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Thursday, 27 September 2012

I really want to know just what it is about men that women dislike so much?

I mean, why do you women bother with us men at all? We are no longer a biological necessity because you women conned men into tossing off in cups (HOW HARD WAS THAT?) in order to build huge genetic banks from which you may make withdrawals, so you women can pick and choose certain physical and mental traits for your spawn.

In dating chat rooms, worldwide, women ignore men and talk with each other, and that reduces some men to blowing themselves on camera for attention. Men are harmed doing this, you know.

I hate chat rooms on dating sites. Women monopolize them and chat up each other instead of chatting up the men. And they charge men $$$ to use the chat rooms!

If, and in the unlikely chance, we guys actually were to meet up with one of you women and, for whatever reason, you decided to become part of our lives, the very first thing you would do (and from my experiences in chat rooms, I know women do) is you would go on some chat room and tell the other women what a shit your guy is and how you mean to change him into Mr. Right.

To be fair to you women, you know no other way to relate to men. You learned to denigrate us at the knees of your mommas (who are also women). They taught you that most men are the men to watch out for, thus making all men the men your mothers warned you about.

So, what kinds of guys do trip your triggers; make you cream your jeans?

Bad boys! You'd drop trou' in a half-a-heartbeat for a Bad Boy. For good guys you only have scorn. Good guys, doing their dead-level best to please you, just get your collective panties in a wad.

It's a cluster-fuck out there for the good guys because we can't please you women.

That is why we die first; it's just easier on us.

I may be guilty of making some very broad generalizations; but not by much.

You women want Bad Boys? Raise them, like drones in a bee hive. Baby and pamper them; feed them heavily starchy foods; have their sisters clean up after them; require nothing from them until-UNTIL that fateful day when the Queen Bee needs to procreate. Then lure the Bad Boy Drone into the air with your sexual pheromones and let him have sex, one time, until his pecker explodes, with an audible bang (they really do explode!), and watch him die a slow and agonizing death. For the drones who aren't so lucky to die having coitus, have their once-loving sisters kick them out of the hive; starve them; sting them when they try to reenter their old bedrooms…

I had a point when I started this. What was it?

Oh yes, why women prefer Bad Boys.

I don't have a dog in this fight, not really. Me, I'm middle-aged, leaning towards old age. I'm too damned old to become a Bad Boy. But, I'm a writer; I live for rejection. I'm not giving up. Just saying…

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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