Blue State Euphemism Day

Babies

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An Open Letter to My Hypothetical Future Kids

Dear fruit of my loins, 

You’re not getting any inheritance.  I plan to blow the whole wad on booze, traveling, and Ukrainian hookers.  I’m going out with a smile on my face.  So prepare for your future.

Forget about a college fund.  You think I want to sock away a hefty percentage of my take-home so I can put your ungrateful ass through an overpriced IQ-notarizing ivory tower for the benefit of corporate human resources departments?  Fuck you.  Save up yourself, get a loan, or learn a trade.  The library is free.

Don’t come to me for a self-esteem boost.  That’s your mother’s job.  I’ll tell it like it is.  You’re getting fat?  I’ll let you know.  You throw like a girl?  I’ve got the video to prove it.  That’s a father’s job; to give you a taste of reality that’ll either motivate you to improve or divert your energies into more productive pursuits.  Fuck this kumbaya cooperative superfeminized dreamworld shit that’s killed the American spirit.  I’ll give it straight up.

If I catch you masturbating do not look me in the eye.  We are never to speak of it.  We will act as if nothing ever happened.

On a related note, you are not to disturb me while I am in my masturbatorium.

I will have mistresses because it is the French thing to do.  Get used to it.

I will flirt with your unbelievably luscious, hot teenage female friends no matter how old I get.  Get used to it.

I will never hit you.  Instead, I will mindfuck you until you are hitting yourself for your foolish behavior.

I will love you very much… unless you do things that will make me not love you.  Nothing is unconditional in this world.  Learn that lesson well.

If someone is causing you undeserved trouble or heartache in your life, you will have no more powerful ally than me.  Do not abuse this privilege.

To my daughter:  Disownable offenses include stripping, whoring, getting your vag tattooed or pierced, sex with losers, bukkake, home made porn vids, and majoring in womyn’s studies at a 36K/year no-name liberal arts college.  Choose wisely.  If necessary, I will spring for plastic surgery to improve your looks.  Trust me, it’ll be the best investment a father could possibly make in his daughter.

To my son:  You will learn how to say Hi to girls before the age of 16 if it kills you.  There will be no Star Trek or Lord of the Rings posters in your room.  You will instead have Helmut Newton photographs hanging on your walls and a copy of Mystery Method.  I will treat the family dog better than you if you major in anything that doesn’t ensure a salary high enough to keep you from grubbing off me.  Learn how to throw a punch.  If you turn out gay, don’t ever bring your “boyfriend” around me.  Certain things are best left in the realm of the abstract.

Finally…

if I find out your mother was a two-timing whore and you are not my kid, you will never hear from me again.  Kindly direct all your rage her way.

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Hey Sexy Baby Is That Pepper Spray?

The Washington City Paper has an article about DC’s eligible bachelors — the guys who catcall women on the street.

Of course, it’s not the catcalling (or the flirting or the leering or whatever) that’s the problem; it’s who’s doing it.  If [insert favorite male actor/rockstar] were to Ay, Mami! women in the bar or on the street, they’d shoot out of their capris like a Slip ‘n Slide.  Verbal harassment is a subjective experience, even if you have to go way out to the margins to find the subjectivity.  The same thing happens to men, too, although to a much smaller degree since men are inherently less protective of their sexual dignity.  It gets annoying real fast for a guy when the drunk fat chick starts pawing his chest and thigh and whispering in his ear what she’d do to him with her crisco and dildo machine.  Substitute “fat chick” with “random hot chick” or, hell, “average chick without leprosy”, and he’d welcome the harassment.

Given that most guys (especially the ones in Mount Pleasant) don’t possess the sexual capital of movie stars to pick up girls with primitive catcalling, it’s a wonder why guys even bother trying it.  Of all the pick up methods, I can’t think of any worse than blurting out Hey hey sexy baby! at a passing woman.  It’s right up there with flashing, anonymous love letters, and CL missed connections.  Since the women in the article hint that the majority of catcallers are non-white I can only assume that these guys get more positive reactions from non-white women, which encourages them to try it on everyone.  They soon learn what they’re up against.  Like this professional catcaller, Rudy Contreras, says:

“It’s tough in D.C.,” he says. “Especially with white girls. They are stuck up, man. Bitches.”

It is tough in DC, Rudy, it is.  But you’re going to have to bring sharper skills than that if you want to bag a trophy prey.  A part of me welcomes these stupidly crass comeons because they make me look so much better in comparison, but it’s a double edged sword.  Women who are frequent recipients of catcalls will harden themselves with 24/7 bitch shields at maximum deflection power, so when a genuine guy like myself comes along who only wants to jizz all over them get to know the real person inside my job is that much more difficult.

With the 40 year old feminist and sexual revolutions now metastasized into every fiber of the culture, women have to realize that they have sacrificed some privileges that are never returning without a rollback of their liberation ideology.  Chivalry really is dead.  Men see no reason to extend themselves for self-sufficient, egotistical women they aren’t fucking, and those few male holdouts who do make a stand for the old ways soon learn to their dismay that chivalry won’t earn them the modern woman’s sexual attraction — in fact, just the opposite.  Chivalry is the unsexy handmaiden of the perpetual loser in love.  And so the gollums of the street feel free to harass at will, knowing that Sir Lancelots are few and far between these days.

The flock of young women to the atomized urban jungle practically made harassment a foregone conclusion.  In smaller communities where everyone knows each other’s business and social connections are less tenuous than in the fractured social scene of the city a woman’s father, brothers, male cousins, and uncles would corner the perp with a warning first, a silverback beatdown next.  Who’ll speak for her in DC?  Her male “friends”?  Ha.  All those guys are angling to get in her pants.  They’re just less obvious about it than the catcallers.

Reading some of the quotes from the women complaining about street harassment is illuminating, in ways I’m sure they didn’t intend.  At least half of the women saw fit to mention what they were wearing when they got verbally accosted:

Late night, walking from car to apartment: From across street, from a guy getting out of his car, hear grunts, kissy noise, and the popular low-pitched “beauuuutiful.” I have on jeans, sneaks, puffy winter coat. Puffy winter coat.

These women are revealing a deep-seated understanding that, yes, what they wear will have some impact on how men react to them.  She is surprised a “puffy winter coat” didn’t stop a guy from whistling at her.  I doubt she’ll ever contemplate the direction her logic necessarily takes her — that revealing clothing will attract more unwanted male attention.

My suggestion for the omegas:  Deliver your catcalling in Italian, the language of love.  You can say just about anything in Italian and make her feel like the most special woman in the world.

[Italian]Let us make beautiful anal music together, and with my hot seed injection you will bring forth a buttbaby.[/Italian]

Spend some time crafting the perfect pitch.  She’ll appreciate the effort.

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Every BJ Begins with De Beers

In this era of financially independent women and easy no fault divorce, it’s time to retire the cultural appendage of johns paying to marry their whores.  Since men give up more when they marry, the women oughta be paying them.

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You Know Your Metrosexualization is Complete When

Your friend leaves this voicemail for you:

yeah, lemme guess, you’re at a sidewalk cafe, a little table, watching people walk back and forth, having a croissant or quiche, drinking some imported beer and making snide comments.

and you were, in fact, doing exactly that.
my hair is windblown indoors!

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Gay Bars are Great Pick Up Joints

…for straight men.  It’s not usually what guys think of when they’re choosing happy hunting grounds, but the gay bar has many advantages going for it that the typical hetero bar does not.  The key is to limit your forays to the dainty side to informally gay bars.  These are the establishments that don’t attempt to skirt anti-discrimination laws with “no high heels” door policies intended to keep women out.  Gay guys go to these bars in numbers exceeding random distribution, but the overall vibe is ambiguous.  Along with the gays, you will find many women and a few straight men, as well as question marks.  If you are a young, reasonably good-looking straight man you will not feel uncomfortable walking into this kind of place.

Formally gay bars, while not designated as such in the strict legal sense, are widely known to be hangouts specifically catering to gay men.  Straight men and lesbians never step foot in these places.  Straight women will occasionally patronize the hardcore gay bar, but the practice is frowned upon by the regulars.  If you are a young, reasonably good-looking straight man and you walk into one of these bars you will feel like a rape victim waiting to happen.  All eyes will be on your crotch.  You will feel urges to slouch and conceal your pecs with crossed arms and to avoid eye contact with anyone.

Most straight men live in deathly fear of their masculinity being questioned and so will never think to seek out a pick up location that features more than a tiny coterie of token gays.  But these are exactly the venues that afford the best opportunities for picking up women.  Let’s examine the evidence:

• Straight women number almost as many as would be found in a straight bar, especially at the beginning of the night when they are getting warmed up.
• Considerably fewer straight men (the competition) than would be found in a straight bar.
• The flirtations of the gay men are kept in check by the ambiguous ambience; they can never be sure who is gay and who isn’t.
• Gays bring enthusiastic fun fun fun wherever they go.  Their infectious fun germ lifts the spirits of all the women, making your job of amping up their emotional state a lot easier.  It’s a piece of cake to open a woman who is all smiles and giggles rather than one with a dour look and her back turned to the entire room.
• You can fly under the radar.  She’ll assume you are gay on your approach.  Defensive shields down, thermal exhaust port in sight.
• Gay guys provide lots of situational opener material with their antics and overwrought drama.  Example: I think that guy just flashed his boob at me.  I feel like a piece of meat.  I can tell you’re really enjoying having the tables turned on us guys.
• All the gayness will magnify in comparison the dangerous sexiness of your straight male presence.  The harmless and safe fun of the gays will make her vulnerable to your predatory aura.
• The gay guys will social proof you, in a way.  While it’s not as good as being seen with an attractive woman, a gay man telling everyone in earshot what a juicy hunk of beefcake you are is bound to elicit some feelings of intrigue in the girls you’d like to impress.

The most important thing to keep in mind is that the male-female ratio in your venue of choice will determine your success at hooking up more than any other factor besides the skill level of your game.  How many times have you noticed in bars where the men heavily outnumbered the women the 5s and 6s behaving with the haughtiness of 9s and 10s?  Artificially inflated demand is never a good quality in women.  But gay guys throw all that out of whack.  When half the men aren’t remotely sexually interested in the women their market price takes a nosedive.  If you are really good, you can enlist a gay guy who has a crush on you to wing for you.  Just keep him guessing that one day you might convert. 

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L’accident de voiture tue la famille, mes amours.

She can tell you about the plane crash
with a gleam in her eye.

Frequently cited as the world’s most beautiful news anchor, this girl perfectly balances her femininity with the unnatural burdens of being a modern ambitious careerist woman.  Very few women can pull this off, but if I had to guess I’d say French women come closest.  No matter how masculine their pursuits, French women never seem to lose touch with their inner sexy seductress.  Watch how she sits with her shoulders slightly scrunched up, how she subtly flirts with the audience through a raised eyebrow or a jutting bosom or fingers run absentmindedly through her hair.  This woman is aware of her beauty and is happy to let men watching her enjoy it.  There is not a hint of what Fred Reed calls “the Chip”.  She is at peace with the fact that her power derives from her looks.  American women should take note.

Check out her goods at 0:18 seconds.  magnifique derriere!

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