WHY CAN'T I BE WARREN OATES?

Women suck. OK, OK, that’s not fair. Women and men suck. As Cherry Valance said, “It’s bad all over, Pony Boy” (or something like that). Nevertheless, as a member of the female species, I’m a bit harder on my own kind. And not for femmy things like shopping or talking about the hairdresser or indulging in eating disorders—I mean, men do that shit, too—but for their (and by “their,” I mean certain and many ladies) lack of interest beyond personal feelings. The whole, Life-is-Interpersonal-Relationships-101 drivel.

There are different camps—there’s the angry Susan Powter rant (“Hey, ex-husband! My thighs don’t rub together anymore!”) which can be funny; there’s the carefully constructed neo-feminist Naomi Wolfe “Beauty Myth” outlook which, if you remember, did a whole helluva lotta good for Al Gore; and then there’s the "wild and crazy" tattooed Suicide Girl. Yeah, "wild and crazy." Dreadful, eighth grade stripper poetry is gonna smash the system, girls. You're so punk rock! Ugh. P-U.

These women (womyn) make me pine for the now deceased anti-porn/anti-sex crusader lunatic Andrea Dworkin. At least she was just completely insane—and entertaining.

Look, I know there’re scores of chicks out there who’re into all sorts of fascinating areas of interest. Pretty ones, too. But I also know there’re smart gals whom guys don’t look at twice--a shame because, well, go have fun watching Love, Actually for the tenth time.

Again, I’m not here to generalize. And again, many women are just plain cool. But during some of my rare cleaning-the-apartment adventures, I've caught that woman show "Starting Over."

Holy shit and well, Nigga please.

I've only seen the show a few times but in those viewings I've had to brace myself for the ensuing mortification.

You know the series. The one where ladies in crisis room together and face their challenges via a Life Coach. No one's ever got anything that bad going on (like paranoid schizophrenia); mostly, they're just losers who can't get a grip on "issues." Woman "issues." Ugh. One chick lost her mother on 9/11--that sucks--but why in the name of fuck would you broadcast this on television? I don't even know why I ask, since showing off their grief is these ladies' main objective in life. That's their fucking issue.

Here's a sample of why this show makes me feel like Ted Bundy:

Blonde gets up to make coffee and chit-chats with the other ladies. She says “I own my own business and... oh... I'm feeling emotional. It's an emotional morning!" She starts sputtering and crying.

Then the overweight lady with one breast (who's not crying even though she's tubby and has one breast) says something comforting and takes the blubbering blonde to her new bedroom. She explains the situation that they're all feeling nervous. Wait. You just got your boob cut off. Why are you wasting your life around these cry baby bitches who admit to "manipulating people to buy food for me" (actual words by one of these chicks)? Get out of there!

Then some lady discusses how she can't open herself up to love. That she can't feel love. Right. You mean, no one loves you. Or rather, people do love you but not the ones you want. You were dumped. You're not--I don't know--a replicant, which would be a little more interesting.

But just as all that extra testosterone pulsated through my body, my misogyny washed away when I felt genuinely terrible for one of these subjects.

The Life Coach brought out this "handsome" dating coach to take some fat lady shopping for sexy clothes. She was rightfully insecure about wearing certain clothes but he kept saying "it's all in your mind." He coaxed her into sporting some horrific ensemble that showed her obese arms and whale stomach. She was crying (which I can't blame her for) because she was too scared to come out looking like a fat floozy, but he brainwashed her into thinking it looked good. He then made her socialize at a Dog Park. OK. What? Tight, cheap, pastel clothing swathed over fat? Slimming colors are just part of your insecurity? A Dog Park?

Now I'm wondering--Is "Starting Over" an elaborate evil joke? Or worse--a conspiracy to vanquish the whining matriarchy? 

These women are going to drink the Kool-Aid. That is, if they can stop crying long enough to choke it down.

So where is this leading? Towards my frequent desire to be a man. So many possibilities! And to critique the fellas out there, why do so many of you fuck it up?

Man-spiration changes on a weekly basis. Last week it was Richard Widmark in Kiss of Death, the week before that it was Lee Van Cleef in Death Rides a Horse. For a long while it was Warren Oates in Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia. Currently, I want to be Terrence Howard's krunk-slinging pimp in Hustle and Flow. It helps that he's so good looking—kinda like a black Benicio Del Toro—but if you can sport hair curlers, a gold tooth and wife beaters that effortlessly and drive a beat-up Chevy Caprice Classic (my dad's car), I want to be you. I don't want to be your wigger ho—I just want to be you.

Now that would be "Starting Over."

How I feel when I watch "Starting Over."

Read more Kim Morgan at her blog SUNSET GUN

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