The Last Noble Man

Following the last entry, I have had the fortune of hearing a bit of diary chatter that has gone something along the lines of “Wow, A.J. has restored my faith in the male sex; he really isn’t as superficial as every other jackass on earth.” While I appreciate this thought, I feel that I have to point something out, if only for my own conscience. I really am just as superficial as every other jackass on earth.

Yes, yes, I realize that only two entries ago I divulged that breast size was, in fact, not necessarily the key ingredient when it came to bringing me into a madly erotic trance state. I stand by this statement. However, many have leaped to the conclusion that this somehow means I have some sort of high moral stature. Far from it.

Truthfully, my reasoning for developing insane obsessions with the opposite sex is no less superficial than the next fellow’s. Yes, I did fall madly in love with the girl because of the words she spoke and not because of the breasts she carried. But, really, are these words any indication of the girl’s character? Her true value as a person? Her inner beauty? Absolutely not.

The real person she is, what she stands for politically, religiously, ethically; all this is inconsequential to me. Let’s face it, this girl could secretly torture cocker spaniels in her spare time, and I wouldn’t care in the least. I’m hooked not because of any great inner value she has, but, rather, just because of the superficial wording of her sentences. Just because I’m more concerned with a large vocabulary than large breasts doesn’t mean I’m any great crusader for the male sex.

So, shamefully, I now hang my head and admit to you: I’m just as shallow as the next guy.