06
Apr
11

women of america—i’m trying to save your lives…and your dignity…

Ladies.

Pay attention.

I have a public service announcement that you need to afford the utmost consideration.

Now, I don’t want to frighten you, but this is serious. You need to educate yourselves and guard your personal effects accordingly.

I have every reason to believe that something once relegated to the realm of mythologized, idiosyncratic phenomenon is growing in force and number.

This body of persons, once a small, concentrated group, is now finding its way into the mainstream, and posing a very real, viable threat to life as we know it.

That’s right, ladies.

I’m talking about boy-soldiers.

Little.teensy.tiny.baby-sized.men.

Now, we’ve all seen smaller men.

I’m a mere 5’2 myself, and I’ve never had any qualms about dating or being attracted to short men. As a matter of fact, I’ve advanced several theories on what I believe to be the more-awesomeness-factor of short men versus their tall counterparts (I’ll save that for another day).

But I’m not talking about short men.

I’m talking about little, itty bitty baby sized men.

Not dwarves.

Not little people.

Fit-in-your-pocket, I-thought-you-were-sitting-down-but-awww-shit-you-were-really-standing-up, man-infants.

Boy-soldiers.

Let’s get to the core issues.

What is a “boy-soldier?”

A little baby-sized man.

Now, don’t be mistaken. Determination of his fetal-sizedness is not limited to height specifications. In fact, the strongest factor of his babymanism deals more directly with his tiny-ness in stature, as opposed to any definitive distance-from-the-ground measurement.

Simply put, boy-soldiers are generally more slight of frame than regular men (though some will work their tinkertoy-sized hearts out to add a little gristle to their Estelle Getty-ish bodies). But, don’t feel sorry for them. I’ll later explain that, as a rule, boy-soldiers are markedly accomplished in their professional lives. Notwithstanding this elemental truth, they’d still find success in a variety of vocations should white collar life not suit (think derby jockeys, hand weavers of fine silks, tiny print calligraphy artisans, and moon gymnasts).

What are the non-physical characteristics of boy-soldiers?

1. Suits
Boy-soldiers looooooooooooooove suits. On everything I cherish in this world, I swear to you that NOTHING—not even the love of our Savior, Jesus the Christ—can come between a boy-soldier and his established fancy suit collection. A boy-soldier dons a suit to go to Waffle House. A boy-soldier wears a fancy suit to the gym, where he changes into a matching jogging suit. Boy-soldiers don’t own jeans. Boy-soldiers own denim……………………………………………….suits. They own shiny, high gloss, well-tailored denim suits. If you’re out at the spot, talking to a boy-soldier (God save you if you ever willingly do this), and you compliment him on his suit, and inquire whether he’s just arriving from work, 99.999 percent of the time, he’ll look you plainly in the eye, and reply, “No.”

Which begs, what I deem to be the greater question: Where in the FUCK are these pint-sized, mini-men buying these suits?

Seriously.

Is there some hidden boy-man store that specializes in tiny-neck cravats, fancy shortpants, and 3T cummerbunds that has its headquarters in the DC Metro? I’ve got to find out, as there is no logical explanation how these grown-up dollbabies can be turned out so well day after day after damned day.

2. Huge Personalities
I am not certain whether the next characteristic is a function of circumstance, or is simply endemic to their race, but, boy-soldiers all have huge personalities. Boy-soldiers allllllllways gotta shine.
A boy-soldier doesn’t just wanna buy you a drink. He wants to buy your whole crew drinks. A boy-soldier doesn’t just want to dance with the illest honey in the room. He wants to create a free space in the middle of a crowded dance floor so the whole club knows he spent 2 years of his life zipped up inside Alvin Ailey’s fannypack. A boy-soldier doesn’t just want to be in a conversation. He wants to be in every conversation. And when he’s done talking, he wants the conversation to end so the participants can watch him do something else spectacular. Wherever he is, wherever he’s at, a boy-soldier can be spotted out and about doing THE absolute fucking most ever.

3. Good Jobs
Get caught sleeping and think a boy-soldier’s gonna fold shirts at Baby Gap for the discount if you want to. No, ma’am. Boy-soldiers have the best jobs around. A boy-soldier has been hitting the books his entire life, staying inside every weekend for 35 years, and starching the lapel of his tiny suit jacket EXTRA crisp for this one moment that he has your attention, ALL for the express purpose of withdrawing that Goldman Sachs embossed business card from his gossamer waistcoat.

The ONLY thing a boy-soldier loves more than his Carnivale-worthy attire is his fancy job. It has provided every creature comfort, from posh abode to over-stated import. But while his corner office has indeed afforded him a happy “Fuck you,” to the world that has shuttered him in darkness, the only place a boy-soldier seeks ultimate gratification…………….is pussy.

Are you out at the club?

Probably yours, then.

4. Not Afraid to Holler at Women
Nope.

Not even a little bit.

And guess what, ladies? The taller you are, the more likely Man-bit is to approach you.

Don’t get me wrong. He’s gonna dance with the shorter and intermediate-height honeys, too. As Lord High Imperial Grand Puba of All Things Ridiculous Fuckery, boy-soldier owes it to himself, and indeed, his court, to grind his tiny, underdeveloped hips on the backside of every woman that moves.

But best believe, he’s gonna open and close with the giantesses.

And when you politely decline his advances, boy-soldier’s gonna laugh it off, as you clearly don’t know who he is. Bitch, don’t you see this mutha–fuckin’ suit? Have you seen the keys to my whip? Bitch, my car is parked at valet. We on U Street. U Street don’t even have valet, Bitch. I just gave a hun’ned to a dude in a hoodie outside and told him to keep the seat warm til I get back. C’mon girl, quit trippin’ and let’s dance.

Getting a boy-soldier to leave you alone has about the same limited probability and intense pain threshold as full body tattoo removal.

So, why is a boy-soldier a threat to women?

With his lightning-fast maneuvers, determinedness of purpose, and willingness to make a complete and total ass of himself, the boy-soldier has secured his spot as the world’s tiniest, two-legged, upright predator.

That’s right.

The boy-soldier—in his elaborate peacock dress, unabashed bafoonery, and dogged, feral pursuit—is the honey badger of the human race.

He has, within his tiny frame, the wherewithal to make a total jackass of you. One moment you’re talking happily with your girls. The next moment, this diminutive bastard “got the folded fingers on [your] waist,”* his tiny head nestled in the hollow of your breastplate, and you’re slow-dancin’ with your eyes closed while the entire spot watches on in awesome wonder.

Don’t laugh.

This shit has happened to me.

Many a time.

And also, last night.

The boy-soldier is no joke.

He is to be respected as a worthy opponent—

Feared as a masterful hunter—

And lest you get irretrievably caught in the vice-grip of his tiny little baby-man hands—

Avoided at all costs.

 

 

* my second favorite line of Mos Def’s “Miss Fat Booty”

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9 Responses to “women of america—i’m trying to save your lives…and your dignity…”


  1. 1 Donn
    April 6, 2011 at 2:56 pm

    It’s “poohbah.” You gotta get that right and ignore all other spellings.

    Puba? I thought: they even have a primary sex organ different from mine…? Doubtin’ that, although size could be an issue (HELLO LADIES: SIZE COULD BE A – AHEM – ISSUE!]

    Hit him with your purse! This ain’t hard. Mean, the man(?)’s face is right in your wheelhouse!

  2. 2 Tshells
    April 6, 2011 at 3:45 pm

    True story…every word! lol

  3. April 6, 2011 at 4:25 pm

    i love you. that is all.

  4. 4 teetos
    April 6, 2011 at 4:52 pm

    Girl..you know ALLA this spoke to me. ALL of it. My 5″10″ ass can’t get out these clubs untouched by a toy man to save my life. But they be sexy sometimes though…in those tiny baby suits. With those good big jobs. And that fast whip (their heads barely bobbing above the steering wheel. Feet struggling to touch the pedals). Big people trapped in little bodies. That’s why I let em grind on me sometimes. As a reward for their life’s work as little men.

  5. 7 NubianEmpress
    April 15, 2011 at 3:13 pm

    GOSSAMER…WAISTCOAT *falls out*

    (someone bring the smelling salts, please).

  6. April 25, 2011 at 3:34 am

    They get you every time. I learned my lesson the hard way. Met one 4th of July ’09 and almost 2 years and a wife later he won’t leave me alone. Last boy soldier I will ever allow in my personal space.

  7. April 25, 2011 at 5:43 pm

    Two things:
    1. I know who “Miss Fat Booty” is about, and all parties involved.
    2. I’m 5’11” and athletic enough to dunk a basketball but I wonder where the line starts in order to be considered too short?


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