Steel Magnolias Can Eat Shit.

When us men want to sink our teeth into only the very manliest (and therefore best) of cinema, we turn to the greats: Die Hard, Tremors, Caddyshack. Then, after we’ve whet our appetites with those warm-ups, we turn to one of the man-est movies of all of time: Dr. Strangelove.

This movie is everything that a great movie should be, because it is itself the very apogee of all things man.

Firstly, it’s good because it was written by a man. That can’t be said for all movies — only good ones. Men are better than women at writing movies because men have a firm grasp of reason and chronology whereas women have a firm grasp of fuck-all. That’s a British way to say “fucking nothing”. As a man I know how people talk all around the world, while women can barely pronounce “nuclear”.

If you want to hear a story as told by a woman, try listening to her tell you about her day. Surprise, surprise! You can’t because it’s completely impossible. It’s like listening to a Madlib backwards. You wouldn’t think a woman’s actions could make less sense, but somehow when she retells them to you, they actually fucking do.

Events in women’s stories happen in orders that are wildly implausible. And even worse, you know that nothing funny is going to be coming up because she wouldn’t have even noticed it in the first place.

Women never notice anything funny. If you want to get away with something a woman doesn’t want you doing, just do it in a giant foam cowboy hat. To any woman in the vicinity, you’ll go from “about to be busted” to “totally fucking invisible” in like two seconds — because those hats are hilarious and her mind will block you out.

Dr. Strangelove takes a good hard look at things through this lens of man-reason, putting women in the sole role of answering a phone while the man of the house is otherwise occupied (keep in mind that this movie was invented years before the answering machine), and letting men do what men do best and way better than women: run everything and tell everyone on Earth what the fuck to do and how they’re doing it the fuck wrong.

All women have to offer in response is the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.

Dumbo’s magic feather didn’t make him fly. Just like a bunch of women getting together and pretending they don’t secretly hate the fuck out of each other isn’t going to make it magically happen.

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