A Cute Isolophobia

From the moment a little girl is born, she is called "Princess" by those who surround her and trained to enjoy Disney Classics like Snow White and Cinderella―stories that are nothing but schemes to get little girls to come to accept that they cannot do anything, or go anywhere, without the love of a man. They are the greatest stories on Earth, because they immensely help guys like me get laid.

Take The Little Mermaid, for example. Ariel's one wish, the thing she wants more than anything, is to have legs and walk among the humans. She sings about the life she wishes she could have for, like, half the movie and then, when breaking her father's rules, swims to the surface and sees Prince Eric. He falls off of his ship, Ariel saves him, sings again, and then heads back underwater in fear of getting in trouble. (Should have thought of that sooner, Dumbass.)

Enter Ursula: Ariel's crazy aunt who wants to take over the sea. Ursula tricks Ariel into giving her, her voice in exchange for legs and the ability to live with the humans. Ariel, being sixteen and stupid and in love with Prince Eric (after an hour or so with him), goes for it and gives up the only thing she really has going for her.

The rest of the movie is Prince Eric falling in love with Ariel, the mute, and Ariel living as a human. Fine, good. Whatever.

My point here is this: Ariel is a fucking mute, for Christ's sake. Eric doesn't give a shit about her personality because he doesn't even know her favorite fucking color. He falls in love with her body, her insanely hot red hair and perfect sea shell tits. And little girls, they eat this shit up. They don't notice it because they're rooting for Ariel―they want her dreams to come true.

This idea, the one that finding a prince and having your dreams come true, is one that sticks with the lesser gender as they progress from child to adult. These little girls, now women, will do anything to find their prince, their happy ending. And I mean anything. I once met a girl who told me flat out that she would take it up the poop shoot if it meant I would go on another date with her. It was desperate, not attractive, but I did it anyway and "forgot" to call her back.

I've never met a girl I couldn't talk into the sheets. There's a system for it, one that's never failed me, and I'm considering putting a copyright on it. I call it the Waltz, after the great Walt Disney who made all of this possible.

Step one: Pick the most desperate of the bunch. This has become a lot easier thanks to online dating; you have to be pretty desperate for love, or just plain ugly, to be looking for a relationship through the Internet.

Step two: Make the move. Message her, tell her how gorgeous she is, and mention absolutely nothing about her profile. This will cause her to look at yours, filled with complete bullshit about how you're a doctor when, in all reality, you're a car salesman who didn't even have a job until a month ago.

Step three: Insist she text you because you're not really into the whole Internet thing. It's embarrassing. Talk up her good looks through text, send a few pictures, and receive some if you have to.

Step four: Meet her. Don't talk about you, only talk about her. Ask all the questions and smile/nod at her answers. Be agreeable, play on her nerves. Of course she's nervous―she's not used to people finding her attractive. It's why she's on the fucking Internet.

Step five: Ask if you can kiss her. Ninety percent of the time, she will one hundred percent say yes. If she says no, she's a bitch with daddy issues.

Step six: End the date with, "The ball is in your court, I am up for anything." This is important because "anything" gives the illusion that you want an actual relationship.

Step seven: Wait the five minutes after she leaves for her to text you with, "Max, I'd love to see you again, are you free Friday?"

Step eight: Fuck her on Friday. Say things like, "you're so beautiful," and, "I love the way you look/feel," before, after, and during. Never spend the night. You have to go―your mom needs help with her new puppies in the morning.

Step nine: Ignore her existence for a minimum of two days. She will text you approximately nine hundred times in these forty eight hours, mostly stupid little things that remind her of you. Even if it's funny, don't respond. She'll get the wrong idea.

Step ten: Text her first on the third day after you slept together. Say you're sorry you haven't been around, you've been really busy at work and your sleep schedule has gone haywire. Apologize again because you don't think you can make time for a relationship right now, but you promise to call her when you can because she's such an awesome girl. This leaves the door open for a possible one night stand in the future, but never call her again.

You won't need to, because the Waltz is fool proof and works every time. It especially works when you do it to more than one girl at a time as a way to gain experience. The secret behind the Waltz is heroes like Prince Eric who contribute to the importance of true love to women, heroes who have been there for women since they were little girls. They don't know it, but women are classically conditioned to believe that their personalities don't matter―all that matters is how they look and how well they can make sandwiches. Essentially, they are better looking Pavlov dogs.

And the best part about all this, better than the endless amount of pussy that guys like me get to enjoy because of guys like Prince Eric, is that the girls have literally no idea they're being played easier than a pre-recorded orchestral piece on inauguration day.

Thank God for human psychology.