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Hormone Poisoning

One of the unanticipated side effect of creating this forum of intelligent discussion that we call the Comma, is the continuing demand for insight and explanation into the foggy realms of male behavior. I have never asked to be spokesmen for the gender and I’m not really sure how it even came about. But as the well known saying goes: “With great power come the ability to approve your own pay raises,” and with the exception of the power and the pay part, that is exactly what is happening here.

One of the most frequent questions I get about the complex inner working of the human male is: Why are men so stupid?

One theory, usually proposed by women, is that the male brain is basically mock-up, or a prop that serves no actual function except to provide mass to the head and help maintain proper center of gravity for the rest of the body. These same individuals maintain that the male nervous system is basically a straight wire between stimulus and response. They suggest that the thought patterns of a male human proceed as follows: Feel hungry: get Cheetos, Feel itchy: scratch in public, See woman: harass.

This theory is clearly inaccurate, as it makes no explanation for the male ability to calculate the impressive sports statistics and national defense budgets that make us so proud. The truth is that the male brain does function , but only occasionally. The real problem in this area, as in so many others, is women.

Allow me to explain.

One of the most baffling engineering quirks of the male brain is its tendency to suspend all rational thought upon the introduction of certain key hormones. Scientist have named these mind-altering chemical messengers: stupigen, spazigen, and preposterone.

These hormones, especially in in younger males, are released in response to various forms of stimuli, such as the sight, sound, smell, touch, or general proximity of a breathing female.

The results are immediate. At the first hint of hormone infusion all logical mental processes cease. As the brain reaches hormone inundation, the normally dormant stupiditocortex is activated, releasing random and often destructive thought-impulses into the brain. Finally, upon hormone saturation, the male brain begins to shrink until it reaches critical lack-of-mass, at which point there is an unopposed flow of foolishness throughout the entire nervous system.

This phenomena is best described by the famous mid-eighties philosophers, Whitesnake, in their groundbreaking treatise, Give Me All Your Love Tonight.

I don’t even know your name
I can’t leave you alone
I’m running round in circles
Like a dog without a bone
I know the game your playing
But baby I just can’t say no.

To the casual observer, it might seem that such a generally mindless condition would be embarrassing for the affected male, but one of the most insidious effects of hormone poisoning is the almost completely blindness of the victim to his own stupidity. Only once hormone flow has receded and normal mental function been restored, does the realization of his recent foolishness begin. In the aftermath of a hormonal incident, a man is left with only painful memories and the certainty of future relapse.

And perhaps a tattoo.

For example, one young man of my acquaintance, an otherwise rational and authorly individual, once leapt off a very tall pier into the Pacific Ocean, fully clothed, in a gallant yet totally-immersing attempt to gain the attention of a young woman. This move came as a complete surprise to the man, as well as the woman, and several unfortunate starfish who sadly succumbed to Falling IQ Syndrome. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that this young man had already obtained the attention of the woman in question, as evidenced by their pre-jump conversation, as well as their recent marriage.

When asked what he was thinking during the debilitating spell of machismo, his only response was, “that the water was a little deeper than that.”1

This type of irrational behavior can be expected whenever a man is subjected to hormone saturation by the careless presence of a woman. Unfortunately, after the initial onset of hormone poisoning, men find themselves compelled to seek out the presence of women in order to reenact this cycle of stupidity.

Is there any cure? Once in 1964 a team of researchers where on the verge of eradicating the scourge of hormone poisoning until the addition of an attractive female scientist to the team sent them all into a headlong plunge of hormone-induced stupidity. The resulting explosion shattered windows and de-feathered poultry over a twelve mile radius. All notes and research material were destroyed by the blast and the researchers themselves had to be institutionalized for the own good. They are currently under the care of Dr. Harold Toboggans, at the Institute for the Hormonally Confused who has had made significant progress with several pop musicians and the 1985 Russian Women’s Olympic shot-put team.

What should be clear to everyone by now is that the true cause of occasional male irrationality is of course, women. As maintained by the chauvinists of old, men would be much wiser without female interference. They would also be much lonelier, much hairier, and much more likely to drive themselves completely out of gas before ever asking for directions. Which only proves the wisdom of old saying, “Women, you can’t live with them and they just won’t stay in the convent.”

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  1. Any resemblance between the author and this unfortunate individual is purely coincidental and will never be discussed again.

Building My Career With A Book Signing Tour

I have decided that if I am to advance to the next level in my authorly career, I am simply going to have to launch a book signing tour.

According to my research on the subject, the key requirements for such a literary event are a book, an author, and a writing utensil. I am told that a Sharpie-brand1 permanent marker works well for most autographing needs, but in a pinch you can make do with a charcoal briquette or even an unfolded paperclip dipped in your own blood, which is especially appropriate if you are promoting a horror novel or a grade-school teaching memoir.

After a careful inventory of my dwelling, my clothing, and a couple of people who happened to walk by, I discovered that I did not, in fact, have a book to sign. So I called my publishers to lodge a complaint. Once they had searched their records, they informed me that the breakdown in the publishing process had occurred somewhere around the point where I failed to submit a book for publication.

As an American I am not used to tolerating this level of incompetence, so I fired my publishing company and immediately initiated a class action suit on behalf of all the would-be authors in the country that may also have been discriminated against in such a egregious fashion.

My more financially savvy friends have advised me to invest any settlement I receive in commodities that I support and believe in. When pressed,2 my lawyers revealed that my share of the upcoming settlement should be just sizeable enough to invest in a good cup of coffee.

Undaunted by this minor setback, I decided that I owed it to the American people to carry on with my tour, in the hope that my perseverance against overwhelming odds might inspire people, and get me a spot on Oprah3 to promote my absent book. As a contingency, I decided that should any fans insist that I actually sign a book on my book signing tour, I would simply autograph something from Dave Barry’s large catalog of publications. As long as I stay out of Florida, I’m sure he’ll never notice.

I thought that I would start my literary pilgrimage in small, local bookstores and then switch over to Barnes and Noble locations to take advantage of those nice Starbuck’s kiosks they have in their stores. As any touring author can tell you, book signing is far too strenuous to attempt without a ready supply of Cinnamon Dolce Lattés.4

From there, I will travel to other cities. After all, what is the point of being an author if you are surrounded by people that already know you, and therefore fail to properly appreciate your literary brilliance, celebrity status, and may even expect you to pay for your own meals.

At each stop I will be enjoying the deluxe accommodations of my tour sponsor, the Honda Civic Inn, who’s single occupancy executive suite is far more luxurious that the meager lodgings that I am accustomed to on the driver’s side.

Yes, it is shaping up to be a glorious tour, filled with joy, excitement, and of course, me. Which is as much as you could realistically ask for in an event of this literary magnitude.5

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Soon, I will finalize the list of cities to be graced with a visit, chosen on the basis of their reputation for author appreciation and the enforcement stringency of their local vagrancy laws. Be sure to subscribe to this site to receive up-to-the-second information on this ground breaking literary event as it unfolds.

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  1. Unpaid product promotion. To submit your product for promotion, please send me a working sample of your product and a briefcase full of small unmarked bills. If you could organize them by date due and amount owed, that would really help.
  2. Lawyers must always be pressed if you wish to extract truth from them. I recommend an industrial steam press like the ones used by laundries and dry cleaners. It allows you to get to the truth quickly, while leaving your lawyer’s suit fresh-looking and wrinkle-free.
  3. I refuse to comment on Oprah on the grounds that the Organization of Surprisingly Unpleasant Talk Show Personalities might again send their minions to address my “uncooperative attitude” with large blunt objects.
  4. Dear Mr. Starbuck, please extend the limited, winter-only availability of your Cinnamon Dolce drinks. Don’t cut me off like this. My literary career, and the subsequent happiness of millions of people, depend on this life-giving product. Please consider the welfare of the nation as you make this decision.
  5. I really don’t have anything to say here, I just hate having an even number of footnotes. Odd numbers somehow look much more professional.

A Bill From My Body

Good morning,

We are writing you in regards to your sudden and unexpected participation in the annual Moving of the Files festival held at your company yesterday. During this event you carried a large number of impressively heavy boxes of paperwork, up not one but two flights of stairs, and into the attic in an ill-conceived attempt to reacquaint us with the joys of physical labor. This situation was further exacerbated by a complete and utter failure to stretch or warm-up in any fashion.

We feel it necessary to remind you of the accumulated years and excessive wear you have subjected us to. And so this notice is to inform you of certain fees and penalties you can expect as a result of your thoughtless actions.

Your activities have created a level of lactic acid greatly exceeding our capacity to efficiently remove, and so you may expect 4-7 days of muscle stiffness, cramping, and associated misery.

Unfortunately, you have also exceeded the lower body’s mileage allowance for the month, resulting in a surcharge of joint pain, to be collected at the knees and hips, as well as an Insufficient Support Fee, payable in the form of long-lasting discomfort in the arches of both feet.

In blatant disregard for years of documented findings, you again failed to utilized correct lifting procedures. You repeatedly refused to lift with the legs, and by doing so, subjecting the back to workloads disproportionate to its functioning capacity. You may expect shooting pains down each leg as well as the complete inability to twist or bend the upper body for some time to come.

We recommend that for the next couple days, you cut out all non-critical activities such as walking, tai-chi, or getting out of bed.

In the future, please inform us of upcoming physical exertions using the usual forms, filled out in triplicate and submitted a full twenty-one days in advance.

We regret any discomfort your foolishness will soon cause you, and look forward to a long and wiser working relationship in the coming years.

Sincerely,
-Your body