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50 shades of Rambo

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Everybody makes fun of women for going crazy over 50 shades of grey, and Twilight, etc., because the same women are always complaining about/running away from/living in fear of the types of men whose characters are models for the fictional ones who make these stories all kinds of lip-watering for the female kind.

Even women call down their own for liking such male leads. Veterans of real-world versions of fantasy novel relationships, or those who just know better, chastise their fluffyheaded peers; feminism has shed so much blood, sweat, and other body fluids to make sure the woman's world was a safe one, where its citizens could go about free from the threat of predatory, exploitive males, without the aid of a pretentiously benevolent and protective one who was really only trading his services for the promise of hers: "How dare these ninnies make fools of us by licking up what we've vomited out?"

I used to shake my head at and pick on women who liked 50 shades, until I realized that men do it too. There are two types of movies. Maybe some fall into a third or fourth type, as not everything in reality is black and white, but for argument's sake I'm going to make one split dividing "Man" movies (i.e. Rambo, FastFurious, not much need to explain) and "chick" flicks (also no need to explain).

Both types have this in common: They take something horrific and make it appealing, like the same tactics McDonald's uses to sell their hamburgers... And it works! Applications for air force aviator jobs peaked following Top Gun's release (Also, people still buy McDonald's, even though the burgers look nothing like the ones on the advertisements, and are most certainly not 100% pure beef). In reality, there is nothing romantic, noble, or even exciting about war, street life, prostitution/john-ism, and the "friend zone."

Yet, these movies tap into an eternal, bottomless wellspring of adoration in the hearts of fans.

It's not that they actually want to go to war, or be involved with a sadistic sociopath (or if they did, they'd change their minds about it soon after finding themselves in those situations). It's that everyone just wishes it were really like that.

I believe this is a coping mechanism designed to buffer the traumatic effects of real life horrors. We have to go through them at some point; why not imagine them as adventures instead of ordeals? Why not just take the blue pill. Ignorance is bliss, willful ignorance, no less so.

So next time I see a dark spot in the pants of a lady engrossed in a volume of 50 shades, I won't judge. I'll just turn on some Star Wars and imagine how awesome it would be to be a space pilot, locked for days in a cramped, stuffy cockpit getting shot at with concentrated bolts of super heated matter, the impact of which being able to blow open the thin barriers separating me and my laughably simulated atmosphere and the cold, dark death vacuum of space, whereupon being sucked violently out into I would explode. If I didn't just burn to death in my flaming spaceship, or maybe kind of fuse to the melting structure that housed me and die after several hours of agony. But then I'd sadly remember: It's just a movie.
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