If only I could be an earthworm

A couple of things.

First, Imus and Charles are probably lying through their coffee stained teeth about visiting strip clubs.

Second, I have frequented such establishments years ago. I eventually concluded that go-go bars are places where prematurely balding, man-boobed, middle aged business men hire enterprising young shapely women, forming a convenient unholy alliance of distrust to tap into the cash cow created when injured fragile male egos are deceived by alcohol induced sexual fantasy. All the females need to do is squirm provocatively while whispering real sweet nothings into customers’ hair filled ears. And if carried out correctly, the dollars shoot out of the slobbering stooges like ATMs in gleeful male orgasm. Make no mistake about it; the dancer is always in control of the patron. And when she is not, she moves on to the next penis clad cash machine. The only cost to her is to turnover some obscene percentage of the take to her sleazy male boss. It’s a business after all, and business is still a male dominated endeavor.

Third, if one has ever listened to Imus for more than an hour, one knows he and his cronies takes delight in sexually stereotyping and demeaning women. This idea that Charles and he are better than that is all part of the act.

For instance, a few minutes further into the same interview, Imus commented on the “balls” it took for Maureen Dowd to write a particular op-ed piece about Judith Miller—a remark that she quickly and graciously accepted with a simple and sweet, “thank you”. Although I haven’t checked, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that Ms. Dowd does not have testicles. So why was she so quick to acknowledge and accept what I’m guessing she felt was a compliment? I’m pretty sure that bravery, fearlessness, strength, and conviction—all nice attributes to have when kept in check by common sense—are not gender assigned. And I’m positive they are not a function of male genitalia. I’m equally convinced that reluctance, fearfulness, and weakness do not require one to have a vagina.

It’s one thing, a very feeble thing at that, for Imus and his crew or even Jon Stewart and Al Franken for that matter—all professed non-chauvinists—to use male-centric language in an “equal opportunity” way; misguided into believing that somehow they are treating women and men equally.

It is another thing though for Maureen Dowd to acknowledge and welcome her inclusion into the club. She could have simply said, “Imus are you suggesting that I have to be a man to be tough?”

I am sure if asked Maureen Dowd would say without hesitation that she is a feminist or at least a proponent of feminist beliefs. Why then did she let Imus off the hook and indulge in the myth?

Like many things about feminists, I don’t get it. They can be their own worst enemy from time to time—just like Democrats when they run a national campaign.

Here is another example of something I don’t get. Why do some corporate feminists find short tight skirts, plunging necklines and push-up bras to be the business suit of choice? I suppose they might argue, just as strippers might, that they are simply using their power over men to get what they want. And on some level I understand that argument: play into the male need to be the sexual alpha dog as long as the targeted objective is personal gain. This attitude however strikes me as feeding the very stereotyping and sexism women want to end, which leads me into a short discussion of another dilemma I have with feminism.
Within the last few years, I have been introduced to the forefront of feminist thought. Well not introduced exactly, more like pummeled. Here is what I have learned. I have something called. “white male privilege”. Essentially, whether I consciously or subconsciously acknowledge that privilege, it doesn’t matter. I have it and I need to “own it”. I’m pretty sure that means I have to fess up to it and wear it like a scarlet letter (although a white penis will do just fine). Believe me! I understand the importance of the concept. The dried blood tracking from my ears is proof positive of the difficulties and hard work it took me to reach that understanding.

But that’s as far as the feminists have taken me. I’m afraid to tell them but it’s like a false crescendo. It can’t be the end of the symphony. Okay, so I “own” white male privilege. What next? There must be more. Am I supposed to give it up someday? Is it like owning an unregistered gun? Will there be a turn-in-your-white-male-privilege amnesty day? I’d be more than happy to if I just knew when, where and to whom? Or come to think of it, maybe not. What takes its place? Or worse, who gets it next? Gee, maybe I should take advantage of it more consciously while I still have it.

Anyway, in the meantime, as I meander aimlessly, I’m going to refrain from saying stuff like, “Hey that Barbara Boxer, she sure has some pouch of brass nuggets on her.” I will also try to be more cognizant of this privilege I have and renounce it at every turn. It’s all I can do until I get further instructions.

You know, I can’t help but think if reincarnation happens, I might want to come back as an earthworm. They have both the male and female sex organs. When they mate they impregnate each other. Everything is “even up”. And the result is that they are a pretty happy bunch. You don’t hear about earthworms having male/female issues. Okay so they have other issues—fish hooks being a big one. But quite frankly, I’m not sure that is any worse; sometimes I think it is a whole lot better.

The above article was wrtten by humorist Robert Crane. Similar articles, short stories, and satire by Robert can be found at his popular site: http://www.cranelegs.com

Drop by!

Rating : 1.22, 22 votes. Reviews : 7 [add review]

Previous story [ Funny stories index ] Next story
Previous story [ humor stories index ] Next story

Random pics