The Male "Species"

I get so tired of hearing or seeing people make reference to “the male species” like here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and well, you get the point. This is a fairly common (I do mean common – as in low-of-brow) malapropism. I don’t know whether these people are using this term to be cute, as in my title on this entry, or if they are speaking straight out of ignorant dumbassity, but let’s set this straight.

Let’s look at Miriam Webster‘s definition of the word “species”:

d (1): a category of biological classification ranking immediately below the genus or subgenus, comprising related organisms or populations potentially capable of interbreeding, and being designated by a binomial that consists of the name of a genus followed by a Latin or latinized uncapitalized noun or adjective agreeing grammatically with the genus name

What this means in shorthand is that a species is defined as a type of creature that can mate with another of its kind and have fertile offspring. Just to illustrate, a mule is not a species, since it is the offspring of a horse and a donkey. Thus, rather than a species, a mule is a hybrid. Don’t start telling me about some dude that’s pregnant in Hawaii. This is not a biological man. This is a transsexual. He/she/it was on Oprah, and you know what else is on Oprah? I won’t go there. This individual has no pronoun that applies since this individual is a mutilated woman, and not a biological man.

And then, you have hermaphrodites. The banana slug, for example, is a hermaphrodite. (I know some of my links are in poor taste, I just can’t help myself.) More to the point, each fully-formed banana slug produces eggs and sperm, and has a penis. When two banana slugs mate, they violently stab each other with their penises to the beat of Marvin Gaye (or Isaac Hayes if they are scientologists). The point is that they have no gender definition between them, as fully-formed humans do.

I have never heard of two biological males that can have any sort of offspring together, much less a fertile offspring. This means that males do not by definition specicate from females. The proper terminology is “male sex” or “male gender.” Maybe some people get too hot whenever they use the term “sex” and aren’t smart enough to know a big word like “gender.” If that were true though, where did they learn the word “species”? Oh, wait! They didn’t! That’s why I’m writing this – for the education of it!

I think a lot of this stems from radical feminists. You know the types. I’m talking about the ones who call themselves “womyn”. Just so you know, “womyn” is not a word, it’s a joke. The book of Genesis defines the word “woman” as “out of man.” Now that being said, a woman has a right to be a radical feminist. I have the right to think that they are stupid. I don’t think women in general are stupid in the least, but radical feminists? You betcha. I will offer the latter a couple of alternative ideas to make the word “woman” just a little more palatable.

If we consider the “out of man” definition, you can take this one of two ways. If you believe in a theological, “then the LORD said…” creation, woman (Eve) was literally created from tissue taken out of man (Adam). This is not a popular view among atheists or some other types of people. You may chose to believe that “man” refers to “mankind” in which case, “out of man” is quite flattering. In this definition, women are set apart from mankind as something special. I choose to look at the word “woman” from both viewpoints, as I do believe in a theological creation, and yet I think that women are pretty freaking amazing creatures! I love them, think that all men should love them, and it’s really sad the number of men that do not give them the respect that they deserve.

Let’s not get into the whole chicken-and-egg discussion on this deal. As we all know, since men – who grow up from boys – are born of women, the argument could easily go that way. But as we have ultimately learned, it does in fact take two of a species to tango, and that’s exactly what makes man (as in mankind) a species. I have a dream that all men (as in mankind) will one day speak and write like adults with a full command of their first language. In my dream, men (as in the species) will not have to make up childish names for themselves and each other or use words incorrectly, for they will have risen from the ignorance that currently enslaves them.

…just my $.02…

Say "yes" to "Truck Nuts"


Apparently, the State of Florida is trying very hard to ban these delightful little toys. This is WRONG, and we all need to take a stand against it. Let’s ban together to make sure that no government entity takes away the basic human right to affix plastic testicles to one’s vehicle.

This is a very important coping mechanism for insecure men. Everyone knows that all people have insecurities to some degree, and many men are insecure about the size and functionality of their genitals. This is why so many men can be seen driving Hummers and Ford Excavations, despite sky-rocketing gas prices. Those that are particularly insecure about their bits and pieces have a basic emotional need for this ingenious device which shows that their masculinity resides in their big, powerful, throbbing, truck.

I am no stranger to this feeling myself. It embarrasses me to admit that I am really, really insecure about the size of my genitals. This is why I feel so compelled to wear shoes that make my feet look smaller, and feel compelled to carry the smallest possible devices I can get, like cell-phones, pens, flashlights, etc. It is for this very reason that I like to drive sub-compact cars. Currently, I am driving a Nissan Sentra. This car is a little on the large size for my tastes. When I was driving my early ’80’s Civic, I felt like it made my junk look so small, and made me feel like a more reasonable man. Driving this Sentra, I often feel the irrational fear that it makes my stuff look too big. Often, I find myself in my insecurities asking my wife, “Do these pants make my package look big?” or “You don’t think of me as some kind of three-legged freak, do you?” She has always reassured me that it’s not too big, and sometimes even tells me that it’s as small as an average guy’s stuff. Thank goodness for that woman! Without her, I would feel like some kind of freakish gorilla with a huge mass, weighing me down everywhere I go. Thanks to her encouragement, I no longer feel like everyone is staring at my crotch.

But, I digress. Our society has proved to us that any gains, even in civil rights, are a two-edged sword. When the pendulum swings, it’s momentum will invariably take some unintended casualties. In the case of our current society, the victims have been men. Granted, some are far more insecure than others, but we are the beaten and bruised now. I don’t hear Florida handing out coupons for these guys to go to a psychologist to sort out their feelings of inadequacy. No! They are simply fined for displaying the only coping mechanism that they know that they have at their disposal. If anyone told me that I had to get rid of my 3.5-inch Bullet Space Pen in lieu of a big, long, round roller ball, I would feel like crawling under a rock. Similarly, these gentlemen are being displaced by cruel, insensitive legislation. I can only imagine how their teeny-tiny, limp, flaccid, bruised and beaten egos must feel right now, having their only source of security taken away from them.

I know that there are others out there that feel the way I do. If you are a man who is insecure about his masculinity, one way or the other, or if you are a woman who is close to a man who has these feelings, I want to hear from you. Please comment on this blog entry. If you feel like you need to remain anonymous to protect your identity, nobody will judge you. I am here for you. There are millions of us that are here for you. Together, and only together, we can make a difference, and make sure that men can one day be secure with exactly what God gave us. Someday, we will stand up tall and proud and say, “This is my junk. It works well, and I’m proud of it.” It will take all of us, and today is the day to make our stand.

Update – with guns!

Hello again, both of my readers! As far as a horribly inappropriate comment is concerned, I’m not really pleased with the magnitude of it, but I’ll share anyway. After church on Sundays, we have lunch at my parent’s house. At the lunch table, I told the following joke:

Q: What comes in quarts?

A: An elephant.

There was much laughter all the way around the table. A joke like this would have gotten me slapped and grounded as a child. Unfortunately, this is the best I could muster for my little social experiment. I’ll certainly keep my eyes out for another situation that I can say something horribly inappropriate for the setting.

And now, on to the main course! Behold this pic:

Wrath and Lust

The gun on bottom is my engraved, Smith & Wesson Model 29. She’s a .44 Magnum with a 6.5-inch barrel, sporting cocobolo, fingergrooved, tactical stocks made by Kim Ahrends, and modified by yours truly so as to not cover the beautiful engraving. I purchased this gun on January 1, 2008. So far I have put several hundred rounds through it. This Summer, I plan on sending it back to Smith & Wesson to have the action tuned, and generally have it hot-rodded. I’m thinking of replacing the red ramp sight with a bead sight. I haven’t really decided that I want to do that yet, but I would like to improve upon the red ramp.

The gun on top is my new one. This is a Smith & Wesson Performance Center 586 L-Comp. This is a 7-shot .357 Magnum in matte blue steel with a ported 3-inch barrel. I have not shot this one yet. The action is super smooth, and wonderful. In this picture, it is wearing the Altamont, dymondwood, checkered, boot grip that came with it. It also came with a small, rubber, Hogue grip. I don’t think I’m terribly fond of either grip. I may have to go back to Kim Ahrends for this one. Other goodies that were included with this one are a tritium front night sight, and three moon clips. I will be shooting this one this evening for the first time. A range report will follow.

When Jenni’s granddad died last year, and her nana started giving away a bunch of his stuff, it brought the thought to mind about the inevitable circumstances under which our parents will be deceased and we are to divvy up their estates. I began to speak with my brother about such matters. As it turns out, we could agree on the future ownership of almost everything our parents have except for one thing. That was Grandpa’s 6.5-inch S&W .44 Special. As we talked and thought about it, a solution came to mind. Why not just buy a similar gun so we could each have one? What I wound up purchasing was this brand new, engraved .44 Magnum instead of the 50-year-old .44 Special. Different? Yes. Do I love it? You bet!

44-5

This gun is BA, and also quite beautiful. If Beauty and The Beast had an offspring, this is it. 1,200-foot per second hollow-point rounds weighing in at 240-grains will shatter a melon in quick order. Full-power loads will sting the hand. If you aren’t ready for the recoil, you will likely have a red-ramp shaped bleeding mark on your forehead. It is a brutal, killing machine. And does it look classy? Absolutely. Even anti-gun people have commented on how beautiful this one is.

44-20

I’m really excited about shooting the little one. You may think that I have a somewhat warped perception on what a “little” gun is, but the 586 looks and feels little to me. Granted, it’s beefy. But it’s a whole lot less cumbersome than the aforementioned hand-cannon. Here’s the entire arsenal as it stands right now:

Lust, Envy, Wrath, and Pride

Now, here’s a little flame-fuel for both of my readers. Jenni and I are some of those weird people that tend to name inanimate objects. We have named our cars, musical instruments, etc. Needless to say, we have named our revolvers. From left to right, these are Lust, Envy, Wrath, and Pride. I’ve already given you the skinny on Lust, my .44 Magnum, and I’m sure that you are tired of reading about her for now.

Envy would be Jenni’s S&W Model 627-5, Performance Center 8-shot .357 Magnum in stainless steel. This gun shoots like a dream. It’s so nice that it will nearly ruin you on shooting anything else. I think that everyone should have two of these. If we could get the liberals to go pro-gun, they could start a program to make sure that happened.

Wrath is my new 586 that I will try out for the first time tonight. This will be my carry gun once I get my CCW license. If it shoots as nicely as I believe it will, I may change my mind about the previous paragraph and edit it to: “I think that everyone should have one 627PC and one 586PC.” We shall see. I’ll let you know what happens.

Pride is our WWII-era S&W M&P in .38 Special. This gun is just fun to shoot. It cost less than half of either of the other three, and holds its own in the entertainment department. I’m expecting another set of grips to come in on Snail Mail probably today. This should make it an even more pleasurable experience.

Anyway, that’s probably enough rambling for now. I hope you enjoy my rantings, and I will be looking forward to both of your comments! Until next time!

Phone Solicitation

Where I work, we have been getting phone solicitations from AT&T a lot recently. I took one such phone call yesterday, and had to share the joy of it.

*phone rings*

ME: *Company Name*, this is Michael. How can I help you?

SOLICITOR: Hi, this is (insert name, I actually didn’t catch it) with AT&T Network Solutions. I need to speak with Mr. Peller, or whoever is in charge of the phone services, please.

**She grotesquely mis-pronounced the boss’ name, but it was close enough that I knew who she was talking about**

ME: Oh, my. You have called on the wrong day… You see, Mr. Peller is dead.

SOLICITOR: *Gasp!* Oh!

ME: Yeah. Yesterday, he got his by a truck. There wasn’t much left.

SOLICITOR: I’m so sorry!

ME: Yeah. We’re all looking for jobs now. Hey, are you guys hiring?

SOLICITOR: We are, actually.

ME: Great! Where can I turn in an application?

SOLICITOR: Well, we’re in Ohio.

ME: Oh. Well, I’m in Oklahoma. That’s not going to do me a whole lot of good.

SOLICITOR: I guess not. Well, my deepest condolences on your loss. I hope things get better.

ME: Thanks. Wish me luck.

SOLICITOR: Good luck on the job search.

ME: Thanks. Well, bye.

SOLICITOR: Goodbye.

I love screwing with those people!

…more on abortion…

I read this blog by Rachel Lucas. Rachel has a wonderful way of repainting the universe in a four-year-old’s black and white frankness, being completely honest and still not insulting. I will submit this for your approval;

Let’s say that there was a food that everyone really, really likes a lot, the most delicious food in the world, which almost everyone agrees is absolutely freakin’ delicious – call it orgasm cake. It’s that good. And let’s say that every time you eat orgasm cake, you have about a 20% chance of developing a benign tumor. For genetic reasons, that tumor is extremely painful only for people with blue eyes, so painful that they will have no choice but to have it surgically removed. Any other color eyes, and it is not painful but rather actually feels good and makes you happy. So everyone knows before they eat the cake whether or not they’re going to want that tumor.

The surgery for removing the painful tumor entails all the risks that all surgeries do. It costs money, it’s emotionally difficult, and it’s physically painful.

And let’s say there are dozens of ways for blue-eyed people to eat orgasm cake every single day of their lives but never develop that tumor. All they have to do is take a pill, or stick a patch on their arm, or wrap their fork in plastic and sprinkle some tasteless chemical on the orgasm cake before eating it, or most effectively, do all of those things and others. Blue-eyed people who take those precautions almost never grow the tumor and thus never require the surgical procedure. Everyone knows about these precautions and can get them from either the drug store or the same doctor who they’d otherwise have to go to for the surgery.

Ok. I love this. Let’s take it a step or two further. Imagine if you will that this benign tumor is not the only risk associated with eating orgasm cake. Let’s imagine that people with blue, brown, hazel, and green eyes can contract certain diseases from eating orgasm cake that they may not know the history of. If the cake they are eating was imported from certain other countries, for example, there may be more in it than just cake, much like the bad gluten in pet food, or lead paint on toys. Or perhaps the cake has not been stored carefully and has been stored improperly for too long, so that it looks good, but it can really make you sick.

If this were true, you could get a disease from eating certain cake that would show itself later by putting nasty sores around your mouth that would reoccur throughout your lifetime, or perhaps something less severe that could be cured with a shot. Or, perhaps you could get a disease from the cake that would cause your immune system to shut down, and you would eventually die of pneumonia. The fact of the matter is you don’t know whose been nibbling on that cake that has not been treated properly prior to you. They may have had a disease that caused nasty sores on their mouths.

At the very least, you should wrap your fork with plastic if you are going to eat orgasm cake. The plastic will effectively protect you from these diseases most of the time. There have been a lot of studies that show that wrapping the fork in plastic is up to 80% efficient in stopping the spread of these diseases. The problem is that the plastic is porous, and may still pass the microbes that cause the diseases. Or, the fork may poke a hole in the plastic, thereby rendering it useless as protection.

What I’m getting at here is that the plastic wrap is the second best protection against diseases associated with eating orgasm cake. The absolute best protection is not nearly as desirable for most. You don’t need to eat orgasm cake to survive. If you don’t eat the cake, you won’t get sick. If you limit your sources of orgasm cake, preferably to one supplier that only makes it for you, your chances of contracting CTD’s (cake transferred diseases) decreases to practically zero. I know that a lot of people don’t want to hear this, because the cake is so good! But, there you have it.

As long as society is casual about who eats whose cake, the spread of these CTD’s will continue. The casual eating of cake plays into the Confucian Cycle, which our society is currently suffering from anyway. The likelihood that people like me can get more people to treasure their cake instead of casually offering a bite to lots of people is not very high in today’s world. This is unfortunate for all of us.

As long as certain things are happening in our society, we will continue spiraling towards doom. The lack of personal responsibility is abhorrent. The fact that people take the view that kids are going to eat cake anyway, so we may as well give them plastic for their forks so the blue-eyed ones won’t get tumors is a problem as well. Blue-eyed people should have access to pills and plastic, but we need to teach our children the implications of casual cake sharing as well.

Liberals and feminists act as though cake sharing is no big deal, but it is. If not from a moral standpoint, then from an emotional standpoint (I have a lot more to say about that) and from a health standpoint. It’s true that we should not create stigmas for our children about eating cake, but we shouldn’t encourage them to throw their cake at each other at random either.

OBTW – I have not yet said something horribly inappropriate to anyone yet, but I’m still intending to. I know the clock is ticking, and I still plan on doing that before time runs out.

Kids Say the Darndest Things…

This week has been an odd one for sure. First of all, I am the shipping and receiving departments at the manufacturing company where I work. We have equipment that we are taking to the FDIC trade show in IN next week. Needless to say, this has made my life complicated at work. The stuff has to ship out tomorrow, and it looks like most of the work is done at this point. So, that’s a relief.

Yesterday afternoon, I started to have some sinus discomfort. I had a hard time sleeping last night, so I was really tired and grumpy today. The reason I say this is that I’m surprised I was able to accomplish so much at work today, and I was REALLY ready to be home this evening.

So, Jen and I got to the school to pick up the kiddo. We walked into the computer lab, where all the kids are after school, and peered toward the front, trying to identify our kid. I know that sounds terrible, but let me explain. The computer desks are arranged in rows, all facing the front of the classroom. The door is at the back of the classroom. It seems like all the boys have THE SAME haircut, and most of them are brown-headed, like our son.

I swept over the classroom at all the little brown heads, poking up from behind CRT-monitors all over the classroom, trying to pick the right one. Quickly, I identified my kid on the front row. He had the headphones on, and was playing some game on some kid’s website. There was a little, curly-blond-haired girl sitting next to him. Sometimes, we will just holler at him when we get there. Usually, he can hear us through the headphones. Other times, we will sneak up behind him and try to startle him (which is really funny for all three of us, I might add). Today, I decided to walk around the front and put myself in his range of view on the other side of his monitor.

I walked to the front of the classroom, and started tapping my fingernails on the case of his monitor, and he started shutting down applications in response. This is when Curly-Sue addressed me.

“You must be Isaac’s dad,” she said inquisitively.

I paused for a moment. It always kind of freaks me out when the other kids address me when we are dropping off or picking up. It’s not like it bothers me, per se. It’s just that I never expect it, and I never know how to react to them. But with a smile, I answered, “Yes, I am.”

“Well, I have a dad,” she then said, “but he’s not a Christian.”

How the hell am I supposed to react to that? I had had a busy, unpleasant day, and all I wanted to do was to go home, and weird little girl was getting all personal with me. Regardless, I kept my composure and asked her, “Would you like me to pray for him?” I mean, honestly! What was I SUPPOSED to say?

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, “That’s OK. I have a step-dad too.”

“Well, that’s good,” I told her. Then, I returned to the welcome solitude of my family, and we went to hunt for his hoodie that he left somewhere when the temperatures were high today.

Seriously, kids can be so odd. I don’t think that there was anything at all wrong with this little girl, but adults don’t typically tell personal issues to complete strangers on their second sentence unless they have some serious mental/emotional issues (or if it’s over the internet! ;-P). What causes us to gain inhibitions that we lacked when we were young? It would be great if we could just be that open with other people without assumptions of serious baggage.

As a matter of fact, before this time next week, I intend to say something really inappropriate to someone else. I don’t know what it will be, or who to. But, I’ll have to let you know about it afterwards. For that matter, I will extend the invitation to all of you that bother to read me on the intertron to say something highly uncomfortable sometime within the next 168-hours, and tell me about your experience in my comments section. Come on, you can do it!