True History V: How Marriage Became WHACK!

the author has taken great care to remove personal opinon from this historical piece. please refrain from emailing the author with your ridiculous claims of how your wife/husband loves to cuddle or clean the gutters.

The part about Adam and Eve is true, you know, the dust, the rib, the wearing fig leaves--all that is pretty much right on based on the research of FOX news, the only fair and balanced news station.

 

But from there, from that earliest of historical interactions between bro and ho, pretty much everything else is wrong. In fact you can basically assume from this point forward that anything you think you know about men and women and sex is a lie.

 

After God blew into the dust and made Adam and then ripped out his rib and beat the dirt and made Eve, everything went wrong. For starters, spousal "abuse" should not even be an issue in present day because it was God who first started beating women up. He slapped up the "dirt" (which was really Eve at that point) with Adam's rib and nobody complained about him doing it. Then he wouldn't even let her wear clothes, and again, nobody said Boo! to him.

 

Probably because he's God.

 

Regardless, it wasn't long for the two of them in the Garden of Eden before Eve ruined a perfectly good thing. They didn't have to wear clothes and all the food they needed was provided for them. All they had to was lay around all day, be naked, touch each other, order Papa John's delivery from Canaan, and watch the X-Files.

 

Sounds pretty good, right? If you said yes, you must be a guy. If you had a complaint to make about that arrangement then you probably identify more with Eve, making you female and cursed.

 

So Eve gets up one day and decides she wants an SUV and an account on Myspace, even though God strictly forbid just that. She didn't care; she figured she would just blame it on Adam, and further insult him by making him wash the SUV, change the oil, and put her in his Top 8. Of course, Adam was totally blindsided when Eve rolled into the hood one night in a Lincoln Navigator with twin kicker bass boxes in the back banging out Gasolina and other Latin hits.

 

She threw her Dolce & Gabbana bag at him and kicked off her Manolo Blahniuk's (I probably spelled that wrong but that only proves he should have an easier-to-spell name), then signed on to Myspace. There was only one message, because there was no one else on Earth yet but Adam. And the message wasn't from Adam, it was from God.

 

She had invaded his personal space. The message read:

 

Eve, why have you disobeyed me? Does the site say YOURspace? No, it says Myspace. I gave you everything a woman needs: leaves to wipe with, pots and pans to clean with, and a big strong man to throw you around. Still you insist on disobeying me, and worse than that, you've pulled my boy Adam down with you. I caught him earlier today over in Nazareth at the Blockbuster renting porn, "Phucking the Philistines." You will be punished heartily for this, and what's worse, any punishment I send down to you will be tenfold for Adam, if you even care. I will confer with Judge Judy and decide on the verdict. Since you've already broken the code of Eden, I'll just text you the results. L8r, God.

 

At first Eve thought it might be some sort of joke, but then she saw that God had changed his profile song, from Mr. Brightside by The Killers to Gold Digga by Kanye West. God was not happy, and Eve knew what would have to happen next. He would post a blog about his frustration with Adam and Eve and a little emoticon along with it that might say "irritated" or "pissed". There could even be a change of layouts or backgrounds.

 

But God threw Adam and Eve a curveball, he booted them out of the Garden of Eden and sent them to live in the wasteland of Kentucky, a wilderness inhabited only by a wild clan of man-beasts known as the Earnhardt family. Adam was immediately adopted by the family and they wanted to put him into their famed #3 car, however, Eve managed to screw that up also.

 

She emptied the Earnhardt garage and filled it with Avon lotions and creams for her new job as a door-to-door salesperson. All of the Earnhardt car parts were sent to the junkyard as scrap. Of course, Eve getting a job and Eve actually working were two very different things.

 

She was cranking out babies like there was no tomorrow, and between that and watching her soaps she was busy all day. She barely even had time to get her nails done and have the poolboy massage her feet Tuesdays and Thursdays. So it was Adam out on the street, pounding the sand and going from hut to hut selling Avon.

 

Without wasting precious time on the thousands of years of male servitude that followed, just imagine Adam walking barefoot across the hot sands six days a week with no lunch and hardly a clean pair of underwear, six screaming kids at home waiting for him and a wife who swears she's on the pill, but the kids just keep popping out like half-baked loaves of bread, one after the other, and then he comes home to no meal ready to eat and a sinkful of dirty diapers and his wife wants to talk about why he's not communicating and maybe a second mortgage on the hut.

 

It's kind of like that every day for a few thousand years.

 

Then suddenly it's the 1970s. Adam and Eve are long gone but the same problems of marriage aren't. This social institution that started way back when is still in play, and it's become even more corrupt. It's gone so far that men all over the world are even cooking and cleaning and taking care of children, yet there still isn't a single woman who works.

 

There are millions of women with jobs, just none who work.

 

Finally, a lot of men get fed up and begin turning to each other in massive support groups. These are men who have been beaten down by women for their entire lives, men who run companies, men who make laws, men who rule at fantasy football. At first the men just comfort each other while drinking, farting, and belching directly into each other's mouths.

 

But then they start sharing bagels, cutting them in equal halves for each man. And drinking from the same cup, wrestling in the nude, stroking each other's...egoes.

 

The kisses come next naturally. Tender kisses full of wanton passion. Soon men were fulfilling ALL of each other's needs. Women were infuriated--their oil wasn't getting changed (their cars' oil wasn't either), breakers were tripping in basements across the country and nobody could flip them back, and kitchen trash cans overflowed and spilled through entire houses.

 

Meanwhile, the movement was growing among men. They no longer needed women, except when they wanted to hit something, but by the time spousal abuse had become a national issue. You could no longer safely light a disrespectful spouse on fire and put them out to the curb with yesterday's trash. Likewise, burying a shop-happy wife or mother-in-law in the garden was frowned upon. As women lost more control of their mealtickets, they too banded together. The result was the invention of a word and a feeling that would be used to destroy the new man-to-man union that was so beautiful and perfect.

 

That word was pillow biter.

 

Hateful and lewd, it insinuated that love between two men had to put one of them in a submissive position, a position of weakness, when in reality man-to-man coverage was all about equalty. It was a fleshy swordfight where everyone was a winner.

 

The word--ugh, I can't even bear to say it--morphed and new words were invented to further degrade men. Some of these words invented by jealous women with bad credit were:

 

pole smoker, bologna pumper, skin flutist, and sausage smoker.

 

Men did not understand the wicked words; for most men, smoking anything or anything that had to do with bologna or sausage was a good thing. Soon the manlovers all agreed to move to one place and band together in an unbreakable ring of penis pride. They named this town San Francisco, which translated means "San" or without, and "Francisco" meaning without women giving us a hard time we never would have had to all cram our shaved butts into this dingycity by the bay and go to sketchy disco clubs to hook up with over-tanned "actors" and wake up in the morning in pools of our own blood and vomit with a nagging pain in our colons and a nasty case of gonorrhea.

 

That's the closest translation I could find anyway.

 

Even though men did alot to ensure their own sexual freedom, the women were relentless. Eventually, man-to-man relations became outlawed in a certain place called The United States. Thankfully, more advaned places like Sri Lanka, Amsterdam, and Cyberspace still embraced the man-erotica.

 

In modern day America, every man years for the touch of another man, the soft caress of callouses and dirty fingernails to slide along their shoulders. But men must hide these feelings, men must mate with women and pretend to care about scrapbooking and Oprah books and salad.

 

But, sadly, these are lies, like men's lives are lies, from the opening credits of The Golden Girls all the way through the vegetarian dinner parties. All men secretly crave chicken wings, camouflage, and the naked knobby knees of other men.

 

Except me, I'm totally not gay.