There’s No Such Thing As a Free Lunch

Since I began the Honorary Man of the Month program (in which an ordinary woman can honorarily have the prestige usually saved for men for a fleeting moment), I have never thought that Carmen Electra would not be among the herd.

This month she has done a man-deed by outing prostitutes worldwide while participating in a charity auction. The auctioned prize: a date with Carmen Electra. The price: high enough so that Miss December “actually felt obligated to, like, sleep with the guy.”

Brava Madam. By the way, when I said prostitutes earlier, I was talking about all women. Every single woman on Earth is a prostitute. Most are just lousy at it.

Before we get carried away, let me say first that Carmen declined the man’s charitable donation, which was probably going to orphans or some kind of diseased persons. Even though no stipulation of sex was implied or requested, she simply didn’t feel comfortable with it — probably much in the same way that the child who could have purchased a working kidney or new eyelids with the man’s money feels uncomfortable with his plagues.

Women are like that in everything that they do. They can be winning important awards like the Honorary Man of the Month with one hand, while they’re stripping organs from needy children with the other. It’s the same kind of shit magicians do except women do it for personal gain. Women are morality magicians. They make principles disappear.

While she has displayed a typically appalling woman-selfishness, Carmen Electra has also expressed the perfectly opposite and very manly opinion that all women are prostitutes. They are. And that’s why she’s the Honorary Man of the Month.

Prostitution is a part of a woman’s nature. It’s something they can never escape, and that’s why they respond so well to being propositioned as such.

“Would you like to go to dinner?”

“I’d love it.”

Yea. That’s because you’re a prostitute.

Unlike men, women are lazy as shit. Women are so lazy that if they designed houses, there would no longer be stairs. Houses would have only slides, and women would give absolutely no fuck about how to get back upstairs because with women it’s all a race to the bottom anyway. Or they would make some hack joke about a man finally asking for directions.

Women ask for directions at the first sign of trouble because they’re lazy too. How many gloriously mantastic things have ever been done because someone got to the right place at the right time? Fucking none. You just show up right where you thought you would be at exactly the right time and then a bunch of predictable shit happen.

That’s horseshit. Men don’t ask for directions because we don’t ruin great things that might be just over the horizon or around some uncharted corner for the sole purpose of clinging onto a pathetic timetable that represents how much control we delude ourselves into thinking we have over our lives.

Also, the women who eat a free meal and then skip out on the requisite sex aren’t thieves or empowered, they’re just lousy whores. Once payment takes place, you’re guilty. Don’t believe me? Go ask a fucking cop.

Carmen doesn’t need the money

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