Your metaphor has arrived
Cut a little slack for the dude who calls himself Tuthmosis Sonofra, one of the more repellant of the stable of “writers” who regularly contributes to the internet garbage fire that is Return of Kings. Why? Well, metaphors are hard. Especially when you try to draw them out to the length of a blog post.
Tuthy, perhaps best known for his hatred of short-haired women, does his damndest to live up to the title of his post on RoK today –“American Girls Are The Papa John’s Of Women” — but, alas, his limited metaphoring skills aren’t quite up to the task. And so what we end up with is a muddle of a post that reveals a lot more about him than it does about women, or bad pizza, women who are metaphorically bad pizza.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with hating Papa John’s pizza, and Tuthy provides solid reasons for his dislike for the offerings of this particular pizza chain, including “Papa’s thin, watery sauce and undercooked toppings.”
Trouble is, women are not much like pizza, good or bad. They don’t have tomato sauce, or toppings that “slide off of it the moment you don’t keep it at a perfect horizontal angle,” or indeed any of the other pizza-like qualities that Tuthy tries to bestow on them.
Tuthy starts off by complaining that “American girls,” like Papa John’s pizza, are “greasy,” by which he apparently means “fat,” which is a bit odd, because Papa John’s is best known as a purveyor of thin-crust pizza, not the deliciously plump stuffed pizza we here in Chicago so regularly enjoy. Then he tosses in yet another failed metaphor, declaring that “people all over the world” know that American women are fat, “making them a national embarrassment of Starbucks-milkshake proportions.”
Leaving behind this burnt-out husk of metaphorical wreckage, Tuthy moves on to his next point: Women are unhealthy for dudes.
It’s one thing to be fat, but American girls are also mental wrecks. Medicated to oblivion, and—even the best of them—harboring bizarre attitudes towards sex and relationships, American women are nutritionally bankrupt. You don’t eat Papa John’s for the vitamins, and you don’t feel great after having finished one.
I’m guessing most American women would feel equally queasy, if not worse, after an encounter with Tuthy. Especially after reading Tuthy’s next attempt at metaphor, which reads a bit like the diary of a serial-killing cannibal:
Papa John’s may be convenient, but it comes at a roughly body temperature and makes a mess if you so much as try to lift up one of those soggy slices. That’s your American woman in a nutshell.
PRO TIP: If you’re cutting women into slices, you’re doing it wrong.
The serial-killer vibe continues in Tuthy’s next section, devoted to the notion that women, like empty pizza boxes, are “discarded.’
Crushed between two garbage bags in the tank, American girls are the greasy remnants of the meal we ate in desperation last night. You may have gotten the box out of your house, but the effects remain: you’re that much more undernourished, unsatisfied, and depressed as a result.
Yet Tuthy, who apparently just returned to the US from some sordid sex vacation abroad, plans to keep ordering the metaphorical Papa John’s pizzas that are American women.
“Abroad,” Tuthy reports, “I’d see guys proudly holding hands with a pretty girl and both of them showing heart-felt affection.” But within ten minutes of getting off the plane here in the US, he tells us, he spotted
the American equivalent: a miserable-looking dude with a dumpy girl—who was edible, if she was delivered to your house—in a contorted death grip that looked like someone had put a gun to their backs. As my bags came off the carousel, I knew one thing: I was back to eating Papa John’s.
I assume he means the baggage carousel, because the thought of his luggage riding the cock carousel is enough to put me off dinner.