You know what, ladies? Tony D just got back from his life-changing, enlightening trip to Asia and he is not fucking impressed with you.
I mean, at first he was really relieved that he no longer had to worry about those dirty thieves, terrible drivers, shitty coffee, or the shocking ecological conditions he was forced to contend with while on his expensive, exotic vacation. But it wasn’t long before a new and more insidious toxin began to envelop his psyche, and he just has to share his horror and disgust with you:
Vancouver women are the fucking worst.
I’d become used to having sexy European backpacker women around. They’re so different than the Vancouver locals, so much…better. So open to meeting new people, so friendly, fit, feminine. Now most of the women in my area seemed poorly dressed, and relatively unattractive, not so much in their appearance, but their behaviour. Yes, they wear second hand men’s clothes from thrift stores, like plaid trucker jackets and winter toques. But what bothered me was that they act like men, and they’re angry. I can feel their misandry. Not all of them, just a lot. It’s their right, I just don’t find it attractive.
It’s so crazy how other people who are having a good time on vacation are open to having a good time. But more importantly, did you even know that the way you dress was turning Tony D off? Did you even think about Tony’s penis when you put on your gross, butch clothes in the morning, women of Vancouver? We both know you didn’t.
But what’s worse is that you won’t even let Tony flirt at you. Who are you, turning Tony down when all he wants is to talk to you so he can ask you out and hopefully sleep with you? What — you think you should be able to control your own human interactions, like some kind of autonomous, independent person?
I’d become used to meeting women by saying, “Hi. How are you?” and not having to use the, “game,” I’d spent so many years practicing. I say, “Hi, how are you?” here and people look at me like I’m a rapist.
What? No way! That’s so crazy that anyone might think that a man who believes women owe him their time and ultimately their bodies might be engaging in some sort of rape culture mentality.
I’d also become used to being checked out by beautiful local women. Now, I am just another guy, a commoner amongst the common. And I get it, white privilege in a foreign country. It is what it is.
Why do you women here have to be so much more equal? Just let him exploit your poor economic conditions — God.
And don’t go calling Tony a sexist! He’s also a homophobe.
The men here are worse. They are either from the twirled moustache hipster variety, or the pansy politically correct nancy-boy scene.
But what about a real man like Tony? What’s he about? Well, have a gander at this vague, mysterious, and deeply douche-y descriptor:
“Oh Tony. You think you’re better than hipsters.” No. I don’t. I have a weird job that makes a lot of people hate me, just because it exists. I’m about as fringe as you can get when it comes to career choice. If it wasn’t for my hipster background, my wounded self, I would probably be a coke addicted manic depressive, like a lot of my neighbours. Honestly, I’m still as confused about this life than ever. I just have a bit more experience than when I was a twenty year old kid playing in a punk band.
So what does Tony do? Brace yourself (though you probably felt this one coming): he’s an author.
Our next Jack Kerouac, judging by his extensive skill in the art of wordsmithery?
Nay, ladies, nay. He writes ebooks on the art of picking up women.
I mean, you can tell, right? You’re getting hot just reading these excerpts.
Ultimately, Tony knows he has to leave this horrendous shit-hole with its self-sustained women — not that he thinks Asia is perfect. He knows it’s not. But he can’t stay. He just has to live his truth:
But for now, I’ll keep looking for something that suits my tastes for adventure, beautiful women, and interesting culture—outside of my hipster den in East Vancouver.