Further Adventures in the Failure of Critical Thinking

After a long day of plotting the overthrow of capitalism and devising ingenious schemes which will soon, O My Comrades, be put into practice, Comrade X needs his exercise, and so, on this particular evening, he went to his local gym to get in a little cardio. Well, now, the problem with the cardio machines is that they are located under a huge bank of VERY large-screen televisions, and try as he might to avoid looking at them, Comrade X's attention is oftentimes drawn to these looming symbols and purveyors of bourgeois moral lassitude. But tonight Comrade X was shocked, shocked!, when he saw an episode of what he thinks is called "The Bachelorette," in which a meretricious young woman shops, essentially, for a boyfriend from a group of commodified ex-frat boy look-alikes pretending to be human and trying in vain to win this woman's attention (i.e., vagina) by meeting with her one-on-one and, in something like thirty-second interviews, attempting to convince her that each is somehow unique from the others (for my part, I couldn't tell them apart, as they were identical to me, even down to the volume of hair product each one used).

Well, stupid and actually rather heinous and horrifying premise aside, one of these men, a certain Derrik, decides that his opening strategy is that he is going to tell her (whatever her name was -- Ali, I think, not that it matters) why he has been given -- and still to this day goes by! -- the nickname "Shooter" (I'm sure you see where this is going, O My Vastly Overeducated and Soon to Be Disgusted Readers). So Shooter walks into the room, sits on the couch, and the first thing out of his mouth -- THE FIRST THING -- is his explanation of the nickname. Apparently, in college, he suffered from an affliction (he was unclear as to whether or not he still suffers from this affliction) that no man in his right mind would EVER IN A MILLION YEARS reveal to ANYONE, let alone a woman he is trying to IMPRESS, and AT THE INSTANT OF THEIR FIRST MEETING -- yes, My Comrades, Shooter suffered (or suffers) from premature ejaculation.

Now, Comrade X does not claim to know the way to any given woman's heart, certainly, nor does he want to make essentialist statements about women in general, but it seems to stand to reason (a higher brain function no man on this show uses) that the way to get a woman to be interested in you as a man and a viable sexual partner IS NOT TO REVEAL THAT YOU HAVE A SEXUAL DYSFUNCTION that can only result in dissatisfaction and disappointment for your female partner (and embarrassment for yourself) and to show that you are SO STUPID as to TELL people about it (good luck getting a date NOW, dumbass!). Because, Dear Reader, not only did Shooter tell Ali, he told MILLIONS of viewers that he is, indeed a premature ejaculator. This was astounding to Comrade X, as astounding as if Derrik had decided to call himself Mr. Micropenis or perhaps tell this woman that his name in Russian means "farts-under-the-covers-like-a-high-school-marching-band" or that he suffers from leprosy.

And, to point out some further, perhaps more subtle aspects of this individual's failure to think critically, he later revealed (in an exit interview after he did not receive a rose, the receipt of which apparently indicates that you get to go on to the next round, which for all Comrade X knows is the swimsuit competition), Derrik said that his strategy was to "ease the tension" by telling her this, and that he sees that his strategy "failed." Now, Derrik, consider: isn't the IMMEDIATE "easing of tension" with women EXACTLY your problem? Isn't "failure" the whole issue here? Why shoot your wad, as it were, right off the bat? Can't you save ANYTHING for later? What about a little verbal foreplay first? Why go straight for the linguistic money shot? Oh, you poor, poor man. So feeble-minded (among other things). And, just to show that he is, in fact, completely obsessed by his own dysfunction, he PREMATURELY LEAVES THE EXIT INTERVIEW, walking off camera during filming while saying, "Forget it, I'm going home," and shedding his tie PREMATURELY as he walks down the driveway of the house where the show is shot (as it were), where there is no car waiting for him to take him back to his hotel because he PREMATURELY left the set.

O tempora, o mores!