There are two reasons men rule. The first has to do with the talk every mother has with her little girl in which she explains that girls develop faster than boys. What she forgets to mention is that the guys never catch up, to which I say, Thank God!
The world would be a sorry place, indeed, were it not for the eternal adolescence of the male. There would be no capitalism, no corporatism, no conquest, no empire, no porn, no bombs, no navies, no armies, no air forces, and no wars in which the emotionally crippled male could find glory in carnage.
In other words, life would be a monotonous succession of days stripped of the untimely death only conflict can offer.
The bottom line is that peace is a drag queen mincing across the stage, singing discordant songs of love and community. The peaceful life is the empty life lived in a somnolent state in which the greatest challenge is staying awake. There would be no rockets’ red glare and bombs bursting in the air. There would only be spacious skies and amber waves of grain as far as the eye could see. Gone would be the stimulation of explosions and the aesthetic chaos of ruin and rubble. No longer would the motherless child pull at the heartstrings.
Were a permanent state of peace to break out, it would spell the end of our prosperity as the machinery of war rusted and went to ruin. There would be no call to sacrifice, no medals or ribbons and no more war movies that glorified, even as they sanitized the face of war.
No, George, we don’t need men touching their feminine side; we need men grabbing their gonads and going out to kick some ass.
Which brings me to the second reason men rule: we’re the poor bastards who have to get it up, and that leads to an awful lot of posturing and bullshit.