Winged Victory

There has been some unfortunate derogatory female discussion as to whether or not a burnished winged helmet is sufficient in and of itself to attract women. Only Boris was savvy enough to instinctively recognize the truth in this, even to the point of intuiting that the addition of a Camel cigarette in the (probably sneering) lips of the helmeted one would obviously emit enough pheromonic karma to effect a full knee-buckle swoon in even the most too-much-protesting of frails, to not quote Shakespeare. This is pure scientific fact, of course, proven daily by watching the most educated of lab-babes lose the long white lab jackets and involuntarily begin to froth at the wafting passing or even semi-nearness of your standard tatooed long-haired bad boy metalhead lead singer. Also included in the body of evidence (which can be obtained by sending a self-addressed pre-stamped envelope to Boris, along with €200 in currency) is the origin of Conan's third law of conquest, "The more educated and scholarly the female test subject, especially if she has a background in IT, the more shallowly susceptible to raw maleness they are." Or, as Adullamite so concisely explained it recently, "Of course I love you. Now bring me a beer."

I will go ahead and put a paragraph break here, just in case I should have done so above. Not sure. Irish rules of grammar don't really call for paragraph breaks, and Irish rules are what are being used in this post, of course.

I remind you that the IT statement is included in Conan's Canon, and is not something Relax Max himself would ever say or even think, for gosh sakes.

Many of you long-time lovers of truth will remember that I have addressed this phenomenon before within the sacred pages of the earlier incarnation of this award-winning blog, but obviously it needs repeating because some newbie readers of the female persuasion are still living in denial, even delusion.

I could simply put a link to that earlier blog post HERE, but I know none of you will bother going to read it. Hence, the pertinent portion of that storied post's wisdom is repeated below. Please file this on your iPad under "Edify: I stand corrected." Gracias.

The wisdom of how to pick up girls (especially the aloof-feigning ones) is reprinted below. Those of you who would actually jump in the car will remain nameless, but you know who you are.

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As if this [Lidian's] post wasn't sufficiently droll enough on its own merits, it reminded me of another ad on tv about something called a "Mr. Microphone." By Ronco, of course. Ron Popeil is my personal idol, without whom we would never have had the Vegematic or the black string stuff you can spray on bald spots, and so much more. My absolute idol. I swear to god. [Note: I no longer swear to god. And Popeil has been long-since been replaced by Desmond Llewelyn as my invention hero. ]

In the tv commercial, a carload of obnoxious guys pull up at a stoplight next to a babe in another car and one of them harasses her by talking into a cheap plastic microphone that transmits a low quality signal over her car radio. Like she couldn't hear the creep anyway, since they are both in convertibles. You may remember the commercial if you were unfortunate enough to have been alive in the late 1970s and watched late night old movies. That is what the old ad on Lidian's Kitchen Retro reminded me of - that old Mr. Microphone tv commercial.

Right now you are probably thinking wishing hoping that this post is over so you can leave and go drop on someone else, but the Mr. Microphone commercial reminded me of my third digression: that of a carload of young males cruising main street for girls to pick up. Trolling trolls. Maybe you remember.

The way it works is to find an unpopular guy in school who has a car and cram about 15 pimply-faced male adolescents into it, so that several of them are forced to hang out the windows, and then drive slowly down the main drag hoping to pick up a pretty girl. Why? I don't know. Perhaps they somehow dreamed they could all make love to her in the back seat and then drop her off before they ran out of their $2 worth of gas. It doesn't matter because there never seemed to be any girls, pretty or otherwise, who were looking to jump in the back seat of an old car loaded with 15 pimply-faced vulgar-mouthed teenaged virgins. But it was a rite of passage, and I was reminded of it when I thought of the crass dope with Ron Popeil's Mr. Microphone. Which in turn was brought to mind by the even older magazine ad on Lidian's blog about the Radio Microphone that would help you practice your voice. Or whatever.

Here I should be plain, in case any of you new readers get the wrong idea, that Relax Max has never personally participated in any packed-car pimply-faced "Here Chicky Chicky" main street trolling rituals. For the record, Max was cool. Is cool. Whatever. He had his own car and wore sunglasses and smoked filterless Camel cigarettes and therefore never had any trouble getting plenty of sex whenever he wanted it. (This foolproof "Camel Cigarette Sexual Attraction" technique is outlined in another of Lidian's old ad posts.)

No, Max was talking about other boys.

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