Chapter 6
Give a man a fish, and he will nuke it in the microwave.
Teach a man to fish, and he will dynamite the lake.

“ Men are just a total life support system for a penis.”
 — Mistress Barbara Darke

I’ve always seen women in a different way than many do. Somehow, I’ve always sensed in a way their inherent superiority to the male. Their natural connection to the universe. Their ability to tap into the next world without really trying. No sense arguing this point with me. This is the very cornerstone of my belief system. Every woman holds in her, by virtue of born gender, an aspect of the Goddess, thus making them Goddesses themselves. The reason the world isn’t a utopian paradise as advertised on the box is simply because the world is run by monkeys. Men are basically apes with opposable thumbs. I know this to be a fact; I was born one. We are not cut out to deal with our ability to abstract. We can’t form thoughts along nonlinear lines. We shit, fart, fuck, fight, drink, and sleep with equal enthusiasm, and we can’t tell which action is more important because they all seem the same. Welcome to the real Planet of the Apes.

Truth is, Woman can access the right and left hemispheres of the brain easier than men. They are physically stronger than men in all aspects except upper body strength. The only reason that men are needed is to climb trees to get to the good bananas. Upper body strength serves no other purpose, except getting into fights, acting as human forklifts, and possibly jerking off. Women have a much higher pain tolerance, a much higher tolerance for temperature change. They are infinitely more adaptable to environment and terrain, and, most important of all, they are the source of life. Men cannot make life. Hell, they cannot even make a car run unless they get together in a pack and drink a case or two of beer.

In the 1970s, The US Military commissioned a study on who would make the best fighter pilots for the new generation of fighting aircraft. Seems that test pilots were blacking out under extreme g force at Mach 2.5 and higher. The planes were getting faster and faster, and the reaction time required to operate more and more complicated systems effectively was killing test pilots right and left. When the study’s conclusions were presented, It was instantly dismissed and buried by the Pentagon. In every requirement stated for a first rate future flying Man, the best man for the job was a short woman with high blood pressure. This study rocked the military status quo to its murderous testosterone-powered core, and threatened every male-held belief boys clung to. To this day, no General will admit that the study exists, but thanks to the Freedom of Information Act, a whole female graduating class from the air force academy can know that they have been screwed once again by the Monkeys in charge.

Think that I’m exaggerating the situation? Next time you drive by a construction site or a road crew that is digging a hole, you will see one man digging the hole, and six other workers watching the hole, doing nothing. They do it for hours. At one construction site I passed, a huge fresh muddy hole drew 20 workers, paralyzed, staring into the abyss. It transfixes them. A hole is a bug light for males. If a man is walking by a hole being dug on a street, he will stop and join the throng. If he is rushed, then he will only slow down to look into the hole but I guarantee he wants to join his brothers desperately. What are they expecting to find in there? Fossils? The Ark of the Covenant? “Stop the dig boys, we’ve struck gold!” I swear that if suddenly the world’s television broadcasting systems were to go down and men were unable to resort to video games, they would roam in hordes on the streets desperate to find a hole. The person digging the hole would become their King, and society would be reorganized along the rim of endless craters dotting the landscape.

After my experiences as a toddler, I began to form my own unique brand of spirituality. Even though I went to church regularly and read those illustrated bible story books you used to be able to find in doctors’ offices, I began to suspect there was a bigger untold story behind it all, a conspiracy of silence and a campaign of oppression, to keep the true workings of the universe a secret. For some reason who or what really ran the whole show was keeping a low profile. Why, I wondered. Wasn’t it obvious that a male God as president of creation was like putting Spanky in charge of the club house? Highjinx and mayhem could only ensue, and without a doubt things would be broken or destroyed.

The idea of a male-run universe just makes me laugh. When I think of every time I got together with my male buddies and the things that happened, I wince. I do know they had nothing to do with enlightenment or dignity or order or intelligence. I picture the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost sitting in heaven drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, lighting their collective farts on fire, and bitching about not getting laid. It was glaringly obvious that Darla was in charge of Our Gang. And Spanky, at best, was her court jester.

Why did everybody pretend it could possibly be any other way? Were men scared of something? Organized religion seemed to me to be a typical example of the Emperor’s New Clothes. Everybody preaching that it was a man’s world, to keep the men from pouting and make them feel important. With that said, it begs the question: Why were women pretending that men had even the remotest idea what they were doing? Why did women let this go on? What the fuck were they thinking? Couldn’t they see if you let the men drive the bus there was going to be a crash?

Men were always starting wars and riots and getting themselves blown up. They seemed to take great delight in inventing better and better ways to do this on a larger and larger scale. Here were women, with all this repressed ability, just sitting around and letting them do it. Women were staying home to fulfill a so-called biological imperative to make more men so they could go off and be killed in wars and other monumental stupid acts. Like hazing rituals to join frats. Where the hell was the dissension? Where was the revolution? Where were the man kennels, and boy ranches? Were women scared of men? How could they be?

Men are monkeys in a zoo. Strong, potentially vicious, but when properly controlled, with, say, a cattle prod to the prostate, the worst they can do is throw shit at people. The gender division is run like a Warner Brothers cartoon. Men are a simple pack of Wily Coyotes and women are greased lightning Road Runners. All Roadrunner women have to do is simply step aside and Wily Coyote guys will go over the cliff every time. I call this The Law of the Bungle, or Testicle Slapstick.

With each passing year as I grew, I became abundantly aware that the world I had been thrust into was stark raving mad. It has been said that insanity is the only sane reaction to an insane world. Given that, then I think I might have been the normal one all these years, and everybody else the lunatics. Need I mention the political systems of the world, to beleaguer an obvious overstated point? No, I don’t think so.

Growing up, however, I had no idea the way I was thinking was at all regarded as abnormal. It was easy to keep my thoughts to myself anyway, as nobody really gives a flying fuck what a kid thinks. I simply defined the universe by what information was at hand, and how I perceived my feelings at the time. There was so much more to learn, and I was an innocent wide-open circuit.
 

– to be continued –