Over coffee and muffins that could pass off as industrial-grade asphalt my sophisticate female friend lamented the alarming ill supply of men with the IQ of Stephen Hawking, the charisma of Pope John Paul II, the magnetism of Markus Schenkenberg, the body of Adam Rodriquez, the corporate savvy of Bill gates, the talent of Michelangelo, the sensitivity of Pablo Neruda, the lyricism of William Shakespeare, the boyish roguishness of Tom Cruise and, ahem, the dong size of Ewan McGregor.
It is obvious even to a comatose iguana that my friend is hallucinating. She probably stayed far too long in a construction supply store and inhaled repeatedly near the rack of paint thinners. I was afraid to ask if she’s started a habit involving prohibited substances and similar contrabands. By the way she rattled off I may have to commit her to intensively rigorous detox. Or repeated compulsory viewings of Mariah Carey’s Glitter.
Not only is this Prototype Male all but nonexistent but what makes it unbearably tortuous is the pressure it hurls towards the male of the species. You see this is clearly one of those confusing double standards women have. They want true love but they want Brad Pitt. Look no further than Cosmopolitan Magazine cover lines; they not-so-subtly hint in fluorescent Pantone exclamations that there are two ultra-major inviolate truths: a] men are pigs and b] there are 101 surefire ways on how to attract men! Sometimes they want to sell more copies so they produce a special annual edition uncovering the glory of 69 eligible hot bachelors. Not only is this inconsistent or a naked violation of the principle of non-objectification but whoever made the list must be as clueless as a mustard because it appears that at least two thirds of those featured in the Annual 69 Bachelors would want to assume the same number position with anyone in the list if you get my drift.
Come to think of it. Camille Paglia may castrate Male-Landia and skewer Kingdom Barako at large with chastising revolutionary female empowerment feminism, which is well and good to remind the male of the species of their place in the grand scheme of things, but after much bra-burning and fierce demands of equal rights women, banking on gender stereotype, insist and are given their own section in MRT/LRT. You, a zit of a man, not giving up your seat in a public transportation to a pregnant woman, old woman, or any kind of woman including the ones with acne the size of North Dakota is considered the lowest point in the recorded history of mankind. Come on. If you indeed want equal rights, sweat it with the rest of the guys. Scrunch yourself in a mass of sweaty bodies in a super dense public transportation and uphold your toughness. If you can survive the crippling cloud of bad odor fogging the enclosed space we’d believe this concept of equal rights. And let’s not hover towards a very touchy zone. Women, with guile and cunning would walk over a guy minding his own business and ask him if their butt looks bigger in a particular pair of pants and no matter what the answer gets mad. Truth is even Kate Moss wearing True Religion will have a posterior that reminds us of the combined mass of those three moons circling Jupiter.
Okay, back off, Gabriela members! I was kidding! Let’s all be calm and reasonable, and please put down your mallets. You are making my scrotum quake. I am sorry. What I just said is indeed a proof that most men are pigs. Please attract me.
Ceteris paribus 