The Lone Wolf Woman - You Are Not One of the Bros

• Article by Gwen
• 
• |
• September 5, 2012
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• TAGS:
• Sex,
• Style,
• Virginia Tech

Everyone knows that girl. The one who says things like, “I just don’t get along with women, they’re so catty.” The one who has watched one too many Michael Cera movies and is convinced that she’s the chill, too-much-eyeliner-wearing, indie-music-loving, misunderstood piece of hipster perfection that all men love to be around, and all women hate because they are all like, those chicks in mean girls or whatever.  

If you are a chick and have ever uttered the words, “All my best friends are guys,” this is for you.

You are the reason that members of the two genders will NEVER actually be friends. You are actually such a bitch to women that not even the bitchiest of women can put up with you. You think that guys hang around you because you’re “like the coolest chick ever,” so you can hang with the bros.

They don’t think that you’re one of the bros. They hang out with you to stare at your chest. You see, men have a higher tolerance for dipshit when there are boobs involved. They may even let you play a few rounds of Call of Duty, even though you’ll end up stuck in a corner wasting ammo for ten minutes and you insist on the username “1uvtheboyz.”

Oh, and you’ll never get to sleep with any but the most desperate of them. Because after you have a fart contest to prove that you’re totes one of the bros and then accidentally poo yourself a little, you immediately get put into that “gross little sister” bubble. And if you do actually manage to beat your guy friend at COD? Yeah, then he actually starts thinking of you as having a penis. One that is bigger than his.

Then there comes the time when one of your “bros” gets a girlfriend. She will hate you. Mostly because you are a bitch to her, but mainly because you hang out with her boyfriend unsupervised. At some point in the relationship, she will give him an ultimatum. Guess what? He’ll think of your giant shlong and stupid attempts to make stripper jokes and pick her. Every time.

Instead of learning your lesson and going to flock with your own kind, this situation will embed your hatred of women even further into your thick, estrogen-confused skull. You’ll put up catty-ass Facebook posts about how you’re “so glad 90% of my friends are guys,” and how you “hate women becuz they’re so catty, where my dudes at? Let’s grab a beer.”

The only guy who will respond is the desperate friend, the one who will boink anything because he hasn’t gotten laid since he stopped shaving his neck beard. He’ll meet you downtown and drink enough to be able to stand your whiny impressions of catty women.
You’ll just drink until you can’t stand.

You’ll go home with him, sweep the empty Mountain Dew bottles off the bed, and have wildly disgusting, scratchy-bare-mattress sex. It will end with him snoring and you trying to shower with the last remaining sugary drops of Mountain Dew because you desperately need to wash off the shame.

This act will reveal the true reason that you hate women. Because you have a deep, unadulterated feeling of loathing every time you look in the mirror. You are a female. You hate yourself. See how that works?