1. Cute face, long hair, big ass. Breasts are not important unless you are heavy set, but in that case I wouldn’t be dating you anyway. (99% of female readers are disqualified from this step alone.)

2. Leaves immediately after sex.

3. Not a status-driven cunt.

4. Sex juice that smells like garden herbs.

5. Not an overachiever. You need to make time and energy for me, not your lame “career.”

6. Not a dirty whore. It’s okay if you are a whore (what girl isn’t?) as long as you’re not too dirty. I don’t want the herp.

7. Vagina tight like a man’s anus.

8. Must not mind hanging out twice a month at the most.

9. Extra petite so it appears that I am like a baby’s arm.

There was a time when DC did not contain a girl I’ve sexed. As the years went by and I became more and more filthy, that sub-population has gradually grown. Right now it is a certainty that I will run into one of these girls at least once a month. I know it’s my fault because I keep going to the same places where I met them, but it’s only common pimp sense to return to successful venues.

I used to feel uncomfortable because I didn’t know how to deal with a girl that I probably dumped first. So I would take great steps to avoid them, like hanging out in a different side of the bar or positioning my back to the direction she is facing. But then I asked myself, “Why should I punish myself because I did want I wanted to do?” I started talking to these girls like a normal person and quickly realized that most of them are friendly. They didn’t take the fact that I stopped calling them after sex too personally, most likely because it has happened to them many times before.

But then you have those girls that are just bitter to the core. It’s not that they are unable to get over me, but they are unable to get over the fact that I dumped them. Upon our reunion, they will make snide comments to me while trying to pretend that they want to be friends. They will backturn. They will make fun of girls I’m talking to, and even get their friends to cockblock me and my friends. I don’t take offense to what these girls do, but their actions validate my dump decision. I sleep better at night knowing I did the right thing. While I totally wish them the best, it would be nice if they get off my jock and finally meet a beta who puts up with their bullshit.

The institution of marriage is in need of major repair. Marriage is unadaptable, dated, and unable to deal with today’s fast-paced culture. Everyone in our generation is a unique snowflake, and it is insulting for us to accept the one-size-fits-all system that marriage offers. Is anyone surprised that marriage, an idea that hasn’t evolved in thousands of years, has a failure rate of 50%?

Say I was a man being nagged about marriage but I wasn’t so crazy about the idea. The practical solution is to have different marriage packages that suit my needs.

Pretend Marriage Package (short): You get a fake marriage certificate and pretend being married to your friends and coworkers just to see how it’s like.

Starter Marriage Package (tall): Your marriage contract lasts for only two years, whereby at the end of that time both parties must either agree to a two-year extension or upgrade to another package. The woman is not entitled to any sort of alimony payment upon a split. In the case of a child, the father gets automatic 50% visitation rights and judges are instructed to ignore everything a woman says during custody hearings (since they will be automatic lies). Child support is optional.

Progressive Package (grande): Your marriage contract lasts for five years, whereby they automatically renew unless you cancel (kinda like a porn site subscription). At the end of the contract a man can walk away without reason and not have to pay any alimony payments. Same rule applies above with regard to children.

Traditional Package (venti): Your marriage lasts “forever.” The man is not entitled to any basic rights in case of divorce. He can visit his child one day every two weeks. He is forced to subsidize his wife’s new life while living in a cheap apartment. He gives up half of his net worth, something he has spent his life building. He watches his children get brainwashed by the mother, who leaves them home alone while she goes on dates.

Anyone want to take a guess at the percentage of women who would pick the short-term packages? Zero. It’s easy to see that after sex, the only source of a woman’s power is making a man commit to her. Women only have as much power as you give them.

Some of you guys are in relationships. My advice to you is delay, delay, delay. I recommend you hold the olive branch of marriage above her head as long as you can. She will be like a dog jumping up trying to get the ball, waiting patiently until you give in. Marriage would benefit an in-demand man only if it was designed for him. It wasn’t. Don’t do it.

If you are a man who has had sex without a condom, you probably have wondered why the vagina feels so good. The reason is because the vagina has evolved millions of years for one reason only: to please men. And to please men so consistently that they’ll do almost anything simply to experience friction in a mucus-lubricated organ. You don’t need to look very far to see these men acting like idiots for a shot at one of evolution’s brilliant pieces of engineering. (I’m sure you know a man who has signed a legally-binding contract surrendering his freedom primarily to ensure he will have access to a vagina for the rest of his life.)

Since the human sex act is not over until the man is done, it’s easy to conclude that sex has evolved for men only. Men get theirs every time, women… sometimes.

It disappoints me when I see women who still desire diamond engagement rings. I could argue against diamonds from the moral viewpoint of what diamond traders have done to the native people where they are mined, but I know that wouldn’t matter to the shallow American woman. They believe that diamonds actually have value, and manipulate beta males into buying them so they can show it off to their girlfriends.

Diamonds are completely worthless. If diamonds were worth something, don’t you think they would be traded like gold, silver, copper, and platinum? Don’t you think they would at least be held by investors? (Even coins are held as investments.) Investors would laugh in your face if you suggest diamonds as a way to build wealth.

In 1982, Edward Jay Epstein wrote an article for The Atlantic which explained how diamonds got popular through marketing alone. Women bought the advertising and became gullible pawns in the global diamond trade, along with every other product that advertises qualities of luxury. Louis Vuitton bag anyone?

Both women and men had to be made to perceive diamonds not as marketable precious stones but as an inseparable part of courtship and married life. To stabilize the market, De Beers had to endow these stones with a sentiment that would inhibit the public from ever reselling them. The illusion had to be created that diamonds were forever ? ?forever? in the sense that they should never be resold.

In addition, the agency suggested offering stories and society photographs to selected magazines and newspapers which would reinforce the link between diamonds and romance. Stories would stress the size of diamonds that celebrities presented to their loved ones, and photographs would conspicuously show the glittering stone on the hand of a well-known woman.

?Since 1939 an entirely new generation of young people has grown to marriageable age,? it said. ?To this new generation a diamond ring is considered a necessity to engagements by virtually everyone.? The message had been so successfully impressed on the minds of this generation that those who could not afford to buy a diamond at the time of their marriage would ?defer the purchase? rather than forgo it.

Information about the diamond scam has been out for decades, yet I still see women with huge rocks on their fingers, uncontrollably grinning as they remark on how happy they are with their fiance. Are women really this shallow? I wonder what is their thought process when they gently urge their man to spend thousands of dollars on a worthless piece of jewelry. Wouldn’t that money be better spent on a house down-payment? Something that - you know - improves the quality of your life?

If you find a woman who asks you to spend a huge amount of money on a diamond, please think twice before marrying her. She has no concept of the value of money. She doesn’t care about how hard you work and all the time it took you to reach success. If she did then she would beg you NOT to buy her a diamond engagement ring. She just wants visible, flashy objects such as jewelry, cars, and clothes to show off because she doesn’t know any better. She will make it hard for you and your growing family to save and live within your means. She will want to spend money on material possessions instead of meaningful experiences. Her concept of happiness is accumulation of worthless junk, and it starts before you even walk down the aisle.

I think there is some truth to the cliche, “The bigger the engagement ring, the faster the divorce.” Show the diamond article to your future fiance but don’t say anything. If she has any common sense in her then she will forgo whatever superficial emotional bond she has to the idea of having a diamond and choose to save that money for something that has real value instead. I will never marry a woman who wants a diamond. No man should.

We’ve all got them. I’m not talking nitpicky, Libby Copeland-type stuff. I mean major lifestyle choices, hobbies, and social behavior that is just unacceptable. Now, a dealbreaker is not a death sentence. If you are perfect in every other respect and then mention that you possess one of the dealbreakers, I *might* be willing to overlook it. On the other hand, if you are borderline, that db is going to be enough to make me be nice to you but if you try to close it is not going to work and I’m going to go home with your friend who has long nosehairs.

The most egregious dealbreaker, for me, is living outside the District. I don’t have a car, and while I really don’t mind taking the bus or metro to an easily accessible outside-the-district locale (say, Pentagon City), if you tell me that you live in Alexandria, it’s over. For one thing, that eliminates the possibility that I can without significant hassle - because I hate hassles - sleep over on a weeknight or bring homemade food to your parties. It also means that we really can’t do spontaneously fun things in my neighborhood together and it means that if we hang out, it will probably be for an extended period of time, and then I will want to kill you by the end of the day.

The second worst is telling me that you work for an asshole or an asshole company or organization. Granted, what constitutes an asshole is subjective but I can say right now that if you work for Senator Conrad Burns, a pro-life organization, or a certain PR company that I am not going to mention but has a major morally-bankrupt client, you might as well buy me a drink to apologize for being an asshole by ass-ociation (couldn’t resist) and then walk away slowly so I don’t kick you in the balls. However, there are things I can overlook if all other characteristics are in order, like working at Heritage Foundation, because I’ve never actually met an asshole who worked for them. If I do however, Heritage is going to be on notice.

Okay, thirdly, if you are into competitive biking or cycling or whatever you toolsheds prefer it to be called, then I am most certainly not interested in you. Lance Armstrong? Ha, I laugh at your tight pants and can’t believe that you are even able to be a womanizer. Mountain biking and casual city-biking is okay (I actually hate bicycles and haven’t been on one in about 10 years but I’m willing to make concessions), but if you’ve ever been one of those guys on the side of the road in the decorative spandex outfit, you can forget it.

Other. And this is a dealbreaker that can completely trump everything. If we are strangers and we’re talking and everything is fine and then you mention oral sex - in any way, even just telling me a seemingly innocuous story - I’m going to be polite but you’re basically dead to me. That is just not something you bring up in conversation with people you don’t know and in fact talking about it with men is probably going to ick most girls out. If it doesn’t, men you are either dealing with a real live megaslut or a total psycho who is later going to stalk you. Which if that’s what you want, then good.

Additionally, if we go out together and you don’t wash your hands after the bathroom, that’s disgusting. It’s even more disgusting if I call you out on it and you defend yourself for not washing your hands and try to give me some reason like that your penis is probably the cleanest thing you’ve touched all day. That’s a true story, and I almost threw up in my hands at the time, which I try to do only once a year, and hopefully only because of my own volition. But you can be damn sure that I wash my hands after and not try to claim that because it’s my own vomit and because it’s mostly acid anyway, my hands are now even cleaner!

Lastly, if you have a nut allergy, you’re a freak and I’m not going to stab you with an Epipen, nor am I going to go out with you ever because that’s just terrifying. Ever notice how these nut allergies only seemed to crop up in the last decade or two? Your parents probably did some completely fucked up drugs in the 70s and 80s and passed it onto you in your genes. Also, I’m not a baby-sitter and did I mention that I am not going to stab you with an Epipen just because someone breathed on you after eating a Nutrageous?

Anyhoo, I’ll be sauntering - prancing, even? - around at the HHH tonight, and I like free things so even though I am completely intimidating, please come buy me a drink and then we can talk shit about everyone.

I can’t say that I hate spinsters as much as I used to. While I would never consider a spinster for a girlfriend, I see them as an option for meaningless sex because most are easy to get in bed. It’s laughs all around when they pull the “I’m not a slut” card. Ten minutes later… :hump: