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Golden Retriever puppy and kitten posing on white background. Cat and dog series

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Ah, the age old smack down: dog people vs cat people. This debate could break up families and cause war, so we are here to help you settle it peacefully (we hope). Here at Men’s Trait we have very differing opinions and things are getting heated.

The bond between a person and their pet is something special and irreplaceable. The pet a person chooses actually reflects a lot about them – their entire personality. Cat owners tend to think of themselves more independent and kind, while dog owners describe themselves as friendly. These different personalities often clash – here are two perspectives on cats vs. dogs from some of our editorial team here at MensTrait.

Cats

Owning a cat most of my life has brought me endless amounts of comfort and happiness. While I also own a dog, it is hard for me to compare the type of love I receive between the two animals. My dog does the usual dog things, greeting me at the door and sweetly checking on me throughout the day to see how things are going. I really do appreciate that, thank you Bella. But the unconditional and personal attachment I feel to my cat is something that I can’t even explain.

Crystal has been there since the beginning, and I am her person. She does her own thing a lot of the time, but I always know she is there whenever I need a cuddle buddy or some love. The sassiness and attitude that comes with owning a cat is exciting and reminds me that she is strong and doesn’t take any shit. The low maintenance required to feed her and tend to her litter box is a huge advantage, making my love for her grow more and more every day.

Whether I’m up for cuddling or not, she is always there for me. She brings me (what she thinks are) gifts, like mice and birds from the backyard. While this seems gross, it’s the thought that counts, right? Right. She may be moody and bitchy sometimes, but hey I’m moody and bitchy sometimes. We basically just coexist, as cherished companions and confidants. Crazy cat person for life. –Lauren Petermeyer

Dogs

From goldfish to conures, dogs to cats, I’ve taken care of them all. But the one thing that makes my dog different from the other animals is that he takes care of me as well.

Whether I’m feeling down from a bad breakup or a particularly hard day at work, I can always count on my dog, Caesar, to help make me feel just a bit better. When I’m sad or lonely, or just want to laze around the house for a few hours and eat junk food, I’ve always got my buddy there to keep me company.

If I want to go walk around the park, Caesar’s right there. If I want to take a ride down to Sonic for a drink, roll down all the windows and blast the Beastie Boys entire catalog, Caesar’s right there. If I get up in the middle of the night and for some reason think that someone is outside the door getting ready to break in and murder me, Caesar is definitely going to be right there by my side, ready to defend our home (that is, unless the axe murderer has a can of Vienna sausages, because in that case, I’m screwed.)

Are cats cool? Sure, they’re alright. The Siamese cat that lived with me and my family throughout my childhood was a character, for sure. He’d paw at you when he wanted food or to be pet. That’s about all he did, now that I think about it. But he was low maintenance and he didn’t really bother anyone. He just did his own thing.

If that’s what you like—just a chill pet that wants to lay around and sometimes cuddle, then by all means, get a cat. But if you want a companion that will take road trips, play in the park, and help you get that cute girl (or guy) at the gym’s attention, get yourself a dog. David Stansberry

The rest is up to you

So, whats the consensus? Cats or dogs? Who knows if this argument will ever be settled, but at least now you have two accounts from a cat lover and a dog lover to help your decision along.

Entertainment

Donald Trump as Seen by Google’s Deep Dream

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THIS CONTENT WAS REPUBLISHED FROM AN EARLIER DATE.

Last Summer, Google unleashed Deep Dream, their neural network that takes pictures and tries to identify patterns and overwrite them, on an unsuspecting public. When you put an image into Deep Dream, what you get when it “wakes up” is often nightmarish. Dogs, birds, insects, pagodas are inserted at random places in the image, giving it a surreal and sometimes beautiful–if terrifying–aspect.

So, since this election season is already off-the-charts surreal, I thought to myself, “What would it look like if we ran some candidates through Deep Dream?” Well, now I know.  I started with Donald Trump, who is already deeply weird and unsettling. The results are spectacular.

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Satire

From the MRA Evidence Archives: The Journal of a Normal, Average Feminist

Awoke and whispered to my boobs, Bea Arthur and Jackie O, “It’s Tuesday. You know what that means, ladies? Time to oppress some dudes.”

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THIS CONTENT WAS REPUBLISHED FROM AN EARLIER DATE.

 Tuesday July 5, 2016

Awoke and whispered to my boobs, Bea Arthur and Jackie O, “It’s Tuesday. You know what that means, ladies? Time to oppress some dudes.”

Walked to work wearing my plunging crop top that says, “This is what a feminist looks like,” hot pants, and six-inch heels. Tossed my hair a lot and sexily chewed my lower lip. Dropped change so I could slowly bend over and pick it up. It took me about an hour to walk five blocks, which is standard.

Exceeded my catcall goal by seven, a personal best. Super flattering, of course, but will pretend to be terrified and make men feel bad about it with a bunch of tweets. That’ll show them.

Some dowdy librarian tried to help me with the change I kept dropping, and she got catcalled too! No one invades my catcalling turf. Slapped the books right out of her hands. Mostly by Hemingway, whom I both hate and would totally do if he were alive.

Arrived late per usual, but the boss didn’t say anything, just stared at my tits and gave me a pass. I had buttressed Bea Arthur and Jackie O in a push-up bra stuffed with the hard-earned cash of some beta male I cheated on. Good thinking.

By Friday I hope to a) screw my way to executive assistant, b) replace some poor slob who works really hard, or c) file a sexual harassment lawsuit. We’ll just see what the week brings, like whether or not the boss is a lesbian. Fingers crossed!

Spent the rest of the workday playing Candy Crush and convincing Dale from accounting to do everything for me. Stringing Dale along is why I keep coming in. It makes all the pretending to work worth it. I might boink him someday, but I want to see how low he’ll stoop for a bit of action.

I don’t get off on it per se, in so much that I don’t get off. Ever. At all. But I pretend that I could, just to make all the guys I’ve ever been with feel like losers. Watching them fumble and feel emasculated without pants is like Christmas – if I were to sleep with Santa and watch him fumble and feel emasculated without pants.

mens-rights-venn-diagram

Went to happy hour after work and didn’t pay a dime. Cosmos just appeared in front of me. Dumb guys just handed me cash for being hot, and I filled my bra until Bea Arthur and Jackie O ballooned up like the boobs of evil women on TV. My role models, natch.

Some dude wearing a huge, purple hat came up to me and said I looked like an uglier Angelina Jolie. He lifted his shirt to show that his torso was hard, rippling, and embroidered with diamonds so he had every right to tell me that. I hooked up with him in the men’s room. That’ll show him.

Went home and let loose a series of drunken, liar tweets about how hard my life is and how I want equality. Even inebriated, it’s important to keep my stilettoed foot on the neck of men everywhere. Those tweets and opinion pieces just skewer them. More powerful than the laws of God or man are the messages I hastily type with my thumbs.

A good Tuesday over all, but did not receive free coffee by sexily slow jamming my order. The barista must’ve taken the red pill.

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Food

Woman begs city council to bring back McRib

The McRib Shortage of ’15. It was the single greatest tragedy this country has ever endured. But one woman, one brave voice, said, “No. This will not do.” #mcrib #sheslovinit

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Well over a year ago a tragic event occurred: In the fall of 2015, the executives of McDonald’s made a grave decision, the consequences of which are still felt to this day. They decided that when the McRib was released that year it would… it would allow the regional managers to decide whether or not they would offer the McRib. As a result, a staggering 45 percent of McDonald’s locations elected not to offer the McRib. It was the single greatest tragedy this country has ever endured. But one woman, one brave voice, said, “No. This will not do.”

First off, shout out to Reader James from Lake Elsinore, CA for alerting us to the tale of hardship and heroism. You see, when Xanthe Pajarillo, a “McRib activist,” realized that none of the ten McDonald’s locations in her hometown of Santa Clarita would be offering the McRib, she did what any reasonable red-blooded American citizen would do. She brought the issue before the city council.

Now it is no secret that the McRib Shortage of ’15 nearly brought the nation to a standstill. In fact, if it weren’t for the release of a special McRib locator app, experts speculate that America would have ceased to exist as it does today. But amidst all of the rolling blackouts, the deaths, and the riots, we overlooked all of the smaller, personal tragedies that took place because of the cruel decision made by nearly half of McDonald’s regional managers.

In her impassioned plea to the Santa Clarita city council, Pajarillo explained just why the McRib meant so much to her and her family, and why the city council had to act in order to bring it back.

“The removal of the McRib from the menu has affected my family, because every Thanksgiving, my family would, like, order a 50-piece chicken McNugget and like, 10 McRibs. It was like, a tradition in our family, and now it’s like—well, like my family’s holiday spirit is kind of messed up and broken.”

Recently Pajarillo heroic speech before the city council has gone viral, gaining attention at the national stage across social media. Since that dramatic event, Pajarillo has continued to fight for the return of the McRib, even going so far as to release a song dubbed “The McRib Blues.” In it, she lays bare her soul and the souls of those like her to whom the McRib is more than just a barbecue pork sandwich, but is instead, a way of life.

There are those out there, deplorables who hardly deserve mention, that call her bravery nothing more than a stunt. Performance art holding up a mirror to America’s consumerism and obsession. However, others stand by the truth. Pajarillo is a hero, fighting for both a sandwich, but also for something more. Something ephemeral. That little piece of Americana that brings us all together. The McRib.

Fight on, brave warrior, fight on.

♪ Cause we have right to eat what we like, McRib is worth the fight ♪

Still can’t get enough of the McRib? Learn how a McRib is made, courtesy of BuzzFeed.

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