Dr. Beardhussein Calls Women Out On All Their Bullshit
Before I get started, let me preface this with: I’m single, cynical, and fresh off of running into the exgirlfriend that took a fuckin’ golf club to my heart.
I subscribe to the theory that a Guy should never hit a Girl unless his life is in danger, but also, that a Guy should be allowed to shake the shit out of a girl if she’s going crazy and not listening.
Oh, and also, this is coming from the perspective of The Nice Guy Who Gets Shat On, not the girl-hating cavemen ass ni**as that piss me off. (Don’t worry, I’ll get to them in a future post).
I am not a mysoginist. It could be argued that I’m the anti-mysoginist. I love girls. I love my my mom, my grandmothers, my aunts, my female cousins, the girls I’m friends with, female coworkers–you get the idea.
In fact, I almost love them to a fault. I’m practically the world’s biggest proverbial Captain Save-A-Ho. That doesn’t stop me from thinking that girls are out of their fuckin’ minds. Of course, some girls are going, “That’s cuz you know too many girls and not enough Women.” Right. Nice try, Loretta.
I know one girl that isn’t out of her fucking mind, and that’s my friend (and mom of my nephew), The Dizzle. So without further ado, here’s me fighting back for every guy who’s taken an Emo Beating at the hands of some crazy broad.
“I just wanna be friends”- Why the fuck do girls say this? Like, seriously? Let’s imagine the mind of the guy, shall we?
Gosh, I really like Melissa. We have a great time talking and hanging out. I think I should tell her I’m starting to fall for her.
Now, by the time a guy gets to the actual moment of truth, he’s already discussed this with his friends, his Trusty Female Advisors (every guy has one of those–they’re our Girl-to-English dictionary), and probably at least 2 or 3 random people–be they NR regs, his barber, or the waiter at The Cheesecake Factory. The guy has pondered this over and over again and has ultimately decided he’s gonna put his heart on the Sacrificial Slab of Woman.
He takes The Booty Shower (that 45 minute bathing excursion where you make sure everything is scrubbed three or 4 times, just in case she goes exploring), he shaves, busts out the fancy cologne he let the pretty sales girl at Macy’s talk him into buying, he wears uncomfortable shoes that match his belt, does his hair… *fast forward*…until he finally has her sitting down and laughing and he says:
Gosh, Melissa…We have a great time talking and hanging out. I think I’m starting to fall for you.
The girl, being a girl, reacts the same way my dog F.R.E.D. does when I sprinkle him with water. She gets this confused look in her eyes, gives a bit of a startled slide back, and then proceeds to give him a heart transplant…without anesthetic, a scalpel, or a donor:
Oh…Aww…I’m flattered, but I think I just wanna be friends.
“I just wanna be friends.” Okay, ladies, seriously. You’ve just ripped our fucking hearts out. We knew it was a longshot going into it, but after years of Sports Movies and the 2004 Red Sox, we’ve learned that even the sun shines on a dog’s ass every once in a while, and we go for it. Now, you’ve crushed us. You’ve said: “Sorry Guy I Spend Hours Every Week With Hanging Out And Mildly Flirting With, but despite the fact that we have great talks and stuff, I will never affectionately cuddle with you, nor will you ever see what kind of underwear I’m wearing before we take the escalator to BootyTown.”
…and we’re supposed to go, “Wow! Friends? Awesome! My fucking barber, my best friend, and Icon’n’Phuque know about how much I dig you, but now I get to run back and tell them that you find me completely repulsive…but we can still watch chick flicks and talk about all the other guys you’ve slept with and regretted ever meeting! Result!”
Fuck that shit, GirlKind.
Oh yeah, and “I hope we can still be friends” after a break-up is just as bad. Hearing that shit hurt in 9th grade, and guess what? It still hurts at 20-something.
“Sorry, we: Are Lesbians/Have boyfriends.”- Okay, so you’ve gotten over the heart-out-ripping that your “friend” has just administered. You gather up your troops–Mookie, Dayquan, Jim, and Busta Cracka The English Smacka–and you’re gonna go to this bar/club place with live music and a DJ. You’re enjoying the heck out of those $2 Miller Lites, and the DJ just stopped his techno/reggaeton mix and is FINALLY playing some Jay-Z. As you’re belting out, “And I wish I never met her at all!” at the top of our lungs all cathartic-ly, you spot this thicky thick white girl. She’s got a cute face, a decent rack, and that bit of woob to her that makes you wanna do naughty things in a movie theater or long drive.
You walk up to her and go, “Hey, you wanna dance?” cuz you don’t wanna be one of those random jackasses who either:
A- Believes waaayyyy too much that Girls think Dancing Skill = Bedroom Skill, and end up busting out their best *N’Sync-Circa-2001 moves, only to have everyone go, “He’s a great dancer! He must be gay.”
B- Goes up behind a girl and immediately starts grinding against her boo-tay, only to have the girl turn around, give the Death Look of All Evil Eyes, and then walk away.
Upon hearing your question, The girl instinctively grabs her friend a bit closer and goes, “Sorry! We’re lesbians!”.
Now, this happened to my boy DTMJ once, and he sorta shrugged, said “Okay”, and slunk away. If it were me, I would’ve gotten a bit annoyed at that kind of fuckery and said, “Wow, that’s awesome… You coulda just said ‘No’ instead of being a bitch about it.” and then I would’ve walked away. Don’t get the Emo shit twisted, Ol’ Uncle The Hussein is a stickler for manners. Um, unless they were actually lesbians, at which point I’d feel stupid.
The other thing girls in public places dancing and carrying on whilst chugging $2 Miller Lites like to do is say, “Sorry, we have boyfriends.” Reeeeaaallly. So, Half of a Happy Couple, where is El Bolso Del Douche? Wherever he’s at, he probably wouldn’t approve of you giving your hot girl friend a vertical lap dance to some reggae song while the male population of the bar is oogling and already running the Imagination Train on you.
I call bullshit, ladies. Next time, just say no–and spare us the death looks and bullshit. You’re dressed up all sexy like. At a bar. On the motherfucking dance floor. Don’t act like you’re in the produce aisle of Pathmark wearing sweats and no make-up when some random creepy dude came up wanting to grind all up on your lovelies.
Fuck that shit.
“I’m Fine.”- No. No. You’re not fine. No girl…in the history of Girl-Kind, has ever…evereverever…used that word in the context for which it is meant. I’m fine means “You better figure out what you did and quick.” Ladies: What in the FUCK is so difficult about just saying what makes you mad when it fuckin’ happens?? Oh, wait, I know:
He/You/They should just know.
Oh. Right. I forgot that every guy walking the planet is really a Psychic. We all walk around with a 6th sense to know what kind of bizarre mood swing you’ll bring up next.
Stop saying “I’m fine” when you’re not fine. All it does is piss us off and label you “Fuckin’ crazy.”
“I can’t believe you just said that.”- Gentleman, I present Public Enemy #1. I literally have fucking nightmares where an army of zombie-women from Dimension XX stomp after me saying “I can’t believe you just said that.”
What a girl means by, “I can’t believe you just said that.” is this:
Sorry, but even tho’ your comment was innocuous, I’m still “fine”, and your joke trying to make me feel better by putting it in perspective with “humor” just made it worse. Since we’re out in public, I’m going to continue having a great time, but I’m going to ignore you for the rest of the nite. If I see that you’re having fun, the argument we’re gonna have in the car will be twice as long.
Yep. I fucking hate that sentence. Girls, you overly-sensitive hives of Insanity, please learn to take a joke. If we really knew what we were about to say was as rude/thoughtless/insulting/incendiary as you took it, we never woulda said it! The last thing we want is to be On Punishment the rest of the nite, nor do we wanna have that argument in the car where we say, “I was only kidding!” 26 times.
Guys–“I can’t believe you just said that.” is the enemy of all enemies. It means No fun, no peace, and no sex. It literally takes off the next 3 chances for sex, and somehow negates one prior sexual experience. So not only are you booty-less for the next week, but her Crazy Female Communal Anger has actually cancelled out that time you hooked up with that girl at your birthday party.
That’s right, the time where your experimental friend went down on your date with you getting to watch just got erased. Forever.
Ladies…you know that shit ain’t right. Relax next time your fella takes an “I’m fine” and makes into an “I can’t believe you just said that.” Afterall…
…It ain’t that serious.
Call Reynolds, Cuz It’s A Wrap.
So there ya go. I hope you guys have learned something, but more importantly, I hope whatever female readership this site has has learned something.
Thanks for checking in.
PS- Also, to break character for a minute– I really was still upset about seeing that stupid Ex, so this was a nice cathartic experience. Thanks again.