The Septic Fog of the Unintelligent Woman

Recently I've had the (dis)pleasure of becoming better acquainted with an attractive girl with whom I happened to have a bit of an interlude. I've only hung out with her a handful of times, yet I am quite certain I know the five (really, there are only five) elements of her character.

5. When operating a motor vehicle, she will drive as recklessly as possible. Actions include but are not limited to driving 40mph over the speed limit, tailgating in distances measured in centimeters, simultaneously driving in two lanes, utilizing the sidewalk as magical turning utility, and under absolutely no conditions straining to lift her wrist in order to activate her turn signal.

4. When in need of a topic of conversation, she will talk about her hometown to strangers and familiars alike, speaking ill of other municipalities with little to no censorship in the presence of natives. These natives in turn threaten her with violence or batter her with insults she is unable to process (a common difficulty when one has a reading level somewhere between Jello Jigglers and protozoa.)

3. When in need of self esteem, she will flaunt shady acts she has been involved with in an effort to construct a gangster image around a 100 lb blond white girl (like cold fusion, a non-realistic goal).

2. When in need of entertainment, she will simultaneously watch reality television and shuffle through an endless stream of remixed local tunes of the hyphy variety. This of course is streamed to sonic perfection at 96kbs. Mmm, tinnitus.

1. Under no circumstances will she display any form of emotion other than complete indifference toward everything. Exceptions include laughing at her own jokes or gasping when remembering another pointless tale that is somehow significant enough to share, yet somehow so significant that all substantial details are omitted. This lends one to believe that absolutely nothing she says is factual.

I find this last one to be the most striking of the five. I don't think it is very likely that a pretty white girl from a wealthy pedigree and raised in the upper-crust Cali 'burbs would be regularly exposed to gang warfare and classroom arms dealing. But hey, if there is one thing I've learned in this crazy world, anything is possible.

Despite immediately identifying these shortcomings, I decided I to give her a shot anyway. (I know, how sweet of me). I made the choice to be open to the idea of whatever amniotic succubus of a culture she subscribed. However, as the hours passed I began to feel strange. I deduced that I was experiencing the effects of an odorless and colorless gaseous element, produced by a blending of her foundation and lipgloss (a reaction similar to the mixing of bleach and ammonia and create poisonous chlorine). This compound, which I have dubbed "The Septic Fog," swiftly moved my thought process through three consecutive stages beyond my initial willingness to give her personality the benefit of the doubt:

1. "Fuck it. No matter how lifeless and bland your character strikes me as, it is still more entertaining to tune out your nonsense that sit at home playing The Legend of Zelda for the 1,000th time. I'll hang out for awhile and look at your exceptional legs and hope for a BINGO."

2. "Fuck it. You are so lifeless and bland in character that I'm actually going home to play The Legend of Zelda for the 1,000th time."

3. "Fuck it. I am so mentally taxed from trying to re-interpret your mindless blathering into meaningful speech that I am unable to beat The Legend of Zelda, even though I've done it 1,000 times. I wonder if I could strangle myself with this Wii controller..." (demonstration pictured left)

Women who possess the foresight of Stevie Wonder (post Ebony and Ivory, of course) make it difficult for me to respect them as peers. Aside from my mother I can only think of 5 or 6 women I know on a personal level that I genuinely admire. I suppose the same goes for men too, but in a pinch at least you can talk to them about NCAA Division I Football.

Okay so I don't genuinely believe that, but seriously, she was a functioning eggplant on that date. I need the mother of my children to be at least at Gump level on the IQ chart. Come on ladies, go out there and impress me.