Brace Yourself: Fighter Pilots Might Be Sexist Pigs

AP Photo/U.S. Navy, Jen Blake

Uh-oh. I hate to spoil it, ladies, but it turns out that arrogant fighter plane jocks might be sexist pigs:

A former Blue Angels commander tolerated inappropriate sexual comments and pornographic images in the workplace — including photos of naked women in the cockpits of the precision flying team’s planes, the Navy said Tuesday. 

Capt. Gregory McWherter was found guilty of violating two articles under the military’s code of justice during nonjudicial proceedings convened Monday in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. The articles were failure to obey an order or regulation and conduct unbecoming of an officer by fostering a hostile command climate and failing to stop “obvious and repeated instances of sexual harassment, condoning widespread lewd practices within the squadron and engaging in inappropriate and unprofessional discussions with his junior officers,” the Navy said in a statement. 

He will be given a letter of reprimand that will go in McWherter’s permanent file and is widely seen as a career-ender in the service. McWherter told Navy officials he did not wish to speak to the media, said Cmdr. Kevin Stephens, a spokesman
at Naval Air Forces.

There's a couple of way to look at it. One, it's strange that another military guy can apparently desert his post, get promoted, and have his father and mother pay a visit to the Rose Garden, while at the same time a different military guy can master his craft but get rapped on the knuckles for being a frat boy. Life's funny that way.

Two, the military has a code of conduct and if you go against it, it doesn't matter how good you are at what you do. When the day comes that you look cross eyed at the wrong commanding officer, you've given him all the kindling he needs to cook you.

Video: Shit Girls Say

Pretty much spot on the money. Juliette Lewis makes a cameo.

Looking Back on Palin

I was rummaging through some old blogs looking for a quote when it occurred to me how quickly we forget the past. Stuff seems terribly important at the time, then a month goes by and it's like it never happened. Think Enron, Myanmar, the Washington sniper, or Hillary vs. Obama. All of that angst and angry rhetoric: poof. Gone from the conversation.

Anyway, I stumbled upon some blogs I wrote about Sarah Palin. In all of the blogs I wrote in defense of her, I never said she would be a good vice-president. In 2008, that always made my friends stop in their tracks. They would say she'd be a horrible VP, and I would say, "When have I ever said she would be a good one?" They'd pause and say, "But you defend her all the time." And I would reply, "Sure. As a woman in politics receiving unbelievably harsh treatment for being a woman, I am on her side completely."

They would shake their heads to clear the cobwebs, ignore my point, and get back to telling me about a woman's right to choose or some such.

Sad fact is, most of the friends and occasional enemies that argued with me about Palin were women. Palin really struck a nerve with the ladies on both sides of the border. So-called feminists treated her extremely badly during last year's election. That's the main reason I came out of 2008 believing I am a bigger feminist than any of my female friends. In fact, I think I'm the only true feminist among them.

In any event, I stumbled upon this blog from September 13th of last year. In it I saw a quote from Cintra Wilson at Salon, from an article she wrote on September 10, 2008.

I read it over and was disgusted by the vitriol coming from her keyboard. Back in September it simply struck me as hypocritical and lame. Now I see it for what it was: utter fear, hatred, and bigotry, by a woman towards a woman.

Did feminists really write stuff like this last year? Yes they did. Quite a lot of it, too. Like most "commentary" on Palin, Wilson's piece didn't raise any eyebrows. She wasn't dragged onto The View to explain herself, David Letterman didn't use her as a punching bag, there was no outrage and no calls for apology. It was what it was: perfectly acceptable. Looking at it now, the date suddenly seems interesting. Wilson wrote it on September 10. The anger and fear of 9/11 were long gone from her mind. So was the goodwill and solidarity of 9/12.

Here's the bit:

I confess, it was pretty riveting when John McCain trotted out Sarah Palin for the first time. Like many people, I thought, "Damn, a hyperconservative, fuckable, Type A, antiabortion, Christian Stepford wife in a 'sexy librarian' costume -- as a vice president? That's a brilliant stroke of horrifyingly cynical pandering to the Christian right. Karl Rove must be behind it."

Palin may have been a boost of political Viagra for the limp, bloodless GOP (and according to an ABC/Washington Post poll she has created a boost in McCain's standing among white women to a 53 over Obama's 41). But ideologically, she is their hardcore pornographic centerfold spread, revealing the ugliest underside of Republican ambitions -- their insanely zealous and cynical drive to win power by any means necessary, even at the cost of actual leadership.

Sarah Palin is a bit comical, like one of those cutthroat Texas cheerleader stage moms. What her Down syndrome baby and pregnant teenage daughter unequivocally prove, however, is that her most beloved child is the antiabortion platform that ensures her own political ambitions with the conservative right. The throat she's so hot to cut is that of all American women.

Of course, they'll never be done with Palin for being a woman. I was looking for a photo to put up with this blog and found this piece from the LA Times, dated 7 hours ago:

Newly released academic research suggests that Sarah Palin's sexiness, while great for selling copies of Vogue magazine and political buttons about the hottest governor from the coldest state last fall, may actually have hurt her vote-getting ability, which seems to be what elections are about.

AOL News also covers the story, with the headline Sarah Palin Too Pretty to Attract Voters. The First Post has it as Sexy Sarah Palin needs get ugly to win in 2012.

Researching a woman's sexiness in order to decide her political viabilty. Tell me, my dear feminist friends, what you think of that?

In other news, the Chicago Sun-Times reports, "First Lady Michelle Obama's bare arms fashion continues to fascinate and make us all realize we need to do more on upper body strength."

Barkley Doing Time

Only five days, which is almost nothing, but I guess it sends some kind of message. Right?

It shouldn't surprise me anymore that these rich cats go drinking and driving. But when will they get it through their heads that they have more than enough cash to hire a fulltime driver?

Then again, Barkley said he had a major league good excuse. Let me see, how do I word this for the family crowd...Okay, Barkley gets stopped by the cops. They decide he's drunk, then ask him where he's going. Barkley says he's going to get oral sex from a girl. He says that just last week, the lady had given him the best oral sex of his life. Then he tells civilian police workers that he will, "Tattoo my name on your ass" if they let him off. Then he laughs, realizes his mistake, and says he will "Tattoo your name on my ass" if they let him off. And laughs again.

The cops described him as "cordial."

You can read the full police report here.

A couple of other Barkley mug shots can be found here and here. One is for the time in '97 when he was charged for throwing a guy through a bar's plate glass window. The other's for a time in '91 when he was charged for slugging a guy. He was acquitted of that charge.

Mug Shot: The Smoking Gun

Fool On The Hill

Samuel Johnson: "Remarriage is the triumph of hope over experience."

To wit:

Paul McCartney and girlfriend Nancy Shevell are reportedly planning to marry.

The couple, who have been seen in public together regularly for the past year, are now legally allowed to marry after Shevell's divorce from lawyer Bruce Blakeman was finalized in December.

McCartney's last marriage didn't end well either, lasting only 6 years, the last two of which were spent separated. Heather Mills received £24.3 million (roughly $50 million) in a divorce settlement, plus £35,000/year ($70,000) for their daughter Beatrice, plus the girl's nanny and school fees. When Mills heard the ruling, she poured a jug of water over the head of McCartney's lawyer, declaring, "I'm not a loser."

By the way, this was 10 months ago.

Dude, Where's My Prada?

Enough about steel workers and single moms. Let's hear about the people that are really hurting:

Their clothing allowance has been halved, they've had to fire their personal trainers and their sex lives have tanked.

They're the once-pampered -- now highly disgruntled -- women partners of U.S. bankers and they're speaking out about how the financial meltdown has changed their lives and their relationships.

Photo: Guido Harari

One Dollar Is a Tragedy, 900 Billion is a Statistic

$70 million for smoking cessation.

$335 million for prevention of STDs.

Why? Well, health care, of course!

I love the HC stuff. You can plug anything into it: "$20 billion for food stamps. You know, so people won't starve. $70 million to quit the butts, because people don't yet know smoking's bad for them. $335 million for sex ed, because people don't know that sex without a rubber is dangerous and they could end up at the doctor's office. $400 million for global warming research, because people could die in a drought next February. What's that? Oh, the $50 million for the National Endowment for the Arts? Well, the way we see it, if people are looking at a sculpture made out of Coca-Cola cans and empty Snickers wrappers, at least they won't be outside getting run over by one of our new cars, which will cost you $600 million (which itself is on top of the $3 billion we already spend on cars every year, just don't tell anybody)."

I wonder if anyone knows had badly they're being taken? This is the biggest robbery in world history. $900,000,000,000.

I don't ever want to hear the argument that Bush's war cost too much dough. This "stimulus package" from the US government spends more than Iraq and Afghanistan combined, and it's supposed to be shelled out in just a couple of years. Obama's excuse: the $900 billion will create 3 million jobs over "the next few years." The next few years? Some stimulus plan. A real kick start.

I also don't want to hear about Palin being a dope ever again, while the Speaker of the House gets a pass. In this clip, the woman who wants 900 billion dollars makes Palin look like Socrates. Let's be real. If this person asked you for 10 cents and gave this as her excuse, would you give it her?

My Best Friend's Girl - Review

Director: Howard Deutch
Writer: Jordan Cahan
Starring: Dane Cook/Kate Hudson
Runtime: 1 hr 43 minutes

I heard that Dane Cook, star of the film, hated the movie poster and ridiculed the people that put it together. I can see why. The movie poster would lead you to believe that this a fluff romantic comedy, fun for anyone over the age of 12.

Wrong. Be warned: this is not a romantic comedy in the usual boring and overdone "Rom-Com" vein. I don't think for a second that the writer or director thought it was going to be one, no matter what the poster says. I guess the marketing people thought the posters would bring in a wider audience, but it does the film a disservice. It's an R-rated picture about sex and relationships, not a puff piece about kids that meet at the mall.

This movie is crude and vulgar. It's extremely over-the-top ugly in some scenes, and uncomfortably lewd in many others. Some people will be shocked by it, others will find it disgusting, all for good reason.

The movie also happens to be hilarious.

The set-up is simple. Tank (Dane Cook) works as a relationship expert. If a guy has recently been dumped by a girl, Tank will take the girl out on a date to show her what real jerks men are. He treats them like garbage, swears incesantly, talks dirty, and asks for sex before he's even opened the restaurant door. Once a woman has had a date with him, she can't wait to get out of the dating scene and back to the nice guy she dumped. Call the film A Vulgar Version of Hitch and you've got the idea.

You have to understand what Tank's version of a "bad date" is. It includes dirty jokes about mothers, dirty jokes about sex, taking girls to disgusting restaurants, vomiting, strip clubs, you name it.

The movie doesn't surprise you with any of this. The very first scene lasts about two minutes, and it shows you what you're in for. People that complain about the vulgarity of this movie will get no pity from me. The writer and director instantly tell the audience, "Leave now or hold your peace."

As the title implies, Tank gets into trouble when his best friend Dustin (Jason Biggs) asks him to help him out. Dustin is in love with a co-worker named Alexis (Kate Hudson), but she sees him as a friend and nothing more. Reluctantly, Tank agrees to work his magic. Let the games begin.

The movie is perfectly cast. Dane Cook is very funny. He's a stand-up comedian by trade, so he can tell a joke. His delivery is perfect. Kate Hudson is good as usual, and I was struck again at how charismatic she is. No matter what she's doing, the lens digs her. Jason Biggs is good as the straight man. I haven't seen him around much lately, so hopefully he'll be doing more pictures.

Alec Baldwin is in the film, too. He's showing up as second fiddle in a lot of movies these days. No more leading film roles for him. I'm not sure if it's because of his political activism or if people think he's past it, but it's a shame. He is a damn fine actor. In this movie he plays a sexist pig, and let it be said straight off that no one can play a sexist pig better than Alec Baldwin. That isn't a negative comment. He just has the voice and smart ass sound to make any crude joke sound like great drama. If he yelled the phone book, you'd be riveted or laugh out loud depending on how he wanted you to feel.

If I sound like I'm singing this movie's praises too much, it's because it made me laugh. A lot. Though the script is actually quite well put together, I couldn't really have cared less about the plot. I'm not sure how much of the joke material was in the script, but screenwriter Jordan Cahan deserves kudos. He's a funny writer. He managed to blend in some poignant moments for the ladies, but for the most part his film is a gutsy, over-the-top comedy and it works. The director moves it along at a fast clip, and it doesn't get tired and old. He also used an excellent music soundtrack.

If you don't mind gutter humour once in a while and need a belly laugh, see this movie.

Playing Dress Up

I clicked on the "Lifestyle" section of Yahoo! a couple of minutes ago. I like to check in there from time to time to see what the ladies are thinking.

Like most newspapers and websites, Yahoo! doesn't mean Lifestyle when they say Lifestyle. They mean, "women." Men, according to the Life section of most papers, don't exist, at least not until their women want to dress them, feed them, hump them, or dump them.

Here's a bit I found under the headline Dressing Him Up. It's an article about making your slob boyfriend a little more presentable.

Here's what you do: take him shopping. Find an occasion - his birthday, Valentine's Day, heck, make something up: 'Guess what honey, it's official Take Your Boyfriend Shopping day!' Then guide him, gently and enthusiastically, through the men's department, pointing out things you think would look really hot on him.

It's fairly obvious that women must think men are pretty stupid, but I dig the whole made-up-occasion thing. I wonder what a girlfriend would say if a guy responded with, "There's a holiday called Take Your Boyfriend Shopping? Awesome. My mistress has been saying for weeks that I need a new outfit for Bang Your Secretary Fridays."

Nevermind the Housing Market, Where's the Babes?

Note to single guys: if you need to move, here's some cities you might find interesting.

The report was released by Sterling's Best Places, a real estate site that is betting sex drive beats mortgage fears. The number represents the percentage of the population that is "single."

1 San Francisco, CA 44.7
2 Detroit, MI 44
3 New York, NY 39.8
4 Boston, MA 39.2
5 New Orleans, LA 39.1
6 Los Angeles, CA 37.7
7 Fort Lauderdale, FL 37.2
8 Las Vegas, NV 37
9 Miami, FL 36.9
10 Albuquerque, NM 36.8

And here are the cities with the biggest gender gap.

1 McAllen, TX 28% more women
2 El Paso, TX 27% more women
3 Memphis, TN 17% more women
4 Bethesda, MD 17% more women
5 San Jose, CA 17% more men
6 Birmingham, AL 16% more women
7 New York, NY 16% more women
8 Baltimore, MD 16% more women
9 Little Rock, AR 16% more women
10 Columbia, SC 15% more women

You can find more funny numbers here.

Hollywood A to C

I was watching the news today and saw that actress Keira Knightley is putting her foot down over her boobs.

That makes for a weird headline even by Hollywood's standards, but there you have it. Apparently the production house that is turning out her latest film, The Duchess, wants to increase Knightley's bust size for the promo posters. Knightley is said to be fighting back, declaring that she's proud of what she's got, and her chest doesn't need to be enhanced. No C cup for her, thank you, the A cup is just fine (though an A cup is really more of an "A saucer" when you get down to it).

Good for Knightley. Nice to see her taking a stand on something important, like phoniness in the movies. Now if only she'd wipe off the make-up, fire her hairdresser, send Mr. Gucci and his red carpet dress packing, and tell the lighting guy to cool it with the halo effect. When she's done that she can have the director of photography remove the filter from the lens, tell the editor not to cut out her mistakes, and inform the producer that she no longer needs to fly first class because coach is where the real peoples be.

Knightley's breasts have been news before. Back when she was only so-so famous, her breast size was enlarged on the posters for King Arthur. She didn't mind then, but ah, she's a star now. When an actress becomes a star, they get a boatload of ethics to go with their trailer.

Still, it's an interesting issue for her to hang her t-shirt on. Why breast size? Why not fake lashes, dyed hair, ten pounds of Max Factor, or body doubles during the sex scenes?

I was watching an ABC bit about Knightley's beating of breast, and in it they intimated that this will empower women to stand up for themselves. One "expert" said that young women will now feel free to proclaim that the real them is the real deal. No more phoniness, no more caving to the materialistic, misogynistic culture.

Sure. It's men that tie 300, 000 women down and cart them into the operating room for breast augmentation each year (2006 numbers). Seeing as the FDA doesn't allow anyone under the age of 18 to receive breast augmentation surgery without parental consent, there aren't that many "young women" doing it. The women going in for the surgery are just that: women. They can vote, they can fight in wars, they can fly an airplane, they can get their breasts augmented. The only thing they can't do is drink, which is a shame, because the bar is where augmented breasts are always a sure hit.

Breasts are an interesting piece of anatomy. Without them, there would be no wet t-shirt contests (well, maybe there would, but they'd be boring ones), nor would there be a reason to find yourself in court for sexual harassment after a case of the morning stares. Breasts make office parties and late night TV more fun, and they do wonders for a football game when a woman playfully responds to a drunk's request of "Show us your tits!"

Alas, poor Keira probably never heard those words when growing up in jolly England, where the footballing yobs are not shy about asking for such favours. Maybe her protest isn't so much about the phoniness of the movie business, but her way of battling past teenage angst.

Whatever the case, I wish her luck on her quest for truth in pictures, though you can bet if it was zit removal, she'd be giving the Photoshop lab two perky thumbs up.

Photo: Telegraph

The Spotted Owl Does Not Belong in the Bedroom

"Green is the new black. And, in these days of "inconvenient truths," even our sex lives can use a little environmental consciousness."

That's from Yahoo Lifestyle, one of those dippy tabs you click on when you've got nothing better to do. When I saw that opening line of the "environmental sex" article, my 'nads crawled up into my kidneys.

As if it isn't hard enough to get laid (fear of STDs, "drink responsibly" billboards, the illegality of Rohypnol), now the environmental movement has gotten in on the act.

The environment and sex have never gone together. The only reason humans evolved to live in caves and then Bel Air was so they could find more comfortable places to get laid.

Anyone who's had sex on the beach knows that it's better off as the name of a tourist cocktail. Sand gets everywhere when you're on the beach. Movie scenes involving apocalyptic surf sex might look good on the big-screen (Blame it on Rio, From Here To Eternity, The Firm), but they don't add much spice in real life. I remember once going for a romantic walk on the beach in Acapulco, hand in hand with a pretty lass. We hopscotched through the surf, waded blissfully through the moonlit water, dreamed impossible dreams...and then saw the cavern of a sewage pipe. At 3 AM, Acapulco empties its sewage onto the beach, and we both now smelled like urinal pucks.

Environment 1, Sex 0.

Sex in the woods isn't so great either. Bears, wolverines, mountain lions, and those are just the girls you meet before the cabin kegger even gets started. Sex in the woods requires all manner of planning, which is impossible for a city guy because if he's in the woods, he's probably dead drunk. The Scouts may have taught him that poison ivy shouldn't be used for wiping, but one high school bush bash (pardon the pun) teaches him that pine needles should never be used in place of silk sheets.

Here's Yahoo: "...find yourself a nice bed of duff, the dense layer of decayed leaves and pine needles on the forest floor, as it restores itself more easily.

Beware of your sex noise pollution, too, they add: "Yells and moans carry over open water and across meadows but will disperse quickly among trees."

For a minute I thought Yahoo was getting dirty, but now I know that "duff" is a dense layer of decayed leaves. Sounds great. Let's not "hit the hay," let's "do it on the duff." And there's those pine needles again. Poor Yahoo. They actually believe that the yells and moans are from great sex, meanwhile the girl's butt is being treated like a pin cushion.

Environment 2, Sex 0.

The Yahoo article has it that your sex life can save the Earth. Not by having kids to live on the planet (that's so 50's, and besides, we all know kids grow up to kill everything they see), but by cutting down on the energy (rechargeable batteries, so forth) used in the act of copulation.

How's that for a pick-up line? "Hey baby, we'll have a wild time tonight, and I'll be sure to cut down on the power."

Um, no. The unfortunate thing about movies and TV is they've led women to believe that sex should last 5 hours, and orgasms should go on forever. The cover of Cosmo is constantly telling women what to do with their man, and what to tell their man to do with them. I don't think I've ever seen the cover announce "saving energy" as the way to a Magic O. Instead, it's "have your man go down on you for an entire Grey's Anatomy episode." This might save energy for the woman, who isn't doing anything but trying to keep the man's head out of the way, but it does nothing for the planet. Televisions use a lot of electricity, and a sweating man will work too hard, require a shower, and there goes the rain forest.

Yahoo has other interesting tips. Strangely, they don't advise doing it in a hybrid car, but they do tell you to purchase plug-in vibrators. Not a bad call, but for some reason women are notoriously shy about those things, and tend to hide them in their underwear drawer, somewhere behind the socks that don't match, and beneath the lingerie they never wear except on third dates. A plug-in vibrator could be disastrous in this situation because if it shorts out, there goes the underwear, the socks, and maybe even the whole house. Think of the carbon that would be pumped into the atmosphere.

Here's one tip that I just don't get: "Avoid parabens. Often contained in lubes. Like phthalates, the jury is still out on their impact on humans, but you can avoid them by simply reading the ingredients. Look for Canadian-made and organically sourced, preservative-free massage oils and lubricants."

All right, I'll be honest. I had no idea what a phthalates was until Yahoo told me, and I still don't know how to pronounce it. A word that begins with "phth" is probably not a good thing if it's in the same sentence as the word "sex," so I'll take Yahoo's word for it that phthalates are scary and evil. But seriously, has sex really become so complicated that you have to stand in the aisle and read the ingredients on lube? When it comes to sex, the planet be damned, just grab the cherry flavoured and let's get to the check out line (you're buying, I'm embarrassed).

Pierre Trudeau once said that the government does not belong in the bedroom. I agree with him. Neither does the spotted owl, the president of the Greenpeace, or the whackos from Yahoo Lifestyle.

Buzz Kill

Two valuable rhino horns were stolen from a musuem in Cape Town.

Rhino horns are sometimes rendered into an aphrodisiac for randy customers. Unfortunately, these horns might prove to be the anti-Viagra. Musuem officials say they're coated in arsenic and DDT.

The whole story.

Tied Up In Court

"How can the tribunal determine if BDSM falls within the meaning of 'sexual orientation' if it does not have a full understanding of what BDSM means?"

That's Justice Anne Rowles, of the British Columbia Court of Appeals, who apparently doesn't have an internet connection to Google.

It looks like a guy applied to the cops for a chauffeur's license and was turned down. Upset, he decided to take the police to the BC -- you guessed it -- Human Rights Tribunal. He feels he is being discriminated against not because of the usual gender/religion/race stuff, but because he practices BDSM, which he believes should be protected as a human right of sexual orientation.

It turns out the appeals court isn't sure what sexual orientation or BDSM are, so the case will proceed to the Human Rights Tribunal as planned.

It seems we're treading onto ever-thinning ice each day. Maclean's brought to the Ontario Human Rights Commission for running a book excerpt. Ezra Levant brought to the Alberta Human Rights Commission for publishing the Danish Muslim Cartoons. Now the police brought before the BCHRC over fetish sex (but not fetish for long).

It may sound like a joke, but it isn't funny (all right, it's a little funny, "Bring out the gimp," so forth), but let's say the BDSM deal falls under "sexual orientation." The next time somebody cracks wise about whips, chains, or handcuffs, they could be brought up on a human rights rap. Pulp Fiction would be tossed on a fire of censored films, and the police themselves might not be able to use handcuffs anymore because it offends the BDSM crowd.

Don't think it can happen? Stay tuned. And by the way, what's with all the provincial human rights commissions? Makes you wonder what happened to the Criminal Code of Canada.

Mind you, it does bring up a lot of interesting defences.

"Where were you on the night of the 15th?"

"I can't remember."

"Then you're coming downtown."

"But I read Playboy with my dog while I hang on the ceiling from bungee cords."

"Damnit. All right, you're free to go."

More on the story here.

Cosmo Girls - Ask Me Anything

I was flipping through the latest issue of Cosmo to keep an eye on what the fairer sex are up to. I stumbled upon the "Ask Him Anything" section. This is the part of the magazine where unknown women write in and, we're told, some great guy has wonderful advice for them.

I think his answers are lame and terribly long winded. Here's my take:

I've been seeing this guy and the chemistry is great. Whenever we're together, we never stop talking. The problem is, he never calls between get-togethers. He texts and emails me, but I want him to call. Should I say something?

If you say something, he will probably start calling you now and then, because he'll be afraid to lose his booty text. Sorry, but that's what you are. I would put the chances of him having another girlfriend at 50-50. The chances that he's sleeping with two or more other women is 90%. I can almost guarantee he's on a dating website.

For the first time in my life, I'm involved in a fling with a guy. But recently, he started bringing emotions into the mix. I just want to have fun! I thought that's what all men wanted.

Well, let's start by skipping the lie about you being involved in a fling for the "first time in your life." Ms. Holier Than Thou decided to wake up one day and start flinging, huh? Right. Anyway, don't worry about it. If you're after a fling, than you shouldn't care what he thinks and just move onto another fling. Wait. What's that? He's presently your only fling? Well then, say hello to your new boyfriend.

I've been dating my boyfriend for more than a year, and we live together now. Things are great: he's supportive, and our sex life is fantastic. But he doesn't trust me, and he makes comments about my "other boyfriends." What's his problem?

He's probably a jealous headcase. Now that you live with him, you're pretty screwed. Good luck.

I'm 26-years-old and a virgin. Whenever I tell a guy that I haven't done it, he disappears. I'm so frustrated that I'm ready to have sex just so I won't keep scaring away potential boyfriends. How can I tell a guy and not freak him out?

Who have you been dating? Any guy that hears he's got a 26-year-old virgin on his hands would be saying, "Game on." However, if you've waited 8 months to tell the guy and he thinks he's not going to score unless you get married, forget it. Just the way the world works today.

I broke up with my ex more than five years ago, and he is one of my best friends. He's in a new relationship, and his girlfriend is great. However, he's never told her that we used to date. He just calls me an "old friend." I feel like he's lying, and it's sleazy. I've talked to him about it, and he says he just doesn't want to cause drama. What should I do?

He's not being sleazy. You broke up more than five years ago. He's gotten on with his life. Get on with yours. If he thinks it's an issue, he'll do what you just did and tell his girlfriend that the two of you "dated." That could be dinner and movie, or a slice of pizza. He'll tone it down to three dates and make it sound like it meant nothing. If you prefer that, then have him do it. If you want him to tell her how wonderful you were, that you were great in the sack, and that he cherished every moment of your relationship but it didn't work out for one reason or another...forget it. Also, in the game of girl space friend vs. girlfriend, you're going to lose, especially if you instigate the problem.

Dr. Sean appears on Oprah and is a regular contributor to Better Homes and Gardens.

Call Girls - Bad Boys

If you can think of a worse name for a governor that's caught with a hooker, I'd love to hear it. Spitzer. Now, how many jokes can the late night comedy guys come up with for that? It practically writes itself.

People are ganging up on the disgraced NY governor for cheating on his wife, paying a call girl for sex, and for being a moral hypocrite. When he got into office, he took the high ground and came out swinging against against the Wall Street crooks. Now they're having a damn good laugh at his expense and there isn't a thing the guy can do about it.

I'm neither here nor there about what he did. He cheated, got busted, and he's going down. Happens all the time. I just wish he would have remembered the rest of us.

Men, that is.

I happened to be surfing the channels last night. First stop, The Moment of Truth. That's the show where total morons sit in a chair and get asked a series of questions about their personal lives. If they tell the truth, then they can win upwards of five hundred grand. If they lie, it's over. The catch: they have to go through a polygraph test before the show, and if their answers don't line up with the test results, they're done like dinner.

Last night's questions were about as suicidal as you can get:

Have you ever had sexual relations with you wife's sister?

Have you lost your sexual attraction for your wife?

Have you ever had sex with one of your friends' wives?

You get the idea. To the first two questions, the guy went through with flying colors. "No," and, "No." The wife looked suitably pleased. Then the last one: "Yes."

After the guy won a hundred grand, he quit the show and took the money, choosing not to humiliate himself any further by going for the big cash. There were no high fives with the family, no hugs all around. The look on the wife's face said she was already counting how much of that hundred grand was going to wind up in her bank account after the divorce.

After watching that relationship meltdown, I flicked on the evening news and watched Governor Spitzer resign from office. He was sorry this and sorry that. As the wives of cheating politicians do, his wife stared at the podium and looked like she hadn't slept in three days.

What I can't stand about these guys is that they put the men of the country through the ringer. If you watch these programs and news stories while sitting beside a woman, you are in for a very long night. Women always ask what you think of the story, and boy, your answer better be good.

"So, what do you think?" honey might ask.
"'Bout what?" you say, reaching quickly for the remote in order to take away ammunition.
"About him. Look at his wife. She looks awful. Men are scum."
"Sure are."
"Don't patronize me. Tell me what you think."
"Well, he really screwed up."
"Screwed up? How? By getting caught?"
"No, I mean he shouldn't have cheated."
""Screwed up?' Like, made a mistake? So it was a mistake that his prick fell in her hand, huh?"

Last Call
And off you go, down a dangerous road that eventually leads to questions of how many women you've slept with, or whether or not you're a superficial scumbag that doesn't appreciate fat girls, so forth.

Everyone thinks that these guys should think of their wives and families before going to a hooker or sleeping with a friend's wife. I say otherwise. I say that these guys need to think of us, sitting on the coach. No hockey game tonight, dear, we're going to have Gloria Steinem fly in and kick you in the balls.

It is axiomatic that women will think that a man going to a call girl is a scumbag, but never once mention the call girl and where she might lie on the morality chart.

Photos: Reuters/NY Post

Martini Please, But Hold the Olives

There's a new term floating around for women with eating disorders. It's called Drunkorexia.

I read it this morning for the first time, and I had no idea what it was. A strangely stooped dinosaur fossil found in Utah? A misspelling of my last party night, which was a "Drunkorama?"

Drunkorexia apparently involves a total lack of food and way too much sauce. Women with the problem will avoid food all day, in anticipation of their boozy caloric intake that evening.

Now I get it. That skinny woman with the terrible laugh and frazzled hair wasn't an annoying booze hound. She was Drunkorexic.

This is what me and my college buddies used to call "life." When we sat down for a slab of pizza, we'd dig in with reckless abandon until somebody said, "Don't eat too much. We're drinking tonight." At which point the beer-drinking lads would drop crust, while a few others would shrug and say, "I'm on rum."

We weren't too concerned about caloric intake. Nobody said that they were embarrassed to have their mother's thighs, and the only way our problem resembled an eating disorder was the puke factor, which mostly came much later in the evening. I never thought the medical community would come up with a name for it. It may be "Drunkorexia" today, but for us it was a run of the mill study night.

They did a segment on the Today show about the dangers of Drunkorexia, and the earnest host asked a shrink, "So, let's say I'm going to have a couple of drinks tonight, and I decide to skip lunch. Is that a problem?"

Hell, no. As any good drinker knows, skipping lunch has nothing to do with it. It's dinner that counts. Men don't mind if women drink on an empty stomach because there is a greater chance that the woman will take off her tube top while line-dancing on the bar. This can lead to tragedy, however, if the man is actually dating the woman. If he's dating her, there's a real possibility that he will have to hold her hair back at 3am while she projectile vomits into the john. If he's not dating her, he can simply take some photos on his cell phone and have them on the net by midnight.

As a general rule, you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach unless you want to wake up with an ugly person. Most of the heartbreaking "walks of shame" that take place can be blamed on the evil combination of an empty gut and Jello shooters. Women have been known to go home with men that wear lousy shoes for this reason alone.

Why women care what men think is beyond me. Men want to sleep with you anyway, especially if they meet you in a bar. It a scientific fact that every beer a man consumes drops 5 pounds from the woman he's looking at. After a six-pack, most women look great, and after a keg party, it's like the place is full of runway models.

The "Drunkorexia" label smells a little fishy to me. It was probably invented by a woman that was tired of being called a lush. The way the world works now, you can give yourself a label and everyone will be understanding of any asinine thing you do.

Before Drunkorexia:

Janet: "You believe that bitch? She just grabbed Steve's ass."
Sue: "That slut's always hammered."
Donna: "Never saw a martini she didn't like. And what's the deal with her hair?"

After Drunkorexia:

Janet: "Oh, no, she's at it again."
Sue: "Grabbed Steve's ass?"
Janet: "Yeah. He feels sorry for her."
Donna: "She told me that she still needs to lose five pounds."
Sue: "Really? When was this?"
Donna: "I invited her over for dinner and she never showed. Told me to start without her."
Janet: "Then it's serious."

As if guys didn't have a hard enough time getting laid, now they have to fight the medical establishment. The next time you see a hot lady in a bar, you'll have that sneaking suspicion: does she really go to the gym and work out a lot, or is she a mental case that says pass the Corona and hold the lime?

The View From Oklahoma

Hanging out in Oklahoma gives you time to do things you normally wouldn't, like leaving The View on while you shave.

It isn't my fault. Last night I was watching the Super Tuesday coverage on ABC. I watched morning man Charlie Gibson continue to practice being an anchorman, and I watched him to continue to fail. Poor Charlie. Interviewing a high school band for Good Morning America has proven to be easier than interviewing politicians and columnists. Last night, Charlie tried the Dan Rather "hotter than a Laredo parking lot" shtick, and it sounded phony and foolish.

Anyway, when I flicked on the tube this morning, The View was in full swing. Four arrogant women were telling the unemployed of America about the hottest news items of the day. No, not the election results, and not the killer tornados in Arkansas. Rather, they were discussing what pisses them off most about the men in their lives.

Ooops
One is unimpressed with her husband clipping his toe nails while she's in the apartment, and another was upset that her husband made too much noise while eating pretzels. Whoopi, for her part, is miffed at men in general for leaving the toilet seat up.

Good grief. With these ladies as role models, the bitchiness factor of women is going to skyrocket over the coming years. The View dames then went on to add that, oddly, their men didn't say much about what bothered them about their wives' irritating habits.

The liberal show's token conservative, Meredith Hasslebeck, found it interesting that her husband "didn't want to pick a fight about the small stuff."

Well, Meredith, that's because it's small stuff. Yes, men do hate it when you leave half a roll of toilet paper drowning in the bowl. And sure, men find it pretty gross to find several discolored cotton balls lying all over the place. We're also vaguely disturbed when we reach for our razor and find it on the edge of the tub. But that's the price you pay for being in a relationship. As any man knows, fighting about the small stuff will only lead to big stuff. "You don't like my cotton balls? Well, I don't like the way you looked at that tramp's ass five Friday nights ago."

So we deal with it. As should you.

And for the last time, what is the deal with the toilet seat? This tired, boring cliche has about run its course. You want the toilet seat down? Then put it down. You're a big girl now.

And when you're done, if you wouldn't mind, put it up.

Not that I want to fight about it.

I Am Woman - Hear Me Doublespeak

I was listening to the radio this morning and caught Carrie Underwood's Before He Cheats. I've heard it a few times in the last month, and it raised my eyebrows a couple of millimeters.

It's a song about a woman that's been cheated on by a boyfriend. Nothing new there. Women-revenge songs have been around as long as there's been women and songs. Before He Cheats chorus goes on to say this:

And he don't know...

That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little suped up 4 wheel drive,
Carved my name into his leather seats...
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.

The first time I head the song, I thought, "Interesting. Domestic violence towards men is still acceptable." When I heard it again, I thought, "Oh, I forgot. Only men cheat." This morning when I heard it, the song reminded me of just how hard women are.

Underwood
Women are harder than men. I learned that a long time ago. It's the reason that most songs sung by women don't talk about never living or loving again. Men sing most of those songs. Women sing about being strong, getting over it, living a good life, getting revenge.

That isn't to say women are wrong, only that they are strong. Men pine for lost loves, even the ones they didn't really want. Women do not. It is a rare woman that tells a friend to get back together with a boyfriend. Women are masters of making a decision about a relationship, and sticking to it. After a break-up, a few tears, a Cosmopolitan, and a dry hump with a man ten years their junior, they will usually get back on track. Men sit around and bore their buddies with endless questions like, "Why?"

Our society hasn't changed much in its false belief that women are fragile, innocent flowers. Though women are responsible for half the child abuse that goes on in our homes, it's a man's face that pops to mind when the term "child abuse" is uttered. The fact that most inappropriate teacher-student sexual relationships that end in criminal charges involve a female teacher and a male student doesn't makes the waves it would if it was a man and female student doing the extracurricular activities.

Women have cut themselves a pretty good piece of cake over the past 30 years. We are told that they are babes in the woods, victims of longstanding prejudice, and far less apt to be mean, vengeful, or more hurtful than men.

It's a crock, of course. Jeremiah Johnson had a very good line. When Jeremiah asks an old man if he every gets lonesome living up in the mountains, the old man replies, "I've found that a woman's breast is the hardest rock I've ever laid my head upon."

There's a lot of truth to that. Women are hard. Think about a typical relationship: the woman is to be taken care of, cared for, nurtured. She is the fairer sex, and people compliment her with words like, "caring, loving, compassionate." But when a man is a half-hour late at the bar, that woman is suddenly a beast. Women tell him that his wife will kick his ass. If the man looks at another woman's breats, it's nothing to say that the man's wife will "kill him," and nobody would blink if she cracked him one. If a woman slaps a man, it's just a tiff. If a man slaps a woman, it's assault. When lowly, pathetic men are asked what keeps a relationship together, the lowly man replies, "The words, 'yes, dear,'" and everyone cracks up, women most of all. Imagine a woman saying, "The words, 'yes, dear.'" She would be pitied and called a fool. She would be told to leave that domineering man of hers, because he is a chauvanist pig.

Which brings me back to Carrie Underwood's song. I don't have a problem with it, because it is a very honest statement of what women are capable of, both in life and music. Women can be extremely spiteful and mean, yet it can be found humorous and acceptable. Lorena Bobbitt can cut off a penis and get away scot free, while a man cutting off a breast would rightly be thrown in prison for years. One of Lorena's problems with John, beyond her "childhood post traumatic stress," was that John would "have orgasm and he doesn't wait for me to have orgasm." Well. Imagine a man using "my wife doesn't wait for me to come" as an excuse for mutilating her genitals. Do you think he'd be set free, as Lorena was? Or would he rot in prison?

A quick search of the net finds dozens of women leaving comments about Underwood's revenge song, telling men to lighten up, or saying that Carrie's got great ideas on how to get even with cheating men. Here's a few comments picked at random from lyricsandsongs.com:

omg! carrie i love that song i sing it every day in class and then my friend starts singing it and i love it...if i didnt mention it or anything..hahah! - Mary

It's somthing i would do to my boyfriend if he were to cheat on me....!!! - Molly

hey! everyone says that this is something that I would do to my x or who ever had the nerve to cheat on me! - Hillary

omg i love this song mke and my sis sing it all the time and we say thats what's gonna happen to our bf's if they ever cheat on us - Alicia

When i first seen the video i didnt even know it was Carrie! I love this song so Kris if you ever cheat on me then expect this to happen lol! (no really i will!!!) - Rebecca

This song rocks. Its one i love to crank up in my car and just sing along to. I that the song has so much balls to it. Its gritty and raw and any male that cheats deserves what carrie sings about. - Amy

me and my friend were going to do this to a guy's car but her parents told her she wasn't allowed to use baseball bats after she socked him... so we're going to use golf clubs... - Erin

Admittedly, the women or teens that wrote these comments are total morons that cannot spell. But what else is new in the internet age? In any event, I could not find one comment from a woman that disagreed with the song's message. All of the women agree that violence (or "domestic terror" as the women's libbers call it) is an acceptable answer to a cheating man, and in one case, the girl's parents told her not to use a baseball bat so they're going with a 9 iron.

There's a few conclusions we can draw from this. One is, without a doubt, that we have been indoctrinated into the belief that only men can be vicious and vindictive, while women are always the victims. Nonsense. Another conclusion is that women are walking around with the age-old lie that men are the only people in a relationship that cheat.

This is one of the bigger absurdities that I've been shaking my head over in the past few years. When I was growing up, I always heard about marriages breaking up because the man was running around. When I was in University, I heard all kinds of cheating men stories, and how the woman was pissed and wanted to kill him, etc. But when I entered the big, bad world of so-called adults, that's when the blinders came off. Because women cheat as much as men do, if not more, and they get away with the innocent babe in the woods crap for no reason at all.

Now, to provide full disclosure, I don't know if I've ever been cheated on. I don't think I have, but I don't know it for a fact. I only say this to close the mouths of women that will say, "He's bitter." I'm not, but that doesn't mean I'll let women get away with playing the little ol' me tripe.

I have seen women cheat first hand, and I've heard them talk about it. And I will guarantee you that if any man trashed their dopey SUV, the chick would be the first one screaming for a restraining order and asking that the man be put away for life. Still, I would like to think that if a guy did trash a lady's car, he wouldn't pull an Underwood and be so stupid as to carve his own name in the driver's seat.

My message is not so much that people shouldn't throw rocks, but if you're going to, don't do it in a glass house. Or car.

Photo: Fanscape

Cosmo Girls

I was leafing through a Cosmopolitan magazine this afternoon. I've now discovered that it's a good way to gather intelligence on the fairer sex to see what the NY editors are telling them to think, do, say.

Cosmo gives me a good laugh. Most of their stories are made up, and virtually none of them are based on fact. That doesn't stop them from spewing all kinds of random drivel about important topics like prom dresses, hair dye, and orgasms.

Cosmo is the answer to any question involving the battle of the sexes. Women may claim that men are pigs and that we only have sex on the brain, but one look at Cosmo puts this argument to the test. Men may have Playboy and a few skin mags, but women have an entire magazine library to choose from when it comes to questions involving the libido.

Here are the headlines from Cosmo's most recent issue. See what you think each has in common, then tell me if women don't think about sex once every ten seconds.

THE BLENDED ORGASM: So Deep, So Strong. How You Can Have One Tonight.

WHAT MAKES A MAN FALL IN LOVE.

YOU SEX GODDESS! Crazy-Ass Moves He Wants You to Do to Him There.

4 THINGS ALL GUYS KEEP PRIVATE.

YOUR GYNO'S SECRET THOUGHTS ABOUT YOUR SEX LIFE.

HOW TO STAY SAFE: 5 PLACES SEXUAL PREDATORS LOOK FOR WOMEN.

Excuse me? According to Cosmopolitan magazine, the women are the predators.

Now, before Gloria Steinem writes in to tell me that it's men who have forced women to write and talk about this stuff, give me a break. It's women that write the magazine and women that buy it. If they truly didn't like what was in there, they wouldn't buy the thing. The way publishing is these days, 3 months of low sales would close Cosmo down. But it doesn't happen, and so the presses keep churning it out.

Men don't force women to look at themselves as sex objects. I have never told a woman to call someone 'trashy' for wearing a short skirt, nor have I ever agreed with a woman that she should go home and change if she sees someone at a nightclub wearing a similar sweater. These are female thoughts and female decisions. It is mothers and sisters that reinforce these opinions on growing girls. Last time I checked, mothers and sisters are women.

Anyway, I leafed through the latest Cosmo and found this bit:

"Scientists recently have discovered that men thrust deeper when they suspect infidelity. The move dates back to prehistoric times, when men spent their days hunting, meaning another dude could move in on their mates. Deeper thrusting was their way of trying to squeegee or vacuum out a rival's sperm."

Huh?

Whoever wrote this needs to have their head examined. Apparently the source was some egghead at Florida Atlantic University, with "analysis published in BJU International Journal."

All right, somebody's kidding somebody. I don't know what BJU stands for, but with analysis like this, I can guess where the B and the J come from. Playboy might seem too sexual for the feminists amongst us, but at least you don't find the word "squeegee" anywhere near the centerfold.

Let's dissect this breaking news. First, the part about scientists "discovering" that men thrust deeper when they suspect infidelity. I don't know what kind of grants they're handing out at Florida Atlantic University. I only know that if enough teenage boys read this article while waiting at the dentist's office, FAU's enrollment is going to skyrocket.

How did the scientists go about testing this theory? "Bob, your wife's in the next room. Go to it. By the way, the mailman just left out the back door."

Are we to believe that Bob then walked into the bedroom, banged his wife six ways from Sunday, and that his wife later reported, "He whispered that he thought I was cheating. It was the best I ever had."

When I was studying anthropology back in the old days, we discovered a lot of things about preliterate cultures, but never did we hear this kind of trash. There is absolutely no way that anyone can prove that this bunk is true (that's what prehistoric means: pre-history; nobody was writing things down, in crummy magazines or anything else). Yet the editors of Cosmo throw it in as a stunning revelation, complete with footnotes.

Think about that: first, they're saying that prehistoric women sat around waiting to screw the losers that weren't invited on the hunting trip. Then they're saying that prehistoric man knew that sperm had anything to do with sex (a sophisticated leap, not quite believed by many island populations in the early 20th Century). Then they're saying that prehistoric man thought his penis was a sponge, and that he could use it to soak up another man's semen. Leap forward a few thousand years, and Cosmo tells every wife in America that if their husband gives them the apocalyptic sex they've always dreamed of, it means he suspects she's running around.

Great. Thanks, Cosmo. We try to show our ladies a good time and you turn it into another chance for "open dialogue."

A little further on in the article, Cosmo throws in a doozy:

"Men aren't sizing up their partner's body flaws in bed; they're looking at her face to gauge enjoyment."

Since when?

Look, there might be a little truth to that, but don't take it too far. Yes, a man will look at a woman's face to see if she's having a good time, but this is usually when he's down there. Guys can climax in about twenty-five seconds, but it can take women the better part of a baseball game. The guy may be looking at your face to "gauge your enjoyment," but he's probably wondering if you'll reach your magic O before his tongue falls off.

I wonder if the writers and editors of Cosmo ever talk to guys when they're handing out all of this guy-advice. A few pages further into the magazine, Cosmo tells the ladies to "Give him a job. Ask him to fix or build you something. Performing concrete tasks is a way of bonding that enhances his sense of success."

Yeah, right. Thanks again, Cosmo! You've just made everyone's girlfriend the Insta-Nag. For the men reading this, relax. If your girl has asked you to build a desk, paint the kitchen, tune up the car, fix the porch, and mow the lawn all in one afternoon, she's not being a nag. She's just a Cosmo Girl.

Cosmo Girls are incredibly fearsome creatures. Here's another couple of tips from the Cosmo Girl Bible:

"A physical space that's totally his is a huge symbol of independence to a man. Signal that you respect that by, say, staying out of his desk drawers and not peeking at his caller ID when his phone rings."

In other words, don't be a headcase.

"Guys are good at left brain stuff, like sales and sports, but can get awkward when it comes to social graces. Take the lead and charm the people you meet and he'll be extra grateful to you. But he may take credit for making those new friends...whatever."

Yup, poor dumb me. I hope my girlfriend will drag my shy, unsophisticated ass around at the next cocktail party. After I'm done slurping soup and taking the toilet paper off my shoe, maybe she'll even make me some new friends. Lucky to have her.

Cosmo Girls. Heaven help us should they create too many.