The Modern Man Metamorphosis

A rant by Paddy McDee
 

I've got this one big problem: will I live forever? I've got just a short time to see. I keep smoking, but cancer always looks the other way. You coward. My leopard-print liver need a coffee break about now.

Girls with nice legs like to run by my house. Or is it because they've run by my house a 1,000 times, even before I lived here, that they now have nice legs? Maybe those legs and this world doesn't revolve around me. Maybe I've been conditioned to believe that I should always be able to get laid. But maybe Ann Kournikova (tennis player) uses those legs for something more than just TV ratings and my personal reproductive chemistry, but I doubt it.

Maybe I'm the shepherd, the legs are my flock, and the world is the tyranny of evil men?

I am a firm believer in two things: Thing one; men are genuinely smart creatures from the time we are 3 until the time we are thirteen. Thing two; Freud was right, despite the fact I've sought loop holes in his theories for years.

Reference thing one: BY the time we are 3 years old, most of us are separated from the vagina as the Teenage Mutant Turtles seem more appealing. But as sure as "For Unlawfully Carnal Knowledge" (acronym FUCK) by the time we're 13 or so we're ready to chase tail across 6 lanes of traffic again. Head first, only this time IN, and with a different head.

The cradle of life. The bus that brings us into this world, drops us off, and we spend the rest of our lives trying to get back on. That's why I can't understand guys that beat there moms vicariously through their wives. Gays guys, you're on your own, go read some other blogosphere rant for self-assurance

Pray for my soul.... but why are all the nice girls at church? This is the only circumstance where you can be knowledgeable about something and never get laid because of it. If you're a gear-head and you meet a girl into fast cars, you can impress and undress her. If you're both into sports, and score a TD on the field, chances are you'll score later that nice. But quoting JOHN 3:16 gets you nothing. At best, one drink, with two straws, on your 3rd date. "No dear, holding hands is not what I consider 2nd base." "How many bases do you think there are?"

It doesn't pay to be old fashion. It doesn't pay to be honest. It pays off better to watch the Real World on Mtv and reenact that bullshit nonsense. Fuck this game, fuck these theories, and fuck this rant. The Irish are impervious to psychoanalysis. I drink to Columbus, I drinks to it's girls, I drink to the whores, and here's to Babylon.