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Marrying the right girl while having sex with all the wrong girls along the way; isn’t that why we are all here? Isn’t that why we woke up this morning with a good ole fashion American boner? I know you read the title and thought, “J-Train, why so gay? I thought you were spreading seed on, like, all of the boobs.” I agree, this column is a tough pill to swallow. It feels like there’s a thousand shows on TV right now that guys should hate, like the ones with women of ranging tints and hair colors fighting at a party they paid for with sexual favors. From that angle, it’s enraging. Right now you’re in college studying a major you’re not sure about so you can make enough money to have a girl graze your elbow. Meanwhile, these women are getting famous for fighting because one woman considers being a witch a religious affiliation (actual story line). That’s the point of watching. Sex and love. These shows give you a front row seat to watch the worst women in the world. It’s a National Geographic special; you see how they walk (like a drunk Giraffe), feed (white wine), and communicate (how you speak to a puppy). They show you exactly the woman that could end up ruining your life; the one’s you should never marry. If you mention this to any girl at a party, she will touch your penis.
I’ve been watching “Vanderpump Rules.” A show that’s basically “The Real World” if they all worked at a restaurant for one of the leather luggage pieces with eyes from the “Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills.” Aspiring actors and actresses, a rich old woman with an obviously gay husband with nothing but time, and the backdrop of Hollywood make for the perfect cocktail of insanity. One scene says it all. Scheana (the girl who is hot that every girl won’t admit is hot) has gotten engaged so they’re having an engagement party. At the party she gets up on the bar for what everyone assumes to be some sort of thank you. Then she announces that she’s “dropping her new single” and sings it for all of her eye rolling friends. All I could think about was her fiance. Was he sitting in the corner, hand in his hair, looking like his team just lost the Super Bowl? Was he calling real estate guy to get him his own apartment? Was he hitting on some dude? Nope. He was dancing. He was into it. I kept thinking about if I were that guy. The guy who married the girl who sang her new jam at their engagement party. What would be next? “Oh no Scheana didn’t cook for Thanksgiving. Instead she’ll be premiering her new YouTube video called “I Be Blowing These Dudes.” Sit down Mom and Dad, this could take some time, she has to thank God a lot when it ends.
A scene like that happens on every chick show. Just this week, some girl on The Biggest Loser lost too much weight (on a gameshow called The Biggest Loser???) and some girl on The Bachelor is complaining about The Bachelor having sex (that never happens in real life). I watched an episode of “100 Days Of Summer” last night where a girl said “That’s why the Paul Revere’s of the world get shot.” Paul Revere died of old age at 83. In the 1800’s he could have been the oldest man alive. She literally made up a saying about the opposite way Paul Revere died. It’s like taking crazy chick reps at the gym of life. You’ll never marry the girl who makes a reference to Paul Revere getting shot because you’ll think, “I’ve heard that somewhere. I’m not sure where but I know I thought it had herpes” and you’ll move on. And the only people with an opinion as strong as your vitriol are the girls you want to see naked.
Give the “guy opinion” on any storyline from any chick show and you’re instantly interesting, different than every conversation they’ve had (girls talk about this stuff with girls), and worldly (sure you’d bang one of the Shahs of Sunset). You also can’t avoid being funny because you’re from another planet. The alien or the foreign guy on any sitcom gets the most laughs because they bare the truths we can’t really say. Repeat any of the stories I just mentioned and that girl you talked to at the pre-game went from telling her friends, “Ya, I just talked to some guy about my major,” to “I think I’m wet from talking to that guy.”
There’s a group of guys already commenting on the bottom of this column about how gay I am for even writing about this subject. Let them post. Let them enjoy their singing fiance at their engagement party so that one day they’re the guy on the Real Housewives carrying their wife’s toy poodle (this guy exists). I’m sure Bruno Mars was called gay when he was practicing splits during recess. Ask Bruno Mars about the gayness of his Super Bowl split. He’ll answer you after he climbs out from under all of that virgin vagina he’s still buried under. Bruno is literally living Allah’s dream because of the thing guys call gay. Those are the same guys that will walk out of the room when you crack some brews before watching the Vanderpump Rules reunion. Watching chick shows is you practicing splits. Having an opinion on chick shows is you nailing that split at the Super Bowl. Start watching because it’s time to start using your American boner with your future wife.