Sweden Does One Thing Right

Commenter Stu wrote this in the comments:

As for you guys thinking about kids, do not do it.  I speak from experience here.  I love my kid but fuck man, it’s such a drag being a parent.  Especially since I got divorced (and having a kid fucking accelerated that process) and have joint custody so I have to be daddy every other week.

The reason why I do it though is two fold: I don’t want my daughter to be brain washed by her psychotic mother and it means I don’t pay a single penny in child support.  I’m glad I got divorced in Sweden – no alimony ever and no child support if you have joint custody.

If this is true that in Sweden joint custody means no child support or alimony is extorted from the man, then their divorce laws are more just than the divorce laws in the US. All that’s left to answer is how often Swedish judges award joint custody.

Yet one more reason to ditch American women for a foreign lover.

I also agree with Stu’s advice to avoid having kids. Every guy I know who has kids has no social life and, judging by their griping, a nearly nonexistent sex life. I say get your kid fix from nieces and nephews. You visit a few hours each month and play airplane with them, then you leave. All of the fun, none of the fun-killing responsibility.

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Alpha Male Cage Match

Enough of the betas and herbs for a change. It’s time for some positive role models.

Two alpha males. One caged ring. No holds barred. Who will emerge victorious, King of The Alphas?

In this corner…

…we have Silvio Berlusconi, 72 year old rightist Italian Prime Minister who cavorts with 18 year old Italian models, publicly tells his wife she should apologize after she finds out about his numerous liaisons and begins filing divorce proceedings…

Asked if there was any chance of saving his marriage, the prime minister said: “I don’t think so. I don’t know if I want that this time. Veronica will have to apologise to me publicly. And I don’t know if it would be enough.

“It’s the third time in an election campaign that she has pulled a stunt of this kind. It really is too much.”

…, GETS DEFENDED BY HIS KIDS when their Dad’s hedonist lifestyle is brought to light…

[The] leader of the opposition Democratic Party, Dario Franceschini, asked Italians at a European Parliament election rally: “Would you want your children brought up by this man?”The question provoked a furious response from Mr Berlusconi’s children, who have rarely made public statements in the past.

“Angry?” asked Marina, [Berlusconi’s] eldest daughter from his first marriage and chairman of publisher Mondadori, in an interview for Corriere della Sera.

“I am indignant. Furious. No, this is enough. This time, I don’t intend to stay silent. My father has always worked a lot, but there has never been a time, a single time, in which I did not have him near when I needed him.”

…, and still manages at the age of 72 to sport daytime chubby just walking around hot young women:

Hey paeson, teen girls ARE Viagra! Capice?

As reader Traveller noted:

An affair with a seventeen year-old at age seventy-two! The best part? His kids come out to defend him! Amazing.

“Would you want your children brought up by this man?”

Wrong question. Question is – who wouldn’t?

Does this man look troubled to you?:

I think this quote from Berlusconi best illustrates his bone-deep alphatude:

Berlusconi said he had dropped in on the birthday party of Noemi Letizia [18 year old Italian model] because her father, a council employee, was a “friend of many years”. Asked why she called him papi, he replied: “But it’s a joke. They wanted to call me granddad. It’s better they call me daddy, don’t you think?”

The prime minister said three pretty young women whose candidacies were revoked after Lario’s letter were not showgirls. One was an actress, he said.

An apex alpha male like Silvio should not be punished for enjoying the fruits of the women who love him, just as an apex alpha female should not be punished for securing commitment from an incorrigible playboy alpha male. High five, Silvio. You are an inspiration for men everywhere. May the betas of the world learn from your example.

PS: My maternal grandfather was a spitting image of Berlusconi.

******

And in this corner…

we have the upstart American 72 year old H. Beatty Chadwick, a Pennsylvania lawyer who spent 14 years in jail in a civil contempt case *without ever being charged* for refusing to cough up 2.5 million in extortion alimony to the world’s filthiest scumcunt bitch ex-wife ever.

One can spend a long time in jail in the U.S. without ever being charged with a crime.

It happened to H. Beatty Chadwick, a former Philadelphia-area lawyer, who has been behind bars for nearly 14 years without being charged. And this didn’t take place in some 3rd world dictatorship or tyrannical government like China or Iran it was done right here in the U.S.

No trial ever took place, Chadwick has never been allowed to face his accuser and no jury ever heard any evidence against him.

In 1994, during his divorce proceedings, a Delaware County judge (yes a county Judge) held Mr. Chadwick in civil contempt for failing to put $2.5 million in a court-controlled account. He says he lost the money in bad investments; his wife’s attorney claimed he had hidden it offshore. In April 1995, Mr. Chadwick was arrested and detained. Nearly 14 years later, Mr. Chadwick, who suffers from non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, is still in jail — even after a retired judge was hired to help locate the money, and failed.

I’m sure Chadwick is lying about the whereabouts of his pile of loot, and I say GOOD SHOW OLD CHAP! Deny that ballcutting soulsucking bitch anything of your life’s hard work and sacrifice. Lie like the wind. If there was ever any question by the milquetoast-y herbs and self-serving fembots among us whether lying before the law can be the morally right thing to do, this case should settle the matter.

Just how corrosively amoral is the soul of woman? Remember: Chadwick’s ex-wife was perfectly content letting him rot in jail for years on end in a blackmail bid to pry HIS OWN MONEY from his hands. It was in her power to end his torment any time she wanted. But she didn’t. That should tell you all you need to know about the blackened core beating in almost every woman’s heart when her interest is on the line and the love is gone.

Here is a photo of the loving couple back in happier times:

Can you tell just by looking at her what monstrous evil she would eventually rain down on the man she once loved? No. So you must do the smart thing and assume every woman, given the right incentives, is capable of similar evil.

MEN: DO NOT GET MARRIED. You have been warned. You can get all the benefits of a good marriage in a loving, UNMARRIED relationship with none of the risks of jail or paying through the nose for a lifetime retirement plan for your ex-wife. Until the laws change radically (and I have my doubts this will ever happen absent some sort of SWPL-redneck style civil war), you are better off staying far away from the altar.

This case is so egregiously unjust… so EVIL… that Chadwick has thousands of supporters to his cause and a website dedicated to his freedom and to uncovering the raw sewage that permeates the misandrist divorce industrial complex from top to bottom.

H. Beatty Chadwick is a hero with a warrior’s heart. He is a foot soldier in the long war against the criminalization of our court systems by power hungry degenerate feminists and their lowlife parasitic accomplices. Men like him should be honored with statues and parades, and his enemies shamed into removing themselves from public life entirely, and preferably from life altogether. Here’s to hoping Chadwick’s ex-wife either shoves a gun barrel through her pursed WASP lips, or gets run over by a dumptruck with a rubber scrotum hanging from the back.

H. Beatty Chadwick: Hero to all American men, defender of the just and noble, heart of lion. He joins company with this man.

Tell your boys the story of these alpha heroes in the time of Western decline, and if fortune and fate should shine their stirring legacy will forge a new generation’s hearts in steel to fight for their beloved country and rescue it from the twisted, invidious forces of traitorous elites and SWPL saboteurs who through their actions would cause nothing less than to bend America to Her knees, stripped of all that was once good about Her. Si se puede.

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Pimp Slap Of The Day

It’s no coincidence that marriage became the shit institution it is today at about the same time weddings turned into ostentatious displays of whorish overconsumption.

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Hero

Maybe I should start an ‘Alpha of the Month’ series. Check out this guy:

A man who stopped paying alimony payments to his Clay County ex-wife five years ago and moved to Indonesia — out of the reach of law enforcement — was arrested Friday when he returned to town for a wedding.

The Clay County Sheriff’s Office said David Evans owes his wife $188,000 in alimony payments.

$188,000. Say it to yourself. ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY-EIGHT THOUSAND. For saying “I do”. There is not a woman alive whose blowjob technique merits $188,000 in recompense. The alimony payday is state-sanctioned theft, pure and simple.

I’ve long advocated that should you find yourself on the assramming end of the divorce industrial complex, your best bet is to shift your assets overseas and leave the country. Our hero flipped the bird at our anti-male laws, and for that, I salute him. The fact that he slipped up and stupidly returned to the US five years later for a wedding (irony alert) shouldn’t detract from his admirable heroism in the field of battle. I bestow upon him the greatest honor a man can receive — membership in the Heartiste Society, including the wrought-iron triskelion ring which will grant him access to the chateau.

If alphas have a ‘look’, then this guy has it:

“STEEEEEELLAAAAA!!!!”

At this point, it hardly matters what this guy did or didn’t do in the run-up to his divorce. He may have cheated, lied and stolen, or his wife may have boffed his cousin. The marriage culture has degenerated to such a nadir that these piddling he said-she said details are of little concern in the face of the larger injustice. Absent children and proof of fault, there is no good reason a man should owe his ex-wife ONE RED CENT in the event of a divorce. If she stayed at home becoming best friends with Oprah instead of advancing in a pointless public relations career, that is her body her choice, and the consequences are hers to grapple with. To believe otherwise is to believe that the state should treat women like children, incapable of accounting for their own life choices. And if that’s the standard by which the state will act with regards to women’s post-marital entitlements, then I suggest the state extend its paternalistic logic to other realms in which women operate. A repeal of female voting rights would be a good start.

If a woman initiates divorce from a man and children are involved, unless she can prove fault by her husband she should not even get child support. I can already hear the disingenuous whining. “But the children will suffer! Think of the children!” If the children are suffering she can always stay with her husband, give them to the husband if she decides to ditch him, or put the kids up for adoption. If she wishes to give the kids to the ex-husband, but he’d rather not have his freedom and funtime curtailed by babysitting duties (and I wouldn’t blame him), *and* the divorce was his fault, he can have the option of paying child support in lieu of physically raising them.

Any woman who has a problem with what I wrote has revealed herself to be a leech intent on riding the gravy train. Humans will cling to nothing as tenaciously as a structurally advantageous power position. In America 2009, the emergent marriage and divorce conspiracy is such an obviously raw deal for men that it’s a wonder they still bother. The fear must be strong in many men. If I were the hypothetical leader of this conspiracy, I would target young, religious men for marriage who were too naive to know any better.

There are ways to save marriage, but I can sleep easy at night knowing no one will take up the cause. My lifestyle will remain unchallenged.

To recap: Don’t get married. At least when you break up with a girlfriend you don’t have to provide her with a retirement plan.

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Washington Post Fembot Tells Cuckold ‘Suck It Up’

A diligent reader emailed me a ‘Beta of the Month’ submission about a guy who fears he may have been cuckolded and who turns to a Washington Post advice columnist for support in his time of need. I read the article and decided that the real value to be gleaned was not in the unearthing of stupefying betatude (after all, at Chateau Heartiste where the better angels of humanity are handcuffed to bedposts and repeatedly gangbanged by their demonic cousins, mewling cuckolds are mere run of the mill betas), but in the reply to the beta chump by Carolyn Hax, a Washington Post Style columnist.

I reprint the column in full along with my remarks, so that you may glimpse the true face of woman.

Here is the original cry of anguish by the man who believes his child is not of his beta loin:

Hi, Carolyn:

I’m writing to you because I don’t know who else to ask. My wife and I have been happily married for six years. We have a beautiful daughter, age 2. For about the past six months I have suspected my daughter isn’t really “mine.” I have never suspected my wife of cheating on me, but for a number of reasons I cannot quiet my suspicions about the baby. I have not confronted my wife because I know that might devastate our marriage. But I have to know. What should I do?

Suspicious

If a man suspects his wife has cuckolded him, the odds of his child not being his rise to 30%. The general nonpaternity rate is around 4%. Low confidence “fathers” are right to be worried. Cuckoldry is serious business because it is the female form of rape.

So by the second sentence I know this guy is a Natural Born Beta. It’s always the guys getting most screwed by their wives who persist in believing they are “happily married” seconds before she’s caught with her boss’s dick in her mouth. Another telltale sign of the beta: If he cajoles tepid sex out of his wife once a month he thinks that is proof the marriage is full of love. If you want to know how well a marriage is doing, don’t look at the husband’s face for hints of marital bliss; look at the wife’s face.

Now we’ll examine the Style columnist’s family counseling advice. You may want to prepare a crucifix and garlic.

Give careful thought, please, to what you “have to” know.

This is going to be good. The first words out of her mouth are a slopbucket of shame aimed straight at… the man.

When just seeking the truth could change your life in dramatic and irreversible ways, it’s best to start not by actually doing something but by inviting each possible truth into your imagination as fact.

What the fuck does she mean here? This is postmodern therapeutic age gibberish squared. Nonsense on stilts. “Invite each possible truth into your imagination as fact”? Screw action, just imagine everything is true. Embrace the female way: Wallow in your psychodrama while getting nothing accomplished. It’s no wonder the newspaper empire is crumbling with the third rate hacks they have writing for them nowadays. I spewed more sensible shit after a 12 hour dorm room pot and Milwaukee’s Best bender.

That way, you can figure out the way you want your life to look before you start saying things you might regret.

Wait, did I miss something, or did Miss Hax Off Your Balls just guilt trip the guy who got cuckolded?

If your life were a physical structure, this would be the “blueprint before sledgehammer” approach.

Translation: If you just take a breather and don’t let your anger and pain get the best of you, you’ll find that life as a beta provider for an alpha’s kid isn’t so bad. Your wife will love you for your measured approach and self-sacrifice, and the most important thing is to keep your wife happy, right? Right? At the very least…

…do it for the children.

If your “number of reasons” points to infidelity, for example, then you need to imagine the worst, and assume your wife did cheat — Imaginary Scenario 1 — and then you need to decide whether you’d want to stay in the marriage or leave.

I’d think the decision would be self-evident, but hey, we’re talking about spineless betas and amoral women here, so everything is up for grabs. Bizzaro America!

If the answer is to stay (Scenario 1a), then you need to ask yourself, is that outcome better served by not digging into the past?

If the guy decides to stay and prove to the world what a pathetic sap he is, then I suppose he deserves the indignity of having his worthlessness as a man rubbed in his face every time his non-kid is in the same room with him. If he’s that low on the self-esteem pole then he might be able sack down and survive eighteen years without once mentioning his wife’s whoring and the kid who doesn’t look anything like him. I can imagine the thoughts going through his head, when years later our protagonist is coaching his daughter’s soccer team: “Wow, she’s so athletic and assertive. And so attractive, too. Maybe it’s for the best that my genes weren’t passed on. Life is beautiful!”

If the answer is to leave (1b), are you ready to challenge your paternity — or have it challenged by your at-that-point-estranged wife?

1b? Is this superfluous numbering system supposed to make her sound scientific? Maybe it’s just my male logic, but if the guy decides to leave the marriage on account of strong evidence — say, oh I dunno, a paternity test — that he is a cuckold, then it wouldn’t much matter if his cheating whore of a wife is estranged from him or challenges what he already challenged.

If, on the other hand, your suspicions are based solely on your child’s appearance, then you need to ask yourself if you’re being irrational; genes are a lot more complicated than the “She has a cleft chin and therefore can’t be mine” parlor games would suggest.

More shame. You starting to notice a pattern? This is what women do when they have nothing left to fall back on but hollow arguments. Fact: Babies look more like their fathers than their mothers. This is an evolutionary adaptation that ensures fathers will stick around to care for the infant. “Cleft chin” red herring notwithstanding, if the guy thinks his kid doesn’t look like him and therefore could be the cable guy’s kid, he’s got a 30% chance of being dreadfully right.

But let’s say instead you have an unshakeable gut instinct that this is someone else’s child. If you’re right, then the percentages would be obviously (and heavily) in favor of infidelity, which loops you back to Scenario 1.

Still, you can’t entirely rule out the rarer than rare, yet not unprecedented, hospital error — Scenario 2 —

She’s flailing.

so you also have to imagine your way through to the conclusion of a different worst-case altogether: If the baby turns out to be neither yours nor your wife’s biological child, would you still love this baby?

Alpha answer: No.
Beta answer: No, but I’ll say yes because it’s what’s expected of me.

Want to raise her?

Alpha answer: Hello, orphanage drop off box!
Beta answer: My wife said she’ll stop giving me biannual handjobs if I don’t say I’ll love the child as if it were my own.

Want to find your biological child and switch?

Style columnist Hax either has a weak grasp of human nature, or a weak grasp of rhetorical devices.

In other words, would it make a difference if this were error vs. deception?

No. If it was a hospital error, then the wife should be equally pleased as her husband to know the truth. Their marriage would remain strong, or at least viable, as they made arrangements with the hospital to find their true baby and swap kids with the other victimized family who mistakenly got their kid.

If it was deception, then their marriage (hopefully, but you can never know for sure with these congenital betas) will dissolve, but the cuckold will have spared himself the humility and genetic metadeath of providing for another man’s legacy with his sweat and tears while his own sad seed withers to dust.

If you decide you’d want this child no matter what, then the question becomes, again, why you’d want to risk everything to scratch even a torturous itch.

Is the idea of robbing a man of eighteen years of his life and a chance to bear and love his own children meaningless to this Style columnist? Here’s an analogy, Miss Hax, you could try wrapping your twisted cancerous soul around: A man getting cuckolded is the moral equivalent of a woman getting secretly implanted with another woman’s fertilized egg, giving birth to it, and raising it for eighteen years.

Is any of this getting through to you? Bitch?

And finally: What if you started digging, wrecked your marriage and learned your daughter is “yours”?

Q-tip swab of the kid’s cheek while the wife is away takes two seconds. He can have the sample tested with no one the wiser. If the kid is his, hey, he can sleep easy at night and feel good about helping his kid with her homework. The proof of his paternity might even motivate him to go down on his wife. If the kid isn’t his, the marriage was wrecked long before he “started digging”.

I urge you to imagine your way down every painful avenue here, best cases as well as worst.

Translation: I urge you to find it in your heart to put aside your doubts for the good of your wife and bastard child.

Then, once you’ve figured out what you can live with emotionally, please, if you’re considering any action at all, have a lawyer vet it legally.

Vet? Vetting is beta. Get the paternity test done before consulting any lawyers, and when you do get a lawyer with test results in hand, make sure your wife doesn’t find out about any of it until you slap her with the divorce papers. You don’t do battle with a whore by playing nice.

Only then can you be confident whether truth-seeking serves your interests — and your family’s — or smashes them to bits.

Shame! It’s what’s for dinner! Gotta love her admonishing a cuckold — the victim, remember? — that he needs to serve his family’s interest along with his own. I guarantee every woman reading this Post article nodded their heads in agreement with the author, and probably quite a few limpwristed faggy SWPL betaboys agreed, too. A better illustration of the second class status of beta males in society — as foretold by our evolutionary heritage — would be hard to find. Women are simply assumed to be moral paragons and Vestal Virgins, and betas are… there to be ransacked.

Give, betas, give till it hurts. And when the hurt begins, don’t bitch and moan about your endless torment. Just keep giving. While you’re paying the last ounce of tribute in self-respect, here’s some porn to keep your senses dulled.

***

Whenever I read articles by women attempting to grapple with the evil of cuckoldry, the impression I am always left with is one of fear. I can smell the fear in their words. It emanates from every ill-conceived shaming maneuver and transparent rationalization. The emptiness of their amoral excuse-mongering is beyond lame.

“If you confront your wife over her cheating your family will shatter.”

If she cheated the family is already shattered.

“You have to suck it up for the good of the child.”

She should have thought of the child’s welfare before spreading wide for the alpha interloper to blast in her pussy.

“What good will come of the truth?”

Good has got nothing to do with it. But justice and dignity do. Not to mention the Darwinian prime directive.

Finally, my favorite of all the cuckoldry excuser tactics:

“Be the GOOD MAN and take one for the team. After all… *wink wink*… it’s not like you’re gonna find another woman.”

To which a man should answer in the only way acceptable: FUUUUUUUCK YOU.

The fear coming from women when the spotlight is on efforts by men to expose cuckoldry is perfectly understandable. Humans fear most the loss of mating power, and the prerogative of women to get impregnated on the sly with an alpha while foisting the bill on a beta is a hardwired preference millions of years old. Any threat to the established order, especially an existential threat as game-changing as DNA paternity testing, will send women into involuntary apoplexies of hair-raising moral myopia. The beastly decrepitude of their animal souls will lay bare for all to see.

Hallmark doesn’t make cards for moments like these.

The first Sexual Apocalypse was heralded by the death song of the following Four Sirens: the Pill, No-Fault Divorce, Economic Gender Egalitarianism, and Misandrist Laws. But a new era is upon us. As I see it, the future of humanity will radically change once again with the coming of the Three Horsemen of the Second Sexual Apocalypse:

Widespread, accurate and accessible paternity testing.
The male Pill.
Realistic sexbots.

Paternity testing alone is enough to alter women’s sexual behavior in a big way. Mandatory paternity testing is already on the docket in some legislatures. There have been hopeful signs of justice being served. It’s not enough to say “Well, only 3-4% of women cuckold their husbands. So really, not much will change.” The impact isn’t in the marginal loss of cuckoldry as a mating strategy, but in the *perception* of loss by *all* women. Even the most faithful, loving wife has the corrupt core of a cheating whore buried deep in her hindbrain. Blasting rays of sunlight on her gnarled, caged id won’t be met with good cheer. I predict very few fertile-age women will be emotionally invested in men’s paternity rights, and in fact most of them will advocate against it. Pussywhipped beta males and opportunistic alpha males sufficiently sequestered from the negative consequences of their decisions will likely defend the women in hopes of short term gain in payment of sexual favors. If you think alpha males of middling resources would vigorously support mandatory paternity testing, remind yourself who benefits the most from cuckoldry.

Here is Miss Hax’s contact info:

Write to Tell Me About It, Style, 1150 15th St. NW, Washington, D.C. 20071, or tellme@washpost.com.

It would be fun if my readers sent her a link to my post under the ruse of fan mail. The goal isn’t to change her mind — no, that will never happen — the goal is to drive a chainsaw through her soul. To make her hurt. To sear her ego with the harsh, ugly truth. Sadism is an exquisite pleasure for those practitioners trained in the art of administering it.

***

A final note: I will play therapist for a moment and give proper counseling to Mr. “Suspicious”:

Q-tip. Swab. Paternity testing clinic. The rest is commentary.

And because I am a gracious and good man of charitable inclination, I also give my tender and supportive counseling to Miss Hax:

“Please, Miss Hax, take a seat on the couch over there. Yes, that’s good. Ok… now… tell me only the bad things that come to mind when you hear the word

C  U  N  T.”

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I Once Banged A Girl Who Was Banged By A Rockstar

A girl with whom I was having a sexual fling (squirter) once challenged me, while we were out together, to pick up a woman sitting at the bar by herself. I suppose the thought of me seducing another woman turned her on. I’ve dated quite a few slutty freaks like her. Naturally, I obliged. Seducing women is why Our Lord Below put me on this good green earth. (I wonder how a beta male would have responded to such a request? “Stop being silly, honeybunny, I’m not going to hit on another woman. That’s just WRONG. I’m with *you* now.”)

Donning my war mask (shit-eating grin and eye twinkle) I sidled up to the statuesque blonde sipping her Guinness. She was around 30, and quite attractive. She had a proudly feminine face of Scandinavian origin and wide, child-birthing hips. Even though she was sitting, I could tell she was very tall, perhaps six feet. Inspired by the jealousy I would provoke in my audience (who was standing only 10 feet away with an unobstructed view of my full-scale assault), I ran some of my tightest game. Blonde warrioress had no chance. She withered into a puddle of warm arousal. Occasionally, I would look over at my date to see how she was reacting (mouth agape) and the blonde would catch me doing this and ask if I knew her. “Yes”, I said, “She’s a friend.” Coast cleared.

I number closed the blonde in fifteen minutes and told her I had to get back to my “friend”. When I strolled back, triumphant, my date didn’t look too happy, but I’m sure she was turned on. I was worried she would attempt to sabotage my chances with the blonde by making out with me right there, so I shuffled us both out of there in a hurry. Later, after a rigorous interrogation, I lied to my date that had I erased the blonde’s phone number. If you’re gonna play a high stakes game, don’t expect the rules to be fair.

A couple days later I took the blonde on a date to my favorite dive bar. We hit it off. Drinks, walking around the park, making out, sliding a hand down her pants and diddling her taint. The only thing I remember her saying was that she once had a two year relationship with Anthony Kiedis. She was a teenager (possibly underage) when she met him backstage at one of his shows. He was bigtime and had just crossed the Pussicon into rockstardom; girls were his for the taking, like so many juicy grapes plucked off the vine.

Intrigued by her admission, I pressed for more details. The thought of her having gotten fucked by Anthony Kiedis inexplicably turned me on. “Wow,” I remember thinking at the time, “I’m gonna bang the same hole that Anthony Kiedis’ supermodel-banging cock has been in. That’s one vulva of separation.”

Turns out that her definition of “relationship” was highly fluid, dependent on the desirablility of the man she was “seeing”. For the typical beta male, “relationship” means “ball and chain”; for a guy like Anthony Kiedis, “relationship” means he continues fucking tons of hot young girls but looks more deeply into your eyes than he does into the eyes of all the other women, thus making everything OK. Which is pretty much how it went between her and him. She was dating him, but would sometimes catch him fooling around at his shows. Despite that, she was never worried that he didn’t love her.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because once he saw me he would immediately drop whichever girls he was kissing and come over to tell me he loved me.”

“I see.”

This was a grown woman saying this.

So two years dating a rockstar and finally they drifted apart. She was divorced (she left a rich lawyer) and had dated other men since, but the only fond memories she had were of Mr. Anthony Kiedis, womanizer extraordinaire who made her heart swell with love when he stopped fucking his groupies for one second to kiss her gently on the cheek. Her ex-husband and ex-lovers may as well have never existed except as feeble also-rans throwing in stark contrast the powerful nostalgic glow of her blood, sugar, sex, magik memories.

On our second date, I drove her home to her cavernous suburban mcmansion and fumbled backwards through the dark into her bedroom, stripping off clothes along the way. I stepped on something rubbery and heard a squeak. Since I was fully turgid and throbbing with urgency, I paid it no heed. In the morning, I woke up first and rubbed my eyes. There were children’s toys littered on the floor.

Nordic Princess woke up. “I guess I should tell you that I have kids.”

“Yeah… interesting. So… how many?”

She replied, sheepishly, “Four.”

“Wow, that’s… impressive. Very, um, active.” I was right about her child-birthing hips.

“They’re with my ex. Two of them are already in school.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Are you OK with that? I was worried you might freak when you found out.”

“Perfectly fine. Kids are great,” I lied.

“They spend a lot of time with my ex-husband. He’s a good father. So don’t worry I’m not searching for a replacement father.”

“No worries!”

We ate breakfast and I kissed her goodbye, promising to give her a call. On the drive home I deleted her number from my phone.

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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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