Nice Guys vs. Jerks

While I was checking the Twitter (as the kids call it) earlier this evening, feverishly awaiting the next post from Ashton Kutcher, I happened to notice a link to the eHarmony.com blog, where they dissect many age-old relationship issues. In a post dated August 21, 2008, they ask the question, "Do Nice Guys Really Finish Last?" and I feel as though it is my duty as a certified relationship expert to offer my take.

While I lost interest in the article in question halfway through the first paragraph because of a lot of big words, so I'm not entirely sure what their point was, here's my opinion, and it is one of the main ideas of the How to Meet Broads system: Nice guys don't finish last. But little pansies who don't stand up for themselves do.

Once upon a time, men were cowboys and soldiers, dockworkers and bare-knuckle boxers. They drank and smoked and ate steaks dripping with the blood of a freshly-slaughtered cow. They conquered opposing tribes. They harnessed the power of fire. They build pyramids, then castles, then skyscrapers, all as monuments to their own greatness. And they never once stood in a fucking department store trying to pick out a goddamn bathmat.

These days, the male race, by and large, has been figuratively castrated. Blame psychology for encouraging men to not only have feelings, but to openly discuss them. Did John Wayne have unresolved mother issues? Hell no. Blame the combination of capitalism and technology for putting most men in a cubicle for nine hours a day, where they waste away typing up expense reports. Did John Dillinger spend his time emailing expense reports to his post-menopausal regional manager? Absolutely not. Blame American affluence and the health food movement of the Eighties for turning a large number of normally-heterosexual men into non-smoking, tofu-eating, Diet Fanta-drinking wusses. Did Ulysses S. Grant ever look out over a battlefield while sipping a glass of toxin-clearing pomegranate green tea? No fucking way.

Society has, in its genuinely noble effort to advance and prolong life, created a race of men who are, in truth, men by name only.

But humans remain animals and, as animals, our sole reason for being alive is to reproduce. Certainly, we have evolved as a species and will continue to do so, but as much as we've attempted – and, for the most part, succeeded – in the art of repression, we are still ultimately driven by our simple, reptilian brains and its animalistic impulses. Thus, what we are attracted to is a part of the genetic code that keeps humanity alive. This is why men will always naturally be drawn to the female with the ideal breast-to-waist ratio, indicating that she might be good for breeding. And what do women want, regardless of whether or not they consciously realize it?

Dudes.

Strong-willed, decisive and proud, dudes are the modern-day equivalent of the protectors of the tribe. Once upon a time, dudes killed wooly mammoths to provide food. They built thatch huts to provide shelter from the elements. 

These days, dudes drink beer and watch football with their male friends. They can fix cars, grill steaks and connect stereos. They don't fight, but if push came to shove, they would stand up for what's right. They would protect those to whom they are loyal at all time. They're smart enough to get by and strong enough to pick up a woman, carry her across a room and toss her onto the bed. 

In addition, dudes don't wax their chest. Or any other parts of their body. They don't cry a bit at the end of The Notebook. They don't talk about how much their shoes cost. Dudes don't go antiquing, and they don't own dogs that weigh less than thirty pounds.

Like the cowboys from whom they are descended, dudes are independent by nature and won't take shit from anyone, male or female.

The wussification of male culture is gradually killing the dude, but women, whether they choose to accept it or not, are naturally drawn to them. 

Nice guys don't finish last. 

Weak, sensitive pansies do.