Reading the most hilarious CAD Mock 6 over on SA Forums in response to his latest caper of ripping off another artist’s artwork for one of his characters, one of the goons asked:
SeanBeansShako posted:
Why did Poison Womb go out with Ethan in the first place? I’m sure whiny uncaring obsessed man children aren’t the ideals a woman looks for when it comes to potential partners.
It was met with this:
WHEEZY KISS A DUDE posted:
These disgusting, deplorable human beings will find a woman who loves them, but it will not be a healthy woman nor will it be a healthy definition of love.
It will be a woman who grew up too fast. Maybe it was the result of a messy divorce, perhaps due to the death of one of their parents.
This girl will be thrust into the position of matriarch for their younger siblings, waking them up for school, packing their lunches, doing their laundry, cleaning the house. Helping with their homework. Of course, these younger siblings didn’t know any better, and would routinely leave their dirty dishes laying around. And an older child already traumatized by the loss of a parent isn’t going to want to make things any harder for the ones they need to take care of. After all, they just want them to be happy. So they adjust to cleaning up. They adjust to being yelled at when they are out of Twinkies. Maybe the little brother, who isn’t so little anymore now that a few years has passed, gets really angry, shouts “YOU’RE NOT MOM!” and hits her a little. But it’s ok, she understands, he’s still grieving the loss, however metaphorical, of their mother and he’s not really mad at her. He loves her.
They will equate love with mothering, and will extend into their romantic lives.
They will try to mother every guy they ever date. Most guys will catch on right away and kick her to curb, where she will bitch and complain about guys not appreciating her, how can they keep leaving me after I clean their apartment and cook them dinner every night?! I always make sure his bills are paid, his clothes are clean. I tell him he should wear the deep blue oxford shirt with the wheat colored tie to work.
Meanwhile, these man-children were obviously raised by a mother who cleaned up after them, cooked for them, cleaned for them. They were never told to clean their room; instead, it was cleaned over the weekend for them while they spent it at a friend’s house. They were never told to do their laundry; they simply left it in a pile on the floor of the laundry room. In most cases, the father did the same thing, so they grew up equating romantic love as having a woman that cooked and cleaned and did the laundry while the man sat around in his boxers drinking beer and watching college football, flinging the remnants of buffalo wings hither, thither, and yon, hollaring to their wife to bring them another can of Schlitz and this time it had better be open. Maybe Daddy yelled a lot more by the time Saturday night rolled around, and it was the 3rd quarter of the UVA/VT game, and maybe he would accidentally hit Mommy, but not on purpose, just because he was excited, but she understood and it was always ok the next day. He wasn’t mad at her. He loves her.
And they will meet women, somehow, and each one will run screaming when she sees his apartment, or on the off chance she’s drunk enough not to notice, will gag and wretch when she undoes his fly and smells a crotch that hasn’t been maintained for a week.
He won’t understand why these girls don’t want to take care of him, to clean his place up for him, to cook him dinner. He doesn’t understand why they tell him to go gently caress himself when he asks if they can go to the laundromat for him. He just wants someone to care about him, which he thinks means someone to care for him.
Somehow, he’ll wade throw a pile of soda cans, pizza boxes, shat-in underwear, cum tissues, and dirty dishes waist deep and find their way outside, dressed in their finest Pokemon t-shirts and cargo shorts and maybe go to a bar. He heard something about Guitar Hero night at this one place, and of course he always gets 99% on Through The Fire and The Flames on Expert Difficulty so it should be a good night.
Somehow, she’ll be able to get out of the house for a night. Her friends, or more than likely, her one or two only friends in the world, girls she went to high school with who got knocked up at 17 and can sympathize with taking care of kids at such a young age, want to drag her to this bar that plays some stupid guitar video game so they can all laugh at the people who take it way too seriously.
They meet, they date, they start a relationship. And it’s the most perfect storm of fuckeduperry since Hurricane Katrina.
She will cook and clean and wash and dry, and he will play video games and leave his dirty dishes out on the coffee table and his dirty clothes all over the bedroom floor, and she will happily clean up after him. She’ll make sure he eats home-cooked meals, and he will make sure to never rinse his plates off and put them in the dishwasher. She’ll bring him another Schlitz while he watches The World Series of Video Games, flinging those little cardboard holders that Hot Pockets have on the hither, thither, and yon. And maybe by the end of the Team Deathmatch round of Modern Warfare 2, he gets a little too excited and takes his frustration out on her, but it’s ok because she understands that he’s just mad at videogames and not her. He loves her. And he knows that she understands that he’s not mad at her. He loves her.
They will be happy as surrogate mother and man-child, each enabling the other’s hosed up psychological issues, until they, unfortunately, have a few children and she decides she’s had enough, she’s been reading books, she knows this isn’t normal. She has two choices. She can leave him, or she can kill herself.
Mommy’s gone now, honey. You’re going to have to take care of your little brother and sister.
The one thing I have battled with myself over many, many years, and one of the reasons I am adamant about personal responsibility is that I don’t ever want to become that type of person, the type that just allows himself to believe that love is something one-dimensional, something that exists only because the other person is feeling sorry for me. I’ve had a lot of times when I slipped into this, thought that I should be allowed to sit here and do whatever I want and still expect a girl to cook, clean, and have sex with, but I’ve always known it was wrong to think that way, wrong to allow myself to be absorbed by work, play, or anything that would divert my attention away from the things that were important to me. I’m always told I will make a great father someday, I truly hope so. I don’t want just a trophy girlfriend, an old flame, or someone who shares ALL of my interests, I enjoy being with someone who isn’t afraid to back down and tell me what she thinks even if it is going to sting me a little.
Sometimes, you simply can’t be the king.