The truth about girls and assholes.

The age-old myth that girls like assholes is bogus. Girls don't "like" assholes. Girls love assholes, in the same way that guys love guns and fast cars. It's a power/control thing. Girls use assholes as target practice for their skills of manipulation and seduction. Defeating assholes is a hobby for girls. It's a game to them. They find an asshole and do whatever slutty behavior is necessary to break down his defenses and cause him to surrender to her bidding in the name of lust.

Sometimes you hear about a girl falling for an asshole. That's because the girl fails to tear down his asshole shield. So, like the stubborn person she is, she refuses to surrender in a fleeting attempt to change him. Eventually she gets bored of his prick facade and falls in love with him because she has nothing better to do. Around that time, he loses the mystery, she no longer gets turned on by him, he's no longer attracted to her because she keeps trying to fucking change him, and her little game ends in a stale mate. As in, the mating gets stale. Then hopefully they both die in a car wreck.

My friend told me about a New Years Eve get together last Sunday. When I arrived, I entered the house, scanned the room for the hottest girl. I approached her and blurted out, "Excuse me, what do you want?" She said, "What?" I replied, "You look like a bug." Then I went to the refrigerator and got a beer.

She came to me a few seconds later and asked, "What did you say to me?" I said, "What's your name?" She said, "Cecelia." I replied, "Ceceilia? God I hate that name. It reminds me of cilia. That's fucking disgusting. You're fucking disgusting." I grabbed another beer and walked into the living room.

I don't want to come off like a badass. I'm a geeky guy, and by no means suave or intimidating in any way. It's worse than you'd expect. Put it this way - you could put sunglasses on a sickly bullemic dwarfed out carwash attendant and he'd be more badass looking than me.

Anyway, that was the first phase of the party. I remember it very clearly . But the next part is hazy in my memory. It was something like - I drank two liters of table wine and then something about a giant dog and people serving exotic cheese to trusafarians.

I was in the living room dancing to strange sounds. I think it was country music or something. I haven't heard country in so long, I forgot what it sounds like, but I'm sure it was country if I was drunk enough to dance to it.

The mysterious and beautiful girl I mentioned, Cecelia, was dancing with her friend. I stood next to them and continued to make jabs at her ego. I said things like, "Please stop dancing, for the love of god." and "You need to shave your nosetache." She basically took my neg hits like a man and responded passively. Then I said something over the top, I forgot what it was. Probably, "I smell something. Did you do the splits?" And her friend pushed me away. Strangely enough, Ceceilia said, "No, I want to dance with him." And she looked at me with angelic eyes and the cute sexy head tilts you see on Old Navy commercials. Which, to me at the time meant, "I'm going to take this guy out back and lick his balls."

I had won. I was an Old-Navy-head-tilt receiving studly winner. We started dancing together and it was awesome. Partially because she had good rhythm, but also because I was drunk enough to imagine her naked without getting turned on and dealing with the whole 'dancing with an erection' conundrum. While we danced, we made stupid idle drunk chit chat. Then she leaned into me and spoke in a sexy whimper, "I want you to stop being mean." Unfortunately, between the overload of wine in my belly mixed with the excitement about the ball licking agenda, I had completely forgotten to be an asshole.

I smiled and mumbled something along the lines of, "Sorry it's [drunken blabber] pretty girl and [drunken blabber] get nervous around [almost puke]." She laughed and repeated the head tilt thing, which, by the way, got really fucking old pretty quick. And I don't mean 'pretty' in a nice way. Girls, if you're into the head tilt, please don't do it more than twice, max. God that's annoying. Anyway, it was nice to be reassured of my champion womanizer status. It's like we were playing Monopoly and she landed on Ventnor Ave. with eight hotels. I thought she was about to mortgage all her railroads and suck my Baltics when as unexpectedly as she had entered my life, she vanished.

That's it. She walked away like a girl that had just been released from six months of juvenile detention. Looking back, I believe there was a smile, a head tilt, and she said, "You're a very interesting person." Then a few more lametarded head tilts and she walked away. It was horrible.

I was helpless to her barrage of puckering smiles and slow, squinty-eyed hip jives. She defeated me without any problem. I felt as if I had just played Pictionary against Van Gogh. Her attack of whorpedos left me defenseless, lonely, and dancing alone in the corner. How pathetic is that? Crying in the shadows while doing the robot to Toby Kieth. She had broken my heart in the length of time it takes Shania Twain to justify her non-codependence of men.

At that moment I realized something. The age-old myth that girls like assholes is totally wrong. It's not an "attraction" thing. It's a big game to them. They like to find assholes and attack them with skankness until the man's shield of assholeness is torn down, leaving him shivering like a little boy who was just spanked by his grand mother for spying on her naked. Once the guy is at the mercy of her vagina, the girl announces victory and leaves.

That's why Cecelia left me there suddenly. She knew she had won because I turned from insults to compliments - alarming to charming. The worst part about it is that she was in control the whole time. Standing there watching her walk away, it all came clear. At that moment I knew that this girl had my balls in the George Foreman before I even walked through the door. All the romance and intimacy that flourished throughout my essence was all a big game to her. She lured me in, built me up, threw me into the fire of shame, and pissed on me until steam rose from my ashes. How awful.

Either that or my breath stank. Let me think. Yeah, it was most definitely my breath. Fuckall.

Last updated January 4th, 2007