The Sex Detective is an angry man. That's pretty much his default setting when he's not simply just creepy. Today I have three things to be unreasonably pissy about: the online products that promise sex, the 'home wrecker' myth, and tacky break-up techniques. But first my general disclaimer:
- I have no credible, professional idea how to advise you on your personal or sexual relationship life.
- That makes me just as qualified to advise you as every professional dating/relationship site on the net.
- That weird feeling you get whenever you challenge my statements, that's your brain getting off its ass and thinking for itself.
The Sex Detective: often wrong, never silent.
How To Pick Up Women?
Shallow satire and bitter, petty sarcasm are my weapons in a fight against online businesses out there that will make money out of your supposed misery and loneliness. Misery and loneliness you may not have even realised until a few well placed articles convinced you otherwise. "Everyone has the right to meet the 'one' for them!" Says who? There's no universal justice that dictates every human deserves happiness in love. That's a Disney movie concept for children. I'm as horny romantic as the next guy, but like any reasonable adult issued with the standard number of chromosomes, I know damn fucking well that romance - like every other worthwhile pursuit in life - requires hard work, risk-taking and the ability to accept failure as well as success. Downloadable dating and flirting advice products promise much and deliver little. They have no accountability or service guarantee. They do not document statistical success rates, only the same anecdotal testimonies you find in infomercials. You know, the ones that could well have been copy-written by your mum for 5 cents a word.
Then there's hard storage crap like the "How To Pick Up Women!" dvds, audio discs, books and charts. "Ten Ways To Guarantee Love!" bullshit. Or my favourite, "How To Win Back Your Ex!" Why the fuck would you - I mean, how does that help anyo - Jesus, why not just make emotional denialism an Olympic sport, you dicks. The alleged authors want to share their colourful, narcississtic experience with you the same way that a Nigerian prince wants to pay you millions to hold onto their Nazi gold via email. I have actually downloaded and viewed some of these products - always through peer-to-peer networks because fucked if these emotional parasites will see a cent of my money.
Or, for the same $119.95 I can send you a Post-it with the words "Get Over It!"
These 'Slut-hunter' style products all boil down to the same advice for luckless guys: "women will want to sleep with you if you act like a cunt." I'm sure a certain type of woman will, but only because she can't find anyone to slip her some Rhohypnol.
Beware Ye The Home Wrecker?
The year is 2010. Twenty-fucking-ten. I should be writing this from Mars. But we like to hang onto old ideas because new ideas run the risk of a robopocalyse or gay marriage, which according to the religious right is pretty much the same thing. And here's an idea that still somehow finds creedence among traditionalist women when it comes to their spouses' adulteries. Apparently there's a breed of single women out there determined to undermine marriages one penis at a time. The home wrecker, Jezabel, Succubus, or simply 'the other woman' (TOW).
Your typical home-wrecker, ie: not real.
"My husband was a good man, but she seduced him and tried to ruin our marriage!"
Really? TOW's have magic powers I wasn't aware of. They're witches who can cast irresistible love spells. They're evil geniuses who sit in volcano lairs and plot the sinful demise of your lawful union using boob-mounted mind-control rays.
Or...and I'm just throwing this out there for the sake of argument...or he actually made a conscious decision to plant his dick in a fresh honey pot. Seriously, do you know how hard it is to seduce an unwilling subject? That's why rapists carry duct tape instead of candles and flowers. Consensual sex really does require consent, a deliberate and planned action on the part of both participants. This means that unless hubby was in a persistent vegetative state with a priapism, it was actually him who tried to ruin your marriage. He wasn't tricked or hypnotised, or suffering from compulsive infidelity disorder. His desire to fuck around outweighed his desire to maintain monogamous loyalty, even if just for a few hours. But please, by all means, continue to direct your jealous rage and injured pride at TOW. Moron.
Tacky Break-up Tactics
We live in an age where we are literally spoiled for choice when it comes to communication options. Cell phones, email, SMS, IM, Ratemydickcam ChatRoulette, social network sites, Skype, Twitter, and other forms of telepathy without brains. These communication formats are brilliant at exchanging rapid, condensed information.
Imagine going to work and finding an email from your boss saying you're fired. No warning, no meetings, just a 'sorry, we have to let you go' message sitting on your computer. Dick move, right? Times that feeling you have by about a hundred, and that's the effect of being dumped by any of the methods mentioned above. That's not a dick move, it's more like cunt to the power of twat times by whatever previous faith you had in humankind. That's what electronic communication then becomes, human interaction without the humanity.
You can even save time terminating your intimate relationships with the new
iSuck app from Apple.
When people hear of such occurrences it's easy to talk about 'lack of respect', 'emotional shallowness' or 'possible autism', but to me it comes down to one goddamned thing: good old fashioned balls, or distinct lack thereof. Outside of serial abuse scenarios (which is an entirely different topic to romantic dissolution) this type of confrontation avoidance denotes inherent cowardice. I'd hand you a white feather (look it up, Gen Y) but, oh, that's right, you're too busy hiding fucking miles away.
Full Disclosure: I have never, ever, shied from a face-to-face break-up in my life, be it as dumper or dumpee. Even when I've been the one completely at fault. I've been weak and loathsome about plenty of other things, but not that. Never that. Anyone who has attempted to send me packing via phone/text/email/magic 8-ball has received a formal request to deliver the news face-to-face, just to give them a second chance at saving face. And possibly teeth.
Conclusion
There's a good reason my advice posts illustrate men as shallow, alpha beasts and women as malevolent masterminds. Parody relies on hyperbole and ridiculous extremes. Women like to feel smart and wise, while guys don't mind being branded as primal retards if it means mitigating their dickish behaviour. Generalisations and baseless assumptions are the stock and trade of DIY Flirting products. Just like astrology, you only have to make your claims ambiguous and vague enough for many people to somehow relate it to their own life. And humans specialise in making shit relevant to themselves, it makes us feel less of a freak. It also makes us lazy because we want someone else to do the thinking for us. Why develop our own, individual style of seduction when some self-proclaimed expert can give us "10 Ways To Turn Him On", "7 Mistakes To Avoid On A First Date" or "For Fuck's Sake, Don't Stick It There!" The truth is, in all the dating scenarios presented, each problem will fall into one of two categories:
- So fucking obvious and sensible that anyone able to distinguish a penis from a vagina can solve it, or
- So personal, complex and emotionally convoluted that only you, as a unique individual, can truly undertsand it.
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