“I Only Bang 9’s and 10’s Brah”

group of woman wearing bikini on body of water
How Would You Rate These Hunnies, Brah?

I’ve always sort of struggled with the “1-10 scale,” and that’s because, at least to me, it’s so subjective. What I consider an “8” you might consider a “5.” I see and hear guys on Twitter all the time saying stupid shit like, “I only bang 9’s and 10’s brah,” and it makes me laugh and roll my eyes.

Maybe I’m an extremely harsh critic, but I’ve never seen a “10” in the wild. I’ve never met one personally or been introduced to one face-to-face. That’s because, to me, a “10” is literally “perfect.” There are literally no flaws, at least physically, that I can see. I’ve definitely seen my share of “5’s,” “6’s,” “7’s,” and “8’s,” and I’ve even encountered what I would consider to be a “9” or even a “9.5” in the wild. In all of the years that I’ve been walking on the planet, I could count all the “9’s” and the “9.5” on one hand, and probably still have a finger or two left over.

That being said, I don’t ever recall seeing someone so ugly, so deformed, so hideous, as to be considered a “1.” To me, a “1” would be that person that no one would want to fuck, it’s really that bad. So that leaves the “2’s” on up to the “9.5” that I’ve encountered in real life.

I know I have my standards, as I’m sure you do as well. It gets really interesting when you move from the purely physical, to such things as personality, scent, and voice. I’ve met women that on initial approach, I would have rated them a solid “8,” only to catch a whiff of them, or hear them talk, or find out her personality is, let us say, “unpleasant,” and she drops to maybe a “5.” Sometimes even lower if the smell, personality, and voice are all left to be desired.

I’ve also encountered women that on initial approach I would have rated a solid “6.5,” and due to their personality, the way they smell, and their pleasant sounding voice, they got bumped up to a “7.5,” or even an “8.” Have that “6” do her hair, put on a little makeup in just the right amount, and have her throw on her “little black dress” and she moves up to an “8.5.”

You see and understand where I’m going with this don’t you? Everybody has their standards of what they find as attractive and everybody is throwing random numbers around. I’ve seen women rated as “10’s” that I would never even come close to giving that high of a mark to them. Other than seeing models in magazines (do you remember those?) or pictures on the internet, I honestly don’t believe a “10” exists.

Back in the day, Hot or Not used to let you rate people based purely on their looks. You might have been able to guess or get an age, and you might have had a name thrown in there for good measure, but that was it. It would blow me away when I saw women getting “10’s” or “9’s” as their rating, when to me, they might have made for a good “7” or “7.5” At least with Hot or Not, they would average all of the ratings out and you had a better idea of their “true rating.” Not super scientific, but at least it was something.

I even threw a picture of myself up there for shits and giggles, because aren’t we all curious what other’s think of our attractiveness? Of course I got rated as a “1” a couple of times (ouch!) and there were even a couple of “9’s” and “10’s” thrown my way (all I could figure was that I either fit that person’s particular niche, or they were just being really generous.) Turns out after about 500 ratings or so, I averaged at a “6.5” Not bad. It’s actually about where I would have rated myself in the past.

The thing is, the 1-10 scale is not only subjective in the sense of what we individually find attractive, it’s also subjective in the sense of what we think women ought to be.

A “5” is the top of the bell curve. She is average in every sense. She’s neither too thin or too fat. She’s not ugly, but she’s not beautiful. She honestly wouldn’t garner a second look if you were to meet her on the street. She’s just, average.

However, women (and men) today have changed over the years. Obesity is unfortunately the norm now. An “average” woman today is going to be overweight. Maybe not the clinical definition of obese or morbidly obese, but she’s going to be overweight. I’ve seen this firsthand on dating sites and apps where women today are describing themselves as “average” and yet to me, they are overweight. “Thin” is actually still thin, or in some cases, what I would consider “average.” Average to me has always been height/weight proportionate.

What are we to do in order to have some sort of standard when it comes to the 1-10 scale? How are we supposed to come to a concensus of what an actual “5,” or any other number actually is? Are we just “fated” to leaving the 1-10 scale as simply a matter of subjective preference and just “know beauty when you see it?”

Aaron Clarey over at CaptainCapitalism actually came up with an answer that I think actually works out if we are going to have some sort of realistic concensus as to what an actual “5” or any other number actually means in today’s day and age.

Go check it out.

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Journey Into The Desert

arizona asphalt beautiful blue sky

“Close Your Eyes, Look Deep In Your Soul. Step Outside Yourself, And Let Your Mind Go.”

One of the things that I love to do when motorcycling is go into the desert.

The feel of the heat of the sun beating down on me, the whip of the wind against my face, the vibration of the machine beneath me.

No radio on, nothing but the sound of the wind in my ears, the hum of the road, and the rumble of the engine.

Nothing to do but ride, be in the moment, and be alone with my thoughts when they show up.

When you are riding a motorcycle, you have no problems, at least for the time that you are riding. Whatever troubles and concerns you have back in the world, melt and fade away.

There’s nothing quite as exquisite as a woman behind you, tightening her grip around your waist with her hands and her hips as you twist down on the throttle and give the iron horse more juice.

There’s nothing as exquisite as riding into the desert. Yes I know that sounds cliche, but the cliche exists for a reason. There really is nothing like riding into the desert. The smell of the hot tarmac, the sand grit blowing against you, stinging, even the occasional bug that kills itself against your goggles as you fly towards it at close to 100 miles per hour. Even spitting sand out of your mouth when you stop for gas or a stretch is a small blessing in and of itself. It may not be a pretty picture or thought, but it’s a blessing nonetheless. Why is that? Why, it’s because you are still alive! Alive.

Alive and in the desert. Where the desert doesn’t know your name, doesn’t care where you came from, doesn’t care where you are going, and doesn’t care if you stay or go. The desert doesn’t care about you or your existence. In fact, the desert is merciless enough, that if you aren’t careful, you may never leave it’s embrace. Just another set of sun-bleached bones slowly sinking into the sand and the earth if you don’t watch your back.

The heat can and will blister your skin lobster red and peel it right off of you in a New York minute. The heat will sap you of all your energy, all your water, your will, if you let it.

But the sights you will see! The sounds that you will hear when you shut the bike down, take a deep, deep breath, breathing in the desert, her scent; the sounds come forth! Sounds you will never hear in the concrete jungle. The sound of silence. The sound of a million tiny things, living their million tiny lives, struggling against the desert itself for their own survival.

The desert is a harsh mistress, but she is beyond beautiful. Look carefully around you and what do you see?

Life in abundance! A million life forms growing and thriving, in spite of the desert. But the desert gives as well as it takes. You just have to know where to look and to look for it.

There! 50 feet away is a spot where there is water. You can tell because of the sparse vegetation that is growing there. Huddled around the hidden water like players on a field in a huddle before a play.

Over in the other direction is food if you dig but a little bit. You did bring a knife didn’t you?

And the nights in the desert. Oh the nights! The stars! The galaxies that reveal themselves in all their majesty! Millions upon billions of them! You never see them in the light pollution of the city.

How small and insignificant we are compared to the vastness above us. How utterly and infinitely tiny we are! No bigger than the grain of sand that we pick out of our ears or hair! And yet, here we are!

Riding season is coming up again, it’s time to get the Machine out of the garage, wake her from her slumber, give her a bath and a wax, and go to the desert.

The desert has a siren song, and it’s calling my name, calling to me.

Beckoning. Come, come, come….

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