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I have to admit, some of the largest pieces of fuel to my dream, and a most of the motivating factors for me to move here, have been the girls of Mars. For years, 3Ds, and even 2Ds have been trying to capture the beauty and mystique of the Martian Female. Long blond hair, bare tan bodies and enough baggage to power a star-cruiser.
They are a puzzling creature to study or pursue, and even it’s more fascinating to learn that they’re exactly how they seem in the old movies–two dimensional. One of the most disappointing discoveries has been to find out that most of the ad-worthy, model-ready chicks lining the boardwalks and crowding the outdoor malls really don’t have much more going on than what you see. Dealing with emotions and personalities that never evolved passed a giddy school girl level, the ignorance to the value of money, and a refusal to accept the realism or seriousness of any situation, even their own life, are simply hazards of the occupation of courting Martian women.
Now, if it were just as easy as getting over a few childish flaws in a girl and looking to the good, this would be a much more concise transmission. It gets a little tricky here though, and there’s very little good in there, so don’t strain yourself looking for it. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you’re from or what you have to offer to Martian Girls, they only want guys with three things; money, wheels and an ID.
I can’t lie, I thought the women here would be artistic, or even just cultured, since the atmosphere lends to such creativity of others. I merely assumed that something about this place drove everyone’s will to create. I was sorely mistaken. I also thought the women here loved artists, loved watching a man turn raw materials into a brilliant work or plucking the sweetness from the air to play her a song. Two Strikes. Finally, I thought they would dig my old world charm; this handsome young man from the solar system’s capital with his ideas and languages, untainted by the city or the people of Mars, powered by an artist’s burning soul; doesn’t quite cut it–everything is older than Mars, anyway.
No, girls just want someone to be their chauffeur, their personal accountant, and provide them with entertainment and an eventful evening when too lazy or unimaginative to concoct one themselves. All they care about is not having to work or think for themselves while they get to reap the fruit of another’s labors, and look fabulous doing it. They want the world served to them on a silver platter, as it has been since birth surely, and they refuse to see one that exists any other way but this. In short; most Martian girls are egotistical, egocentric and tend to have a serious Electra Complex.
They have always been an immense motivation to me, but if women were the strongest factor in my ongoing life here, I would have packed up and went home the moment I got dumped here. Its all about the art and the culture, and expanding both within myself, and I’ll just as soon lay down and die as let my dreams do the same. I bet there’s a lady or two somewhere on this planet with redeeming factors, and I refuse to believe a rotten bunch of apples contains no keepers. Call it stubborn, but I’m sure there’s someone out there who paints and sings and sees the world like I do, or who wants to see the world as I do. Yeah, there has to be girl out there for me, I hear for every planet you have at least one soul mate.
I am fairly certain now that I just landed on the wrong half of this one.
I have to admit, some of the largest pieces of fuel to my dream, and a most of the motivating factors for me to move here, have been the girls of Mars. For years 3D films, and even 2Ds, have been trying to capture the beauty and mystique of the Martian Female. Long blond hair, bare tan bodies and enough baggage to power a star-cruiser.
They are a puzzling creature to study or pursue, and even it’s more fascinating to learn that they’re exactly how they seem in the old movies–two dimensional. One of the most disappointing discoveries has been to find out that most of the ad-worthy, model-ready chicks lining the boardwalks and crowding the outdoor malls really don’t have much more going on than what you see. Dealing with emotions and personalities that never evolved passed a giddy school girl level, the ignorance to the value of money, and a refusal to accept the realism or seriousness of any situation, even their own life, are simply hazards of the occupation of courting Martian women.
Now, if it were just as easy as getting over a few childish flaws in a girl and looking to the good, this would be a much more concise transmission. It gets a little tricky here though, and there’s very little good in there, so don’t strain yourself looking for it. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you’re from or what you have to offer to Martian Girls, they only want guys with three things; money, wheels and an ID.
I can’t lie, I thought the women here would be artistic, or even just cultured, since the atmosphere lends to such creativity of others. I merely assumed that something about this place drove everyone’s will to create. I was sorely mistaken. I also thought the women here loved artists, loved watching a man turn raw materials into a brilliant work or plucking the sweetness from the air to play her a song. Two Strikes. Finally, I thought they would dig my old world charm; this handsome young man from the solar system’s capital with his ideas and languages, untainted by the city or the people of Mars, powered by an artist’s burning soul; doesn’t quite cut it–everything is older than Mars, anyway.
No, girls just want someone to be their chauffeur, their personal accountant, and provide them with entertainment and an eventful evening when too lazy or unimaginative to concoct one themselves. All they care about is not having to work or think for themselves while they get to reap the fruit of another’s labors, and look fabulous doing it. They want the world served to them on a silver platter, as it has been since birth surely, and they refuse to see one that exists any other way but this. In short; most Martian girls are egotistical, egocentric and tend to have a serious Electra Complex.
They have always been an immense motivation to me, but if women were the strongest factor in my ongoing life here, I would have packed up and went home the moment I got dumped here. Its all about the art and the culture, and expanding both within myself, and I’ll just as soon lay down and die as let my dreams do the same. I bet there’s a lady or two somewhere on this planet with redeeming factors, and I refuse to believe a rotten bunch of apples contains no keepers. Call it stubborn, but I’m sure there’s someone out there who paints and sings and sees the world like I do, or who wants to see the world as I do. Yeah, there has to be girl out there for me, I hear for every planet you have at least one soul mate.
I am fairly certain now that I just landed on the wrong half of this one.
