If I did not believe he is a man-child, I would think Pres. Obama was cynical in his declaration of a couple of days ago. He stated that the Egyptian people were an “inspiration” to Americans. Inspirations to what, a military take-over of a country? Fortunately there is no chance of this here. (See why in my posting: http://factsmatter.wordpress.com/2010/04/09/a-blueprint-for-a-communist-take-over/ )
I am basically a frivolous man so I am tired of dealing with weighty matters above my pay-grade. Today is Valentine’s Day, fortunately. So, back to reality!
I get much of my understanding of popular culture in the gym where the television is always on, often according to channel choices made by the skanks who spend half their lives there (often with good results I must say; bless their little hearts!) While I was on the elliptical today I watched an episode of some chick-series or other. I had an epiphany right there and then. (An epiphany is what St Paul experienced on his way to Damascus to sell tents. “Hot damn,” he said to himself, “Got to stop persecuting those Christians. That guy Jesus had got it right!” I hope his colleague St Peter will forgive me for this unholy comparison.)
Here is goes: Chick screen products are full of guys who endlessly send bouquets of flowers and boxes of candy to apologize for bad behavior that wasn’t really that bad. If it were really bad they would not have to apologize. Cuddling afterward would be more than enough. There is more: The guys overflow with childish emotions they express in childish ways. And the flowers and the candy are wrapped in gauzy, fabric, often pink, or of another soft color. Hello! Do the guys keep a store of such diaphanous fabric in the closet behind their suits just in case they screw up again ? How come they even know where to get it? I sure don’t. Wouldn’t know where to start. Those allegedly male cry-babies would have some explaining to do if the women were not such perfect air-heads.
Here is some useful advice, lady: If your man screws up and tries to make up with a present, that may be OK (may be). If the present is not wrapped in cellophane (no ribbon) or better, in newspapers, you may not want him back. This may be your chance to find out why “this relationship is not going anywhere.”
Next observation. The dancing in restaurants with lots of cut crystal glasses and the tearful chance encounters in preternaturally quiet cozy coffee shops occasionally seems to lead to real action. What action there is almost never takes place in a (night) bed. Sometimes it’s on a sofa. Sometimes it’s on a “day-bed,” an item of furniture I have never seen in a real house. The action is never crude. For one thing, the women never even take off their bras. That makes some sense. Virginia’s Secret push-up bras have made all breasts more or less equal and why take a chance with reality? The men usually have good pecs but they never, never take off their pants. I hate to point out the obvious but that’s exactly the kind of restraint you would expect from men with tiny penises.
If any 70s feminists are watching what I am watching, they must be crying with shame. Or perhaps, they are enjoying all this knowing full well that they were in bad faith back then.