Okay, this is another work in progress. It's totally misogynist and written for adults, so be warned.
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I've spent the majority of my life as a male. In fact, all of it. From the second I was born, to the second I write this, I am a man through and through. Now, I know what you're thinking (cause I'm a fucking physic, that's why): Sixteen. That wonderfully awkward age between fifteen and seventeen. Fifteen, as you may remember, is that horribly awkward age between fourteen and sixteen, while seventeen is that awful age between sixteen and eighteen. Most of the years after age nine can be classified in such terms: e.g.: the horrible age between 'INSERT PREVIOUS YEAR HERE" and "INSERT NEXT YEAR HERE".
. And what, you ask, makes these years so horrible? The answer can be divided into two solutions: Women, puberty (although that only covers a brief period, unless you're graced with acne, then it's a horrible reminder until you're about sixty), and social acceptance. Now, some main problems with social acceptance is the fact that school, both private and public, can be divided into "the cool kids" (the kids that wear the right clothes, have sex at the ripe age of seven [or so they say], drink, and the good die young) and the "not cool kids" (the group that the cool kids throw paper/pens/wrenches/flaming poodles at). And while you can be the coolest, most accepted kid in the not cool crowd, you're still fucked over for the rest of your life because of that acne and the horrible wrench scar on your face.
. Puberty is another thing that isn't too terrible. Two or three weeks of your voice cracking, acne (as mentioned before), and for men, the first sighting of hair in odd places. And they're really not that odd. Everyone makes it out to be so bad, but when you first get it it's like, "That's it? I was expecting hair on my eyes or under my thumbs or in my blood that leaks from the inevitable 'wrenching'". But I digress, puberty is merely the phase that serves to deliver and weed out the cool kids from the not cool kids.
Horrible wrenchings, weren't they?
. Anyways, if the subject of this book were puberty or social acceptance, then I would have spent a hell of a lot more time talking about them. Now, they do play a large part of what exactly happens for you and your love life, but the focus of this is going to be mainly about women. That's right, men, the bane of one's existence (unless you are gay, in which case women are only a nuisance if their gaydar is broken, or if they're from any sect of church, in which case they will attempt to hang you or set your poodle on fire and throw it at the not cool kids) for many, many, many, many, many years. Many, many years. Many, many, years. Many. years. Many. Many. Many years.
. Now that that point is out of the way, this is pretty much going to be outlined in the book.
. Section 1: Birth. Not childbirth, you dope. I'm in High school. I can't very well write a chunk of that, now can I? This section is pretty much about how the shifts are made from gender to gender, and why women (in this stage, called girls) confuse men (in this stage, called men).
. Section 2: Childhood. The wonderful years where girls and boys get along together well, sharing, playing doctor, (unless you're me, in which case you live in a neighborhood where there are no girls, which makes the first time you see one naked a TOTAL FUCKING SHOCK), having picnics and play marriages, which usually end up shittily, with your wife running off with the boy that has the biggest frog or something. That's pretty much how marriage works these days, isn't it?
. Section 3: Pre-teen (tween). Now, tween is the most annoying fucking word ever, so I will never us it again. This section will detail how the rift grows between the boys and girls, launching into the early stages of the rift, or what I call "the rift".
. Section 4: Teens: Here's where it gets as confusing as hell. The girls which you used to picnic with now hate you, cause you have that horrible flaming poodle scar, and now they wear make up and shit even though it almost does nothing visible, unless they're taking the hypocrite route and covering up that shameful wrench scar.
. Section 5: Adulthood, or what I call WILD ASSUMPTIONS CAUSE I'M NOT A FUCKING ADULT YET! This section will detail how easy it is to grow up and magically attract women twenty years younger than you, the ability to divorce your wife for her, and the ability for women to run off with rich dentists named Bob and open in account in the Caymans and drain all your fucking funds before anyone finds out. The long and the short of this section will be the heaven you reach when you become of age (twenty, fuck eighteen. It still hast he word 'teen' in it.)
Section 1
. Chapter 1
. Babies, and where they come from
. For the longest time, I was raised to believe that babies come from a magic fairy land where the storks mated and had some sort of crazy assed stork-baby, which was then used for slave purposes, planting baby seeds in the ground, where the fresh babies would be harvested and the weak babies would be sold to the slurry factories to be food for the crazy stork slave masters.
. When I was seven, a child on the playground told me how it actually happened, and my response can pretty much can be summed up as "IT GOES IN WHERE?"
. Since that day, I had officially been scarred, not just by the horrible, gut wrenching information, but also the huge burn mark on my face that my first "poodeling" had garnered.
. Then, as I got older and went through more school, I learned about complex things such as chromosomes and molecules and other advanced doo- dads of the genetic world. If my middle school biology course has taught me anything, it's that there is an assload of information to learn.
. But I also learned that the sex of a child is decided by chromosomes, which are these crazy go wacky "X" "Y" things that are input into each child and serve as a basic blue print for life, deciding many things, from which hand they use to if they use their left or right hand for primary motor skills.
. During a recent phone interview with Dr. Ian Carr, we determined which chromosomes represented each sex. The transcript is as follows:
Michael: Which chromosomes represent which sex?
Dr. Carr: X is male and Y is female. I hope.
Michael: Tough shit, it's in the book now.
Dr. Carr: Haha, is that it or not?
Michael: I have no fucking idea, doctor.
Dr. Carr: Well, X just seems like it'd be masculine for some reason.
Operator: You have thirty seconds left on your phone card.
. And sure as snow falls from the sky on cold days when it's humid enough in the cumulo-stratus clouds, thirty seconds later I got disconnected. From that misadventure, I learned that I really needed a new doctor, and that the X chromosome represents males and that the Y represents females.
. This explains a bit. The X is much more balanced and symmetrical, reasonable and in no way faulty. One might say. perfect. The Y on the other hand is not balanced, full of questions like "Does this dress make my butt look big?" and "Do these earrings go with these shoes?" among others. Those questions are known to men as "unanswerable", because no matter what, they will delay your date for another twenty to thirty minutes.
. Now, for censorship reasons, childbirth can be summed up as some sort of crazy water slide, but instead of water, amniotic fluid, and instead of a slide, a vagina. The wait to use the slide is around nine months, depending on certain variables. Who knows, maybe the jerk-ass in front of you cuts out early and you get to ride a month ahead of time. Or maybe the jerk-ass just sits and musters up the courage, in which case you're like me, born the ripe age of three.
. In either case, being born is like most other water slides, filled with gasping for air, screaming, crying, pain, tearing, and eventually the cutting of the umbilical cord by some strange man in white.
. Depending on whether or not you were graced with an X chromosome, you will be born a MAN, automatically getting a fantabulous job in the workplace, a fast car, and a Swingline stapler.
. If you were born with the burden of a Y chromosome, you are born a girl, with a dress that makes your butt look fat and earrings that don't really go with the shoes BUT WHO THE HELL CARES ABOUT THE DAMN EARRINGS?
. With this, you are launched into the world. Now, as a baby I was a man. And it was pretty intense. I remember eating a lot, and then throwing up a lot. And then eating some more, and then throwing up. When you get older, this is actually called "bulimia", but when you're a kid, it helps you naturally keep your svelte shape.
. The menu choice as a child is a little limited, and consists of milk. Lots of milk. I hate milk. One time, this milk truck came careening down a hill and hit a bus full of blind nuns. They were on their way to the nunnery to do good deeds, no doubt!
. If you'll excuse me, I have some more questions for Doctor Carr, so I'm going to buy another phone card.
-
I realize that thusfar it's very factually inaccurate, but deal. It's a comedy piece.
Mal
-
I've spent the majority of my life as a male. In fact, all of it. From the second I was born, to the second I write this, I am a man through and through. Now, I know what you're thinking (cause I'm a fucking physic, that's why): Sixteen. That wonderfully awkward age between fifteen and seventeen. Fifteen, as you may remember, is that horribly awkward age between fourteen and sixteen, while seventeen is that awful age between sixteen and eighteen. Most of the years after age nine can be classified in such terms: e.g.: the horrible age between 'INSERT PREVIOUS YEAR HERE" and "INSERT NEXT YEAR HERE".
. And what, you ask, makes these years so horrible? The answer can be divided into two solutions: Women, puberty (although that only covers a brief period, unless you're graced with acne, then it's a horrible reminder until you're about sixty), and social acceptance. Now, some main problems with social acceptance is the fact that school, both private and public, can be divided into "the cool kids" (the kids that wear the right clothes, have sex at the ripe age of seven [or so they say], drink, and the good die young) and the "not cool kids" (the group that the cool kids throw paper/pens/wrenches/flaming poodles at). And while you can be the coolest, most accepted kid in the not cool crowd, you're still fucked over for the rest of your life because of that acne and the horrible wrench scar on your face.
. Puberty is another thing that isn't too terrible. Two or three weeks of your voice cracking, acne (as mentioned before), and for men, the first sighting of hair in odd places. And they're really not that odd. Everyone makes it out to be so bad, but when you first get it it's like, "That's it? I was expecting hair on my eyes or under my thumbs or in my blood that leaks from the inevitable 'wrenching'". But I digress, puberty is merely the phase that serves to deliver and weed out the cool kids from the not cool kids.
Horrible wrenchings, weren't they?
. Anyways, if the subject of this book were puberty or social acceptance, then I would have spent a hell of a lot more time talking about them. Now, they do play a large part of what exactly happens for you and your love life, but the focus of this is going to be mainly about women. That's right, men, the bane of one's existence (unless you are gay, in which case women are only a nuisance if their gaydar is broken, or if they're from any sect of church, in which case they will attempt to hang you or set your poodle on fire and throw it at the not cool kids) for many, many, many, many, many years. Many, many years. Many, many, years. Many. years. Many. Many. Many years.
. Now that that point is out of the way, this is pretty much going to be outlined in the book.
. Section 1: Birth. Not childbirth, you dope. I'm in High school. I can't very well write a chunk of that, now can I? This section is pretty much about how the shifts are made from gender to gender, and why women (in this stage, called girls) confuse men (in this stage, called men).
. Section 2: Childhood. The wonderful years where girls and boys get along together well, sharing, playing doctor, (unless you're me, in which case you live in a neighborhood where there are no girls, which makes the first time you see one naked a TOTAL FUCKING SHOCK), having picnics and play marriages, which usually end up shittily, with your wife running off with the boy that has the biggest frog or something. That's pretty much how marriage works these days, isn't it?
. Section 3: Pre-teen (tween). Now, tween is the most annoying fucking word ever, so I will never us it again. This section will detail how the rift grows between the boys and girls, launching into the early stages of the rift, or what I call "the rift".
. Section 4: Teens: Here's where it gets as confusing as hell. The girls which you used to picnic with now hate you, cause you have that horrible flaming poodle scar, and now they wear make up and shit even though it almost does nothing visible, unless they're taking the hypocrite route and covering up that shameful wrench scar.
. Section 5: Adulthood, or what I call WILD ASSUMPTIONS CAUSE I'M NOT A FUCKING ADULT YET! This section will detail how easy it is to grow up and magically attract women twenty years younger than you, the ability to divorce your wife for her, and the ability for women to run off with rich dentists named Bob and open in account in the Caymans and drain all your fucking funds before anyone finds out. The long and the short of this section will be the heaven you reach when you become of age (twenty, fuck eighteen. It still hast he word 'teen' in it.)
Section 1
. Chapter 1
. Babies, and where they come from
. For the longest time, I was raised to believe that babies come from a magic fairy land where the storks mated and had some sort of crazy assed stork-baby, which was then used for slave purposes, planting baby seeds in the ground, where the fresh babies would be harvested and the weak babies would be sold to the slurry factories to be food for the crazy stork slave masters.
. When I was seven, a child on the playground told me how it actually happened, and my response can pretty much can be summed up as "IT GOES IN WHERE?"
. Since that day, I had officially been scarred, not just by the horrible, gut wrenching information, but also the huge burn mark on my face that my first "poodeling" had garnered.
. Then, as I got older and went through more school, I learned about complex things such as chromosomes and molecules and other advanced doo- dads of the genetic world. If my middle school biology course has taught me anything, it's that there is an assload of information to learn.
. But I also learned that the sex of a child is decided by chromosomes, which are these crazy go wacky "X" "Y" things that are input into each child and serve as a basic blue print for life, deciding many things, from which hand they use to if they use their left or right hand for primary motor skills.
. During a recent phone interview with Dr. Ian Carr, we determined which chromosomes represented each sex. The transcript is as follows:
Michael: Which chromosomes represent which sex?
Dr. Carr: X is male and Y is female. I hope.
Michael: Tough shit, it's in the book now.
Dr. Carr: Haha, is that it or not?
Michael: I have no fucking idea, doctor.
Dr. Carr: Well, X just seems like it'd be masculine for some reason.
Operator: You have thirty seconds left on your phone card.
. And sure as snow falls from the sky on cold days when it's humid enough in the cumulo-stratus clouds, thirty seconds later I got disconnected. From that misadventure, I learned that I really needed a new doctor, and that the X chromosome represents males and that the Y represents females.
. This explains a bit. The X is much more balanced and symmetrical, reasonable and in no way faulty. One might say. perfect. The Y on the other hand is not balanced, full of questions like "Does this dress make my butt look big?" and "Do these earrings go with these shoes?" among others. Those questions are known to men as "unanswerable", because no matter what, they will delay your date for another twenty to thirty minutes.
. Now, for censorship reasons, childbirth can be summed up as some sort of crazy water slide, but instead of water, amniotic fluid, and instead of a slide, a vagina. The wait to use the slide is around nine months, depending on certain variables. Who knows, maybe the jerk-ass in front of you cuts out early and you get to ride a month ahead of time. Or maybe the jerk-ass just sits and musters up the courage, in which case you're like me, born the ripe age of three.
. In either case, being born is like most other water slides, filled with gasping for air, screaming, crying, pain, tearing, and eventually the cutting of the umbilical cord by some strange man in white.
. Depending on whether or not you were graced with an X chromosome, you will be born a MAN, automatically getting a fantabulous job in the workplace, a fast car, and a Swingline stapler.
. If you were born with the burden of a Y chromosome, you are born a girl, with a dress that makes your butt look fat and earrings that don't really go with the shoes BUT WHO THE HELL CARES ABOUT THE DAMN EARRINGS?
. With this, you are launched into the world. Now, as a baby I was a man. And it was pretty intense. I remember eating a lot, and then throwing up a lot. And then eating some more, and then throwing up. When you get older, this is actually called "bulimia", but when you're a kid, it helps you naturally keep your svelte shape.
. The menu choice as a child is a little limited, and consists of milk. Lots of milk. I hate milk. One time, this milk truck came careening down a hill and hit a bus full of blind nuns. They were on their way to the nunnery to do good deeds, no doubt!
. If you'll excuse me, I have some more questions for Doctor Carr, so I'm going to buy another phone card.
-
I realize that thusfar it's very factually inaccurate, but deal. It's a comedy piece.
Mal
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