I was flippin through some sports shows the other morning when I heard my familiar arch nemesis of a song, the dreaded Beatles dirge “Birthday.” As I lunged for the remote to turn the channel before my eardrums turned to stone, it thankfully faded out and the genesis for such noise pollution was revealed when one of the hosts of the show announced he was celebrating his fifty-first birthday that very night. Well, pray tell, how did he and his Mrs. of twenty-odd years intend to celebrate?
“I don’t really care,” The hopelessly oblivious and downtrodden poor bastard cooed. “But since it’s my birthday, I’m just hoping I can ‘get some’ tonight from the wife.” A truly pathetic statement to which both of his longtime married co-hosts vigorously nodded in agreement.
And I sat in my living room shaking my head in disbelief.
That’s what the fuck marriage inevitably boils down to. Once proud single dudes get reduced to whimpering slaves. Nothing but prisoners to pussy, kids, and bills. I’ve never met a married muthafucka in my life whose eyes weren’t glazed with fatigue and regret. Have you ever heard any man advise another man to get married? Married dudes practically have an intervention when one of their single friends announces his plans to willingly shackle themselves to either spiritual or financial ruin for the rest of their miserable lives.
I used to play poker every Friday with a shitload of dudes, about half of which were older married gentlemen. You shoulda heard these guys talk about their little ladies at home. It sounded like living under a Nazi regime. I remember this one dude had a special ring tone for when his “better half” decided to inevitably poison his fun with domestic pointlessness for a few minutes each week.
Picture a room with two tables of drunken bums playing cards, passing joints, and talking shit. Suddenly the joyful air is split with a screaming siren. I thought a car alarm had somehow gone off in the middle of the room but no, the alarm was immediately followed up by the repetitive Doom’s Day announcement of, “It’s the wife…It’s the wife.”
One guy’s eyes grow wild and bugged with fear, like a mad dog’s. He holds up his hand to halt the general merriment, and the room falls deathly silent as he answers his cell phone.
“Hello honey. Yea. Uh huh. Just playing poker with the guys. Yea. Uh huh. Sure some milk, you got it. Yea. Uh huh. Okay I’ll fix it when I get home. Yea. Uh huh. No what’d she do now? Yea. Uh huh. You’re right, she should pick up her toys. Yea. Uh huh. Sure I’ll get one on the way back. Yea. Uh huh. Okay, I’ll do it this weekend. Yea. Uh huh. Okay, love you too. Bye.”
Then he’d hang-up, his shoulders would de-slump back into their natural shape, and he’d continue to bask in his oasis from terminal manhood for a few more treasured hours.
The sad fact is women merely use marriage as a tool to act like bossy clams for the rest of their lives. Then if they squeeze out a few rugrats, forget it. Once they’ve sunk their twin fangs of marriage and children into a man’s wallet, they suck it dry. And that’s about the only thing married women are sucking dry.
The way divorce works out, a guy gets absolutely annihilated financially. So instead of suffering through that, they suffer through being bossed around, yelled at, given a curfew, and generally just treated like children for eternity. Or until they watch enough CSI to figure out some tricks…
Bu it’s being treated like a child that’s the most humiliating aspect of this obsolete and foul institution. You’ve heard some dumb married broad make the same dumb joke a million times, “Well I’ve got two kids…three if you include Harry ha ha ha.” As Harry sits alone in the next room gritting his teeth and polishing his rifle collection.
One of the big problems is that new moms get so used to yelling at their snot-nosed offspring and ruling them like the Gestapo that it bleeds into how they talk to their husbands as well. Man, you’ve never seen a women talk in a more ball-shriveling manner than to her husband. “No, not that cabinet, the sauce is in that cabinet. You’re so fuckin stupid.” Could you imagine talk like that flying out of a chick’s mouth on a first date?
Of course not, but once a wedding ring—aka the world’s smallest handcuff—is clamped around their new hubby’s finger they reveal the terrible Mr. Hyde side of themselves that was their true identity all along. And then you got grown men fleeing from their own homes just to get some peace, quiet, and happiness before they succumb to bitter resentment and blind rage and inevitably pull an OJ.
The old days of fifty-year marriages that our grandparents and great-grandparents were accustomed to are long over in 2013. Nobody gets married to their high school sweethearts five seconds after graduation anymore. Nobody’s losing their virginity on their wedding night anymore. Divorce isn’t an awful and embarrassing tragedy that carries a lifelong stigma of a scarlet “D” being tattooed on your forehead anymore. Marriage is an outdated, flawed institution and an insane contract to sign from the man’s standpoint. Unless you’re Anna Nicole Smith or Joe Pesci’s mom from Goodfellas, nobody is pro-marriage.