Stupid Arrogant Guys

‘Look! I am always right, you are always wrong so the chances you are right are very slim indeed!’ This is what I said to Heidi the other day after debating a particular issue. It turned out I was wrong.

‘Certainty’ must be hard-wired into men. This can be the only explanation for our pig-headedness. I am always right by the way; the other day was an exception.

There’s a guy I know, he’s about as sharp as dust, but he is surer of himself than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s convinced that the garbled nonsense he spews is gospel truth. You can see his eyes bulge as his brain tries to keep up with what he’s saying. He’ll stake his life on whatever he just said, even if he can’t remember or repeat what it was. I have endless minutes of fun with him before the urge to escape overwhelms me.

Having strong nerd tendencies, I am apt to catch out guys who make preposterous claims about technology, which some guys have a penchant for doing. I don’t know much but I know a lot more than your average meathead. The nonsense they spout amuses and irritates me in turn. Like when a guy tells you his computer has 500GB of RAM. And I’m not just being pedantic here; I know that example could be a slip of the tongue. I know a guy who claims to be a computer expert with his own business fixing up machines. He nudges and winks at me when he talks about it; he’s very proud. He sees himself as a savvy entrepreneur one-step ahead if the game. Strangely, he has no idea what chip is in his own computer. Which he ‘built’!

I once talked to a guy about a film I’ve seen many, many times and he swore that a scene that never took place, not only did take place but that it was his favorite part of the film. That was disorientating, as he seemed so sure he was right I began to think we’d been living in parallel universes until just a few moments before. Inevitably it turned out he’d been talking out of his hat. Which I knew. The swine made me doubt myself!

I go through 3 stages when I encounter a bullshitter. First I am amused, so I poke fun with questions I know they won’t understand; then I get bored and want them to stop, finally I start to hate them and wish they’d get out of my sight.

And there are so many stupid arrogant men like this! When I was single I would wonder in horror how these guys ever got girls. Are woman so dumb they’ll believe anything or do they just humor the men with the biggest erm… pecks? I was heading down a one-way road to raving misogynyville before Heidi came and rescued me.

Another guy I once met claimed he’d picked up Italian (he was fluent) by watching a few Italian soap operas. He was Albanian and he said his language was so much more complex than any other language on earth that he could learn languages as quick as that! (He snapped his fingers). My bullshitometer chimed so loud he almost heard it. Being an insufferable clever clogs, I thought a discussion of Chomsky’s conception of Universal Grammar might be in order, this had the effect I anticipated provoking hostility and frustration. He didn’t care how his ‘gift’ worked, it just did. He stuck to his guns throughout our brief acquaintanceship; he really seemed to believe what he was saying. If he was telling the truth, he was the cleverest man in the world, an idea difficult to reconcile with his gormless face. He was obviously a basket case and I spent 2 days meticulously unweaving his webs of bullshit. By the end of it I wanted to take him outside and do the honors with a revolver. I think he felt the same way about me. (Incidentally, his girlfriend looked like a supermodel).

I think the point I am getting at is this: why can’t some men try and be a little less sure of themselves? Is it really too much to ask that they think before they speak? Just a little bit. Try to imagine that you aren’t the cleverest person in the world and wonder to yourself what people might think of you when you spout such obvious bullshit. Such lazy, pointless, self-defeating bullshit. If you are capable of reaching this (admittedly low) level of self-awareness, dwell on it for a while, look back through your life and squirm in revulsion. Only then can you redeem yourself with the magic words ‘I don’t know enough about it to say for sure but I think…’

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Poor Thing

Billy is still catatonic after his hectic weekend. He has been coughing and sneezing all day and went into a trance shortly after his dinner:



We’re hoping he’ll have recovered in time for my parents safe return from Boston. We may have to call a witch doctor to snap him out of it.

[By the way I got junk mail on all my posts yesterday so I’ve had to install a spam filter. Unfortunately it isn’t the most polite or intelligent of filters, it may tell you what you are writing sounds like spam and refuse to publish it straight away. I hope you can learn to ignore this, I’ll be checking the filter several times each day and letting through genuine comments. I can’t manually delete 70 Viagra and gambling ads every night as I had to last night.]

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Is this a poem?

I’m sleepy, so is Billy
He nods off
I get ready
I kiss them goodnight and walk outside
I’m sick of trains
I flag down a cab
My music’s loud
In my ears
We pull onto the bridge
Gotham twinkles ahead
I’ve been drinking
I like being on my own
But I need courage
The cab pulls up at Delancey Street
I descend the gloomy stairway
Everyone is hip
So am I
I imagine
I go to the bar and buy a drink
I don’t recognize the staff
Usually I make a friend
One time a filmmaker
One time a security guard
One time a stuntman
I like that
I want to talk
To someone
I look around
The castanets appear
I tell them I missed them
It was Billy’s fault
He cried for too long
I like your album
I say
They can’t afford their drinks
They change their order
I drink more
Time passes
Then finally
I head upstairs
And go to the front
Sufjan appears
He has cheerleaders
From Illinois
He is a star
And he knows it
He sold out 5 nights
My head is groggy
The music is clear
As crystal
I am pinned to the ground
I consume every note
Every word
I get my money’s worth
And some
At the end I am sad
I walk out
Into the hot night
It is late
I plug in my headphones
I listen to him again

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