One of the true joys of being an older man is articulating with sincere awe about magnificent women who cannot be had, with other men. It may not even be unique to older men; it can probably be applied to adult heterosexual males overall. I just happen to be an old guy.
The entire point of the exercise comes from the fact that the female being discussed cannot possibly be had. She could be no longer alive, or be considerably older, or a thousand miles away behind a wall of screaming fanatics. It is subconsciously understood that any intimate contact with the woman in question would be undeniably absurd; it cannot happen. Us guys love to wax panegyric about the ladies, when they’re nowhere to be found.
It’s like on The Sopranos, when Paulie Walnuts brings up Shelley Hack.
Have you ever seen Shelley Hack? I have no reason to look her up, because I’m satisfied with my mental image and don’t want to bum myself out discovering she’s un-alive or “woke”. She’s a tall blond drink of water with a face like an angel. She just happened to have a sneezy name, and she had to compete for airtime with Lynda Carter, arguably the perfect woman. So, you might not remember Shelley as easily.
Guys will set up little enclaves on social media where they can share tasteful photos of women (whom they love but will never know) with other guys. Guys talk candidly and respectfully about women with each other, until the inevitable day comes when an actual woman discovers the group and ruins it by laughing at everybody and uttering nonsense like “thirst-trap” and “incel”. I’ve seen this happen a dozen times in as many years, and the irony is always lost.
Whether in text or speech, these conversations are typically private, because guys invariably reveal hidden aspects of their character when extolling cherished virtues of the opposite fairer sex. For example, you can tell a lot about a man simply by bringing up Icelandic singer/actress Bjork.
Some guys have a weird fetishistic thing for her, which has had unfortunate ramifications in the past. Some guys, like myself, wonder why she was never cast as an elf in any of the Lord of the Rings movies. (I figured she was under contract/being terrorized by Lars von Trier at the time of production.) Some guys actually claim to enjoy her music (even the Sugarcubes). But one thing about Bjork that we all agree upon, is that she was never more attractive than when she went full nuclear assault on that lady reporter who pestered her son.
I had to embed the video link in that image, because YouTube is actually a frail grandmama clutching at the lacy lapels of her robe and muttering oh my stars. In any case, those scant few seconds of absolutely warranted violence arouse intense and confused longing in the hearts of men. It’s like a primal test of a mother’s true mettle, one Bjork passed with flying colors.
Something an outsider might notice about this gynocentric form of “guy talk”; we don’t annotate or backpedal for the benefit of the excluded. A woman doesn’t have to be a mother, is what I’d interject here, in front of a presumably more varied audience. Among other men, being that we all came out of mothers, it would only invite ridicule if I said such a thing. Suspicions, even. Guys can have these conversations with men they don’t even know, or men they actively despise. There is no equivalent behavior among women, not even when they talk about us. Their motivations are completely different, making the discussion invariably more superficial, and often rooted in appearances and status-based materialism.
Okay, while we’re on the subject of honesty more or less, let me get all my “Shiloh Hendrix material” out of the way, while it’s still legally permissible to do so.
The best responses to Hendrix’s usage of the hard-r “gamer word” while protecting her child from a playground-haunting pederast all came from women, who were predominantly white. They don’t even care that she said “fuck you, nigger” while carrying a toddler in her arms; all they care about is that those arms are sleeved with “questionable” tattoos. Because that’s their in-road to invoking the dreaded Whiskey-Tango atom-bomb; commenting that Hendrix is and always will be white trash.
This is why guys talk about this stuff in private; because we’re not judging. We’re being totally honest, with other men. We have codes and social mores that we observe as a natural reflex, without complaint, because we intrinsically understand the logic that makes them work. We behave a certain way around other men because above all, we want to be treated with respect. We do not behave this way in mixed company, which itself has its own protocols we observe, depending on the strength of the male role models we had growing up. When we see men breaking these protocols in a public or formal setting, their behavior indicates a bad or absent father.
When women rage on Ms. Hendrix’s appearance, it reinforces my suspicion that they saw the same thing I did, but reacted in the opposite manner. She looked fine. She made a socially unacceptable act look good. Freeze-framing her, and thankfully blurring out her offspring, only makes her look better.
I’m not saying blurring out the kid made it easier to do something alone that I’d be ashamed of soon afterward. I’m not saying I have a wound on my junk from “self-discovering” in private. I’m not saying any of that awful and possibly true stuff. What I’m saying is, what everyone noticed about Shiloh Hendrix when they saw that video, whether they realized it or not, was that her face was naturally attractive.
Clear as day, you can see the fire in her piercing blue eyes as she sizes up a potential threat to her family, before it kicks in that she’s the dominant party, and she walks off confidently, taunting as she goes. She even repeats her racial epithet, as requested, because she does not give a single fuck. Witnessing this as a man, you can feel the primal wife-material boxes checking off in your mind.
You can’t see the racial epithets if you mute the video (even if you turn on closed-captioning); all you see is an arguably pretty mouth, with halfway decent teeth. I didn’t even have to bring up nail beds; Hendrix herself provided evidence, however unwittingly, that they appear healthy and natural:
That’s the key. Among a sea of a trillion digital faces and bodies, what’s most natural stands out. Look at her long slender neck, too. Some guy was not unwise to fertilize this woman. My literal first impression of her was a startled woman telling off an aggressor while protecting her child. There’s no faking the expression she wore. Whatever happened that led to this foofaraw is immaterial. Also the dude recording should not be allowed within a mile of a playground. I’m serious; he is an actual rapist.
Truthfully, the only thing that could make me not want to bang Shiloh Hendrix would be if she publicly apologized for saying “nigger”. Or, if her husband appeared with a bat and threatened to cave my skull in. Funny how we all just presumed she was a single mother, huh? I wonder why that is?
Okay, that’s more than enough of my “Shiloh Hendrix material”. I know, you’re thinking, what about the boobs? Don’t I always talk about the boobs? Calm down, we’re getting to that.
Guys don’t actually talk about boobs as much as women think we do. I am considered a fetishist (to put it kindly), in that I am almost always thinking, talking about or drawing boobs. Guy protocol actually dictates that among other men, tit-talk should be kept to a minimum, because most men have settled on a pair attached to their significant other. They don’t generally enjoy thinking about differently-sized, or worst-case-scenario nicer, titties than those two. At least, not when anyone else is around.
To gay dudes and women, breasts are breasts. Gay men are disgusted by them, and women are as blase about them as you’d expect. They might as well be hips or buttocks; they perform the same aesthetic purpose, for the most part. Despite a preponderance of brassiere sizes, women classify “boobs” into three tiers; small, big, and HUGE. These descriptors are almost exclusively employed disparagingly.
I try my level best to be charmed by women’s often gruesome attitudes towards their own bodies. But it has to be said how poorly it can reflect on them as individual people, when they casually abide the horrific medical practices that they often do. Sometimes women do things out of sheer envy, that not only wreck their lives and the lives of those close to them, but make them look to all the world like spoiled, greedy little girls.
The lady in the bottom right corner of the above meme is Sydney Sweeney. I don’t know who the woman seated next to her is, which is better for the overall joke. However; whether or not I know her name does nothing to change the fact that she is a visibly gorgeous brunette. In fact, if one were to argue, she might have a prettier face than Sweeney does.
Problem is, I can’t see her eyes, because they’re currently shooting daggers at one of the most beautiful sets of titties in the history of the world, courtesy of Ms. Sweeney and her low-cut dress. Without a word, her face says it all; how the fuck does this bitch get the nicest titties and I don’t. How the FUCK! Naw, you know what? They ain’t all that. They ain’t all that. I seen better, dawg. Them probbly ain’t even real.
By reflex women do this, until they get too old or too busy to give a shit. They fuck with each other’s heads without even realizing it. The nicest woman you know does it in some fashion. They’re practically hard-wired to fuck up each other’s shit. We just try our level best to find it endearing, because for myriad practical reasons, we have to get along with women.
Even if they say stupid shit all the time.
The article is linked to that image, but reading it is unnecessary; just look at the text and picture. What are we to infer, based on those alone? Here are my “takes”.
- Not only is the writer a woman, but I surmise that literally no heterosexual man is employed by Slate, in any capacity, because literally any heterosexual man would have stepped in and “mansplained” that this was a terrible idea that would invite massive backlash.
- Writer Shannon Palus was irked by what she perceived as undue male attention towards Ms. Sweeney’s body, particularly (in her estimation) her breasts.
- Because Ms. Palus’s breasts are likely smaller in reality than Ms. Sweeney’s appear to be, she looks upon the latter with envious disdain, because they’re “too big“.
- Ms. Palus only makes things worse by using the words “kind of average” in the subheading. Imagine the mental gymnastics required to look upon Sydney Sweeney’s bosom, which any fool can see is only close to perfection because it is partially obscured by clothing, before issuing a witless summation like “kind of average”.
- There exists no force on this earth that will get you a picture of the article’s writer, or her breasts. You know Slate is quivering with anticipation, waiting with bated breath for just such a request so they can play out their little victim games. How dare you wonder about the breasts of a woman who wrote an opinion piece on how breasts are just dumb floppy udders that only perverts notice or care about.
I said this on the podcast; Sydney Sweeney has default bedroom eyes. She has a heavy-lidded look that contrasts sharply with the usual bug-eyed starlets, and a wide, full-lipped smile with pearly teeth. Her boobs are perfectly shaped and sit upright on her torso; clearly she grew them herself. Her skin is satiny and flawless, gleaming with youthful vitality, but it happens to be white, which is the A-number-1 reason Shannon Palus wrote this thing at all. If Sweeney’s skin was dark, every single description I wrote in this paragraph would be used by Palus as adulation. Sweeney’s natural health and visible happiness would be remarked upon, rather than childishly ignored.
Again, funny how that works, eh? Women who tear down other women feel safest doing so when everyone’s white. In fact, it could be argued that’s the only time they do it. It’s apparently some kind of venal sin for a white woman to be called racist in public, even if it’s based upon nothing. I don’t even have to characterize this from mere personal interactions, we all know YouTube exists. Hell, I just told you about Shiloh Hendrix. Where’d you first hear about her, again?
Would you be surprised to learn that there’s a TikTok video out there to affirm any specific prejudice you might have? Try to come up with a known negative racial stereotype that isn’t exhibited by the stereotype itself on YouTube. You literally cannot.
I’ll wrap this mess up with a closing example of the sheer destructive ruinous force that is women’s envy.
Forty-one years ago, I had a boyhood crush on Kate Capshaw, after seeing her as “Willie Scott” in the 1984 prequel Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. I hadn’t yet seen it enough times on VHS to grow weary of her incessant screaming and jabbering. Her opening number as a Shanghai showgirl in 1935 left me spellbound. I just thought she was absolutely hot as fuck, before I’d ever used those words or knew what they might mean.
Aside from looking like a million dollars (yen?), Capshaw is singing Cole Porter’s “Anything Goes” in respectable Mandarin, with a clear, strong voice, while tap-dancing in sync with a whole troupe of leggy showgirls. All of this is lensed by the fabled director Steven Spielberg, who keeps the camera lovingly focused on the shiksa who’d go on to be his future wife. I’ve seen the film enough times to be able to sing along in a language I don’t understand, and I still get goosebumps when Capshaw winks at the camera.
Whatever your personal opinion is of Spielberg, his movie, or anything in it, like I’ve said, it doesn’t change the fact that to a large cross-section of people, this woman looks really good. Forever. At a time in history when movies were as popular as oxygen, and nearly as important. Practically everyone saw these movies. Being in Kate Capshaw’s position was (and is) “The Dream” for a gigantic percentage of women.
The problem lies in the fact that there’s only room in The Dream for one. What happens when that one isn’t you?
They stick you in the chorus and gift you an executive producer credit, and you quietly seethe for thirty years until you swindle enough clout to bring about the slow, systemic annihilation of the most lucrative fantasy-fiction franchises in the history of film, just to spite and disparage anyone who ever cared about them.
Or is that just a crazy conspiracy theory? I don’t know, can you honestly say that anything produced by Kathleen Kennedy under Disney displays anything but contempt for its general audience? Can you show me a Disney Star Wars or Indiana Jones entry that shows anything resembling respect for the source material, or anyone involved in its development whatsoever?
There’s your answer.
For all the endless shit men take for being men- we’re violent, we’re barbarous, we’re “misogynistic”- you’d never know that by and large, men follow an unspoken set of moral codes and social protocols. Real men fight fair, without stooping to a level beneath what is expected of a proper Marquess. If another man loses our respect, they have to earn it back, or else we write them off without a second thought. The men you see behaving atrociously in YouTube videos are cowards whom we would only associate with as their assailant. We talk amongst ourselves about how we would handle an encounter with these poltroons, using idle threats of extreme punishment that would give a federal eavesdropper a painful erection. Men like doing this almost as much as we do talking about women.
When a woman fights with another woman, there are no implicit rules of gentlemanly conduct. Quite simply, no one, not even the instigator, knows how far the fight will go. A woman can pull almost any small weapon you can think of out of her purse, like fucking Felix the Cat. Go ahead, offer your best defense of women as the moral and intellectual superiors of men, and I’ll show you a dozen fight videos where the women involved might as well be rabid animals, if not for the incessant shrieking of trashy-sounding names and the haphazard use of claws.
Men fight because we’ve had over 2,000 years of practice. It’s a natural instinct. Fighting this instinct only results in more fighting, so we tend to embrace it. Most men labor under the belief that at any given time, we might have to fight, even though this almost never happens. So, we tend to see everything in terms of training and fighting. Sometimes we train to do things we hope we never have to do. I’ve never crushed a man’s windpipe, but I know how to do it. Another man showed me how. I once had to stab a man in what could have been a fight to the death. None of this makes logical sense, unless you’re a man.
Women fight other women when their emotions get out of control, and they want to reciprocate the pain they’re feeling. It’s typically embarrassing hysteria, because it’s not in a woman’s nature to throw hands and jab. It even looks wrong, which is why a man will instinctively step between the women and stop the fight before anyone gets hurt. The fight makes no logical sense, to anyone observing. There’s no decorum, dignity, or respect demonstrated.
When a woman fights, no matter if the fight is physical or merely verbal, anything goes.
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