There are moments, when I'm left alone with my ever coveted silence and I think to myself: I have lost all faith in humanity. People can be terrible, heartless creatures and I can't help but wonder: What's their purpose? What good do they serve this planet filled with people already going through a hard time? Why,friends, why is the human race so inherently and irrevocably awful? How is it possible to go through life so inexplicably miserable? When it's already so short and going past us so quickly.
However, this lack of faith in the human race isn't the sole purpose of this blog. Men, you see, are really the one who lack benevolence and a general sense of kind heartedness. They can be heartless, monstrous animals who lack any passing thought to someone else. They are acidic, selfish brutes only looking out for Numero Uno. They are bland, bitter and have resorted to thinking with the wrong head. Even the nice ones tend to turn sour over time.
They are overgrown children with more hang ups than a telemarketing company. They are bitter cheaters and liars, arrogant women beaters, and egotistical instigators of many crumbling relationships. They are morbid serial killers and child rapists, feeding on the weak and regaling in their twisted power. They are the men that nightmares are made of. My nightmares, more especially.
Alright, friends. I see where this is headed and let me be fair. Let me preface with the clarifying disclaimer that obviously, it isn't all of them. There are some men who are kind and genuine. There are some men who are gentle creatures with fairly good intentions. But I think that we can all agree that the likelihood of actually finding them is relatively slim. These allegedly good men are few and far between, which is why women must be so selective. Otherwise, they'll wind up married to a celebrity look-a-like who advertises no limitations sex for hire on Craig's List. I'm just saying. Stranger things have happened.
To paraphrase several sages: Nobody can think and hit someone at the same time. -Susan Sontag
Above all, the ones that I understand the very least are the criminals. The men who feed off of fear and get some sort of twisted pleasure from seeing women suffer. They're defilers, serial killers and abusers, hell bent on bringing fear into the hearts of those women oppressed by them. I picture him to be vaguely reminiscent of the creeper from Jeepers Creepers only with nice clothes and a slightly more human body. You know, not quite so much of the avian variety.
I once knew this woman whose husband was so violently abusive she wouldn't even speak of him. He had a woman's middle name and a Master's Degree in business but he apparently bypassed the Emily Post chapter on how to properly touch your wife. He was so handsome, charismatic and brilliant that nobody ever suspected a thing. Not even her parents, whom he subsequently barred her from visiting. He was an A typical, isolating abuser and she was holed up in a tiny Chicago apartment, forced to fend for herself.
I remember one instance she told me about where they were driving to a friend's house one night. It was in the days before GPS and it was an average snowy night in the Windy City. The roads were clogged with traffic, their defroster was on the fritz and somehow, they had gotten lost. In an attempt to assist him, she pointed to the map with one finger, squinting to follow the fine lines as she spoke.
In a fit of frustration or perhaps in an attempt to silence her, he back handed her so hard across the face that she remained quite for the rest of the drive.
Because this was the first time, she assured herself that it was an isolated incident. He was just stressed about getting lost and maybe her betting in with direction advice just irritated him further. It blew over and was soon forgotten, pushed far to the back of her brain.
Until the next time it happened.
She was an avid sewer. She could fix just about anything but also made her own clothes. And she was good at it. So good, in fact, that she had a great Singer sewing machine and a custom built table that housed said machine. It also doubled as her husband's work desk because he was earning his Master's Degree at the time.
He had this strange tick. He would place his feet flat on the carpet and rub them back and forth, letting the shag carpet bristles tickle the bottom of his feet. It must have been a nervous habit, something he did to focus his attention. He tended to be a bit wiry most of the time. Subject of a fast working brain, people said.
One day, she must have dropped a needle from her sewing machine and it slipped between the carpet bristles unseen. When her husband sat down at the shared desk for one of his many all nighters, guess what happened? She would suffer a much bigger punishment for that one.
She was barely twenty-five when she decided to leave. The beatings got worse and far more intense, he drank heavily and kept her from her family. She had to get out.
That woman was my mother. Now she's married to a hot blooded Italian man who flips coffee tables in frustration because man handling his wife, or any woman (including his two deemed princess daughters), would never, EVER cross his mind.
If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything. -Mark Twain
A slight step down from the serial violent offenders in the nightmarish men category are the Liars: the proverbial word twisters and story tellers among us. The ones that get physically caught and then turn it all around to make you look crazy. The ones you catch outside of Remington's Steak House, spotted with an ex-girlfriend after they claimed to be assisting in a NARC expedition. (As if I'd really believe that. That would mean you'd have to physically out run the alleged narcotics criminal, you big, dumb idiot.) Or the ones who claim their girlfriend's name is Lydia when it's really Diana. (As if I can't navigate Facebook, you big, dumb idiot.) Or the ones who claim they quit smoking to make you happy and those cigarettes aren't even mine! (As if your ever prevalent smoker's breath didn't give you away before I found those nasty cigarettes, you big, damn idiot.)
To be quite honest? I don't understand how these men are still alive with quadruple by-pass? I mean, how have they not had heart attacks? Trying to keep track of all those lies must be insanely stressful. I can't wrap my brain around it.
I once had this girlfriend who was dating this average, Scotch guzzling idiot. He "made up stories" about a lot of things. Where he was going, what his friend's names were, why he got arrested, just all kinds of nonsense, meaningless lies. I just remember thinking to myself, "If he lies about little things that don't even matter, what else is he hiding?" I mean, I don't know! For all she knew, he could have had an illegitimate child in another state or the head of a 15 year old girl in his trunk! (I've clearly read too many books about serial killers but for the record, Edmund Kemper was absolutely fascinating. A psych major's dream study subject...)
Anyway, one day she caught him in some stupid lie and decided she wasn't going to let him get away with it. So she followed him.
I don't remember all the details because it was a long time ago but I do remember she called him while she was driving in the car behind him and he STILL tried to deny it. Even as she screamed, "I'm driving behind you, you jack ass!" into the phone. I mean, seriously, bro? I can see the back of your stupid head! How are you still going to lie about where you are?
Party foul. Game over. You're the grass and I'm going to be the lawn mower.
It's better to offer no excuse than a bad one. -George Washington
For the average serial cheater, it seems that lying goes hand in hand. Men like Sterling Archer, Nick Marshall and Dr. Doug Ross, while obviously charming and dapper, have an unreasonably difficult time remaining faithful. My most favorite example of the proverbial habitual cheater is the ever dashing Don Draper. That man is just never satisfied. He's had scores of sexy, beautiful women and yet, they never seem to be enough. (If you want my expert opinion, I like him best with either Sylvia Rosen or Betty Francis nee Draper.) He's one of those men that women love and hate at the same time because you'd love him to charm the pants off you but you'd kind of hate to be his wife. Because you obviously would never be his only one.
What I don't really understand is those affairs you hear about that are carried on for actual years. Like in Gloria Vanderbilt's book Obsession, this woman finds out her husband has been having this really steamy affair for twenty or thirty years or some nonsense. I mean, really, how utterly ridiculous? At that point, is it really even cheating anymore? It's basically just indulging in two relationships: one secret, one not.
Those men who incessantly cheat as if it were their job just seem to be putting in way too much work. The lying and the stories must be really difficult to keep up with. Especially when all those stories start piling up and conflicting.
I want to suggest to those men: Carry around index cards. It'll be easier to keep track of what persona you've adopted when you're running around from trailer park to trailer park. Just a helpful suggestion from someone who is painfully well organized. I mean, there has to be a reason why these idiots always get caught, right?
Moral of the Crazy: Not much of a moral here other than beware of men because the majority of them are terrible. While there is a small portion of them who are... less terrible, there is a much larger amount of men who live in my very vivid nightmares, not to mention those that matriculate in Pasco County...
My advice to girls who haven't yet bagged their own good guy, keep your wits about you. Don't let them take advantage of you and to quote my sweet, South African father-in-law, "Don't you take any shit from men who are disrespectful to you."
If they raise a hand to you, block that shit, grab your Coach bag and don't look in the rear view mirror. If he tells you nonsensical lies, call him out on his unsavory behavior and realize that the only thing you'll ever truly deserve is the truth from a good, honest man. And if he repeatedly cheats on you, get tested and kick him to the curb because you should never have to fight for your man.
Men? You're terrible and you should be ashamed.
History is a set of lies agreed upon. -Napolean Bonaparte
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