Last Christmas I received a lovely miniature Christmas tree to hang my decorations on, and I decided then and there that my wittle tree would also be known as the Tree of Hope:

…I thought to myself, “I will continue to take care of this tree until I meet the girl of my dreams, and perhaps even beyond.  This will be our future, special tree.”  So as long as the tree lives on, my hope lives on…

Well…

Suffice it to say, I don’t think yellow is a good color for an evergreen tree to have.  I watered it, gave it plant food, made sure it always had enough light, but the fricking thing was determined to die on me, almost like it had heard me when I declared it to be the Tree of Hope my future honey snuggles would someday hang ornaments on, so it decided to spite my ass by committing suicide.

Though it’s not like it really needed the help.  With each failed attempt to connect with the opposite gender since that time I could tell my tree was getting a little browner.  The depths of evil to which evil women go (because they’re evil) was simply too much for my wittle Tree of Hope to handle.

Eventually I decided to take it to work hoping the nuclear powered fluorescent lights over my desk would breathe some life into my poor, wittle tree.  For all I know it could have, but the air here was probably more toxic than I’d care to admit, because now it was starting to turn yellow.

Finally I gave up and planted what was left of the Tree of Hope outside in a small garden area.  After I finished planting it I threw my hands up and said, “Well Lord, I tried.  Now it’s all up to You.”

My guess is that it’ll be torn out by the maintenance crew and dumped into the trash by week’s end, which is pretty much how I think I’ll be going too when it’s my time to check out. 

Ah well.  It was nice to dream for a while. 

Another coworker of mine is getting married, this time it’s a woman with cerebral palsy.  Very nice person too, and when she talked about her fiance, she indicated that he had a similar disability as well.   She showed us all her lovely new ring.

“Wow, that’s probably about as close as I’ll ever get to an actual real diamond,” I said.

“See Linc?  You never know.”

“Unfortunately, I have found that I am the exception to every rule, no matter what that rule is.”

Indeed, it seems lately that every time I look around, I’m always seeing somebody being paired up with their own.  If I see a Chinese girl, she’s holding hands with a Chinese guy.  If I see a black guy, he’s holding hands with a black girl.  Now here’s someone with a disability who is getting hitched to someone else with a disability.  How in a horse’s wide load are these people finding each other?

For my part, all I can seem to attract are women who, oddly enough, look like men.   Does that mean I’m really gay and this is God’s way of trying to tell me to own up to it?

Really quite sure that’s not the case here, but frankly, I’m running out of plausible reasons to explain away this anomaly.

Lately though, I’ve been settling on what I call the “My Man Genes Were Pounded to Fossilized Dino Droppings” theory.  This theory extrapolates that I was somehow born with a genetic defect that precludes a particular demographic of women from being able to see me.  Like, at all.  In other words, if I’m at the supermarket, they will run right through my righteous ass with their carts not because they’re being rude, but because they just couldn’t see me.

The more I think about it the more things start to make sense.  If I hold a door for a girl and she walks right on through without acknowledging me or saying thank you, it wasn’t because she was being rude.  Again, she just couldn’t SEE me.  It also explains why when I’m talking to a girl, she’s always looking past me, like I’m not actually there.  Really, is it conceivable that every woman in creation would be that rude?  Doesn’t it make more sense that they were simply unable to physically see me at all?

I think I need to head down to Harvard with this.  This definitely merits a closer look and possibly conducting controlled studies so this phenomenon can be observed in action.  I’m talking fully funded with grants and the whole works, and lots of hot girls to use as test subjects too.

Seriously, it’s for science. 

It’s no secret that I’ve been raging against all things estrogen for the better part of the year now, having given up on the female race as being entirely irredeemable and utterly given over to the cause of evil.

And then someone like Sarah Palin comes along and helps me restore my faith somewhat.  Maybe, just maybe, all is not completely lost.

McCain’s astonishing VP pick (and current governor of Alaska) is gorgeous, articulate, smart, conservative, accomplished, and by all appearances a devout Christian too.  She’s also a member of the NRA.    Oh, and she’s gorgeous as well.  Did I mention she’s gorgeous? 

In short, she’s everything I could have ever wanted in a woman.  Someone who embraces her femininity, but is still a tomboy of sorts who would grind you to ashes if you ever did her dirty.  They don’t call her Barracuda for nothing after all.    More importantly, her attractive appeal is grounded in her intelligence and principled beliefs, demonstrated in one part by in her refusal to abort her child she knew would be born with Down’s syndrome.  Meanwhile others who profess to be Christians have no moral aversion to supporting a candidate like the Obamanation, who stops just short of endorsing mass infancitide. 

Being awash in a sea of underwhelming females who spend half their days with their noses buried in Vogue magazines and their heads up Obama’s goomie gumbos, Palin arrives like a breath of fresh air.

Thank you Sarah Palin.  Thank you for helping me believe once again for the impossible, that there may just be another one like you out there, and that maybe someday soon, God will finally bring us together. 

It’s no secret that one of my favorite pastimes is to bash women and their womenly ways on a regular basis, being that I’m an acidic women hating hairy baboon and all.

And yet oddly enough, it only occurred to me recently that most of the people I chat with and consider myself friends with are… women??

So I decided to do some research. I went back and evaluated how many guys and gals touched bases with me over the past year, then cut out those I either hadn’t known long enough or whom I rarely ever spoke with.

As it turns out, over 83% of the people I consider myself friends or good acquaintances with were all WOMEN. The number of women I talk to on a regular basis outnumbered the guys by a ratio of 5 to 1.

Dude, whaaa__?

But I also noticed something else: ALL of the women I knew were married or at least 5 years older than me. In fact, to this day I have yet to make a woman friend who was both single and within the ages of 18-30. Unsurprisingly enough, this also happens to be the same group I reserve all my virulent, bile, acidic hatred for, so much that within the underground women-hating movement I’m widely known under the callsign of KILLBITCH.

I’ve asked around about this, and from what I’ve been told so far, many single, young women are basically stupid-ass creatures who don’t get over themselves until they either hit their thirties, or they get married, or both. And sometimes not even then. Mind you this is women telling me this, but who knows, maybe my misogynism was rubbing off on them.

Anyone else have any theories? Why is it so easy for me to make friends with married or older women, and yet it is a bitch and an ass and a half when they’re single and around my age?

Ugh, I can’t sleep.

See, it used to be whenever I had trouble falling asleep I would think about how I’d meet my dream girl, exploring all the possibilities on how we’d end up together and fall in love.  Just holding on to those dreams would put my mind at enough ease that I could finally conk out and get a good night’s rest.  It was my own personal way of counting sheep, and I’d been doing it for years and years.  No matter what shape or form she took, I could always imagine her easily, beautiful and loving and caring.  My hope kept her real, helped me to believe that she was out there, and that it was only time that kept us apart, until such time finally came to an end.

But now I can’t see her anymore.

As hard as I try to imagine, my mind can’t focus enough for her to appear again, and I’m tossing and turning trying to fall asleep, wondering why it’s so hard now to even put a few thoughts together so I can dream about her for just a little while.

If there was ever a solid indication that my dream has finally died though, this would be it.  Maybe my mind is finally coming to terms with the reality that I will never, ever meet someone.  This world has become too evil, too foregone a conclusion, and I myself am just too different, too detached from humanity for it to even be possible anymore.  Maybe if I had been born 50 years ago I might have had a chance.  But not today.

My dream really is over.  I will never sleep again.

I hate dating experts.  You can’t find a more execrable lot who dispenses either the kind of common sense advice that even a monkey with half a brain wasted on whiskey would know, or a truckload of compost heap designed to liberate you of your wallet money before you realize you’ve been had, and no, Pickup Step #12 wasn’t the sure winner they said it would be after all.  Dating experts are like lawyers, they over complicate what should be simple matters, because if they didn’t, there’d be no business for them.  This is why they should all be rounded up and sent to some death camp somewhere (Florida, maybe?)

Still, I was bored today and ended up reading this series of interviews with 3 popular male dating experts.

And now I feel like blowing sh__ up.

You get advice like don’t be altruistic because women won’t find it sincere, or if I end up getting stuck in the friend zone I should get a new haircut and maybe change my cologne, or my personal favorite, I should try withholding my name intentionally when introducing myself to a girl, that way if she asks me what it is, I’ll know she’s interested, and if she doesn’t, then that means I should move on.

Because you know, there’s just no way to tell if a girl is into you right off the bat without being a rude little bastard.

BUT, it’s agreed that I can still be myself… only the best part of myself that is.  The bad parts I should be  burying in secrecy until we tie the knot, at which point I can then safely make known the depths and widths of my obscenely ugly personality.

Yes I can see myself getting far with these little gems of wisdom.

Oh, and the niceness thing?  We gotta knock that crap off:

Because nice guys are weak guys. They wear their heart on their sleeve and they don’t make the girl work for it. …What happens is that the guy says, “I had a good time, did you? Can I see you again? You’re really a nice girl! You’re sure good looking.” This girl is 28, she’s good looking, and ever since she was 12, guys have been telling her she’s beautiful. So, what effect does that compliment have? It’s a negative.

You know, there’s a difference between being nice and being a weenie, but unfortunately the two often get lumped together as being the same.  If a girl is really into me, of course I’d want to treat her like a queen because she’s genuinely interested in me,  not because she’s a blowtorch of a man hater with plans to dominate me and crush my precious balls so she can win another one for the home team.  She cares about who I am.  That in itself is a trait so rare that it behooves me not to respond in a showering of wubsy wubs and affection.

And really, complimenting her is not a negative, dumbass.  You know why it was a negative before?  Because all those guys telling her how beautiful she was said it because they wanted to get into her pantie wanties.  If a decent guy says it and actually MEANS it though, she should pick up on that and realize she’s finally got something genuine here, and she’ll appreciate his kindness because they come straight from the heart.

Because seriously dude, if she can’t handle being treated like gold by a nice guy (who’s not a weenie), isn’t that an indication that there’s something wrong with HER?  So why does all of mankind have to adapt themselves to accommodate this particularly large segment of fruity nuts bitchdom?  I know why, because you are all a bunch of disgusting horndogs who will do and say anything to get laid.  MEN.  They are the most damned stupidest piggish pig-like pig-borking piggyback pigger pigs to have ever graced creation, honest to God.  When they’re not busy scratching and rubbing their 9 months pregnant sized hairy ass bellies, they’re busy letting one fly while they expound on the intricacies of the latest scores in sports or how they’d like to hit every walking thing within 100 yards that passes for a female, and yet they profoundly believe this is what passes for intelligent discussion.

Ok, that got away from me a little.    Back to the women bashing here.  I noticed they wrap things up by conceding what we’ve known all along, that women are in fact attracted to money and power, only here they try to soften the blow by saying women are attracted to guys with wealth and status, which translates into, uh, money and power.

Sigh.  Remember back when life was simpler and marriages were arranged and we could all marry our cousins and sisters without anyone blinking an eye?  I miss those days.