saw a guy today, he was wearing a Sex and the City shirt. I hope to God he meant it as a joke. Isn't that one of the four horsemen of the Apoclaplysk: war, disease, famine and guy-wearing-Sex-and-the-City t-shirt. I'm pretty sure it's in the Bible somewhere. Austin 3:16 or something. Anyhoo, this show exemplifies everything that is wrong with women, and they find it hilarious. At first, I thought they were laughing at themselves, as I frequently laugh at them, but no, women just don't seem able to make the connection between the overly-contrived plots and oft-repeated problems of this HBO hit series and their own less-than-spectacular lives.
I watched some episodes. "Why?" you ask incredulously. Well, I feel that I should be perfectly informed about something before I begin to hate it. I am perfectly informed about most things. I hate most things. Now I hate Sex and the City. For those of you lucky enough not to have seen the show, there are three basic plot lines:
1. Girl meets guy. Guy is perfect. Girl enjoys perfection for a bit, then decides there must be something wrong that she doesn't yet know. Girl wracks her brain trying to find this fault. Finds none. So girl creates problem. "He must be a pedophile," or some such nonsense. Then girl acts as though her confabulation is reality. Girl dumps guy. Because guy could have been a pedophile. Girl complains about not having a guy.
2. Girl meets guy. Guy is not perfect. Guy has problems. Girl complains about the problems unceasingly to her friends. Girl dumps guy because he has problems. At least girl didn't have to exercise her imagination on this one. Girl complains about not having a guy.
3. Girl meets guy. Guy wants girl. Girl doesn't want guy because guy wants girl. Any guy who wants girl obviously isn't good enough for girl. Girl can do better. In fact, the only guy good enough for girl is the one who doesn't want her skanky ass. Girl complains about not having a guy.
Hardy Har Har! Classic comedy. It's not funny when you're the perfect guy being victimized (My only fault is that all women want me. Oh, and I may be a little too good in bed). Let me clue you in, ladies:
No, some rich, sexy-in-a-creepy-old-guy-kinda-way business man is not going to hire you while you turn tricks on a street corner, then fall in love with your prostitute-charms. No, the precocious son of Mr. Right is not going to call a radio station DJ making an appeal to women across America on his shy-in-a-sexy-way behalf because he is depressed over the sudden loss of his true love. No, supercool senior Jake Ryan will not dump his ultra-popular, blond-bombshell girlfriend to fall in love with you, a sixteen-year-old with no boobies and flaming red hair.
All chick flicks are about perfect men and perfect matches and perfect endings. The result? The damage? Half the women in America, no matter how great their guy, feel they've settled for less than they deserve. The other half are settling for less than they deserve, hoping to find a diamond in his beer-bellied, hairy-backed rough.
There is growing media concern over the impact that violence on television and in the movies has on children. But what about the impact of impossibly-concocted fantasy movies? I hope you're happy, Hollywood. You have ruined the lives of so many otherwise decent chicks.
Sorry to burst your bubble, but not every guy who says he loves you does. Most lie. Shock and awe. They just want to get in your two-sizes-too-small, low-riding, boot-cut jeans. The guys who won't tell you they love you? Those are the guys you should trust, at least they are being honest. Women always complain that their man doesn't say he loves them enough. That men are not in touch with their feelings. Well, guess what: I'm not feeling anything. Perhaps we, as men, just don't feel some strong emotion or other 24/7. Perhaps we don't have violently unpredictable mood swings all the time. Did you think of that? Shall we tell you every five minutes: Nope, not feeling anything; nope, still nothing... oh, I feel a little happy... now it's gone. We don't cry at chick flicks because they aren't sad to us, not because we are insensitive fucks. Well, maybe that too. Do you know what movie is sad? Commando, one of the greatest love stories of all time. It just breaks my heart when a gang of bastards kidnap Arnold's daughter (played by the oh-so-talented Alyssa Milano) and so Arnold has to kill all of them. Badass. Soap operas and chick flicks are too cheesy to elicit an emotional response. Now, Arnold, that's real. Maybe if women watched more action movies they'd be happier.
And you, the bastard with the Sex and the City shirt: Stop encouraging them.
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