I had to sit through a day-long corporate meeting and I’m taking my frustration out on you.
There is a certain personality type that just luuuuuuuuuuu-uuuuuvs meetings. In fact, they’d probably rather spend an entire work year having meetings than actually doing any work. It seems to be the same personality type obsessed with titles and glorified job descriptions (which serve as camouflage to disguise the fact that they get paid for shuffling papers and enforcing/generating bureaucratic red tape).
During these self-congratulatory orgies with the trappings of business meetings, a lot of time and money is spent, but nothing gets produced. The best of them may present 45 minutes of useful information while the remaining seven hours and 15 minutes are little more than mass mutual ego-stroking–an opportunity for the vain and self-important to dress up and receive awards for dubious accomplishments.
This last meeting only reinforced my opinion. In addition, the Random Seat Assignment gods were pissed at me that day. There were two top-tier babes and at least four second-tier who could have wound up beside me. Instead, the seat to my right was occupied (at the invitation of an obese woman at my table) by probably the last individual on the company roster I would have preferred.
I’ve seen this effiminate little character around before at smaller-scale meetings. Don’t know what department he’s in and not interested in knowing. But I made an effort to be friendly (by Two-Fisted standards, anyway). Maybe the guy was raised by a single mom and only had sisters, and thus was completely oblivious to how uncomfortable he makes men with all his mincing and such.
I had to scrap this benefit-of-the-doubt upon noticing how every female in the company he was acquainted with fawned all over him. Several embraced him and kissed his cheek like a long lost sister. That’s kind of a giveaway.
Okay, western women have been squirting for metrosexuals from Rudolf Valentino to Prince. I get that. (Sorry I can’t provide any more recent examples, but I intentionally avoid pop culture as best I can.) But there was no sexual tension in these greetings–quite the opposite. It was obvious they found him as unthreatening as a stuffed animal.
Going back to junior high, before I truly believed that homosexuals actually existed, I couldn’t help noticing this weird upperclassman who preferred to hang out with the girls. Not for the natural reasons, either. He was obviously much more interested in gossiping with them than any sort of romantic ambitions, and the girls in his circle were all protective of him. None looked at him or reacted to him the way they did me or the other jocks. Their demeanor changed around him in some other way, like he was a puppy with a broken leg or something.
This is a consistent phenomenon in our culture. I always thought that junior high situation was rare when I was a kid; maybe it was rare to find among adults…but not so anymore. When in college I discovered that (prior to the doubled-down media blitz to legitimize homosexuality in the mind of Joe Public) such women were commonly referred to as “fag hags,” even among homophiles.
Now it seems like every female is a fag hag. (A whole lot of males, too, come to think of it.)
I’ve heard women say things like, “I think that’s so cute!”
Let two males, behaving as if one were female, walk into a large group of women and listen to the collective “Awwwwwwww!” erupt as if scripted. You get the same thing in movie audiences after carefully manipulative homo-erotic scenes.
Once in the Bahamas, watching some comedy/musical/variety show put on by the resort staff, actors and actresses came out in various costumes, impersonationg different famous celebrities. The audience was international (though mostly from western nations) and the thespians were attractive. That seemed to be a requirement. There was very little applause for the hot babes–maybe because the men present had brought their dates, as I had. There was mildly enthusiastic applause from the gathered women for the bare-chested beefcake. But when one of the male actors appeared in drag, the hooting, cheering and applause was thunderous by comparison.
On another date a few years later, I watched a belly dancing demonstration. When it was over, the dancer instructed some kids how to dance and their parents all laughed and clapped. But after that she asked the crowd if they’d like to see a guy dressed in the costume and forced to dance. The question was asked like she already knew the answer, based on experience with other crowds. And sure enough, the crowd cheered its approval and some poor mangina was singled out to humiliate himself in front of everybody.
It’s all enough to make a man wonder: Is the same psychological compulsion driving women to invade male turf and ruin it also driving their collective desire to see men feminized (whether it be literally or superficially)?
ial gravity everywhere in the Ark, too–even the sections not spinning. The ace mechanic (a woman, of course) manages to fix heavy machinery on a regular basis without even getting her hands dirty, and while maintaining a perfect manicure. Because booty. (That’s right, this actress, though typically skinny, has the nicest rump you may see on TV, and she’s also smokin’ hot above the shoulders. But you’ll only get treated to the full package when she’s first introduced.)
The present occupant of the White House promised a “post-racial America.” But then he also promised you could keep your doctor and health plan if you liked it, and that he would cut the national debt in half or he wouldn’t run for a second term. Obviously he does exactly the opposite of what he promises…with one glaring exception: his mission statement of “fundamentally transforming” America.
Ironic that they accuse whites of racism so often.
dventure, only with a XXX rating. And the sex scenes in this book are much raunchier than I remember them being in the later ones I read years ago. Cameron seems to have been more of an “anything goes” perv than I took him for back in the day. I now wonder if he didn’t spend some time in Hollywood adapting screenplays, or some other moral cesspool (Greenwich Village, maybe?) that erased any notion of taboos. But I’m getting ahead of myself here and reacting perhaps as much to 
