There are a lot of men in this world, and I have developed a crush on at least half of them. Perhaps even two thirds of them and subsequently been rejected by around hmmm… 90% of them. From my experience in this stagnant dating pool of which we call life, Men are divided into 3 categories. Nice, bastards and gay. The nice guys are extremely hard to come by and are usually accompanied by a beautiful girlfriend WITH LEGS UP TO HERE, the bastards are ten a penny and would rather jizz on your face if you were on fire than extinguish the flames and the gay ones make me wish I owned a penis and liked anal sex.
I know we shouldn’t label things (apart from the food in your fridge so your housemate doesnt steal your favourite fancy m&s yoghurt that you’re saving to eat when watching New Girl) but life would be so much easier and save a lot of frog kissing time if men were labelled on the forehead “nice” or “bastard” – I know what you’re thinking “but then who would want a bastard?” Youd be surprised. Some girls really do want a bastard. sometimes you don’t want hearts and flowers, sometimes you want the rough and tumble of drunken text messages and being left unconscious by your head board.
What gets my thong in a twist (Hannah and I do not share the same underwear tastes) is when the bastards try and disguise themselves as the nice guys: and by this I don’t mean they just seem nice to begin with because they all do. heck, even Hannibal Lecter was kind of charming before the whole eating of someones brain. They actually make a point of butting into your moans during your first him inducedm orgasm to say “I’m a nice guy, I’m one of the good ones, woe is me, girls shit all over me, what a shame, feel sorry for me” etc and you’re thinking… This guy is a catch. Why are people shitting on him? Have you seen his chest hair? Have you seen his face? Oh my god I’m having the most amazing orgasm. And before you know where you are, you’ve let your bastard guard down abit and you’re enjoying Mr Nice Guy.
You make think this is happily ever after story about the lovely orgasm inducing Mr Nice Guy, but alas not. No my friends, this is just the start. Little bastardisms start creeping into the cold light if day. A twatty comment here, a sly below the belt tweet there and before you know it you’re hurtling up shit creek without a paddle and no armbands. Sheep in wolves clothing? He’s a male slag and you’ve fell hook line and sinker for this Noah from The Notebook persona that he’s presented to you when actually he’s Charlie Sheen in Two and a Half Men with only half the craziness. Its this confusion that turns you into some bat shit crazy woman, because nice guys arent meant to play stupid man games, they’re meant to text back and buy you roses and tell you exactly what they’re thinking. Not ignore every single message you send them for 7 hours and then eventually reply with a “lol” or “ok” message while updating Twitter and Facebook constantly and tweeting hot girls with LEGS UPTO HERE.
I wrote a post recently about piloting a “wristband” idea on men, where they get a red, amber or green wristband based on their current relationship/dating status to stop me developing crushes on men with a girlfriend/wife/penchant for other men’s willies. Do you think we could start a wristband idea for “nice men” and “bastards” and then “bastards who like to masquerade as nice men purely to get p*ssy and then turn into bastards as soon as THEY have cum” – opinions?
