Political Crossfire Forums

Cute:



Not cute and shows how flippin crazy you are:



In summation:

pic 1 is ok.

pic 2 is not ok. at all. ever.

That is all.

(saw on reddit)

teenagers are intensely awkward.

Sounds to me like this woman has been scorned by douchebag men in her life and now unfortunately has unreasonable expectations for her future partners. Ran into that shit too many times to count. Shame too, as most were quality women, but it was too hard for me to live up to their expectations. A lot of them were the types that turned our relationship into one they had been in before with prev boyfriends where they had to be stuck up my ass 24/7 always asking me where I was, flipping out if I did not text them back immediately, etc. I couldn't blame them really, because it was how their controlling ex boyfriends treated them so it made them think that's how a relationship works.

As a rule of thumb, younger women typically set unrealistic expectations about partners then become bitter because their open hostility towards anyone who doesn't immediately strike her as 'Prince Charming' scares men away after sex.

Almost every woman I've talked to refers back to a long history of 'douchebags' but somehow, conveniently, think their record is polished gold.

A lot of studies indicate young women cheat more often than young men. I wouldn't be surprised. Girls are raised to expect everything. If a man is successful, it's because he's standing on the shoulders of some woman - maybe 2 or 3. Ironically it's these same women who would think such a list of qualifications is suitable for their lovely company. The best thing to do is not lose your composure. Be a man. Get sex, and move on. Or just move on. Really that's the smarter approach.

I knew a girl whose boyfriend paid for 75% of rent and all of utilities. She would complain - with the assent of her friends - that he didn't buy her enough presents to show he cared. 'Nothing too expensive,' she would add. 'Just a small ring. Or some shoes.' What a whipped boy. One night she dared to play that game women enjoy - you know, when they ask how they look, and you can't give an honest answer. But the question pertained to what I thought of her. She allegedly was contemplating her life. So I took her hand in mine, gently pat the rolls of fat that had developed from being unemployed, and told her with all sincerity she was a bitch. I've endured her wrath for years. No regrets. I'm sure I would probably then qualify as one of those 'douches.'

As I read this, I feel lucky not to have a crazy woman.