“RJ is a newspaper columnist whose humor column, "Pogi from a Parallel Universe" comes out every Wednesday in the For Men section of the Philippine Star, the Editor-in-Chief of UNO Magazine, a seasoned television, events and weddings/debut host and actor."
I have seen the enemy. I have not only seen the enemy. Apparently, I sleep with her every night.
You see, I always considered myself a “player” (Among the younger set, this term is better known as ‘playah’. Among the older generation, this is better known as pabling. Among the general populace, this is better known as a DOM). Prior to my domestic incarceration, I have had my own imaginary share of Hollywood B-movie starlets, female wrestlers and Thai ladyboys. Before I could achieve this level of female desirability, though, I had to educate myself in the fields of anthropology, chemistry, quantum physics and pain management until I could finally nail women down to a science.
But, in the end, I found out that it was me who was being played. Boy, did I feel as used as a day-old tampon. Women have had us men nailed down like a frog on a dissection table before we could do any nailing of our own. Fact is, there has been a longstanding conspiracy among the smarter, the more curvaceous and the more well-endowed sex to turn us menfolk into genetic fodder to keep the human race alive. And my wife had the dog-eared textbook to prove it.
Because a cosmic balance must be struck, because there must be a yang to a yin, and because women can be just as much geeks as men when it comes the game of dating and mating, so it must come to pass that since males have the infernal bible of seduction that is The Game Penetrating the Secret Society of Pick-Up Artists then the females have the abominable anti-bible of selection that is The Rules Time-tested secrets for capturing the heart of Mr. Right.
If The Game teaches men to be pick up artists (PUA), then The Rules teaches the fairer sex to be put down women (PDW). The Rules is the equivalent of a woman’s intuition being distilled, purified then shot directly into the eyeballs. After a woman burns this template for male subjugation to memory, men will be more magnetically attracted to her than congressmen are to their pork barrels.
The Rules started out as a viral infection in 1917, when the diabolical lola of a certain Melanie infected her WASPy (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant) pa-tweetums suburbanite granddaughter with a virus that turned hapless single men within a fifty-mile radius of the infected female into marriage proposal machines. Eventually, these Rules-infected women expectorated on other women and on other women and on other women until The Rules spread around the world faster than bird flu.
This tyrannical anti-text is premised on the fact that women are always on the look out for Mr. Right. Unfortunately, women only belatedly realize that the dapper, eloquent, and emotionally sensitive Mr. Right has already met his Mr. Right. And, because of this, the fairer sex are forced to settle between men who think beer and cigarettes are food group or men who think farting is a hobby. Face it, my three female readers, Mr. Right is as much a figment of your imagination as is Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and an honest president. But remember, in every chain-smoking, beer-bellied, rotten egg smell-producing man lies the potential of becoming a Mr. Right (God help the human race).
However, women must work hard at turning their Mr. Blight into Mr. Right. They must squeeze out all their creative juices to carve out from that dim-witted block of chest hair and body odors the sculpture of her perfect man. You see, we dim-witted blocks are blissfully unaware that within us resides a Mr. Right until a Rules-abiding female makes it very clear by bludgeoning us into perfection. But The Rules doesn’t tell you what is the best type of sledgehammer to use while pounding on men (If you don’t have a sledgehammer, my wife thinks a baseball bat is a more than adequate replacement).
If this book is to be believed, The Rules work better on men than gayumas, sledgehammers and baseball bats. The book says, ‘The Rules is just a simple working set of behaviors and reactions that, when followed, invariably serve to make most irresistible to desirable men’. Its sole purpose is to make the dim-witted men so obsessed with a woman by making her seem ‘unattainable’ (Or, as the No Girlfriends Since Birth (NGSBs), the Big -Time Bigo sa Pag-Ibig (BTBP) and azure-testicled (AT) call it, “playing hard to get”). The Rules elevates “playing hard to get” to dogma, and any female who fails to abide by rules risks being courted by DOMs. When a woman subjects a man to The Rules, she needn’t worry about him chasing after other women (although if he does, there are also some rules on castration) because he will (and I quote this verbatim from the book) ‘think that you are the sexiest woman alive.’ And this is without the benefit of need for whitening creams, botox injections, or shaved armpits.
There are many bold proclamations in this book. And the boldest of them all is that, unlike most government infrastructure projects, The Rules actually produces results. Be that as it may, some women might think that The Rules is so old-fashioned that it goes against modern day common sense. But you needn’t worry ladies, because men don’t make much sense either. Why do you think we like to laugh at fart jokes all the time? Keep in mind though, my three female readers, that one of those men who relish fart jokes could turn out to be your Mr. Right.
RIGHTING ALL THE WRONGS
The first principle The Rules is based on are that men are biologically hardwired to be challenged by the less hairier sex. Men need to feel that they are ‘on the hunt’ for the female, so that when the female has (seemingly and) inexplicably fallen for the ‘man’, he will feel an overwhelming sense of merit, of achievement, and of (haaaaaayyyy) relief. Therefore, a woman must give the man an opportunity to squeeze through the eye of a needle, endure the pain of romantic uncertainty, and spend to the brink of his credit limit to win over a woman’s affection (Yes, I know my fellow NGSBs, BTBPs and ATs. It is an evil, evil book).
In turn, the woman must never ever EVER take the initiative to call a man, ask him out, or offer him any exchange of bodily fluids. Any attempts of this sort will repress male ambition and animal drive. Remember, my three female readers, men must be treated for the animals that we are. But animals who can be trained to make ligaw given the proper conditioning. For example, if men obey the rules set about by The Rules, then we can be given a treat. If we disobey, we can be walloped in the pwet with a rolled-up newspaper. If we stray from our partner, we can be neutered. And if we outlive our entertainment value, then we can be put to sleep.
The second principle of The Rules hinges on the ability of a woman to delay gratification in the first few months after going out with a man, especially if she wishes to domestically incarcerate the man in the near future (Interestingly enough, the ability to delay gratification is often a measure of one’s emotional intelligence. This is the primary reason why women are the fairer sex, and the same reason why men are idiots). All a Rules-abiding girl requires to delay gratification is patience, self-restraint and a lot of alcohol.
Thus, the doggedness with which a woman applies The Rules to a man should be directly proportional to how much a man is screwing with her biological imperatives. In short, the more she likes the man, the more she should treat him like dirt. She should treat him with as much disinterest as you would treat a government news station. Don’t reply to his texts, ignore his phone calls and burn his suicide note. The more she makes him feel like refuse, the harder he will fall for you.
So, for the men who have been brave enough to read up this point, let me give you a little sneak peak at some of The Rules that may have kept you involuntarily celibate since you sprouted hair in those hard to reach places:
As a parting note to all the NGSBs, BTBPs and ATs out there, do not lose hope this Christmas season! Do not be swayed if she returns the flowers that you sent to her, do not worry if sets fire to the Christmas gifts you sent her, do not be dismayed if she sends a SWAT team to your house, and do not be misled by her death threats. These are merely signs that a woman is crazy about you. Well, it’s either that or that you are just plain crazy.