the sale to buy a taser
  4. Apply said taser liberally to your boyfriend’s balls
  5. Fuck other people

The End.

*Also commonly referred to as a ‘child molester’
**Has anyone ever met a 20 year old girl than DOESN’T think she’s more mature than God
***This is similar to saying you can win the lottery on purpose
****Every woman in my family who isn’t my mother is retarded

Pretentious Women

3 06 2008

I came home yesterday completely worn out. The day started at 4am and ended around 9pm after working 8 hours at my day job and 5 hours on my own bidnass, then cutting the shit out my hands working on a mosaic for 3 hours, all capped off with yet another 1 hour vomit-inducing run around the national mall (this time I actually puked IN the Reflecting Pool).

I stumble into my condo’s lobby drenched in sweat and barely able to remember my own fucking name. I make my way to the elevators, press the ‘up’ button, and wait as patiently as I can given my extremely depleted blood sugar. There is an asian woman standing next to me waiting as well. Seasoned readers can probably already tell something horrible is going to happen.

The elevator finally shows up and I hobble into it. As the door closes and I struggle to remember what floor I live on, the slanty eyed creature next to me opens her mouth:

Asian Chick: “Um…you know…I caught you gawking at me the other day.”

There are at least two women who know me personally and read this site regularly, and they can each attest to my often extreme reaction to women who make incorrect assumptions that a.) I find them attractive, or b.) I am ‘in love’ with them. I have ended several friendships because of it, and I even made one girl cry.

Anyhow, after a deep sigh and and agitated groan I looked her over (with one eye) to see if perhaps she was right. What I beheld in my field of view was an insanely pale cunt from the east whom not only had I never seen before, but was (as Admiral Furious would so eloquently state) one chicken box away from exploding into irrevocable fatness. I pressed the button for my floor, gave her an eyeball-snarl, and returned to staring at the ground trying not to vomit.

Figure 1: My approximate facial expression

But Cindy Liu Hu isn’t done. I’ve pretty much stopped listening at this point and started substituting her real words with the dialog of the hooker from Full Metal Jacket, but I do remember hearing “what makes me think I could possibly be attracted to you?” and “you’re fucking creepy.” Everything she is saying is a self-aggrandizing testament to how good looking she thinks she is. I am now completely irate, but way too exhausted to hand this girl her own ass. She is still yammering away when the elevator opens at her floor and I, still looking at the floor, calmly interrupt her with what my be the most elegantly executed and brilliantly timed lie I’ve ever uttered in my entire life:

Chris: “Lady, I’m gay.”

Then there was silence. A beautiful, serene, awesome absence of sound that can only come from someone with their foot in their mouth. Since I was looking at the floor, I didn’t see the look on her face, but I imagine it looked something like this:

Figure 2: Asian girl….pwned.

Everybody has run into some pretentious jackass who ass-u-mes you’re attracted to them, or even madly in love with them. While guys are guilty of this from time to time, women are the offending gender at least 90% of the time. Women make the mistake of believing that every guy they see looking at them is checking them out. This couldn’t be further from the truth. If you catch me looking at you, it’s probably because I:

  • Think you look like someone I know
  • See food stuck in your teeth
  • Am passing the time by trying to guess how much you weigh
  • Am silently mocking your choice of clothing
  • Smell something awful coming from your direction
  • Am waiting for something embarrassing to happen to you while you stand there trying to look cute
  • See you wearing an empire waist top and am trying to determine if you’re fat or pregnant

Next time you see a guy looking at you – please get your head out of your ass. Make sure you don’t have spinach in your teeth or smell like a sack of ass, because chances are that’s why you’re being looked at.

The second thing that women (and men, 10% of the time) are guilty of is assuming that once you’ve rejected or broken up with someone, that he/she still has a ‘thing’ for you. For the women that do this, though, it is to your credit that about half the time this perception you have is the guy’s fault, and here’s why:

When you reject a guy, he will react in one of two ways. The first type of guy is the one who, when you say “let’s just be friends”, actually tries to be your friend but continues to flirt with you at pretty much every opportunity. The second type of guy is a guy who has tried the ‘friends’ thing before and recognizes it for what it is – complete and utter shit – and cuts off contact with the girl almost entirely.

In both cases, the girl assumes that the guy isn’t over her and, by extension, she’s hot shit. In the first case, it’s the guy’s fault. After all, if a girl rejects you but you continue to be friends with her and send signals that you’re still attracted to her, then she’s going to think she owns your nuts, and rightfully so. She’s incorrect, though, because in addition to flirting with her you’re also flirting with and possibly dating 100 other women, and the only reason you’re still messing with Ms. Rejection is to keep her on your reserve list “just in case”. She’s essentially become a junk bond.

In the second case, however, the girl tends to assume the guy isn’t over her because a.) if he was ‘over’ her then he’d be able to be friends with her (which is bullshit), and b.) because he’ll usually tell her a little white lie like “I can’t be friends with you…it’s too hard/painful” (this is the male equivalent of “let’s just be friends” – a disingenuous statement that allows you to sever the relationship without making you look like a complete asshole).

Figure 3: (l to r) – What she thinks he’s going through vs. What he’s actually going through

In any case, the guy isn’t cutting off contact with you because it’s ‘too hard’ to be friends. He’s cutting off contact with you because:

  • Former romantic interests are a social liability
  • Platonic female friends are useless and tedious to a man. In the rare event he needs a woman’s opinion, he will ask his mother/sister/aunt/cousin/niece
  • He’s already got his eye on someone else

There you have it, girls. Many of yall are alright…but a good number of you need to get the hell over yourselves. Especially my fucking neighbor.


29 05 2008

I imagine that my rather large female reader base is going to read the first three or sentences of this article, get incredibly angry, stop reading, and start sending me a bunch of angry emails that I will, to return the favor, also not read. But I’m doing it anyway. Fuck it.

My Conoy background has given me a perspective on gender issues that usually enrages traditional western feminists despite it being one that I believe would give women far more power than the standard notion of ‘gender equality’.

Figure 1: Typical feminist, five seconds after I’ve started talking

In the old days before white people came and fucked everything up, only Conoy men served as Werowance and Tayac*. Only men were the soldiers and the builders. Only men could serve on the governing councils. Women were sent away from the villages during their Moon** because of the cosmic power it represented (kind of a “we’re not worthy” thing). In the household, a man’s word was final.

On the flip side, women didn’t have the same TYPE of power as men – but they had power that was arguably equal to or even greater than that of men. Clan Mothers could have a Werowance executed as long as she could prove he was fucking up (if the U.S. was Conoy-run, Nancy Pelosi could’ve had George Bush killed years ago). Women were responsible not just for cooking, but for the land itself. It was the women (and children) that handled the entire planting cycle from seed to harvest and, though there was no concept of land ownership, land was considered to ‘belong’ to women. Inheritance was matrilineal. When a man and woman married, the man and the children became part of the woman’s clan and moved into the woman’s lodge, rather than the other way around. If a woman wanted a divorce, she grabbed up all her husband’s shit and tossed it out of the lodge…and this constituted a formal divorce.

Figure 2: Intimidating, yes. But a woman owns his nuts, I promise.

Unfortunately, this Indian brand of assigning gender roles would never work in the modern world because, at its core, it’s a system of checks and balances between men and women with roles assigned according to natural predispositions (men are naturally aggressive and outwardly dominant, women are naturally nurturing and inwardly dominant). Men had power over the world, but women had power over the men. Hyperindustrialized economies, unfortunately, render this system moot because gender is no longer a parameter in the socio-economic equation (except when it comes to prejudice).

In my view, western feminism has done a disservice to women because it’s actually eroded their real power over men. This is because western feminism is essentially based on the idea of turning women socially and economically into men***. The result of this has been very empowering for women (or so it would seem), but it’s come at the cost of removing co-dependence between men and women which, from a macro-societal standpoint, is a bad thing. Women don’t ‘need’ men anymore, per se – but now the men don’t ‘need’ women either. With men and women adopting the same socio-economic roles, the need (and power) that men and women have for (and over) one another has been degraded to a purely sexual one.

This is why chivalry is dead. This is why we always have to listen to stupid ass men accusing empowered women of “penis envy” and why we always have to listen to stupid ass women asserting their power over men with the “we have the vagina, and we know you want it” argument.

Figure 3: The current state of Chivalry…

Of course, I could direct my anger at industrialized economies rather than feminism, but I choose to attack feminism because its founders chose the first (and lower) of the two roads the ideology could have adopted:

  1. Empower women by adopting the boorish and aggressive qualities of men
  2. Empower women by making men adopt the more reserved and genteel (but not feminine) qualities of women

Both options are fairly unnatural, but I get the feeling that if feminists had pursued option 2, both girls and guys would be a whole lot happier. The ladies could’ve made it happen, too. After all, they have the vagina and yes, we do want it.

Instead they chose option 1, and how very sad it is to see that choice reduce men and women to mere baby makers in the eyes of one another.

*Werowance = Chief. Tayac = Chief of Chiefs
**Menstrual cycle
***I am not a feminist scholar, and am not well versed in what feminism is theoretically based on. I don’t give a shit about theory – I’m basing this claim instead on what I’ve seen and heard from actual feminists in day-to-day life


16 05 2008

I was on the train yesterday listening to more 11 year olds loudly swearing and talking about butt sex in the presence of mortified adults when the fattest ugliest kid in the bunch made a comment similar to the following:

“Yea yo, [insert name] a fag son. I’m sayin’ if he come around me talkin bout sexin’ me n’ shit he’d get straight up stole yo!”

This very quickly reminded me of the types of people that are always making statements like this. For some reason, every pot bellied, beer swilling, stained t-shirt wearing, non-showering on the weekend, pork rind eating, anti-athletic fat fuck on the planet thinks every gay dude on the planet wants to suck his dick or bang him in the ass. I get pretty pissed off when fat-and-flat-assed white girls incorrectly assume I want to invade their cooters, so I can only wonder how insulting the comparable sentiment must be to gay people.

Figure 1: Gay dudes are having none of this

I don’t have any gay friends, but I do have gay family members and live in what is allegedly the third gayest city in the U.S. (behind San Fransisco and some city in Ohio, maybe Columbus). As a result, I’ve seen the kinds of guys that gays tend to go after and one thing is a common theme throughout: gay dudes don’t do ugly, and seems to apply especially to gay black men.

Speaking from a record of unblemished heterosexuality, I can say gay people have remarkably high standards both physically and otherwise. Most gay guys I’ve run across are very good looking, well groomed, well dressed, well spoken, and are usually upwardly mobile in established careers. The last four or five gay dudes I’ve met were surgeons, attorneys, engineers, and HR directors. Gay dudes attend theater. They volunteer. They travel. They practically live in the gym. All of this leads me to wonder exactly what the hell these fatass ESPN-addicted douchebags, who think Nijinsky is a type of football nickel defense, have to offer gay people.

Figure 2: Gay dudes are having all of this

It’s rendered all the more remarkable that the homophobic slob thinks he has a chance with gay dudes, but knows damn well that he doesn’t stand a chance with a hot chick – when the exact opposite is true.

I’m going to piss off a lot of women by saying this, but fuck it – it needs to be said. It is remarkably easy to attract a hot woman for the short term. All any fat slob has to do, barring any horrible birth defects, is lose a few pounds, buy a nice suit, rent an expensive car, and roll up to a club and valet his car (so everyone will see it) around midnight when the line is the longest (at least that’s the way it is in DC). Women nowadays are independent and empowered, so they don’t want to admit this, but they immediately give this guy a lot of credit and the dude hasn’t so much as spoken a word yet. If he’s rented a REALLY exotic car like a 360 Modena or some shit, he won’t have to say a damn thing. In fact, he can act like a complete dick and still land just about any chick he wants.

Figure 3: Case in Point

So there it is: to get a hot chick, all you have to do is feign wealth for a night or two.

Gay dudes are not so easy. Sure, it may help if you appear to be rich but, unlike with hot chicks, that’s not where the buck stops. My two-spirited* family members tell me that landing a gay man can be extremely difficult because of number of ‘tests’ you have to pass with them. It’s not difficult for gay people to pull off, but if you’re, for instance, a straight man trying to attract a gay man on a dare or a bet or some shit, your attempt to enter the realm of gaydom will be like trying to ace a job interview at Google with the left half your brain missing. If you can’t prove your personal ambition, good taste in damn near everything, cultural awareness, and at least some degree of worldly sophistication, you lose. You will not have to worry about getting your cornhole violated at any point in the near future.

So to all you ugly, corn chip eating, Bud Light guzzling, sexually insecure cock muscles out there – chill the fuck out. You couldn’t PAY a gay dude to fuck you.

* ‘Two-Spirit’ is a term used by many Indians to describe gay people