Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Girls LOVE Projects

What this post shall cover will be classified in the same category that gravity and the trashiness that Oakland Raiders fall into. Something that will ring true until pigs sprout feathery appendages and hover over Old McDonald’s pitchfork. The topic of this post is doctrine.

So let it be written. So let it be done.

I often lay in bed at night bewildered at what I need to do to make myself more available to women around me, when suddenly out of nowhere it hit me like the back of Edward Norton’s sneaker while I bit the curb in American History X. The way to get girls is to be…wait for it…(Thank you Barney Stinson)

A project.

Shocked? Stunned? Disagreeing with my proclamation of truth for the Interweb world to see? Let me explain.

The female organism is a creature that enjoys and thrives on the concept of attending to someone in aid. 71% of all women aged 18-65 have chemicals release in their brain that respond to the assistance of others.

Kent Brockman: “Is that real, Mr. Simpson?”

Homer J.: “Oh, people can come up with statistics to prove anything. 14% of people know that.”

Alright, alright, so maybe that last statement is a falsity from a mathematical sense, I only wish that Fishmitts were out there somewhere putting together a chemical equation that would prove my previous point to the nth degree. (Come on Fishmitts, stay sober and help me out on this one.) But aside from comedic text and made up stats, one thing is certain. Women love accomplishing things. Women love to help. Women love to know that they have done something meaningful in their lives. Fueled by pride, fueled by bragging rights at Ben & Jerry’s parties, fueled by whatever chemical imbalances exist in their noggins, women love the concept of “projects”. These projects may be a family scrapbook, or a 20’x 20’ quilt, or a family history contest, or whatever. Women love working on projects.

Enter stage left your classic wife beater-wearing, curse word-blaring, uncaring, overbearing, filth-laden junkpot who’s favorite activities include placing bets on WWE Nitro, and having chewing tobacco spitting contests with a three-legged deer. At first site any man would think that this Larry the Cable Guy impersonator is the mascot for the Carolina White Trash Roller Derby Team. But to a woman, he is GOLD!

Gold, because she can fix him. Gold, because he has things that she can work on. Gold, because he is a…wait for it…PROJECT! (Cue Sister Act Hallelujah chorus while women rejoice at the hallowed site before them). Any woman would drool over the chance to change this man’s life. And to do so, she must engage into an intimate relationship with him in hopes that she will be the reason that he becomes a better person. She will date him with ambitions of making him the ideal character, the Herculean Rico Suave that fell from the sky to the gutter, one who she molded into a first-class gent. It’s almost like My Fair Lady reversed.

And why do women do this in their pecking order? Who knows? Why do high-class bro’s who have careers, educations, high self-esteems, low debts, good workout routines, clean cars, funny jokes, common courtesy, great ambitions, aromatic cologne, ironed shirts, and clipped fingernails get shut down? Because they are in fact, not projects. And women want nothing to do with a self-dependent creature that will treat them like a queen. They want the grime and filth and abuse that will come in years of frustration, hoping that some day their projects will change into the man they want him to be.

So as I go back to the gym, and walk down the streets, and look at all of the women around me that I potentially could date in the future, I will keep this stone-cold doctrine in mind: It does not matter if I work hard to impress the girls around me by treating them like goddesses in disguise. By opening their doors, complimenting them, listening to them, taking care of them, spending all of my waking hours to make sure that they are nurtured, and knows that I care for them. If I want a girlfriend, all I need to do is put on a popped collar douchebag shirt, call her a few curse words, and binge on my new drinking/drugs/porn/abuse problem. Only then will women begin to want to date me.

So let it be written. So let it be done.

What do you think?

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