The Man Can't Control Himself

Stay away from men in high demand. That’s the best advice I could give you, whether you’re a starlet or a high school senior. It applies forever. This doesn’t imply that you have low ambition. It’s common sense. You’re not taking home a piece of art or a sports car. The higher the demand is for your man, the more competition you have and the harder it will be to keep him loyal.

But, don’t just take my word for it. Look around.

No threats will keep a mega-opportunity-having dude from messing up either. Financial threats, limited access to loved ones, eternal damnation, reputation destruction, and physical pain aren’t enough. Why? Because men have fallen behind women on the evolution track.

Women usually think shit through logically and know not to jeopardize long-term satisfaction for short-term gratification. Conversely, as soon as two words make it from his ear to his cortex (“blow” and “job,” if you must ask), the future fades and the man reaches for the cookie jar. Bad boy!

I said this before to Sandra and I’ll say it again to Demi: You need to find a low profile dude who wouldn't risk losing something so unobtainable for momentary bliss.

Think about it. When I walked into the bar tonight, two people were happy to see me, and neither one would ever consider sleeping with me—yes, the bartenders. The rest of the patrons may have noticed me and, heck, a woman looking to breed may have even raised an eyebrow at my fashionable jeans. Yet, no vaginas were tossed my way.

Now, if Ashton walked into the same establishment, practically every available coochie-toter in the place would suddenly be an option and, thus, a temptation. It takes too much to override that sensation. The male ego rises above common sense and creates an insensitive prick. The dude knows that if he were to plop two of these women into a hot tub, very little good could come of it. He knows the likelihood that one or both of those vixens will sprint to the nearest tabloid and cash in at his expense. He knows the hour-long boffapaloosa could never be worth the torment he’ll receive from the media, his wife, and family. He knows the potential financial devastation and total career destruction could be cataclysmic.

It won’t matter.

Here’s the oddest thing to me: The parts on the strange woman are going to feel remarkably similar to those on the woman he has waiting for him at home. The excitement coming from the naughtiness might make it slightly better—because, naturally, some of the passion faded at home—but not substantially. Less than ten seconds after he ejaculates, he’ll begin to regret what he did and wonder how he could be so stupid. Then he’ll go into justification, panic, and damage control modes. He’ll swear that if he’s lucky enough to get away with it he’ll never do it again. (Really?)

Go slumming, my dear. Find yourself a man who’s way out of your league—to the downside. Make sure he knows you’re way of it his league—to the upside. Then you have a fighting chance of keeping your puppy in your yard. Otherwise, don’t be surprised when you hear his lies.