Why Female Friends Suck

How many of you girls out there have more male friends than female friends? How many of you girls would absolutely die if you weren’t surrounded by your gaggle of girlfriends?

Well, go ahead. The world would be better off with fewer of you, anyway.

Most of my friends are guys. This is no accident. After years of making painful discoveries, I’ve come to the conclusion that girls are bitches. Not all of you, but a very large percentage.

If you are female, you are now reacting in one of three ways: 1. You agree with me. 2. You don’t necessarily agree with me, but you’re interested in what evidence I have to back up my claim. 3. You are puffing in indignation. To all you Number Threes, I dare you to look into the mirror I will now hold to your face.

How many times have you bad-mouthed a friend to other people, only to receive her in your open arms the next time you bump into each other? This is the paramount difference between male and female friends.

A guy will never bad-mouth someone and then pretend to be his friend, unless he is under the influence of a girl. Men are simply unwilling to exert the effort necessary to be two-faced. Besides, they do not see a point in pretending to be friends with someone they don’t like.

If a guy meets someone he doesn’t like, he doesn’t become friends with that person. No hard feelings — unless, of course, the person he doesn’t like and refuses to be friends with is a girl, who will often take it as a personal insult whenever someone doesn’t want to be her friend, because everyone should want to be her friend, whether they like her or not. Why does this girl have such an illogical line of reasoning? Because she’s “”friends”” with everyone, whether or not she likes them. Right, Number Threes?

The next step (if you are a Number Three) is to deny that you talk smack about your friends. You say you only “”discuss”” your friends’ personal lives out of concern for them.

Such “”discussions”” often fall along these lines:

“”Did you see what she was wearing today? Oh my God, her boobs were totally hanging out of her top! Have you noticed that they look bigger? I hope she didn’t get them done just to please that nasty-ass guy she’s been going out with. I don’t think he’s good for her — look at all the weight she’s gained ever since they started going out. And someone should tell her that her hair color looks totally fake. Poor girl, she probably doesn’t even realize how skanky she looks with all that makeup.””

But why should Number Threes concern themselves with the size or authenticity of her friend’s various body parts, or what she wears, or how she chooses to wear her hair and makeup? Chances are, Number Three wouldn’t talk this way about a friend if that friend were really that unattractive. If the friend was really that ugly, then everyone would know it, and Number Threes wouldn’t have to convince anyone — least of all themselves. Do I detect a bit of competition or jealousy, Number Threes?

Granted, guys are very competitive as well, and this often leads to jealousy, but at least guys are much more up-front about it.

They don’t play an elaborate game of trying to sabotage a friend’s reputation, all in the guise of friendly concern. Plus, since most of my friends are of the opposite sex, they have very little to envy me for, unless one of them is gay and happens to like my boyfriend (this scenario has yet to take place).

So what happened to me to make me so wary of women? It was the discovery in my senior year of high school that one of my best friends was a Number Three. Actually, most of my female friends in high school turned out to be Number Threes. As a result, I have fewer female friends in college, but the ones I do have are real.

I realize the futility of my attempt to get through to all you Number Threes out there. If you’re a two-faced bitch who’s jealous of all your other friends, then you’re not going to listen to some other bitch tell you so in her stupid newspaper column. So be it. But perhaps all the non-Number Threes will start to see you as you really are.

Or perhaps I just wanted to tell you you’re a bitch.