So this weekend I was trying out my relationship intestines and there was one thing that kept running through my mind. A post called
Pride and prejudice 2 - Class Wars. Let me first state that I don't care if you let your male happiness die. Okay that's not completely true but I have come to accept that many men will go ahead and sacrifice their male happiness at the alter of marriage (Garrett you still have time to run. I offer male happiness safe houses in 15 countries on 5 different continents.). I realize some men will come to the conclusion that getting married is a better trade off to being truly happy. I don't think it is right but I know I can't stop it.
That said, here's my beef. Nate Bishop let his male happiness die and then he decided to marry Mandy. Cody's male happiness died as hey wept his way down the isle. Garrett is turning in his male happiness in return for a shiny new BAAAABE. And, I stood right of Jared as he killed his male happiness in an awesome 12 minute ceremony.
So, many of my friends have killed their male happiness. Though I mourn that death I am not daily affected by it. However, on Friday I logged onto the once place I go to bitch about the world and generally make fun of people who are better than me and what do I see?
Okay before I see something, I actually smell something. It's rotting. Let me put this in perspective. In 1996 there was a cow that died on the Elbrecht farm in mid summer. The thing about cows is that they are not small animals. This cow was in fact over 500lbs. Also Missouri summers are not mild. So when a 500+ lb. animal dies it starts to bloat and rot quickly. Now you can’t just leave a cow in the middle of your field to die so I got the tractor and hooked a chain onto this cow. As I started to lift the cow to carry it into the woods the bloated stomach broke open and spewed maggots and methane everywhere. At that moment, while I was dry heaving, I thought to myself surely something could not smell worse than this.
Then Thursday I log onto the FING and there is it. I start to read pride and I dry heave, I read prejudice and I black out for 45 minutes. When I come to the only thing that allows me to make my way outside to life giving oxygen is my seething rage for all things related to pride and prejudice.
You see the FING is a safe place. It is a place one should feel free to be angry at the wrongs of this world; a place where Drew’s hippy flower protests meet with my cold hard realism. The FING is where Cody and Bishop come to cry after once again their Seattle teams play like… well… Seattle teams. This is a place where Paul comes to read and never post. Without the FING in our lives how would we know things? Things like whether or not Brady is still using his best pickup lines on his female high school students and what a Croatian ass looks like. The FING is where the best and worst that is male comes to pretend, albeit for just a moment, that women don’t make all the decisions. When you log onto the FING you expect to that intimate connection with our prehistoric ancestors sitting in the cleft of a rock waiting for a dinosaur to happen by so they could take it down with a few rocks and sticks.
I have thought about going into all that is wrong about pride and prejudice but that would, in fact, mean that I would have to talk about pride and prejudice. Let’s just say FING posts about pride and prejudice containing anything positive to say should be censored from now to 3,000 years after the end of eternity.
P.S. Jordan I’m saying nothing against Jane Austin’s ability to write. Let’s put it this way. If Jane Austin decided to sit down and write a masterpiece on shit, its color, putrid odor, sometimes pasty consistency, it would in fact still be a writing about… shit. In fact you know I think she did write just such a masterpiece. It is called pride and prejudice.
