PolkOut.com's a f!ckwit!

We blew it.

This is bullsh!t.  When my dad sat me down on his lap to explain the birds and the bees, fourteen years ago, not once did he mention self-deprecating homoerotic humor as a reason for women not to talk to you.  F!ck you, dad, I was ill-prepared.

That seems to be a theme in my life--women not talking to me, not homoeroticism--and I've contemplated it for quite a while.  After much deliberation and debate with my roommates I've come to the conclusion that I'm in no way at fault.

The worst kind of women are subway women.  The kind that give you these, "YOU SICK F!CKING WEIRDO," looks when all you're doing is trying to be nice, complimenting them on how good their hair smells.  Jesus, ladies, not every man who leans in and smells your hair while you're not looking is a rapist, calm the f!ck down.

--End Transmission--