Four friends gathered together at a bar for a drink after work. As
they sipped down their
beers, the conversation drifted to talk of women... and their myriad
“I can’t get girls, bros,” sighed the good-looking man forlornly. “And it’s because – of course! – they only want to date guys with money.” He looked around at his friends, waiting for a response.
“Hmph,” said the wealthy man, responding. “You think you’ve got it bad? I can’t get girls because they only want to date guys who are tall!”
“Pssh, that’s nothing,” said the tall man. “The reason I can’t get girls is because they only ever get with guys who are white.”
“That sucks, but you know what the worst is?” said the average-looking white man. “The worst is that girls only want to be seen with guys who are good-looking.”
Overhearing the conversation, another man spun his barstool around to face them. He was a rather ordinary-looking, none-too-tall Asian man of about 30. He certainly wasn’t rich. Even still, he was well-dressed; he beamed charisma; and he possessed a presence that could fill a room. “Guys, are you for real?” he asked with a friendly but confused smile, facing them. They looked at him quizzically. “Look over there,” he said, pointing to another section of the bar.
The four men turned to see a short, ugly, dark-skinned man talking with a 5’6” blonde bombshell and her brunette friend. Both girls were laughing, and the blonde was touching the man.
“He must be rich,” said the good-looking guy.
“Actually, he’s dead broke,” said the man who’d pointed him out to them.
“Well, they must just be friends,” said the tall man.
“No, they only met a few minutes ago,” said this new man.
“They’re just being polite,” said the average-looking white man. “He’s way too ugly for girls like them. They’re about to excuse themselves to go find a hot guy any minute.”
Just after he said this, the short, ugly, dark-skinned man and the blonde girl both stepped away from the booth the three’d been standing in front of and waved farewell to the brunette, who waved back at them with a big grin before sliding into the booth. Then the blonde girl and the short, dark-skinned, ugly broke man walked out of the bar together, off into the night.
“Well...?” said the fifth man, certain he was about to watch four heads explode.
“He just has a really great personality,” said the wealthy man,
after a brief pause.
“Okay, great!” said the fifth man, not missing a beat. “Now you all know what you need to do, then. Go get a good personality, and you can get girls!”
“No,” they all said collectively.
“That’s not any of us,” added the
good-looking man. “That guy’s just way too dynamic.”
“Ah, I see,” said the fifth man. “It isn’t that you can’t get what you want. It’s that you just don’t want to do what’s required of you to get it.”
The Problem’s Not Me, You See...
“Why should I have to become someone I’m not to get
the wealthy man.
“That’s the beauty of it!” said the fifth man. “You don’t have to! You can accept what life hands you and never have to lift a finger!”
“Yeah, but life isn’t giving me what I want,” said the tall man.
“Ah, there’s the rub! Life is not a conscious entity,” said the fifth man. “Life is inert. Life does not peer into your mind and read what you want and hand it to you. There is no ‘the secret’ where you just focus on stuff and then it falls in your lap. Life is a bowl full of awesome, but the only way to get any of it is to reach in and grab it. If you just stare at it and wait for the awesome to come to you, well, you might as well just wait for hell to freeze over.”
“That doesn’t make sense though,” said the average-looking white man. “I see all these good-looking men all around me with women.”
“Yeah,” said the good-looking man; “I see all these wealthy men with trophy wives and girlfriends on their arms!”
“Hear hear,” said the wealthy man. “Everywhere I look, I see beautiful women with tall men.”
“Tell me about it,” said the tall man. “Every time I walk down the street, I see a white dude with a stunner.”
“Well if simply having this attribute that you proclaim is the key to getting girls is all it takes, how do you explain your confederates?” the fifth man asked. “How do each of you explain the lack of results the others here have who possess exactly the traits you say women want?”
“I don’t know,” said the average-looking white man. “They just don’t talk to enough girls probably.”
“That’s not the problem for me, bro,” said the good-looking man. “My problem is that girls just reject me.”
“Same here,” said the wealthy man. “I’d talk to them if I thought it was going to go anywhere, but it isn’t.”
“Thirded,” said the tall man. “I’ve met plenty of girls. They just don’t like me.”
“Girls reject me before I even walk up,” chimed in the average-looking white man. “It’s just a look in their eyes... you can see it. It says ‘Don’t talk to me.’ So I don’t.”
“So in other words,” said the fifth man, “whatever it is that you’re missing that stops you from getting girls, it can’t be these things you’re saying are the reason then... because otherwise, your friends would all be doing significantly better than they are.”
“That’s not it,” said the tall man. “Jamie’s got it good with girls,
he just hasn’t realized it yet.”
“Are you kidding?” exclaimed Jamie, the average-looking white man. “Beau’s the one who doesn’t get it; he doesn’t realize his male model looks make it so easy for him to get girls, if only he tried.”
“Hold the salami,” said Beau, the good-looking man. “Do you know how many women I’ve been turned down and friend zoned by? I guarantee you it’d be a different story if I was rich like Steve, unless I want to bone fat chicks. But fat chicks depress me...”
“Ha!” cried Steve, the wealthy man. “You think women want money? The only ones who have time for me are the gold diggers, and I don’t want anything to do with those whores. I want a real woman... but they all want someone who’s tall, like Chris.”
“No way,” said Chris, the tall man. “Trust me, everybody says it, but it ain’t true. They’re impressed by the height, but it doesn’t make a difference when it’s time to pick who they’re going home with at the end of the night. They might flirt with the tall guy, but they all want to be with the white guy.”
“That’s horseshit,” said Jamie, the average-looking white man. “I already told you, girls go for looks!”
“Well if girls go for looks, then where’s my girlfriend?” asked Beau, the good-looking man. “I’m 27 years old and I’ve never had an attractive girlfriend. And I probably never will until I get a 6-figure bank account.”
“Don’t waste your time,” said Steve, the wealthy man. “All that time I spent building a small fortune, only to realize I’d have been better off having my legs lengthened.”
“Ain’t you listening to anything I’ve been saying?” said Chris, the tall man. “They want white guys, not tall guys.”
“Wait guys,” said Jamie, the average-looking white man. “This is stupid. You know what I think it is, is we’ve been missing part of the picture.”
“What do you mean?” asked Steve, the wealthy man.
“What I mean is,” said Jamie, “it isn’t ONE of these things women want. They want ALL of them.”
“You mean,” said Chris, the tall guy, “that women only want to date a guy who’s rich, tall, white, and good-looking?”
“That’s right,” said Jamie. “That’s why the only guys you ever see with girls are rich, tall, white, and good-looking.”
“That’s true,” said Beau, the good-looking man. “Women are such bitches! They only want to date you if you have everything!”
“I don’t mean to rain on this pity party,” said the fifth man, “but I see a lot of guys who are not rich, tall, white, and good-looking with some pretty attractive women.”
“Yeah, but they don’t want to date those guys!” said Chris, the tall man. “If they could have a rich, tall, white, good-looking guy, they’d leave their man in a snap!”
“Isn’t that kind of like saying that if you could have a tall, sexy, gorgeous girl with a pencil-thin waist and a pair of double-Ds you’d leave your girlfriend for her in a second?” asked the fifth man.
“No, that’s different,” said Steve, the wealthy man. “Because we’re men, and men are loyal. Women are always looking for the Next Big Thing. They’re only with you until he comes along, and then you’re dust.”
“Yeah!” said Beau, the good-looking man. “You have to be perfect, all the time!”
“Are you serious?” said the fifth man. “Because I’m pretty sure you guys all said you suck with women. So I’m trying to figure out exactly where you got this intimate knowledge of how women operate in relationships you all seem to have.”
“It’s common knowledge,” said Jamie, the average-looking white man. “Talk to anyone. Everybody knows women are this way.”
“Really?” said the fifth man, chuckling. “Because that hasn’t been my experience at all.”
“Well, you probably just got lucky and dated some loyal chicks,” said Chris, the tall guy.
“Okay, so why don’t you guys just date some loyal chicks then?” said the fifth man.
“Those girls are all married by like age 20,” said Chris, the other men nodding in agreement.
“But didn’t you just say I must’ve dated these girls whom I couldn’t have dated because all of them are married?” asked the fifth man, mildly vexed.
“What?” said Steve. “Look, all he’s saying is that MOST women are like that, and maybe you got lucky a few times but you won’t with your next girl, I guarantee it.”
“Excuse me if I have no interest in taking relationship advice from
a bunch of men who suck with women,” said the fifth man, laughing
sarcastically again. “Oh, wait,” he continued, still laughing, “not
suck. Just aren’t tall, rich, good-looking white guys.”
“We’ll see how funny you think it is when your next girlfriend dumps you for one,” retorted Steve.
“Yeah, because tall, rich, good-looking white guys are roving the streets in packs, nailing women where they stand because girls are just so crazy desperate for their dicks,” the fifth man said.
Just then, his phone buzzed in his pants pocket. It was a text from Vish, his short, ugly, broke, dark-skinned friend: “Banged her in bk seat of her car – 20 mins meet 2 fck!” it read. Vish then sent over a photo of his cumshot over the girl’s face, which the man laughed at and showed to the four other men.
“He just got lucky, man,” said Chris, the tall man.
“He does it all the time,” the fifth man said flatly.
“I told you, it’s his personality,” said Steve, the wealthy man.
“Okay, so it’s NOT about being rich, tall, good-looking, and white, then,” said the fifth man.
“No,” said Jamie, becoming visibly frustrated, “because if that girl met a guy who was rich, tall, good-looking, and white, your little broke ugly brown friend would’ve been invisible to her instantly.”
“So how come she didn’t just walk over here and talk to you guys?” the fifth man asked.
“Because none of us are all of those things... duh!” said Beau, the good-looking guy.
He’s No Scot
Just then, a tall, good-looking white man in an expensive suit walked into the bar and up to the blonde bombshell’s brunette friend, still sitting in her booth. He looked confused and gestured around to the bar in an uncertain manner. The brunette friend shrugged her shoulders and an expressive “I don’t know!” look popped onto on her face.
A moment later, the blonde bombshell reentered the bar, alone. The tall, good-looking white man in an expensive suit turned around and noticed her, a look of happy relief spread through his face and body language. He threw out his arms, gesturing for her to come hug him. The bombshell walked up to him and placed a warm kiss onto his lips, and the two sat down in the booth with the blonde’s brunette friend, arms interlocked, the man oblivious to what had just transpired between the blonde girl and the fifth man’s friend.
“Looks like she found her tall, rich, good-looking white guy,” said the fifth man. “Actually, looks like she had him all along!” he added.
“She’s just a slut; it doesn’t count,” said Steve, the wealthy guy.
“No true Scotsman?” asked the fifth man.
“What’s that?” said Steve.
“No true Scotsman. It’s a logical fallacy whereby you keep moving the goal posts so that your argument can never be invalidated,” said the fifth man. “That is to say, if I say, ‘No Scotsman puts sugar on his porridge!’ and you say, ‘Well my friend from Barra puts sugar on his porridge,’ and I say, ‘Well your friend from Barra is not a true Scotsman.’ You can say that about everything. Thus, there are no true Scotsman.”
“I’m not following you,” said Steve.
“You guys all bemoan some specific reason you can’t change as being the reason why you can’t get girls,” said the fifth man. “Well, whenever I point out a counterexample to you, you move the goal posts and say yeah but that example doesn’t count because X. Or that girl doesn’t count because Y. Your entire lives are a series of giving yourselves outs by claiming there are no true Scotsman whenever presented with evidence that refutes your positions.”
“I don’t think you understand,” said Steve. “I’m not giving myself an out. Women genuinely only want men who are tall. That’s why they don’t want me.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Chris, the tall man. “Steve, slow your roll, homie. I thought I made it clear before – ladies want white, not height.”
“Chris, how many times do I have to say it?” said Jamie, the average-looking white man, his cheeks flushing with anger. “Women don’t give a damn about your skin color; what they want is looks!”
“Jamie, I like you, but you’re kinda dense, bro,” said Beau, the good-looking man. “Trust me, looks AREN’T it – the only guys I ever see with hot girls are the guys with money.”
“Beau, I’ve told you a thousand times,” said Steve, the wealthy man, “women do NOT care about money. They want men who are tall!”
“Oh, you just want an excuse to fail,” said Chris, the tall man. “Everybody here knows it’s all about being white. Stop pretending that’s not it. You think I’m blind or something?”
“You think being white is some kind of magic pass to pussy?” asked Jamie incredulously. “You think I’ve ever once had a girl want to do anything with me because I’m white?”
“I think you probably have, yeah,” said Chris.
“No, man!” yelled Jamie, the average-looking white man. “They ignore me, because I’m not good-looking enough!”
“Oh boo-hoo, you’re such a victim,” said Beau, the good-looking guy. “Looks don’t mean a thing. Every woman I meet treats me like her pretty friend. All they care about is money!”
“I’ve had enough of this bullshit,” said Steve, the wealthy man. “As if we’re just going to keep acting like it’s all about money and not all about height. You guys are a joke,” and he turned and stormed out of the bar.
“I’m out of here too,” said Jamie, the average-looking white man. “I’m tired of you calling me lucky for being white,” he said to Chris, the tall man, “and you not realizing how good you have it with your looks,” he said to Beau, the good-looking man, then left.
“You want a ride home?” Beau, the good-looking man asked Chris, the tall man, after Steve and Jamie had left. “Those guys are a couple of putzes.”
“Yeah,” said Chris. “I can’t believe Jamie doesn’t realize how good he has it being white.”
“And I can’t believe Steve doesn’t realize how much ass he can get with a bank account like that!” Beau said as both men dismounted from their barstools.
“I can’t believe how blind all of you guys are!” said the fifth man, laughing again.
“Bro, whatever,” said Beau. “You think it’s funny because you’ve got it so easy with girls.”
“How?” the fifth man called incredulously, still laughing, as the other two walked away. “I’m not tall, rich, good-looking, or white! I’m none of the things you guys all said are the only things that women want! How do I have it easy?! Where are you going?” He almost fell on the floor laughing, but the two just ignored him and walked out the door.
His laughter dying down, he spun his barstool back around to face the bar, and wiped a tear away from his eye. He’d been laughing pretty hard.
As he prepared to order another round and see what more the night had in store for him, he noticed an attractive woman sitting two stools down from him now, an empty stool between them. He leaned over to speak with her. “How’s your night going?” he asked.
“Fine!” she yelled over the music. She was smiling – a polite smile, but still a smile. He took it as a sign that she didn’t have an opinion on him yet, so he might as well continue.
“I’m Gio!” he said, flashing a big grin and holding out his hand.
“Samantha!” she responded, taking it.
“Why don’t you move a stool down, it’s lonely over there!” he said immediately, still holding her hand and gesturing to the stool next to him.
“Okay!” she said, and slid over. Gio grinned wider; the party was
only just getting started.