The Retardation Column

I will take a cue from Magritte's classic artsy take on surrealism (yes, i wikied that. you do that too. cmon, its not like you got better stuff to do on the holy dead jesus day) and say "This is not a drink". It's a horrible pink abortion that probably taste like gasoline mixed with sugaru stuff and colour. It might taste as fake as it looks. Even the picture gives a bad vibe. And you wanna know the irony?

This picture cam up in Google Images while searching up "Cosmopolitan". And i thgink it fits perfectly on a psychological level.

Lately, someone linked me a webpage about the five most dabgerously ridiculous relationship advice pieces done by Cosmo. It had to be taken as a humorous view on that magazine, still it had a viscerally disturbing side to it. I can describe that feeling with a simple metaphor (well, we started artsy and prentious, lets stay that way, shall we?): Cosmo's advice on love and sex, and intertaction with partners is like over the top racism and The Westboro Church. We can laugh at it and act like superior mammals but there's people who believe in it and model their existance around it, creating chaos and scorn and destruction.

I had a couple of rough encounters and bad relationship with females that acted intellectually evolved but paid too much attention to external, impersonal advice. From a graduate lady who solved her insecurities about love by reading "Men are from mars..." (the prime example of sociological failure and counterpoductive therapy), to a Registered nurse who could stitch stab wounds but seemed to need the hints of an MTV show to understand the inner workings of sexuality. Still Cosmo ruled and apparently still does, as the king of bad adevisors with an over the top glee in enhancing conflict, anger and break-ups, while passing it as empowerment.

I remember reading an article that basically told girls how to "judge a man's ability in love according to his ringtone". "How to cheat on a lover and get away with it". "How to destroy a man's friendship with his best buddies".

Now i could witness gems as "if your man is happy, he's cheating". "If your man likes having sex with you, he is hiding something".

Like most friends, well all friends, it seems like the idea of "advice" has the main objective of making the person angry and miserable and possibly alone. The objective isnt to fix, but to break. Like most friends they want you unhappy, cause unhappiness is more fascinating and more productive. The main difference is that they can fuck your boyfirend behind your back.

Lately i see this advice disease spreading. I notice how men and women are way more insecure. About love, sex, anything. With new views on how men should be MEN and women should be WOMEN, how sex should sdhere not to the main objective of being an experience of mutual pleasing and awesomeness that is different with each partner but have a set of specific rules that work for everyone, on how scourting has settings and lines..... The result is a bunch of broken, almost unfixable messes. Everywhere you go you see guys terrified of lonely and inadequacy. Girls terrified of the same or of being used or badly handled. Both trying to find a recipe for being hapèpy and invincible, quit bein hurt and feeling unsatisfied.

So you keep stumbling into people asking for advice, taking even the worst of it, and getting mor eproblems. Guys believing in stuff like "Men's Health" legendary article "The right drinks to get in her panties" (true story) or the obsession in making sexuality identical to pornography, where if yopur lady doesnt squirt,m you did not please her.

Personally, and i'm a douchebag so i'm probably wrong, i feel anxious when trying to follow advice or guidelines. Evrything has rules, lately. The only moment of spontaneity left is love and sex (not together). Maybe the ONLY time in which one can turn off their brain and lower their guard. I'd rather fail at it and learning, adpating than try to follow someone else's style and always feeling like i'm doing homework. Chillax people. You'll find your way. It's a long road, full of obstacles and annoyances, but in the end, that's the fun part. Fuck those magazines.