Canadian Men Have No Balls

Having lived in various countries, I observe the behaviours of this curious species called ‘men’ and have concluded that the gonads of the Canadian male have shriveled up and cease to exist.
What happened to a man seeing a girl he likes, taking the initiative, approaching her, chit chatting for a while and asking for her number? And then actually engaging their index finger, dialing the number and asking for a date?
With the men in London, all of the above has been completed in a swift ten minute transaction. With men in New York, all of the above has been completed in a swift 15 second transaction. Alright, so 9.5 times out of ten, they don’t get the number or the date, but at least they have stones enough to bloody ask.
Canadian dudes don’t seem to be able to get it together enough to do that.
I was at a club on friday night, looking hot and shaking my groove thing on the dance floor (at least, I was trying to, without getting knocked the hell out by some rhythmless white folk). I spotted some guy checking me out across the room. I checked back a few seconds later and he was still giving me the eye fuck. Then I checked back a couple of minutes later and he was just doing the creepy stare. In London or New York, we woulda already been doing the hustle on the dance floor.
Eventually, I saw the guy coming in my direction. ‘Here we go’, I thought. But I forgot for a second that I was dealing with a gonad-deficient Canadian. Rather than come and grab me in a manly way and sway with me to the beat, he just lurked awkwardly in my vicinity, watching me. He did a whole lap around me, the entire time trying to pretend that he wasn’t really there because of me. I could see the cogs turning in his head about what he was going to say to me. And then the big moment came. He two- stepped closer to me, leaned in and said:
‘Do you come here often?’
In my mind, the DJ scratched the record and everything stopped. Seriously? That was his conversation opener? But not to be outdone by the corniness of his first line, he followed it up with:
‘Are you from around here?’
I smiled as politely as I could. Clearly, this was difficult for him. He introduced himself. His name was Andrew, a fitting name considering Andrew is probably the most boring male name there ever was. (No offense to all the Andrews out there. Well, actually, yes, extreme offense to all the Andrews out there. It’s a boring name. Deal with it.)
Andrew swiftly ran out of things to say and awkwardly two-stepped away from me, merging back into a crowd of flailing limbs.
He came back a couple of times and tried out a few other lines, which all made time stand still and made me question the very validity of the English language. Then, just when I thought I was safe, he came with the one-two punch:
‘Well, I think we’re leaving now. You should call me sometime.’
Oh really? I should call you? Yeah, I’ll get right on it, but how about you just try my vagina on for size first – I think it’ll be a good fit on you.
Bitch please! Of all the bitch ass moves to pull. He had embarrassed himself numerous times that night with his lame chat up lines. How much more embarrassing would asking for my number be?
Ball-less men of Canada, I appeal to you – GROW A SET!
Even if you do get rejected, so frikkin’ what? Who cares? I appreciate it’s not easy to approach women and we send confusing signals, we all want different things, blah, blah, blah. But seriously, live a little. Take the risk. And if you do actually bite the bullet, the object of your desire will relate to her friends what huge balls you have for doing so. And every girl likes a guy with huge balls.
Viva la balls!
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Tags: balls, Lame dudes, more balls



