In many ways, our lives are dramatic and complex simply because normative behavior is founded in civility. Put another way — people are too damn polite. I say, to hell with that! It’s here where Facebook needs to step in and create a way for people to be rude without all the smoke and mirrors. After all, how much can you really know about someone without understanding how they view their relationships with other people?

For your consideration, I present Peoplegories (“We put the rude in crude!”), an entirely new way to organize your social circle.

Don’t like someone? Instead of simply omitting his name from a party guest list, let the world know he’s not welcome by dragging-and-dropping him into the new Peoplegory Friends That Nobody Likes. That way, he’ll get the message, and you’ll preserve moments of your life that he might have stolen by explaining his World of Warcraft strategy.

Not only does Peoplegories work for every possible social situation, it can also be described as humorous, unceremonious, and many other words that end in -ous. To wit: that heartbroken ex-boyfriend of yours won’t stop calling “just to chat” because, in large part, you’re too nice to ignore the phone. Here’s where Peoplegories can help even the sweetest girl put the kabash on a needy ex — by placing his name into the For the Love of Christ, Lose My Contact Information Peoplegory. Believe me, he’ll stop calling, but not before sending this guilt-ridden text message: “I don’t know what I did to hurt you, but you truly mean a lot to me. I sincerely hope you find happiness.” Blech.

While Peoplegories specializes in rudeness, it can also affirm and unite and bond people through common interests. For example, the (insert verb) Weekend _____ Buddies Peoplegory can encompass a broad range of individuals that have no place in your daily life. This helps both parties set expectations for the relationship, whether your intentions are romantic or bromantic. Sure, some people may be disappointed by the label, but isn’t that better than never quite knowing where you stand?

Other possible Peoplegories include:

• Exes Whom I Hope Rot in Hell / Exes I Still Catch Up With / Exes I Still Hook Up With
• Girls/Guys/Mexicans I Met on Spring Break
• High School Friends I No Longer Talk To But Whose Profile I Sometimes Stalk
• Young Married Friends Who Don’t Deserve My Pity for Their Reckless Decision Making
• People I Tolerate Because We Have Mutual Friends
• Jagerbombs! Jagerbombs! Jagerbombs! Jagerbombs!
• Lazy Bastards From College Class Projects Who Contributed NOTHING!!!
• People Who Deal Pot in the Greater (insert city) Area

Always remember: utter honesty is an ugly business, but it sure spares a hassle.

Chris Carrabba, Jason Mraz, and Matt Nathanson all play guitar. How original.

The quality of a musician’s live performance forever validates or tarnishes his music. Kind of like when you first kiss a hot babe you’ve been seeing. Maybe you met her at a friend’s party, maybe you’ve taken her out for a beer. So far, you really dig this broad. You seem to be on the same page, if you will. You’re picking up what she’s putting down, if you will. She with her shamelessly low cut tops and tight rear and big…teeth. You’re putting all your best moves on her (“Is that a mirror in your pocket?”) and at the end of Date #2, you go in for that first kiss expecting the world to crumble all around you, leaving nothing but the two of you standing there lip-locked in a blissful embrace, floating above the din, purring softly like a pair of turtledoves.

Except…right away, you find out she kisses like a Viking warrior gnawing a turkey drumstick after ravaging a peaceful fishing village. In that moment, no guy — however desperate — wants to be that turkey drumstick. It’s like kryptonite for your cock. The same goes for musicians. When musicians you adore suck on stage, your music boner for them drains and dies and rots like a moldy banana. You hate throwing away that banana. You paid for that banana.

Below, you’ll notice a table that depicts my assessment of three established singer-songwriters making the rounds today. I chose to compare these three guys because their music is somewhat homologous, and I’ve seen all three in concert. My rating system is subjective, prejudiced, and completely partisan. It also may be genius. Read on.

Chris Carrabba (of Dashboard Confessional)

A couple weeks ago, I saw Dashboard Confessional’s lead singer Chris Carrabba play an acoustic show at intimate Lincoln Hall in Chicago. When Carrabba came onstage, the whole front of his hair, from ear to ear, was gelled straight up like a wide, black wall. Now, I am a fond proponent of hair products for men, but this was industrial-grade, prescription-strength hair gel. During the course of the evening, a gentleman in the audience said what we were all thinking — “Nice hair!” — and vulnerable Chris, in the midst of his emotionally charged setlist, turned the microphone away from our half of the venue and declared that he was no longer singing to “the people over there.”

I like Dashboard’s music, but seeing Carrabba in concert confirmed to me what I’ve always  kinda known — he’s sort of a little bitch. He’s that kid in middle school who’s too mature to make fart jokes in class, or shove the special needs kids into the mud. (Who didn’t do that?) I believe it was the legendary Johnny Drama who once said of Eric Murphy that he only needs “a good book, a cup of tea, and a nice long hug” to get by. Judging by his onstage persona, Carrabba seems like one of those guys.

I remember seeing a video of Carrabba recording a song in the studio and then, halfway through, breaking down and sobbing uncontrollably…

If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about the guy, what does?

Jason Mraz

The most vocally gifted singer-songwriter to come along in quite a while — unbelievable range and a unique, sweet-as-honey tone to his voice. With pipes like that, it’s a shame he’s a chain smoker. But then again, maybe his music will take on a more rock ‘n roll, Mick Jagger theme as his career progresses.

Since gaining mainstream popularity, Mraz’s music has evolved from raw acoustic riffs to heavily produced, jazzy tunes with layers of complexity. Whether it’s by his own input or his producers’, Mraz’s music is a series of controlled explosions. It’s an experimental but safe recipe, to be cooked and digested by a wide audience. And I do mean wide — even my Sinatra-loving parents bought the MR. A-Z album.

In another life, he might have been competition for Justin Timberlake. Let’s all be thankful that didn’t happen.

Matt Nathanson

Go to a Matt Nathanson show — stat. You will laugh. He’s got wit like Vince Vaughn, and makes love to his guitar like a man taming an obstreperous (rowdy) mare.

Where Carrabba seems at times to sing in order to purge some inner demon, Nathanson’s tunes are played with the energy and gratitude of a guy who’s just happy to be out there. Can it be emotional? For sure. But his aren’t the songs guys write for ex-girlfriends to show her how lonely he feels. Nathanson doesn’t bleed on his guitar. His songs represent the thoughtful maturity that comes after an experience, not the messiness that people endure in the middle of it. The dude’s just got a positive outlook.

Check out this video of him playing the song “Wedding Dress.” His introduction to the song is hilarious. Get thee to a Nathanson concert!

Thanks to Jenn B. for inspiring this article.

The only thing that speed dating really offers is awkwardness. In the middle of the evening, when Drunk Debbie (Not her real first name. Drunk, I mean.) dropped down beside me I knew I wasn’t nearly tipsy enough to deal with her. Observe this fairly accurate script of our conversation:

Drunk Debbie: Hiiii, I’m debbbie. this is funn! There’s lots of guys here. are you ahving funn??

Me: Yeah, this is a hoot.

Drunk Debbie: Johnnnnn. have you ever speed dated before?

Me: Nope, this is my first time. How about you?

Drunk Debbie: theres my firend! look! shes the one tlaking to that black guy.

Me: Oh. Cool.

Drunk Debbie: awwww she looks so happy!

Me: Sure does.

Drunk Debbie: i’m going to hte bathroom. do NOT tocuh my purse.

Me: Okay.

Drunk Debbie: look. its not that i dont trust you, its just…i KNOW whats in there mister!

[Exit Drunk Debbie]

[Note: Drunk Debbie put me down as a match.]

All in all, that wasn’t even my most uncomfortable date of the night. That distinction belongs to a plus size girl with a large rack whose introductory sentence was (not making this up) “Hi, I’m Nikki and I have huge boobs!”

Huh boy.

In that situation, there’s really only one response: “Umm…you sure do!”

Problem is, after a girl throws that out there, you can’t possibly look at her chest. It’s a nasty little trick that forces both parties into a kind of staring contest — you, being a gentleman, won’t risk a glance at her breasticles; and she, being a sly broad, won’t break eye contact long enough to give you an opportunity.

[Note: Nikki put me down as a match.]

When you’re on these dates, you tell yourself not to worry if things don’t go well because there’s always another girl waiting. Thing is, the next girl always seemed to be more strange than the chick before her.

Take Francine for example. During our three minutes together, we talked briefly about our date cards. (Everyone is given a pen and a date card where you’re supposed to write the person’s name and then add checkmarks in the descriptive categories provided: Funny, Smart, Cute, Nice Hair (really?).) I showed Francine how I was ignoring those categories and simply putting a checkmark down for girls I thought were “potentials.” Honestly, she might have been one of them if she’d kept her hands to herself. As our date was winding down, she grabbed my wrist like a cop arresting an underage drinker and said, “I’m getting a checkmark right? RIGHT?” Dear god, woman. No.

[Note: Francine put me down as a match.]

I came home after the party and, although I was on the fence about a couple girls, I decided not to record anyone as a match. The majority of the women were older and, quite frankly, seemed desperate. Did they come here feeling like they were the proverbial last kids picked for sports at recess? I can’t say for sure, but I have a feeling.

Although I’m not one to argue against the orthodoxy of the American Man Laws, it’s time the guidelines were amended to reflect a cataclysmic shift in our understanding of cinematic genres.

You see, most people believe that Chick Flicks and Rom Coms are synonymous, or that there’s a very fine line between the two. This is erroneous! On all counts! Admittedly, there are times in this life when we men must react to black and white situations with cutthroat practicality, for the sake of simplicity (see: Figure 1), but this is not one of them.

Figure 1. Data compiled from the 2010 Illinois Survey-of-One.

Every once in a while, we encounter gray areas like this one — the distinction between Rom Coms and Chick Flicks. The confusion over these genres exists because our definitions are imprecise. This is a situation that requires specificity. Allow me to clear away the brambles:

Chick Flick — A market-driven, emotionally shallow, formulaic attempt to momentarily cripple the otherwise impregnable emotional fortresses of our male minds; a tawdry portrayal of love. (Examples: Bride Wars, The Proposal, Hitch.)

Romantic Comedy — A unique, humorous, true portrait of love; meant to inspire and cleanse and fulfill. (Examples: Shakespeare in Love, (500) Days of Summer, Love Actually.)

In a world where a man can be endlessly ridiculed for watching Romantic Comedies, it’s a necessity that he have a defense against those friends of his who denounce the entire Rom Com genre. Remember, it’s Chick Flicks that give Rom Coms a bad rap, not the other way around.

But if you take a look at the examples I’ve provided for Rom Coms, you’ll notice that the quality of these movies far surpasses that of any Chick Flick.

Take Shakespeare in Love for example. This film beat out Saving Private Ryan for the Best Picture Academy Award in 1998. Both are magnificent films, and there’s really no reason to argue one against the other, but no Chick Flick will ever find its way into this elite company. But not all Rom Coms reach this level. And we shouldn’t expect them to.

But before you ask your Rom Com-watching buddy to remove his hardware and turn it over to the Man Police, take a look at what’s on the screen. Just don’t put your hand on his knee.

DON'T DO IT!!!

Long-distance relationships do not work. That is, unless you belong in one or more of the following categories: a.) you don’t believe in pre-marital sex, b.) you are a senior citizen, or c.) you are only temporarily separated from your significant other.

Obviously, it takes two people (and sometimes three) to enter into a faithful, long-distance relationship, but women are usually more sanguine about the separation than their male sweetie pies. What these impetuous broads overlook are the two universally known truths about men: 1.) we hate talking on the phone, and 2.) we need regular sex (or else the porn site subscriptions begin). Any guy who disagrees and claims to love talking on the phone while foregoing orgasms is a girlie man. Or else, a cyborg. But for the rest of us, long-distance relationships just don’t cut the mustard.

Notwithstanding, some girls will try to convince you they enjoy the independence of living apart from their beau, but don’t believe them. All they’re really saying is that they like having a quasi-romantic friend with benefits they can use as a shoulder to cry on, and for occasional, frustrated, aerobic sex. In other words: a long-distance booty call with someone whom they trust and rely on emotionally, but who doesn’t require the constant attention of, say, a Jack Russell Terrier (even if he humps like one).

A man living out of town causes women to believe that their man is not like all men. When the absent boyfriend is in town for a visit, he only has to be a gentleman for two and a half days, during which time you schedule romantic dinners, shop together, and satisfy those dormant sexual desires we discussed earlier. With so little time, there’s no opportunity for the long-distance couple to do battle outside the bedroom. Why, you ask? The reason why there are no confrontations isn’t because your boyfriend is such a stellar dude, it’s because he’s there to get laid. And unless he’s got a mean self-destructive streak, there is absolutely no reason for him to rock the boat with comments like, “I hate your friends,” or “Weren’t you able to fit into those jeans last month?”

One reason women end long-distance relationships is because there’s so little time for Boyfriend Showcasing. This, of course, is the time when a girl parades her man around like he’s a prize on The Price is Right. These activities include (but are not limited to) dinner double dates, weddings, or as a guest at after-work corporate functions. After all, the man a woman chooses says more about who she is than her red patent leather Nine West pumps ever could. (Oh, if these shoes could talk…)

Which is why any girl who fancies herself committed to the long-distance relationship will change her mind as soon as Mr. Right Down the Street orders her a Peach Passion Bellini at the local watering hole. (“I love Bellinis!” said one Chicago female when interviewed for this article.) If there’s one thing girls crave more than anything, it’s postcoital spooning; preferably with a boyfriend who can perform this vital function three or four times a week. The long-distance beau may be an excellent dude, but he’s simply not present to fulfill his girl’s need for affection (and on the flip side, she’s never around to touch his wiener).

Long distances are giant, ax-wielding relationship murderers. If you can, avoid them at all costs. Unless you’re a masochist.

The simple answer? Fear of being different.

When you’re a kid, you learn early on it’s not cool to be an outcast. On every playground in America, there’s a pitiable kid with mud on his ass and ten giggly children pointing and staring. In society, and in the bush, it’s true what they say: there’s safety in numbers. Take Billy Madison, for example. When Ernie pees his pants, Billy slaps some water on his own crotch to redirect the oncoming scorn from Ernie to himself. Next thing you know it’s Urine Fest ’95, and kids are eschewing bathrooms like they’re green vegetables.

If there’s one thing the movies teach us, it’s that chicks dig outlaws, not outcasts. Many people are so terrified of joining the latter category that they spend their entire lives walking on eggshells, fearful of social death. But studies indicate that those who show embarrassment when they goof up are more likable than people who don’t — regardless of whether they attempt to restore the natural order. So, next time you make a mess, just look guilty and mosey away. Apparently, people will like you more.

Below is a graphic detailing some not-so-bad social faux pas, along with a few that may cause you to apply for the Witness Protection Program, ditch town, or undergo facial reconstructive surgery. You know, the youzh.

[Click for larger view]

What if you could go to a boutique the size of a cell phone shop and purchase a wrist implant that counts down to the exact second when you’ll meet the one? I present to you TiMER, a rom-com about taking life’s detours. Oona (Emma Caulfield, Buffy the Vampire Slayer) is a high-strung orthodontist whose timer is blank, which means, unlike everyone else with a timer, she doesn’t know when she’ll meet her soul mate. And it’s driving her nuts. No longer willing to wait, she begins seeing a younger guy (John Patrick Amedori) despite the fact he’s only four months away from meeting his “one.”

After seeing this film, you may take issue with the flaws in the premise — for example, the assumption there’s only one soul mate per person, or that life is predestined. But existential dilemmas aside, TiMER is stocked with fresh faces and witty lines (who knew girls could be funny?). This movie proves how universally appealing rom-coms can be when Jennifer Aniston and Julia Roberts aren’t involved.

Director: Jac Schaeffer | Screenplay: Jac Schaeffer | Cast: Emma Caulfield, Michelle Borth, John Patrick Amedori, Desmond Harrington. Runtime: 99 minutes. Year: 2010.

2. The Wackness

In this Sony Pictures Classics production, Josh Peck (Drake and Josh) plays Luke Shapiro: a ghetto-speaking, pot-dealing, v-card carrying, white kid who seeks money, love, and psychiatric help during a hot New York City summer. Set in 1994, classic hip hop makes up the majority of the soundtrack, with songs like Will Smith’s hit “Summertime” and Notorious B.I.G.’s album Ready to Die getting airtime. While Luke has always been an outsider, his life begins to change for the better when he falls for the stepdaughter (Olivia Thirlby, Juno) of his psychiatrist (Ben Kingsley, Gandhi). But when his parents can no longer afford the rent, Luke is forced to sell even more weed in hopes of saving his family’s apartment.

Director: Jonathan Levine | Screenplay: Jonathan Levine | Cast: Josh Peck, Ben Kingsley, Olivia Thirlby, Famke Janssen, Mary-Kate Olsen. Runtime: 104 minutes. Year: 2008.

3. Bronson

If you’ve seen Inception, you’re already familiar with Tom Hardy, but you probably won’t recognize him in this film as he spends most of it naked, bloodied, or covered in body paint and crude oil. Bronson is the real-life, albeit highly stylized, story of Britain’s most violent and famous prisoner. Although Charles Bronson was originally sentenced to a mere seven years for armed robbery, his jail term was extended to life with the possibility of parole for violence against the prison guards and fellow inmates, taking hostages, and damaging prison property. Hardy’s portrait of Bronson takes the shape of an (unintentionally) hilarious, psychotic, violent artist. The role gave Hardy the freedom to showcase his depth as an actor, and he dominates the screen with the festering rage of a madman wringing out his own bloodstained t-shirt.

Director: Nicolas Winding Refn | Screenplay: Brock Norman Brock, Nicolas Winding Refn | Cast: Tom Hardy, Matt King. Runtime: 92 minutes. Year: 2009.

4. The Merry Gentleman

Funny man Michael Keaton’s directorial debut is short on laughs, in a good way. This drama begins with a young woman named Kate (Scottish actress Kelly Macdonald, No Country for Old Men) who flees an abusive relationship to start over in Chicago. After a sniper mysteriously murders an executive in her office building, Kate kindles an unlikely friendship with a stranger who falls ill on the stairs outside her apartment. The man, Frank Logan (Keaton, Multiplicity), turns out to be the killer the police are hunting. The Merry Gentleman is simultaneously dark and violent, muted and calm. A slow moving picture best viewed on a cold winter night.

Director: Michael Keaton | Screenplay: Ron Lazzeretti | Cast: Kelly Macdonald, Michael Keaton, Mike Bradecich. Runtime: 99 minutes. Year: 2009.

5. The Vicious Kind

The cast of The Vicious Kind smiling for a change.

Bring forth the emotional pain! The Vicious Kind is a tale of jaded lovers, filthy, cheating girlfriends, and coping with parental scorn. Adam Scott (Step Brothers, ESPN Sunday Night Baseball ads) plays Caleb, an insomniac construction worker who chain smokes and has anal sex with a prostitute for fifty bucks (I didn’t realize that was the going rate!). After driving his college-aged brother and his brother’s girlfriend Emma (Brittany Snow, John Tucker Must Die) home for Thanksgiving, Caleb must reconcile his hatred for women (he thinks they’re all whores, including his deceased mother) with his overwhelming attraction to his brother’s girl. Scott shows impressive range in The Vicious Kind, swinging wildly between sarcasm, heartbreak, vulnerability, and fury. He carries the load from wire-to-wire in this dark comedy.

Director: Lee Toland Krieger | Screenplay: Lee Toland Krieger | Cast: Adam Scott, Brittany Snow, J.K. Simmons. Runtime: 92 minutes. Year: 2009.

Just a taste of religious morality.

Last weekend I was out at the bar enjoying shots of Jameson and a few too many pints of Guinness when the pool table opened up. The two guys with dibs on the table had been winning all night, so my friend and I ponied up the quarters for a game, hoping to end their streak. They broke and we took solids, and eventually, one of them put the cue ball in the side pocket for a scratch.

Now, I’ve been playing pool since like, 1994, and I can tell you that when a player scratches in Eight-Ball, the opposing team gets ball-in-hand, which means you’re allowed to position the cue ball absolutely anywhere on the felt. Unfortunately, for reasons passing understanding, it is ingrained in the public consciousness that, after a scratch, the cue ball is placed behind the head stripe. Nobody questions it, they just accept it as “the way it’s always been done.” Even now, you’re probably wondering whether I can be trusted. You’re right to be skeptical. But here’s my proof: click here for the official, worldwide rules; specifically section 4.14, “Foul Penalty.”

Usually, when I’m out enjoying the bar scene, I don’t carry the Billiards Congress of America’s Official Rules of Eight-Ball, but only because it doesn’t fit neatly in my pocket. So even after I mention the correct rules to my opponents, they immediately rebut me. They look at me like I’ve got an arm growing out of my ass. Those aren’t the rules, they say. They ask, Where did you learn to play pool? They are certain the way they’ve always played is the proper way. They have no doubts.

I’m used to this obstinate, self-righteousness by now. But I still marvel at it.

Which brings me to the Bible, the official rulebook of religion. It is the world’s best-selling text that everyone owns but nobody reads, except for priests and maybe old ladies who wear babushkas. In it, you will find some of the most intolerant, wicked, and sadistic ideas in literature, all masquerading as moral imperatives. And yet believers vociferously contend that the Bible is the source of morality, without which, we would be wandering blindly in the wilderness, killing like a crew of remorseless pirates, or thieving like a company of gutless Wall Street executives.

As an upstanding citizen, I find this notion insulting. And you should too.

Here are just five examples of Biblical “morality” (there are countless others):

Women as the inferior sex – “For the man is not of the woman; but the woman of the man. Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man” (I Corinthians, 11:8-9).

Condoning slavery — “Slaves, be subject to your masters with all reverence, not only to those who are good and equitable but also to those who are perverse” (1 Peter, 2:18).

Murder of homosexuals — “If a man lies with a man as one lies with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They must be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads” (Leviticus, 20:13).

Murder of non-virgin brides — “If, however, the charge is true [that a bride wasn’t a virgin on her wedding night] and no proof of the girl’s virginity can be found, she shall be brought to the door of her father’s house and there the men of her town shall stone her to death” (Deuteronomy, 22:20-21).

Murder of rapists and the rape victims — “If a man happens to meet in a town a virgin pledged to be married and he sleeps with her, you shall take both of them to the gate of that town and stone them to death — the girl because she was in a town and did not scream for help, and the man because he violated another man’s wife” (Deuteronomy, 22:23-24).

Next time you’re stalking Facebook profiles, I’m sure you’ll come across friends of yours who have posted Bible quotes that speak about love and strength and courage and faith. That’s fine, but I’d argue there are more beautiful words to be read elsewhere, written by superior authors such as Shakespeare, Dickens, Twain, and so forth. But while people love to quote the “good” fragments of the Bible, most believers don’t adopt the verses I presented above. They ignore them. But how can you? The Bible is the Word of God. This is the bedrock of your morality. Without these verses, believers say, the human race is no better than any species in the animal kingdom. If the Bible commands you to stone rape victims, treat women as inferiors, and kill homosexuals, what authority do you have to act otherwise? From where do you derive your dissent?

The truth is that, for the vast majority of us (atheists and believers alike), our moral codes are not procured from religion. Actually, they come from a multitude of sources: legal doctrine, literature, social movements that have changed our perspectives (e.g. civil rights, gay and lesbian rights, abolition, the Enlightenment, the Renaissance, feminism, the sexual revolution, etc.), music, our innate conscience, the arts, scientific research, psychology, medicine, and so on. All of these disciplines contribute to our ethics in varying intensities. But much of our academic knowledge has been acquired in spite of religious opposition.

The Nobel Prize-winning physicist Steven Weinberg once said, “With or without religion, good people can behave well and bad people can do evil; but for good people to do evil — that takes religion.”

In America, for example, the Bible was once used by Southerners to justify slavery as a god-given right. And the Bible is a powerful ally — after all, how do you argue against the divine? Today, there are fundamentalists who believe they are doing god’s work by bombing abortion clinics or murdering the doctors who work there. Others fly planes into buildings, or turn their bodies into walking grenades. In Africa and the Middle East, the Bible is employed to rationalize genocide and ethnic cleansing, rape and sexual abuse, and the mutilation of not just male, but female genitals, by sewing shut the vagina or slicing off the clitoris to discourage sexual desire.

But the societies whose highest virtue is freedom, and not faith, are also the ones that aspire to achieve universal human rights. History shows that tolerance must be codified in legislation to prevent people from persecuting one another. In this way, the Bill of Rights have done far more to create a just society than the Ten Commandments. After all, it was the Baptists of Danbury, Connecticut who were assured by Thomas Jefferson that they (and everyone else) would be protected from the Congregationalists of Danbury by the “Wall of Separation” between the church and the state. (As the prominent atheist Christopher Hitchens once said, “People forget what it used to be like. See how the Christians loved each other. How they tried to repeat the European pattern of one religious sect pressing and torturing another one.”)

The fact is, by today’s ethical standards, the Bible is a source of immorality, and it is used to justify hatred, intolerance, and repression worldwide. Although the average person in America may believe in god, they certainly do not acquire their sense of right and wrong from scripture.

In this life, you can either be a moral person or a fundamentally religious person. But not both.

Robert Downey, Jr. is a prototypical Byronic hero.

I was watching Zombieland the other day, delighting in Woody Harrelson’s total contempt for entire hordes of the undead, when I realized how much I despise feeble, indecisive protagonists like Jesse Eisenberg’s character. He’s neurotic, unsure of himself, uncoordinated and, when it comes to romance, he lets the ladies do the leading. And I’m supposed to believe Emma Stone is attracted to a guy like that? (I guess when it’s literally the last guy on earth, your standards plummet. “The human race needs you” and all that.)

Eisenberg’s character is an Omega male. As we all know, there are Alpha males (and females) in nature and society, but there are also Betas and Omegas. In movies, Alphas are your typical action heroes. They spend two hours running around grunting, brandishing firearms, and murdering bad guys, and then society gives them a pass. There is almost always a line in these movies when the Chief/Captain/General says to the Hero: “You’ve broken the law and I can’t cover for you anymore, but you are the only one on the entire planet who can stop this drug dealer/gang banger/terrorist. Go do your thing.”

Alpha Males: Sly Stallone, Bruce Willis, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Mark Wahlberg.

Beta males, on the other hand, have to be crafty. They can’t get what they want just by flexing their arms and adjusting their crotch. Usually, Betas are intelligent, funny, and not altogether averse to athletics. These guys earn a payday with their wit and charm, and typically make great male leads for rom-coms. Case in point: Hugh Grant has spent his entire career only playing characters who are Beta males (or maybe just playing himself?).

Other Betas: Owen Wilson, Paul Rudd, Joseph Gordon-Levitt (Byronic hero in training), Justin Long.

Finally we arrive at Omega males, who frequently make for absolutely lousy lead characters in the movies. In nature, after the hunt, Omegas eat last, if at all. They are the runts of the group. In films, they are portrayed as scrawny, powerless nerds. Story arcs for them usually go something like this: High School is ending and Omega male has one last chance to tell Pretty Girl he loves her — Omega hatches plan to get closer to Pretty Girl, usually humiliating himself in some comedic way — Pretty Girl is screwed over by football captain Alpha male, leaving her vulnerable — Omega male comforts her, and makes speech with some/all of these elements: “I watch you all the time but not in a creepy way; I would never make you cry like he does; You don’t realize how beautiful you are; You’re the person I think about before I fall asleep and the only one I want to wake up to.” Now, if you’re a father raising a young son, all you have to do is show your boy a film with an Omega male in the lead role and say, “If you ever want to get laid, don’t act like this guy. Unless you’re planning on starting a gigantic software conglomerate.”

Omegas: Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Jay Baruchel, Woody Allen, Jason Biggs.

But we’re not done yet boys and girls. Nope. There’s one more group, the best group: Byronic heroes. These characters are named for the English poet Lord Byron who left home to fight with the Greeks against the Ottoman Empire, for which the Greeks exalt him as a national hero. (You know you’re a bad ass when non-English speaking countries tell war stories about you.)

You won’t have to go far to find Byronic heroes at the movies. They’re everywhere. And for good reason: these men are an amalgamation of Alphas and Betas, with a dash (just a dash) of Omegas thrown in. Think of Robert Downey, Jr. as Sherlock Holmes, Daniel Craig as James Bond, or even Matt Damon’s Will Hunting. These guys are capable, intelligent, and best of all, dangerous and unpredictable. Typically, a Byronic hero’s demeanor is dark, brooding, and simultaneously self-loathing and self-destructive. These characters are Lone Riders who reject the embrace of greater society. They’re not looking for acceptance because they don’t see any commonality between themselves and the masses. In evil characters, this propensity manifests itself as murderous, egomaniacal behavior. In good characters, it comes off as defensive arrogance.

Romance is usually hard won in movies with Byronic heroes. Only strong women (here, here) with the persistence to deal with the stubbornness of these guys can compete for their affection. But you won’t find a Byronic hero writing a sonnet for his beloved. Still, don’t be surprised if their first hook up takes place half-drunk, half-naked, quick and dirty against the wall of a public bathroom with his hand over her mouth. Byronic heroes make good girls do bad things.

Byronic heroes: Leo DiCaprio, Russell Crowe, Jude Law, Denzel Washington, George Clooney, Sean Penn, Heath Ledger, Johnny Depp.

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