Wait . . . what?Dear Johnny Depp,
I regret to inform you that effective immediately, your position as one of Moi's Long-time Movie Star Crushes has been terminated.
Let's face it; it's been some time coming, now. But the last straw was last week when, during a press junket to push that lame-o-looking new movie you have coming out with Angelina Jolie, you called your co-star a, "walking poem."
Johnny, the answer we were going for here was something along the lines of, "Nice gal." Even "totally hot," "boobalicious," or, "I'd hit that if neither of us were married," would have been perfectly acceptable. Because at least then you would have been thinking with your Hooter's Brain, and we all know that when men think with their Hooter's Brain, they're not really thinking at all. Those ancient genetic imperatives can be a bitch, but they're essentially forgivable 84.67 percent of the time.
"Walking poem," however, is pure Girl Brain thinking. And when a man enters Girl Brain territory, he's thinking more than just nookie. He's thinking the kind of feelings that eventually lead to picking out china patterns and dreaming about where to send the kids to school. If I were your wife, I'd be all, "Good. You can just go eat those poetic words, because this kitchen is closed."
Even if you're not married, dude, Girl Brain thinking is rarely attractive, whether in public or in private. What it usually ends up doing is making you look like a dweeb, the kind of man-child who, at 45, has yet to grok to what most men figure out by the time they hit 30, and that is most women really only want to hear three things coming from a man's mouth:
1. "Yours is the sexiest ass to ever grace a pair of jeans in the history of the universe, ever."
2. "Mmmm . . . honey, that dinner was the best."
3. "Don't worry, I already did the dishes (mopped the floors/cleaned the garage/took out the trash/mowed the lawn/put gas in the car.)"
Plus, Johnny, you are beginning to look an awful lot like like Jack White. A look that only works if, well, you actually are Jack White.
Signed,
Moi
