Ladies and kenzy-6 gay men, generations of magazines, wise old grannies, and random homeless crackheads have commented on this issue, and I'll add my two cents: men are extremely, horribly mentally handicapped, especially in the romance department (even more so after playing Xbox or watching Skinemax). I actually had a guy ask me why his ex got so angry that he hooked up with her best friend within 4 days of dumping her. He left the conversation with his tail between his legs and a stiletto in his throat. Here's the sitch, clueless, chromosomally-challenged little dogs: for the most part, we hate you. We hate your Gameboys, Budweiser, and your friends who spill beer on random girls' white T-shirts and make it look like an accident. However, you do have some redeeming qualities, all three of them. And they are: credit card, make-out skills, and car. Yes, I'm a bitter little bitch, but I'm a bitch who knows how to land the man of your money fantasies. All it takes is one skill: flattery. Compliment him like hell and dress in a short skirt while doing it. So simple.