To elaborate, I cut someone off on the freeway the other day. An unintentional act, as I was moving over to allow merging traffic in and didn’t check my blind spot. Totally my bad. Understandably, there was honking and frantic hand gesturing from the wronged driver. But it didn’t end there. He pulled alongside at the first opportunity and flipped me off. Not the most original response, but something I myself most likely would have done in the same situation. He was also hurling epithets, the gist of which I was able to grasp even though I couldn’t hear him through the rolled up window. Things to do with my choice of copulation partners and my resemblance to the discharge end of my digestive tract, mostly.
I tried to convey the fact that I was an idiot, putting my hands up in conciliatory fashion and mouthing “sorry,” but this only seemed to enrage him more. He edged his car closer to mine, then pulled ahead, cut in front of me and stepped on the brake. When I changed lanes to give him a little space, he did it again. We played this game for several miles before I got to my exit.
Nor could I claim the moral high ground. Despite being clearly at fault, there came a moment during the dust-up when I considered forcing my adversary off the road, jerking him out of his car through the sunroof and pounding him senseless by way of an apology. How I’ll ever be able to sing along with a John Lennon tune again is beyond me.
Acute phallic psychosis is the most guy-ish of “guy” things, and one that women can never understand. Quite frankly, we don’t even understand. We just can’t shake all that “hunter-gatherer” shit, even though we’ve been out of the caves for fifty-thousand years. Somewhere in the ancient, uncharted folds of our gray matter, we’re still squatting around the tribal fire, scrapping for our share of Mastodon filet. Which helps to explain the UFC.
Remember when Rodney King asked, “Can’t we all just get along?” Well, apparently not. Not as long as men run the show, anyway. Getting along is not something we’re all that good at. We don’t go in much for talking about our feelings or trying to understand one another. It’s much easier to simply lock and load. And that goes for two jackasses jousting on the interstate or world leaders drawing a line in the sand.
Tricky stuff, I’ll grant you. President Bush, the first one, spoke of creating a “kinder, gentler” world in his inauguration speech. For that he was labeled a wimp. Of course, he made up for it by sending troops into the Middle East when our old buddy Saddam Hussein thought it would be okay to assimilate Kuwait. A show of force – something we guys do in an effort to prove who has the biggest tool, when in reality all it ever proves is who is the biggest tool.
Statistically speaking, men are 3 times more likely than women to be involved in a fatal traffic accident and about 15 times more likely to abuse a spouse. And when it comes to initiating a global conflict or leaving the toilet seat up, it’s a guy every time. So why are we still in charge? We should all be sedated and kept locked away in pods for the good of society, like in The Matrix. So long as we’re getting NFL Game Day in there you could be harvesting our organs and we wouldn’t care.
Aggressive behavior had a certain place in our evolution, but there is very little call these days for crushing someone’s skull over a swatch of saber-tooth tiger hide. Times have changed and we need to change with them or be replaced by a newer model. One that doesn’t thump its chest while shouting things like “Who’s your daddy?” or “You want some of this?”
Peace on Earth? That’s probably best left to the women-folk. From the look of things, wieners make lousy scepters. As for the guys, we should just stick to what we’re good at – opening jars and killing bugs.