Let me just set the overall tone for this site. Two themes: I'm pissed and I don't care what you think. If you think you can keep that straight, great. We'll have no interaction and, therefore, we will get along just fine. If you can't, well, blow me.

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Backtalk from the Peanut Gallery


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Geldings are a curse to man. And in this case, I’m not using “man” to refer to all of humankind. Rather, I use it to refer to men, real men, men of substance and conviction, men with opinions who are not afraid to voice them. Men have backbones and they are, in fact, part of a vanishing breed. Soon, reproduction of the human race will have to be accomplished through artificial insemination using sperm remnants left unclaimed and frozen in clinics across the nation. When that finite supply is exhausted, cloning techniques will undoubtedly be employed. Unfortunately, there are no nature lovers uniting their efforts to save this endangered species. That stands to reason when you consider that those who typically huddle in groups trying to protect some variant of the pilgrim mouse (or whatever…don’t bother correcting me because I just don’t give a damn) in the Northern Territories are the very geldings with whom they’re being replaced. Moreover, there is an insidious movement afoot to replace these “men” with Frenchmen or “French males,” rather. French males may possess the physical characteristics of men (testicles), but they lack the critical component that defines true men: balls. With rugged individualism and immutable opinion at its core, “balls” is pure attitude. When faced with risk, geldings move in herds; men will go it alone, if need be.

As mentioned earlier, geldings take on many forms. Some geldings you can spot without even conversing or interacting with him. I’ll just lay it on the table and dispel a popular myth—a myth originated and propagated by geldings, by the way. Yes, you can judge a book by its cover. You can spot one gelding variant simply by the way “he’s” dressed and how “he” carries himself. A beret, a goofy smile, a feminine gait in his step, perhaps even a scarf to complete some fashionable ensemble; all are telltale signs of a gelding. But no righteous beating, no matter how severe, is capable of giving these people that which they desperately need: self-respect. Other geldings, however, are more low-key and are either ashamed or embarrassed to advertise their male-compromised condition. These are the browbeaten husbands who lost their independence, tenacity, and vigor to their wives years earlier.

Though geldings have wholeheartedly embraced and championed the concept of the “sensitive man,” whoever thought it was a good idea to instill sensitivity in a man in the first place? Countless metaphors like square peg in a round hole and that of oil and water come to mind. The ill-conceived notion of the “sensitive man” doesn’t work because it wasn’t meant to work. It’s an oxymoron. It’s like trying to build a city below sea level and expect everything to remain safe and dry in the coming years. Oh wait somebody did that. Am I wrong or did that fail, too? No, the only males who embrace this tact are those who have long ago surrendered their manhood and now don the beret.

I’m ashamed to admit that there was a time in my own life that I was a sensitive guy. I don’t know how many times people would just walk up to me on the street—people who I’d never before met—and tell me that I had a look of great compassion and empathy and they were compelled to let me know. Of course, being a man of great sensitivity, I responded by kneeing them in their groin and screaming that if I wanted to be accosted on the street by some Kumbaya-singing, group-hugging liberal, I’d have gone to San Francisco and walked around with my pants around my ankles. It was then that I concluded that the sensitivity thing just wasn’t for me anymore—the emotional strain was just too great, and after all, it was tough on the vocal chords.

It wasn’t always this way. Obviously, there was a time in this country when we were free of this pestilence. Obviously, you ask? Absolutely. The evidence is clear. All one has to do is look at the founding of our country. Angry men founded this country, deciding that they would no longer tolerate the abuses of English (and not just “verbal abuses,” mind you—a situation devastating to your typical gelding). These were not the acts of complacent and capricious, milquetoast eunuchs whose singular vision centers on their own deviant sexuality. These were the actions of men who were willing to engage in war to free them of tyranny and create a sovereign nation. War, in and of itself, is a concept so contemptible and so uniquely unpalatable to geldings that they would never even consider engaging in such an enterprise. Geldings are content to reap the benefits of the sacrifice of determined men and then criticize those who provided the spoils. War is the domain of men…angry men.

So what were the origins of the geldings’ insidious infestation into the American male value system? The answer to that question is simple. One just has to look to the most chaotic and least purposeful era in our history: the sixties. It was during this regrettable era that the seeds were sown for weak-kneed dominance of the American male psyche. Capricious lifestyles, pointless pursuits, and a focus on hedonistic satiation effectively disarmed men of their conviction and their relentless drive to win, leaving them with only a pot- and drug-induced haze to fill the void. As they numbed their minds from the horrors of personal responsibility, women’s and gay rights groups rallied their forces and took full advantage of the unprotected left flank of American male virility, moving in with unparalleled focus and voracity. Within a single generation, geldings displaced real American men and their uncompromising values of individualism and winning with groupthink, consensus, and paralyzing political correctness.