Subject to Objectification

All providers of physical/emotional needs are objectified.
The chef is objectified as a source of food.
The mother is objectified as a source of comfort.
The DJ is objectified as a source of funky beatz for your rhymes.
The woman is objectified by men as a source of sex.
The man is objectified by women as a source of money.

The objectifier objectifies in proportion to his selfishness. The more he is concerned with grasping at the salve for his immediate needs, the less he will be concerned about the impact of his grasping on others.

But who the hell wants to hang out with selfish people anyway?

Basically what I am saying to you is stop your bitching. It's part of the game, and only an emotional-needs-provider-objectifier would say something like, "Why doesn't anyone like me for meeee?"

Everyone is an object. You objectify, and you're gonna be objectified. You got to get over it and play the hand you are dealt. Punch your weight, you know?

Girls: You eat too much and don't want to work out? Fine, but don't expect to marry Donald Trump. No fat chicks for the Trump.

Guys: You'd rather get high and play Grand Theft Auto than get a job? Not a prob, but realize that it's only a matter of time before your somehow amazingly hot girlfriend wakes up and dumps your ass. Better put down the controller, and get to screwin', the Playstation ain't going nowhere. Where did you find that girl anyway? Man!

That being said, now I will completely switch sides.

Objectification is bad. Bad.

Meet your average guy, let's call him "Chris."

Chris gets home everyday from working as a professor of Communism down at the local major state university. His lovely wife has prepared him and his lovely only son a lovely borscht. But Chris has other things on his mind. "Damn those freaking co-eds and their legs. Their LEGS!!" Chris is desperate for relief. Lucky for him the relentless machine of capitalism has provided a ready remedy for his ailment: Internet Porn!

"Hey Dad, I know you're busy with work in there, but, do you wanna come play Dungeons and Dragons with me?"

"Maybe," whack, "later," whack, "buddy!"

Whack.

Dejectedly, Chris's only son, 12, returns to his room to doodle his name in elvish runes and to speculate on what super powers would be most impressive to the opposite sex. "Perhaps if I were simply to begin levitating during lunch one day, and blue-white smoke were to come from my glowing eyes... They would worship me as a messiah, like the Kwisach Haderach in Dune. I would then almost certainly gain the respect of Sally."

"Chris honey, the borscht is getting cold! Come on down for dinner!" says his rather-less-attractive-than-when-he-first-married-her wife.

"Hold," whack, "on," whack, "honey!"

Whack.

His wife sits alone, with her ever-colder borcht. The son ventures deeper and deeper along that dark path of the mind that will inevitably lead to his laying exactly where he is now, 20 years hence: his bed, in his parents house.

Later that night:

Wife:"Chris honey, make love to me like you used to."

Chris:"I... " (eyeing his wife's emphatically non-pornstarlettesque body) "I... I'm sorry honey, it's just... you know, work, and I have a lot of things on my mind."

Wife:"A lot of Communism things?"

Chris:"Yes, a lot of Communism things. You know how the life of a professor is."

Wife:"Yes, yes... of course. I understand. You're a brilliant man, and a brilliant Communist. I love you Chris, more than you can know."

Chris:"Mmmhm, loveyoutoo. Night."

Chris waits until his wife is asleep, and, creeping downstairs, types into Google the words his fingers know from muscle memory: "porn soviet 1970s military dirty sanchez"

His nightly affairs with virtual women has destroyed his relationship with his actual non-virtual wife. His inattention to his son has created a cycle of nerdiness the effects of which will play out over generations.

Chris has failed as a husband and as a father.

MESSAGE!

Porn is Whack.

or

Objectification: Don't do it!