On the 1-10 hottness scale, most everyone can agree who the 9's and 10's are with ease. But it's those from 7 on up where there is always debate(read riticule) amongst friends. We all like to talk about how hot someone is, but what about those 7's and 8's that you would still do, and bump a digit, but your friends wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. Mine: Maybe a 7-8, The chick from American Pickers: She's sassy and the leopard print tat above her chest leaves me wondering if there's any work further south. Also Bernadette from Big Bang Theroy. The combination on the higher voice and the Cheesecake Factory outfits, makes her hot. Plus, I think she'd give Penny a run for her money in the sack. FOCUS: Who are the 6-8's that you would do in a heart beat and why. Bonus for picks if not all of us know who your talking about. (Couldn't add my own, it would crash my PC at work)
As if the resounding truth to that focus isn't "All of them, because they're chicks and I could get my dick wet." I love the concept that there are guys around here who wouldn't fuck a 7 or an 8 if given the chance. "Hey Bro... I'm at least a solid 9, and wouldn't dream of it." It's fucking hilarious.
I think you need to go back and relearn some basic number theory, like... first grade. No matter how your number system works, by definition a 6-8 is above average (with an 8 being well above average). The women you're describing are more realistically in the 4-5 range.
Im in the NettData "Ill take what I can get" meaty part of the curve. Ive only known two guys that had the only 9-10 girls rule and have actually been able to stick to it. That is state the fact they wouldn't hook up with any girl less than an 8 and have consistently been able to pull 8-10s. One is my older brother, who isn't the suave ladies man as much as he's just always had his shit together and played in a band throughout college (a source of endless hot chicks). The other is a best friend of mine that is a unrepentant ladies man that does just about every single thing you could do right in bringing in chicks, from having truly platonic girl friendships (mostly with the fat chicks he doesn't want to fuck), to grooming his bad boy image (by somehow turning the fact that he's cheated on his long term girlfriend around into something girls want), to just being a truly charismatic dude everyone just seems to like being around. The rest, despite the bragging and posturing, have all fallen to a whale every now and again when they were just needing to get laid. My ideal girl(ie perfect girl) would be a girl with all positive attributes and no negative ones, looks and personality wise. But since my concept of an ideal girl is just not found in reality it is not something I could ever live and die by when looking for a girl. Unlike my Mystery like uber ladies man friend my emotional intelligence when it comes to girls and relationships is about as much as anything you'd see on Degrassi: Deep Space Nine. So I don't have that much to offer myself so until I do, I wouldn't expect hot women to be lining up anyway (sounds totally defeatist and pussassed but the truth, fuck at least Im not Durbanite). I save my ideal womens for fantasy and internet message board threads talking about fantasy women. I had the hugest thing for Christina Hendricks, figuring she was the perfect woman, until someone on here pointed out theyd never seen her in anything but all covering (titanic cleavage excluded) clothes. Implying she probably was all pasty white cottage cheese underneath. That killed that fantasy. If I met her in real life I'd murder 80 puppies and jump over 5 burning orphanages if it meant I had a shot with her, hell Id have sex with her even if she said no.
Guys who say they only fuck stunning women not only are hilarious, but liars as well. We're men. We're sick fucks in one way or the other, all of us (especially when booze is thrown into the equation). There are guys on here with high standards? For shame. I know the rest of you are all 6'5" bartenders in the industry that study "martial arts" and only wear Armani, but I highly doubt any guy on this board would pass up a 7 or 8 sober. I am actually certain of it.
Are you fucking kidding me? Ill fuck a 1.0 if she just looks at my coyly. Hell, a brown paper bag can fix anything.
I'll only bang a 7 or an 8 if she wows me with her personality and has enough things in common with me. ...ha ha ha, just kidding, I take what I can get.
Does Jason Sudeikis count for this thread? I find him quite sexy, but I'm not sure where he stands with the majority of women.
I've banged 9-10's and 2-3's. I rate the dead, the homeless, and obscenely fat as a 1 and despite the fact that I'm a sick fuck, I do have standards. Just not very high ones.
Same. I'm dating a girl who is at least an 8-9, yet I've stooped to some embarrasing levels just to get pussy. I have standards, but I forget they exist at times.
I want to go all "Bunny" here, this is bullshit. If women rated men, most of you would be fucking virgins. Maybe we are stupid for finding your pallid, simple, WoW-lovin' midget ass appealing. To go around pretending that you "only do 9's" is absurd. Especially worrying about what your faggy friends think about it. Sex is fun but it's even better when you aren't looking for cellulite on her ass. She's been ignoring your inadaquacies all fucking night. grrrr.
I rate men by maturity, humour and spontaneity. If I was looking for a rich man, I'd have been married and divorced three times now.
These are the things that unattractive, uninspiring men tell themselves to give themselves hope that one day, a woman might desire them.
This thread is kinda dumb. Can we add an anti-focus of hot girls that you wouldn't do? Because I don't get a chance to discuss how unattractive I find Sarah Chalke despite all evidence to the contrary. She could be wearing a schoolgirl outfit carrying a pumpkin wearing a Richard Nixon mask and I still wouldn't pop chubs. Focus: Any of them that are the proper combination of intelligent, witty, challenging and sexy. If you're looking for people you might not have heard of, I'd totally be down for some fun times with Lindy West. She wrote what might be my favorite movie review of all time. It's worth reading, so I'm ain't going to not unspoiler it. We've been thinking it for two long years. All of us. Gnawing our cheeks at night, clutching at sweaty sheets, our faces hollow and gray, our once-bright eyes dimmed by the pain of too many questions. Sometimes we cry out, en masse, to a faceless god and a cold, indifferent universe that holds its secrets close. What... rasps the death rattle of our collective sanity. What is the lubrication level of Samantha Jones's 52-year-old vagina? Has the change of life dulled its sparkle? Do its aged and withered depths finally chafe from the endless pounding, pounding, pounding—cruel phallic penance demanded by the emotionally barren sexual compulsive from which it hangs? If I do not receive an update on the deep, gray caverns of Jones, I shall surely die! Please don't die. The answer is... fine. Samantha's vagina is doing fine. She rubs yams on it, okay? She takes 48 vagina vitamins a day. It accepts unlimited male penises with the greatest of ease. Now let us never speak of it again. Sex and the City 2 makes Phyllis Schlafly look like Andrea Dworkin. Or that super-masculine version of Cynthia Nixon that Cynthia Nixon dates. Or, like, Ralph Nader (wait, bad example—Schlafly totally does look like Ralph Nader in a granny wig). SATC2 takes everything that I hold dear as a woman and as a human—working hard, contributing to society, not being an entitled cunt like it's my job—and rapes it to death with a stiletto that costs more than my car. It is 146 minutes long, which means that I entered the theater in the bloom of youth and emerged with a family of field mice living in my long, white mustache. This is an entirely inappropriate length for what is essentially a home video of gay men playing with giant Barbie dolls. But I digress. Let us start with the "plot." Carrie Bradshaw: At the end of the first SATC movie (2008)—after eleventy decades of chasing his emotionally abusive jowls through the streets of Manhattan—Carrie finally marries Mr. Big, the man of her shallow, self-obsessed dreams. It has now been two years since their nuptials. Carrie already hates it. She hates that he sits on the couch. She hates that he eats noodles out of a take-out box. She hates that he wants to spend quality time with her in their incredibly expensive and gaudy apartment. She hates that he bought her an enormous television. When Big suggests that they spend a couple of days a week in separate apartments (they own TWO apartments, because life is hard!), Carrie screeches, "Is this because I'm a bitch wife who nags you?" Congratulations. You have answered your own question. Miranda Redhairlawyerface: Miranda is a lawyer who has red hair. She also has a child. As a working woman, Miranda is forced to miss every single one of her child's incessant science fairs (as though children know anything of science!). Also, her lawyer boss is a cartoon dick. Miranda quits her job, and everyone is much happier. This is because women should not work. It is terrible for the children. Charlotte Goldsteinjewyjewsomethingsomethingblatt: Life for Charlotte is unbelievably difficult. As a wealthy stay-at-home mom with two children and a live-in, full-time nanny, she sometimes has to bake cupcakes! Also, one time her little child got finger paint on a piece of vintage cloth. Therefore, Charlotte cannot stop crying. "How do the women without help do it?" Charlotte (crying) asks Miranda. "I have no fucking idea," Miranda replies. Then they toast their disgusting glasses of pink syrup. To "them." To the "women without help." "If I wasn't rich, I'd definitely just kill myself right away with a knife!" says everyone in this movie without having to actually say it. Clink! Samantha Jones: I told you we are never to speak of this. In order to escape their various imaginary problems, our intrepid foursome traipses off to dark, exotic Abu Dhabi ("I've always been fascinated by the Middle East—desert moons, Scheherazade, magic carpets!"). When they arrive, Carrie, because she is a professional writer, announces, "Oh, Toto—I don't think we're in Kansas anymore!" Each woman is immediately assigned an extra from Disney's Aladdin to spoon-feed her warm cinnamon milk in their $22,000-per-night hotel suite. Things seem to be going great. But very quickly, the SATC brain trust notices that it's not all swarthy man-slaves and flying carpets in Abu Dhabi! In fact, Abu Dhabi is crawling with Muslim women—and not one of them is dressed like a super-liberated diamond-encrusted fucking clown!!! Oppression! OPPRESSION!!! This will not stand. Samantha, being the prostitute sexual revolutionary that she is, rages against the machine by publicly grabbing the engorged penis of a man she dubs "Lawrence of My-Labia." When the locals complain (having repeatedly asked Samantha to cover her nipples and mons pubis in the way of local custom), Samantha removes most of her clothes in the middle of the spice bazaar, throws condoms in the faces of the angry and bewildered crowd, and screams, "I AM A WOMAN! I HAVE SEX!" Thus, traditional Middle Eastern sexual mores are upended and sexism is stoned to death in the town square. At sexism's funeral (which takes place in a mysterious, incense-shrouded chamber of international sisterhood), the women of Abu Dhabi remove their black robes and veils to reveal—this is not a joke—the same hideous, disposable, criminally expensive shreds of cloth and feathers that hang from Carrie et al.'s emaciated goblin shoulders. Muslim women: Under those craaaaaaay-zy robes, they're just as vapid and obsessed with physical beauty and meaningless material concerns as us! Feminism! Fuck yeah! If this is what modern womanhood means, then just fucking veil me and sew up all my holes. Good night.
I personally find Aetius as inspiring as MLK wearing two dashikis, but yeah, this pretty much. Money only really matter if you're dealing with a woman who just wants to fuck guys with money. An obvious statement made no less relevant by its tautology. Here's the thing, though: sex feels fantastic. And it's free.
Nom, that was a brilliant review. I want to lick her now that her brain is being appreciated... I just wish ya'll could see how beautifully you cockblock yourselves with this number rating shit, it makes your lack of confidence and empathy shine bright.