Hunter has inspired me to write this due to his excellent piece on Douche Hat Ross and his imaginary war on men. This “writer” for the New York Times has enraged me for years with his thoughtless, poorly-conceived, garbage articles. His latest though turd is all about poor, poor downtrodden men. In a humorous twist, one paragraph rivals Tucker Carlson’s latent homosexual fantasies for cringey ideas about how these manly, men with their bulging muscles and upper body strength just aren’t suited for service jobs. So, Ross, who is the walking, blathering definition of un-earned, white male privilege, has not ever carried a tray loaded full of dirty dished over his head and into the the kitchen. We know that now because he thinks the women who are supposed to do this job do not have superior, upper body strength. LOL!
He thinks that one of the most important stories of who is oppressed in America is those (imaginary?) manly men who just want to be admired and compensated for their upper body strength but, have to take service jobs like the rest of us instead. This is the real, urgent problem in his warped mind!
I had a REAL problem last week, I came home from work, where I, a mere woman, talk about space, rockets and missiles!, and found an 11 foot alligator in my driveway. My husband was taking a nap. Did I tearfully wake him, quaking in fear, clutching my pearls? No, I did not. I put on my big girl panties and called the trapper. I did not want to see Bubba bang-sticked but I also did not want to be trapped in my house indefinitely along with my dog, who had to pee. See, that is an actual problem. 11 feet is pretty large as gators go and yet, that gator could easily outrun even my dog; that’s how fast they can move!
I did wake my husband when a truck came down the driveway. It was not the trapper, but Frank Robb, an acquaintance of mine, who everyone around here calls, “Alligator Robb.” The trapper asked him to stop by and see if I was correct about the gator being over 8 feet. You know how silly, little women can’t measure anything correctly! Robb called in the size and then we blabbed a bit before he told me, in all seriousness, that my Bubba was hurt and he must have been in a fight with an even LARGER gator, who kicked him out of his spot! Again, this was an ACTUAL problem as the “spot” was a culvert that empties into the Indian River Lagoon, right beside my home.
Alligator Robb is a 30-ish guy who dresses like a hipster and has a longish beard. He is not muscle-bound but he is strong. He is also soft-spoken and shared my regrets about the fate of Bubba, but reassured me that the trapper, his friend, would use every bit of the gator, the meat, the bones, teeth etc. See! Robb is compassionate and thoughtful, not a whiney little, would-be macho man. Although he does hold live gators for the purpose of educating others, and he sometimes traps them. In other words, Robb is a grown, damn man, not a baby man.
At this point, I woke my husband because I knew he’d be mad if he didn’t get to see that gator before the trapper came. His idiot, croc-clad feet are in the background of this photo. He is a liberal, vegetarian, Cuban, ex-professional (Pharmacist) who posts things like “Black Lives Matter” on his FB page, and yet he is the very embodiment of that manly, idiotish risk-taking, ready for anything, grown-ass man. He is 70 and still fixes his own roof, walking all over it. He owns 2 chain saws. I love him, but I do tire of him hurting his idiot self, thinking he is 20 rather than 70.
Well Bubba had to be bang-sticked 3 times and I am very sorry about that. The trapper took him and Robb left as well. Problem solved for now, but a REAL problem. Also, scrubbing Gator blood and stink off of the driveway is a real problem. I made my husband do it only because he was very willing and has less ability to smell than I do.
Ross Douchehat is so bad at writing and his ideas are both f-ed up and incredibly boring while also lacking in any kind of originality. How is this man imagining he is the voice of the oppressed for Godssake? He grew up in New Haven and went to a posh boarding school. His grandfather was a damn governor and his father a big time law partner. He graduated from Harvard! He has no upper body strength; he is squishy looking and pasty-faced! I want so badly to punch him in the face and I’m sure I could manage it because I used to fight in big, regional karate tournaments in the men’s division. I’ll bet this whiney douche has never even taken a punch. To be clear: I WOULD NEVER ACTUALLY RESORT TO VIOLENCE! I have too much honor for that, also, I don’t want to be sued. I just like imagining it.
What did I get for the aforementioned fighting along with a bunch of crappy trophies and medals and a host of injuries that I did not realize would come creeping back when I was old? The guys at work thought I was a lesbian. I also drove a little, crummy pick up truck, but that was because I was poor at the time. Guess who did not think I was a lesbian, that’s right, my husband. He begged to watch me fight in a black belt exam and bragged to his friends about it. He was also thrilled about the truck and started borrowing it as soon as we became and item, because he loves to haul heavy stuff around. He is an actual man — no need to tan his testicles or whine about the good old days. Funny how that works!
We HAVE to put a stop to this lazy, false narrative that men are being left behind in our society and need help! Men, please help yourselves! Stop buying guns and interfering with our democracy. Shut up and pay attention in school the way girls do. Get a job, ANY JOB! and grow the hell up! Keep your mouth shut about what my daughter or yours should do with her body! Do volunteer work. Read a book. Fix your own problems without trying to make them my fault or society’s fault. Try to become a better person. Stop whining about nothing! That’s what the rest of us are doing out here. Come join us.
Thank you for coming to my TED talk!