Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologize for my absence yesterday. It was very busy, and by the time I was done doing all I needed to do, I was exhausted and my fiancee was angry with me, so I could not post. I did, at least, learn something valuable.
Women love men who lose.
Yes, I know that's the subject of the post, but I figured it was important enough to bear repeating. Last night, my fiancee and I and another couple were playing a game of
Descent (with the
Road to Legend expansion for those who care) and they decided it would be a good idea to take on a certain major bad guy and his minions that I control. I cautioned them. All day, I had been telling them, "If you do this now, you guys will lose, and here is how it will happen." I showed them his stats. I showed them the stats of the minions he would have. I emphasized that they weren't ready to take him on yet. The male in the party who was on the heroes' side convinced the two women playing (his girlfriend and my fiancee) that they should take him on. So take him on they did. And they all died really horribly. In exactly the way I said it would happen. And everyone hated me and no one blamed the guy who said they should do it.
What this tells me is that women love men who lose. (See? There it is again.) After all, after a guy gets beat up by a bully, who gets the attention? The victim. Who gets the cold shoulder? The winner. After a tough game of (insert sport here), sure afterward, women may be excited when their men win, but they are affectionate and caring when the guy loses. When I play a game of
Settlers of Catan and I win, who gets the cold shoulder? I do. And who is she suddenly chummy with as they complain about me? Whoever lost.
There are many possible explanations. Perhaps losers appeal to the genetically hardwired nurturing caregiver role. Perhaps it's a result of the Feminist movement, in which winning gives women a sense of smug superiority and men who win challenge their faith in equality. I don't think this is the case. After all, they lost as well last night, so they wouldn't have that sense of superiority over the losing man. I suspect women are planning a coup and things like this are all shadowy information gathering practices. When a man loses, they say kind words like, "It's ok if you lose. It happens to everyone." Then they report back to their secret female headquarters and inform their leader that one more male has been neutralized. He was found not to be a threat to the cause and was made less dangerous by being convinced that when the time comes, it's ok to be defeated by women so he won't try as hard. And when men win against them, women get angry, they give cold shoulders and otherwise make things unpleasant so that the winning men begin to think that perhaps life would be easier if they allowed their girlfriends to win. Another threat neutralized.
And who is this leader? Gloria Steinem, the American feminist icon? Hardly. The real leader of the revolution is someone almost every woman on the planet looks up to, turns to for advice, and otherwise lets dictate their lives and opinions. I'm talking about Oprah Winfrey. She has her daily propaganda hour for the Cult of Oprah (or CoO). Don't think we don't know your book club is really all about subversive literature with subliminal messages and secret codes. Why did everyone in your audience get a car that day? Blitzkrieg, baby. You needed your army mobile and figured any man in your audience was already on your side. You teach men that it's okay to deny our instincts and not fight when we feel threatened so that when the OLA (Oprah Liberation Army) rolls through, we'll sit idly by reading
The Color Purple, drinking our chamomille tea, and talking about our feelings. We'll be unable to react to your CoO Coup ways.
Oprah's plans don't end there though. Once Overlord Oprah has proclaimed herself Dictator for Life, she'll ship men off to sensitivity camps where we'll stitch blankets for sixteen hours a day while watching
Thelma and Louis and
How Stella Got Her Groove Back. It seems innocent enough I suppose. Not pleasant, but at least not physically dangerous. But the plot spreads even wider, for she broadcasts her show via uninhibited VHF airwaves. That's why she isn't on cable tv. It limits her audience. It only goes where the hardwired cable goes. If she broadcasts on a non-premium analog-and-antenna network, the signal for her show goes everywhere. Even into space. Aliens get her show. Suddenly, femaliens tell maliens to take their feet off the coffee table because it's not an ottoman. Intergalactic workshops all across the galaxy are turned into intergalactic crafts and scrapbooking rooms. Now, extra-terrestrial cultures are no longer technologically or psychologically prepared for an Oprah attack. They'll just want to cuddle up with each other and share their hopes and dreams. And what will they cuddle up under? Blankets. Blankets made by Earth males.
Flash back to Earth. The men in the Quilting Camps will be watching sad movies ALL. DAY. LONG. That's a lot of tears, and more importantly, a lot of sniffling. So at the end of
Beaches when she sings "Wind Beneath My Wings," the men will need someplace to blow their noses from all of the sad, sad sniffling. Our blankets are now filled with disease. Oprah then takes these diseased blankets into space and gives them to the (now) peaceful aliens who just want to cuddle and snuggle. They get sick. They get weak. They get taken over by Oprah, intergalactic reinventor of the colonists' conqueror's oldest trick.
Oprah wants to be Queen of the Universe.
And that's why women love men who lose.
You have been informed.
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