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You Are From Uranus

Dennis Prager doesn’t like women, sure, we knew that. But it turns out he doesn’t like men all that much either:

If most women wait until they are in the mood before making love with
their husband, many women will be waiting a month or more until they
next have sex. When most women are young, and for some older women,
spontaneously getting in the mood to have sex with the man they love
can easily occur. But for most women, for myriad reasons — female
nature, childhood trauma, not feeling sexy, being preoccupied with some
problem, fatigue after a day with the children and/or other work, just
not being interested — there is little comparable to a man’s “out of
nowhere,” and seemingly constant, desire for sex.

Because while everything he’s saying is wrong and repulsive and indicative of misogyny and whatnot, what I can’t get past is the assumptions. Men want sex all the time. Men are their cocks. Men are like dogs humping on a leg. Men can’t see a pair of boobies, even in a turtleneck, and not jump out of their chairs and go fuck something, anything, a woman, a man, a sheep, a Dixie cup, a stuffed animal, what have you. Men can’t see a woman of any kind without thinking of her naked, even if she’s not attractive to them. Men are animals. Men have urges and those urges are constant and all-consuming.

(Seriously, guys, how do you build buildings and dig ditches and cure diseases, what with all this going on? I mean there’s chicks EVERYWHERE, walking around with tits, how the hell do you concentrate?)

We girls, on the other hand, don’t like sex. Except occasionally. On our birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Sweetest Day, Mother’s Day, when you bring us flowers or chocolate, when we’ve eaten chocolate, or after watching That Scene in Casino Royale six or seven times. Even then, we don’t really want sex. We’d rather have a Journey pendant from Jared. We don’t think of men as sex objects. We think of you as puppies, whose fur we’d like to brush. As such, sex is something we do to keep you happy, but we don’t need it for ourselves. It’s a favor. Occasionally we condescend to be your receptacles.

The discussion in Jesse’s comments goes off down the rabbit hole of the merits of faking, faking till you make, making, and the critical difference between me taking your phone call when I’d just as soon be left alone and having you stick your dick in me when I don’t want you to, the former being something I do to be nice and the latter being rape. What I’m stuck on is how aggressively dumb it is to trumpet male privilege when you really doesn’t seem to like men all that much. Because make no mistake, telling men that the ideal to which they can aspire is not a sex partner but a sex slave is to be reductive and cruel, andstupid into the bargain, and tell guys they’re nothing and deserve nothing.

Nothing but some girl who’s gonna put up with you, even if she doesn’t feel like it that night.

A.

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