Men, We’re Owned

Recently, a surly Rager submitted the following comment to the Pulitzer-snubbed post, Pit Bull Owners: Why Aren’t You Smart:

Men are more dangerous than pit bulls and we allow them to roam freely. Just as every breed has the potential for violence, both genders can be dangerous, but the male of our species is much stronger and outbursts can be much more deadly. Males have a higher tendency toward sexual deviance and sexual aggression toward women, other men, and children. They have a higher tendency toward violent acts and can be attributed to causing most of the wars throughout history. Yet we allow them to walk the streets, care for children, operate motor vehicles, and make decisions that affect entire countries.

If you are a man, Angry Czeck, than I am sorry. I’m insensitive. What I mean to say is, you’re not smart.

I must admit, she has a point. Not about pit bulls. Owning a pit bull is still crazy. So is the apples-to-tubas argument about men. Once again, nutty pet-people are placing dogs atop the same totem pole as human beings. Plus, she’s way off-base about me not being smart. How can one make such a claim when I flex my intelligence on this blog twice a month? Insane!

The point is: Men, we’re losing it.

Worse still, we might have already lost it. And by “it” I mean “our hairy-knuckled grip on the social structure of humanity.”

Man, we had it good! It was a mere handful of years ago when scrubbing, diaper changing, cooking, and general pleasuring were strictly in the domain of “the fairer sex.” Hell, we could even say “fairer sex” while punctuating it with a wink and a grin. Then off to the club for bumper pool, cognac and cigars!

Dinosaurs. Dodo Birds. This.

Man once ruled the earth! Angry Dad tells me the fantastic tales of yore all the time. Why, men used to stay out at all hours without explanation! Bending the elbow with cronies was his right because he made all the bread, damnitt. Furthermore, weekends weren’t for family or for helping the little lady pick out curtains for the sunroom. Feh! Weekends were for golf and football games and the eating of big piles of meat!

This was perfectly acceptable behavior! Boys will be boys, and smiling girls read the magazines patiently explaining why this was so. Men arrived home to be greeted by glasses of Scotch and ice. Later, like a lord in a fiefdom, he might devote ten-to-fifteen minutes arbitrating petty disputes between the kids. (“You’d better start cracking those math books, son!”) Later it was rough one-sided sex, whether she felt like it or not!

Yes, yes, those were the days. Marriages weren’t a partnership back then. They were a monarchy, and Man was King! Women wore formal dresses late into the evening and discussed amongst themselves how to better please their husbands. Men drank too many beers and orchestrated elaborate ways to bang their secretaries (who were dreaming about being banged by the boss anyway). Good times.

Then we screwed it up. When? Who knows for sure, but 1920 certainly wasn’t a good year for Maninance™ (Man + Dominance). That was the year the ladies got the vote. For centuries, we men had women convinced that their political voice was more like a giggly whisper in the ear of their husbands (“Tee Hee! Pick the handsome candidate, sweet heart!). Besides, chicks couldn’t be bothered with politics when there was meat to thaw and shirts to press!

The beginning of the end of Maninance™.

Aw, we fucked it up anyway. And if we hadn’t gotten into good old-fashioned fisticuffs with Germany and Japan in the forties, our emasculation probably would have arrived several decades sooner. But we were just postponing the inevitable.

When women were inserted into the workforce and discovered that they too could earn an income, well, that was it, boys. The gig was up. A serious plank in the platform of Maninance was tossed in the kindling bin. Standing By Your Man became an option rather than a requirement.

Suddenly, manly traditions like boozing, whoring, and extended vacations with the guys became as endangered as bald eagles and ashtrays. Clever women began to adopt slogans like Equal Pay for Equal Work and If You Expect Me to do That in Bed, Then I Want This! It was all falling apart!

Aw crap. They’re on to us, man!

Men attempted to adapt. We wrote sensitive rock songs, wore black turtlenecks, and searched our feelings. (To our horror, we had some.) Instead of hitting the golf course for a quick nine, we started attending births. We learned what Latin words like cunillingus meant. In public schools, Boys Will Be Boys gave way to Girl Power. Clint Eastwood even cried in a movie! In the name of Pete!

I fear that it may be too late for us.

But it’s too late. Women have been given a taste of the power enjoyed lo these many eons by us dumb men, who flew too close to the sun and now come crashing painfully to Earth…as slaves!

Our grip isn’t slipping, Men! It’s gone! A Tennessee woman was recently exonerated of murdering her husband. The dude made the mistake of asking her to wear leather boots to bed. The presiding judge might as well have hammered his gavel onto every testicle sack in America. We’re doomed!

Don’t you get it? Murder and violence used to be Man’s trademarked commodities (VIOLENCE™ MURDER®). This new breed of furious chicks is stealing them from beneath our hairy nostrils! While we’re getting sensitive, the women are manning-up!

It won’t be long until they turn their
fists of fury on us, guys.

We can only blame ourselves. If Man had only invented a battle tank with a “three-on-the-tree,” women might have never shown an interest in joining the armed forces. And who in the hell authorized the Cosmopolitan martini? Now women are hanging out after hours and getting drunk while us guys are left holding the diaper bag! Disgrace!

“Don’t worry your hairy little heads, Boys.
We’re in charge!”

Scraps of hope do exist, Brothers. While watching The Apprentice with Mrs. Angry (after Grey’s Anatomy and Desperate Housewives), we both noted how the all-female team of young execs repeatedly self-destructed in a verbal mudpit of cat-clawing while the XY Chromosomes functioned as a ruthless and effective team.

“Why can’t the women just suck it up and get along?” wondered Mrs. Angry aloud. It was a rhetorical question. The ball gag prevented me from responding.



One response to “Men, We’re Owned

  1. Laughing. So. Hard. Tears in my eyes. And for everyone’s info, my rabid little Mabel, all 20 furious pounds of her that lives in hope of one day eating a jogger, is always leash bound outside the house. I hate pit bulls. And rotweilers (or however you spell it). And any other dog capable of ripping open my jugular when their ‘basic breeding’ instincts take over. That person needs to get over it.

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