Where has the sacred art of subtlety gone? As people have progressively become more and more ignorant (due to other people becoming smarter, making scientific breakthroughs and hence making life easier for the common hillbilly – more on this in the future), so the art of subtlety also seems to be falling by the wayside.

Ironically, I suppose, this loss has occurred somewhat, well, subtly. I was alerted to it today while sitting in a meeting and listening to the new assistant (20-something, hot-as-shit, brain of a golden retriever) explain to the boss how we should be more “sub-til” in our advertising. The first and glaring problem with this is that she knows absolute shit about advertising anything other than her near-perfect rack. But the bigger problem is she followed up this comment with an example and said,

“like, we should have like, models, in like, bikinis, to show off the car subtly.”

Sorry, what?

Where is the subtlety in models in bikinis? Even more alarming is the fact that she pronounced the b in subtle. Is not the silent ‘b’ the very DEFINITION of subtle?

Advertising was the first big area in which we lost the art to explore the understated elegance of a humourous argument. Long gone are the days of adverts such as “BMW can beat the bends” Granted there are a few lone warriors still bringing us classy adverts, and in this I pay homage to Nandos for tirelessly bringing us satirical and cleverly thought-out advertising. But unless advertisements meet the criteria of Cannes quality, we are pounded with a barrage of badly-thought out and intensely stupid adverts. I blame America (for many things) but really for lowering the bar by allowing directly competitive advertising. All the hard work was taken out of being smart and now goes into smear campaigns.

But we have lost subtlety in so many other fields. The art of casual flirting has gone from loquacious Oscar Wilde-esque comments exchanged in a blow-and-parry of sexual tension to “hey qt..r u out 2nit?” exchanged via sms. Don’t get me wrong – I use sms to get ass like the rest of you. But I at least try to retain some of the nuanced sexual suggestion necessary to pull smart ass. Movies no longer have lines to quote like "Gentlemen. You can't fight in here. This is the War Room!" (Dr Strangelove) but rather "Today we celebrate our Independence Day" (see if you can guess the movie).

I mourn the death of the clever art.

Ten points to this:

Wide angle Lens. Brilliant.

Hair

What is it about chicks and hair? Seriously, we all have it and it’s time we all started to deal with it.
· Let’s go from the bottom up. I have hairy legs, and I like them. I can wipe chicken grease off my hands without a serviette. Is there even a need for another reason not to shave? If I was a cyclist and losing my balls, then I would shave (it would make evolutionary sense). I am not, however, losing my balls. So don’t ask me to shave. No, it will not be ‘fun’.

You may shave your legs. You may wax, epilate, laser or fucking atomic bomb the hair, I don’t care. If you haven’t shaved in a while, I can look past it. In summer, keep that shit tidy.

· Bikini line/groin: I haven’t totally made up my mind on this one. As far as I’m concerned, my precious guys need their warm nesty lining and that hair is going nowhere. For girls, I think tidy is the rule. Keep it neat; only knights in the olden days want to wade through a bushy undergrowth to rescue you from the evil spell of loneliness. On the other hand, it’s perverted to want to do a 12-year old. I like my women to look like women, so please don’t remove every single strip of hair in sight. It’s creepy and I feel like I could go to jail.

· Underarms: Shave that shit. Men smell like men and can keep it damp. You should smell like flowers and rainbows and hair contributes nothing to that. No room for argument.


· Facial: A guy can pull off just about any form of facial hair. Goatees and bokkies and lambchops and any other style of facial hair named after something you ride/eat should never appear on straight men. Gays, you have the monopoly. The ‘stash is the ultimate sign of manliness. Just compare these two pictures and tell me which one you would rather have as your hunter-gatherer.

If girl’s have facial hair, they should lose it. It’s just weird, and not even a mother could love that face:

You pluck your eyebrows, it’s sexy. You pluck my eyebrows, I break your face. Again, it will not be ‘fun’. Yes it does ‘hurt’. No, you are not the better sex because you have a ‘higher pain threshold’. Where is that man who said: women pluck their eyebrows, wax their legs, epilate their bikini lines, get botox, facelifts, breast implants etc. But why won’t they have anal? Because it ‘hurts’.

· Head hair: Ladies, you spend too much money on this. WAY too much money. It’s just hair. 1 bottle of head ‘n shoulders lasts you a year and you’re good to go. Guys actually LIKE the colour mousey-brown (which apparently is actually the natural colour of every girl’s hair). You don’t need it cut and coloured and straightened and curled and blow-dryed and under-dryed and moussed and waxed and shit there is a long list of things you can do to ultimately ruin your hair.

Keep it natural, keep it sexy. Not much more is required.

I'll put a crown on this natural little princess anyday:

Rugby! I'm Going!

I found a solution! Turns out June actually knows about weddings and stuff (I guess she is still a girl in that regard) and has offered to play buffer between me and Carryn’s crazy eyes. Carryn is far from June’s favourite person. I’m pretty sure she still thinks she is a ‘shallow, boring skank’ (words she used when I first scored Carryn), but lucky for me she doesn’t show it.
And the best part of it all is that Carryn wants June to go shopping this Saturday at 4pm for candles (or something).

And Jack has rugby tickets for him and June.

And June is being the world’s greatest friend and GIVING ME HER TICKETS!

Ok, not giving. She’s making me pay Jack half. But instead of going and smelling aromatherapy shit with Carryn all of Saturday (or worse – having a repeat of the Sharks game incident), I will be sitting in Jack’s work box being fed beer and biltong.

WATCHING THE GAME. Live. And on an HD big screen.

Man, I love that chick.

Go Stormers!

Crazy

How many brands of girl crazy can there possibly be? I thought I had it pretty much down, and how to deal with it, until today. These are the most identifiable brands:

I-like-you crazy: She spends a lot of time casually flirting with her eyes, she smiles at you coquettishly, she bends over too much when she’s around you. It’s fairly obvious to all involved that she wants you, but girls feel the need to go through some absurdly outdated mating ritual to let us know. As if saying “I’m in the mood for dick, preferably yours” wouldn’t suffice and we wouldn’t get the message? Trust me girls, unless you’re a minger, he probably wants to screw you too. Well done. Best way to deal with this, get her drunk, tell her she’s hot. Works like a charm and everyone gets what they want.

I’m-crying-for-no-reason crazy: Fucking hormones, man. There is nothing for this brand of crazy and you may as well get out while you can. Anything you say makes it worse, and some twisted version of what you did actually say will always be held against you.

We-had-sex-so-now-I-think-we’re-a-couple crazy: Well-coined phrase of the stage 5 clinger. It’s been (nearly) biologically proven that girls confuse endorphins with the love emotion, and so often confuse sex with love or attachment. Explaining this genetic shortcoming to them makes the smart ones understand, and the stupid ones will just think you’re enough of an asshole to not commit to. Problem solved.

I’m-angry-with-other-things/myself/mybody/myhair/yourmother-but-i-think-you-care-enough-to-let-me-take-it-out-on-you: No ladies. No one cares that much. If you let them do this once, you will establish a pattern of dependence that is really hard to break. Advise the girl to talk to her girlfriends about it. You’re doing her a favour, it’s them she actually wants to talk to, not you.

Who-is-she?/Why-are-you-looking-at-her crazy: Both these brands evict the same facial snarl, and both stem from the same stupid insecurities girls feel the need to foster. The former refers to the situation when the girl assumes that if you greet any other female under the age of 70, you must obviously be sleeping with her. The latter refers to the situation when you look at any female slightly hotter than a doorknob. Best advice here is to lie. If you are sleeping with her, claim it’s your cousin. If you’re not, you can still claim it’s your cousin. If you were looking at her, claim it’s because she reminds you so much of the girl at hand. Beware the trick here: NEVER dismiss her as a work colleague/girl you met at a party/friend of your sister or similar. This will plant the seed of crazy that will eventually sprout into the next, far more dangerous brand of crazy.

I’m-bored/hate-my-life/our-relationship-is-failing/so-therefore-it-must-be-your-fault-because-you’re-cheating-on-me: Any seeds of doubt grow into this oak tree of crazy. This is where girls start to snoop, follow you, read e-mail, check your cellphone etc. If any of these happen, the relationship is over. She will never believe you’re not actually cheating on her, and you will eventually be crushed with her constant whining. Get out while you can.
Break-up crazy: The most long-lasting and destructive form, but at least you are no longer trying to sleep with her, so you can to a large extent ignore it. Change your number. Get new friends. Bitches be crazy when it comes to break ups, and even if she was the cheating whore you found blowing your best friend in a bathroom, the failed relationship and subsequent break up will still be your fault.

Today, I found a whole new brand of crazy, one I am definitely ill-equipped to deal with. Carryn has gone wedding crazy. Please note that the word ‘wedding’ could here be substituted with ‘batshit-insane’. I got home today to find her and twenty of her closest friends (recognised some: slut who tried to sleep with me last Christmas, girl who never wears a bra, chubby friend with weight issues, skinny friend with more weight issues, vegan with feminist tendencies – also never wears a bra) pouring over wedding books and booking bridal expos and finding diets to make her look like an anorexic Ethiopian on the big day. She turned to look up at me with those big blue eyes, and I didn’t even recognise her. The eyes were glazed over with what looked like tiny rand signs floating all through them. I don’t think she even saw it was me, I’m pretty sure she looked up and saw a Ken doll she was trying to picture in a tux.

I’m frightened and hiding in the study. Any advice would be welcomed.

Question Time

I popped the question to Carryn today.

She was ecstatic, cried a little.

Acted surprised.

I guess she’s been waiting for this day her whole life. I don’t get it, man. What is the big deal about getting hitched in any case? If you’re happy together and she doesn’t complain too much, why complicate it further?

That said, she didn’t leave me much of a choice. She gave me the ultimatum, “Commit, or I’m leaving.”

I don’t have the energy to deal with her break-up brand of crazy, so it made sense. It’s not the worst thing – she’s crazy hot and the body is still amazing at 28. Plus she apparently has some body disorder (no doubt invented by Cosmopolitan’s marketer-in-chief) so she gyms 6 times a week. The sex is still unbelievably great, and she’s enthusiastic about oral. She’s a good girl too, picks me up when I’ve had too much to drink, cooks and cleans without complaining, doesn’t have as many hang-ups as normal girls.

The best part about it was that she had to phone her 1 billion chick friends to scream the news down the phone so she was busy most of the night. I at least got to catch up on my PVR’d Lost episodes.

Sweet.

Not an asshole

Just in case you think I’m some sort of a misogynistic asshole (which I am only part of the time), I don’t think that all girls are stupid, hormonal and crazy. I’ve known plenty of girls who managed to suppress most of the crazy, or who used their brains to be reasonable rather than emotional. I’m also just saying these girls are few and far between.

Carryn took an instant dislike to most of my female friends/acquaintances and there weren’t a lot of them that wanted to stick around for the competition. To be fair, I did sleep with most of them, and those I hadn’t already I did still want to, so maybe Carryn wasn’t too far off. But there is one friend Carryn doesn’t stand a chance of getting rid of, and strangely enough has never had any inclination to. In fact, she sometimes speaks with more approval of June than she does of me.

June is a friend from varsity days, and the only woman other than my mother than I’ve known for that long and haven’t slept with. Don’t want to sleep with either. June is hot, but for other guys. I’ve known her too long and she’s like one of my bros. She still gets invites to our boys’ weekends, and she gets to be an honourary guest at all rugby matches and Teazers visits. She is one of the few girls I know without the crazy reflex. (And according to her, the gag reflex. June has a tendency to exaggerate.)

I’ve met all of her boyfriends, all steady serious guys who would do anything for her. There’s only one that really stuck, and Jack has been around for ages. None of the boys are really mates with him, he’s not really our type, but June is happy and so I think it’s awesome.

In any case, I want to use June to illustrate that it is biologically possible for girls not to be raging hormonal tearbags of issues, resentment and insecurities. Just think like a man, and you’ll be sorted.

Guilt

The worst thing about this weekend? Having my (already fairly shit) Super 14 game ruined by Carryn’s whining and tearful threats. The best thing about this weekend? Carryn’s amazing 24 sense of guilt. When she’s been annoying or clearly unreasonable, it usually takes about 24 hours for her guilt reflex to reach its pinnacle. Which means I got home after the cottage weekend to be thoroughly f&cked for 3 hours. She may be crazy, but at least Carryn brings the crazy to the bedroom.

She always totally over-compensates too. Today’s example was afterwards, she turned to me in all seriousness, and said that if I ever feel like the sex is going out of our relationship, I must be honest and she’ll be open to spice it up. And then she offered me a threesome if I find a willing 3rd party. Fucking A!

Granted, she was all pink flushed from orgasm no. 3 and probably high on endorphins, but I’m keeping this little get-out-of-jail-free card for the future.

Sport

Why do girls NOT get that we do not want the crazy during sport? Is there some hormonal blockage to the brain which prevents them from understanding that sport is our one escape from the crap that is sometimes our life? And fine, if I’m watching Pakistan play India in a 5-day, maybe I’ll be amenable to a little nookie mid-way through. Or if there’s a particularly boring golf game, I don’t mind the constant chatter about what recently-divorced-and-slutty did to happily-married-but-clearly-the-husband-isn’t’s husband.

But ladies, please, when there is a Super 14 qualifying game on, just shut your little lady mouths for 2 hours. It’s all we ask. And when I’m already missing Dave’s massive braai (unlimited supply of Heineken and biltong) and HD Flatscreen to spend the weekend at your parents’ cottage in the mountains and their tiny tv, you could cut me some slack.

SHARKS V STORMERS is NOT a small game and I do NOT want to be interrupted. Since the boys were playing like their arses, I wasn’t in the best of moods either. So when Carryn came to me in the middle of the first half to ask me to PEEL BUTTERNUT and help make a COUS COUS salad (FFS!), I perhaps responded with a little animosity. Ok fine, I told her to f*%4 off and leave her man to do men’s things and not bother him with her kitchen issues. But still, the woman should understand!

I then had to sit through the rest of the game with her bringing up every issue she has been secretly developing in the last, I don’t know, 2 hours. Apparently I’m lazy and don’t love and then blah blah blah, I missed that part since we looked like we were going to score a try. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she wanted me to RESPOND and to tell her what I think! Gentlemen, a word of advice: when your girlfriend asks you to respond to her whining and tell her what you think, the correct response is not “I think you should come back when the rugby is finished”.

She hit the f&$%ing roof.

Luckily, her parents are stupidly religious so I sleep on the couch in any case.