F**k Sexual Harassment, Part 2

"They're real, and they're spectacular!" -Sidra, Seinfeld

"Because from across a crowded room he can't tell you have a great sense of humor." -Lee Jeans print ad

So, are we supposed to look? I'm serious, because I just don't know. Women have them, and they are spectacular. In addition, they have great legs, shapely hips, incredible bottoms, beautiful eyes, and brains. As with a great number of men, some women don't use them to their brains to full capacity. Guess what? I'm not interested. For these vapid creatures, the only thing separating them from a love doll is the squeaker. (In the interest of full disclosure, I don't know if a love doll is equipped with a squeaker. I've never owned one, been in close proximity to one, or purchased one. I did purchase an inflatable sheep once, but it was for a bachelor party in Wyoming.) I'm just not interested if they don't use their brain. God installed the equipment, so you may as well utilize it. A beautiful woman who doesn't use her intelligence is like running a Ferrari on only two cylinders -- fun to look at, exciting to climb into, but ultimately useless. There was a time when I was "less enlightened" that I would test a girl by making her watch an obscure Peter Sellers' comedy. If they asked, "What was that about?", I dumped them. At 18 I had a girl all but promise me a magic carpet ride before the movie began. Following the movie I never called her again. I was an asshole, but at least I didn't take advantage of the feeble-minded.

Not fair?

Well, later I would keep them around long enough to completely torment them. Following my divorce I dated a young lady whom believed saying, "I want to bear your children.", during coitus was excellent pillow talk. It's not. It's a mood killer. It's a boner killer. I believe it reversed the blood flow and sent my little buddy cowering in my abdomen. It was not to be an evening of romance. Did I dump her? Of course not, I had become enlightened . . . and thought she should become also. Our dates now became art films, documentaries on the Irish Republican Army, performances of Mozart's Requiem. I had decided to drive her off by becoming a pretentious asshole. It didn't work. She continued to put up with me. Hell, she followed me around with more vigor. I hadn't awoken her intellectual side, but apparently stirred her inner Bloodhound.

What's an aspiring asshole to do who still has a soul? Break up with the poor girl and allow her the freedom to mix with company who may appreciate her simple nature.

To be kind, I decided upon the George Costanza method of, "It's not you, it's me." I spent over an hour explaining how I was an asshole, she deserved better, that if she stayed with me I'd just try to come up with new ways of violating her. Nothing seemed to work. My attempts at separation only fueled her goal of clinginess. It was a love-fool standoff. She with her puppy dog, nearly cognizant stare, and me with no desire to explore her cave of love again for fear my swimmers would fight their way upstream and spawn. I may not have been showing a great deal of maturity, but I did remember where babies come from and decided my potential offspring should at least be able to tie their own shoes. This potential "partnership" was pulling me to the shallow end of the gene pool where my children would continue to gaze directly into the light, right up to the point the train hit them.

For every thrust of intellectual argument I was stymied by the parry of pure ignorance. I was nearly reduced to explaining that new rules issued by Hogswort didn't allow me to date "Muggles". She would have related to the reference (and probably believed it) but I just couldn't. My soul would have simply said, "Check please." An additional half-hour of discussion and she seemed to get it. We were breaking up, signing off for the last time, pursuing our destinies separately. I was done, she seemed okay, we'd said goodnight, all was right . . . until. She stopped, turned and looked at me and said,

"So, does this mean we can't hangout on Monday?"



(Apparently this has become a 3-part series. Check back as this rant devolved into NOTHING about sexual harassment. It just became about an ass.)