I’ve been teasing and threatening to launch a new category here for a couple of weeks (months) now…
Today’s the day.
Let’s have a big round of “Hear, fucking hear” for Chick Shit, my latest and greatest round of mouthiness, which may or may not be a recurring event, and even may end up playing on re-fucking-peat.
Probably one of my biggest pet peeves, out of the kennels of irritations I keep in my brain, is the shit that chicks will pull just because they can, because they’re a chick, because they think that because they’re a girl, no one will ever dare call them out on it.
Yes, that’s an ugly fucking run on sentence. Ask me if I give a fuck today. I dare you.
My non-bio brother, John, has given me enough fodder for this category alone that I could potentially never need another source. However, comma. This type of behavior, this type of girl, is so fucking ever-present in contemporary society that I have plenty other sources to draw from.
So let me explain.
Where I come from, there’s three types of men and two types of women. I’ve already filled you in on the types of men, and at the time, I outright stated that the women defy explanation. Mostly, that’s true. But if you’re looking at it from the guy’s perspective, really, there’s only two types of chicks.
Yes, again with the gross generalizations. By guy, I’m referring to anyone, either biomale or male-identified in any way, shape, or form. Please, fer fuck’s sake, try to keep up.
Two. Types.
There’s the girl you fuck, and there’s the woman you take home to meet your Momma.
That’s it.
I know this because I spent the entirety of my formative years watching this dance between the guys and the girls, and trying to figure this shit out for myself.
My guy friends, John among them, really seemed to have terrible taste in girls. I was completely baffled, though thankfully uninvolved, in this ongoing dance that they did between Sunday morning and Friday afternoon – only to go out with the same damn kind of crazy, weekend after weekend.
Then we grew up (a little, shut up Rhett) and I really started paying attention to the pattern.
John would meet a chick at a bar. He’d spend three or four weeks raving about her, they’d start really dating, they’d fuck like bunnies. Then she’d drop off the map. The next thing I heard about her, she was showing up every place he hung out. She was calling at random-ass times of day and night. She was talking to his friends, trying to figure out where he went and why he wasn’t calling anymore.
Really? You wanna know why he’s not calling anymore? This is your burning fucking question after a month?
Waiter, I’d like a little perspective with my soup, thankyouverymuch.
It was a month. Or two. Or ten. Or even a year…
It wasn’t a lifetime fucking commitment.
And here we are, in some of that chick shit that I just can’t fucking stand.
She picked a guy up in a bar. She played cute and coy and like it wasn’t any big deal – basically she painted herself to be exactly what she knew he was looking for. Whether it was a slutty one-night stand or the girl next door that wouldn’t say shit if she stepped in it, she set this ol’ boy up.
Chick. Shit. I sweartofuckinggod.
She. Set. Him. Up. She went after him. She knew what she was after. She probably even knew what he was after. Most times, the chick is at the advantage in a situation like this… I mean really? Bitch, please. Show a guy a pair of tits and / or a nice ass in a halfway decent pair of fucking jeans and the oxygen supply to his brain is immediately depleted by half.
Am I wrong?
Yeah, didn’t think so.
So, advantage automatically to the chick. Then the games begin in earnest, and I don’t stop getting pissed off anytime soon.
She goes from being the girl of his dreams to the harpy of his nightmares.
This is where the crazy train stops. Dude is free to walk away from the crazy, because no matter what, she went after him under false pretenses. I don’t give a fuck if you met in a bar or in church – if you weren’t real about who you were and what you wanted from the get-go, then every second of bullshit thereafter is on you.
On. You, sister.
Sorry to bottom-line it that way, but come the fuck on already.
Girls do this because they can, because in this society we devalue the female emotional response to the point that everyone just shrugs and says, “Well, that’s how women are…”
Look, girl. You’re making the rest of us look bad. Also- you’re just being fucking stupid, but that could be just me.
I’ve managed to digress into a full-blown rant already, and wait! There’s more!
I told you this was going to have to be its own category…
So to bring this all the way back around, these are the girls you fuck. Whether the poor guy realizes it or not, he’s been had – and one way or a damn ‘nother it’s going to be all his fault.
The aforementioned poor guy, however, also has some survival instincts buried in there somewhere. Because whether he realizes it or not, he knows somewhere, on some level, that you just flat aren’t the woman for him.
If you were? He’d already have made those plans to take you home to meet his Momma.
If he didn’t?
Then I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you were just one of those girls he fucked.
