Women are from Venus, Supermen are from Krypton
Contributed by pusa (Edited by amplifier)
Sunday, July 30, 2006 @ 12:00:03 AM
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So what does a near-sighted, chain-smoking, second-rate artist wannabe who has little over a penny on his name, doesn’t plan for anything over a week ahead, and hasn’t had a normal relationship for more than two years know about love and commitment?
Mu. No right answer, only wrong question.
I may not know jack about relationships, women, and what in the world is in that goddamned purse, but I know about men, with their XY chromosomes, perpetual fascination of the female anatomy, and the truth behind the It’s-not-you-It’s-me crap.
If you would allow me to speak about men, I’ll speak for the 30% who actually knows their shit, the 60% who brags about their shoe size, and the clueless 10% who still believes in Santa Claus and the false conception on courting, chivalry, and romance.
They say we’re insensitive – well, they got half that right. Not that men are naturally insensitive, it’s just that women are too sensitive and compared to them we all seem like a bunch of Nazis. Feeling is not a labor we can sustain 24/7. Sure, we like to cuddle and hold hands, but honestly, it’s just libog talking. Certainly, you’ve already heard from that Freud dude that libido is what drives every living creature and is accountable for every action, only, the female of our specie has a damn good way of keeping it under covers. Yes, he may call or sit down on a chat with you, however intimate or trivial the topic may go, if the guy doesn’t take sense from a clean, sociable conversation with someone from the opposite sex, chances are, he’s hitting on you. Speaking as someone who hasn’t celebrated Valentine’s Day since he was still wearing white socks on leather shoes and still thought eighty pesos was way too much to pay for a cup of coffee, I believe that- and so does every guy on this planet.
Men are extremely territorial, and if we were to follow the behavioral ecology of our wildlife counterparts, we would be urinating on every stuff we own and scent-mark the boundaries of our territories, and, believe it or not, that includes our women. Forget what you know about men and jealousy, we get jealous whenever we feel our territories are threatened, not that bs about love and devotion (one tacit merit about men is that we trust our partner too well than to be insecure about them falling out of affection with us). Like the lion ready to pounce on another whose making moves on his pride, the hair on the back of our neck stands up when another guy do as much as breathe on our girl’s direction.
Coming to the topic of pride, men has equal passion to sports as women has to, well, shoes. Though I, personally, will never in my life know the excitement in watching a seven-foot guy run around a court while dribbling a ball, not even a bikini-clad japanese twin can peel my eyes off the television while Manny Pacquiao dish it out with that tequila-sucking fella. We like gambling, cars, video games, and if we were still living in medieval times, we’d like to kill as much people as we can. Pride in all its manifestation fuels our self-fulfillment even if it leaves us ma$turbating in our parent’s basement or living in a box begging for spare changes. Pride also counts for all the trouble guys go grooming, mating calls, and other rituals to win a prospective mate. No wonder men consider their women trophies, whether to take it as a compliment or an insult, I leave that to you.
It is scientifically proven, men think about sex once every six seconds (fascinating, no? it’s not that hard really when you think about it…1…2…3…4…5…sex…). We need a daily dose of orgasm or else baby batter would come pouring out of our nostrils. Ah, the secret is keeping it discreet. Evolution has taught us male of the specie to regard sex with as much emotional value as taking a morning shower, because be it a good or a bad thing, we tend to disassociate sex with love. It may be true we are always ready to hump anything that has bo0bs and a chinky pair of eyes, we rarely fall in love with everyone we sleep with – with the exception of that naïve 10% I mentioned in the beginning who are probably still virgins to begin with. This lead to the explanation, if not the justification of that chauvinistic conception that it’s all right for committed men to sleep around, but not for women to do so. If you have to ask why, you have to go back to what I said about territory. This also begets us to give a worthy respect or at least equal esteem to wh0res, not look down on them, but instead, assess them as we would or doctors or plumbers. Though most of the times men think with their crotch, the (rare) worthy of us see sex as a substantial part of a healthy relationship and a healthy lifestyle. We see it as a symbol, rather than an act, of surrendering ourselves to someone we trust our needs to (we get so confused when women say they are only going to do it with someone they love yet get insulted when we ask them to sleep with us if they want to prove that they really love us. I mean, make up your mind lady). Sometimes, it’s not the actual deed that we seek, but the contentment of knowing our partner shares the same trust we tender them. Get my drift? Probably not. Even most men are mor0ns to realize these themselves. Besides, who am I kidding? Sex IS fun- more fun than a virgin roll of bubble pack.
And beer. Men love beer, there is nothing more to say about it. Beer is the first proof that comes to men’s mind that god is good and that he loves us all.
It does men injustice to speak of them objectively, for as you would have figured out, nothing is absolute in the secret lives of men. As I have said, I would refrain from talking about things I know nothing about like love, relationships, or why men are like that. I provide answers, not explanations. You see men as big hairy beings that would lie, steal, cheat, and break your heart as soon as you gave them the chance, and probably you’re right, but we’re also good for hunting and opening jar lids and…stuff. Bottom line? Chasing supermen is nigh impossible without a handful of kryptonite shards. Settling down with a less-than perfect earthman is not so bad, once you see his special silver lining. In Freudian sense, the best way to go is with a man who keeps his id, ego, and superego under control and on near equal points. In layman’s terms, despite their visible and possibly biological flaws, you cannot go wrong with someone who respects your privacy, someone who treats all women equal but treats his woman like a queen, someone who would listen to both sides of stories, someone who recycles paper or uses unleaded gas, or at least someone that makes you smile. But if you’re still wishing to bag that perfect, dreamy, prince charming, if you don’t have a pair of glass slippers, a posse of dancing mice, and one kick-ass fairy godmother, I say good luck to you.
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22 February 2006
Due to his obviously limited diction, the author borrowed the title from a cartoon network tv spot. This, and the long absence of romantic liaison with the opposite gender is also partly responsible for the shallow and prejudiced context of the article and repeated use of the word "sex".