A Bluegrass Tribute to Women

Well, we survived the pub crawl, all six of us, reeling and jigging and horn-piping our way from one establishment to another----nine of 'em in 11 hours, and by jingies were my fingers tore up the next day, and the day after that, where we played another five shows, replete (or would that be repleat?) with kilts, sporins, brats and dirks.*

And now we're back to bluegrass reality, which is kinda like the regular version except it's more fun and not quite as politically correct as many of the circles in which I travel. Actually they are only circles in the morning; by lunch my one leg gets a little tired and they turn into ellipses, and if I have a few beverages, which happens with some regularity, there is no telling what sort of trapeziodal trapsing will be going on.

One day I think I did a tri-dodecahedron all by myself, and the next day when I woke up I was besides myself. Thank God for medication!

Anyhow, yesterday at work I had the distinct,ummm, pleasure of attending a department meeting, which consisted of myself and ten women.

wow.

I can remember the day that I would have thought that was a pretty cool thing--all them chicks and me the onliest rooster there. But age and estrogen have a way of turning even good things slightly not-so-good.

There I was sitting in a room with a bunch of people, and most of 'em were so happy with themselves they was breakin' their own arms patting themselves on the back. I mean, some of them are pretty good, but some of them are also the reason students these days think that sex won't make you pregnant, that driving fast won't kill you, and that you can drink and be smart simultaneously.

This is the same group of of teens who believe that "Survivor" is real and that Kennedy was killed by a conspiracy that involved the NY Yankees, the Pope, the Mafia, Frank Sinatra and the Little Sisters of Mercy. I tell ya, my social security isn't looking too smooth.

Maybe it's because some teachers talk so damned much, what kid can hear themselves think? I'll leave about three of the women folk out of that equation, 'case any of 'em is reading this (you know who you are and I will buy the beverages tomorrow for ya!). The worst offenders prolly won't be reading anything anyway, though, being English teachers and all.

Figure that one out and you are better than Steven Hawkings.

As one of 'em actually said during a rant in which she proclaimed that all students are incapable of learning without her at their side, "I can't be reading books! I'm too busy!"

So, busy doing what? Patting yourself on the back and bitching about us clueless guys, no doubt.

As I read in one of "those books", the lady doth protest too much, methinkses.**

So here's where the bluegrass mystique comes in handy, First of all, us bluegrassers love women deeply. Except we prefer only one or maybe two at a time, depending. And we treat our women right as rain in reality. It's only in songs that we blast the begeebers out of them with our old .44's and make fiddle-pegs out of their fingerbones and fiddlebows out of their long yellow hair before we dump them in the river.

We would never really do such things.

First off, the weapon of choice for indoor use is a shotgun--deadly effective at close range and it won't punch through the wall and kill your hunting dog. And that yeller hair don't hold rosin worth a damn.

And we are against pollution, too, same as those berkenshock-wearing tree-huggers, except we climb ours and use 'em as deer stands.

The trees, that is--not the berken-whatsises.

Anyhow, what made me want to write this was one of those cutesy e-mail thingumies my wife is always getting from her "girl-friends," (hehe) basically reminding all the women of the world how awesome they are, which by default would mean that men are basically only fit to drink beer, poot and dream about sex.

ummmm. Forgot my point there for a second.

Oh--yeah! I 'member now.

These things always go on about how strong and sensitive and supportive women are--all true things!--and about how the only flaw women have is that they are too humble. So I thought I would write one about men, us guys being without any support system at all for our kind and sensitive side. I mean, women have their NOW and their THEN or whatever, but us men folk have no support groups whatsoever, unless you count the NRA, but I don't know if it counts if you have to pay your support group and you get stuff addressed to "Dear Commie-hating Gun-Lover".


Anyhow, here 'tis! Cut and paste this and send it to at least ten men you know, and then ask them to send it to ten men, and it'll get back to me in a minute and a half, because there aren't too many of us guys that give a rat's ass about this stuff unless it has dirty jokes in there someplace, which this one has.***

WHY GOD CREATED MEN.

Seems God was walking around in heaven and it was a slow news day, and he decided to make a world that would be kind of like "Survivor" meets "American Idol" with a dose of "Believe it or don't" tossed in, just to have something fun to watch.

And he thought, "I'll create a creature
that will have two eyes to weep for those in pain,
and two arms to hold onto what they want with preternatural strength,
even if it isn't really theirs---like closet space, for one,
and they'll have two feet to stamp with
when they don't get their way,
and a heart as big as a house for
little children or puppies
that magically shrinks to
the size of a bug ( a very small one!)
when anyone says the word
"Sex",
and a head for dreaming of all the things that could be
but which are not presently,
and which will get a headache when you say
"Sex",
and I will call this creature
"Man!"

And He went ahead and did it,
except God was a guy
and
so he got all that stuff backwards except the name,
and it turned out the dude was pretty happy,
dreaming about sex,
which he wasn't really sure
what it was but it seemed like it would be fun,
and he was eating fried chicken and
fishing, but it bugged God
because He was supposed to be all-powerful and all,
(and of course He is, just has a touch of dyslexia and some ADD in there (see "Bluegrass, the Novel" for more on this condition)),

and so He made
another creature
one with the same specs and
this time He got it right,
and he called this one "Woman."

And woman took one look at man and said,
"Wow. I'm looking pretty good compared to this bozo!"
but since God was still a little dyslexic,
for some odd reason
despite the fact that she was
all that and a bag
of chips
she took a shine to the guy
and they hooked up
once and
the man thought the woman would never change
and
the woman thought everything could change,
even the man,
and neither of them did
what the other thought
and they spent the next 20 centuries
or whatever
getting mad at each other.
The end.

So fellas---send this on to all your "boy-friends" (eww!) that you love so well, those creatures who are good only for fixing things, earning money, and making women look good, and congratulate them all on making the world all round and stuff.

And have a plate of fried chicken and some sex dreams on me!
Poot!

*yeah--if you have to ask I can't tell you since it's all super-secret. But chicks dig it!

** see Bluegrass Barditude for more of this! Methinks.

*** try every third word and see what-all this says. And if it's dirty, send it back to me. Thanks. Pete "the bozo" Poot-man.