Flo the Progressive Insurance chick is, without a doubt, the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. This is both exciting and a crying shame…and maybe a little disturbing, too.
Maybe it’s just me, but there’s something about that perky, quirky babe in her 1960’s up do, and 1950’s eye makeup, but if you’re a red-blooded ‘merican male, after a while you start to wonder just what is underneath that hospital-white apron and the ‘tricked-out nametag’, and what the Unicorns and Glitter girl just might be like in the sack.
And herein...ahem... lay (sorry) the genius behind Flo: She’s cute. She’s lovable. She’s so goddamned girly. And a far cry from what's available to the Average American Male.
It’s a pity that in Modern America most women fall into a category somewhere between ‘rabid piranha’ and ‘wounded wolverine with cramps’. Nearly fifty years of feminism has made your average babe about as approachable as a bear trap with a hair trigger. Women today are nasty. They are suspicious. They have a chip on their shoulder that causes a good many to consider anything with a beard and testicles to be a rape just waiting to happen. Where feminism hasn’t destroyed the natural affinity between Men and Women, it has fed the Modern Female with a great deal of other nonsense with which to clutter their brains; a Woman, they say, can do anything a Man can do, only better. And maybe this is true under certain circumstances, unless, of course, it requires brute strength, an ability to whizz standing up, or squashing spiders. It has also created a mindset wherein Men are often seen as dangerous, unnecessary, or, at best, an accessory.
Feminism has also dictated that wherever possible a woman should feign to think and behave as Men do, which is kind of a screwy idea since no Woman can think and behave as a Man does, if only for the simple fact that they’re not Men. Instead, women get their ideas of how they believe Men Think and Behave from the worst possible sources – the media, some book written by a half-baked therapist, or Cosmo, and until recently, Oprah. Nothing like getting advice on how to act like a Dude from another Chick. This has produced what I like to privately call “The Bruno”; a woman who goes out of her way to behave in a most unladylike manner, usually laboring under the deluded belief that she's ‘liberating’ herself. This sort of woman is combative, she uses foul language casually, has tattoos, tells dirty jokes that might even make me blush; she probably takes up a trade that once was the sole domain of Men (usually something to do with power tools, because they are a symbol of masculinity, and in a pinch, vibrate a lot).
Bruno doesn’t want you to come near her. You can tell from her demeanor, and the puss on her face that could curdle used motor oil. She bares her fangs and threatens to kick your ass if you do come near her, and if she decides that she will, indeed, have you, she reserves the right to be the aggressor. She's learned the Art of Wooing Men from watching re-runs of Oz. If you ever try to turn the tables on her, or can't figure out her convoluted system of when to treat her like a woman, and when to treat her as whatever the fuck she wants to be treated like at this very second, she gets pissed and tells you to fuck off.
That’s when you don't find one from the other end of the spectrum: the complete, sperm-burping sluts who never met an STD they didn’t enjoy passing on, usually out of spite or stupidity.
Flo, on the other hand, seems infinitely approachable. She seems friendly. She’s so naturally feminine. If you aren’t turned on by that then there’s something wrong with you, Homeboy.
But, alas, Flo isn’t real. She’s the invention of an advertising agency and a rather talented comedic actress. I’m almost positive that a ‘real’ Flo must exist somewhere in America (there had to be a role model, after all), but I have yet to find her. This is the greatest tragedy of all…for Men all over America.
If there were a million Flo’s, there’d be a million more happily married couples, I should think.
Why, if Anthony Weiner had had a Flo to go home to he wouldn’t have to momentarily stop rubbing one out to type “Baby, that feels sooooo good…” into his Blackberry, and trying exceptionally hard (shit,I had to go there, didn't I?) to make it sound convincing, and perhaps never daring to put his Congressional career at risk. If Arnold had a Flo to go home to, he wouldn’t be banging hideously ugly domestics…or hideously ugly Kennedys (sorry, that’s redundant), either, for that matter.
And before someone (usually some frigid, trailer-trash, diesel-dyke-bitch with a Community College Sociology Degree) starts accusing me of harboring some sick male fantasy of wanting to return to the ghastly days of the pre-sexual revolution, when Women were mere kitchen slaves and baby-makers, mere objects to be put upon a pedestal and fawned upon, I want you to think about just how liberated Flo truly is:
She has an important job. One, incidentally, she seems to enjoy immensely, and one in which she appears to have a great deal of responsibility. One gets the impression that Flo runs the entire operation there at the Progressive Store, and in some of the commercials she’s seen training her male colleagues in the in’s-and-out’s of the insurance business (oops, shouldn’t say ‘in-and-out’ in reference to Flo, someone might get the wrong idea), and sometimes giving them orders and directions. She’s obviously the leader of All Things Progressive Store.
Flo dances to the beat of her own drummer. She can be flighty, but is always serious about the business of insurance. She’s funny and witty, and in her own way, as sharp as a tack. She appears to be one of those ‘people persons’ I keep hearing about but never seem to actually encounter. Flo talks to everyone in the same friendly and helpful manner, regardless of race or sex. She doesn’t seem to notice such petty distinctions in any way whatsoever. Flo is never judgmental, she’s never harsh, and you can never imagine a four-letter invective flying out of her mouth.
One almost believes that Flo never uses a bathroom; when she has to answer Nature’s Call, you imagine a flock of snow-white doves and little pink elves descending from the skies to take it away for her.She's sweet, she's pure, you could never in a million years attribute anything dirty, unseemly, or disgusting to her.
But Flo has a rebellious side, too, you know; She knows and loves her motorcycles (she rides a 950 V-twin, in case you’ve forgotten), and yet somehow she always manages to pull that helmet off with her exquisite and meticulous hairstyle completely unruffled, with nary a bug in her teeth, her make-up undisturbed, and her virgin-white apron showing proudly beneath her leather jacket.
Flo is simply an awesome chick, in all respects. If all THAT isn’t the true Feminist Ideal – without the perpetual and figurative water retention – then I don’t know just what the fuck is. No man in his right mind would even dream of cheating on Flo. If there were more Flos, there'd probably be fewer homosexuals, too, and if not, then they could at least share eyeshadow.
You can keep your Miss Americas; you can have your surgically-enhanced “Real Housewives”; you can forget every Supermodel (except Kathy Ireland or Brooklyn Decker, maybe?) that has ever graced the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Editions, and I’ll take Flo over them every goddamned time, hand’s down, and twice on Sundays.
One of these days, when the Japanese finally perfect the Companion Robot, they could do far worse than to use Flo as their template and then mass produce the shit out of the sucker. The American Market for a robot that’s based upon a facsimile of a fictional woman that is far more appealing than most real live ones is a guaranteed money maker.
It might even save the Japanese economy.
You couldn’t produce a Flo Robot in this country, primarily because the Indian and Chinese Engineers we’d have to import know jack shit about Sex and girls, but mostly because the mere suggestion of it would send some Femzilla into a hissy fit for the ages (mostly out of jealousy), complete with lawsuits, boycotts, crying, and the withholding of sex….from someone….assuming someone would want any from a woman like that.
I’d like to see that potential Feminazi Champion hop right up on her Menstrual Cycle and challenge Flo to a bike race, if only to see Flo leave the bitch in the dust.
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