The 300 Is Twice As Sensitive As I Am

After seeing The 300 again, I’ve decided on what I find to be manliest feature of this film.

Anything a man needs to decide can be done in a maximum of five days. Men are better at deciding than women and I’ve just demonstrated this — with gusto. Women will spend six, ten, sometimes they spend their entire fucking lives deciding on the easiest of shit. And worse yet, after they’ve decided and done it, they’ll spend their entire lives re-deciding!

Then they’ll protest in front of abortion clinics. How silly.

The manliest part of The 300 is that the movie gives women a chance to shine.

Giving women the chance they don’t deserve is part of being a man. It’s our Nature of Nurture as I like to call it — with a term I have just at this very moment coined. Giving women the gentle slap on the ass they need comes with the penis, fellows and gentlemen. And you better take it because you can’t leave it. There’s no Returns Counter at the Penis R Us. There’s also no technical support line, no manual, and no amount of injected estrogen in the world could malfunct your manliest tool of all.

Your man brain.

Just like the other manliest film of all time, Doctor Strangelove, The 300 has only one female character. Men are tempests of emotion and character, as you all know. We are deeper than 20,000 leagues and the limit of our excellent is unbound. We could be kicking your ass at one moment and then helping you clean yourself up the very next, thoroughly disgusted at the state of you, but giving you a second chance also for some reason.

We’re fucking sensitive. Men are more sensitive than a skinned cat in a lemon juice factory.

Women, however, have only one dimension. That’s why The 300 is so manly. It doesn’t waste a bunch of my fucking time on ten lady characters who are all the goddamn same and are going nowhere. In The 300, women are given the most fair and unbiased treatment they have ever been given on film. The key word there is given; a man gave it to them.

I’m talking about The Queen of Sparta here, who by even my account is nearly fuck up free.

Nearly.

The 300 shows what happens to the world physically when there’s no men around. Everything gets fucked up by an invading army of bad ass dudes. More importantly, The 300 shows what happens to women emotionally when there’s no men around.

They have no fucking idea what to do.

I can only think of four words when I imagine a woman on her own trying to make a decision:

Panic, at, the, disco.

I heard that band name on the radio earlier and it stuck in my head. It’s literally all that comes to mind. But in all seriousness, women are just as much a disaster under the weight of a dilemma as they are under the weight of a Jeep full of fat guys. The Queen of Sparta was nearly fuck up free because she did everything a man told her to do. Except when she fucked that dude. He didn’t actually tell her to do that. He just insinuated.

That’s her fuck up.

Women take their entire lives to make decisions because someone went and convinced them they can think for themselves. Right. I don’t ask my clock what time it is. I tell it what time it is. The damn thing just keeps track for next time.

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