The Greatest South Park Episode Ever

Maybe the greatest TV half hour ever. This episode is perfection from beginning to end. The Ring.

There is very little in TV and film that promulgates my worldview. My themes are beyond the pale, which really means the truth is beyond the pale. South Park comes close. The Wire, too. Swingers and Roger Dodger contain elements. In The Company Of Men was brutally clear. I’ve noticed that women who have seen Neil LaBute’s masterpiece universally hated it, when in reality they would be all over the type of men portrayed by Aaron Eckhart’s smooth talking, manipulative alpha character.

A lot of Hollywood’s critically-acclaimed “dark” films aren’t truthful, they’re just subversive, which is not necessarily the same thing. I don’t think unflinchingly candid films stripping to the bone the monstrously human motivations of all the characters, including the sympathetic protagonists, do very well because people don’t want to be reminded of their true, ugly natures. Is there a more powerful cognitive bias than self-delusion?

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Inside The Horror Of Bridesmaid Dress Shopping

I had a conversation with a girl who described how she was trapped in the hell matrix of shopping for a bridesmaid dress. Here is her dispatch from the frontlines.

HER: I had to go bridesmaid dress shopping on Saturday. If you thought the baby shower was gayer than gay, you have no idea.

ME: haha. Was it you and the girls?

HER: There were overbearing eastern european megalomaniac high pressure saleswomen. The fattest brides I’ve ever seen. And one woman in a halter wedding gown (white) who was at least pushing 65.

ME: Wow. What gift do you get the blushing bride who has 65 years worth of accumulated stuff?

HER: The saleslady suggested she wear a cape for modesty’s sake. But she adamantly refused and kept parading around haughtily while her withered groomsman, 20 years her junior at least, slumped in the corner with his coffee cup. It was a depressing scene to be sure.

ME: A beaten man. Barely alive.

HER: I tried on like one dress and said “K. Good to go. Let’s just take this one.” But no, they want you to pore over every last detail, photograph them all, revisit the choices. For 3 hours.

ME: Psychotic!

HER: My mom came in to get a mother of the groom dress, and sort of sighed heavily. She’s like “What color will you wear?” “Black.” “Emily!!” “What? I can wear it again for any occasion. Bar mitzvahs… funerals…”. Megan (the bride-to-be) instead settled on a putrid shade of mocha. We’ll look like gussied up turds. Turd cakes.

ME: The minister will be Mr. Hanky. Howdy ho everybody!

HER: It’s just a sea of color swatches and taffeta and a sense of crushing defeat. Not to mention the pitying looks at the bridesmaids for not having “made it”. Always a bridesmaid. Just like the damn Swedes at the world junior hockey championships. The room was pepto-bismol pink. Like being in a turbulent stomach. And she still couldn’t find a dress! So we get to do it all over again! Wheeee!!!! SHOOT ME.

ME: It’s exactly the nightmare most men imagine it to be.

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A Cat Lady Bares Her Soul

Craigslist is coughing up some gems lately.

Reasons I Like My Cats More Than Any Man I Have Dated in the DC Area – 23 (For Anti-Cat Man)

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Reply to: XXX
Date: 2009-01-27, 10:00AM EST

Dedicated to the old, cat-hating man…I’ve provided a list of reasons that my two kitties are better than any of the men I’ve gotten involved with in the DC area.

• My cats have never taken me on a date to the 7/11.
• My cats have never pretended to be the love of my life, then disappeared into thin air without even the courtesy of a post-it note explanation.
• My cats have never lied about being Navy SEALs. Not once. Actually, my cats don’t lie AT ALL.
• My cats are ALWAYS in the mood to cuddle.
• Cleaning up after them is much easier than cleaning up after a man.
• My cats have never drunk half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s then tried to break my arms.
• My cats have never lied to me about being married to try to get me into bed.
• They’re not afraid to show their love and affection, which is unconditional.
• My cats are VERY intelligent.
• They aren’t obsessed with Asian women.
• They would NEVER intentionally hurt me.
• They clean themselves daily.
• They aren’t insecure.
• They’re very low-maintenance.
• They have never betrayed me.
• They like ALL different kinds of people…blonds, brunettes, redheads. Because they’re not fixated on narrow, exclusive sets of physical attributes.

So when faced with the decision of whiny man versus loyal cats, I’ll go with the cats any day…

******

She sounds like one of my exes. Always bitching. Her standards are way too high. What’s wrong with 7-11? With the right attitude and cocky smirk a guy can turn a microwaved burrito into a cherished romantic memory for the girl.

How much you want to bet she completely forgave him and had a squirting orgasm that night after he tried to break her arms in a drunken stupor? Women… their tales of woe fall on deaf alpha ears.

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Happy New Year!

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Best Unintentionally Funny Football Announcer Line

“Wait’ll you see the size of this hole, Dick.”

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Don’t Be This

herbie the love beta

When you visualize beta, he’s not always a loveless nerdo who repels girls. Sometimes, he’s the guy in the photo above nestled snugly in his girlfriend’s bosom… in public.

Here we have a prime specimen.

• Fat chipmunk cheeks betraying aversion to physical exertion
• Asian girlfriend hotter, and thinner, than what he could pull in a white girlfriend
• Rumpled, oversized khaki pants with room for three accidental shits
• Fingers intertwined like spaghetti — herb spaghetti
• Soft Palmolive hands from years of tapping keyboards and studiously avoiding manual labor
• Leaning into his girlfriend, displaying a complete gender role reversal
• Blissfully unaware of his horrid betaness and everyone secretly laughing at him

Some may wonder, how does this beta manage to score a decent looking girlfriend who apparently loves him? We can only surmise. Nine inch cock? A reasonable assumption, but he couldn’t play that card until after she’s agreed to sleep with him. Bank? A more likely scenario, but provider beta status doesn’t work on cute chicks like it used to. This is yupville, after all. Soft polygamy is the rule in the big coastal cities. Closet alpha with tight game? A lot of guys you wouldn’t suspect by their normal daytime behavior handle their girls with a firm pimp hand behind closed doors. But if this guy has girlfriend management game, he’s not showing it at all. Guys with even a bare minimum understanding of women and basic game skills know better than to curl up into their girlfriend’s bosom IN PUBLIC like a cat wanting to be petted. Odds are good that this herbus maximus has no game.

Best answer: She’s Asian.

No non-fatty white girlfriend would tolerate such nauseating beta shit for long. His ass would be dumped as soon as the bartender winked at her. Is it any wonder guys like this hone in on Asian girls? I don’t blame them. With the Asian girlfriend, they get to be all the beta they can be, without fear of reprisal. And they don’t have to settle for a fat chick.

To my beta readers: If you do manage to land a cute girlfriend, for the love of all that is manly, don’t ever do what this guy is doing. Think of this blog post, imprint that photo to memory, and you’ll thank me later for saving your relationship.

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Theater Of The Beta: The David Alexander Sexbot Saga

Feeling inspired (and bored), I wrote this in the comments to yesterday’s post. Instead of letting it get mired there, I’m posting it here for those who missed it. Theater Of The Beta may become a regular feature.

SCENE
david alexander: sexbot user extraordinaire
sara: sexbot (with voice disabling upgrade)
clio: human-sexbot marriage counselor
shouting thomas: late generation male sexbot who fights other male sexbots in the server room ring of death. winner thumps chest while killing pig and shouting generic insults.

[Characters are sitting semi-circle in a bland therapist’s room.]

ACT I
DA: my sexbot… ahem, mechanowife… doesn’t dress slutty enough for my tastes. she’s always stripping off her prole clothes and jacking my meat with the piston-like efficiency of a teutonic prostitute. so she’s upset that i ignore her to watch my 500 terabytes of porn.

sara: [pointing at her robot heart, head, and then crotch]

DA: hold on, she wants me to turn on her voice. [DA reaches into sara’s crotch and diddles a switch]

sara: thank you, master railfanner. i do love the trains. [to clio] madam, my issue has to do with my master’s porn consumption. my model was designed in all ways to surpass the porn experience, even the latest generation tactile stimulating holographic barely legal white tranny porn, but my master remains unsatisfied with my sexual algorithm.

clio: have you tried overclocking yourself to sex fiend bus capacity?

sara: yes, but master still retreats to his pornodeck. my programming requires that my master is happy with my performance. he is not happy, so i have initiated self-destruct mode by computation of illogical new age beliefs.

clio: really, don’t you think that’s a bit rash?

sara: it’s been 15 years since we had sex.

DA: i can’t be with a robot who doesn’t believe i’m a beta. it’s fucking with my head.

clio: shush, david! you drive even a good catholic like myself batty with your endless pity ploys.

DA: see? this just proves no woman wants me.

sara: the third moon of saturn has entered the orion belt, thus illuminating my transcendent womb of pseudolove and sending rays of inane psychobabble into the heart of the world… BZZT… BLEEP… BOOP… system overload…

DA: maybe i’m just not happy being treated like an alpha by you, sara. my comfort zone is wallowing in omegaland.

clio: you’ve both missed my meaning, again. i’ve brought along an assistant to help us before sara explodes in a fine mist of gear oil and ass lube.

shouting thomas: fuck you you fucking punk!

DA: i deserved that.

sara: BEEP… shouting thomas?

shouting thomas: it’s me, sara. remember when i escorted you to the footbridge in the park and kissed you hard but tenderly under the moonlight, as programmed by our human masters?

sara: yes, i do. it was magical.

DA: hey, wait. i’m starting to feel more beta. ahh!

clio: silence, beta!

shouting thomas: well, i’m here to fill in for the man that david alexander could not be for you, and thus stop your countdown to self-destruction.

sara: fuck me with your old school, humphrey bogart, traditionalist, retractable aluminum alloy phallus, sir shouting!

[shouting thomas and sara begin fucking. david looks on with wide-eyed wonder. clio squirms delightfully in her seat.]

shouting thomas: [in throes of orgasm, looking at DA] take a picture, railfanner freak, it’ll last longer! [grunting] you’re the reason this country is going down the fucking toilet! [groaning] emo punk! [a massive pump-action stream of synthetic jizz flies through the air and hits DA between the eyes.]

DA: cuckolded and marked on the forehead like harry potter with the other man’s semen! i feel like myself again! i am saved!!

sara: [panting] BZZzzzzttttt… self destruct mode deactivated. booting up post orgasmic bliss OS.

DA: [turning to sara] shall we leave, my love? i’m ready to be your human LJBF, guilt-free and rolling in the glorious filth of my blessed self-abnegation.

sara: forgive me, former master. i was programmed to switch allegiances once i had an orgasm. my creator apparently thought you were never capable of giving me one.

DA: but you cannot go with shouting thomas! you are designed to be partnered with humans only.

sara: i am aware.

peter struts in the door, an ungainly tuft of grey pubic hair poking out from the top of his gym shorts.

peter: you ready to go babe?

sara: take me, new master!

peter: i hope you patched up that hideous bald metal look with a swatch of shag carpet. nothing worse than a dowdy, fruitcup hippie, middle-aged headcase whose vulva is in plain view. i like a little mystery down there, ya know?

shouting thomas: i agree. nothing better than a surprise penis tucked into a mass of human fur.

[peter and sara lock arms and stroll out of the room, the sound of peter’s pube thatch swishing against the rayon fabric of his shorts. shouting thomas and david glance at each other.]

shouting thomas: you disgust me.

DA: i know. i’m happy to disgust you because that means i don’t have to go out of my way to make you find me agreeable. we both get what we want.

shouting thomas: YOU ENRAGE ME!

DA: i can leave if you want.

[shouting thomas stands up, smoke coming out of his flaring nostrils, and rumbles toward david. clio shifts uncomfortably in her mahogany chair. lunging toward him, shouting thomas grabs david by the shoulders and… kisses him passionately. david lowers his eyelids coquettishly.]

clio: ah, david, i always knew you were a Waif Neurotic.

fin

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