These Girls Learned From A Terrible, Terrible Mentor


sometimes it is really difficult to put myself in the uptight, insecure shoes of so many ladies i encounter.  short of me slapping you unconscious and stealing the man you so clearly depreciate, my only option is to mentally judge you before trying to give whatever pre-k style explanation of what you’re doing is wrong.  so when i hear that some friends are putting stipulations on places their men can and cannot go because it is somehow deemed inappropriate in that fragile mind you have, i have to wag my finger at you with a stern bite and say “bad girl! no.

These girls learned from a terrible, terrible mentor.  usually their single moms who clung to any nearby alcohol as they spoke.  to which the conversation went something like:

“keep your man on a tight tight leash.  don’t let him do anything fun.  verbally beat him.  be as passive aggressive as possible.  and just when you think he’s going to walk away for real this time.  give him the best sex of his life, and POOF. you have a husband. that or pretend you’re pregnant”

Considering a tween brain is like a succubus to the idiotic, this strategy seems to be working quite nicely for most young women today (see men’s willingness to put up with anything for strange).  so here they are.  in the married good life.  toasting to couples, having dinner parties, showing off the perfect american dreamboat they’ve acquired.  then someone like me walks in and can all but too easily see the actual leashes these guys are attached to.  and boy does it look tragic and scratchy.

you ever notice how a dog eventually figures its way out of a leash?  takes them a few tries, but eventually those snags begin to tear, day by day.  inching away from you and towards a much more appreciated freedom.  all that build up of excitement and wide eyed dreams of better days weighs in so hard that when that leash finally snaps, they go completely bonkers.  well. that’s your soon to be ex husband or boyfriend sprinting dick first into the first woman who doesn’t try to put him in matching polo or deny him his only right as a man to get out once and awhile.

i’ll thank ryan seacrest for bringing situations like this to my attention more frequently.  most recently several dim witted, lucky to even call themselves married women, called in to discuss all the places that their men are forbidden to enter.  here’s the thing.  a guy can fuck a girl in a gas station over run by burly bikers and truckers.  doesn’t matter.  what matters is what kind of unfortunate hell he’s been dragged through up to this point that leads him to believe fucking said gas station girl would be a suitable idea.  this whole anxiety ridden, crazy bitch thing you’ve adapted is only going to worsen and heighten your chances of finding your man deep beneath some sheets with any number of willing ladies that don’t make him feel like he’s been chained at the penis.

so you won’t let him go to the strip club because you think he’s going to fuck candy sundae?  if you’re really that concerned that your man might fuck a woman riddled with the clap with a baby voice in tow, then maybeeee you should rethink your dating scenario as a whole.  things like the beach for instance, where women are abound in their tiny pieces of material.  bouncing tits and all.  maybe get your own body in check and you won’t be that fucking worried.  it wont take some baywatch flashbacks to get this guy all red hot and bothered.  believe me, he’s already at attention regardless.  it’s his willingness to put the puppy down for the sake of being with you, that is your only salvatin.

a cheater is going to cheat.  regardless of the circumstance.  in fact its like getting an early curfew on a party night.  you’ll fit however much booze and tits you can in your few hours out to make it count.  but if you were a little more alleviated on the fun scale, they might be more willing to chill out and come home to just you.  so maybe its time to put the book of desperate women away forever and let the man air it out every once and while.  because in the end, the more you smother, the less likely you’re going to keep them.  and you’ll be stuck with perma-crazy bitch while he goes and enjoys the pleasure of a women he doenst wish he could strangle.

You’re welcome.

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