Category: Ben Trovato’s Guide to Everything

Guide to Everything – Part 2 Section B

Getting a man to fall in love with you


Before you make your move, you will need to find out what strain he is. Here is a helpful guide to the four basic food groups according to phylum and subgenus.

The New Age Man

The New Age Man with his incense and sarongs and collection of wind chimes is the end result of 75 years of feminism. That’s right. Feminism’s sole achievement has been to make men believe they should be more like women. Just as all the original feminists went on to become men. Most peculiar.

The Jock

If you want a narcissist to fall in love with you, then you are way beyond any kind of advice I could give you. Your best bet is a Cameroonian faith healer.

The Oedipus Wreck

The first time you meet him, you will be swept away by his suave charm and cutting wit. He will want everything that you want. The house in the suburbs, the double garage, the 2.3 kids. You will think it is a match made in heaven. And it is, right up to the moment you find him writhing naked on the bathroom floor clawing at his eyeballs in a fit of remorse after killing his father and having sex with his mother. Granted, this is the extreme version, but it is advisable to stay well clear of anyone with Greek ancestry.

Pyotr, a Romanian sandal-maker I met on the island of Crete several years ago, had a theory that the reason why so many men are screwed up is because their mothers chose to have a natural birth. He said that boys were never meant to be squeezed from the very aperture that they spend most of their adult lives trying to get back into. Pyotr claimed the only normal men he ever met were all born by caesarean section. Romanians are peculiar people at the best of times so there is a very good chance Pyotr had it all wrong.

The Badger

Like his namesake in the animal kingdom, the Badger will follow you around making sure you have everything you need. On paper, this sounds like a fine thing. However, the Badger tends to be over-solicitous to a point where you want to find a brick and introduce it repeatedly to the side of his head.

If you think you might be with a Badger but need some sort of conclusive proof, all you have to do is invite him out on a date and get him to pick you up at 8pm. Make sure you open the door in your tracksuit top and a pair of old shorts. Feign surprise at the time and tell him you won’t be a minute. Every five minutes, shout out, “Almost done!” A non-Badger will let you get away with this for an hour. A Badger will start on you within seven minutes. It will start with, “Sweetheart, don’t want to rush you, but I booked for 8.30” and then progress steadily through, “Can I give you a hand?” to “What the hell are you doing in there?” to “Right, that’s it. Find yourself another boyfriend.”

Another area in which Badgers feature prominently is sex. There is nothing that makes a man hound and harass a woman more than the prospect of whipping off her knickers. Badgers frequently lack the sensitivity to tell the difference between, “No, no”, “no, maybe” and “no, yes”. This means that if they think they have a chance of getting you nekkid, they will badger you relentlessly until you threaten them with physical violence or give in. Badgers prefer that you do both simultaneously.

The Maverick

Also known as the Rebel, the Renegade or That Crazy Bastard, the Maverick frequently has an outwardly normal exterior. He might even hold down a decent job like train driver or neuropharmacologist. However, the chances are that when he is alone he can be found flipping the dials and diddling the drugs.

The Maverick has a brain like a computer virus. He enjoys burrowing into political and social systems and eating away at them from the inside. Be careful what you say in front of him. Casually toss a phrase like “conventional wisdom” in his direction and he is likely to snort and say something like. “Ha. Now there are two of the most ill-paired words ever spoken. Wisdom evolves. Convention skulks in the corner and broods. Wisdom turns somersaults and chases sunbeams. Wisdom drives a tank with a stupid little fish sticker on its bumper …” At some point you will want to excuse yourself and go in search of something powerful to drink.

Mavericks can be difficult to understand without some sort of artificial accelerant coursing through your veins. Do not pursue one if your dream lies behind a white picket fence. Or a boundary of any sort, for that matter. Do not even think about trying to change him.

Peter Pan

A team of expatriate Filipino research students living on Hawaii’s big island has found that a surprising number of men (98.4%) are afflicted with the Peter Pan Syndrome. Although not contagious, it does seem to be a genetically inherited condition. In layman’s terms, fathers pass it on to their sons who in turn pass it on to their sons and so on until a wife uses a blunt object to end the line.

I once met a woman in the advanced stages of trauma caused by PPS. We were talking about housekeeping, as one does with married women, when she said, “You know, it’s not easy having three boys.” Now, I knew for a fact that she only had two boys. At that very moment both of them were clinging to my legs like baby orangutans, making it impossible for me to get to the fridge for another beer. “What do you mean?” I said. I was about to pry the brats loose with a red-hot braai fork when my friend ran into the room with his underpants on his head making a high-pitched chattering noise pretending to be some kind of superhero. His wife looked at me with dead eyes, leaving me in no doubt as to what she meant. I left quickly, stopping only at the traffic lights to push the children out.

There are many things that act as triggers for this condition. Watch out for:

  • Sports shops
  • Explosions
  • Fire engines
  • Hardware stores
  • Anything that operates with a remote control
  • Car shows
  • Stunts (cars and bikes)
  • Brothels

Famous Peter Pan personalities include Paul McCartney, Cliff Richard and, of course, Peter Pan himself. It goes without saying that boyish good looks tend to exacerbate the condition. The likes of Charles Bukowski and William Burroughs suffered from many afflictions, but I doubt that PPS was one of them.

Men suffering from PPS are generally harmless and aggravate nobody but their wives and girlfriends. However, it sometimes happens that the condition takes a strange and savage twist and the victim turns into:

Peter Pandemonium

This is Peter Pan with a substance abuse problem. Like his more conventional cousin, he also refuses to grow up and act his age. However, what puts him in a league of his own is that, as he gets older, he actually increases his intake of drugs, alcohol, loud music and loose women.

Peter Pandemonium progressively becomes a hazard to himself and all those around him. He leaves a trail of destruction in his wake. But he also has the capacity to make a lot of people happy, almost all of them women. There is a certain kind of woman who falls for his devil-may-care attitude. Driven by a host of solid and liquid chemicals, this silver-tongued pitbull has the ability to talk his way into and out of almost anything. Later in life he begins to think that he is indestructible, having miraculously survived several nasty accidents involving mountain slopes, wild animals and fast-moving cars. Do not attempt to convince him otherwise. Even when his wife packs up the children and flees to another city, it only registers as a blip on his hedonistic screen. Let him grow old disgracefully.

The Bottie Bandit

Homosexual men can be a lot of fun. Apparently. I have no idea if this is true or not. But there are women out there who will defend their gay friends to the death. You could be one of them, for all I know. Fine. That’s your business. But a word of advice. Don’t have them over to your place all at once. Whether you are with a Jock, a New Age Man or a Maverick, the odds are that he is not going to appreciate having his Sunday afternoons shattered by a house full of flouncing queens mixing strawberry daiquiris and regaling everyone with wildly-exaggerated tales of their Saturday night sexual escapades.

Quite a few women are physically attracted to gay men. Straight men find this inexplicable, but when you consider that women always want what they can’t have, it begins to make more sense. Besides, a lot of gay men have the kind of bodies that straight men dream of having. Well, you know what I mean.

What sometimes happens is that a woman will join a gym with the sole intention of firming up her bank balance. She monopolises the Stairmaster because the machine is in the corner of the gym that overlooks the parking lot. From this vantage point, she can see exactly who is driving which car. It’s not long before a black-eyed stranger with ripped abs, slashed pecs and torn jeans steps from his metallic blue Z5 and strides confidently into the gym. Nine hours later she is shrieking and whooping and throwing away the family name in the hope of acquiring his. Nine months later she is weeping and cursing and throwing pieces of fricassee chicken at his head. “Why?” she is wailing. “Why didn’t you tell me you were gay?” He looks suitably shamefaced, and having half of his dinner stuck to his forehead doesn’t help at all. “I thought I might … I never … I can’t …”. His voice trails off and he walks off to the bedroom to pack his clothes, horribly conscious that his hips are swaying just a little too much.

So, have a Bottie Bandit as a friend, if you must. But, and it doesn’t matter how hunky or how well hung he is, don’t ever marry one. It’s bound to end in tears.

To be continued …

Guide to Everything – Part 2 Section A


Section A Unit 4


At some point, if you want a man badly enough, you will have to engage him in conversation. Remember that, compared to you, a man is considerably less impressed by the first words. A man will not remember what you are wearing when you come up to him in a bar or restaurant or on the beach or in the parking lot of the magistrate’s court. Ask him to repeat your first words ten minutes after meeting him and he will scratch his head (actually, it’s more likely that he will scratch his crotch), and say, “Didn’t I make the first move?”

And while a woman approached by a man will make lightning-fast calculations based on body language, clothing, facial hair and shoes to determine her response, a man will react on a far more visceral level by watching her face.

This is why it is so important for you to make sure your face is doing the right things when you go up to a man with the express intention of getting him to fall in love with you.

A friend’s niece, Sandy, was telling me the other day how she had sidled up to a bronzed slab of man lying on the beach at Camps Bay and asked him for the time. She said he sat up and looked terribly guilty. He apologised profusely before hanging his head in shame and digging his toes into the sand. She reached out to touch him lightly on the shoulder as a way of thanking him for his trouble, but he recoiled as if she were about to strike him. I tried to make light of it and said that he was obviously batting for the other side, but it is far more likely that Sandy was wearing her Scary Face when she spoke to him. Sandy thinks she might have forgotten to change her face after the incident with the Joburg driver.

Men are extremely sensitive to what a woman’s face is doing when it is pointed towards them. For centuries, men have been trying to fathom out “the look”.

The ability of a woman to use her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth in such an infinite number of combinations to express such an endless range of emotions remains one of the most enduring mysteries of evolution. In terms of guerrilla warfare, a woman’s face is the tripwire and her voice the splinter grenade.

You need not even worry about matching your face to your words. Go up to a man in a bar and say, “You remind me of a lizard in a leather coat”, but say it in a low purr with a mysterious smile and one eyebrow raised. Guaranteed, he will wag his tail and lick your hand.


Chapter 2 Verse 11


Once he has swallowed your hook all you have to do is reel him in. But do not dawdle because the waters are full of meat-eaters who will try to nibble at your catch. Women find men with other women very attractive. It is almost as if by having a partner they acquire some kind of secret stamp of approval.

The first date is when you will start getting to know what type of man he is. A lot of men would rather you skip this part and go straight to bed.

In the minds of modern men, courting is an outdated and expensively circuitous route to a destination that you are both likely to arrive at regardless of how much time and money is wasted on the exercise.

Unhappily for modern men, the minds of modern women have not developed along similar lines. They want the whole deal. Flowers (not from the garage), phone calls (plenty), late-night text messages (romantic), movies (sexy), more flowers (not from the garage), dinner (expensive) and so on.

You may be one of those women with a less traditional approach, in which case skip this chapter and proceed straight to Sub-Section 23c. However, the odds are that you are a sloppy romantic. This is an essentially feminine trait, although more and more men can be found surreptitiously sniffing flowers and crying in the movies. Hopefully you will not want one of these men to fall in love with you. Believe me, it starts with the flowers and ends with the gold lamè bodysuit and feathered mask at the pride parade.

Determining where you go on your first date will largely be dictated by the type of man he is. Don’t be influenced by your addiction to sucking on oysters and quaffing fine champagne. Let him decide on the restaurant. But before you get to this point, it is important to ascertain certain things.


Book IV 2nd Floor

Certain Important Things To Ascertain



You may think this is a no-brainer but I can assure you that there is many a slip twixt gangplank and ship. I live in Cape Town, the African equivalent of San Francisco with fewer steep hills but just as many cross-dressing deviants and a whole pack of dangerous goat-like creatures that are taking over Table Mountain.

The stories I have heard are frightening. Lucy, a good-looking brunette friend of some guy with a beard that I met briefly on the corner of Main and Beach, was taken out on a first date by a tall, good-looking pastor with the eyes of a poet and the hands of a steelworker. Perfect, she thought, and went on to have a romantic dinner where the sparkling conversation and fine wine flowed freely.

By the time Lucy kissed him goodnight at her front door (she’s very old-fashioned), she was well on her way to falling in love. That was until she accidentally brushed her hand across his crotch and there was nothing there. Nothing at all, she said, not even the slightest hint of convexity. In the absence of tumescence, Lucy fled into her building. I asked her if he was not perhaps possessed of a very small willy, as some Catholic men are, but she laughed harshly and said he was clearly a she out for a walk on the wild side. I have no reason not to believe her. So be careful. There’s a lot of dog-collar fraud out there.


Women are more inclined towards genetic snobbery than men. They expect their males to have a certain pedigree. If they had the self-restraint of men, they would publicly feel our biceps and peel our lips back to check our teeth. Even women of dubious bloodlines look for men of good stock. It is all about wanting to have children that do not grow up into thieving, murdering bastards. South African women have a particularly low strike rate in this department.


There is so much interracial fraternisation going on these days that it is becoming increasingly difficult to gauge a man’s race with any real certainty. I am not saying this is a good thing or a bad thing. It is just a thing.

The waters have been further muddied by black people using skin-lighteners and white people using tanning beds.

If you have met a man and you want to know which race he belongs to before you go on a first date, I suggest you pick a fight with him and then take some of his hair or skin from under your fingernails to a biologist and ask for a DNA test. This may be quite costly but at least you will be spared the surprise of finding out that your first child is the colour of an Easter egg. Or even the Easter Bunny, for that matter.

Marital status

Another tricky area. It is not uncommon for men to slip their engagement or wedding rings into their pockets when they are out on the town. This is a despicable habit heavy with symbolism that far outweighs the simplicity of the act. And yet, why should you care? If this is the man who you want to fall in love with you, it doesn’t matter how many wives he has. Deal with them later. But if you were brought up by jackals in the middle of the Kalahari Desert and are meeting men for the first time, you will probably be concerned about these things.

In this case, check his finger for the telltale white band left by a freshly removed ring. But don’t jump to conclusions. It may be that he is recently divorced. Ask him. Asking doesn’t hurt. In this case, however, asking should hurt. Whatever he says, keep telling him that he is lying. If he really is married, it won’t be long before he cracks under pressure and tells the truth. Even if he is not married, he will admit to lying about something else, if only to stop the questions.

Now that you have broken him down, you can start building him up again. This time, according to your blueprint. However, it may be that you are simply toying with him. This is acceptable sport for a Friday night but should not become a habit. Men can only take so much badgering before they go gay or go away.


Having counseled thousands of troubled couples over the past three weeks that I have been in the self-help business, I have to say that more and more women are looking for men who are completely without religion. They find it only gets in the way of good, guilt-free sex as god meant it to be.


I don’t know what this means, but some people find it important. If you are one of them, I suggest you keep it to yourself. Nobody like a smartarse.


This is only important if you discover that the man you have your eye on is an Afghan on the run from Guantanamo Bay. Even though you are drowning helplessly in his big brown eyes, you do not want your name on any list that is being circulated inside the Pentagon. Stay well clear of men who are more interested in your passport than your pussy.

Sexual orientation

You are looking for a well-rounded man who knows what he is and what he wants. You do not want someone who has never made it out of the psycho-anal stage of his development. Nor do you want someone who would rather watch television than watch you strip. Be careful of any man who remarks on your shoes and hums Black Sabbath’s Changes (“I’m going through changes…”).


To be continued …

Guide to Everything – Part 2


How To Make A Man Fall In Love With You

(without losing your sanity, sense of humour or virginity)


At the mere mention of this chapter there are women out there who will snort and toss their heads, as some women are wont to do at times like these. They will say that apart from Robert Mugabe’s gushing biography of Tony Blair, this would be the shortest text in the history of the written word.

If a woman were to write this chapter, this is what she would say: “First, find a man. Second, offer to buy him a beer. Third, make it clear that you are available for casual sex.” This, apparently, is all it takes to get a man to fall in love with you.

What absolute nonsense. It is a far more complex process. Modern man (often found wearing a skirt) is no longer the unconscionable slut he once was. These days, men are far more discerning.

Just as there are a growing number of beers to choose from, so are there more hybrids of women than ever before. Faced with this smorgasbord, men have become a lot more selective. No longer can their hearts be stolen with the offer of fellatio and a toasted sandwich. Well, some can, but then this is hardly the type of man you want falling in love with you.

Today’s man wants to be satisfied on many different levels and women can no longer get away with boiling an egg for supper and grooming just three square inches of her body every second week.

If you are looking for a man to fall in love with you but lack the confidence to say so out in the open, then it is quite acceptable to feign support for one or other progressive women’s organisation. Just as long as you wear a short skirt and shave your legs. In the old days (1658–2003), men subconsciously placed feminists somewhere between dykes and ugly. This is no longer the case. Modern man (2004– ) has come to the conclusion that the genuine feminist means him no harm. It is patently obvious that modern man has become lulled into a false sense of security by a new breed of feminist who has learned to mask her true intentions behind a plethora of false flags and red herrings.

Back then, men could see feminists, or rather their hairy armpits, coming from a mile off. They wore their hardened hearts on their sleeves, which was really quite a silly thing to do considering that a man forewarned is a man forearmed. Needless to say, forewarned, forearmed men with foreskins were even better prepared for battle. So the feminists went underground.

They grew their hair long and flirted coyly with the men at the bar, giving no indication that they were even remotely affiliated to the power-crazed, tribadistic Sapphists monopolising the dance floor and guarding the jukebox.

It’s a trap, of course. And modern man is walking right into it, grinning foolishly while wearing his underpants on his head and happily gobbling up all the make potency pills that the new feminists leave lying around.

Once modern man is thoroughly incapacitated by spontaneous erections and the blood has drained completely from his brain, they will make their move. Once the office blocks are empty and the streets are full of writhing, pleading, onanistic wrecks, they will walk up and gently prise modern man’s hands from his genitals and take his keys away. Modern man needs to start growing his nails. One day they will be the only weapons he has left.

The last word on the subject goes to my American pen pal, Theodore John Kaczynski. Some of you may remember him as the Unabomber, the name given to him by the fascist Republican-controlled media.


“Dear Ben,

Thank you for your letter of June 6, 2003.

I have given much thought to the problem of Brenda. Through deep and prolonged study of the works of Aristotle, Aquinas, Leibnitz, Descartes, Kant, Hegel, and Norman Vincent Peale, I have discovered the root of the problem and am able to reveal to you the solution.

Brenda, whether she knows it or not, is a feminist.

Feminists are women who are dissatisfied with men but, because they have little insight into themselves, do not understand why they are dissatisfied.

What every woman wants is a Man, with a capital M. In other words, a man who has balls, not merely in the literal but also in the figurative sense.

In Western culture, a woman’s ideal has traditionally been a “knight in shining armor”. Of course, the knights of the Middle Ages were preeminently Men: courage was their watchword. That is why women have long yearned after them. But the knight in shining armor no longer exists in Europe. The samurai has disappeared from Japan. The fierce nomad no longer rides across the Eurasian steppe. No more does the African single-handedly slay a lion or an elephant with a spear. Nor does the American Indian drive the buffalo in a wild chase over the plains or creep silently upon his enemy to steal his horses or his scalp.

And who has replaced these true Men? Behold modern man (small m): He sits all day on his fat bottom, punching keys on a computer. Terrified of losing the “job” on which he is helplessly dependent, he cringes before his boss, invents petty subterfuges and little lies to conceal his errors and his trivial misdeeds. Meanwhile his boss cringes before a bigger boss, who cringes in turn before a still bigger boss, and so on.

There are no true Men left; or rather, such true Men as remain are in prison, for in the modern world it has been made a crime to stand up for oneself.

Is it any wonder that feminists have lost respect for men? Or that they resent men for failing to be the Men after whom (however vehemently they may deny it) their hearts yearn?

From the wisdom of the greatest philosophers, therefore, we may distill a solution to your problem: You must demonstrate unequivocally to Brenda that you are a Man, with a capital M.

In your first letter to me you voiced a suspicion that the reason why Brenda refused to have sex with you was that she had replaced you with one or two battery-operated devices – presumably, one or more vibrators. To prevent Brenda from using a vibrator you must rigorously exclude all electricity from your home. First you must rip out all the electrical wiring. Then, whenever Brenda enters the house, you must force her to submit to a strict search to verify that she is not bringing in any batteries. Of course, Brenda will protest. She will have tantrums. She will scold, she will howl, she will rage. But you must remain firm. If you do so, all will be well: You will have proved to Brenda that you are a Man. She will love you passionately. She will beg you for sex.

On the other hand, if you fail to do as I say, then I can only advise Brenda to go up to the Ituri and see whether it is still possible to find an Mbuti who has single-handedly killed an elephant with a spear.

I feel inclined to wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year, but I will refrain. It would be a cruel mockery to wish a merry or a happy anything to a man who is stuck with a feminist for a wife.

Best regards,



Some of you may find it hard to agree with the philosophy of a man serving three life terms for murder, but at least he can spell. This is a rare trait in any man and my advice is that if a good speller ever crosses your path, grab him with both hands – even if he does share a cellblock with Charles Manson and Sirhan Sirhan.


Part 1 Section A


Women have an appalling track record when it comes to making the first move. Ask any man what is the single biggest failing of women and he will say, “Oh, that’s easy. Their reluctance to make the first move.”

Sure, there are a few who will say, “Their reluctance to use the rearview mirror for anything but pouting and preening and not watching out for people like me just because I’m on a goddamn motorcycle she thinks I don’t exist”, but let us not concern ourselves with this ill-tempered minority.

Right now in bars and clubs around the world, men of all shapes and colours are being roundly ignored by women who are stuck in some ancient mind-set that says men should make the first move. I think it is important that somebody be blamed for this state of affairs.

I asked Brenda who she thought was responsible and she said men. “Excuse me,” I said. “Men? Are you mad?” Brenda snorted and tossed her head. I eyed her apprehensively but she stopped short of pawing the tiles. “Who do you think came up with words like slut, floozy, harlot, tart?”

“The French?” I asked hopefully.

“Men. That’s who,” spat Brenda.

After making her clean up the spit, I got her into a friendly half-nelson and tried to make her understand that men no longer carried around gunny sacks full of nasty labels reserved for girls who come across as over-friendly.

In the days of yore (1987-1996), men were very different to the men of today. They were Men, as Ted Kaczynski would have it. They were the people in charge of Situations. Whether it was mounting a rescue operation after an airline disaster or ordering the wine at dinner, men would always be firmly in charge. However, in a relatively short period of time a lot of men have begun realising that being in charge is highly overrated. At the same time, women launched an underground charge to take the reigns. This is where we find ourselves today. In a state of flux.

Never in the history of Humankind have men been this confused. And my advice to women is simple – exploit their vulnerability. Men are genetically programmed to bring down the weakest in the herd, and they have been doing this successfully for hundreds of years. Now it is your turn.

Men, everywhere, have their flanks exposed. Their defences are in disarray and their confidence is shattered. Line up, ladies. The first move is all yours.


Guide to Everything – Part 12


Step 12 – The break-up


Some poor fool once wrote a song with doomed lyrics about breaking up never being easy, but he was wrong. Breaking up can be as much fun as courting. Maybe even more.

Studies undertaken in an uncontrolled environment by a group of Norwegian parapsychologists have shown, however, that the dissolution of a relationship is frequently fraught with great trauma. It should be borne in mind that the sight of a man refusing to give up his seat for a woman on the Stockholm to Göteborg train is enough to traumatise the average Nordic adult.

Breaking up need not be accompanied by pain and anguish. As the man, you should steer clear of such things. There will be more than enough gnashing of breasts and beating of  teeth from the woman. You will need all the strength you can muster to go back out there and make the first move.

On the other hand, it is equally important to make sure that your break up is not amicable. There are few sights more degrading than a man and his ex sitting at Mugg & Bean sharing a couple of skinny decaf cappuccinos and holding hands for the last time.

Anyway, the chances are that she would rather stick red-hot crochet hooks into her eyeballs than share anything with you ever again. And that is the way it should be.

Here are some helpful hints on the different methods of breaking up.

The face-to-face method

Popular among younger men who have not lived long enough to grasp the true import of the situation. They often fail to realise that women do not appreciate the “courageous and honest” approach nearly as much as they think. Yet they insist on sitting the poor woman down and holding her hand while looking earnestly into her eyes and then breaking her heart. “It’s the least she deserves,” he says, blissfully oblivious to the scalding irony of his words.

Apart from anything else, the face-to-face method opens you up to physical violence. I have known women who, from a reclining position, can move with the speed of a striking cobra. If you insist on using this method to end your relationship, all I can suggest is that you dress like an ice hockey goalkeeper. She may, of course, simply shoot you in the stomach when you least expect it.

The electronic method

No mess, no fuss. Popular among older men who have been slapped, headbutted, bitten and kneed in the groin more times than they care to remember.

There is a school of thought that says it is unethical and immoral to break up with a woman via email or SMS. I have no idea why. It is safer for everyone concerned. The only inconvenience is having to change your number when she begins sending you death threats every hour on the hour.

When ending it via a text message, keep it short. Something like: “Sorry bt cnt do ths hve a gr8 lfe xx”. There is no need to get poetic or melodramatic. This is an ending, not a beginning.

The telephone method

There is really only one thing to remember when you call to dump her. Never use the line: “It’s not you, sweetheart, it’s me.” This is like throwing a chunk of raw meat to a starving crocodile. She will slam the phone down and pursue you with all the enthusiasm of a sniffer dog pursuing a black man wearing a hemp suit.

You may think that by saying these words she will back off in the deluded belief that she is the normal one and you are the fucked up sociopath. Well, she won’t. She will move in for the kill. She will arrive on your doorstep and start banging on the door with a blunt instrument. When you eventually let her in to avoid a public disturbance charge, she will smash the first ornament she comes across and then begin shouting: “So what’s wrong with you what the hell’s wrong with you tell me tell me you bastard are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you?” And from there it is just a matter of seconds before you are a whimpering, craven mess clutching at snatches of philosophy to justify your fictitious inability to function in the real world. Weep, if you have to, but get the hell out of there as fast as possible.

Let her keep the apartment.

The cut ‘n run method

This is by far the least traumatic way of breaking up, especially if you are to blame for the collapse of the relationship. The method is quite simple in its execution. When you come home from work, make sure that you follow your normal routine e.g. Grab a beer, kick the cat, head for the couch.

When she starts nagging you to put the music out and turn the dog down, say that you are nipping out for a box of smokes and stop only once you reach the lower slopes of Machu Picchu.

The only problem with this method is that she will come looking for you. Next to revenge, women want closure most of all. And they can’t get it if you are not there.


Most men are quite happy to get closure by means of a last pangalang. But you should not be the one to suggest it.

For women, closure involves shedding bitter tears and asking a whole bunch of questions that have no answers. Sometimes she will try to hit you. The best thing you can do is to stand there with downcast eyes, shaking your head sadly from side to side while deflecting the blows. Do not say anything. Do not make any sudden movements. Quite a few women still subscribe to the more traditional values, and for them genuine closure only comes once you are sprawled on the staircase with a shattered spinal column and two bullets in the back of the head.

If you are one of the lucky ones, however, you will be breaking up with a modern women and she will be the one to suggest a last pangalang. Be cool. This is not normal sex, so forget the Lou Reed and the box of tricks. It is vital that you remain submissive. I find it helps to pretend that you are Diane Fossey and she is a silverback. However, you may wish to try something else.

The important thing is to remember that she is doing this so she never has to think of you again. At this point, you will realise that nothing makes any sense at all and you are ready to begin the whole wonderful cycle all over again.

Good luck.



Coming up … How to make a man fall in love with you (without losing your sanity, sense of humour or virginity).


Guide to Everything – Part 1 Steps 9, 10, 11


Step 9 – Your first fight


Studies have shown that alcohol is a valuable and yet hugely underrated catalyst in opening up channels of communication between couples who have grown apart. Do not be afraid to use it. At the same time, try to avoid drinking and fighting at the same time. I have seen many a fine carpet ruined by mock charges and spontaneous arm-flailing.

If you want to give her a piece of your mind, or any other part of your body for that matter, put your drink down first. Keep one eye on it at all times. I have known women who can, through an incredibly fast sleight of hand – faster than the male eye can see – make a tumbler of whiskey disappear and re-appear days later covered in ants at the bottom of the garden. Keep the other eye on your adversary.

Even though you have agreed only to fight with words of many syllables, women are duplicitous in times of emotional stress. Fight with her at the wrong time of the month, and the next thing you know, she’s thrown the cat at your head.

It is also important that you and your partner match your drinks. In other words, if you are planning a fight it’s no good if you are guzzling cheap brandy while she sips on a glass of watered-down white wine. Either you both go light or you both go heavy. Drunk people hate arguing with sober people just as much as sober people hate arguing with drunk people. And it does no good for both of you to be sober, either, because in this situation women have a 99% strike rate.

After a bout of domestic insurgency, it is always advisable to get straight into make-up sex. If nobody has won the argument, race each other to orgasm. You might want to spice things up by putting a little money on it.


Step 10 – Her first lesbian affair (it’s not about the dyke)


Studies undertaken by the Japanese have shown that your beloved is going to have, or already has had, an intimate experience with another woman. Your first instinct will be rage. You will then move quickly through denial, bargaining and threatening until you reach the final stage which involves you spending long hours with your head in your hands wondering how you can get in on the action without coming across as a degenerate pervert.

Heterosexual women stray for many reasons, none of which men are capable of grasping. While I appreciate that the penis is an unlovely animal at the best of times, it still remains one of the single biggest reasons for women to be attracted to men.

Research done by the North Koreans to counter what they described as imperialist Japanese propaganda demonstrates conclusively that men would want nothing to do with women if they did not come equipped with such accommodating bits and pieces. I can only assume the reverse applies equally. None of which helps to explain why your girl’s eyes have glazed over while she watches two topless Swedish backpackers rubbing one another with suntan oil at the municipal swimming pool.

The naked female form is a beautiful sight to behold. Unless, of course, it is covered in yellow bruises, gelatinous rolls of blubber and clumps of spiky black hair. So I can understand why women would find other women sexually attractive. Their bodies are far more appealing than ours. Well, mine, anyway.

The important thing is to relax. The odds are that your girl is merely dabbling. She is, in professional terms, a Lipstick Lesbian. Her fling will probably not last, but while it does there is a very good chance that you will meet her partner in crime. It is very likely that this one is the genuine article. Like all predators, real lesbians love fresh meat. But even though you may feel resentment and jealousy bubbling to the surface, it is vital that you remain calm and not let on that you know what is going on. It’s not about the dyke. It’s about your girl getting something out of her system, whether she is satisfying plain old curiosity or something a little more primal. Either way, let her ride it out.


Step 11 – Your first affair


There is no point in you shaking your head and thinking, “An affair? Me? Never, as long as I live, so help me …” Be honest, now. Before you could even finish the sentence your eyes had strayed from the page and onto the passing buttocks of a fine young thing. This is quite natural.

When deciding to have your first affair, there are certain vital factors to take into consideration. First of all, is there enough petrol in the car? The last thing you want is to run out of juice as you leave her place. So before embarking on an affair, make sure the tank is full. Some researchers, mainly from the former Eastern bloc, take the line that your motivation is important when choosing whether or not to be unfaithful to your partner. This is not true and provides a clear indication of why communism was such an abysmal failure in that part of the world.

A surprising number of men (100%) frequently think about having sex with women other than the ones they are with. Oddly, only 10.4% ever act on these thoughts. However, independent studies done in Malta have shown that men are congenital liars. And since most research teams are headed by men, it is quite possible that this figure could in fact be as high as 78%.

It often happens that when a man decides to be unfaithful to his partner, it is not a decision at all. Rather, it is the decision of the brazen hussy who has been making moon eyes at him for the last month. Men do not enter into affairs lightly. For a start, they are easily confused. There is an awful lot to remember when pursuing an illicit liaison. Directions, dates, times, cover stories, deodorant. The list is endless. And as I might have mentioned, men are by nature indecisive when it comes to matters of the heart. They want a bit of this and a bit of that. And sometimes a bit of the other thing, too. This is why it is invariably the woman with whom he is having the affair who ends up boiling the bunny.

Ultimately, there is only one thing you have to worry about when embarking on an extracurricular activity – getting caught. A former male supermodel I once met has the words “Never Underestimate The Power Of Denial” tattooed down his inner arm. At the time I thought this was a rather strange thing to do, but it makes perfect sense when applied to the pursuit of forbidden fruit. Never admit anything. If she comes home early and finds you and Brigitte rolling around on the carpet wearing nothing but World War II gas masks and one another’s underwear, there is only one thing you can say: “Honey, it’s not what it looks like.”


To be continued …

Guide to Everything – Part 1 Step 8


Step 8 – Moving in together


Now that you have been dating for a while, it is likely that you will have come to several realisations. Among them, that you want regular and immediate access to your partner’s body. You have given a great deal of thought to ways of achieving this without giving her the impression that you are open to the possibility of marriage.

Living together is the obvious solution. However, it must be said that most women see co-habitation as the final pit stop on the race to the pulpit, so be very careful when introducing the idea of sharing a place.

Base your suggestion on financial considerations. Tell her that since you spend so much time at her place, it doesn’t make sense for you to keep paying rent on your place. She will get the message soon enough. Then you will discover that her place is way too small for both of you, and before you know it you will be spending your Sundays with a whole bunch of other hermit crabs scuttling about looking for the cheapest shell available.

It is important you know from the outset that your participation is not strictly required in this process. All you really need to do is trail around behind the estate agent mumbling and nodding and occasionally tapping on the walls. At some point, your girlfriend will say to you, “What do you think, sweetheart?” Your answer may as well be, “I think Hegel was wrong when he said the history of the world is none other than the progress of the consciousness of freedom” for all the good it will do. It is utter foolishness to try to convince a woman to live in a place where she doesn’t want to live.

While you are working out where to put the couch so that you can lie down and still have a clear view of the television and that little corner of ocean, she is standing in the bedroom like a human antenna picking up the vibrations of every other person who has ever slept in that room.

Never mind the aesthetically pleasing flow from the kitchen to the lounge, or the cozy nook that would be perfect for your study. If she starts saying things like, “Something doesn’t feel right”, you should leave at once and never talk of that place again.

Look, if you really want to live there, you could try putting peanut butter on her arms and legs. Keep the door locked for a couple of days and by the time she has finished licking it off there is a fairly good chance that she won’t stray.

Once you are living together, you have certain responsibilities and obligations as a common-law ‘spouse’. However, these are overridden by your legal right to drop whatever you are doing and leave a hastily scrawled note on the fridge saying that you are going to Mexico and will probably never see her again.

There are some self-help books that say this is precisely the reason why couples should get married and not live together. They say co-habiting makes it too easy to leave. Well, duh. Isn’t that the reason you do it in the first place?

Do not, under any circumstances, listen to anyone who tells you that the only way a couple can share their lives is through the commitment of marriage. This, they will tell you, takes a lot of hard work. Don’t you get enough of that from Monday to Friday? If you find you are having to work at your relationship, end it quickly and move on to one that doesn’t take any work at all. Get out before she uses those four terrifying words: “We have to talk.”

But don’t be too hasty. Living together takes an enormous amount of adjustment, most of it from your side. For the first few days, maybe even weeks, she will pick up your clothes and towels off the floor and wrap her arms around you and say things like, “You’re such a little piggy, but I love you, anyway.” This innocuous remark is so overloaded with sub-text that if it were a taxi it would be pulled over and impounded.

If you don’t get the message, do not be surprised when you, the same cute little piggy of a month ago, somehow inexplicably turns into a wild boar with rank breath, bloodshot eyes and strings of glistening drool hanging from its unshaven jowls. And once she starts to see you as little more than a semi-articulate warthog, there is nothing you can do but pack your things and leave quietly.

While you were dating, she seemed to find your bachelor ways eccentric and endearing. But living together, these very same habits quickly become disgusting and abhorrent. It makes no sense, but there it is. It happens.

If you like her enough to continue living with her, then pick up after yourself, wash the dishes regularly, shave on weekends, pretend to like her music, stop drinking excessively, don’t bring hookers home and, more importantly, put the toilet seat down when you are done. In return, you get to play with her hamster as often as you like.

However, often is one of those words that take on a strange elasticity when applied to coitus.

Neville, a former Jehovah’s Witness once married to Clarissa, an American stunt double, said that when they first moved in together they were like a pair of rats from the Pfizer laboratory. Not even fire alarms or police raids could stop them. Then, he said, a light inside Clarissa seemed to switch off. Neville said it was a bit like a fridge light in that you never actually see it go off, but you know that once you close the door the inside of the fridge is plunged into cold darkness. Women are very much like fridges, he said.

The last I heard, Neville was living with a middle-aged Catholic lay preacher called Steven.

Living together can be a lot of fun, but don’t expect your old pal Fellatio to come around as often as he used to.


To be continued …


Guide to Everything – Part 1 Steps 6 & 7

Step 6 – Meeting her friends

Girls in their twenties come with the standard set of eight friends. One is her best friend who knows absolutely everything about her. Five she regularly bumps into and shrieks, “Oh. My. God! I haven’t seen you in ages! We must catch up!” The other two are overweight gays with self-image problems, but who are always up for a bit of shopping and a good old-fashioned gossip.

It is important to win over the best friend, especially if she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Gregoire, a Mauritian expatriate married to Gonda, a butcher’s daughter from Springs in the Free State, told an ex-colleague of a friend of mine that when he first met Gonda at the cherry festival in Ficksburg, she was with her best friend, Ria. They were drinking cider and giggling and pretending to French kiss each other. Gregoire says he fell instantly in love with Ria but when he went over to introduce himself to the two girls, Ria began hissing and snarling at him like some wild territorial animal. Right then and there, he fell in love with Gonda instead. And even though she fell for him too, it was a nightmare dealing with Ria’s jealousy.

Girls use some kind of emotional superglue when they bond, so when one gets a boyfriend and the other doesn’t, there is always a certain amount of blood on the floor. What would often happen is that Gonda and Ria would arrange to see a movie on a Friday night. Then Gregoire would call Gonda at the last minute and Ria would end up alone at home drinking peach schnapps and defacing all the old photographs of her and Gonda. Gregoire always suspected that Ria’s behaviour was rooted in something a little more Sapphic than common or garden jealousy.

On Ria’s 25th birthday he thought he would use the occasion to end the hostilities, so he sent her a card inviting her to spend an hour in bed with Gonda. He hoped this would put an end to the madness once and for all. When Gonda got to hear about Ria’s birthday present, she confronted Gregoire who quickly reassured her that he would be in the room to make sure nobody got hurt. As it turned out, Gonda and Ria became lovers and in a small shop in the south end of Springs, there is a butcher’s blade with Gregoire’s name engraved on it. Except they spelled it incorrectly and called him Griqua.

There are many similar scenarios involving best friends who feel jilted. One of these entails your girl exaggerating your good points in a desperate bid to prove to her best friend that you are not the unscrupulous cad she suspects you to be. This often includes your prowess in bed, but only because it is the one thing that the best friend cannot compete with. Sooner or later, your girl has to leave town for a team-building weekend. “Take Angie to a movie while I’m gone,” she says to you. “Please? She’s all alone. And you two need to bond.”

So when your girl returns on Sunday evening, she is understandably upset to discover two burly men from the fire department stamping out the last of the flames caused by such enthusiastic bonding that the sofa spontaneously combusted.

Remember that her gay friends are important to her, so avoid lisping loudly and flouncing dramatically about the room when she mentions that Brucie’s nervous disorder is getting worse. I am not quite sure why women enjoy having gay friends. None of the men I know are remotely interested in having a bunch of bull dykes around for a game of poker.

I think, in the case of women, it might have something to do with being able to talk to a man without him wanting to whip out his willy within the first five minutes of conversation.

Most women are heavily influenced by their friends. They can swing from Christian to Hindu, from conservative to liberal, from feminist to fuck-bunny, all on the word of a best friend. Most women who fall in love are blind to the faults of their man. The problem is, every time she gets together with her best friend, she grabs your girl by the shoulders and shakes her and says, “But, Janet, don’t you see? He has the moral fibre of a jellyfish! He only wants you for your money/vagina/beach house/car!”

Throughout history, women united have been able to accomplish extraordinary things. Like winning the right to vote and, ah, well, that’s all I can think of right now. But when the lone woman speaks, her voice achieves very little. At most, it might induce a headache in whoever is listening to her, but that’s about it. Keep it that way.

Step 7 – Meeting her family

If you thought her friends were an ordeal, her family will be the ultimate make-or-break test of your relationship. A great poet once said, “They fuck you up, your mum and dad.” Over the years I have often referred to these deeply insightful words to rationalise the aberrant behaviour of women I have known and loved.

Even though you and your girl might not have been together for long, you will have noticed one or two peculiar quirks in her behaviour. We all have them to different degrees. Someone like my good friend, Ted Kascynzki, has quirks that are more pronounced than those found in most people. This does not make him a bad person and I, for one, think that three life terms in a Colorado jail is a little extreme.

But whatever odd mannerisms or strange behaviour you detect in your girl, know one thing. It is all a direct consequence of her upbringing. However, when meeting her father for the first time, it is best to resist the temptation to go up to him and say, “So you’re the sick son of a bitch …” Instead, pretend to treat him with deference and respect. Concentrate on working out the weak links in his psychological armour. Analyse his speech patterns and get to know his thought processes. This will make it easier for you when it comes time to analyse his assets and get to know his tax dodges. Remember, it is not only his daughter you are after. It is also his money. Unfortunately, he knows this long before he even gets to meet you.

Mom: “Honey, Jenny’s bringing her new boyfriend around tonight.”

Dad: “Quick, put on this old sack and roll up the Persians.”

There was a time when the only thing a father had to worry about was his daughter coming home deflowered. Now, they are far more concerned that her callow little bastard boyfriend has his sights set squarely on the family fortune. The deflowering is bound to happen sooner or later, and all those expensive horse-riding lessons have probably taken care of that department, anyway. Today’s father has a way of rationalising things when it comes to weighing up the pros and cons of his daughter losing her virginity or him losing his money.

So, right from the start, be aware that her father will be watching very closely for any signs of ulterior motives. Do not make the mistake of wandering through the lounge picking up works of art and holding them up to the light. And never, ever make the mistake made by Rodney, a former employee of a friend’s ex-boss. When he met his girlfriend’s parents for the first time, he excused himself and went to the bathroom. Her father, on his way to switch the good whisky for a cheaper brand, found Rodney in his bedroom on his knees with a jeweller’s eyepiece screwed into his right socket scrutinising some or other bauble he had bought his wife for Christmas. Rodney couldn’t think of an excuse quickly enough so he said he was an undercover agent attached to the military wing of De Beers and was on a top secret assignment to track down blood diamonds that had been secretly sold by the Sierra Leonean junta to a Swiss cartel of illicit gem dealers operating as a money laundering front to fund America’s war on terror. To his surprise, the father turned the colour of old newspaper and said he was welcome to keep the jewellery and his daughter for as long as he wished.

It is always a good idea to flirt with the mother. Not in front of her daughter, of course. And certainly never in front of her husband. But you can be sure of one thing. Mom hasn’t been flirted with in years and you are the first young buck to walk into the house since the gardener was fired. When nobody else can hear you, tell her that when you first saw her you thought she was the sister. They love that. It doesn’t even matter if your girl does not actually have a sister. It has been so long since Mom received a compliment that she will be like butter in your hands after that. Make sure you wipe your hands afterwards, because dad can recognise mom’s butter from a mile off.

Unless mom is a battered spouse, the odds are that she holds considerable sway when it comes to family opinion. So when you leave after meeting them for the first time, there will be a family conference where everyone gets together to discuss your suitability, in much the same way that great white sharks get together with baby seals to discuss the sustainable utilisation of marine resources. But mom’s opinion will carry the day. If you have done your homework, mom will be on your side. And even if dad is dead set against you having anything more to do with their daughter, mom will sit on her power base until he relents. I guarantee it.

To be continued …

Guide to Everything – Part 1 Step 5


Step 5 – Getting to know her (biblical)


This is the reason you were interested in her in the first place. It wasn’t her trendy hairdo or her sparkling eyes. Nor was it her smile or perfect teeth. In fact, it had nothing at all to do with anything above the shoulders, but everything to do with that tight pair of jeans and low-cut blouse. The way her buttocks moved when she walked to the bar. The way her nipples strained against the soft cotton fabric. The way the lasers picked out the belly ring. You wanted to tear her clothes off and ravage her right there on the spot. You were so consumed by images of her naked that you knocked your beer into your lap.

So you have got to know her fairly well and you’ve reached the critical next step. The chances are that your woman reached this stage a while back, but was too polite to mention it. Their mothers trained them not to make the first move.

Like most men, you will have missed the signs that she is ready to take the plunge. Like most men, you find it hard to believe that any woman, let alone one as desirable as this, would voluntarily remove all her clothes and invite you on board. But since she has not yet brought it up (even though she has already stuck her tongue into your ear and accidentally grabbed your crotch while looking for her car keys) you can stand it no longer and have decided to take matters into your own hands.

Once you decide to go for the home run, you need to arrange a time and place. These two elements are crucial and will lay the foundations for your sexual relationship with this woman. The place you choose to commit the act will not only send a powerful signal as to what kind of man you are, but it will also give your paramour a very good idea of just how committed you are to the relationship.

Geoff, a divorced engineer who is now courting a young illegal immigrant from Thailand, said that when it came time to consummate the relationship with his ex-wife, he took her to a rugby game and had it off with her beneath the stands. He said there was something about having ten thousand people cheering and shouting while he went at it. He said he could never have normal sex again after that. And even though his ex-wife went along with his crazy ideas of shagging in cinemas, on beaches, in taxis, behind police cars, against churches, over park benches, it soon began spiraling out of control. She left him soon after he suggested that they run out onto the field during the Sharks vs Stormers game and do it on live television right there on the halfway line.

So remember that by choosing to go all the way, you are tipping your hand in a very big way. You are also setting a standard by which all other acts of love with this woman will be compared. Do not be alarmed. The best you can hope for is erectile dysfunction. This means you will have no performance anxiety the second time around (if there is a second time). You will already have been through the fires of hell, so how much worse can it get? Since she will be expecting the worst, there is no chance of disappointing her even further. But since she is giving you a second chance, the odds are that you have grown even closer, as couples do when they survive terrible things together, like World War Two and erectile dysfunction. You will be more relaxed and hey presto! Even a half-trunk would be an improvement on your pathetic debut performance.

What you do not want to do is perform like a Viagra-crazed stud on your first outing. This sets a dangerous precedent which you will be hard-pressed to match, especially when you go around to her place for a sexy third date only to walk in and find her clipping her toenails, wearing a mud pack and watching Jerry Springer with the sound turned high.

At some point in the proceedings, she may look up at you, or down at you, and utter three words that can throw an unprepared man into the coldest of sweats and the bluest of funks. Deceptively innocent in their brevity, these words are, “I love you.”

If you find yourself in the sack for the first time and you have not yet exchanged these words with her, you should know that they could come at any time. Studies undertaken in a Paris research facility have shown that the words “I love you” are uttered 82.5% more times in bed than anywhere else.

In a previous era (1972-2003), women would not go to bed with a man unless he had given the verbal assurance that he loved her. Apparently this is no longer a precondition. Today’s woman is quite happy to hop willy-nilly from bed to bed without so much as an “I like you”. Well, not all of them. An estimated 53.8% of all women will not drop their knickers until they hear those magic words. This percentage may not sound particularly high, but if you spend most of your formative years playing in the wrong half, life can begin to seem terribly unfair.

Stewie, a born-again anarchist who once went out with a beauty queen from Clocolan, told me that when he was younger he went to bed with a girl he had been dating for a few weeks. He was kissing her feet and trying to tear the condom’s foil wrapping off at the same time when she whispered, “I love you.” Stewie said he froze. He said he had no idea where it came from, but that it rocked him to the core. Her words floated like three little parachutes drifting slowly towards a minefield.

Every man knows there is only one way to respond in this situation. Repeat them and add the word, “too”. And yet Stewie was hopelessly unable to do it. He claimed it was because he was an anarchist and therefore more ethical than most. Perhaps.

I spoke to a lawyer friend about this and he said the right thing to do would have been to lie to her. Just say it. Just say, “I love you, too” and get down to the business at hand. But Stewie was trapped in a terrible place. Naked and unable to lie, he stayed perfectly still, the half-unwrapped condom still clutched between his trembling fingers. The seconds went by as if they were years. It was like a tennis match where the ball suddenly becomes suspended above the net. What to do? Whose shot is it? Stewie was one of the lucky ones. She eventually broke the terrible silence and said, “Is it on yet?” Later he thought she might have said, “Is it in yet?” and he stopped seeing her shortly afterwards.

The point is that reprieves like these are the exception rather than the rule. Women who use the words ‘love’, ‘I’ and ‘you’ in the same sentence do not do so lightly. They expect an answer, even if it is a long rambling one that veers off into existential metaphysics, which is really the only place to go when you find that you cannot respond in the manner expected.

To cut things short, if you want her to fall in love with her, give her an orgasm. Use whatever it takes. Fingers, tongue, prosthetic limbs, vegetables, kitchen utensils, military hardware. Anything. Unfortunately, I am unable to explain in more graphic detail how to accomplish this feat because this is not that kind of book. You will have to check the Religion section of your bookshop if you want more information.


To be continued …

Guide to Everything – Part 1 Step 4


Step 4 – The first date


Congratulations. You have isolated your type and matched the right words with the right woman. No blood has been shed and, as far as you know, nobody is after you. The spontaneous chat went splendidly. You even walked her to her car when she left with her friends. And you told her that you want to see her again. At this point, there is not much else you can say apart from, “I’d really like to see you again.” However, this is a stupid thing to say. You have consumed 17 beers and 12 shots and should not be saying anything at all. The mere fact that she is still talking to you is a miracle in itself.

The concept of dating has different connotations for different generations. For instance, if you are nine and the girl you have your eye on is seven, you are fairly limited in your options. You could take her for a walk, but it only takes around 53 seconds to circumnavigate the playground and there is not much you can accomplish in that short time. Later in life, yes. But not when you are nine.

When you reach 15, you might be lucky enough to have parents who allow you to date. As you walk out of the door with Julie tugging at her training bra, good old dad will say, with a twinkle in his eye, “No hitting beyond first base, son!” This is good news. When dad was 15, first base meant holding hands at the movies. He has no idea that first base has been upgraded to include free-range tongues and fingers. But this is not a book for kids. The dirty-minded little bastards have access to filth of their own kind.

Bryane, a straight friend of a gay nephew of my neighbour’s neighbour’s uncle, told me that he always takes his first dates to a restaurant. He said that next to soaking in a hot bath, women love to eat most of all. He said they are very like cats in that way. When I pointed out that cats hate water, he said that some of them love it. I asked him which ones and he described some kind of animal that sounded like a cross between a Mexican Hairless and a Pygmy Rhinoceros. I challenged him to prove that this animal even existed and he became defensive and quite hysterical. I ended up slapping him repeatedly just to calm him down. And also, I suppose, to punish him a little for making up such an outrageous story.

Where was I? Ah, yes. Restaurants. In my view, not an ideal venue for a first date. Eating is an intensely private affair and should be done either in complete isolation or with someone you have known for at least five years.

When it comes to feeding time, men are dogs by nature. Women are more like cheetahs. Teeth are bared at times like these, and you only have to watch your dog or cat to know that you don’t hang about when the fangs come out. Although most of us have learned not to growl and hiss while we eat, all we have really done is internalise these basic instincts.

Apart from the more obvious hazards, like ordering red wine with white meat or pink gin with green salad or blue sambuca with yellow rice, not to mention the old spinach in the teeth and spaghetti behind the ear, there are other dangers that lurk latently.

There are some men (me, for one) who cannot abide it when their partner starts feeding from the other person’s plate. It’s kind of cute the first time it happens, but when she finishes her food and then starts on yours on the pretext of wanting to taste a little of everything, that’s when I want to plunge my fork into her eye socket, pluck out her eyeball and say, “Chew on this, you greedy pig.”

Then there’s the matter of the bill. Way back in the olden days (2003), a man could quite confidently reach for the bill and, with a manly flourish, slap down his credit card or a wad of crisp notes while his date looked demurely the other way. It was to be expected. The man would pay. Not because he hoped for a quick poke on the first date, but because he earned more and it was the right thing to do. Happily, those days are gone.

Women no longer expect men to pay the bill. Well, some do. Mainly the feminists, oddly enough. They have not, however, progressed to the point where they offer to cover the bill. Probably because feminism doesn’t pay very well. At most, they insist on paying half. But more often than not, she snatches the bill away and performs lighting-fast calculations in her head in the apparent belief that the entire (male) management is conspiring to overcharge her. You would be surprised at the number of times they are right.

But what many women fail to realise is that after a romantic meal by candlelight, few men want to feel as if they are a member of the Hawks on a late-night forensic audit. And if she does find that an extra coffee has been added to the bill, my advice is to excuse yourself and walk rapidly to the toilets. Hide there until the screaming stops. For the next few hours you will be hearing a lot about “the principle of the thing”.

Forget the restaurant. Go and play mini golf on your first date. It’s safer and cheaper. And you get to let her win, which will count heavily in your favour when it comes to the possibility of a little first date action.


To be continued …

Guide to Everything – Part 1 Step 3


Step 3 – The First Words


Some books suggest it is not important what you say to a woman you’re interested in getting to know. That the key is to say something. Anything. Just make that initial contact. This is a lie. Those first words are critical. They will mark you forever.

A woman can remember what shoes you were wearing when she first met you. She can remember how many beers you had on your first date and she can remember what was playing on the radio when you dropped her off at her place afterwards. She can remember what the weather was like the night you made love for the first time. So you can be pretty damn sure that she is going to remember your first words to her. If women had memories like men, it would be less important for you to choose your words that carefully.

Throughout the evolution of modern man (1975–2004), there have been women standing with one eyebrow raised and a hand on the hip, saying, “Are you telling me that you don’t remember?” Cornered, we turn sullen. We become skulking dogs, sick at the thought of having nowhere to run. It is futile to try to busk your way through, because any attempt at feigning a sudden recollection is swiftly followed by a string of questions designed to break you down.

“Okay! I don’t remember! Okay? Jesus. It’s not the end of the world!” By now you are so traumatised that you can barely remember your way to the bedroom. That’s the end of the conversation and you slink off, painfully aware that for the next few weeks all you will be licking are your wounds.

While it is vitally important to choose your first words and remember them and remember her reply and what she was drinking and what skirt she was wearing and whether or not a soft rain was falling, it is equally important to remember her name when you first meet her. There are only a certain number of times that a woman is going to respond politely to the question: “Sorry, you are …? Especially if she claims to have told you her name three times already. You could try blaming the tequila. But if she is not a wolf, it’s not going to wash. Actually, if she is a wolf she is not going to care too much what you call her.

Repeatedly forgetting her name will eventually make her forget your name. She will start calling you Drunk. Do not argue. Accept the name and push on. Or push off, depending on the look on her face.

The first words used in the first move should be dictated by what the woman is doing with her face. Watch her closely as she interacts with her friends. That’s assuming she is with friends. If she is alone she could be with the police. Or she might be a hooker. Either way, you are going to end up paying dearly should you decide to make the first move.

But assuming she is what you think she is, keep your eyes on her for a few minutes. If she is the bubbly one in the group, the one who regularly shrieks with laughter and tosses her mane hither and yon, then it is best not to approach her with lines like: “Do you believe that when someone says ‘I breathe, therefore I am’ and purports to demonstrate his existence from the fact that breathing could not exist without it, he demonstrates nothing at all, for he would first have had to prove that it is true that he breathes, and this is impossible without also having proved that he exists?”

It’s a long shot, but she may well respond with: “What do I think? I think you’re putting Descartes before Des Horse.” If she does, then you’ve met your soul mate. Congratulations. However, it is far more likely that she will tell you to fuck off.

Once you are sufficiently intoxicated to make the first move, it is important to make sure she doesn’t see you coming. Blindside her if you can. You do not want a situation where she notices you the moment you stand up on the other side of the room and begin walking purposefully towards her. She is not going to smile encouragingly and wave you over. Her eyes are going to widen in what you correctly assume to be horror. She will lower her head and turn slowly to her friends. They will all swivel in their chairs to look at you. Against all the laws of physics, you will find yourself walking in slow motion. Everyone, apart from the goddess, is staring at you. Then all of her friends will collapse in hysterics, as if somebody at the table has just said something incredibly funny.

At this point you have two choices. Allow nothing to deviate you from your mission, knowing that by losing the element of surprise you run the risk of being crushed beneath an avalanche of biting put-downs once you reach her table. If you are feeling confident and on top of your game (the Nigerians never ripped you off, for once), and you are convinced that you will have a witty comeback for anything they might throw at you, then go right in. The regret will be almost instantaneous. Your second choice is to change direction. This is a problem if her table is in the corner and you are quite clearly headed for nowhere else but the corner. All you can do then is stop, narrow your eyes and look down. Give yourself a sharp slap on the forehead, turn and walk quickly away. Make for the exit. This creates the impression that you have just remembered you have a patient lying in theatre waiting for open-heart surgery. It could also create the impression that there is something seriously wrong with you. But since you can never again return to this place, what do you care?

Given the hazards of forewarning, it is far wiser to approach by stealth. This catches her off-guard and significantly increases your chances of getting her to fall in love with you.

There is a reason why lions stalk their prey instead of hanging around on the fringes of the herd flexing their haunch muscles and tossing their manes in the hope that a gullible young springbok will come on over for a closer look.

The direct approach has its drawbacks. On many occasions throughout history, a man’s opening gambit has led to bloodshed. Bars have erupted in violence through a misplaced word. Every hospital in the world has a small quota of male patients lying in traction, wondering what it was that they said.

But despite the inherent dangers, the direct approach has an impressive success rate. Depending on where you are, of course. You may not want to try it in a taverna in a small fishing village on a remote part of Crete. Especially not if the seventeen glasses of retsina you drank for courage are making you speak in a thick, guttural slur that could easily be mistaken for German.

But it might well work in an all-night subterranean absinthe bar in Pamplona’s barrio gottica at the frenzied height of the San Fermin festival.

There are many, many words to choose from when deciding on your opening line. Dictionaries are full of them. But the secret lies in choosing the right ones and then stringing them together in a sequence that makes sense. All too often, men forget these basic guidelines and go in with a mish-mash of mixed metaphors and crippled syntax. Nothing turns a woman off faster than a man who dangles his participles in public. You don’t have to be Shakespeare. Actually, that’s a bad example. Nobody I know has the faintest idea of what he was on about. But you don’t have to be Mike Tyson, either. I have overheard men approach women with lines like: “Hey, babe, you’re like a … you got … psshhhh, you … I just want to …. Ay …  know what I mean?”

There has to be an element of persuasiveness in every opening gambit. Women no longer trust men, so they have to be persuaded to do pretty much everything from making the bed to making love. And that takes eloquence and a nimble mind.

At the best of times, men are hopeless when it comes to explaining themselves. Even when they have done nothing wrong. This is why women have evolved into such good listeners. They know that they have one shot at catching it. If they miss it the first time around, they run the risk of getting a completely different version because now the man has had time to revise his original statement. Then the woman is beholden to say: “That’s not what you said …” and you have to respond with: “I thought you never heard me …” and this kind of exchange should happen after ten years of marriage, not ten minutes of conversation.

Original words work best. Don’t be put off by the fact that there seem to be so few original women left. Even the carbon copies are open to new approaches. Women of almost any mental capacity are instinctively attracted to seemingly intelligent men. They never admit to being out of their depth. Strangely, the converse does not apply.

A stupid man will not respond well to a smart woman. He knows that nothing but a whole bunch of sniggering and scorn lies ahead should he decide to pursue the bright young thing. There’s a reason why Cruella de Ville was a woman. And it’s not just because she looked good in Dalmatian.

It is vital that you tailor your words to fit not only the woman, but the circumstances, too. Recounting your first experience with anal sex inside an abandoned abattoir just as she sinks her choppers into her cheeseburger is not going to be appreciated. Be sensitive. Remember, you are not simply giving her a line so that you can score a quick shag. As I have pointed out, this is not that kind of book. You want her to fall in love with you. You want to be with this woman for the rest of your life. You wish you had ovaries so that you could have her babies. Never tell her this, of course. Ovary envy is just too weird for most women to handle.

To know which words to use, you have to know the different categories into which women fall. Only then can you accurately match the words to the women. Mismatching can be disastrous. It often leads to marriage and later – when she realises she completely misunderstood what you were saying – to homicide or divorce. This is something you want to avoid.

Some typical genres of modern women

  • The Bitch

Supervised studies undertaken in Switzerland have shown that bitchiness is a genetic trait in all women. Apparently it clings to oestrogen like a sucker fish to a shark as it courses through the body.

Bitches have to be watched like hawks. Turn your back on them for a moment and they have not only destroyed your self-confidence, but also your chances with every other single girl within a 500km radius. As a man, your reputation and your erection are all that you really have going for you. The Bitch will not hesitate to destroy either, and all she needs is her mouth to do it.

I am not saying you should avoid a woman simply because you detect a little Bitch in her. If that were the case, you may as well slip into a pair of silver spandex lederhosen and wander the slopes of Table Mountain yodeling in the hope that your soul mate will find you.

If you come across a Bitch who you think needs to fall in love with you, then you should be armed with more than a quick wit and a crumpled Rough Rider.

Any woman with too much Bitch in her oestrogen has invariably had a recent encounter with a Bastard. Bastard is a genetic trait found in all men, but more on that later.

This does not mean the Bitch hates men. Far from it. All it means is that she is provoking you into some sort of reaction so that she may more fully get the measure of you as a man. This is interesting territory and I would urge any man who finds himself in this situation to press on and not give up and walk away mumbling “bitch” under his breath, however tempting it may be. She will brand you a chickenshit mollusk and word will spread quickly. It is far better to take her on.

Some adults say mind games are childish and that they have no time for them. However, they only say this because they do not know how to play. Mind games, like all the best games, have no rules. Small wonder, then, that the anally retentive among us scorn what they regard as a trivial pursuit. Mind games test your wits and, if played properly, make your partner question her sanity. This is good for any relationship and let nobody tell you otherwise.

Since the Bitch will be analysing and appraising you according to the way you respond to her disagreeable manner, it is vital that you take a tack diametrically opposite to the one that you would normally take. Once she thinks she has you sewn up, you can begin letting bits of the real you leak out. Keep a serviette handy. Bitches are easily confused because their mean-spiritedness is often no more than a cheap glossy varnish on vulnerable bits that have grown tender and sore after too much exposure to, well, to men like you, I suppose.

  • The Bimbo

The Bimbo is a woman who has successfully managed to mutate her Bitch gene into something more useful. Not many people know this, but the word originates from the ancient Uzbek phrase “bim” meaning “stupid” and “bo” meaning “goddess”. The inherent contradiction goes a long way towards explaining why this Soviet republic is in the state that it is today.

To be honest, few Bimbos will be found signing up for classes at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. But they can certainly be found playing pool in some of the best pubs around Harvard Square. I have seen them with my own eyes. In fact, I spoke to a couple of them while I was in Cambridge wrapping up some unfinished business, and I can tell you that while they are not stupid, they certainly haven’t done much reading. But this is no reason to condemn them. Three-quarters of the population of Africa has not read a book, and does the rest of the world shun them? Okay, bad example.

Bimbos exist for several reasons, one of which is to offset the number of ugly people in the world. Even amateur metaphysicists know that every action has a reaction, and there is no reason why this should be any different. It is all about balance.

How sad it would be if all we ever saw were ugly women. The world is already full of poor people and they make a depressing enough sight for those of us with money. Bimbos are like songbirds on a cloudy day. They are sunspots on a stormy sea. They are pools of warm honey for the badgers of this world. But more about badgers later.

  • The Hippy

If you have your heart set on a Hippy, it is important to ascertain that she is genuine. There are many women out there who dress and act like Hippies, but they are not real Hippies. They do this for several reasons, one of which is to attract men who are attracted to Hippies. These men are generally well-read and sensitive and know how to tell their oyster mushrooms from their liberty caps. They are in touch with the planet and they can access their inner child on demand. They can raise kids, corn and kundalini with equal measure. But only if they are genuine. And this is where things often fall apart.

There are plenty of non-Hippy men out there pretending to be Hippies so that they can snare themselves a Hippy woman. This is because Hippy women (if they are genuine) are into unfertilised eggs, unpretentious clothing and unprotected sex. In a world full of Bimbos and Bitches, this is frequently seen as a refreshing alternative. However, what frequently happens is that a pseudo Hippy man will charm the Indian skirt right off a fake Hippy woman and it takes years before they realise that neither of them have been inhaling and that both of them far prefer actuarial science to organic vegetables. They are harmless but you don’t really want them as your friends.

If you want to find out if your Hippy is real or not, the acid test (well, that too) is to ask her if she voted in the last election. Real Hippies reject all political systems because they are based on authority and control, anathema to the true flower child. Of course, there is always the danger that your Hippy turns out to be a bomb-happy anarchist who would be caught dead in a polling booth. Ah, what the hell. If she smells good in patchouli oil, go for it.

  • The Boss

If you are in a bar, she will be the one ordering the drinks, harassing the waiter for being too slow and deciding who drinks what. She will also be the one making a very deliberate point of ignoring you.

Bosses have a tendency to come across as extremely asexual, much like garden snails. What a pity, then, that they don’t shrivel up and foam at the mouth when their lips touch the salt rim of their pretentious marguerita glasses.

If it is a Boss you are looking for, then the odds are you are suffering from some sort of hormonal or mineral deficiency. Controlled studies have shown that, like the Bitch, all women have varying degrees of Boss in them. It is contained in that spare X chromosome that makes them women in the first place.

Most have been trained to suppress this gene, but the training is wearing thin with every new generation. We have all heard the expression: “She Who Must Be Obeyed”. But what started off as a B-grade movie joke has turned into an A-grade nightmare for every red-blooded male who grew up under the impression that he was in charge.

Some self-help books say that apportioning blame does not help. I have never heard such rubbish in my entire life. If we all went around not blaming each other for the terrible things that happen, what kind of world would that be? I will tell you. It would be a world where nobody takes responsibility for their actions. Hang on. That’s exactly the kind of world I want to live in. I might have to rethink this bit.

Domination is not necessarily a bad a thing, but it has its place. Its place is not in the kitchen making sure that the dishes are cleaned properly, nor is its place outside on the veranda nagging for the lawn to be mown. Its place is not following you around the house shouting at you for having come home drunk at three in the morning. I think it is a crying shame that these domestic dominatrixes can be found everywhere except in the bedroom.

If you really want a Boss, in addition to the penishead who controls you at work, then at least make sure you get one who will allow you to order the wine at dinner. Even if you can’t tell a Fruity Chardonnay from an Augustus Pinochet, insist on ordering the wine. Be brave. If necessary, use your steak knife to fight her for the wine list. Remember that the Napoleonic wars could not have been fought and won without the first ship casting off.

  • The Pushover

She looks like a real-life animation from a warm, fuzzy Disney film. She is soft at the edges and has big eyes that stare in wonderment at everything that happens around her. When getting to know her, it is important to make sure that she is not afflicted with that disease which makes your eyes big and staring.

The Pushover is often quite small and pretty in the face area. While the rest of the table hurls abuse at the blind rose seller, she rather sheepishly buys one. She has the look of a peasant girl who is about to fall in love in a Merchant-Ivory movie. There is a dreamy quality about her. She has never been hurt by a man. The Pushover is often a virgin once removed. Actually, often removed quite inadvertently by riding her favourite horse a little too hard. She might even have slept with one or two men and has known nothing but amicable endings. Put on the kid gloves, the gentle smile and make your approach. No, that would be predatory. It would be like canned hunting and we all know there is very little sport in that.

Come to think of it, I have no advice for anyone wanting a Pushover to fall in love with them. I think you simply want to push her over and fall on top of her. And this is not that kind of book. Go and find another one, you sick puppy. Try the Religion section. At least you might find redemption.

  • The Desperado

The Desperado will be making eye contact with every remotely eligible man in the place. It is likely that she has recently been dumped and is on the rebound. You have the advantage because she is vulnerable. Make use of it before someone else does. Her self-esteem has taken a beating and you are just the person to give it back to her.

Desperados make good lovers because they try that much harder to please. No matter how tempted you may be, never abuse their generosity. Remember that deep down, they still harbour unresolved feelings of resentment towards men. When it comes time to deal with that, it is best to agree with everything she says. All men are bastards. That includes you. Swallow your pride and go with it. Hang your head in shame. Pay for the sins of men. Try to avoid developing a messiah complex.

You will have to convince her that you are not like the rest of them, and certainly nothing like that bastard who stole her heart, used her body and disappeared with all the negatives. It won’t be easy. There may even be times when you think she is showing an altogether unnatural interest in your sister. Be strong. Unless you actually catch them in bed together, you are still in with a fine chance of landing the desperado of your dreams.

  • The Jockette

Some men find gym bunnies terribly cute. Personally, I find them disturbing aberrations of nature. Men need to be physically strong to be able to run the world and remove beer bottle tops with their teeth. Women do not need muscles. Besides, the female metabolism is designed to work at a different rate to that of the male. Women can get all the exercise their bodies need through sex and housework. It’s how much effort they put into it that counts. Some men cover their bedroom walls with mirrors to convince their wives that even if they are not having much fun they are still getting a good workout, so the hour is not completely wasted.

The gym is a relatively modern invention (circa Richard Branson). In the old days, women were built to chop wood and carry two children on each hip. They were big, no doubt about it, and men expected nothing less. Skinny women were avoided because there was a very good chance that they had the Black Plague. Or, even worse, did not know how to cook.

At some point, women began watching what they ate and started exercising. The catalyst for this behavioural change remains shrouded in mystery, although neighbour Ted believes that women began losing weight and working out around the time that beer was discovered. His reasoning is that the male hunter – a lean, well-built specimen – would return from a day of slaying wild beasts and immediately fall upon the generous folds of his fleshy woman. Then one day his woman whipped up a whole new soup made from malt, sugar, hops and water. The next day he had his mates around and it wasn’t long before all the women in the tribe were making soup around the clock. Soon enough, the wild beasts began openly sniggering at the sight of the hunter dragging his enormous belly around the bush. Returning home once again empty-handed, he tried to fall upon his corpulent woman and bounced right off. They both had such big bellies that even when they had their bodies pressed together, their rude bits were still a good half-metre apart. The man flatly refused to give up his soup, so it was left to the woman to shed her load. She trimmed right down, took a young lover and went on to become editor of the first primitive women’s magazine. The rest is history.

  • The Lesbian

Only a very small percentage of women are lesbians as a result of eating genetically modified foods. Most are lesbians either because it is trendy or because they have had a rash of bad experiences and cannot bear the thought of facing another naked man. If you have the misfortune to pick on a mutant, there is not much advice I can give you. Keep your guard up and protect your groin. Don’t try to run. Back away slowly.

If, however, it is the more common Type B lesbian that has caught your attention, then you are in with a splendid chance of getting her to fall in love with you. The real challenge in trying to get her to go home with you lies in your approach. For a start, you are going to have to be very, very sensitive. Rodney, an ex-guitarist with a band that only ever played one gig in public, told someone who told me that he had a friend whose cousin told him that he was sensitive to a woman once and that it almost got him killed. There was probably more to the story but I can’t remember what it was. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that to snag the Type B lesbian, you are going to have to dig deep and unleash your inner woman. A word of warning. Do not try to fake it.

Type B lesbians are masters when it comes to superficiality and they will not hesitate to crush your kneecaps and stomp on your crumpled body should they suspect you are working an angle. You have to suppress every vestige of your masculinity and relate to them on an entirely different level. Only then will they open up enough to allow you to take them home and play gentle music to them and whisper soft words and massage their feet until their defences are sufficiently lowered for you to move slowly southward.

Essentially, you have to pretend to be a woman trapped in a man’s body. This is the only way you are going to win their trust. It is not as difficult as it sounds. Any moron can memorise a few lines of Dorothy Parker’s poetry or learn how to write a haiku while taking a pee at the same time. It’s only three lines, for god’s sake. How hard can it be? You also have to make your hands and lips very soft. Aloe juice works for some. I was in this position once but there was no aloe juice around so I used the juice of the Agave cactus instead. A word of warning. Even though tequila is a close relative of the aloe family, it will not do much for your lips. It will, however, make other parts of your body soft.

Talking to a Type B lesbian can be a lot of fun, but only if you are able to revert to type. Gregoire, a French expatriate friend of somebody I met by chance in a Sea Point supermarket just as it was closing, said he once met a Type B lesbian in a nightclub and was completely blown out of his culottes by the way she danced. Being French, he had no trouble getting in touch with his feminine side and within seven hours he was licking the last of her lower back and offering to make fluffy omlettes for breakfast. Then, when it came time to get dressed and go home, he couldn’t face putting on his coarse Levi jeans and instead began rifling through her skirts.

Look, I am not homophobic. Some of my best friends are as bent as paperclips. All I am saying is be careful out there. If you are going to get in touch with your feminine side, make sure you know the way back home.

  • The Basket Case

She is the one constantly checking her watch for the time and her cellphone for messages. Her eyes dart nervously around the room. She laughs a lot. Mostly at the wrong times. If you observe really closely, you will see her sneak a quick gnaw on her nails. She seems to be neurotic, but you can never be sure about these things. She could just as well be on the finest amphetamine sulphate this side of Silicone Valley. But despite the twitches and tics, she is quite the most exquisite creature you have ever set eyes on.

A friend will lean over and whisper something in her ear. She will collapse with laughter. Her whole body is convulsed with laughter. After a while it looks like she might actually be sobbing. But despite the warning signs, you can’t help yourself. You bolt your drink and go over to talk to her.

She comes across like a highly-strung racehorse that can’t bear the feeling of a jockey on its back, and yet can’t live without it. Proceed with caution. Try to find out why she is so jittery. Nine times out of ten, she is bordering on hysteria after staying awake for three straight nights because Roger dumped her for no reason at all and now he won’t return her calls. Either that, or she is out of lithium.

If she tries to explain her behaviour on the grounds that she is menstruating, excuse yourself and pretend to go and buy a drink. When you reach the door, run like hell. There is no proven physical cause for any psychiatric disorder and anyone who says otherwise is lying through their teeth and cannot be trusted with your heart.

  • The Virgin

Can be difficult to identify unless you are accompanied by one of those Zulu matriarchs whose job it is to check that teenage girls are intact before allowing them to shake their reeds at the king. Even then, it is unlikely she will agree to co-operate. Especially if the bar is crowded.

The best thing about virgins is that they do not know the difference between good sex and bad sex. So if you do manage to snare one, make sure she never has an affair. The only way to do this is to lock her up in a tower and ensure that she keeps her hair short. Bring her out only in times of drought.

  • The Nymphomaniac

One of the biggest phallicies is that women do not enjoy sex as much as men. They most certainly do, only not always with you. All women are born Nymphomaniacs. However, the uncontrollable desire to mate with men slender of hip and fat of wallet does not manifest itself to the same degree in each woman. Girls, far more than boys, are told from an early age not to do handstands while wearing skirts. But there is always one in every class who deliberately defies convention and brashly hoiks up her skirt and goes on to do cartwheels, the high jump and even the pole vault. It is not until every boy in the grade is following her about, slack-jawed and flushed, that she realises just how much power she wields. But, bless her, instead of going into politics, she goes into oestrus.

A lot of potential Nymphomaniacs were left sexually repressed as a result of the handstands and dresses indoctrination. They were led to believe from a young age that boys were little more than sex-crazed beasts whose depravity knows no limits, and this scared the pants on them for the rest of their lives. Quite tragic, really.

There has been a strange and subtle paradigm shift in the way that social interaction is conducted in bars, sports clubs, gynaecologist’s waiting rooms and other places where men know that women gather in large numbers. In the old days (1995-2002) a man would home in on a woman with the prospect of his own sexual gratification uppermost in his mind. Now, however, he has been bombarded with so much information about Female Desire Disorder that he thinks long and hard before approaching anyone for fear that she will react like a woolly mammoth that has been trapped in pack ice for the last three thousand years.

The peculiar thing is, even though a suprising number of men (93.8%) fantasise about having a Nymphomaniac fall in love with them, most would not be able to deal with the situation should it arise.

When it comes to pace, style and strategy, men want to dominate and dictate. In short, they are dominant dictators with predatorial instincts. So when they are confronted by a woman who, the moment the bedroom door closes, turns into a voracious sexual beast capable of communicating only by grunting and moaning, they quickly lose their alpha maleness which is so essential to a healthy erection … I mean, relationship.

The situation is not improved when she talks him into a pair of rubber handcuffs and then swallows the key. It is around about now that he realises she is suffering from a deep psychological disorder and has begun displaying symptoms unrelated to a fun-filled evening of chilled champagne and playful sex.

But let is be said that nymphos are not sluts and nor are they hookers, although they might well be if they stopped shrieking and whooping long enough to realise how much money they could make from their disorder.


To be continued …