Here we go—yet another time we get to skewer the sexes for their drawbacks just when the dull drums of summer slowly slip through our fingers.
Everybody feels it in the air, the restlessness, the windless, humid nights, the strange glances from the other shadowed people drinking in the darkness of the bar.
There’s odd vibes out there in the bar rooms. The men are tired, sweaty in cut off jeans, huddled over the PBR’s. The women, also sweaty, in sticky black sundresses, eyes darting around for that end of summer romance, hoping to find that swell guy to cuddle with in that dark cold that is a New York Winter.
Of course, I’m watching the whole thing from behind the bar. That’s the privy the Gods have benefitted me, the ability to see how us humans act, like hiding behind a rice paper screen of life and baring witness to the truth of the world. I have had the ability to gather all manner of information regarding the state of the sexes, and now it’s time for the chicken to come home to roost.
So. To the point.
We come to our annual judgment of the sexes:
The Trouble With Men.
Now we will most certainly deal with ladies issues next week. But this week, oh, yes, time to duck and cover fellas.
(Note: This is a compilation of concerns, complaints, criticisms, and casually sweet advice from the ladies at the bars just for you guys out there. I’m the Walter Winchell of Lady News for you fellas this week.)
“Do what you say, and say what you are going to do.”
This is something your grandfather should have taught you, fellas. If most of my readers are between 30-45, you know that your grandfather no doubt served in WWII. And he didn’t have a choice. Nope. If his card got pulled, he was sent either to the German or Japanese lines to go and kill people. People that were trying to kill him. People that were putting other people in camps.
In those days, you word counted for everything. In fact, it's the only thing that counts for any person, despite the gender. But in the WWII universe of polarized black and white options, you had to be a man of your word or were deemed yellow. Your fellow men counted on you for survival, and that sort of brilliant honor was brought back to the home front come 1945.
Of course, all the men got fucked up. War, any war, does that to people. No wonder the young, soon to be rebellious folks of the 60’s and 70’s, would watch their parents in terrible disputes and in states of complete breakdown.
Father mindlessly staring at walls, still shell-shocked, drinking bourbon alone in the garage. Mother constantly trying to make the homestead pleasant and nice for the children (real Mad Men kind of shit).
No wonder by the time the 60’s came everybody rebelled. They saw the dissatisfaction their parents had and tried it their own way—hence the drug-filled 70’s and the baby booming, materialistic 80’s.
Us modern kids saw that fail as well. That’s why everybody did heroin in the 90’s. Fuck it. There was no American Dream. It was all a lie.
Gender roles were up for grabs. Sexual roles were up for grabs. Work roles were up for grabs.
But through out it all, one thing has always remained:
And this, guys, is the major criticism I have gathered from talking to the ladies at the bar about what peeves them most about modern man.
In a few words, modern man has become a flake—an ineffectual coward.
Knowing no war (no non-consensual war, that is), men don’t have other men left in peril to precariously placed snipers. Now, the modern man slinks around, gets what money and pussy when he can while he can, and posts about it on Facebook. He has no beliefs and because of this he fights for nothing.
No one crosses his lines because he has drawn none for himself.
It’s like the old adage: “He who stands for nothing will fall for anything.”
And no repeated viewing of “True Detective” will increase your masculine points. It’s just a TV show, folks.
You are a sack-less knave more concerned about the ending of episodic television shows, video games (which really should not be played past 30), and the precious price points at the end of the day.
Ladies don’t like that. Just ask them.
“Don’t be a pussy.”
Notice a pattern here, guys. This was the most common response I heard talking to the girls at the bars. And most of them meant sexually.
Some of them meant Point 1 above as well, but here, we are talking sexually. Somewhere between 4th wave feminism and the rise of men only raised by women, the fellas have lost their balls along the way. The number one complaint I have heard from woman is that men have become very ineffectual when it comes to sex.
Or they are still clueless. Guys, you know what a clitoris is and where it is, right? Apparently not. Not from the horror stories I’ve heard as of late. Either the guys are too sensitive to just do what they want or they are watching way too much pornography and can only get it up if the girls comes with fake tits and has a penchant for squeezing them together on their knees.
Basically, the girls want a man to know what he wants sexually as well as in their life. Dominance is sexy. Not in the creepy Cee-Lo way (this guy is totally fucked! We should slip him an Internet date rape drug and rape his career).
We are talking a sort of dominance that is acceptable and lovely, and something a lot of these girls tell me they want, and simply are not getting. They are getting the River Cuomo version of sex.
What they need is some Jim Morrison sex.
“The ‘Player’ Needs To Just Stop.”
We all heard about the myth of Don Juan, right?
He was reported to have been the lover of hundreds of woman. They flocked to him. Not just because of his good looks and indelible charm. It was because he could find something beautiful about every woman that walked upon God’s green Earth.
How about Zorba The Greek? Ever read that book (or watched the weird film with Anthony Quinn)? Zorba was quoted once as saying:
“Every time a woman goes to bed alone in the world a little part of me dies.”
These guys were fantastic and attractive to woman for one reason and one reason only.
They were honest about what they are.
They loved women.
They weren’t the kind of guys to woo you, take you out, date you, and become your man. Then you find out that your ‘man’ has been fucking everything that moves behind your back and now you can’t stop itching between your legs.
It’s the “I want my cake and eat it too” phenomenon. And guys, that idea is played the fuck out.
When you meet a girl, tell her that you like other woman too. Just be honest. It’s not weird. It’s honest. Then the lady can make a choice for herself if she wants to get involved with a Philistine like yourself. It will be her decision. It won’t be you sneaking around like a deranged perverted school boy finger banging strangers at bars while your supposed to be at dinner with your girl. If you are a ‘player’, and hopefully one with class, than lead with that.
The girls may not like it at first. But in the end, you will earn their trust.
Because you had the balls to be honest—much more than her ‘safe’ husband or boyfriend that eventually and meekly cheats or breaks up with them.
And that goes a long way.
All the way, boys.
Till next week: “The Trouble With Women.”
REAL MEN. OH YES.
YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO EAT THIS. NOT BE THIS.
YEAH, JOHNNY. HE'S PRETTY CLOSE.