So Easy A Caveman Could Do It?

Recently a local township decided a particular vehicle ornament, that was located just below the trailer hitch representing male genitalia, was obscene and should be outlawed. Personally, I see it as the final resting place of an almost extinct species.

It has been suggested that cavemen would claim the women of their dreams with a light rap on the head followed by a hair-dragging retreat to his boudoir. Through the ages, this concept was refined and finessed into a rather ornate ritual....that is until the 1960's. Then, women of our society rose up in vigilante flourish stating, "....treat women as equals. We can do anything a man can do...". And what happened? Men of our society gave a careless shrug and said, "OK". Women gained equality and men lost chivalry. Gone was the man that held anything: a coat, a door, a cab, an elevator. So the women of society decided that men would need to be "retrained". So what is the product of that outcome you might ask? I refer to this individual as the "Cojoneless King" (CK for short). CK has been so completely castrated that even simple conversations have left him paralyzed with fear and indecision.

"Where are we going to dinner?"
"I don't care, where would you like to go?"
"I want to redo the house, what do you think?"
"Whatever you want to do."
"I'm hungry and you're paying"
"OK"
"Who were you looking at?!"
"Nobody"

and the classic:

"Does this make me look fat?" Ladies do you REALLY expect him to just cut them off himself and hand them to you?

"Yes Shamo, you look about two ax handles wide! Let me get the yard stick! Could you at least beep when you back up so I can get out of the way?! MY EYES, MY EYES!!"

Now don't misunderstand me. I don't seek the Neanderthal of yesteryear, but this wimp on a stick is just too far gone in the other direction. I like assuming he will pick up the check. It's annoying trying to decide how much money I need to stuff into the pathetic excuse that I refer to as an evening bag. Do I need money for my dinner? Money for a cab if he gets stupid? Personally, I like having the door held, my coat held, and the elevator held. I virtually envision male manhood withering; however, when I see him holding a purse. (And no, it's not "His" man bag). What's wrong with a classic sailor bends the nurse backwards to lay a fat (I may never see you again) kiss on her? Ladies, let him make the first move. Gentlemen, get a clue! Move it! Let's spice things up a little people! It's only sexual harassment if you don't like it!

Anatomy of Perfection

Why is it that humans feel a need to claim territorial perfection? My big backyard. My terrific job. My fantastic family. But it doesn't stop there. We even feel a need to claim territory that isn't even ours. "I'm a leg man, I'm a boob man, I like big butts and I cannot..." We then make judgements, based on the territory that we have claimed as our own, to fit our idea of perfection. "You know what they say about a man and the size of his feet." (And if you don't, you are too young to be reading this....PUT IT DOWN!) I even had a friend tell me that she never worried about her size because, "....a man never appreciates more than a handful." To which I replied, "That's why I only go with men with big hands!" Then again...I'm kind of a handful. And of course you know the relationship between the size of a man's hands and the size of his feet......and if you don't....FOR THE LAST TIME PUT IT DOWN!

Personally, I feel the eyes have it. Imagine rolling over and Robert Downey Jr.'s eyes are looking at you still blurred from a peaceful slumber (you know the look...not the one elicited from Rohypnol), you glance up from dinner into the arched eyes of Sean Connery. Perhaps you turn around in the grocery store just in time to catch Johnny Depp wink at you? (Wow, is it hormones or is it hot in here?!)

They say the eyes are the window to the soul, but I'm confused...his or mine? If the eyes of George Clooney ever strayed my way, I'm quite certain my trying to see into his soul would be way, way, way down on the list of what my brain would be trying to do. Frankly, I believe after massive short circuiting, every neuron would go into hyper-drive trying to explain what might possibly happen to rest of my body if I was really really lucky. You know, kind of like those people on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange after some fool hit the wrong button. "BUY! SELL! GIVE IT ALL AWAY!!" (This is probably where those cute little paddle things, they use on doctor shows, would come into action.)

Yes dear reader, my money is on the eyes. And since love is blind and hope springs eternal...I'm just waiting for my hunk to see what perfection REALLY looks like!