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Ylala)) One should never underestimate the enemy—it’s dangerous. Ladies decided that men love bitches, and all of them suddenly turned into bitches. Didn’t help. The man still won’t stay put. He keeps looking for other places—somewhere quieter.
You won’t believe it, dear ladies, but male nature is diverse and multifaceted. And having the same borscht every day gets boring, especially if it’s not borscht at all, but some sharp, exotic, bitchy food. Especially if the man actually prefers dumplings with sour cream or a meatball in creamy sauce. No, of course, there are masochists who can’t sleep peacefully unless someone wiped their feet on them today. But believe me, they are far fewer than the women who proudly call themselves bitches.
The bitch is this season’s trend. From an early school age, a girl, listening to her experienced sixteen-year-old friends, realizes that a sweet, attentive young lady is a loser. And friends’ opinions are extremely important at such a tender age. So along with fashion for hair color, nail polish, and sock shape near shoes, she adopts the fashion for being a bitch. Of course, she is a bitch. She declares it loudly and defiantly. Why not? About as enthusiastically as ten years ago she spun in front of the mirror, fascinated by her own beauty in her mother’s lipstick.
And only over time (the duration depends on how many brains are under that cute hairstyle) will she understand that only intelligent women truly become bitches. And an intelligent woman never reveals her cards right away. She might never reveal them at all. And the man will only encounter her bitchiness when he’s already not just hooked by a claw, but the entire bird has disappeared head over heels. Or even believes devoutly and joyfully that he gives everything and does everything solely out of love, not under the influence of skillful manipulation. And all friends and relatives who try to open his eyes to this bitch simply don’t know her well enough and don’t understand her.
The most interesting thing is that this subtype of bitches doesn’t consider themselves bitches at all. Quite the opposite—they see themselves as sweethearts and smarties, hard to find. They just have whims, unexpected outbursts of a complex soul. And most importantly—they have high standards. Primarily for others. Not for themselves. But try telling that to such a non-bitch.
Certified bitches Supply creates demand. Or is it the other way around? Are women, inspired by the desire to become cold, calculating tramples on male pride, demanding “bitchology” master classes? Or are ambitious social engineers creating the trend, offering courses in advanced bitch training and certification programs for upgrading one’s bitch qualifications? Either way, articles like “I am a bitch and proud of it!” are sprouting like mushrooms after rain, along with brochures titled “How to征服 All Men” and entire websites offering online lessons in cultivating high-class bitchiness. In a few more years, on March 8th, girls will be comparing the prestige of their diplomas from the Higher School of Bitchosophy and certificates proving they’ve mastered the art of grinding men into dust.
Yes, dear ladies, you will become more self-confident, more significant, and even more successful in your careers. But I assure you, this won’t bring happiness in personal life. Because men, being true bucks, simply won’t graze on the scorched earth around you.
But true bitchologists know—bitches aren’t born, they’re made. Sometimes as early as kindergarten, when boy Petya snatched a toy and pushed her, and her mother, with her own unfulfilled life, explained that the problem isn’t bad upbringing, but the boy’s gender. He’s a man, therefore scum by definition, and she must take revenge, humiliate, and exploit him in the most useless ways just because he has a penis. And make no distinction between Petya and Vasya, since they’re all the same a priori.
If a girl never learns to interact with the opposite sex in any other way than through warfare, then of course she’ll grow into a bitch. Inability to achieve goals through kindness, love, and compromise is masked by aggression and provocation. And by a categorical assertion of her own immense value and pride in her unyielding character. Yet at the same time, she demands love for herself, for being so unique.
The question arises—why would a man want a collection of cacti with high demands at home? He’s fought enough with other men and women too, and comes home to rest. A human being, by nature, seeks pleasure and diligently avoids unpleasantness. We’re talking about a person with a normal psyche. So why would I want a woman I’m afraid to say or do something wrong around, otherwise I’ll get a scandal, nerves, and broken dishes? I want to go to a woman with joy and expect joy from her. And all the sadomasochistic stuff—let that be for enthusiasts. There are very few of them, much to the regret of those who’ve signed up as bitches.
Breaking the role—will you dare to take the risk? I anticipate objections—men are just waiting to saddle a submissive horse. And bitches have multiplied in incredible numbers as a countermeasure against gigolos and pick-up artists who, after spinning a sweet love story, exploit naive fools either for years or just for one night. And it’s better to be a single bitch than a married fool.
Of course, you’re right. But is your world really limited to such a pitiful cast of characters? There’s a very simple remedy against gigolos and pick-up artists—it’s called “self-respect.” And this quality has nothing to do with bitchiness.
But what about daring to take the risk and letting other men into your world? They do exist. Especially if you don’t immediately assign them all mortal sins collectively. But I understand—it’s not easy. Because with a Real Man (after all, that’s what you’re looking for?) you’ll have to build a relationship as equals. Which means—respecting, valuing, becoming a companion, not a kept woman. And most importantly—compromising, otherwise what kind of Man is he? But equality is hard when you have nothing to offer in return.
On the edge of a razor Now I’ll speak banalities. Bitches are as straightforward as tanks; their so-called unpredictability is merely vulnerability and aggression, at worst—a setup. But a woman (if she is a Woman)—is a firm hand in a velvet glove. And she manipulates the man however she wants, while he remains happy and satisfied. Because he loves not out of fear, but out of pleasure—and the fear of losing that pleasure. And what idiot would leave happiness? Especially when inspired by jealous glances from those losers whose homes await an embittered, fiery Shrew.
And the wise woman always skillfully balances on the thin line separating tenderness, affection, and support from spinelessness and insecurity. Such subtleties are beyond the understanding and capability of bitches.
