The Swear Jar
One-handed social commentary
Oops, I did it again! I abandoned good sense and reason all on account of a little frustration and a fair amount of low quality gin.
This past weekend, I let myself get pulled into a shouting match with someone - specifically someone who made it known that having a shouting match was his aim. I, of underdeveloped social grace and stunted emotional everything, engaged him. And, of course, it wasn't pretty.
You know, with all the increasingly intense "democrat v republican", "liberal v conservative" jibba-jabba going back and forth, it honestly bothers me that there really isn't much honest conversation happening. I've sat there and listened to each side grandstanding, draping themselves with the flag, vilifying everyone who disagrees with their oh-so-well-thought-out perspectives, and otherwise volunteering themselves for sainthood. And, vocabulary aside [albeit woefully adjacent], these conversations don't make any attempt to rise beyond the level of playground bickering and name-calling.
Don't any of you people have any dignity?
No one is listening. And yes, I mean you, noblest reader. We're so quick to be outraged and offended at the first sign of anything contrary to our sacred sensibilities, so quick to lash out and demonize the "obviously wrong" right or the "clearly wrong" left, so quick to open our mouths to congratulate and comfort one another in our shameless anger and ignorance. Adding to the tearful hilarity, we conversationally "remove a rib" with "poor me, poor us" statements drenched in underdog self-righteousness, greedily facilitating quick and dirty self-gratification in the form of wanton intellectual and emotional auto-fellatio.
It's like people are afraid of giving ear to any idea that doesn't come pre-approved by whatever group or party with which they've opted to align themselves. It's as if we believe that our values and ideas as so fragile, so easily corrupted, that the very act of entertaining the opposition will turn us from all we've come to believe to be right and good.
Valid ideas and beliefs, however, come from thoughtful, reasoned investigations and conversations. And, frightening though it may be, that includes objective inquiries and investigations of all sides of an issue or stance coupled with unbiased critical evaluations of our own positions].
No climate is static. Political, economic, social, socioeconomic, etc. et al. - These are in constant flux. As such, we must be willing to engage in fearless evaluations and reevaluations if we ever hope to have any useful conversations about these issues. No doubt, I am a firm believer in the phrase "He that doesn't stand for something will fall for anything". I also believe, however, that one can be flexible in their understanding and approach without compromising their commitment to their beliefs and values.
Listen, people. It's how you came to believe what you believe in the first place. We strengthen ourselves when we are willing to afford ourselves a chance to honestly listen to what the other guy has to say. Hell, we're all in this together. And if no one is willing to listen themselves then they've no reason to say anything.
"While a majority of U.S. voters say they would vote for a black presidential candidate, many people say the United States is still not likely to put an African-American in the Oval Office quite yet."
"Although Barack Obama is different from previous African-American presidential candidates, it is still unclear if most Americans are ready to elect a black president, say two Duke University political scientists."
AScribe Newswire, 1.16.07
"Is America ready for a black president?"
That's the question irrevocably tied to the Obama campaign. Are we, as a nation, ready to position an African-American at the helm? By now, I've heard countless reasoned yes's and no's, the overwhelming majority of them summed up one of two way;
"Yes, we've made enormous strides with regards to race relations in this country and a black president is a natural inevitability in that progression"
"No, America is stil lumbering in the infancy of our understanding and application of tolerance with regards to cultural diversity. We've not yet collectively reached the point where we can afford a minority candidate a viable opportunity for election to our highest office".
But just what does "ready" mean? I've yet to hear a single person specifically define the circumstances under which we would be qualified as "ready" for a black president. Yet everyone seems to be sure that it is or isn't "now". I, however, am not on either side of the issue because, frankly, I don't believe that readiness matters. At all.
America has NEVER been "ready" for African-American advancement.
Blacks didn't sit around discussing when America would be ready to give us civil rights. We never intended to wait until America was ready and, in fact, when it came, America was NOT ready for it. We had to march, and bleed, and riot, and die. We had to endure our children being bombed, beaten, lynched, and burned alive. We - and by we I mean those who had it in their hearts that this was a necessity, readiness be damned - had to suffer. And in the midst of that suffering, those people in the business of using readiness as the sole reason to proceed were making it known that they would not be moved and that they would never be ready. Among the unready stood the likes of Alabama Gov. George Wallace shamelessly screaming "Segregation now, segregation tomorrow and segregation forever" in his inaugural speech, poisonous words met with thunderous applause.
It was never the intention of the patriots who battled for civil rights to end racism. It was their intention to overcome it. It was their intention to achieve and progress in spite of it. Readiness was, nor shall it ever be, the issue.
The question of our readiness, however, is being treated as a valid means of qualifying a candidate - one specific candidate, in this case, Barack Obama. And, as I'm sure we're all aware, there are no shortage of people who would vote for Hillary Clinton that would have otherwise cast a vote in favor of Obama if they'd believed he had a chance of winning.
Only a handful of African-Americans have even won statewide office in the last decade. That's why Robert Ford, a black state senator from South Carolina who is an Obama fan, says he'll back Edwards or Hillary Clinton. "Obama would need 43% in some states of the white vote to win, and that's humanly impossible," Ford says. "We in the South don't believe America is ready to elect a black President."
Perry Bacon Jr., Time Magazine, 1.16.07
South Carolinian Senator Robert Ford's pseudo endorsement of Barack Obama does more harm than just about anything the opposition can muster. He disqualifies Barack Obama solely based on the color of his skin. What's more, it comes off as a perfectly valid disqualification - all because of the answer to that most asinine of questions, "Is America ready for a black president". Were readiness [or lack there of] not a consideration, I'm sure Senator Ford would have just voted for whomever he believed to be the most qualified. Instead, he forces himself to choose someone he has determined to be a lesser candidate - all due to a lack of faith.
The question is not only moot, it's dangerous as hell. It asks nothing of Obama save "What color is he?". It gives people bogus reason to discount him as a viable candidate - the majority of us would not vote for someone we believed had no chance of winning. And in the upcoming presidential election, that's what matter - the majority.
Is America ready for a black president? America, ready or not, i sin dire need of a capable, qualified leader. Period. Senator Ford and others would do well to be true to themselves and the process by voting for whom they believe would be best instead of whom they believe to be the most popular.
By the way, Senator Ford:
Seventy-two percent of white Americans and 61 percent of black Americans surveyed in a new CNN/Opinion Research Corp. poll released Monday say the nation is ready for a black commander in chief.
Make no mistake. We're as ready as we'll ever be. See you all on election day.
"I have said all along that I believe in no discrimination of any kind and I think that this bill accomplishes that, while at the same time preserving the traditional language that a marriage is between a man and a woman." A poll released Thursday found that Connecticut voters back civil unions but not gay marriage. Civil unions were supported by 56 percent of registered voters, while 53 percent opposed marriage for same-sex couples, according to the Quinnipiac University survey. The telephone poll of 1,541 registered voters was taken from March 28 to April 4 and had an error margin of 3 percentage points. Brian Brown, executive director of the Family Institute of Connecticut, had maintained that most voters do not support civil unions or same-sex marriage, and he called the vote "a slap in the face of democracy." Civil unions were supported by 56 percent of registered voters, while 53 percent opposed marriage for same-sex couples, according to the Quinnipiac University survey. Brian Brown, executive director of the Family Institute of Connecticut, had maintained that most voters do not support civil unions or same-sex marriage, and he called the vote "a slap in the face of democracy". In other words, after years of bitching and moaing about "activist judges" a civil unions bill passes through the duly elected state legislature sans pressure from bad-evil-naughty judges... and that is a "slap in the face of democracy"!? Damn activist state legislature!... right? ...and I'm inviting him to my wedding.
--Gov. M. Jodi Rell
It's about damn time...
HARTFORD, Conn. - The state Senate easily approved a bill that would make Connecticut the first state to recognize civil unions between same-sex couples without being pressured by the courts.(...) Missed it, did you? Too busy celebrating? I know... me too!
I'll highlight the stupidity to make it a little easier.
Brian Brown is a sad punk ass bitch.
A poll released Thursday found that Connecticut voters back civil unions but not gay marriage.
Civil unions were supported by 56 percent of registered voters, while 53 percent opposed marriage for same-sex couples, according to the Quinnipiac University survey. The telephone poll of 1,541 registered voters was taken from March 28 to April 4 and had an error margin of 3 percentage points.
Brian Brown, executive director of the Family Institute of Connecticut, had maintained that most voters do not support civil unions or same-sex marriage, and he called the vote "a slap in the face of democracy."
Civil unions were supported by 56 percent of registered voters, while 53 percent opposed marriage for same-sex couples, according to the Quinnipiac University survey.
Brian Brown, executive director of the Family Institute of Connecticut, had maintained that most voters do not support civil unions or same-sex marriage, and he called the vote "a slap in the face of democracy".
In other words, after years of bitching and moaing about "activist judges" a civil unions bill passes through the duly elected state legislature sans pressure from bad-evil-naughty judges... and that is a "slap in the face of democracy"!? Damn activist state legislature!... right?
...and I'm inviting him to my wedding.
What Would Jesus Drink? and other unlikely bestsellers
In my quest to expand my academic horizons, I stumbled upon a number of interesting and thoroughly underrated books in a number of different genres [fiction, fairy tales, nursery rhymes, non-fiction, poetry, jokes/riddles, drawing books, How-to books, mystery, pornography, autobiographies, biographies... etc. Christian Lit., however, yielded the highest number of over looked gems and I felt it my duty as an American interested in education myself and my woefully unprepared peers to lay some of these sweet book titles on you. I've also taken the liberty of rating each book on my own scale of badassery – herein labeled "The Blasph-O-Meter". The scores range from 1 [or holier than thou] to 10 [Prince of Darkness Pick]
Here they are in no particular order:
Me and Baby Jesus
A Colorado woman chronicles a 100 day peyote binge climaxing in a torrid sexual tryst between her and the lowly baby Jesus. Whips, paddles, chains, leather, and the occasional 3-way set against the backdrop of a marginally discernible Rocky Mountain sky make this psychedelic 1996 WTF Award winner a "must read".
7 out of 10 on the Blasph-O-Meter
How Mary Magdalene Got Her Groove Back
Mary is a highly successful, forty-something harlot in present day San Francisco who is persuaded by her colorful New York girlfriend Sharetha Watson [totally platonic] to take a well deserved, first-class vacation to Jamaica. As she soaks in the beauty of the island, she encounters a strapping, young islander, Jesus Christ. His pursuits for her turn into a hot and steamy romance that forces young Magdalene to take personal inventory of her life and try to find a balance between her desire for salvation, companionship, and sanctified schlong.
6 out of 10 on the Blasph-O-Meter
Fun with Sodomy!
Eddie Baker, Sr.
We do it every day, but we never learn all there is to know about it, nor do we ever finish mining all the pleasure that can be had with it [get it?]. Sodomy is fraught with fun, gang [bang]! How deep is too deep? Is it cool to tongue another dude's bung? What exactly is a "Backdoor Beauty"? How to I broach the subject of “DP” with my woefully inexperienced lover? These questions and many more are answered in Fun With Sodomy!
4 out of 10 on the Blasph-O-Meter
Whore Mongering for Dummies
41 year old Fabulous, a 27 year veteran of the streets, sets the record straight... and how! Hailed as "The new Pope of Prostitution" Fab holds nothing back in this never before seen look into the world's oldest profession. Tricks, Johns, Pimps, and Scar Management are laid out in a language that we all can understand. Now, you can learn and love tricking as a player, bitch, or pimp! From crack drills and kegel exercises, to helpful tips on safety and injuries, this book is packed with information for the whore in all of us.
5 out of 10 on the Blasph-O-Meter
"Thou Shalt Not..." and other biblical typos
Dr. Sherman Payne
In this witty send-up of biblical misprints, renowned theologian and Dead Sea Scroll scholar Dr.Sherman Payne draws on a lifelong passion for Christianity and a love of errata. While most of the errata here are merely hilarious, in some instances the errors are downright injurious. Hall points out grievously flawed passages that deceive readers because they seem to be correct ["Thou shalt not kill", indeed! – lol]. Writers, readers, editors, publishers—anyone who works with words—will appreciate "Thou Shalt Not..." and other Biblical Typos. Buy it, you bitches!
2 out of 10 on the Blasph-O-Meter
What Would Jesus Drink?
Get wasted with The Kings of Kings as he pilots you through this book of sacred cocktails. Whether you're a cocktail veteran, or just starting out, What Would Jesus Drink? is an absolute must-have companion to any heathen bar or depressing rectory. It's got loads of recipes for favorites like the dreaded "Old Rugged Cross" and "Blood of Christ", and even a few new ones ( like the ever potent "Resurrection Sunday"), not to mention that nifty bookmark that's attached so that you don't lose your place while mixing – lest ye be damned to an eternity in Hell! This is one sacred text you won't be able to put down!
8 out of 10 on the Blasph-O-Meter
Horton Witnesses A Bloody Crucification
S. H. Benson
4 out of 10 on the Blasph-O-Meter
Stoned!: A Guide to Marijuana & Adultery
6 out of 10 on the Blasph-O-Meter
Pope-ology: 40 days and nights with the Vatican's only Rockstar
1 out of 10 on the Blasph-O-Meter
The Tao of Judas
H. Tyler Hughes
11 out of 10 on the Blasph-O-Meter
Dexter Otis Green
Satan-tastic! on the Blasph-O-Meter
These clever and oft undervalued literally masterpieces can be picked up at your local bookstore or purchased online at www.amazon.com – word
[forward all hate mail to DexterAML@gmail.com]
I grew up in a fair sized family; my mom, two brothers, and a sister. We got along ok I guess. My older brother and I were best friends for the longest time and my younger brother and sister and I managed to keep the bickering to a minimum. We were very poor growing up and I really believe that made us closer. I mean we had to rely on each other for a lot of things, sure, but hope… hope was the biggest. We fed each other hope and it kept us sane and together. But you know as close as we were, I never really felt like I belonged in this family. I know, I know, what a horrible thing to say right? But I didn’t. I’ve just always been different then the rest of them. I used to fantasize all the time about one day finding my real family or maybe one day them finding me… finding out that I was really the son of some well-to-do somebody or even just a long lost son of some other family… a family more like me.
I didn’t have many friends early on in school. Smart kids are rarely popular at that age and, aside from that, I was always in some special class for brains or somewhere being tested. My mom decided to bus my younger brother and I about 45 min out of town for school after I finished second grade. I was in a pretty unique situation in that place particularly compared to my classmates. The school was full of middle class white children for the most part and… well I was decidedly not so – lol. The real problem though was that I didn’t live in town with the kids I went to school with, dig it? So I mean I couldn’t hang out with my friends after school or anything like that. You know I really had two groups of friends; my schoolmates and my homeboys… which didn’t matter all that much in elementary school since I hadn’t been making that many friends anyway. It did begin to matter in middle school when I really started making lots of friends. I couldn’t go to birthday parties or sleepovers most of the time. No pick up
games of anything… not with my schoolmates. And things were off in another way too. Kids in school were intimidated because I was black and from the inner city and I was too much of a white boy for the guys at home. I never really made any solid friendships then. I remember feeling scared most of the time. Scared mostly that I’d never fit in on either side ever. I never felt like I could tell any one because, so far as I believed, they could never understand what it was like. So I kept quiet and stayed lonely.
In high school and college I started making real friends but by then I’d already be convinced that I was destined to be an outsider. I made friendly-like with many people and even made a few close friends. In the end, though, I ran into the exact same problem. I still felt disconnected. There was something of myself that I desperately wanted to share. And every single time I tried, things got botched. I made a mess of it. Or they didn’t get it. Or both. No matter what type of relationship I had with them. I used to think that people who hid themselves away from other people [emotionally or otherwise] were weak and/or insecure. Bitch to find out that I’m totally one of them.
That’s where my loneliness comes from. Secret secrets.
I can honestly say that I haven’t ever really shared the real me for more than a few moments. Every single time I have, I’ve paid for it – mostly with guilt. After spilling my guts, I feel overwhelmingly selfish for days. So I’ve stopped. Now, in the latter part of my youth, I’m finding myself desperately seeking intimate connections with people. And it’s selfish. I want to believe that there’s more to knowing people than the posturing that we do. I’ve found that most other people really want to share themselves in the same way that I do and, if I just listen, they’re more than willing to do so. Somehow that’s just made me feel a bit more lonely. Maybe I’m just a jealous asshole – lol.
I haven’t met anyone who’s as interested in getting to know me as I am interested in getting to know them. And I don’t blame them. It makes me feel … creepy to have that much of an interest in other people. Not in their personal lives, dig, but who they really are. I’ve been thinking lately that I do it so that people will trust me. So that maybe start to get more curious about me. [Shrug]
I’ve always had friends but no one’s ever known me. The difference between me and this growing group of “I can never be known” mystery kids is that I really want to be known. Heh – and the only thing that’s stopping me is me, right?
[Inspired by "A Room Nearby" – PBS.org]
I put my two dollars on the table, and it begins.
I always wonder how I’m supposed to get your attention, although to be truthful, that’s probably selling you short, now isn’t it? Perhaps the young ones, the rookies, the ones who stick to one side of the floor, or one group of suitors – perhaps they miss a new set of bills every so often. Not you. Of course, you make your money by being two steps ahead of the crowd, of the other dancers, of everyone. You make sure the customer at hand is getting his (or hers) money’s worth, but you know where you’re headed next. Even if the money wasn’t meant for you, it’s rare that someone is brave (or callous) enough to pull the bills back once they’re on the table. And let’s be honest – it’s a late night, another cold and crisp day in the endless New England winter, and with the booze flowing and the lights dim, there are few suitors in this place that are willing to be choosy.
It’s the reason why I’ve learned to keep my hand on my bills until the one I want – you – makes eye contact. I suppose I could be poetic about it all, speak to the inner beauty of all who have graced the stage on this night, but isn’t that what the money is for, anyway? To strip away all of the pretense and heartbreak that goes along with reconciling physical attraction with desire and emotion. On the outside, lyrics and poetry are the standard currency, and even then the money hits the table, through the indirect costs involved with first dates and initial meetings. I’m here tonight to take a break from all that, to put the Hollywood drama aside, and that’s the service you provide. Perhaps on the outside I would have to apologize for my desires, for my wants and needs – but not here, not now, not in this place. If I want one over another, so be it, and as quickly as the bills hit the table, my hand covers them up when one of your coworkers saunters by. Nothing personal – as if anything that takes place here is personal.
But you see all of this, don’t you? Out of the corner of your eye, even as another man’s hands tempt fate and wander as close as they can to the curves of your hips. It’s why you moved right on over to me once you were done – skipping the few others in between who were still deciding whether you were worth the pocket change. You saw that I wasn’t just there to take in the scenery, I was an active participant – and you know that a good show will get you a few extra bills in the bargain, won’t it? It won’t even take that much extra work, because I’ve already shown interest; maybe an extra wink, or smile, or a stray hand caressing my cheek, and you’ll double your take. And then I’ll be set up for the real sales pitch, the one that makes this your career and not just your part-time job. You’ll wait until I’m lost in the smell of your perfume, the feel of your skin, the fullness of your breasts and the curves of your legs, and then you’ll pop the question.
Imagine having me all to yourself, you’ll say. Just you and me, away from the crowds and the noise and the stale air and the spilled beer, where there won’t be any table between the two of us, there won’t be any other eyes taking in the show because it will be all for you, just you and only you, because you are in control, you are the reason why I am here, why my hair is long and flowing and my eyes are sparkling and my smile is bright white and clear, so why waste another moment here in this world when we can escape to our own little fantasy, just you and me, forever and ever, amen?
I have to admit, you almost had me. It was right when you leaned over, on your hands and knees, your long hair surrounding my face, speaking in slow and hushed tones into my ear as if I was your first, last, and only lover. Was it perfume? Some sort of body spray? Whatever it was, it was perfect. It was a pure and innocent scent, one that spoke of canopy beds and satin sheets, of early morning sunlight piercing through the curtains, of that first kiss when you’re half-asleep and still floating somewhere in the ether of dreams - of intimacy. I wanted to wrap myself up in that scent, close my eyes and let all the pain and stress disappear. For once, I wanted the fantasy to be real, and I knew that all I needed to do was to close my eyes and believe, just like some cardboard Disney storyline where everything is made perfect again with a song and a dance.
But it’s not that simple, is it? Because this isn’t a fantasy, it isn’t a dream, it’s nowhere near perfect or intimate, it’s a hole in the wall in the middle of nowhere on a cold and bitter New England night, and this is nothing more than a business transaction, buddy. Supply and demand. There’s a price to be paid, and if you’re not interested in providing the capital investment, someone else will. And the more time I spend trying to convince you, the less time I’ll have to convince the drunks in the corner to make their wallets thirty dollars lighter. So what’s it gonna be?
Of course, I smile and politely refuse. After all, honey, my money won’t buy me that canopy bed with the satin sheets, will it? That’s what I’m really in the market for. Nothing would change in the private room, you know that as well as I do. Perhaps you would let a little extra slip, or your hands would get a little bit of the wanderlust – but what would come of it? At some point, our time would be up, and you would go your way and I would go mine, and no amount of dancing or teasing would ever come close to that one perfect moment when I was lost in your scent, lost in my own private world where you were there for me because of me, not because of the money in my hand. Nothing you could do could top that – and I’m old enough now to know that for sure. So I smile and politely refuse. And you smile back, as if you knew exactly what was on my mind, as if you shared the exact same moment with me. But I know better – you’ve seen the same dopey smile on thousands of men who have come and gone over the years.
With a flip of the hair and a wave of the hand, you’re off.
Under my breath, I laugh at myself as I finish my beer.
I put another two dollars on the table, and it begins again.
Greetings, BnP enthusiasts. Welcome to the first of (hopefully) many posts detailing the lives and heroic accomplishments of the < insert epic-sounding brass theme > Real Heroes of Mankind! In the true spirit of chauvinism, these men exemplify the greatest things about being a guy. They're man's men, the epitome of guy culture, what every little boy (whether age 8 or 80) wants to be when they grow up.
Today's edition: The hero of the Chicago City Football Championship...scoring 4 touchdowns in one game! His name...Al Bundy.
His qualifications for inclusion on the list of Real Heroes of Mankind are many.
High school sports hero? Check.
Loves sports, cars, beer and girlie mags? Check.
Don't take no shit from his wife, his kids, his neighbors or anyone else? Check.
He is the Everyman. While his life may be spent stuck in a dead end job working for the same wages he did after high school, with a wife he hates, kids he doesn't want, and an annoying bitch-queen of a neighbor whose entire existence seems to be a foil for Al Bundy's happiness, he knows what he needs to be content: to come home from work, crack open a beer, put on the game, and go to sleep. At a deep level, that's what every working man wants. And since just about every man is a working man, it logically follows that that's what every man wants. To come home, have a beer, watch the game (or read a copy of Big 'Uns) and go to sleep. Maybe take a weekly excursion to the nudie bar, or host a meeting of the National Organization of Men Against Amazonian Masterhood (NO MA'AM).
So, in honor of this < dramatic music > Real Hero of Mankind, we should all follow the example of today's hero. When you come home from work, or whatever it is you do with your day, sit on your couch, click on the TV, and put your hand down your pants. It's a worthy salute to an extraordinary man.
The proper steps to start the revolution are as follows.
Step 1 – Identify your Tyrant.
This step is perhaps the most important one. You need to figure out which ‘the Man’ is oppressing you. Sometimes it’s difficult, because there are generally lots of ‘the Men’ keeping the common folk down. You just need to find the most visible one, and figure out who he is. His motivations, why he eats breakfast off of the backs of slaves, what he does to people in his dungeons (or 'detention camps'), why he wears a funny looking golf shirt, et cetera. Know thy enemy, I say, and thy enemy is ‘the
Step 2 – Give your Tyrant problems.
A good way to go through this step is to start breaking laws. Start small, with jaywalking and creating a public nuisance (you can save the big ones for later). Make it very well known that his laws are bullcrap and you’re not going to stand for them. Also, stealing his car is another fabulous way of undermining his authority. You can also put intoxicants in his soup (Although bowel-loosening juice is another great choice). Let ‘the Man’ know that you are fed up with his Byzantine and Draconian laws, and you’re not going to take it anymore.
Step 3 – Form a Conspiracy
In your quest to topple ‘the Man,’ it’s important to have friends. And by friends, I mean co-conspirators. It’s so important to have a secret underground organization, and I’ll tell you why. Number 1: it’s easier to get stuff done when you have lots of people to break the work up. Number 2: you can distribute the blame along many channels, funneling it to a predetermined patsy. (It’s extremely important to not let the patsy KNOW he’s the patsy. He won’t take it well.) And number 3: if even four or five revolutionist engineers get thrown in the dungeon, never to be seen again, there’s always people on the outside to continue the work of the Revolution. And once the Revolution comes, you can always let them out when you open up the dungeons, along with the mother rapers, whack-o-loons, murderers, and other nasty (but wrongfully imprisoned) folks.
Step 4 – Drop your pants
This is the lynchpin of any good revolution. More than breaking the laws and being a general nuisance, this lets ‘the Man’ know the end is near, and he’s about to get a big steaming pile of Revolution left on his stoop. It’s really only a half-step because it’s immediately followed by
Step 4.5 – Start the Revolution
This is what you’ve been working towards for anywhere between three days and a year or so. When the Revolution begins, there will be many skirmishes, and probably some dead people. But you are secure in your resolve, because you know that although you may die on the green fields of battle, you will be remembered forever as the man (or woman) who took down ten drones with you, while all the while waddling around with your breeches around your ankles. The revolution lives on with your spirit, and once it comes, you will be commemorated with a nice statue, or at least a plaque. Once ‘the Man’ has been toppled, you can all sit around, drinking fine ales, remembering your brothers and sisters in arms, and thinking to yourselves, ‘Praise the Revolution! It’s a damn fine day!’
So. Masturbation. What can I say? All the myths have pretty much been debunked and, at this stage in the game, the vast majority of us are experts. Most guys [well over 90%] beat their meat on a regular basis and 2/3 of the women folk diddle their middles frequently. It happens all over the world cutting across boundaries of sex, race, sexuality, age, and social class. It's as common as our need for love. We are a crank yankering, slot diddling species. Praise [insert deity here]! Somehow, though, we've managed to remain fairly uptight on the subject. Pulling one's pud [or the feminine equivilant] has even been deemed evil by some groups! How'd that happen?
It's easy to cast blame on religion. Hell that's certainly part of it. Clergy have made it their business to set up shop in our bedrooms whether we're with that special someone or just , quite lieterally, enjoying ourselves. But there's more to the story than that. Masturbation has never really been fashionable. Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders got the boot after her December 1994 statement that “masturbation is part of human sexuality and a part of something that perhaps should be taught”. In the 18th and 19th centuries, masturbation was blamed for 60% of what ailed us including; instanity, vision and hearing problems, epilepsy, and mental retardation. Fuck that!
Thank God some sane folk weren't willing to take that nonsense laying down. The Kinsey report [Jan 1948] not only debunked this madness but discovered that masturbation was actually beneficial! And in 1966, Masters and Johnson [tee hee] proved that pretty much everyone does it. Joycelyn Elders was right on the money. Jerking off is a part of who we all are. Hurrah for Science!
So we know it won't make you blind or furry and we're pretty sure that just about everyone has done it at least once if not regularly. Howver, we're in tacit agreement that talking about it is naughty, at least. The deal seems to be "Go on and do it but for God's sake don't talk about it!" But why not? People have been masturbating for centuries. It's a part of our collective heritage.
Tefnut and Shu were created from a load blown, swallowed, and spat out by Atum - the first being ever to exist. The Sumerrians, who invented the first written western language, make reference to the Mesopotamian god Enki beating his meat until he filled the Tigris with "water". Ancient Greek women [and men] had dildos. It's a part of our nature. Fuck, even Bonobo Chimps [with whom we share 98.6% of our genes] beat off!
So it's natural, people, and it actually serves a damn good purpose. Masturbation helps you develop a healthy, responsible sex life - and without hurting anyone [most of the time]. Folk masturbate whether they have sexual partners or not. There's just something special about self-service. Total satisfation can't be attained in the bedroom with a partner. We hold back a part of ourselves even during this most intimate of occasions. Masturbation allows us to be more honest and open about what turns our crank than any other sexual act. We don't worry about performance because we know the score when it comes to our own bodies. That special alone time helps us get in touch with what turns us on in bed which makes us more able to articulate what we like [and don't like] to our partner.
So what have we learned then? Masturbation, far from being evil, is actually pretty good for us in in more ways than one. Who cares if your dead relatives are watching or if kittens are dropping off left and right? You'll be glad you spent all that time [spanking that monkey or fingering that bearded clam] once you reach sexual dynamo status. So how 'bout we stop bashing masturbation and hop onboard the pleasure train? Whip out whatever piece you've got and share a bit of yourself with yourself. Who knows? The sex life you save may be your own.