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The Presumption Against Marriage No
writer that I know, and I am absolutely no exception, has the right to
speak as an authority for all men.
No matter what I say about honor and pride, some guy somewhere
is going to spend his last dime on a dominatrix or propose to a coke
whore. There’s no
getting around it. It’s
a fact. We can quibble and
pretend dominated males are exceptions, but there are legions of guys
out there who will put up with any abuse that a woman sends their way.
That being said, I would like to address this column to those
not pining for the submissive’s chair or anxiously awaiting a girl
on a white horse who’ll allow them to pay off her car note and
college loan without saying thank you. The
fundamental question is, “Should a man nowadays get married at
all?” My
take on the issue is that the appropriateness of marriage has to be
determined on a case by case basis but that presumption, in
this day and age, should always be against marriage.
To put it more simply, the tie cannot go to the runner.
Men, when in doubt, walk away.
If you have serious reservations about a woman and you marry
her, a number of things may happen.
One of them is good. Your
negative intuition could turn out to be wrong and you’ll end up
having a wonderful, blissful life with your bride.
Unfortunately, lots of bad things could happen as well: 1.
Your intuition was right and she divorces you.
She thereby acquires half, if not all,
of your assets and possessions. The
state is thoroughly biased against men and seems to have no threshold
for its love of male suffering. This
is a very real and tragic possibility. 2.
Your intuition is right and she’s unreliable.
You experience strange men calling the house and hanging up
should you be the one to reach the phone first. 3.
Your intuition is right as your experiment with paying for her college
education ends in her befriending evil radical feminists who call the
house and scream “rapist” at you as a greeting.
They then follow up this pleasantry with asking if their
“play kitty” is home. 4.
Your intuition is right and she spends money like a gay party boy on 5.
Your wonderful children get aborted as she decides they’d take up
too much time during the day. 6.
You spend all your free time with her at the mall or, far worse, with
her family and friends. Well,
you see my point. It’s
bad scenario a-go-go. So,
in the spirit of the boss from the film “Casino”: “Why take a
chance?” That’s
easy for me to dismissively say, but then there’s tons of dopes like
this writer who are smart enough to know better but then get married
anyway. When I got engaged
at Christmas time, Eric Ericson emailed me and said something to the
effect of, “Have you lost your mind?” As
it turned out, I had not. I
sanely and soberly weighed the pros versus the cons and determined
that this particular woman was unlike all the others I had met and
that she gave me the best chance of fulfilling my dream of fathering a
couple of little critters and having a faithful, intelligent person as
a partner. Yet, even with
such a rational determinations made in advance, the situation changed
and in April I found myself in the midst of an ugly soap opera on
which I turned out to be only a temporary, non-recurring character.
I was written out of the series before summer hit.
For the future, I’ve decided, that unless its near-perfect,
there is no way I’ll get engaged again. My
decision is not respected by many of the women I know who attempt to
use what I call “shame-based” therapy as a means of coercing guys
like me into finding a wife. I
am at the point where I can vigorously beat back their attempts to
manipulate me, but I thought I’d share my responses with the reader
in the hopes that my words can be of benefit in case they encounter
similar harassment. First,
I say that the situation had changed with men and women.
It used to be that when a man got married, he got a deal.
A woman would remain faithful to him or, at the very least,
cook and clean for him. You’d
get something in exchange for what you brought to the table.
Today, men get very little in comparison with the past.
I have met no end of women who ask in advance if I cook because
they themselves do not. When
I tell them that I cook every day, they are quite impressed (although
I leave out my belief that pre-made salads, brats, and pizza are the
height of fine dining). Promiscuity
is another issue. The
promiscuity of the modern female makes marriage a very dubious
proposition indeed. Who
the heck wants to marry a girl that’s had more sleeping partners
than a bed at the Motel 6? Not
me, that’s for sure. I’d
rather die a cold and lonely death than marry a skank; Paul Craig
Roberts produced a magnificent column on this phenomenon a few
years ago. I’ve
never understood the argument that “all their experiences make them
good in bed,” either. If
they’re attractive, how good do they have to be?
If you ask me, no amount of tricks she’s learned can make up
for huge “Tyrone” that her ex-boyfriend had tattooed upon her back
(and he was smart enough not to marry her).
Another
huge factor to me is the obesity epidemic.
While I acknowledge that it’s not really an epidemic by most
definitions, weight increases seem to heavily affect married
women. I’m 34 years old
now, and I’ve met countless females who ballooned to MGM proportions
after getting hitched. To
me, this is deplorable. I
knew one who showed me a picture of her when she was 22.
She was better looking than most movie stars.
Her body was hard and trim and her face was pure allure, but by
age 28 she had gained 65 pounds and wore pants that William Perry
could have fit into. I’d
look at her husband sorrowfully when she talked of having children.
The act of conception with her would have required the courage
of St. George. No mere
oral dose of Viagra would do. It
would require hypodermic injections to get old Bumpty into Humpity
form. My
last argument is also my most recently derived one.
If it’s at work where I’m getting harassed about my lack of
romance (read: susceptibility), and it usually is, I tell them: “I
have plenty of masters here. Why
do I need one at home?” No
more accurate words could be spoken.
I’m ordered to do things all day long at work.
When I get home, I want to relax.
I’m not going to waste time doing unnecessary chores or
shopping for things I do not need.
The homage we domestically have to pay to our wives is
outrageous. Why are they
my boss? Here’s what I
say now, “Let’s take an IQ test and if you win, then you can tell
me what to do.” I’ve
had no takers yet, as I’m not giving out a big enough point spread. In
summation, with women, unless they’re without flaw, my advice is to
ride the train for as long as you can, but let some other sucker pay
for its maintenance and servicing, and always make sure you get off of
the route before it reaches matrimonial terminal. |
