I was recently captured by Nazi spies and subjected to water torture. Luckily, they ran out of water, so they opted instead to read an issue of Cosmo aloud to me. For added pain, they decided to give me 10 lashes every time they encountered a euphemism for "orgasm." This was supposed to make things worse, but I was actually grateful to be temporarily distracted from the magazine by the sound of my own screams.
During all of this, though, I managed to realize that Cosmo, really and truly, is the source of all evil. For you nay-sayers, here are a few quick facts:
- "Cosmo" has 3 consonants and 2 vowels. So does "Satan".
- Satan tries to convince people to have rampant extramarital sex. Cosmo convinces people to have rampant extramarital sex AND makes money from it.
- Cosmo convinces thousands of vulnerable (and stupid) young girls to starve themselves, which is surprisingly similar to what one of the horsemen of the apocalypse would do.
- "Cosmopolitan" has 7 consonants and 5 vowels. So does "Beelzebub." Not really, but you're probably not counting.
The worst part of the magazine are the parts that are "written by men." These articles are extracted from men in approximately the same fashion that the KGB extracts a confession. That is to say, you're given a multiple choice question, where a) is "I'm guilty", and b) is "I like having my extremities set on fire."
In roughly the same category are the articles on the male psyche (helpful and unbiased tip for female readers: MEN HAVE NO PSYCHE). These are written either by the aforementioned "cooperative males" or by self-proclaimed experts in male psychology. They almost always offer some "exclusive tip" that you won't read anywhere else (like, say, a research journal) that tell you all what men REALLY mean when they say X, or what they're silently saying when they sit on a bar stool with their toes pointed inwards (answer: "Ooh, pretzels!").
To benefit all of you people wanting to know all about the gooey insides of the male mind, here's some advice that will save you from ever having to read the Dark Book ever again. First, stop looking for that deeper meaning. When we ask "Uh...how are you?", we're not asserting our primal dominance or trying to determine your stance on polygamy. We're trying to kill that awkward silence (because we're testosterone-driven beasts, and we just have to kill SOMETHING). And no matter what the Satanic Verses might tell you, we're not secretly looking for somebody that reminds us of our mom, or anything like that.
No, here's what men are really looking for: sanity. Unfortunately, it's a commonly accepted medical fact that all women are crazy. So the dating process isn't nearly as complex as your little Sexonomicon would have you believe. All we're really trying to do is determine just how crazy you are, and assess whether or not the ways in which you are crazy are bearable enough that we'd be willing to never see anybody else for the rest of our lives. For example, your little magazine may tell you that the critical 3rd date is when we try to assess whether or not you'd make a good mother, because the number 3 secretly resonates with the male paternological drive. No, it just so happens that the 3rd date is when you start letting your guard down a little bit, and get comfortable enough to let your fake act slip up, and so randomly in the middle of the date you lose hold of your ability to control your human form and let out with an "INFIDEL! I WILL SUCK YOUR SOUL OUT OF YOUR COLD, LIFELESS BODY!" And that's why we never call back.
