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Be A Skittles Man

Reader Fabian linked to a funny entry on the ‘Don’t Date Him Girl’ blog:

He had several “lady friends” who stayed the night at his house and he claimed they were “Just friends”. He frequently forgot important details about me, such as the fact that I had a sister, my birthday and what sorts of hobbies I had. He blew me off constantly, would return calls a week later with the excuse of “I was busy.” I often spoiled him with gifts, rides and sex only to receive a bag of Skittles in return. (I don’t even like skittles!) That was the only gift I ever received from him! I met a new friend and we were bonding over “worst ex-boyfriend stories” and suddenly we realized “boy, a lot of these sound the same… Was his name ____?” IT WAS THE SAME GUY!!!

In an unintentional juxtaposition for the ages, reader joel left a comment in my Pimp Slap post about a wedding he attended:

I just attended a wedding the  bill for which, paid mostly by the parents of the bride but with substantial input from the groom’s parents, would easily pay for the private education of several children. It could have paid for a modest but nice house in a good neighborhood in many parts of the country. Hint: The flowers cost about $15,000.

It is amazing what the matriarchy does. The Darwinian purpose of this, I believe, is to keep the husbands working their asses off, and keep them broke, so they can’t go out and buy a younger woman for their next wife or keep a concubine.

Really. There is no other logical explanation for this excess.

Two men, two vastly different experiences with women. One man gets all the pussy he wants for the bargain basement price of a bag of Skittles, while the other man marries a woman in a wedding ceremony featuring flowers that cost $15,000.

How much you want to bet the first guy’s rotation of girlfriends is hotter than the second guy’s $15,000 flower wife? How much you want to bet the first guy gets all the anal sex and blowjobs he desires while the second guy will be begging for his once-a-month sex as soon as the vows are exchanged? If one of these guys is a herb, who is it more likely to be?

FACT: Odds are good you will enjoy a bounty of pussy and love if you act like Skittles guy. FACT: Odds are good you will spend the rest of your life begging for tepid sex from the same old boring pussy if you act like $15,000 wedding flower guy.

Be a Skittles man. Don’t be a $15,000 wedding flower man.

I’ve been in the company of a lot of women who hailed from all sorts of stations in life. I know the sound of a woman in love, and it usually sounds like the woman in the Skittles story — bitching and moaning about a world class asshole, chasing him from here to kingdom come to cajole him to surrender at least a small measure of his autonomy (which he never does), and always… ALWAYS… going back to him when they have a bad fight. I’ve been that guy.

I’ve also been around the kinds of women from the wedding flower story. They usually sound like they are more in love with the idea of $15,000 wedding flowers than they are with their man. They never chase, and their men are in the permanently disabling position of constantly bending over backwards to satisfy their women’s whims. Women who are princess-ified have power over their men, even over the kinds of men who themselves have power over other men. The women know this and they subconsciously resent it.

Joel is right. The matriarchy in all its silly manifestations — extravagant weddings, diamonds-nookie barter, pop culture propaganda, daddy government disease — is structured to handicap men. To cut them off at the knees. Fitting, really, because a man on his knees is exactly where he’d have to be to agree to $15,000 wedding flowers. The finances aren’t the core issue; it’s the corrosive effect such a wasteful expenditure for a woman will have on her attitude. The matriarchy loathes and fears Skittle Man, the freeloader who nonetheless basks in the love of many women. The matriarchy would rather men be like Wedding Flower Man, slaving dutifully as a nameless, faceless cog in the machine paying his dues for his two pence of pussy. Society’s Little Helper.

And at the end of the day, what for? To thanklessly pump out cannon fodder for the wars of the future? Fuck that sideways. The rulebook was written to constrain free thinkers like you. When you know the score, when you understand that this life is all there is and all there ever will be and your legacy in gold or works or kids means nothing when your consciousness is obliterated to nothing and your deathbed is lined with the garland of regret and pleasures denied and the memory of your decades of pointless sacrifice crawls slowly across the walls like night shadows to suffocate you in your final doom… only then will you look your blushing bride in the eye and inform her that there will be no $15,000 wedding flowers and she can hit the bricks if that’s unacceptable to her.

Better yet, tell her there will be no wedding and no marriage. She can love you without needing the permission of the state.

Some newcomers are aghast when they read my stuff. They think this blog must be a joke or the ravings of a lunatic, a madman driven to the brink by a particularly damaging experience with an ex. No. While I’ve had my joys and sorrows and loves and heartbreaks just like any other man possessing a wealth of experience with women, on the whole most of the women in my life have been and continue to be cherished loves. My lunacy is the clear-eyed vision of Neo after the matrix is revealed to him. Reality makes lunatics of us all, but only those with the eyes to see and the ego to spare ever embrace it unconditionally.


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