Read Online Love Monkey by Kyle Smith - Free Book Online Page A

say at the comic: “It’s only a tabloid.” I crack open the book at random:
    There was silence from the floor, until Oliver Ellsworth, considered an authority on the Constitution, rose to his feet. “I find, sir,” he said, “it is evident and clear, sir, that whenever the Senate are to be there, sir, you must be at the head of them. But further, sir, I shall not pretend to say.”
    Yes, sir, it’s a spine tingler. But I’m going to give it a good review. Everyone else has. Plus, no one’s ever going to accuse you of not having read the book if your review is a valentine. A book like this has only one purpose: to give your dad on Father’s Day. He’ll smile (“My kid thinks I’m intelligent!”), you will smile (“I’m thoughtful andpatriotic!”), Mom will smile (“It’ll make a good coaster!”), and Simon & Schuster will be $35 richer.
    The phone. It’s my close personal adviser Shooter. There is no salutation. We join this rant already in progress.
    â€œThe problem with women,” Shooter begins, “is they don’t know what they want. Remember that Mormon guy?”
    â€œUh-huh,” I say. Rarely do I require any other words in a conversation with Shooter.
    â€œThey sent him to prison for bigamy. Prison. For having ten wives. It’s not illegal to have ten girl friends. It’s not illegal to be married to one girl and fuck ten others. It’s not illegal to fuck ten girls in one night . But if in addition to fucking them you actually agree to give them something in return? Make a solemn public vow to take care of them, feed them, listen to their problems, give them a place to live? That’s illegal. Isn’t women’s big thing that we can’t commit to even one girl? This guy is the Superman of commitment. So they chuck him in the joint. What kind of fucked society are we living in?”
    â€œUh-huh,” I say. I remember one night Shooter and I were out having drinks with my friend Nick DePuy. Nick is smooth chested. He smiles while he’s talking to you. He reads Details . Enough said. The next day Shooter asked me which side of the street Nick drives on. I spoke honestly: Nick is a guy who can’t throw a spiral. Nick likes movies about gladiators. If he were any more gay, he’d have to marry Liza Minnelli. “Yeah, I figured,” was what Shooter said at the time. “But you know what? I really respect that. Because I fucking hate women.” That made me wonder: is success with women a direct result of not liking them? Because Shooter goes through girlfriends the way Richard Gere goes through gerbils. If you like a girl, what happens? You’re nervous with her. Because you’re worried she might not like you as much as you like her. She looks at your nervousness and she doesn’t think, Aw. So sweet. He likes me . She thinks, This guy has no confidence. Why would I be confident with agirl I think is spectacular? I don’t think I’m spectacular. Girls go for the cock-wagging oafs, the guys who speak loudly and carry a big prick, and then six months later it’s “Why is he so selfish? Doesn’t he care about my needs?” Girls, in other words, go for guys like Shooter, which is why he’s my close personal adviser.
    â€œHere’s why this is a decadent society,” Shooter says. “Manhattan today is the first advanced civilization to be completely controlled by women. What are you wearing?”
    â€œHuh? Black pants. Gray shirt. Black shoes.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t know. Trying to look somewhat cool.”
    â€œExactly,” Shooter says. “It’s eighty-five degrees out, yet you think black is cool. Why is black cool? Because women think it hides their fat. To shave tonnage. So black becomes cool among women. And since cool is whatever women say is cool, you have to wear black—you have to dress