31 Aug 2009, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Children of the Damned

For those of you visiting the planet for the first time, these are media creations, not actual people. If you abduct them you will learn nothing about what it feels like to be human, because they only know what it looks like to feel visible.

There’s a difference.

Final Comments: This is the only time in their lives that they get a pass for what appears to be blatant pantomime.

But once people outside of nightclubs and parking lots realize the male is not a rock star, an ultimate fighter, or even a high school graduate, he will be forced to become an actual person, which is a lot tougher than the rock star part.

Of course, it’s also possible that he’s the product of photographic manipulation, in which case he’s more real than I thought.

The object with its tongue out is mimicking animal sexual behavior, which underscores her key area of confidence.

No elaboration required.

I assume this is the reason time was put aside from her busy entertainment schedule to document this historic moment with Bruno the Great.

People are forever trying to solidify their transparency [invisibility], which may sound odd, but in the mind of a pathological narcissist, if they aren’t noticed, they don’t.

Bruno inks its entire body, which will make it difficult to secure a job as anything but a gas station attendant or convict out on work furlough.

In time, of course, the balance of the costume can be removed.

But if the aforementioned job openings are not available there will be some explaining to do over at IBM’s Human Resouces department.

Note: Someone sent me this photograph from an image bank on the web. It brought to mind the desiccated remains of the pilot of an interstellar starship in Alien who was discovered with a hole in his stomach courtesy of something that decided to give birth to itself at his expense.

This is the result.

Of course, these could also be two extras from Central Casting during a scene break in a new Road Warrior series.

If this is the case, my bad.

29 Aug 2009, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Understanding Female Objectification: A Primer for Women

The most popular image of the female despite the exigencies of the clothing trade is all boobs and buttocks, a hallucinating sequence of parabolae and bulges.  ~Germaine Greer

UP NEXT!

27 Aug 2009, Posted by jay rusovich , 2 Comments

Most Self-Help Books Lead Women to Marriage. Here’s an Alternative…

If you live in rock and roll, as I do, you see the reality of sex, of male lust and women being aroused by male lust. It attracts women. It doesn’t repel them. Camille Paglia

If you believe in Camille Paglia’s vision of life on earth, make sure you’re young enough  – or famous enough – to pull it off. Jay Rusovich

………………….

When marriage is the end game, men can smell it.

And that’s a problem because the only time that particular scent is acceptable is when a woman is in her early to mid twenties and both genders share it.

After that, it comes across like asteroids being torn apart by the earth’s atmosphere. And the result is that you’re summarily dismissed as relationship material, and then have to suffer through the litany of lies and machinations designed to get you into bed. Strippers know all about this, which is why they often choose women and cocaine.

Affluent older men – and the posers who [poorly] emulate them [without realizing it] – most often frequent upscale places, like restaurant bars, to meet women with overdue rent, unmanagable Mercedes Benz payments, IRS penalties, piles of traffic violations and a desire for new handbags.

But they don’t respect you. They may respect your blowjobs, but not you the person, because there is no person. There is only the asteroid I mentioned in the third paragraph. They see you in line with all the other flotsam vying for a piece of the pie, like pilot fish in armed to the teeth with a survival ethic that guides them through the danger and uncertainty of the food chain.

You’re in a kill zone, and the porous veneer you drag around with you is the only thing that separates you from the scavengers on the sidelines appraising you as you showcase your wares in deep water.

“She fucked Mike and his two Lebanese friends [at the same time]. Frank gave her a house to keep her mouth shut about his cocaine habit. That guy over there took her to Spain and fucked her in front of six valets at a Barcelona hotel. She stole $2500 and an American Express Platinum card from the owner of a car dealership before he had her arrested for grand larceny. Nobody knows anything about her other than her taste for expensive champagne, which she never pays for for some reason…etc.”

Ya see, girls, you’re nothing more than who you appear to be in a certain context. If I swim in the open ocean I am part of another food chain by default. We are what we do, unless you’re writing a book or something and need some fresh dialog from people you’re writing about, but don’t personally know.

You might want to explain this before someone offers you a drink, because nothing’s free, including your reputation, which the free Absolut Citron serves to demolish, particularly if you accept two from the same stranger in a suit with the shimmer of a falling star.

So buy your own god-damned drinks. If you can’t afford them, go somewhere else. Otherwise you can go back top my comment about the open ocean, which is where you’re stuck.

So with the title of this article in mind, the first line item on your must-have list should be something beyond marriage and money. Like art, for example. Or reading, writing, mountain climbing, travelling, music. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as it exists, and you’re committed to it, with or without a man. Eventually you’ll be discovered and you won’t feel as though your time has been wasted because you’ve been living true to yourself and the things that mean something to you beyond finding your “soul mate.”

I think people in yoga still use that metaphor, along with others, like “path” and “channeling,” but don’t ask me to explain them. I only know why they use them, which I’ve just explained.

This is an aside, but yoga classes are filled with crazy beautiful women just like you. It’s the 21st century sanctuary for the spiritually disenfranchised. Think of it as playing in a famous rock band like ACDC and it’ll have the same effect. It separates you from the herd, and by virtue of your association with it, it inspires others to assign fascinating attributes to you that may or may not exist.

But that’s the point. To inspire. Never let them nail you down to anything because if they can get away with it they will.

Any street tramp can attend a yoga class and immediately acquire status that money can’t buy.

Something similar happens when you attend a performance art event. That’s why so many beautiful older women do it. The game has burned the life out of their hearts and this is where they go to rediscover themselves.

They don’t have to succumb to the indignities of running around with arms dealers at restaurant-cum-nightclubs with the rest of the Yemenis, ex-cons and perpetrators of moral crime.

Dear God, please tell me where to reach. Tell me where to rest my heart out here in the flurry of celestial shrapnel. I’m dying. This is when it’s darkest, when eyes become like quasars slicing everything to ribbons and exposing the truths about a life that has no purpose, no meaning and no clarity beyond what one can touch and feel and taste.

Pardon the digression.

Go to a performance art event. Go to the symphony. The ballet. Some edgy, alternative bar downtown frequented by people who don’t remind you of the desperation of the times. You’re better off walking the hallways of a museum alone than standing in line to use the restroom at a steakhouse full of phantoms from your worst nightmares.

Unfortunately, though, many affluent men go where the action is because they harvest the desperation without much ado after a long week of travel…usually back and forth to Aspen where they met their last housekeeper girlfriend with the “Harvard MBA” and no visible means of support.

The state of men is appalling.

So as I initially stated, don’t make marriage the end game.

He can feel it the moment you’ve nailed your second cocktail in under a minute. Of course, he may construe it as a clear signal that he’s getting laid, but either way you’re screwed.

Keep him off balance.

Challenge him without being a complete bitch about it.

Don’t play stupid.

Don’t defer to him by default.

Stand up for what you believe. And be who you are, which should have nothing whatsoever to do with him.

He’ll figure it out eventually, anyway.

Be in the moment.

Enjoy one date in a capsule, as though nothing exists outside of that tiny space in time.

Don’t get ahead of yourself – or ahead of him – as the case may be, because he may be exactly where you left him before wandering off into your altered reality.

So do not fantasize a lifetime with someone you don’t know, claro?

Don’t obliterate your dreams before you have a shot at them.

Don’t compromise yourself. Even if he ends up running off with someone easier, he will remember you and chances are he’ll come running back. It’s not all decided in a single night. He’s also crying out for redemption from the drugs that continue to kill him.

Men don’t like dependent women who have no life outside of theirs. The ones who do usually end up in the crime reports.

If any of this makes any sense to you, I’ve done my job. If not, don’t blame me for the staggering cost of your therapy.

26 Aug 2009, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

“Cankles” and Life in the Food Chain

If it’s part of the female anatomy, it’s fair game. If it makes you feel any better, men who are broke suffer the same discrimination.

According to ABC Health, while you were busy worrying about “muffin-topping” over the waistband of your jeans, “cottage cheese” on your thighs, or excess fat on upper pelvic area [FUPA], you should also have been paying attention to the appearance of your ankles!

Back in the 70’s my father used to disparage women with “fat ankles,” so I know all about this. Today, there’s a name for them:

Cankles.

In a more clinical sense, cankles are lower legs that exhibit no separation between the lower calf and the ankle. For men who are still trying to wrap their heads around this, imagine a large straight line from the calf to the foot. It’s not unlike what one sees in the African Bush Elephant, but don ‘t use this analogy.

Men find all of this quite amusing as long as the women in their lives are just as amused. Of course, they keep their mouths shut if they’re broke, because this condition renders them vulnerable to comments about their paunch and its uncanny resemblance to the African Bush Hippo.

This makes the whole cankles thing a lot less amusing for both parties.

Anyway, women have always been objectified in the context of physical beauty the way men have been objectified in the context of financial accomplishment.

We each have our roles.

These are things that the genders don’t openly discuss [or admit to], but can’t function without, nonetheless. People choose mates based largely on these criteria for those of you who think it’s about cooking or fixing a refrigerator.

So the argument could be made that our species is perpetuated by entitlement and narcissism. Being blessed with physical beauty leaves women feeling entitled to more. Money does the same thing to men.

Couple this with a society that worships beauty as much as it does financial wealth, and narcissism becomes a good thing.

We see narcissism in the animal kingdom, as well. There’s another word for it, but the results are identical.

Nonetheless, the rancor continues…

“Cankles, cougars, muffin tops, tramp stamps, thunder thighs: we’re all adults, so why are we still pushing this crap as if it has any real relevance whatsoever?” asks one irate woman.

“Why are we talking about our bodies the way 7th graders would in the locker room? Why can’t we focus our attention on the things that matter when it comes to weight and nutrition, like, say, heart disease, the number one killer of women? Why must it always be about an idiotic obsession with one body part? If it’s not your abs, it’s your ankles. If it’s not your ankles, it’s your arms. If it’s not your arms, it’s your thighs. If only we paid so much attention to our brains, eh?”

Answer: Women who pay attention to the superficial things tend to have nice lawns, courtesy of men who pay people to keep them that way. The woman who made the above remarks has neither.

I hope this clears things up in “Manspeak.”

24 Aug 2009, Posted by jay rusovich , 1 Comments

My New Coffee Table Book ["INSIDE/OUT"], available here and on Amazon, December/09

Above photograph is a low-rez, cropped version of some new work.

In a past life I was a professional photographer.

In my current life I am a writer.

Together, the professional title would be something like “photographer/writer.”

Some would hyphenate rather than slash, but you know me.

Suffice to say, I was always trying to tell a story, but was forever limited by the medium. Photographs are really just symbols. They never explain anything because they can’t. Imagine showing someone what a hydrogen bomb looks like the moment it explodes. You’re not telling them anything about how or why the damn thing came into being, or who’s going to clean up the mess.

So photography was like having a very limited vocabulary.

People had to fill in the blanks for themselves, and I always hated that about it. So I started filling in the blanks with words, and finally, things started coming together for the first time in my life.

So at the behest of friends and my invaluable assistant, Yvonne Boustany, I decided to produce a coffee table book, which I have titled, “INSIDE/OUT,” [with the slash.]

Needless to say, the book incorporates a considerable literary component, which parallels themes found on this blogsite.

Without going into more personal detail, it represents the culmination of my life and times up to this point in history…and probably some of yours, as well. I didn’t live in a vacuum and neither did you. A morphine drip might have helped from time to time, but the work had to suffice because I don’t like drugs – other than Novocain. I draw a line in the sand with dentists.

The book won’t be cheap, but if your therapy is $150.00 for 50 minutes, you might want to reconsider your investment.

23 Aug 2009, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

“We’re All Objects!”

Again, I’m in the cross hairs of another discussion over the objectification of women. Why, I don’t know. It all seems so transparent to me.

Nonetheless, from a man’s perspective, women are objects. From a woman’s perspective, women are objects. They just use different metaphors.

Most men would take a clinical psychopath with a perfect round ass over a well-adjusted Ph.D. without one.

Women know this. They hate it, but they know it.

Which is why they spend so much time and money on illusion. The food chain isn’t cheap.

For women who don’t like the rules of engagement, they can take the corporate route, work 10-hour days, earn lots of money and acquire a “house husband.” There are a lot of them out there.

If not, the following rules apply:

1] A woman’s job is to maintain her physical beauty at all costs, because that’s the bait. Whatever else you bring to the table helps perpetuate its survival, like personality, for example, which he will eventually notice.

2] A man’s job is to provide financial security. If he fails in this effort, he has failed as a man. Women of beauty deserve more by virtue of their physical beauty and should expect nothing less. However, she must also hone the art of perpetual seduction because he’ll need the fuel, believe me.

Men don’t walk around in high-heels and lipstick unless they’re getting paid for it. Women do. That’s what men mean when they talk about women in the context of objects. To them, you are. All they have to do is notice the difference between you and the men in your arms to determine with absolute clarity that men are invisible by comparison. And the ones who aren’t are either gay or womanizers. There are select few who don’t fall into either category, but good luck finding them.

With this in mind, here are a few questions women find themselves pondering [hopefully, to themselves]:

How do I want him to perceive me?

On a scale of 1 to 10, where do “object” and “person” fall?

How can I find a balance? A composite sketch?

How far can I push the object without losing the rest of me?

How much can I withhold and still hang on?

It’s all my choice, really. But in a way it isn’t, because there really isn’t any choice.

“I have to be what he wants me to be or he’ll find someone who will. I have to fight for his attention through specific manner and dress, because no matter how much he loves me, he loves the object just as much.”

So why do we tolerate the objectification? Why don’t we objectify in return? Do we like being perceived as objects of beauty? Is this enough to justify the emotional and financial cost?

Men want us to be beautiful.

This is our job.

Theirs is to be successful and to provide security.

Sure, I’d prefer that hot guy across the room with the beautifully tailored Armani slacks and white Prada dress shirt. His butt is tight and muscular. His stomach, flat. And his shoulders, broad.

That’s what I want.

But what he will want in return is what bothers me. I will have to be his reflection…and then stay that way after children — whether he does or not – because that’s my role.

Object first, then mother, then wife.

Men expect everything from us because we have been taught to expect everything of ourselves.

Do I even like being a woman? Is it more a crucible than anything else?

In the end, is all the attention I work so hard for really worth it?

Would I prefer to be a man?

Not on your life.

17 Aug 2009, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

On Dating Narcissistic Women

Narcissistic women need men in their lives to protect them, which fuels their behavior. I suggest you tape this to your refrigerator.

Diagnostic criteria for 301.50 Histrionic [Narcissistic] Personality Disorder [with some flourish from me]

Women with narcissistic personality disorder exhibit pervasive patterns of excessive emotionality and attention seeking, beginning by early childhood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five [or more] of the following:

1] She is uncomfortable in situations in which she is not the center of attention.

2] Her interactions with others are often characterized by inappropriate sexually seductive or provocative behavior.

Jay: I notice this with alcoholics and women who can’t get their meds straight.

3] She displays rapidly shifting and shallow expression of emotions.

4] She consistently uses physical appearance to draw attention to self.

Jay: Why they included this one is beyond me, since every hot woman on the earth would be forced to check it.

5] She has a style of speech that is excessively impressionistic and lacking in detail.

6] She shows-self-dramatization, theatricality and exaggerated expression of emotion.

7] She considers relationships to be more intimate than they actually are.

Jay: Narcissistic women gravitate to enablers who fuel their grandiosity. This keeps them in denial about things that aren’t as grand.

There is, in fact, life outside of their own. Of course, you’d be hard pressed to make that point without an about an abrupt turn in the conversation and subsequent dismissal for failure to fan their delusions.

Okay, let’s get down to business.

Note: We children of narcissistic parents carry a heavy cross. We have to fill in all the blanks our parents left in a state of impressionism. So we’re particularly sensitive to narcissistic behavior. It’s in our blood and we are forever recovering.

With this in mind, both genders are hostile to beauty.

It’s the way of things. Competition is at the root of survival. Where there’s life, there’s a reason it exists, and it’s always the same reason. Asteroids and black holes are exceptions to this rule if only because their grandiosity is exceeds out ability to medicate it.

Anyway, men who perceive a woman to be out of their leagues will often harass them, and/or reduce them to stereotypes in an effort to salvage their porous egos.

Another ploy to level the playing field is to offer all-expense-paid trips to Spain in private jets, which brings us back to stereotyping and harassment, so it’s a wash.

The ploys are endless, but a necessary part of the process of competition, and ultimately, survival.

Beauty is a drug we can’t live without if survival is our objective.

Frankly, this is one irony I can’t live without.

Women envy the beauty of other women, so they resort to cattiness and other strategery designed to destabilize or weaken their position in the food chain. Their best option is to befriend them and then exploit them from within once they feel secure. No matter how you look at it, the whole damn thing is like chipping away at the Berlin wall.

So at the end of the day, beauty is a mixed blessing.

What this means is that in order for a beautiful woman to be freely beautiful, she must feel protected. This usually comes in the form of a handsome and/or powerful man everyone admires; someone who dotes on her as though his life depended on it.

This is the Holy Grail to the female narcissist.  He is her stage, her lighting, her audience…and her fuel.

We love each other so much. [see #7]

We’re inextricable. [see #7]

Fused. [see #7]

One. [see #7]

I have my blessed man so fucking nailed down to me that he wouldn’t leave if his life depended on it, not that he has one without me, but he doesn’t need to know that. I don’t even know that. But as long as this union exists I don’t have think about it and that’s all that matters to us, and to everyone who aspires to be us.

[see #1, #3, #5, #6]

He loves me more than his own life. It’s a kind of perverse idolatry, which I encourage and exploit.

[see #7, again]

Everything about him is perfect, so much so that I document our union on Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, LinkedIn, Flickr, local gossip magazines and social gatherings which afford me the opportunity to fuel even greater speculation and fantasy.

[start with #1 and re-read the entire list]

In public, no one else exists. And he carries me through this fantasy like an indentured servant. I am so in love with myself, and the envy of everyone fuels my persona. My evasiveness alone charges the atmosphere like an atom bomb with fantasies and speculation about me a union they will never know. With my man fused to my side like a heroin addict in a poppy field, I am free to wander the earth like a God.

[at this point, feel free to move on to the chapters covering psychosis and hallucinations]

I post photos of him in his most glorious moments to fan the flames of my own narcissism. See it’s not about him as much as it’s about how much a man of his stature loves me, which turns the focus back on me.

In short, he is my God and I am his Princess. He worships me and I worship him. So I guess we’re both fucked. No, I didn’t say that! It must have been those goddamned blogs of Jay Rusovich. I didn’t think or say that at all! We’re like a Hollywood movie. We’ve transcended the human condition. He makes love to me 10 times a day and never fails to rise to the occasion. We orgasm together – each and every time – as if our relationship were guided by celestial forces.

No! He is not sleeping with a transvestite!

Stopping Jay Rusovich is the new focus of my life. No, I don’t mean sole focus, just one focus, because the real focus is my wonderful boyfriend.

I cut a little piece of his skin off every morning and drop it in my coffee. He does the same thing so we never feel distant. I am a psychopath. No! I am not a goddamned psychopath! Go away, Jay Rusovich. Your venom is a nightmare … and contagious. You should be exterminated. My life is perfect. Are you listening? Perfect! Look at the picture. Observe his behavior towards me in public. You don’t even know his name because he doesn’t want to meet you or anyone else. He adores me. Holds covets me like oxygen. Everyone else is completely invisible to him. He takes care of his body and then comes home to take care of mine. His focus is narrow and I’m in its cross hairs. No I am not a pathological narcissist. No I don’t need anyone else’s affirmation. Shut the fuck up, Jay Rusovich. Shut up and go away! My life is perfect and you’re just jealous that some of us transcend the human condition.

Poppy farmers sometimes feel the same way. No, I did not just say that!

I find it fascinating that the very security and freedom these relationships provide narcissistic men and women are also the windows through which one can observe the unfettered behavior of the insane.

11 Aug 2009, Posted by jay rusovich , 4 Comments

Dr. Anton Zegoyavich Demands Refund from AshleyMadison.com

“They sent me a snake! I assure you! Do not be fooled by appearances!”

PLEASE NOTE: Within the past few days my blogging has been stymied due to certain unforeseen events. This has led to psychiatric reactions that should be within my control, but still aren’t, which is why remain in therapy. Posting will resume tomorrow — after my electro-convulsive therapy and Haldol injections.

UPDATE: It’s the next day and I have decided, instead, to give my cats the Haldol and skip the ECT altogether.

So Anton and I chat…

AZ:

They sent me a snake!

J:

Anton, please calm down. What exactly happened?

AZ:

The thing came to me in the night, like something that hunts in the cover of darkness. Oh, yes, beautiful. But, beware my friend, beware. This is no ordinary creature. Not at all. No sir. Not ordinary in the least.

J:

What could possibly be so horrible about a beautiful married woman they sent you? I mean they didn’t even send a hooker, for Christ sake! You paid a basic membership fee!

AZ:

Ah ha! You immediately called it woman. How do you know what it was? How can you be sure?

J:

The website targets married people who want to have affairs. They don’t do anything other than provide the website. The rest is up to you. They had nothing to do with your hook-up.

AZ:

What is ‘hook-up?” You think for a minute I would waste my vast array of skills on foolishness? This is the ploy they use, but it is useless with me, you see.

J:

Anton, they didn’t do anything. You did. You obviously contacted some desperate married woman, sent her a fake photograph and lured her out here into the desert. My guess is that you intended to inject her  and she ran, but probably the moment she met you. Is this the photo you used?

[jpeg of 22-year old college athlete sits on his desktop next to his schematic of The Atomic Table of Elements.]

AZ:

Do not dare to insult me, I warn you! The snake came at me like a wild animals and attempted to strike!

J:

You lied to her, and then attempted to assault her with your completely illegal experiments! The last woman is still on morphine!

Did you try to stick her?

AZ:

I don’t use such crude terminology. I will not even acknowledge it!

J:

I had to bail you out of jail for sticking that hooker with python cells, which almost killed her, by the way. And if the authorities could find you, you’d be behind bars for the rest of your life.

AZ:

I have already expressed to you my feelings about these feeble beings. I have no interest in them.

J:

Well they have a great deal of interest in you.

AZ:

The woman should be proud of her sacrifice. Enough about this! Let us move on.

J:

Let’s talk about Ashleymadison.com. You have demanded a refund on your initiation fee, but you paid with a stolen credit card and used a phony mailing address.

AZ:

I called a hooker from there. A true thing of interest, I assure you. I told her to come here right away to pursue matters of mutual interest.

J:

Who’s mutual interest? She though she was coming out here to meet a handsome young athlete for sex.

AZ:

How dare you! Be careful, I warn you. I know what you are saying!

J:

Where’s the black eye come from? The woman probably punched you and then ran for her life.

AZ:

I am completely and finished with this discussion in its current form. I will have absolutely no more of it.

J:

Why would you contact a service like Ashley Madison in the first place?

AZ:

I found myself somewhat fascinated. That is all.

J:

Anton, were you trying to get laid?

AZ:

Don’t dare say that! I am warning you for the last time!

J:

You were trying to connect with a woman in a sexual way, weren’t you?

AZ:

Stop that! My research comes first and foremost! Why I must repeat this time after time is unbelievable to me.

J:

I dunno…23, flawless ass, sexy, unfulfilled…it just kind of begs the question.

AZ:

Believe what you will! The fact that I remain quite virile, I assure you, and astounding to many women, is of no significance here.

J:

Anton, women like guys with money no matter how good looking they are, or aren’t…just to put things in proper context.

This would include women from AshleyMadison.com who aren’t looking as much for affairs  – which they can find at any neighborhood grocery store – as much as they are looking for better living arrangements.

All this leads me to question your real motives. Is this about research or is it a desire to connect?

AZ:

I have no idea what you are saying. Our conversation is at an end, I am afraid.

J:

It’s funny how the things we don’t say are the very things that define who we are.

AZ:

OUT!!!

[To be continued…]

08 Aug 2009, Posted by jay rusovich , 2 Comments

What I’ve Learned from Jay Regarding Relationships and Love

1] Love is a transaction at best, if it exists at all in the sense most of us think of it. And it probably doesn’t [exist], but might, depending on how one defines it, which is always kind of obtuse.

Put it this way: It’s along the lines of, either lust, a close friendship…or a full-bore pathology.

2] Love is a tool used to negotiate relationships; and its effectiveness hinges on one’s inability to understand it because it doesn’t really exist in the first place…at least, not the way its billed.

3] Everything boils down to a transaction. You have to negotiate for the best deal possible.

4] A lot of women short change themselves by not understanding negotiations.

5] The most effective way to emasculate a man is to force him to refer to his feelings in first person.

6] If you emasculate a man, he will find someone who makes him feel good about himself and dump you.

7] You better like a man for what he gives you because you aren’t going to get anything more without a supoena.

8] It’s a man’s job to make money…and preferably, lots of it.

9] It’s a woman’s job to be beautiful…and somehow keep it that way.

10] Women have a limited amount of time in which to find a man to subsidize her existence. The more time that passes, the less she gets.

11] As a woman, if you’re over 35 you should forget about having children…unless you have connections at a sperm bank and cash under a mattress.

12] Attractive young men (under 30) are only interested in sex, because, like, when you’re a shark in a school of mullet, you can feed at will.

13] Men in their 30’s will only get seriously involved with women in their 20’s because they know that in 10 years they will still be in their 30’s…and not 40’s, for example.

14] All men will go for the hottest girl they can find.  Period. The rest they’ll sort out later.

15] Men are simple creatures that exist in a constant state of arrested development.

16] Woman are complex creatures who mitigate the conundrum that is their lives with sex, drugs, clothing and chocolate.

17] What a man does for a woman determines her actual worth to him at that given moment in time.

18] A woman with her own career, money etc. does not need -and probably doesn’t want – a man.

19] Men don’t have to be in good shape to have a beautiful woman by their side. They have to be in good shape, financially, to have a beautiful woman at their side.

20] Men should date women half their age plus seven years, until they reach the age of 60, in which case the 7-year thing starts going backwards.

21] Whenever Jay says, “It’s not my role” it means that it’s a woman’s role.

22] Feminism is to blame for the all the confusion and ultimate demise of the heterosexual relationship.

Stopjayrusovich.com is my next venture…xo, YB

06 Aug 2009, Posted by jay rusovich , 1 Comments

The Blessings of Feminism

Here at ground zero of jayrusovichlive.com we talk about things: life, therapy, drug addiction; there’s quite a bit of analysis that goes on. The cost/benefit analysis with regard to, say, a hooker versus a stripper, or a wife versus a hooker, or whether or not it’s just better to get a “Fleshlight” and call it day.

I’ve heard this device will be available on Amazon soon, so be on the look out for it. It serves its purpose and does so in disguise, which makes it a prime candidate for the JRL stamp of approval…but I digress.

Today my office counterpart, Yvonne, was taking a walk in Memorial Park with a friend, and like all you women, they were discussing men. Women are ALWAYS discussing men. We’re fascinating creatures, after all. As predictable as we are obnoxious.

So the girls are chatting away about a man’s concept of the future, and how it plays into whether or not women should date them. My personal opinion is that she just needs to put on some muscle, keep her regular appointments at the Steven Merrill Salon, and learn the fine art of submission.

I also think I may be threatening my own existence and will soon be forced into hiding when she reads this. Of course, I’m going to post it anyway, if, for no other reason, than self- preservation has become an abstraction…thanks to my arrested development, which has rendered me immortal.

Yvonne’s stance is that you can ask a man a few specific questions and get a pretty picture of how he sees his life. If that picture looks relationship-friendly then maybe he’s worth dating, or at least considering in the context of commitment.

However, if the guy can’t come up with anything, you really have to consider the possibility that he doesn’t really want anything more than a piece of ass, which he’ll never admit anyway.

Crass, yes. Male, yes. Relationship-friendly, no.

Maybe you’re different. You could be the one who changes his mind and helps him see there is life beyond the kill-zone; that blessed gift to men underwritten by feminism. I’m a pro-feminist, by the way. Let me grab my JRL approval stamp and smack the great ass of feminism. But again, I digress.

Anyway, while Yvonne was doing her cardio, which is her obligation to men if she wants men in her life, a woman chimed in, “You know it doesn’t change, no matter how old they get.”

Yvonne and her friend turned to see a slender, older woman making her way around the 3-mile track.

“Even when they’re 50 they act the same way. You have to know where you stand with men. If they can’t come up with a decent vision of the future that resembles something you’re interested in, take them at their word – because that is their word [as opposed to women, where there might also be several other words they withhold for various reasons], and walk.”

There’s a reason you don’t have a minimum wage job, honey.”