We have heard from the side of the Nice Guys.
We have heard from the side of the Nice Girls.

Who shall stand up for the asshole?

This is their vindication. This one is to you, my homo sapien cousin, machine bred for conquest and the glory of the hunt. This is for all the nights spent chasing tail through countless bars, hoping some easy lay would spread her legs. This is for the hole in your wallet from spending so much on alcohol and other illicit substances that help you loosen the knees of the girl who just wants it but doesn’t know it. This is for the drunk dial, and for taking advantage of the kind hearted ugly girls who let you crash on their couch (or, hell, even bed – everyone has one under their belt don’t they?) despite knowing you’ll be off like a bolt come the first spark of consciousness.

This is for my homeboys pimpin’ it old school in Miami Beach, driving through downtown in your tricked out ride. This is for mini skirts and thongs, cheap liquor and popped collars. This is for keeping up with fashion trends and looking more effeminate. This is for not giving up, be it vodka in your face or a slap on the cheek. This is for the girl who laughs at your pick-up line, who geniunely thinks you’re a nice guy who cares about her, well, whatever it was you weren’t paying attention. ‘Cause damn that blonde by the DJ is looking mighty fine. This is for the guy who can’t tell the color of a girl’s eyes, but can give you a good guess as to whether or not she’s wearing a bra (color and make, too, with the more experienced.)

It takes balls to do what you do. It takes balls to exploit the carelessness and stupidity of your quarry. It takes balls to take advantage of those weaker than you. And so to you, I say, bottoms up. The world is for those who would take it, who would throw themselves into the Bachannal, knee deep in the festivities of human putrecence.

This is a response to the essays on Nice Girls and Nice Guys.

Fuck you. Stop your adolescent whining and realize that the world is a shite place. There is nothing there but pain and misery and isolation, and all that we have to defend ourselves against the coming of the darkness is each other. Stop pretending that somehow you matter more than anyone else, that you deserve some kind of vindication for everything you’ve been through. Individually we mean nothing. You sure as fuck aren’t going to change the world, because if you were you would realize that worrying about when that bitch you have a crush on grows up means absolutely nothing.

The future of mankind is forged in the fires of ideology. To dedicate yourself entirely to an ideal is the highest aspiration that mankind can choose to follow.

But, you say, love is an ideology. And yes, indeed, it is an ideal – a beautiful ideal that exists,, somewhere, out there. But the kind of love we talk about is not love, but rather some blended facet of love. It is a shadow of the truth of love, that very few of us aspire to. Because we are inherently selfish, individualistic creatures of habit, and love is inherently selfless, all-encompassing, and absolutely rare.

So to the nice guy: quit your bitching. Forget the tramp whose fucking around with the whole football team and find something worth doing. And if the girl really is worth it, put your money where your mouth is, tell her she’s being an idiot and that the fellow she’s dating is worth little more than a tree frog in a rain forest.

To the nice girl: stop fawning and grow a set. Take charge of your situation and put your foot down. Prince charming, I am sad to say, is dead, and the gentlemen of the world are a bunch of sissy cowards that can’t lift a finger because they forget that they, too, have needs (see the above paragraph.)

To the asshole: Good job, just keep on drinkin’ and whoring and stay out of my way.

Nobody is perfect, and I certainly know I am the farthest from perfection that anyone can be. But the fact of the matter is, nobody else is impressed. No other person in this world is going to look at what you’ve done and say “Jolly good,” because what you’re doing has already been done. You’re not an unsung hero. Lives do not depend on you. A day will come when you think that maybe, just maybe, all that you stood for will be rewarded, that you will finally come to know peace. But there’s no peace to be found. People can’t make people happy – but they sure as hell have a knack for making them miserable.

Editor’s Note: I would apologize to anyone whom this essay offends, but frankly I can’t bring myself to give a shit.