The L Word

Love is a silly thing and also a major loss of Man Points to discuss. I, however, am going to have to shed those Man Points today as I drop the L-bomb.

Don’t worry about my Man Points though. I gained several thousand this week by drinking a beer into which some careless, anorexic, fatass shrew had discarded a cigarette.

Then I slipped her a free card and my Man Points lit up like a slot machine.

Christmas is getting closer, and that means expensive gifts are being purchased all across the land. That also means that a million women are about to fall in love; a love of jewelry and bath products and other lame bullshit upon which women base their lives and also credit for the foundations of a good relationship. Merry fucking Christmas.

Women are lousy at being at in love.

To a man, being in love is a lot like getting a promotion. Sure it’s exciting and it has the potential to improve your quality of life, but it requires at all times that we men behave with discretion and self respect. For example, you don’t see a man running out of his boss’ office and spiking a stapler or striping his shirt off, do you? No of course not. That would be completely classless. Perhaps buying a round of drinks or two for his friends. Now that would be a perfectly reasonable reaction.

Men look at love in exactly the same way. Something has happened which is good for the moment — in the present context, and now I will have to adopt my lifestyle in some way. Maybe it will work, maybe it won’t; we’ll have to wait and roll with the punches. Surprise, surprise, women are exactly the opposite.

To a woman, being in love is a license to behave like a fucking lunatic. Firstly, women do not love other people — men, women, children, it’s all the same. Women love only things and it’s obviously true because they obsess like fuck about their precious trinkets every chance they get. That’s what women call love. It’s a self-love that’s also called avarice and greed, and because they don’t actually feel anything like the love that men feel, women behave like crazy people to fill in the gaps.

Women in love are like the mad inventor who never had the time to start a family of his own. He was probably too busy inventing time machines and T-shirt cannons and helicopters that ran on sunflower seeds. To compensate the scientist naturally builds weird robot replicas of families or other such things. Like Edward Scissorhands, that’s a good example. The guy didn’t have hands, so what did he use instead? Scissors. That’s the manner of shit women perpetrate when they want to be in love or think they should be. They just pull a bunch of emotions out of their ass and mix it up in a big gumbo of delusion.

“My boyfriend’s sixty pounds overweight but boy does he have a perfect ass!”

Yea, that makes about sixty pounds of sense.

Talk to a woman about love and she’ll go on for hours with all kinds of similar nonsense sayings and bullshit aphorisms. Women are like fucking car salesmen with the shit — all selling themselves the same used junk. Take my word for it if you want to do the manly thing and not ruin your evening by listening to a bunch of whining. The point is that women spend most of their time thinking about being in love. They think about it so fucking much that by the time it comes around for the first or fiftieth time, they’ve trained themselves to react like cult members or kung fu masters. Every signal and reaction is automatic, and from the barroom to the bedroom they’re on autopilot; just soaking in the adulation and shelling out the storybook shill.

Women debase themselves regularly for love. The love of not being wrong and not having to admit the fantasy upon which they’ve built their self-worth just isn’t going to work because it’s impossible and stupid.

The first step to being in love is growing the fuck up.