Nothing Men Do Impresses Me
Greetings, Steve here. I just wanted to drop a quick line and say that nothing men do impresses me anymore. I know I’m a man and should probably therefore stand up for my gender a bit more, but I’m just not feeling it right now guys, sorry. It seems like every female friend I have is getting pregnant and consequently producing offspring and, well, this is a very hugely, gigantically major thing to do, physically, for the woman. I mean, really, this is serious. Nothing a man does comes close to this. My friend Tamara recently gave birth to a baby that was, like, 45 pounds and it was 4 feet long and it was built like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Huge. Massive! LARGE! Compare this to what guys do. Most male accomplishments tend to be much more modest, not to mention more destructive, to wit:
- football
- baseball
- national defense
- barbequing
- the Crusades
- building large bridges over gorges that don’t need to be crossed
- blowing up things that don’t need to be blown up
- peeing on things.
You can see what I’m saying. After seeing the process of constructing a child (though thankfully not the process of actually delivering said child), male accomplishments seem pretty paltry. “But Steve,” I can hear you men saying, “I do all kinds of things. Don’t those count?” Don’t take it personally. Of course things men do count. Men do all kinds of things, but none of them impress me anymore. An example:
“Hey Bob, what did you do today?”
“Hey Steve. I moved this big pile a wood over here {hikes up pants} and then I rotated ma tires {spit} and then I had a well-deserved beer. You impressed?”
“Bob, did you produce a completely separate humn being and wrench it in a screaming seizure from your body? No? Then I’m not impressed!”
I’m not entirely happy about this feeling. It makes me want to prove my manly worth, maybe go pee on something, but there’s no escaping it: There’s nothing men do that comes even close to the act of reproduction. Sometimes I hear men, those most liberated of men, say “Susan and I are pregnant.” Um, no. Susan is pregnant. You have taken on a new role as a courier service to go to the corner store and get double chunk rocky road. She’s producing a human being, you’re producing ice cream. And not even by hand. This is not even remotely an equal division of labour here fellas, sorry.