Q: What is the difference between a lady and a whore?
A: A lady wipes her mouth with a napkin; a whore wipes hers on the backseat upholstery.
As promised, here's what I have to say about dating at my age.
Welcome back to another description of the trials and tribulations of your Galactic Master in his attempts to find a counterpart who does not inspire murder.
My, how things have changed since the days when your would-be Galactic Authoritarian had to go through the motions of having to find a suitable companion! It would appear that after so much time spent with the departed Mrs. Overlord that I missed an awful lot of memos. Had I only known that attempting to at, the very least, have a pleasant evening out with someone you found interesting was going to be such a chore, I would have destroyed this spinning ball of dirt from the Death Star and moved on to a much-easier task, like successfully folding a fitted sheet or discovering why someone shot John Lennon five times but didn't even bother aiming at Yoko.
Let's just get this out of the way at the very beginning of this distressing tale of the sorry state of human interactions. That is to say, let's first list the Overlords demerits, as it were, so that it cannot be said that he isn't aware of his own shortcomings, nor why these foibles might contribute to his lack of success in finding just the right sandwich-maker and vacuum cleaner operator.
1. I'm smart. Like super smart. And I don't like idiots. Not only do I not like morons, but I have no issue in telling you to your face that you are, indeed, a retard. This leads to problem number two...
2. I have no filter. In the diplomat department, I am certainly bottom of the barrel. This has two sources: the first being that, for all intents and purposes, I was raised in an office building on Wall Street. Wall Street has this habit of breaking down all issues into the following questions:
Does it work?
Is it profitable?
Is it useful?
If it is none of those three, then why the fuck are we still doing it?
This results in a directness and often life-sucking honesty that does not go down (sorry!) well with your average woman, who not only expects to be lied to, but desperately WANTS to be lied to.
The second is that my time is valuable. I don't like to waste it. I value my money, as well, and hate to waste that even more.
If I'm making the investment of both, I expect us both to be on our 'A' game. Not perfection; just give me something to think about.
3. The Overlord is stubborn and argumentative (no shit!). By 'stubborn' I mean 'I'm right until you prove me wrong', and by 'argumentative' I mean 'the intellectual exercise, not fighting'. This is a consequence of being both smart and of Sicilian heritage.
You're in the Big Leagues now, ladies. Show that you have a brain and an iron constitution. I despise weak women (more on this later) and absolutely dislike intensely anyone who can't at least put forth a coherent point-of-view on just about anything, even if I disagree.
By the way, disagreement is NOT the same as hate, misogamy, MAGA conservative or alien being. A lot of you are too dumb to understand this.
4. The Overlord has little patience for fools. He has infinite patience for those he cares for, however, getting to know and understand this requires you pass a bunch of very basic tests: be reasonable, show some intelligence, show that you're worthy of being cared for, display at least one or two redeeming qualities that make you endearing.
5. The Overlord is a picky bastard. This does not mean I have 'a type' -- I am just as likely to be attracted to a smile, a sense of humor, as I am big Mommy Milkers or killer hips or pretty face, and intelligence is always a turn-on -- but it does mean that I can sniff out a toxic waste of flesh within minutes and then avoid it like it came with a free subscription to the Alexandria Ocascio-Cortez Quote of the Week Club and a free case of hemorrhoids.
I endeavor to surround myself with good people; good in both character and trustworthiness. I don't have the time, nor do I have the energy, for assholes.
6. I post this in the interests of complete honesty, but my better days are behind me. I'm 58, I have had some really rough patches, I'm a good 75 pounds overweight. The days when I was a Bronzed Adonis (and I was, at one time) are long gone. The 170-pound frame that was solid muscle, the boyish good looks, are but memories, these days. About the best things about me, physically, are that I still have a full head of thick hair and almost no gray.
All that is left now are good days, with the possibility of better on the horizon, and really, that's what I'm seeking. Just be a kind, intelligent, decent person who makes a great companion. You would think that's not too much to ask for.
But, apparently, it is.
I could regale you with the disasters that were my last five or six dates and my ideas about why the Modern Woman is a conflicted mass of bullshit psychopap, hypocrisy and mercenary, to boot, but we don't have all year here.
Now that that is out of the way...
Here's what you're up against as a man when dating after 50:
You will meet this woman in an unconventional way. Typically, this means by some electronic means. The reason for that is because many people have lost the art of social interaction in real life. We lead very insular lives, these days, when you can binge watch anything you'd like, spend a good deal of your time in an online echo chamber, or have elevated instant gratification to an Olympic sport.
The art of conversation is dead. Eventually, every conversation quickly devolves into the political, the (too deeply) personal, or the absurd. Everyone you might meet in a 'social' setting, it seems, has an agenda that does not include 'getting to know you'. Mostly, the agenda is concerned with 'what do I get out of this right now?' and 'what will my friends say?', or similarly shallow shit like that.
Social skills, sez me, are a good indication of whether someone is an individual, rather than just part of some amorphous blob of human protoplasm. Individuality is sexy; mobthink is disgusting. Being able to express yourself is a skill; throwing on some makeup and a sexy outfit that doesn't suit anyone over the age of 40, is not. Getting slovenly drunk and calling it 'a good time' while trying to pretend that you're a teenager all over again is certainly an anti-social activity. Construing 'strong woman' with 'reflexively radioactive, obnoxious, hostile cast-iron cunt' is off-putting.
To be able to apply judgement - and it's opposite, when required -- is another skill that has flown right out the window. Books are not only judged by their covers, these days, but the cover is all anyone is willing to see. So, if you're not 'Chad' (more on this in a second) you are rejected outright. And then you have to listen to some idiot female whine that no one approaches her despite making all that effort -- the revealing clothing, the makeup applied with a trowel, the plastic surgery, the Botox, the outrageous behavior that screams 'I'm a good time!'-- it is all for naught.
Now, meeting women online has a variety of pitfalls. The first of these is that women have a tendency to lie, all the time, and mostly to themselves, which means they are incapable of knowing when they're lying to you. And worse, having no shame in doing so.
As an example: a woman will post photographs of herself on an online dating site. These pictures are often heavily filtered, very old, and deliberately chosen so as to show what she believes are her best traits. The beautiful 40+, with a great big smile, hoisting a glass of wine, looking good enough to eat, apparently having the time of her life is very often a ruse to suck you into arranging a date with the most-negative, overweight, annoying individual with the disposition of Winnie-the-Pooh's Eeyore carrying a case of chlamydia and enough baggage to fill a boxcar.
This is when you discover that 'looked good on the site' turns out to be someone who hates her life, regrets her decisions, dislikes her kids, is broke, and leads a fucked-up life that simply wants someone else to unfuck it for her.
Naturally, none of this is evident in her bio, either, which reads something along the lines of 'athletic, good-looking, cheerful, happy professional, varied intellectual/outdoor interests seeks good man for fun and perhaps more...".
Which begs the question: if you look that good and you are that well-rounded or fantastic a person, then why are you advertising yourself like a used car on a dating site?
Which begs another question: why the fuck am I on this dating site?
The answer to the first is: you aren't. You're lying. And if you're going to start us out by lying to me, then I choose to reserve the right to reject you.
The answer to the second is that women have been reflexively trained to regard The Approach as an abduction, rape and murder all just waiting to happen.
That electronic barrier provides a bit of safety, It also provides a great deal of anonymity, with the added bonus of being able to be dishonest with little threat of feedback.
And if you DO manage to 'meet' (because you will exchange DM's, text messages and maybe a phone call before agreeing to meet in person), the date typically goes something like this:
My life sucks. My kids suck. I hate my job and the other bitches I work with. I think Taylor Swift is a philosopher and thought leader for our age. I am obsessed with celebrities and my favorite TV show. I am fantastic in all respects, it's just that no one notices or gives me credit for it. I have no flaws. I'm beautiful inside and out. Oh, I'm also broke and can't make my rent this month, have no retirement plan, I can see my own Mortality unfolding before my eyes and don't wish to suffer or die alone -- almost anyone willing to support me, in every way, which means 'put up with my bullshit' -- will take care of that. If it isn't too personal, how much do you earn a year? what do you bring to the table?
My usual response to the 'how much do you earn' question is 'I don't know; how much do you weigh? if it isn't too personal'
This is all typically transmitted to you in a 20-minute barrage of talk in which she doesn't come up for air. Not all, mind you. Some have more subtlety, but you will eventually get to this stage, usually within a few weeks.
So, let's see. You may still be pretty, but we both know that will not last. I cannot have children with you -- thank you, Menopause -- and you don't even want your own kids. Your life story is either regret for instigating a divorce (often, multiple divorces) because ex-hubby is having the time of his life while you 'struggle'. It's really hard to be you, you've said repeatedly, which would indicate that you're expecting me to do your heavy lifting in many respects. Your life is apparently out of control because you aren't responsible enough to rein it in. In the meantime, it sounds like you expect me to raise your kids, pay your bills, solve all of your problems, and all I'm getting out of this is, maybe, access to a well-worn vagina that has been wrecked by childbirth and a high body count. I find you distasteful, petty, bitter, entitled, and all-around loathsome and you have the audacity to ask 'what do you bring to the table?'
This is largely a consequence of what's available in the over-50 dating pool, of course.
Painting with a (very) broad brush here, but your typical selection comes in the following flavors:
1. The 40+ cum dumpster who has 11 children by 19 fathers, only a few of whom may be incarcerated or paying child support. She is typically only on this date because it's a night away from her disgusting offspring and a free meal. She tends to drink a lot, swear a lot, and smoke menthols (the Overlord smokes) which is indicative of someone with both a lack of taste and possessed of exceedingly poor judgement.
She'll also ask you to pay her babysitter for her when you pick her up, or order the entire left side of the menu to take home to feed the rugrats that she and her sperm donors won't.
I usually kick this one to the curb immediately, especially when she's asking for babysitter money before she even has both legs in the car. She insists, often and loudly, that NOW, she's ready to 'settle down'.
You are a fucking minefield.
2. The 40+ divorcee, who usually instigated the divorce, herself, and is now pissed off that ex-hubby (they all have the same name, incidentally, because every other sentence begins with 'my, ex...That Fucking Bastard') went on with life and left her to 'struggle'.
It's the same story, every time. 'I was tops in my field before I got married and took 20 years off to raise my children' only to return to the workforce at the bottom, earn half or less of what they used to, not understanding that all that time off meant someone else is doing your job, things at the office have changed since you left it, and you have no idea of how to fucking deal with the consequences of your actions.
You're now broke, because hubby was the bread-winner and the judge did not see it as your Natural Right to continue to receive spousal support forever, since you already got 50% of what that fool had before you dumped him. You're now broke because you've had to start all over. You can't deal because you've been taken care of for 20+ years and have no idea of how to take care of yourself.
Now you want some other sucker to keep you in the lifestyle you formerly enjoyed, give you empathy by the barrel-full, and NOT have the idea floating around his head that 'if she did this to that other guy, she might do it to me', because you've already announced all the bullshit excuses for why you instigated divorce in the first place.
If I hear the words 'I felt unfulfilled', 'it lost it's spark' or 'I thought I deserved...' or other shallowly-and-esoteric-emotionally squishy bullshit one more time, I might have to choke a bitch. If you can't explain it in plain English, how do you expect me to understand and evaluate it?
I'm not your fucking psychiatrist.
And it gets worse the more divorces they rack up. Sez the Overlord, if you get divorced once, well, that could happen to anyone. Maybe you picked the wrong person, perhaps they were a dick to you, but when you have two three or more divorces on your scoresheet, then, obviously, the problem is you.
You may be happy to live in denial about that, but I sure as shit ain't.
There's also a visible streak of ingratitude in this kind that is visible from space.
You hear a lot of these types gnash their teeth and rend their garments, exclaiming 'where have all the good men gone?" or 'men are not interested in dating, anymore!'
My response to that would be -a) you probably had a good man and didn't appreciate him, and b) we're not evading dating: we're avoiding divorce.
3. The Widow. Tread carefully here, because when you've been in the same situation there is a tendency to form a trauma bond before anything else develops. While I have met some truly nice widows in the past year, none of them have passed muster. Mostly because they really haven't moved on.
I miss Mrs. Overlord, terribly some days, but I also have come to grips with the fact that she is no more. Never to return. And while that is a sad feeling, it also means that one door has closed and another has opened. Time to experience something new. The experience will NOT be the same, but then again, different might be just as good or even better.
If you can't leave the past where it belongs you have no chance of moving forward. I want to live, just not in the past. I don't expect you to forget; can we just not re-live it...all the time?
4. Aging Bossgirl. This one believed every drop of the the stupidity that Feminism fed her. She is now getting older; she has no husband and no family, having eschewed those for a climb up the proverbial ladder. She's now getting older and realizes that she is totally alone.
She now realizes that she was lied to and is bitter and opportunistic.
What happens if she gets sick? Who will take care of her? What happens if she outlives her retirement plan? Who will save her from the last few years of her life living on cat food? What about her 14 cats? Who will take of them when she's gone?
This type has all the attractiveness of an egg salad sandwich dipped in motor oil and left out in the sun for a month. Primarily because she's an arrogant ass, used to bullying others in a corporate setting in order to get what she wants/needs, and her sense of both independence and self-importance means she is unable to find common ground, to compromise, to do little else but to make demands and expect her wishes to be made manifest by someone else's effort.
She can't turn it off. It's seriously off-putting.
There are individuals where the archetypes overlap and others who don't fit the pattern, certainly, but they are becoming harder to find than a unicorn that pees lemonade, shits Skittles, farts glitter, cries gumdrops, sweats rainbows and gives a blowjob to die for.
Case in point...
5. The Hookup. You 'meet' this one on an app like Tindr, where she's basically advertising that she'll fuck anyone, no questions asked, so long as you feed her and maybe put a few drinks in her. Mind you, she's done this scores of times. Talk about advertising 'I'm a whore!', Tindr is where you go when you just need the physical holes in your life filled, and damn the rest, or even the ones in your head.
Next thing you know, this broad is showing up at your house for booty calls and then tries to stay a couple of days. Chances are very good she's a single mother who has lost custody of her kids (you wonder why?), is probably steadily working her way through the phone book until she finds the dipwad of her dreams (a.k.a Chad), and probably has her picture posted in various VD wards with a REWARD banner beneath it.
It only took one of these to get me to stop using that particular app.
Now, as to what everyone seems to be searching for, we come to the story of Chad and Becky.
Chad is the female ideal. He should be six feet tall, have a six-figure income, and a six pack of abs. Age is unimportant, but what is is that Chad, despite having everything in the world going for him, ideally also lacks a fucking spine. This means that Chad is the ultimate 'trophy' who will happily indulge all of your bullshit, gladly pay for it, but never take a stand on anything, even for himself.
Chad is rarer than the unicorn mentioned above.
Becky is the 5' 2", cute-as-shit, large-breasted, slim-waisted homebody, who likes kids, wants to do nothing but bake brownies and prepare homemade meals, who finds laundry and housework to be refreshing, is perfectly satisfied with being a wife and mother, and who never asks for something she's not, logically, morally and ethically, entitled to.
Becky is about as common as a democrat with a good idea.
And yet, this is what everyone is looking for. If Chad and Becky were to be reduced to mere statistical models, they might represent about 2 or 3% of the entire population.
But 95% of the population is desperately looking for them.
And that's a problem.
So, realistically speaking, what one must do, if one is to find any companionship and happiness in this life, is to learn to be grateful for what you can realistically have. It is to be cognizant that the idea of perfection is a ridiculous goal and the enemy of 'good enough'. It means being able to accept the bad with the good (within reason) and to be okay with it.
At this age (I'm 58) I don't need, nor do I want, a housekeeper with the sexual and kink skills of a porn actress. Neither do I want a 'strong, independent' woman who somehow is always asking me to fix her problems and who won't get out of my wallet. Worse, believes that in return for vagina she has a right to my wallet. I don't need anyone else's insanity, as I have enough of my own.
Neither do I desire a doormat. I'm not always right, and it's good to have someone check your dumbfuck when you need it. Very often, we need it far more than we care to believe.
All I want is a nice girl, easy on the eyes and nerves, who I can talk to, share a little silliness with, perhaps share some new experiences or old interests, and who doesn't have to behave like a fucking menstrual wolverine all the time, constantly recite her resume in an effort to seem relevant, doesn't have to be picked up off the barroom floor from a puddle of her own piss, had some manners, some good qualities -- brains, honestly, loyalty, kindness, are always first on the list -- who just wants the same thing I'd like.
Some goddamned peace and good times before I die.
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