On a recent plane ride, tragedy struck. A horrible event that led to a most horrendous discovery that has forever altered my life and will haunt my dreams until I die.
Usually, when I fly in a plane, I have at least one book to read and contemplate upon while I travel. Jung, Kierkegaard, Socrates, perhaps even some Dickenson or T.S. Elliot if I’m feeling in the mood for some poetry. One must always strive to elevate oneself, (alright, that’s a lie, I usually just bring a couple issues of Big ‘Uns and settle in for a nice plane ride.)
Anyway, on my most recent airborne adventure, I misjudged and finished my book with more than half the plane ride left. This was painful for me. I always have a book somewhere on my person to read in times of boredom, (which is almost all the time now that I think about it) I can’t sit there and actually talk to people. People suck and I’m a terrible conversationalist.
With my book complete I was forced to look to other means of literary diversion. First came the Skymall magazine. Everybody loves Skymall. It’s one of the most useless magazines in existence, (does anybody actually buy anything from there?) but it’s interesting to look at all the crap that’s been invented specifically to give the pretentious have-to-keep-up-with-the-joneses douchebags out there something to lord over their friends. Actual, true items in the magazine include: pet tents with mosquito netting, exercise machines that only require four minutes of effort on your part a day to get the best abs ever, $300 mahogany cases designed to hold your cell phone when not in use and others. It got to be too much, so I put the magazine down and continued my search for reading material.
Luckily, (or unluckily) my sister had the latest issue of Cosmopolitan in her bag and handed it over to me to read.
Now, when I was in high school and I was trying my hardest to get in every girl in the world’s pants, I did a lot of reading and research to become The Greatest Lover Any Woman Has Ever Known, (it worked too of course. I’m retired now, but back in my day I was a Josh among men!) I read such periodicals as Seventeen, YM, Cosmo and other magazines that would hurl me into the violent, confusing maelstrom that is the female mind. At the time I was young and inexperienced and figured that everything I was reading was factual. Silly me.
Reading this new Cosmo had me shocked. Page after page of stories about weight loss, which starlet is humping which member of
“But what about men’s magazines?” You women might be shouting at your computer screens right now. “Those are all about getting good abs, looking at airbrushed pictures of the worlds’ stupidest women (i.e. Tila Tequila) and stories about crazy drunken adventures!” You’re damn straight, and all those magazines provide an important service. They have been a boon to our gender and have brought about an age of peace and prosperity across the land. Do not speak ill of men’s magazines! Because I’ll probably do that in a later Eighty-Four Glyde entry!
The weirdest thing about chick magazines, (besides everything) is that fact that women are giving advice to other women from the male point of view. I feel the need to point out how illogical that is. Guys are really simple and easy to understand, we’re very basic, yet women are still confused by that. I’m not going to go into the whole battle of the sexes thing today. That is a whole series of blogs in itself. Anyway, I guess chick magazines need to justify churning out stuff every month, so they have to put something in there, even if it is a bunch of junk they make up. Especially those articles on how to please a guy in bed (“Ten tricks in bed that’ll knock his socks off!” or something stupid like that). Pleasing a guy is easy. Dave Chappelle taught us the way. It can be done in four easy steps.
- Suck his dick
- Play with his balls
- Make him a sandwich and
- Don’t talk so much
Simplicity itself, don’t you think?
I fear for the women of the world today when I read such periodicals as Cosmo and Jane. It makes me feel as if I have somehow failed as a man. As if I am to blame for your insane behavior and constant need for reaffirmation, (and by the way ladies, you really are all beautiful and special and unique and blah, blah blah. I’ll be back in ten minutes to remind you all how each one of you is unique, even though you all want to look like the same five movie stars. Oh, and also, no, your butt doesn’t look big in that dress.)
Ladies, simplify your lives. Divest yourself of these magazines designed to rob you of your money and self-esteem, while simultaneously reinforcing an ideal of the female image that can only be achieved by .05% of the population, (those genetic freaks!).
Next time I’m going to tackle romantic comedies. Drew Barrymore, you’re going down!