I recently received a reader email suggesting that I write an article about the Neanderthal Man most women marry and must live with. So I would like to oblige, keeping this faithful reader satisfied. Or maybe I am choosing to write this because this special person called my writing "Mickey Mouse" (whatever that means), and I want to appease her sassiness.

(For anyone who doesn't know what a Neanderthal is, www.WhiteHouse.gov is a good place to start your research.)

I assume when this fine lady refers to this Neanderthal Man, she means the hairy, unkempt, swearing drunk that throws up on her rug. If this lady is correct and most men are Neanderthals, then most women will end up marrying and spending their lives with one of these deplorable beasts. Depressing? No? It's a sad fact, really. But don't fret! Please, I urge you – in fact, I implore you – do not fret!

Why, you ask? You see, when this reader email came to my attention, I set out on a mission to discover what this Neanderthal man was, where he lives, and how to keep women away from him. Do you know what I have discovered? "Neanderthal" is not actually an ancient race of man. It is a virus, a disease. It's transmitted via some obscure organ molded from the depths of hell – "testicles," I suspect. It seems this virus has afflicted every man in the world.

Every single woman out there has subscribed to a life in which they are doomed from the outset – until now! For now, I will forget the fact that I have testicles and free you from this Neanderthal-ness!

How To Live A Happy Life
(void of the Neanderthal man)

Every time you fall into the rut that is dating and falling in love, continuously telephone your man and ask him what he's doing.

This is a quick fix to a hard problem. It is easy and it works. Unless, of course, you find yourself dating one of those men who actually loves you back. But don't worry, they're part of a vast minority.

Also, talk with a bit of a whiny voice when you call and call at inopportune times, like when he is watching sports or porn.

Every time he goes somewhere and doesn't invite you along, imply that he is a cheating, ungrateful slob.

You know, those times he wants to play poker with friends, or watch the football game. Maybe he wants to go to a bar. Maybe he just wants to relax without the nagging. Whatever it is, don't let up. Shout in his ear, call him whenever you get a chance and lock the doors while he is out. Then mix his dirty and clean laundry so when he goes to work the next day he smells like trash.

Every time he comes on to you or asks for sex, roll your eyes and act as if you are being assaulted.

Subsequently, throw on your feminist façade, call up all your girlfriends, put them on speaker phone, and rally against his sexual superiority over you. Question his authority. Tell him you are empowered.

The next time you are in the wrong or have done something "bad," start crying for no reason and tell him how irrational his anger is.

Slap him in the face and call him a bastard, then fall to the floor sobbing. If your knees bruise as you crumple on the floor, be sure to tell all his friends he "brought you down" with his words, and show them your knees as proof.

Kiss him often, tightly squeeze his butt and put your tongue in his mouth. When his hand slides up your blouse, push him back and shout, "Why does it always have to be about sex?!"

That one is pretty self explanatory.

_______________________________
no more neanderthals

Those five steps are easy and they will surely work. Soon, every woman out there will find herself living a wonderful life devoid of the "Neanderthal Man." No longer will she stay awake at night crying because he didn't call. No longer will she twitch in confusion as she tries to surmise whether he likes her or if he is just playing a mind game.

If that's not cure enough for the disease invariably inherited in those two balls of dangling passion, I don't know what is. Alternatively, you could just become a lesbian – it'd make for good porn, anyway.

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