Just a question—why is it that women have such shit taste in movies? Don’t tell me it’s not politically correct to say that, and please don’t accuse me of being unfair to my gender, because you know it’s true. Even the coolest girls in the world like some of the lamest movies. Worse than that, they don’t like some of the most awesome movies ever made.
Just as an example—Sin City. How good is that movie??? And I’m sure some girls like it, but other than myself, I’ve yet to find one… so I’ll have to assume, it’s not gonna make any female-compiled Top 10 list any time soon. Which is pants. Pants! It’s a triumph of cinematic genius; even I’m too much of a girl to read comics/graphic novels, but that movie makes me wish I did. Tremendous! Along with, most likely, anything else Quentin Tarantino’s ever done, but how many girls list him as one of their favourite directors? How many girls even list any directors they like? It’s a damn shame, and it makes me embarrassed for us all.
Some days, I think I’d rather be a guy. Then I look at myself in the mirror and think, “Nah, I’m better this way.”
But if not for my looks—which aren’t great, but I like them—I’d seriously consider a gender swap.
Not that being a guy’s all it’s cracked up to be. I think that’s due to their higher amounts of testosterone. Those levels usually give their man-brains a degree of confidence women can only dream of; however, they occasionally slip over into ludicrous level and prevent the man in question from realising when he’s being ridiculous. I’ll show you what I mean.
The other night, I’m lying in bed, next to my insignificant other, and we’re chatting away. Not about anything in particular, just rehashing the day, and as we snuggle up, on the verge of sleep, I ask him something. It’s so innocuous, I don’t even remember what I said, but here goes a more or less accurate rendition of the conversation:
Me: “Babe? Did you just fart?”
Insignificant Other: “It wasn’t me, it was the Star Destroyer’s fault.”
Me: pause, then pissing myself laughing
Insignificant Other: “Did I just say…? Aw, bollocks.”
So now, he’s going to hear me retelling that story for the rest of his life, or however long we stay together. Whereas I, even when on the edge of the abyss of slumber, have the wherewithal to catch myself before saying something moronic. For example:
Insignificant Other: “Blah blah blah Star Wars blah blah Natalie Portman.”
Me: Imagining myself as Padme, about to say that I am she… “I…. ahhh,” makes yawning noise, “Yes she is way cool, but I’m nearly asleep, Babe.”
Insignificant Other: “Okay, sweet dreams.”
Me: *snore*
You see? You see how I saved that?
But women still have shit taste in movies.
Just as an example—Sin City. How good is that movie??? And I’m sure some girls like it, but other than myself, I’ve yet to find one… so I’ll have to assume, it’s not gonna make any female-compiled Top 10 list any time soon. Which is pants. Pants! It’s a triumph of cinematic genius; even I’m too much of a girl to read comics/graphic novels, but that movie makes me wish I did. Tremendous! Along with, most likely, anything else Quentin Tarantino’s ever done, but how many girls list him as one of their favourite directors? How many girls even list any directors they like? It’s a damn shame, and it makes me embarrassed for us all.
Some days, I think I’d rather be a guy. Then I look at myself in the mirror and think, “Nah, I’m better this way.”
But if not for my looks—which aren’t great, but I like them—I’d seriously consider a gender swap.
Not that being a guy’s all it’s cracked up to be. I think that’s due to their higher amounts of testosterone. Those levels usually give their man-brains a degree of confidence women can only dream of; however, they occasionally slip over into ludicrous level and prevent the man in question from realising when he’s being ridiculous. I’ll show you what I mean.
The other night, I’m lying in bed, next to my insignificant other, and we’re chatting away. Not about anything in particular, just rehashing the day, and as we snuggle up, on the verge of sleep, I ask him something. It’s so innocuous, I don’t even remember what I said, but here goes a more or less accurate rendition of the conversation:
Me: “Babe? Did you just fart?”
Insignificant Other: “It wasn’t me, it was the Star Destroyer’s fault.”
Me: pause, then pissing myself laughing
Insignificant Other: “Did I just say…? Aw, bollocks.”
So now, he’s going to hear me retelling that story for the rest of his life, or however long we stay together. Whereas I, even when on the edge of the abyss of slumber, have the wherewithal to catch myself before saying something moronic. For example:
Insignificant Other: “Blah blah blah Star Wars blah blah Natalie Portman.”
Me: Imagining myself as Padme, about to say that I am she… “I…. ahhh,” makes yawning noise, “Yes she is way cool, but I’m nearly asleep, Babe.”
Insignificant Other: “Okay, sweet dreams.”
Me: *snore*
You see? You see how I saved that?
But women still have shit taste in movies.
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