I remember when my three-year-old nephew introduced me to addictinggames.com. I’m not much good at computer games, but this site has lots of puzzles that get me to puzzle and puzzle until my puzzler is sore. (An apt paraphrase for this time of year.)

I didn’t realize until I was at my parents for “the holiday” (Geez. Why does every special day need to be saddled with this bland moniker now?) – lying there in a lazy boy with a laptop warming the unmentionables – that there is a special section set aside just for boys. Neat. Apparently computer game designers are finally taking notice that some boys like to play, too.

Just click on the word “Boy” in the banner at addictinggames, right next to the word “Funny.” There you’ll see a small group of games that appeal directly to boys: “Showjumping 2 (Race Your Own Pony!)”; “Gomez [Selena] Kisser (OMG she is so CUTE kiss kiss kiss)”; and “Dress Code Nightclub (Are You Style Enough for the Nightclub?)” But the one game that I think will appeal to impressionable boys and young men the most is the one entitled “The Girlfriend Trainer.” I just love the description at the bottom: “Such bad habits, this girlfriend! Catch her in the act and teach her to be good!” And look at the adorable tags: “Cute” and “Naughty”!

I fear, however, that feminists and misandrists will probably misunderstand the nature of this game, since it puts the word “girlfriend” and the word “trainer” in the same phrase without explaining the context. Allow me to shove a little context in here. You start off on:

Level 1

which we’ll call “The Roving Eye.” On this level, your girlfriend, who has a more active libido than the average female, is constantly checking out cute guys as they pass by your café table. Since you’re a cute guy yourself, you don’t understand this behavior too well and it’s understandably upsetting. After all, you had a cartoon agreement in this cartoon relationship that she would only have eyes for your cute little anime face. Furthermore, she signed the cartoon consent form, which means you’ve got it in writing.

So hit her. Hit her hard enough that it causes a bruise to appear on her cheek for a few seconds. That’ll teach her. And if it doesn’t (which it won’t if you’re not paying attention while her eyes light up heart-shaped), just hit her again. The bruises always go away. Besides, she deserves it. Don’t worry about any attendant humiliation. She’s used to it. As you can see, she peacefully goes back to sipping out of the same glass as you.

Mind you, if you hit her when she’s behaving herself, or if you don’t hit her the correct number of times at this level, you’ll lose one of three hearts (chances to get your training session right) and she’ll get pissy. No need to get her mad. If you hit her at precisely the right moment, she’ll understand that she has it coming. What you want from her is simple and playing the game is, like your demands, easy. Just haul off and hit and hit and hit to your heart’s content. If, like most guys, your gaming skills are sub-par, have no fear. This game is so easy that even you dumb-as-shit types can figure it out. Once she’s adequately learned to stop enjoying the beauty of the male form as other men embody it, you can hop up to:

Level 2

which can be referred to as “Pick Up the Room.” This is where you get to take it up a notch by using a taser. You know what tasers are, don’t you? Little electrocution devices used by the police that only kill people sometimes. Be cool. This is merely a cartoon taser. Nobody expects boys to actually take it seriously. We in the men’s movement know that the majority of males are non-violent. It’s only a joke, for shits and giggles.

Anyway, whenever your honey drops a newspaper or one of her skimpy little outfits on the floor, zap! Remember that these devices are only slightly and temporarily harmful, and they also get women’s brains to actually work. (“Damn, woman, why don’t you listen??!!”) After she’s been thoroughly tased over and over again, you’re ready for:

Level 3

which can be thought of as “The Remote and the Whine Wine.” Just turn on the television to the game you want to watch, and see if she strays from the rules again. You’ll know if she’s not quite with the program if she picks up the remote to change the channel from the all-important game, or if she picks up the glass of wine instead of juice. In spite of the fact that a small amount of wine consumption with meals is now thought to be good for the digestive system, juice is still considered better for you. You’re only looking out for her. It doesn’t even matter that you apparently keep wine in your house. Oh, unless this is one of those priceless, irreplaceable wines. Did she go down in the cellar without your permission? Boy, is she going to get it.

So, every time she goes for the wine or the remote, whack her with a fly swatter. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as an electrocution device, but the annoyance and humiliation of the fly swatter ought to be enough for this level. And may I remind any offended female readers, who are reading and reading until their readers are sore, that this is just a silly computer game? Get over yourselves! Sheesh! Once you’re over yourselves, you can go to:

Level 4

and “Out on a Drive.” Since women prefer to drive with their boyfriends in the passenger seat; since they really enjoy going out of their way to plan dates, pay for them, pick you up at your place, get your doors for you, and pull out your chair; you can rest assured that they also don’t mind being told how fast to drive. This is the level where you get to use a leash, like you would with a dog (in this case, a bitch). And this ain’t no ordinary leash; it’s a choke collar. Every time she starts to drive too fast, choke her. Now, I didn’t say choke her to death, or anything approaching organ failure. For Pete’s sake, you’re out on a date! She’ll resist, but after a couple of seconds, the car will slow down again so that you don’t have to choke and choke and choke her. I have to admit, I never made it through this fourth and final level. I’m afraid that being a professional doofus precludes me from getting any better at the game (union rules). To be honest, I think it’s timed poorly. I watched my cartoon girlfriend very carefully, making sure to click the mouse at exactly the precise moment she put the cartoon pedal to the cartoon metal, but I kept running out of time. I don’t get it.

Oh. You should also choke her whenever she tries to turn up her lousy, bland, plastic, Barbie-doll, manufactured, techno crap music. I don’t care if it’s her car.

See all the harmless fun you can have with cyber-violence instead of the real deal? All your relational difficulties, all those little annoying things she does, all that built-up aggression, and you can be “in charge” of the relationship virtually, with a simple mouse click. Even the most strident, not-all-women-are-like-that feminist couldn’t possibly make an argument against that, could she? It’s just pretend authority that you’re imposing, not actual, and just look at all of the wonderful things that open-minded boys are learning:

It’s okay to hit a girl if you feel justified.

It’s okay to hit a girl if you’re certain that she deserves it.

You should only hit girls who are bigger than you. The culture has imbued larger-sized people with the idea that they should never hit back, so you’re perfectly safe.

You should never hit, electrocute, or choke a girl hard enough that the bruises or injuries are permanent. You are only trying to communicate. Again, we in the men’s movement do not advocate organ failure. I don’t know how many times I have to say it. Besides, permanent injury can be used as evidence against you. Avoid it like the plague.

It has been clinically proven that enjoyment of interactive, virtual violence never leads to actual violence. I just opened a clinic; did I tell you?

You should fully expect girls to never strike back. They are, after all, the fairer sex. If they do hit back, either out of “self-defense” or “retribution,” cry foul. Their violence is worse and far more frightening than yours. Once you get the attention of passers-by, cry a lot. That will get you sympathy.

You should only hit girls and never other boys. Boys and girls are different, except when they’re the same. The Patriarchy will tell you when.

Hitting girls is funny.

Feminists may shudder at these lessons, but it is true, isn’t it, that we’re done oppressing women? Why shouldn’t we have a little fun now? Or is the huge, decades-long dialogue over breast cancer only happening because there’s not enough funding yet?

I apologize for so many links and questions, and for the overload of sarcasm and satire. Wait. No, I don’t.

In all seriousness, I knew a woman who was in an abusive relationship. She was intelligent, funny, and conversational. Her husband was lazy and inconsiderate. He never once had a kind word for her. He was rude, critical, bossy, and frequently put her down for his own amusement. She put up with it for the sake of her marriage. Then he beat on her. Then she left him.

I also knew a non-abusive man who peacefully divorced his wife who then sought revenge for her hurt by taking the good, decent father of her children to court, bankrupting him in a bitter custody dispute. No beating was required.

But back to the female abuse victim. She now lives on a Southern pig farm with a nice guy. Neither one of them requires being told what to do by the other, nor does either one of them hit or otherwise treat the other like dirt. I’m sure the leash her second husband bought her is much nicer and goes with everything.

Oops! A bit more sarcasm leaked out. Don’t worry. I’ll clean it up. A dog eventually eats his own vomit, you know.