The subject decides that women are fed up with the way most men are a bunch of dumb jocks or insensitive or chauvinistic or unromantic.  He convinces himself that women desperately want to meet a "nice guy" who isn't afraid to cry, likes to go shopping, never asks for oral sex, never watches football, never makes a decision on his own, and spells the word "womyn" with a "Y."  He becomes thoroughly offended if a woman friend offers to get him anything while she's up (especially a beer).  Whenever women tell him to "be a man," he quickly corrects their obvious mistake, as they have apparently been "brainwashed by society" to think that assholes such as athletes and firefighters and soldiers and male models are actually worth having.

THE RESULT:  As with any five-stage grief process, a subject may become "stuck" in one of these stages (just as one might quickly burn right past a stage or two).  If he does not move onto Stage Two, he will probably spend the rest of his life having short-lived relationships with women on the rebound from some abusive alcoholic.  He will remain more or less satisfied with his "rescues," but occasionally wish that he owned a Lay-Z-Boy.

"Why would that bitch even WANT to go back to her asshole ex-boyfriend after he forgot their three-and-a-half week anniversary?!" the subject now says.  It has finally occurred to him that women aren't being manipulated or brainwashed into dating jerks.  Women are dating jerks because women are stupid.  The subject has always hated men who stole kids' lunch money when they were young or who get drunk every night or who boss people around... or who are slightly taller.  But now the subject has an even stronger rage toward these idiotic women who can't get it through their thick heads that "all men are scum except for me."  The subject rails at women for not realizing that their old boyfriends are assholes, and in doing so, the subject becomes an asshole.  It's very ironic.

THE RESULT:  If the subject does not move immediately onto Stage Three, he can be expected to enjoy a healthy career as a stalker or a serial killer.

"I see what I was doing wrong.  I was asking for phone numbers when I should have been asking for e-mail addresses!  How could I not have seen that?"  Here we see the complete customer base for books on how to pick up women.  The subject comes to the conclusion that 1) women want a strong, masculine man, 2) the subject himself is NOT a strong, masculine man, and 3) there must be some halfway point.  So he locates a book which has received glowing testimonials and success stories.  Reasoning that you "can't argue with results," he purchases the book and quickly learns that women are attracted to a combination of arrogance and a sense of humor.  So he takes up the habit of making passing derogatory or sexual remarks in an "I'm just kidding" voice.  Ironically, the book's new methods for approaching women act as a placebo, giving the subject enough confidence to approach a larger number of women (and not get nervous and screw up the pick-up).  As pick-ups are simply a numbers game, the more women he asks out, the more often women say yes.  The subject thinks, "Wow, this book really works!"  He doesn't quite grasp the idea that if you ask out a hundred women in a single night, a few of them are going to be the types of women who would go home with Chewbacca.

THE RESULT:  The subject may collapse under the strain of trying to keep up a brilliant performance, falling back into old habits and getting dumped -- hard.  In this case, the subject moves onto Stage Four.  Otherwise, the subject may lose himself completely in his new character and become a "playa."  He will continue in this lifestyle until the day that he steals away the would-be-girlfriend of a Stage Two pussy and subsequently gets stabbed.

The subject is now referred to as a "loser" mostly by himself.  For the first time in his life, women are actually asking him out -- mostly out of pity.  Fed up with thhe futility of singles clubs, computer dating services, and the like, the subject all but stops dating altogether, and as a result, has to put up with a barrage of friends wanting to introduce him to their single cousins who have "inner beauty."

THE RESULT:  The subject will do one of three things.  He will A) blow his brains out, B) have a friend smack him upside the head, shouting "Get over yourself!" and push him into Stage Five, or C) find a creative outlet for his depression.  And by "creative outlet" I mean spend the rest of his life doing stand-up comedy.

"Hell, if I'm going to be a pussy, I might as well be a great one," the subject says as he dresses for a night out using fashion tips he picked up from "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy."  So what if he doesn't have a shot with that hot chick in the cowboy hat riding the mechanical bull?  He's perfectly happy to go home with the hot chick in the tie-dye giving the poetry recital.  Because after all, in this great big world, there are sure to be a few women out there, who appreciate a man who likes things like clothes-shopping and emotional closeness and cunnilingus.  There are plenty of women who are just dying to meet a man who is in touch with his feminine side, and if he's lucky, he'll hook up with them before they figure out that they're lesbians.

THE RESULT:  The subject is now a full-fledged metrosexual.  He is comfortable with himself and puts on no airs.  He also has a lot of excess free time, so is likely to have a very elaborate website with a few hundred individually written pages.