Bad-Boys are for Fucking, not for Marrying

He Says...

Mrs Rocker and I are watching with some interest to see whether a cousin in the family is going to marry the Good-Boy she is engaged to after a steady procession of Bad-Boys through her life, together with the associated drama. We think Mr Squeaky Clean is likely to be consigned to the rubbish heap and Ms. Bad-Boy Lover will gravitate back to the passion and drama of racy hooligans.

What is it about Bad Boys to some women (all women?) and why the fatal, unbreakable attraction in many cases?

I think the first Bad Boys were the testosterone-riddled, layabout dark-horse, renegade wayfarers ejected from the next door cave because they were totally useless and too completely distracted by sex to put in an honest days work hunting in the plains. I suspect it was them that pioneered the palaeolithic bone-through-the-nose and the first to fashion a leather jacket from mammoth skin. They get shunned by their clan and before you know it, they're sniffing around another cave and have got all the cave-women hot and bothered and bitchy with each other because they all want to fuck him. I think it's perfectly natural to want to fuck the bad boys. Healthy even. Being an amateur Sociologist, it is my belief that it's part of Big G's carefully considered celestial plan to a) keep the gene pool healthy b) relieve dutiful cave-women from the mundane existence of skinning carcasses all day and tending to shitty cave-brats in the days before nappies.

See, I think Big G meant for girls to fuck the bad boys. But for heaven's sake, think carefully before marrying them. Whether you marry a Good-Boy or a Bad Boy, it's predictable what you're going to get. With Bad Boys- passion, mind-blowing sex, huge arguments, great make-up sex, eternal poverty, maybe even the odd appearance on the Jerry Springer Show. Good Boys- excruciatingly boring dinners at your in-laws, changing your father-in-law's colostomy bag once-daily, (see now that's the advantage of Bad Boys, they don't have parents, they were generally abandoned at birth), balding, probably some portliness, some affluence, being eternally indentured to dropping the snotty spoilt brats at soccer practice in a Volvo Stationwagon. That sort of thing. You can choose.

But for all the corporate polo-playing goody two-shoes out there, learn to accept that your soccer-mommy wife has an eye for the Bad Boys when they come sniffing around the cave. They are genetically programmed to want to fuck them. What to do? Hmmmm. I don't really have a one-size-fits all solution. But I think just understanding it and knowing where it comes (courtesy of this factually-correct, rigorously peer-reviewed scientific blog) will empower you to find innovative ways to scratch that Bad Boy itch. I try, though Mrs Rocker swears blind she doesn't like the Bad Boys. But I keep my dark-side well-stocked with fresh wild ideas. Besides being a good hedge-strategy, it makes for a lot of fun in any case.