Cultural Imperialist

"Scathing Spats on Shallow Subjects"

 

Wed Aug 23

 

2017

 
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Do a Little Dance, Make a Little Pun, Get Down Tonight

Greg Piper

Since we stopped accusing women of witchcraft for humiliating us in public, men have been living in fear that women's intelligence will be seen as greater than ours.

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Some guys get a rise from girls who can pontificate on Benedict XVI. Others get testy when girls tell them to not go nuts in a situation that dictates vast deference. And me? When my girl engages in word play, she gets a rousing response.

Seriously, puns are a turn-on.

Throbbing red lipstick and a flirty sashay are no match for my paronomAsian's bon mots. Like a round of pickup basketball with Barack, she doles them out sparingly, unassumingly - a snorting coquette who blows me away with razor-sharp wisecracks when I really need a fix. Yet it's never enough to satiate my addiction, and who's to say that a lovin' spoonful of puns is all you need?

Since we stopped accusing women of witchcraft for humiliating us in public, men have been living in fear that women's intelligence will be seen as greater than ours. If it's an ugmo like Hillary Clinton, no one cares, because her Booty Rack Index computes as Underwhelming. But if it's an attractive woman who proverbially pantses our pride, then it's par for the course there's no recourse nor intercourse in store.

Word play, however, shows a guy that his gal is using her smarts to humiliate herself, sink to his level, or validate his masculinity. She isn't too self-conscious to reveal how lame she is, like getting excited about going to a university lecture on religious persecution in Iran ("Yabba dhimmitude!") or owning up to passing gas ("Thought I'd warm you up with my windbreaker"). She could even favorably compare her guy's attractiveness relative to a cast member of Gossip Girl ("I'll take Greg beef over Chuck steak any day").

At their best, puns stimulate the pre-frontal cortex and prostate at the same time, and without the embarrassment a man would ordinarily suffer from these activities getting paired together. Take this modified advice from the Spice Girls: "Come a little closer, word play... 'Cause tonight is the night when two become punned."

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Wordplay, Swordplay. The Penis Isn't Mightier Than the Word.

Jeremiah Lewis

 

When it comes to smarts, I'm as game as the next guy to play ball with any girl who shows she's as quick a draw as she is a shot, and I love a gal who carries a crossword puzzle book next to her special lady accessories. But as far as turning me on, give me a good old fashioned chick who just knows how to drive.

Sexually, I mean.

A woman who puns can make me come... hither, but it's going to take more than a flash of your Mensa membership card to get a rise out of me. As far as turn-ons are concerned, charm, good looks, and a sense of humor are the well-balanced part of every man's relationship breakfast. See, fish want the worm, not the sharp hook. The fish may taste the worm, but in the end its guts are ripped out, it's deboned, and left on someone's plate with a lemon and parsley garnish.

Of pwning with punnage the fairer and wiser sex has no need. Just as Jerry Seinfeld aptly observed the reason he's not a leg man: "Why would I be a leg man? I've got legs." A woman already possesses the power of persuasion in the art of seduction, not just in the way her body works to provoke men to spontaneous acts of stupidity, but the way in which she knows how her body works. And oh, how sickeningly persuasive it is.

A woman with a rapier wit has more than a dueling edge with a man who goes to spar with her, but may not get the reward of companionship, for while no man wants to be a cuckold, it goes doubly so for the man whose woman has the last word. For in the end, the man only has a sword. Not of destiny, for no man is destined like that. And not even the sword in his pants, because it is not forged in anything but the fire of lust and idiocy. No, the only thing a man has in the eternal sortie of the sexes is the scimitar of sarcasm, the cutlass of cleverness, the weapon of his own trusted wit.

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