Oh, lordy. I don’t think I’ve read anything this awfully, painfully, suckily overwritten since, well, ever. I present to you an excerpt from a book called Real Men Can Read Women Like a Book, by Corey Donaldson, some dude who fancies himself an expert on the whole lady-figuring-out thing:
For the beauty of the wrong woman, many men have let the song within them fade away as they meander among the living dead, having charred their soul and scorched the playful lyrics that once echoed through a vibrant smile.
I can only hope the book this guy is reading women like isn’t his own. Here’s more:
For these men, the memory that once energized them with the promise and childlike hope for a future filled with romantic glee now flickers weakly in the distance, in a time when innocence had not yet been corrected.
There are women who pride themselves on their ability go out and hunt for sex from any man they want regardless of who she or he is already committed to … These hunters are the shame of men, they are easy to identify and their future is predictably lonely as their faces literally crack like the bloody worn sole of a wrinkled old foot. They end up as old hags with sharply wounded faces of treachery spread out in the bitterness of their discontent.
Oh, ok, just one more:
These female hunters judge the short term results of their behavior as most desirable and delicious to the hell-bent bloodlust of their unquenchable taste for the chase of a man’s power.
Or for the taste of some ice cream. Everybody likes ice cream.