Okay, I'll admit it--the title of this post came from a great line from season 2 of Carnivale when the Archangel tells the young Scutter, "I've known lots of women in my lifetime--nothing but backstabbing bitches and outhouse whores. In fact, the more I get to know women; the better I like dogs." Now, I don't care who you are--that's just great writing!

But seriously though--the majority of males are not destined to be drooled over by co-workers and women in the street. Taking myself as an example--I'm a good looking guy but I'm short and lots of women don't like short men--they want the tall drink of water with the wavy locks and the 5 0'clock shadow--the guy who nods a lot and makes cool hand gestures that say "let it ride, baby--it's all good because I was born beautiful and if you want this skin bus to take a trip into tuna town that's alright with me. Daddy's here to play."

See, I could say the same stuff and most likely pull it off better (because I've got game) but the problem is that because of my shortness, not too many chicks were hanging on my every word and ogling me as I walked across campus (speaking of back in the day before I was married and in a committed relationship, of course). So, I had to work at it--I had to develop my game. I had to first see these women as people and then work on them from the inside out.

Now, since most women are as superficial and thick as the tin foil covering a block of velveeta--this meant that my prospects were automatically weeded thin before I even joined the hunt. The really hot ones were out with the jocks and dick heads on their first dates while I was on my fifth phone call with them (and they always called me after their dates). That's right, I found myself playing the "friend" role often but I wasn't a pussy like Ducky in Pretty in Pink--I tried to ring the bell every time. But I had to learn the signals of the game.

And it is a game that these ladies want to play.

Look, women may be attracted to the mimbos of the world and they usually sleep with them and keep them on their mental shelves like little trophy wisps of memory that they can go to in their minds and rub and polish to remind them that they were once beautiful and could attract the five star mimbos with the underdeveloped sex skills (because they rarely had to work at and therefore didn't appreciate it enough).

But folks, I appreciated it. I worshiped every woman I ever slept with, even the ones I didn't talk to after the second time (they always got two chances to sink their hooks in the Overlord, your host and senior correspondent of the BWP blog). Hell, I still say a prayer every now and then for all the girls who gave me a disease free harbor to temporarily park my genitalia. But the honeymoon of the flesh must always end and that's where the journey of the mind and emotion begins.

I put a hell of a lot of women through a hell of a lot of mental torture in my lifetime. What can I say, it runs in the family. My dad was a son of a bitch to the women in his life and don't even get me started on what his dad did. But my dad is also one of the kindest and lovable people I know--luckily, he passed this trait on to me.

But I torture my dog also. I tease her insistently. I agitate those around me because I believe that every living being must be in a constant state of manageable stress in order to thrive and learn and grow. And I do it to test loyalty. I'll admit it--I'm a son of a bitch also when it comes to the women in my life. I can't count the number of females I've driven out of the Minton Diaspora with my periodic bouts of madness where I sever emotional bonds, wound the other person to the point of rapture, and then reengage in the hopes to form an even deeper bond that goes beyond the petty bullshit membrane in which most people live their lives and base their relationships upon.

I mean, god dammit--life is pain and the only relationships worth having should have battle scars and dried blood stains on the sheets. I once had a woman tell me that she never felt so full when I was inside her and so empty when trying to engage me emotionally. Now, thanks to the work my amazing wife has done with me--I'm a much better person than I was ten years ago. I respect women more. But I still have periodic bouts of madness--(I am convinced that all wickedly intelligent people do; especially any writer worth a shit)--where I sever emotional ties and grow as cold and distant as the Martian surface at night.

So, I don't think I can honestly say that dogs are better than women but if I'm being honest--I can say that in the majority of my sexually active past--I didn't treat most of the women in my life any better or any different than I would have treated a dog. And there are times (too many) when I'm a son of a bitch to my wife but I try to do the things, think the thoughts, and feel the emotions that a good man would feel if he lived life through my eyes. I guess that's the best any of us can do, right?

But I guess if I had to pick a reason why dogs are better than women, I'd say it's because dogs are stupid enough to come back quietly every time--even when it's your own son of a bitch fault.