Whingers, Whiners and Publicity Whores

Not so long ago I informed you all about the emergence of a new literary genre I term Prick Lit, in which men 'reclaim their masculinity', grab their pipes and slippers and bow down and worship at the altar of Hugh Hefner and his inflatable friends.

And to the Prick Literati I say, fair dos, have a little cry about the fact that your penis is too small and no one will sleep with you. But at least be droll about it! Please! The latest author to have a rant is Dick Masterson who has written a book called Men Are Better Than Women. Well you can guess what that is about. But to give you a flavor, on his website he writes:

As I cover in my book, only three of the top 100 highest grossing films of all time star women in the lead role. Women can’t direct movies for shit. Also, what would happen to cinema if men weren’t working the movie cameras? Every scene would have the actors’ heads cut off. Never let a woman take your vacation pictures.

No comment is needed on the extent of Masterson's mental problems, but let's have a look at his pic (above). Now, I don't think I am stepping too far out of line to say that Dick's problems are more than mental. Looking at this picture it is clear he is, well, deluded in his choice of facial hair and sunglasses. Basically I don't think there is a woman in a two hundred mile radius of Masterson who would sleep with him. However, if he stepped out into the local gay leather bar he'd be beating them off with a stick. So take comfort in that, Dicky.

So, while Masterson is one sort of arrogant git, there are a whole other group of men in pain, or as I call them, Whingers, like Dave Itzkoff, who penned a memoir called Lads.

Dave Itzkoff is a short, effeminate looking man with a voice like Minnie Mouse, who wonders why no one likes him. He thinks it is because he is short and has a high squeaky voice but it's actually because he's a whiny little rodent with no redeeming features. Here he chronicles his experiences as a hack at a series of lads magazines. You should feel sorry for the guy because no woman wants to sleep with him. He gets one girl into bed and she tells him to stop in mid-thrust! This is how unattractive he is: He can't even get a girl to make out with him even while she is on Ecstasy. Oh God. One should feel sorry for him, but his ponderous writing and bad attitude really leaves a bad taste in the mouth, and, what more can I say about this book than, don't bother?

And lest you think that I don't like these men just because they are ugly, tis not so. I love men who can make an arse of themselves and Toby Young does this, with bells on! Most women won't sleep with him for love nor money, but he just accepts it as his fate. Instead he concentrates on becoming famous. In fact, Toby is so obsessed with becoming famous that he will do whatever it takes - even pose naked with a book over his crotch. He is an unbelievably funny British writer who has written two books about how to succeed as a loser on two continents. The Sound of No Hands Clapping is the hilarious tale of how, after being asked to write a Hollywood script, he moves to LA for three months, dragging his long suffering wife behind him. He rubs everyone in LA up the wrong way and ends up leaving with no movie deal and with his tail between his legs.

So, all I'm saying, prick litters is, if you're going to show that you're a bit of an idiot, at least be funny about it, please?