On the State of the Male-Male Relationship

Hiller M. Westchop. A strange name, to be sure, but a grand one, roguish and stately, reminiscent of the proud British colonels that mowed down Indians by the bushel during the Rebellion of 1857 (ah! colonial rule, things were so much simpler back then.  Many times I imagine myself astride a horse with sword in hand, trampling insignificant (and pleading) minorities underhoof, galloping through a smoky and apocalyptic landscape, my shirt in rags, my bare muscular arm gripping the reigns, my mouth bared in a grimace (or is it a smile) as I handsomely vanquish the cowardly barbarians back to their dilapidated hovels.  Oh, (wistfully, dear reader, wistfully!) what wonder the world held before the unpleasant advent of empathy, when such simplistic and blunt racism was allowed to exist! Dear Muse! Return me to such a time, when good was good and evil was evil, and amidst the death and struggle there was time (always time) to pick the ripest fruit, for “thou & I” to work our magic, whether it be murder or love, or both, or neither or…).

But I digress.  The point, dear readers, of the above ridiculous paragraph was to elaborate on my sex, which my name can perhaps obscure (Hiller being unusual)  I am a man, if you could not tell (I certainly hope you could, dear reader, there are some things in this world that can never be mistaken!).  Moreso, I am a man that despises other men.   “But why?” says the tomfool engaging in his (sadly, fated) tomfoolery.  ”Why would you hate men?  You are so mannish!” (and I am).  Oh Manfool, it is the state of man’s relationship with other men, a state that can be summed up in two (or is it three?) words, a zero-sum state (as in Game Theory), a state that depresses me to no end as I cannot help but feel a tinge (only a tinge!) of envy for the state of the female (how I disgust myself in even uttering such words):

Dick-measuring contests.

Yes! How crude of me to say! But there is no way to get around such a phrase, as it fits the situation perfectly: dick being suggestive both of the male member and the male’s preponderance to moronic competition (as a bonus, the word is also suggestive of Nixon: Tricky Dick, a penis with fox-ears), measuring being the fundamental action all men make in regards to other men (e.g. penises, pectorals, cars, money, wives (breast size), firmness of handshake, state of grass in lawn, quality of suit, the exact nature of the pattern on the horrid little tie his slobbering five year-old gave to him last Christmas (with mummy’s help of course)), and finally the contest, the competition, the carnival, the locker room in which 15 year-olds line up in rank-and-file, naked, shoulders hunched, demure shyness, penises jutting out in a straight line while the sick senior (oh how he dreams!) with his ruler walks from one to the next, sniggering here, nodding his head in approval there, all while the coaches look on contentedly, reminiscing of their first time, their first indoctrination into such a foul social (dis)order…

I will elaborate more, with stories, on the morrow.  But until then, dear reader, please leave any comments you may have (a semblance of intelligence, please!).

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