Relationships, the differences between a man and a woman, the yin and the yang, the alpha and the… lesser alpha. The glue that binds and in many ways the absolute mental catastrophe that entails. Love is too painful, emotional games are the norm, and sex is a clusterfuck of awkward caresses, some of them hitting the mark, others making you beg for more, if you could withstand the pressures of being seen as a pervert. Ladies, empathize with us. Our G-spot is INSIDE THE ANUS!

From the initial attraction, women judge men on handsomeness, manliness, hand quality (the perfect blend of using hand cream to soften the calluses of lifting so many logs of wood a day, and the ruggedness that feels like massaging her entire body with an exfoliating block of granite), nail length, nail cleanliness, hair length, hair glossiness (a mixture of rugged mane and silk to run the fingers through), hair color, buttock dexterity for thrust performance, leg length, shoulder breadth, lip surface area (for how much suction can be applied to her erogenous zones), designer stubble or just plain lazy, the smell of soap, conditioner and (preferably expensive, exotic) aftershave, nose hair, ear hair, paunch, posture, smile, dental hygiene, and finally, after all that, whether the man is gay or not, and whether he's likely to turn up on the doorstep with nothing but an axe and a sock.

Construction worker man
But that's what enables us to build shuttlecraft, fix the sink, and catch a fucking baseball without stumbling over ourselves.

On the other hand, men just wanna know a woman has a pretty face and looks good ass-up. Doesn't matter if she's gay or not. Yes, psychologically and sexually men are very simple.

Stage two is dating, which can be summarized frankly as, "I'm going to treat you like garbage until I've made up my mind." I had to find out from a friend of a friend of a fucking friend that some chubby chick who kissed with the sensuality of Moby Dick wasn't interested in me after paying for the whole fucking meal. If there's one thing I'd think would warrant a text expressing a lack of interest, it'd be refusing to split the bill on a green salad and two glasses of water.

I can only assume that such is a reaction to our society's sexist climate, where women are forced to feel only truly valued when covered in sparkly excess or giving blowjobs. Thankfully, we men are on board with the trade so that they feel dazzling at all times of the day.

Buying drinks and food, I'm all for. I'm not expecting to get lucky that night, but the least women could do is spend five minutes getting to know me. Instead, they invite their friends over to watch me like a hawk, only to have them later divulge all the ways I respond to words like "mother," "jewelry," and "anal sex."

The problem is that women are rarely sure of what they want, so until they figure it out, they take advantage of the fact that when you get an erection, all rational thought melts into one gelatinous mess likely to manipulate your heart into agonizing pain.

Men will treat women like garbage because they simply have a quota to fill on how many notches they can force into their belts before they die (with your dick, right? Yeah, Lumberjack Motherfucker! Cock tougher than the strictest of leathers).

The Incredible Hulk is angry

Using body language to decide whether a woman is into you is a waste of time because nothing a woman does is by accident. If you think she doesn't have a clue that her toes are curling up towards your cock while she sucks suggestively on her cocktail straw, tonsil-juggling two ice cubes and making her nips stand on end through a very well-selected, thin-fabric blouse, all the while giving you bedroom eyes, nodding enthusiastically at all the dumb shit you have to say about McClaren F1 carburetors, and checking her surroundings for anyone more interesting than you, then you'd be thinking wrong, because the unfathomable concept of multi-tasking for men is as natural as breathing to women. They also have superpowers like panoramic vision and the ability to attract bears to their cause.

Two guys giving each other high-fives
Our version of multi-tasking is staring at tits and getting an erection.

Then, when it finally clicks, you're both going out. Let's get something out of the way, fellas: if talking isn't your thing, then neither are relationships. Women like to talk. More accurately, they like to complain: make-up, penis size, tampon rash, hand cream… I think those are the four categories. They also like to blabber on about other people's relationships. It's all their very own real-life Ken and Barbie.

They also like to window-shop for someone who can satisfy them more than the man they're with. Or flirt for attention when they know they're unavailable. The thought that you haven't maxed out enough credit cards on varieties of cow-ass with straps is what'll keep you on your toes. God forbid they should work another man into such a state that he'll think he might have a shot and say something stupid like, "So, you want to meet up for another coffee next week?" Then it's, "Umm, I have a boyfriend. Yeeeeah, didn't know if you knew."

Then we get the silent treatment. Women will keep their mouths shut only when they're angry, which is totally not fucking cool. They'll allow men to exhaust all available options as to why their legs are barred shut, in the meantime denying us conversation, sex, and snuggles.

Get them angry in a public place though, and hot fucking Sundays let's see them keep a lid on it then. What happened to all the silent treatment? I went to a gig once with a friend of mine. We went to see my number one musician of all time. She had a view of the stage, I didn't, but it was an all-acoustic show and I know what the man looks like. Then, after repeatedly telling her (about 8 times with varying degrees of sternness) I didn't need to stand in front of her to enjoy the concert, she started to get angry, inquiring as to why. In the middle of the crowd. Of an all-acoustic set. Of my number one musician of all-time.

Man playing guitar on stage
To clarify, even if we were fucking, I'd still be going home with this guy.

Women are too physically weak to strike down, and too emotionally and mentally weak to admit when they're wrong, so you'll always feel that you might as well get the days in the doghouse out of the way to the shame of our gender. If you can't get used to saying, "I know, sweetie… that's what I was trying to say," while trying to decipher spitted tirades, then relationships aren't for you.

But then we get to the good part, right? The sex. While I hear about all this great sex going on in the world, I've never personally had it. We live in a culture where tentacle rape fetishes are prevalent. I'll be honest, I tend to get a little bit freaky, but women don't respond well to requests like, "Spread yourself to all four points of the globe, call me Captain Dick Log, tell me how I'm bringing goodwill to your orgasms, and then shit on my chest."

Terrified man yelling

Vaginas are like human rights: knowledge on how to approach them is constantly being reviewed. Men are on board because we've been playing baseball since we were like six years old and shit; it's just another way to compete for us. But women seem behind on what today's man needs in the bedroom because they're all "dignified" and "crying." They seem to shut off to our input on what would work better for us, as if to rhetorically suggest that they know our dicks better than we do (but then when has a woman been anything but rhetorical, right guys?). Here's a hint: when I say "I'm going to cum," only to stop mid-thrust, it means I know exactly what I'm doing.

Police offer with bulletproof vest and aiming gun
"I said: ‘Don't. Fucking. Move!'"

They fail to treat a man's junk like it's the connection to all of his thoughts, instead thinking we're just as much into foreplay and emotions as they are. They certainly don't respect how visual we are, else they would fool around with Tammy the next door neighbor for our birthdays. To get to the point, my dick has been the best friend making all of my decisions ever since I thought I'd found an infinite supply of Dove shower-cream.

Women in relationships also feel the need to banish us from masturbating to pornography because it makes them feel unattractive. They'll do this even when they have the AUDACITY to do so while not giving back with the head. Porn enables us to last longer by beating it to women way more attractive than them, in turn making us better lovers when they finally decide the aspirin is kicking in—it's a win-win situation. Personally, when a woman doesn't care for me enough to know that if I don't drain them they swell up and burst like over-ripe tomatoes, it hurts my feelings.

Man on bouncy ball
You never understood me.

All this interaction is to lead to the most awkward, painful, exhilarating, damaging, and healing emotion mankind has ever known—what keeps two people together yet makes one volatile enough to murder over. It doesn't matter how scrupulous the woman's observations are about the man's mental wellbeing during the initial meeting stage, once we're in love, every single one of us is potentially the guy turning up at the doorstep with nothing but an axe and a sock. The decent among us will actually have it slung over our junk, but I guarantee we'll all be crying and begging for you to take us in from the rain that rages and boils within our hearts.

Ladies, we already knew you were batshit insane when we met you.

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