Girls guide to men


Written on 11:49 AM by isko b. doo

I always wonder when I hear women complain they don’t understand men when it is fairly easy. Men are not driven by the higher ladder of abstractions like ambition, family, and career. You go lower, not the ground to which the ladder stands on, men are far baser than that.

What drives men rather are urges. After all, the word m-e-n spelled backwards is s-e-x.

I read something about men thinking about sex 50 percent of the time (I don’t know where they waste the other 50 percent on) or was it once every seven minutes?

I have a theory: the synapses that transmit messages from the brain to the sexual organs must be shorter in men than in women because in men, they bypass the heart so no emotions are involved. And that thick liquid that runs through our veins and to our vital organs is not blood but spermatozoa.

On the way to school, a woman might think about the way she look; the project due today, the hated professor, the pleasure of hanging out with her friends again, the surprise quizzes, a book report.

A man, on the other hand, will more than likely be distracted by the girl beside her on the jeepney to think about book reports; or that show of cleavage when a girl bends over to pick up something; or the busty woman in front of him and it doesn’t even matter if she’s wearing a turtleneck. We got X-ray imagination.

A man would transform to the Incredible Hulk, he’s neck bulging, his clothes shredded, his vocal chords receding: “HULK HORNY. MUST… GRAB… BOOBS…” of course, he won’t because that would result to jail time right there (and in jail, your ass would be somebody else’s vagina) but the struggle he goes through is tough.

Imagine having to live with that burden everyday. And experts are baffled that more men go crazy or commit suicide compared to women? It’s not that we hide our emotions because of the machismo society, that’s shit. Men also cry, just not in front of others. Rather, the torrent of stimuli that we encounter everyday, mixed with raging hormones, makes a volatile blend.

And the stimuli are endless. Billboards, television, Internet, women passing by. That chicken in Banok’s advertisement, with its legs deliciously spread out and a nice hole in the middle. Better than the hot apple pie that Jason Bigg’s character in the original American Pie de-virginized.

The worse thing for most men is when women are not exactly buying into the team concept (when I say team, I’m referring to the penis and the ego). Women are always frustrated about why men are so clueless. When a hint of a smile would earn you a veritable stalker; or a “hi” would seem an invitation to an orgy; and as to how men could be so dense as to take a hint.

But it’s not men who are clueless. Women are. Men change personalities like they do clothes in order to impress each woman they meet, hoping to “get some.” That might seem inconsistent but the opposite is more accurate. They are consistent to satisfying their inner force. The urge. The id.

The strong catholic influence and the myths of reference further exacerbated things. Instead of accepting the horniness of a 13-year old and the urge to exorcise this demon as normal, he’s instead told that too much masturbation would eventually lead to blindness or to hell, whichever is worse. Of course, the term “eventually” connotes a future time frame, a concept too vague as the penis takes over the brain. By then, it’s like asking a gnat about the meaning of life.

A man is as fuzzy about his penis as a woman is to her hair. What a man is most afraid of is not death or danger. What men fear is a flaccid shaft. Choosing death over impotence is like asking him to choose between camel and a thick fur coat in the middle of the desert: a no-brainer.

Feminism? Men are all for it as long as it leads to a woman so comfortable with her own sexuality. The percentages of getting a lay would dramatically increase. If the reverse scenario take place, with men castrated, then: “BOOO!”

With that in mind, a woman can do anything she wants with a man as long as she dangles sex like a carrot in a stick in front of him even if there’s a precipice up ahead, a man would run through. Like the proverbial lemmings leaping to their death after following the crowd mindlessly.

Once women understand this, they could twirl men around their little fingers. Men can be trained. In fact, teaching a dog tricks is much more difficult. You could have your own life-sized Barbie doll that you could dress up, equipped with flexible limbs you could move to whatever direction you want.

Women should not punish themselves with questions like: What is he thinking? Does he think of me? When I approached him to introduce myself, did I come on too strong? What does he think of me now that he knows I like him? Did I impress him after our intelligent conversation?

Stop thinking. Read this again.

If you enjoyed this post Subscribe to our feed

No Comment

Post a Comment