-> COVER -> THE SEX COLUMN
At first I hesitated even botherin' to respond to his spew, but the fact that he kept singling me out, week after week, and had the gall to accuse me of being derivative of his adle-pated maunderings finally provoked me to give an answer. I have only a few main points to make here, fellow Sanitation Engineers, so ya'll hang with me.
First off, Mr. Good Taste/don't taste good, that "loudest turkey" analogy has more than one thang to say about your so-called "commentary" about the relationships between the sexes.
Lemme draw you a picture, all right?
Down here in Bubbaland, it's considered low-class to kiss-and-tell. Meanin' that a gentleman doesn't need to give the chapter-and-verse on his conquests. In fact, it's been my experience that most people who got nothin' to talk about except they exploits in the sexual arena are JUST TALK. Somehow these folks have gotten the vastly mistaken impression that talkin' about they sexual prowess makes it so --- while all the rest of us just wags our heads at they babble and consider them pathetic.
So take it from one who knows, Mr. Charlie the Tuna (See? Even us trailer trash can yer name right!) all your braggadocia don't convince us for one minute that you know how to pull a decent woman. Fact is, it makes us think you are among The Clueless. More on this below.
Down here in Tejas we have been blessed with some of the finest "frails," as you calls women, of most places on the planet. You ever been to downtown Dallas, Houston or Austin at lunch hour, Bud? I don't think so. I would match our Texas women with the women of New York, Montreal or Paris. It probably has somethin' to do with our maximal days of sunshine and the water. All I know is we got us some very fine, smart, savvy, pretty women down here. Why you think we don't leave?
Livin' in this heaven of Real Men and Smart Women is a blessing that every Texan wakes up every day and thanks the Good Lord for.
Now, I noticed you mentioned Aunt Bea from "The Andy Griffith Show" last week. Well, she's a good ole Southern gal, for sure. But we got others. Here in the trailer park we got a lot of Daisy Dukes and Daisy Maes, too. And they is nothing to sneeze at. They can change a tire, or the oil, help you throw up a barn if need be, and still cook --- and I don't mean bacon, Tuna Man.
Thang is, to land yourself one of our homegrown honies, you got to have something going for YOU before you even get a second-look from THEM. Think about it!
I also noticed that you have a propensity to call most of your readers "Losers."
I'm gonnah be charitable here, because I'm that kind of guy and assume that you are referring to the people who bother to read your column as "Losers" because they are losing money in that "economic arrangement" that you envisions the relationships between the genders to be. I can see your analogy. It's consistent with how you view the world.
NOW LET MRS. HART'S FAIR-HAIRED BOY HE'P YOU GET YO' DURN MIND RIGHT (Listen up, Loser!) : You contend --- in your own danged words --- that "I think young men, who are still out here in play, will keep comin' back to where the Mack Daddy lives!"
Now down here in Tejas, which might not be the way it is in The Land of Fruits and Nuts where you live, Charlie, the Mack never loses any money. You see, the way it works down here is this:
- The johns pay the whores
- The whores pay the macks/pimps or madams, as the case might be
- The pimps/macks/madams collect the money.
Mebbe it ain't that way in San Francisco, but that's the way it is ever'where else in the world I know about.
So if you are such a great danged Mack, how come you's always complaining about payin' out?
Or is this just another instance where you is ALL TALK, ole son? Just askin'.
I hope I've "come strong" enough for you, Charlie the Tuna.
What I'm comin' to here, Tuna Man, is that what you are missin' is Soul.
How can you write a column for a magazine so full of Soul (Cain't you almost hear the Temptations in the background sometime when you click on the G21? I know I do. I hear Marvin Gaye and James Brown wailing some weeks when I come here. I see Aretha with her hands in the air! Jazz band, my ass!) How can you write, Mr. Tuna, for a Soul Man and not exhibit one iota of your soul here?
So let me get to my main point, Little Tuna:
We got us another guy here at the G21 who's been writing about relationships for as long as I remember. Know what? I LOVE reading his stuff and I'll tell you why. Ever' time I read him talking about relationships he brangs up specific women, calls them by name, relates conversations between them and him that I know cain't but be real. He puts you in the moment.Where you say, "After she fixed breakfast.." he might say something along the lines of "I could smell the tang of fresh coffee as I left the shower. Then the eggs, hash-browns, the speckled brown and bruised crispiness of the sausages were on the plate before I even saw them..."
He puts you there in the room, the parking lot, the world with him, Charlie! That's soul. I came here to learn.
I read his stuff about his relationships, good and bad --- some of them makin' him look like a total jerk --- and I think "I've had a conversation like that with one of my girlfriends myself!" I think: "Damn! That was cold/touchin'/sad/wonderful."
In other words, because it's specific, it's REAL! It's honest, whether I believe I wouldah done what he did or not.And the Real Deal is this: I feel like I came away actually learning something about relationships and the human condition.
That's why I think the man is a good writer.
And why I think you're not is that you might amuse me with a turn of a phrase now and again, Mr. Tuna, but you never touch me.
Now I'll tell you why: you generalize. As my gran'pappy might say, if he was still around, there's no more a general woman than there is a general Black man.
You're generalities is glaring, ole son. And tells me that you still don't get it. You are Clueless about other people and probably about yourself. You're a very angry man and I feel sorry for you...
Consider this: Maybe the reason you've been in and out of the G21 over the years, as you admit, is because you have never clued-in to the ethos here. Maybe if you could get more "on the ground"(as Rod so often says) and specific, you could touch something real and learn something along the way with the rest of us.
One last thang, Bubba: If I'm derivative of anybody, it's my fellow Texan, from Grapevine, Joe Bob Briggs. I never heard of your ass until I came here.
So remember, Lightweight, it will take more than a few tornadoes to blow away all the trailer trash.
So now that you are here, Hart, get ready for a full-blown ass-whuppin'. I'll try to be gentle, since we are entering the Holidays.
Firstly, I hope you admit that you stole your whole schtick from me, Loser! Going for a low-brow tone in a otherwise high-brow Web rag, closing with a "signature" line, flashing a skin-shot now and then for the rubes. Which of my tricks didn't you steal, TABLOID?!?
Get up off the floor! I ain't finished with you yet!
I fully expect that you're going to make one of the tired, Apron-string Boy, comments that I have grown so used to from the lame columnists here at G21: "I have this girlfriend who is nothing like you say, Charlie!"
YAWN.
Come to me on my own ground, why don't any of you Losers?
Not one of you has been able to refute the basic philosophy of Tuna Time that ALL relationships between men and women, after the initial thrill of new sex, comes down to COLD HARD CASH.
Not having the benefit of having read your little paean in advance, Trashie, I don't know if you had the cajones to do so, but I doubt it.
But enough about you, Loser! People come to this column for
The Tuna Philosopy
Now that we've gotten that one out of the way, let's talk about my usual favorite subject: how we men are suckin' hind tit in our interactions with women. And why? Because we don't know THE RULES of the harpies' conspiracy. I've been preaching to the choir, and meanwhile getting dissed by every hausfrau, Femi-Nazi and embittered lesbian on the planet because I was the only man who knew THE TRUTH.BUT now that ELLEN FEIN & SHERRI SCHNEIDER (authors of the instant best-seller "The Rules") have vindicated my ass -- by ADMITTING that they want you Losers to kowtow to them just because they have the Cave of Venus rockin' between their legs -- anyone dissin' Tuna has another Tuna coming! No lie!
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Lemme remind you of a few basic concepts:
- I know I've almost had to chew off many a forearm to dislodge myself from beneath the sleeping head of someone who looked friendly and worthwhile after a mind - numbing day on some factory line and eight or ten highballs. That's how too many guys in too many cities end up with a mortgage, a house full of rugrats and curtain - climbers, and a woman only a mother could love. And that's the truth.
- If there's one thing you can learn from the chronicles of Charlie the Tuna, Losers, it's that you gottah run like hell whenever you hear any of these three phrases:
1) "I'd like you to pick me up at my house sometime."
2) "My mom would like to meet you, okay?"
3) "I think I missed my period."
"Study Long, Study Wrong," the sayin' from the 'hood goes.
Quick and dirty has always been the best policy, and it certainly has always been Charlie's Rule One. Why do you think women are always whinin', "You never talk to me"? 'Cause it's a trap!
'Cause they wannah get you caught up in some circular, winding, convoluted confabulation where you get so damned frustrated and confused that you end up being dead wrong even if you started out right.
They get pleasure out of that kindah shit.
And the best part (from the perverse and parasitic female point of view) is that then you end up feelin' guilty: the place they want to put you so you end up buyin' them shit again. That's the name of the game with these babes pure and simple: use and abuse. You show me a woman, I'll show you a sink-hole down which alluh your cash is about to be sucked.
"So tell us, Charlie," some of the more astute among you skirt-hounds will ask me, "how do we beat this zero-sum game?"
I hate repeatin' myself. It's the three F's, fellahs. The three F's.
As you sit there, guiltily reading these here Pearls of Wisdom, noddin' to yourself 'cause you know I'm right but afraid to laugh out loud 'cause She Who Must Be Obeyed might ask: "What's So Funny?" do Ole Charlie a favor:Look up over the cover of this here rag at Your Beloved.
Sure, she might be downright Babelicious, a real knock-out, Bimbo Deluxe.
Or maybe not.
Maybe she's like nine outtah ten broads who sink their wolverine talons into Losers like you: going broad in the hip, comfortable in sexless sweats, getting them hard lines around the mouth from puttin' you in your place too many times.
Don't despair, Dickweed.
The same Todtsfrau is starin' back at eighty percent of the men in America. Only a few of us are still lucky enough to go out the door without having our cockrings yanked up short. We are what you call "Men". You heard about us when you were growing up, or saw us in the movies. Remember?
ASK YOURSELF A QUESTION, LOSERS: What would A MAN do?
Stay hard.