Mumble Herder

You really ought to read this essay by Esquire columnist Tom Chiarella about men. Not because it's good or I agree with it or endorse it or anything of the sort. Because it is jaw-droppingly stupid. An excerpt:

A man carries cash. A man looks out for those around him--woman, friend, stranger. A man can cook eggs. A man can always find something good to watch on television. A man makes things--a rock wall, a table, the tuition money. Or he rebuilds--engines, watches, fortunes. He passes along expertise, one man to the next. Know-how survives him. A man fantasizes that kung fu lives deep inside him somewhere. A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job. It doesn't matter what his job is, because if a man doesn't like his job, he gets a new one.

Somehow every time I look at that it turns into this:

A moron writes words. A moron flails about for telling details--declarations, clichés, sentence fragments. A moron owns a frying pan. A moron has an extensive collection of pornography. A moron makes assumptions--about gender roles, about sexuality, about class. Or he fantasizes--about sports cars, Rolexes, cash. He prefers the company of men, but not in a gay way, REALLY. Irony escapes him. A moron pretends that women have no interest in the martial arts because the thought that they might hit him is scary. A moron is not good with words. Not words, not ideas, not talking about men. He is paid by the word. Two-fifty. It doesn't matter what words he puts down, because those who do not agree with what he says are not men.

I could go on--there is much more--but it parodies itself.