It’s amazing how a little encounter with someone who has a preconceived notion of how you are supposed to be can make you feel… Here be a rant. Excuse the language and the questionable science.
KISSING MY ASS
Hello, I am a forty-year old man. And I am a pussy. Not a simple pussy. I am a complex pussy. I am a raging, hormone-driven, slightly-trimmed pussy who is nevertheless indispensable to the world, to our future, to everything that we have built and hope to build: I am Modern Man, and you need to hear what I have to say.
Men. Are we men? Has a woman ever accused you of not being a man in the traditional sense of the word? Has a woman ever put you down for what you like, why you like it, for being something other than a high school dropout blue collar handyman who loves his hammer so much that it’s halfway up his ass? Well, I don’t think we should stand for this. Modern Man has silently embraced his evolution. His fate. And we should stand up for what we have become.
The Lament of the Modern Woman Hypothesis: modern man is emasculated, wimpy, unable to man up or down or in any other direction.
My Counter-Proposal: and you were expecting what exactly? Did you just wake up and realize this, dimwad? I thought girls were smarter than this.
My Hypothesis: I, Modern Man, am a product of evolution, the shining star that Darwin envisioned. I am the end of the chain. And I am a pussy. And guess what? That is okay. It is exactly what was supposed to happen.
MY EVOLUTIONARY PATH: A NOTE TO THE GIRLS WHO THINK I’M A WIMP
I want to tell you about me – Mr. Modern Man. This is me. And I’m proud of me.
You see, I am a warrior of 6am to 6pm work followed by a pita in the car on the way to dance practice, and then a frantic fumbling with the missus on the king-size while each of us listen to the baby monitor and make sure we don’t go past 9:30 pm. I may not be able to fix the washing machine, but I can bring down a small country with my keyboard. That’s the type of man I am. That’s where my evolution has taken me. You don’t like my leather tie and my stubble? Well don’t get too close, this stubble’s been groomed to a point and yes, that’s not the only thing groomed around here.
It doesn’t matter what people say, Modern Man is a product of evolution and is continuing to evolve, and that is actually a good thing, so if I want to sing along to Arcade Fire, I will do so at the top of my lungs. Playing it loud, because Modern Man is still king of the clan, still master of his domain, and a little vanilla syrup in my coffee doesn’t mean that I won’t plow my woman (or man) like a freight train until the cows come home. And then eat the cow bloody raw.
And guess what, yes I’m a pussy, a great big pussy who isn’t afraid of the word, who loves the word, who relishes the word, who wears that big bad word around my neck like it’s the badge of the Modern Man: Pussy Man, roaring like a savage as I shape my ironic beard with the latest ointments and oils. I smell good. I hate sweat. And I BLARE Total Eclipse of the Heart in my hot yellow Audi because I can feel the bass in my whiskers.
You don’t like my sensitivities? Look, I got emotions, and we got to stop suppressing the truth, that men can’t be sensitive and still be men. Last I saw, crying during Twilight doesn’t mean my penis will fall off, any more than watching Die Hard gives you a boner, girl. This is not gender slagging, it’s about gender fulfillment, the ongoing journey of a promise that was made by our man genes, a natural progression towards harmony and a happy household – what’s so wrong with that? I will buy the Christmas presents. I will comb my little girl’s hair. But does that mean I won’t fuck up the next guy that gives me attitude in an on-line first-person shooter? Hell no.
I am the explorer of the internet, the inventor of the automobile, I am the first man on the moon – and I did it all while sitting on a yoga mat. I am a deep sea diver, a shark tamer, and yes I am not a lumberjack anymore, but guess what, killing trees is bad. I will play my Abba at max volume, and if the neighbors object to the noise, I WILL invite them over for some red wine and a game of parcheese (whatever the fuck that is), and when I go to start my car and it doesn’t turn over, I will IMMEDIATELY call AAA to come and fix it, because the last time I tried to check my oil level, I got a burn off my muffler. And besides that, we live in an age of specialization where people are trained to do certain things far better than I am – yes, we have actually grown up since those precious hunter/gatherer days when a jack-of-all-trades was important, but now it means approximately jack shit. Please please please stop messing with what is going on here. Please stop messing with my evolution.
In my opinion, the various characterizations of gender are starting to blend. Hell, we have enough hormone in our water supply system that androgyny is inevitable anyway – men and women coming closer together, faster and faster, merging towards a sameness that has only one essential difference: Modern Man is way ahead of his competition in this race.
DEAR GIRLS WHO DISRESPECT THE MODERN MAN
I think the problem isn’t that you don’t like me. The issue is this: I’ve grown up, lady, and you haven’t kept pace, and as you look around this madhouse of civilization that we’ve built, you’ve realized that I am in fact where you as a woman want to go. I get to be sensitive – I get to drink beer with the boys. I get to be gentle – I get to shoot live animals. I get everything: I get the cake, I get to eat it, and if I want, I get to pick it out of my well-shaped beard and do you while I smear you with the crumbs.
And that’s the difference. We are going to become equal, no matter how much some of us will kick and scream on the way to that endpoint – men and women are going to secure equality, it’s inevitable. It’s correct. It’s also an evolutionary requirement, because last I looked, there does not appear to be any significant difference between the abilities of men and women anyway, so this is something that has been unequivocally proven over the years. The difference is that Modern Man is quietly moving towards the endpoint, losing the ridiculous maleness of which we were once so proud and to which we clung so strongly because we didn’t really have anything else to shout about; and women – sure, you are more vocal about equality, but you are totally getting lapped in this race. How else do you explain me being able to go for a pedicure while drunk on beer, and seriously considering the offer when I’m asked if I want my chest waxed?
Ladies, I don’t think you’re angry. I think you’re envious. Modern Man has it all. And I think you want to be one of us. So as a conciliatory gesture, I’m inviting you in. Here’s a free pass. No cover charge. Welcome to the club, girl. Come on in. Learn the handshake. Have a drink. Have a cigar. You’re welcome here. I’m not even going to make you leave your vagina at the door. I’m nice that way – I’m Modern Man. And you, darling, are unfortunately not getting the hang of this. So please take a seat, man up some, and stop being such a cock.
((To all – sorry, I got slagged this weekend, and out came the rant. There are many more serious, real topics to be concerned about, but have you ever put something really wet into your pocket and then dealt with it for like five hours straight? This whole topic is like a wet pocket for me. We are equal – across genders, races, any division that we choose. That is all.))