Just Say No to Leprechaun Sex
I often wonder where some boys get the balls to approach women. If you’re a 5’6’’, chubby, unemployed, socially awkward, and ridiculously hairy man with coke bottle glasses, inconceivably poor fashion sense and the personality of a box of rocks, what delusion are you under that makes you believe anyone wants to sleep with you?
At what point do you look around the bar and think, “I bet I have a shot with that girl.”? Can the male ego really be that secure?
Last spring I was at a bar with friends, dancing together as drunk girls seem oh so inclined to do, when a walking caricature squeezed himself between my friend and I. Merrill, who hailed from Long Island and sported the classically cool look of ultra-thick glasses and mop of red curly hair reminiscent of one of the Stooges, honestly believed that he was exactly where he should be; that of the dozens of men in that bar, we were desperate to be humped by him and him alone. I made several barbed attempts at decimating his masculinity and self-esteem, but he was unrelenting. He was literally convinced that my friend and I were going to take him home and perform a live Skin-a-max show for his entertainment purposes. Clearly our efforts to be unforgivably harsh to him were mere signs of the playing hard to get syndrome. They weren’t, and eventually Merrill got the picture, but why were we forced to spend half of our night out dodging a creepy, ugly guy who never stood a chance with either of us?
The entire phenomenon baffles me, and I see it everywhere—men honking at women driving down the street, guys doing landscaping yelling at the girl trying to catch a cab, the non-English speaking men who persistently try to convince me that we’re meant to be together. I suppose you miss one hundred percentage of the shots you never take, but come on. There has got to be some more efficient way of seducing random women. Most of these tactics don’t even produce a positive result. For example, Merrill, at best, got publicly reamed by two girls and, at worst, could have spent the night with an ice pack. Honking at me while I walk down the street doesn’t make me want to fuck. It makes me want to pick up a rock and throw it through your windshield. And when I’m having a bad day, there’s a strong chance that I will.
What I find most amazing is the bravado and persistency with which men who have no chance will pursue a shot in the dark. Take last night as another example. I had a date with a leprechaun. Well, not literally, but it paints a certain image for you. Short, fat, glasses, bad clothes, bad teeth, worse hair, poorly chosen facial hair, lame jokes, and a disturbingly creepy vibe to him. And that was just my initial analysis. It only got worse from there. Not only did he explain that Jewish men are religiously obligated to please their women, but he mentioned it three times. If that’s not an exercise in overcompensation, I don’t know what is. About half an hour into this horrendously awkward outing, I fake yawned as obviously as possible and complained of how tired I was. “Oh man, 10:30 already? Geez, I’d better get home.” But he couldn’t take a hint. No, I tried to be nice, but he just wouldn’t let me. He offered me a massage. *shudder* The mere thought of his pudgy little hands touching me, even through my clothes, makes me want to set myself on fire. I politely declined. Mere moments later, he offered again, as though I wasn’t sure in the first place. If you want to piss me off, the easiest step is questioning my judgment. The second easiest step is being ugly and lame. This boy was well on his way to some serious displays of anger. I try to play nice, but underneath it all, I can be a real bitch. But I restrained myself slightly, and declined again. Finally I couldn’t take anymore when he asked if, since I didn’t want a massage, if I’d mind giving him one. My response:
“I can’t think of anything more repulsive than a leprechaun giving me a massage. Except me having to give you a massage.”
I tried to let him down easy, but in the end, as with so many previous cases, I finally had to push him out of the plane without his parachute.
At what point do you look around the bar and think, “I bet I have a shot with that girl.”? Can the male ego really be that secure?
Last spring I was at a bar with friends, dancing together as drunk girls seem oh so inclined to do, when a walking caricature squeezed himself between my friend and I. Merrill, who hailed from Long Island and sported the classically cool look of ultra-thick glasses and mop of red curly hair reminiscent of one of the Stooges, honestly believed that he was exactly where he should be; that of the dozens of men in that bar, we were desperate to be humped by him and him alone. I made several barbed attempts at decimating his masculinity and self-esteem, but he was unrelenting. He was literally convinced that my friend and I were going to take him home and perform a live Skin-a-max show for his entertainment purposes. Clearly our efforts to be unforgivably harsh to him were mere signs of the playing hard to get syndrome. They weren’t, and eventually Merrill got the picture, but why were we forced to spend half of our night out dodging a creepy, ugly guy who never stood a chance with either of us?
The entire phenomenon baffles me, and I see it everywhere—men honking at women driving down the street, guys doing landscaping yelling at the girl trying to catch a cab, the non-English speaking men who persistently try to convince me that we’re meant to be together. I suppose you miss one hundred percentage of the shots you never take, but come on. There has got to be some more efficient way of seducing random women. Most of these tactics don’t even produce a positive result. For example, Merrill, at best, got publicly reamed by two girls and, at worst, could have spent the night with an ice pack. Honking at me while I walk down the street doesn’t make me want to fuck. It makes me want to pick up a rock and throw it through your windshield. And when I’m having a bad day, there’s a strong chance that I will.
What I find most amazing is the bravado and persistency with which men who have no chance will pursue a shot in the dark. Take last night as another example. I had a date with a leprechaun. Well, not literally, but it paints a certain image for you. Short, fat, glasses, bad clothes, bad teeth, worse hair, poorly chosen facial hair, lame jokes, and a disturbingly creepy vibe to him. And that was just my initial analysis. It only got worse from there. Not only did he explain that Jewish men are religiously obligated to please their women, but he mentioned it three times. If that’s not an exercise in overcompensation, I don’t know what is. About half an hour into this horrendously awkward outing, I fake yawned as obviously as possible and complained of how tired I was. “Oh man, 10:30 already? Geez, I’d better get home.” But he couldn’t take a hint. No, I tried to be nice, but he just wouldn’t let me. He offered me a massage. *shudder* The mere thought of his pudgy little hands touching me, even through my clothes, makes me want to set myself on fire. I politely declined. Mere moments later, he offered again, as though I wasn’t sure in the first place. If you want to piss me off, the easiest step is questioning my judgment. The second easiest step is being ugly and lame. This boy was well on his way to some serious displays of anger. I try to play nice, but underneath it all, I can be a real bitch. But I restrained myself slightly, and declined again. Finally I couldn’t take anymore when he asked if, since I didn’t want a massage, if I’d mind giving him one. My response:
“I can’t think of anything more repulsive than a leprechaun giving me a massage. Except me having to give you a massage.”
I tried to let him down easy, but in the end, as with so many previous cases, I finally had to push him out of the plane without his parachute.
posted by The Husskateer at 9:45 PM
1 Comments:
One reason some such guys try their crazy tactics is that they're practicing because they haven't given up yet. You have to admire the fact that even those fat fucks haven't given up, right? Yet, unfortunately both for them and the women they hit on, they neither have any skills nor are quickly developing them.
Women are quite hard for men to understand, and I'm sure the reverse is equally true (especially when the assumption is made that the opposite sex can't be understood, in which case it never will be). This stems partly from our specializations in different areas of the brain, partly from our hormonal differences, partly from culturally "determined" differences, and there may be other reasons. To answer your question, I think they're trying to practice with the goal of actually getting to a successful level someday even though they know they're not currently at that level.
Secondly, I've noticed that lazy men and lazy women both tend to think, "People should like me for who I am -- not for what I look like." But who are these "people" they're referring to? -- physically attractive people, which makes their statement one of the most ironic and stupid I've ever heard. If Melvin would realize the irony in that statement, he might actually have a chance down the road (which is not to imply that stupid and beautiful is any better -- ugggh)!
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