Asshat of the day

Oh the things you find online when just clicking around at random. The man's name is Tad Safran, he's from the UK, and I do not think he gets laid enough. He has an article at Times Online (which I found via a post at the Smart Bitches, Trashy Books blog) that is essentially one long rant about the shortcomings of British women, who are apparently lazy and unkempt, as opposed to American women who are vain, crass, materialistic and "take themselves too seriously and are annoyingly confrontational."

Old episodes of the Man Show were less misogynistic than this guy. Hell, Girls Gone Wild is less misogynistic than this guy. I mean, here's a choice little quote:

Sophie tumbled into the house looking like a refugee from Hurricane Katrina. She smelt like the R&D lab at Philip Morris. Her outfit was about as sexy as a half-pound of ground meat. And, surely, the only time she’d seen the inside of a gym was to ask directions to the nearest pub. I was hurt that my friends thought I’d be remotely interested in Sophie. Even more insulting was when my friend’s wife pointedly said: “Tad, I hear you just sold a screenplay to the producers of My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” I could not believe it. She was selling ME to HER!?

Actually, Mr. Safran, I am pretty sure that Sophie once did your friend's wife some grave unforgivable injustice and sadly the only way she could effectively mete out any revenge was to arrange a suicidally painful evening with you.

Another choice bit of ugliness:

I remember dancing with a really lovely English girl. She was gorgeous. Things were going well until I took her hand. I actually recoiled. Her palms were rough and leathery like a tree-climbing monkey’s. Years of working around horses had given her the hands of an 80-year-old Siberian coalminer. Surely some sort of moisturising routine would have been a simple and inexpensive remedy. (It was more shocking than the time I took a girl’s hand after chatting her up for an hour and discovered she was missing the two middle fingers on it.)

That last line is the kicker, ain't it? Got a really sensitive new-age guy here. Frankly, I really feel bad for the girl with the missing fingers. I mean you go though life, self-conscious about something like that, you meet a guy that seems cool, talk for an hour thinking he doesn't care and in a single gesture realize A) he was too busy staring at your tits to notice your hand in the first place, and B) when he does notice, he freaks out like a clown-phobic kid at the Ronald McDonald house.

Of course, my favorite line of his:

I’m sure other women will be incredibly impressed by your new Jimmy Choos or Blahniks. But, ladies, the only time a man will notice your shoes is if your feet are wedged on top of his shoulders bouncing either side of his head.

You better hurry and snap this guy up girls, he's still single. I bet he wonders why.