Women must know more than men about how to be a real man because it seems like 910% of advice articles written about How To Be A Better Man are written by women.
It’s embarrassingly sexist. Remember the days when almost exclusively men wrote articles and whole books teaching women how to be better wives, mothers, human beings? The kind men approved of? And we didn’t get to say much about it? Our job was to listen, nod, and take notes to Improve Ourselves To Please Men More?
No, me neither. It was the ’50s and ’60s. I was either…
Singer, songwriter, dancer, and this week’s #MeToo cover girl FKA Twigs, the woman whose initials don’t stand for anything, who ‘just wanted a selection of letters that sounded quite kind of masculine and strong,’ filed a lawsuit against career violent bad boy Shia LaBoeuf for sexual assault, battery, and emotional distress.
She met him in 2018 on a movie set, years after he became more famous for his execrable behavior than for his acting, and got involved in a relationship with him.
WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG???
Cue the tired Greek chorus of female voices asking the same damn question…
Calling someone a narcissist is like accusing them of being a carbon-based life form. Duh.
I tend to roll my eyes when people talk about the ‘narcissist’ in their life or past, except for experts. I sometimes read Dr. Sherri Heller, a therapist who specializes in complex trauma and narcissism who writes extensively about genuine toxic narcissism. She’s an eminently more informed source for diagnosing it than the average layperson.
Everyone else? Not so much, unless they have something new to say (they mostly don’t), or describe what sounds like a genuine malignant narcissist, or to learn more about the…
If you’ve ever explored the incel movement — hopefully out of intellectual curiosity rather than a state of chronic sexual grievance — you know how entitled these guys feel to sex, and not just any woman, but with the crème de la crème — the drop-dead gorgeous wank fantasies of every California beach movie.
Not you and I, my fellow mortals.
Yes, I hear you, thank God/dess we don’t stand up to the exquisitely discriminating tastes of the ultimate arbiters of the female form.
The involuntarily celibate famously don’t think women should be allowed to make their own sexual decisions…
Guys, you don’t understand. Melissa checks my [credit card] statements. — Dr. Stuart Price
The first time I watched The Hangover (2009), I thought to myself, Damn, every abused woman needs to watch this. She needs to see what it looks like.
One character is an unaware domestic abuse victim. Dr. Stuart Price, derided as ‘Dr. Faggot’ by his sophomoric friends, lives with a deeply unpleasant control freak who controls and monitors him, who once hit him, and on one memorable cruise at which Stuart was not present, had sex with — some cruise member. …
“Hey, will you look at that! It’s Three Desserts Gil!”
“Hey! 3-D Gil! How’s the afterlife treatin’ ya?”
My father stops and rolls his eyes.
“Hey! Pete! Over here! Lookit who’s joined us!”
“Is that THREE DESSERTS GIL?”
“Yeah, that’s THREE-GO — “
“DON’T YOU DARE!” shouts St. Peter. “You know how the Big Guy feels about that sort of language! We don’t need him going all Sodom & Gomorrah on us! You know how he gets!”
“I’m going to KILL my family,” Dad grumbles.
“You can’t,” laughs St. Michael. “You just died!”
“Then I’m going to haunt them for the rest of their lives!”
“No can do, Big…
I wrote an article recently — Men, We Need You To Tell Your Truths Too. My opinion, shared by others, is that the gender narrative is dominated heavily by victim feminists who see the world through the rust-colored glasses of powerlessness and a patriarchy looming larger in their heads than it does in ours.
One must wonder how galling it is for men to read endless — and I mean endless! — articles by women telling them how to court women (often contradictory) and how to be a better man.
It seems like a good time to discuss credibility levels…
It was a lively trip to the drugstore this morning.
I was on a mission — to buy an umbrella, some stamps and mail a card before the skies opened up for the entire damn day in accordance with the prophecy that the deluge would commence at ten. Mobile battery powered. Turbines to speed. Eddie & The Cruisers cranked. Roger.
I had my tunes and a single-minded focus.
As I approached the drugstore a tall man in a blue shirt who looked like a street person gestured to me. …
Life isn’t perfect, and neither are people. If you spend enough time in some quarters you learn the most imperfect people of all are men. White men are the worst, but really, all men are, like, phallocentric devils incarnate. Or something.
As women in a world set up by men and for men, it’s inevitable we’re going to have some run-ins. How bad it is depends not only on the intention of the actor (usually a man) but how we interpret it. …