There is a misconception that women are the ones who have trouble going without affection for long periods of time. In reality, it is “men” who go crazy without some sort of touch or suck-off if more than three days pass by. In this way, they can tend to take out their desperation on any unsuspecting women standing by.
Don’t fall for it
The woman, because she assumes that actions are based on emotions and not genital needs, will misconstrue this affection as being genuine and then give herself away mistakenly to the “man” who has pretended to give a damn about her for his own sexual ends. After he has displayed an overwhelming amount of ardor and subsequently received what he needed, he will return to trolling for other women with a less mushy approach now that his seed has been released and the frenzied desire to fuck has merely calmed down to a strong want.
There are a lot of things wrong with How about we… as a dating service: chiefly, it allows “men” to put their lameness on full blast without any shame. What “man” would ever suggest “How about we take the ferry to Williamsburg and head to Smorgasburg for lunch?” otherwise?
Ferries are for fairies
It’s bad enough to suggest going to Williamsburg in the first place, but to plan an entire day around one of the most cliche activities one can partake in on a Saturday further compounds the issue of dicklessness. At least suggest getting drunk off margaritas from the Turkey’s Nest–the last vestige of pre-gentrification Williamsburg. Unless you count Rosemary’s, which is too close to Dunkin’ Donuts to take seriously now.
Worse perhaps than “men” who fashion their hair into a bun, “men” who wear headbands are saying two of the following things 1) I’m a soccer or tennis player or 2) I wish I was a soccer or tennis player. Usually, it’s the latter, and they are obviously coming to grips with being a non-athletic bitch boy.
It takes a dickless “man” to wear a headband
Still, even those who play sports professionally have no goddamn business wearing a headband. It is a sacred accessory, worn best by women of the 1980s who truly did it up with bow and sequin embellishments to make a statement worthy of such a functional, yet fashionable accent to one’s hair. “Men,” who don’t even go balls out by wearing more flamboyant headbands, instead opting for the bland, thin kind, do not deserve to don this monument to the mane.
While sexual experimentation is the spice of life (particularly when you’re dealing with the type of basiques that populate most of North Brooklyn), there is something overt about the motives of two male friends who enjoy tag teaming a woman.
These “men” are actually into each other
For one thing, this isn’t Muriel’s Wedding (which you should probably see to complete your knowledge of 90s kitsch cinema) and the woman involved in the tag team rarely actually enjoys herself. Like most sexual notions, the idea of being boned by two “men” is more delightful in theory than in practice. On some level, the woman partaking knows she’s merely the cursory buffer standing in between two friends’ homosexual love for one another. And yet, the “feminist” within her feels that women deserve to be double-teamed just as much as “men.” Alas, she’ll only end up on the outside looking in with a sore vag and no orgasm to speak of. And after, the two “men” in question will simply find another female to tag team so that they don’t let on to the same woman how much they truly relish one another’s bodies.
Gender reversal, in addition to the abolition of conventional gender perception altogether, has been steadily rising ever since Kurt Cobain put on a dress and called himself a feminist. As time wears on (and wears on women’s skin), the reversal has gradually become so complete that “men” have, in essence, transcended completely into women–though they’ve adopted all the worst qualities of the sex without seeming to take on any of the good ones (e.g. sensitivity and compassion).
Androgyny has become femininity
As the new women, “men” enjoy delightful perks like mani/pedis, not working, not putting out, wearing their hair in buns and generally acting like bitches. The death of masculinity as we have known it continues to become a daunting thought. As Tony Soprano once said, “Whatever happened to the strong, silent type? Like Gary Cooper.” The answer is, their genes have been stamped out, their Y chromosomes seemingly obliterated or absorbed by the power of X.
This is what white “men” look like to other people
Apart from the obvious fact that that Lady Liberty explicitly said that “the huddled masses yearning to breathe free” were welcome up in this bitch, it’s truly white “men” who are the “immigrants” in Williamsburg when you get right down to it. Apart from the Hasidic community that’s managed to hold on through every change, Wburg was once home to a large Hispanic population. And did they start beating on white artists who began moving to the neighborhood when the rent was still cheap? No. They just sold them drugs. It is these white “men” who ruin it for other blancs, and prompt them to create ridiculous apologist videos like this one.
Most pathetic of all, the police are collaborating with the bars of North Brooklyn in order to get their “useful” information into the minds of the public being targeted (read: white boys who never stepped out of their mansion until moving to a condo in Williamsburg). This means attempting to create a hashtag that will motivate people to give a shit about themselves–yet another instance of passive Twitter activism. But let’s face it, if a “man” doesn’t already know to keep his wallet closed, his doors locked and not act like a rich fuck that will lure any robber with half a brain, he deserves the crime inflicted.
There are numerous occasions in the lifespan of a relationship with a “man” wherein the woman will be led to believe that certain events or pieces of pop culture will be held dear to the object of her affection in question. Alas, “men,” as we all know, are wired toward the sociopathic bent and couldn’t care less about anything that you yourself would deem being of sentimental value.
Lane Meyer: the only sentimental “man”
After a breakup, the woman tends to assume that the “man” she was with will be as heartbroken about encountering certain things that meant “a lot” to the relationship as she is. This, unfortunately, is rarely the case. The only “man” in the history of “men” ever unable to move on from the woman he was into is Lane Meyer (John Cusack) from Better Off Dead. And actually, even Lane moved on–to a French girl. In any case, if you were actually capable of finding a sentimental bloke, it’s unlikely that you would want to terminate the relationship in the first place. Unless of course he was overly sentimental–in which case he would be missing a dick in that regard as well.
If Two by Alberto Moravia has taught us anything, it’s that a “man” can’t be held responsible for the actions of his dick. But when one is figuratively missing one, how can this be true? In any case, a “man” riding through Williamsburg at the Lorimer stop seemed to prove Moravia’s point that the “male” mind lies inside of his penis.
L train: not exactly spank bank material
The perpetrator in question began tossing off in response to the presence of a woman in her 20s (usually the cutoff age range to be deemed “masturbatable”), going so far as to take up a horizontal position while doing so. First of all, there is nothing conducive to getting hard on the L train–it’s a cess pool of bad smells, fashion and literary taste. Second of all, don’t you got a house? That’s the appropriate place to masturbate. And even if you don’t have one, find an alley like any decent homeless person or degenerate. The train is foul enough as it is.
We all have to make a dollar in this town if we expect to survive, however there is a certain limit to the depths of “ingenuity” a “man” can allow himself to go. A prime case in point of this is eBay seller theedgedweller. While no picture is attached to his now defunct user account, let’s just make the highly accurate assumption that he’s a “man.”
This “man” tried to sell Williamsburg “air” for $39.99, only to have the bids raise all the way to $20, 100. To capitalize on the skewed views people have of Williamsburg being a neighborhood worth buying air from, which as we all know, was probably just a trapped fart, is not only immoral, but smacking of someone missing a dick–“man” or not.