Why We Suck_ A Feel Good Guide to Staying Fat, Loud, Lazy and Stupid - Denis Leary [88]
Believe me, if blood came out the end of my penis every month? I'd have the due date nailed down to the exact goddam second and every guy I worked with would know when it was gonna happen. That's another thing about guys-we won't go to the doctor to have our prostate checked-can't stand any man OR machine touching our asses-but we see the slightest beginning of a mole or a growth or even just a stray dot of lint on our penis? Right down to the cock doctor's office. Immediately. So if blood came outta that thing? Forget it. There wouldn't be a war for another seven centuries-unless we could all synchronize our situations. Then we'd bomb and maim and behead each other for three weeks-take ten days off to bloat, whine and moan-then compare notes about who bled how much and go right back to the maiming and the killing.
Who Bled How Much would become a sign of whose dick was bigger, by the way.
Which brings us to shopping, somehow.
Why is it that everything a woman brings home was "on sale." Shoes, coats, gloves, chairs. Anything and everything she buys. "It was supposed to cost eighteen hundred but I got it on sale for a thousand."
That's how she describes a lamp.
Men? We are the exact opposite. Nothing worth having is worth having at all unless it was the most expensive one ever made. "Look at this plasma, Bob-forty-seven thousand six hundred and ninety-nine bucks! Biggest one they make!"
It wasn't enough to have a pill that gave you a hard-on that arrived within half an hour and lasted almost fifteen minutes.
Nope.
We needed an even more expensive pill that bonerizes within seconds and can last up to almost three goddam days.
Cialis-the onus of the trophy wife.
I'll bet Marla Maples filed for divorce from The Donald about eight minutes after she heard Viagra was headed to the open market.
You have to keep a sense of humor about it all, which can be hard in this country nowadays-pun most definitely intended.
One thing that drives men crazy is women who arrive humorless into whatever workplace it might be and then can't understand why none of the men they work with will either flirt, laugh or co-operate with them.
The answers are thus:
1. Flirting is now considered a form of sexual harassment.
2. Laughing means you have to have mutual respect, which is earned and not legislated or demanded in a memo.
3. See Flirting and Laughing.
When men work and hang and eat lunch and work and sweat and laugh and work with each other-as explained earlier in this book-there are several things involved: cutthroat challenges, seemingly endless competition, nicknames and a sense of bust-yer-ass for the team camaraderie. You don't get to pick your own nickname-it's given to you based on your performance. This seems to evade most women. They see the competition and ballbusting and direct eye contact as demeaning and sexist and male. It is. If ya don't wanna run with the big dogs then stay on the fucking porch.
Men have no guilt gene about being at work instead of at home with the kids-it's the natural order of things. Nine out of ten kids tested will tell you when they fall down, when they are hungry, when they are tired, when they are just plain in a pissy mood-they want their mommies. Knowing that to be a fact-knowing that it is an actual enzyme in your system-you can't possibly be happy not being at home with your children.
No kids-go ahead and pick a career and chase it down like Lawrence Taylor tearing after an enemy quarterback.
Kids? Your place is with them.
You cannot have it both ways.
Where did the shame in being a full-time, hands-on, always-there-when-they-need-me mom come from?
I know single gay men who are more willing to stay home and raise kids today than half of their female friends. Which means, of course-the kids'll be better dressed and even the boys will carry lip balm, but that's not the point I'm trying to make. This is:
I'd have had a lot more respect for Hillary Clinton if instead of launching an eleven-thousand-page