(No) Hope & Change (for the Worse)

-by Connelly Simmons

So, how's that "Hope & Change" ("We Can Believe In") thing working out for you?

(And don't even get me started about the grammar of that slogan....)

In case you weren't and aren't paying attention here's the Real Change, by the numbers:

The National Debt:

The price of corn:
The price of soybeans:
The price of sugar:
Overall non-farm unemployment:
Unemployment among African Americans:
The total number of those unemployed:
The INCREASE in the number of federal employees:
The number of those chronically unemployed:
Your income:
The number of those on food stamps:
The total number of those on unemployment:
The poverty rate:
The number of people in poverty:
The US ranking in the world among free nations:
Are you better off or worse off now?
The number of banks that went belly-up:
The value of our currency v. the Japanese currency:
One way to measure the amount of money in circulation (inflation):
Another way (inflation):
That pesky National Debt thingy:
So, how IS that (no) Hope & Change (for the worse) working out for you?

CAN you believe in this kind of change?

Is this the change for which you voted?

Or maybe you just voted for the slogan.

Or maybe you didn't vote at all....

Wrestler Pinned By Iowa Misandry

– by Connelly Simmons

I have a confession: I think I’m a misogynist.

I wasn’t one yesterday, but after all that’s been headlined in the news this week and then my accidentally stumbling upon the website of Heartless BITCHes International (where the acronym stands for “Being In Total Control, Honey!") [http://www.heartless-bitches.com], I’m convinced that I’m a sick human being.

I have these “feelings” whenever I’m in the presence of an attractive woman who has the right pheromones, look and carriage, and most importantly, she either, overtly touches me, finds an excuse to decrease the distance between us physically, or seems to like me and want to be with me. Yes, I know that I can’t act on my feelings… society has educated and re-educated me over my life in the proper conduct of a gentleman. It’s not like someone threw us together in a cage with no escape. But, sometimes, I can’t seem to help it. What is wrong with me?!

I used to blame it on biology and millennia of human interaction, development and natural selection. I used to just say, “Dude, that’s just the way men and women are. Can’t live with them… can’t live without them. Ha.... Ha....” I laughed it off as God’s cosmic Gender-Joke. We WANT each other, need each other, even though we sometime can’t stand each other. But I’ve been educated once again. I can’t live the lie anymore.

I just discovered that I hate women. Or, at least, I was informed that I do. Why else would I want to “possess” one? Forget that I’m looking for a life-long mate… someone to care for, someone to care for me, a companion in agony and ecstasy… someone to watch children grow with… (and don’t even start with my role in my Christian faith by which I live my life—I can’t even mention THAT.) I’m a misogynist. Women. I just “want” one in my life—and from time to time, not always for the most intellectual of interactions—so, I’m just a sick, deviant, piece of human filth. See! I said I want “one.” Not “her.” I’m doomed. I must hate women. I can’t live with myself. [CHECK THE WEBSITE ABOVE—THAT’S ME, APPARENTLY.]

Oh, why wasn’t I born a Young Teen Iowa Wrestler so I could hide my misogyny? Then I could just hang with my buds and do guy stuff—get down on the mat—smack each other around—swap sweat—only deal with sweaty “guy” pheromones (to which I’m immune)—shower together—tell coarse jokes—eat junk food and then try desperately to “make weight” for the match. I could hang in the gym and not worry about what people thought of me when I thought of women. I could keep private what should be private. After all, wrestling is about as far as you can get from women. No problem. Right?

But wait. Something happened in Iowa. I have no idea how it happened. Iowa legislature? Department of Public Instruction? High School Athletic Association? Title IX Lesbian Athleti-zealots run amok? Heck, it could have started in Washington, for all I know.

Right now, somewhere in Iowa (and probably Washington) there is at least one Liberal misandrist idiot laughing their ass off.

Why? In Iowa, now, boys have to wrestle girls and they can no longer hide their misogyny. (And in tight wrestling kits, I’m thinking they can’t hide anything else that might “appear” after going a couple of rounds grabbing and pressing sweaty bodies together with a female-woman-girl-sexually-compatible-being-type-person either. Know what I mean?) They are thrown into a cage with no escape (so to speak,) required to DOMINATE a woman in physical combat with their whole body, heart, intent, and strength. (I know that’s what my Mom and Dad taught me was The Right Thing To Do.) Sounds like a pretty good gig for a misogynist, huh?

Not for Joel Northrup.

What the heck is wrong with him? If I were in HS and somebody said, “Sorry, son. You gotta go out there and grab her (almost anywhere) and toss her around and, finally, get on top of her, or squeeze her, or pretzel her, whatever, and you have three minutes. We’ll score your performance.” I would have said, “Might take me SEVERAL rounds, Coach.” And I would have prayed she looked like, and was built like… wait… hold on... WHO CARES?!? I’m in HIGH SCHOOL! She's A GIRL!!

You’re telling me I have permission to do that? In fact, I HAVE TO?! And I get to do it in front of God and Everybody?! And I won’t get in trouble or go to jail or anything?! In fact, EVERYBODY WANTS ME TO DO THAT TO HER, AND WILL WATCH INTENTLY WHILE I DO?!? EVEN SHE WANTS ME TO?!?!?

Sign my ass up.

I would have gone out there, pimpled, skinny, hormone-charged, voice cracking, and let her pin me. SEVERAL TIMES. (Yes, I could do the several-times-thing when I was younger….) I would have lost with the BIGGEST SMILE ON MY FACE… EVER. It would have taken her the full three minutes and she would have had to be ALL OVER ME.

I’m such a pig. I’m a horrid misogynist.

The real story would have been more like, “I don’t care what I have to do. No girl is going to beat me! And I’m gonna make it hurt. That’ll teach her—this is a man’s gig, Baby! (And she’s going to like it!)” If I’d lost I’d have never heard the end of it. Punch line for a joke for ALL time.

Okay, now I’m a giant A-HOLE pig. I’m an EVIL, ABOMINABLE misogynist.

(You see where this is going, don’t you? For me and for Joel? For you? For us? For human-kind?)

Joel must be some kind of coward or sicko when he won’t treat women as equals by suppressing his total physical being because somebody in the State of Iowa says he “has to” in order to participate in a sport he likes and in which he is evidently pretty accomplished. (Sorry. That’s a run-on sentence. Forgive me. My brain is full of Liberal B.arbra S.treisand. Makes it hard to think straight.)

So Our Hero has to go out and treat a woman in a way he’s never been permitted to treat anyone but a fellow male wrestler. And then he has to walk the incredibly razor-thin personal and social line of—staying a champion for himself, doing the right thing by his teammates and coaches, living up to his parents’ standards, giving a “disadvantaged minority” their opportunity to prove themself, completely suborning his natural physical desires and urges, and living up to society’s perception of the “new” male. He’s tough but sensitive. He’s a competitor but not brutal. He’s strong enough to be a man and deal with a woman in a man’s place as his equal. Without leering, laughing, loafing or losing.

And he’s, what, 15?

Poor guy. Atlas couldn’t carry that metric-ton-load of horseshit.

(No wonder he quit. He’s like Palin. Quitter!)

He’s also my hero. (But, back to that in a second….)

- - - - -

What an incredibly ironic week. Reporter Laura Logan is viciously attacked by out-of-control men, and female wrestler Cassie Herkelmann isn’t even touched by in-control Joel…. Well, what’s a man to do? Let’s just call all those guys “pigs” (when the women-folk are listening) and go home, shall we?

In both cases, the media, in all its glory, is focused on the wrong thing—whoever THEY define as the victims.

Time was, we’d send Charles Bronson or Chuck Norris to Cairo to “KA-ATN.” (And don’t spare the CHUNKS.)

Time was, we’d applaud John Wayne for riding through the Badlands with a GORGEOUS, HELPLESS woman (when we knew he hadn’t had a “relationship” in ages)—never once thinking of taking advantage of her—and then we’d go heroically empty the trash, trying to do it just like The Duke—ready to cut off a reproductive gland just to ride in a saddle on a horse next to Him.

Time was, we’d have sent Gregory Peck (or even Tom Cruise) to the office of CBS News and REMOVED the criminal idiots who allowed Laura Logan to be in Egypt in the first place. (Katie Couric is damn lucky to have gotten out intact.)

Now, here we sit, ogling the victims like a highway accident scene—and doing NOTHING at all in all the WRONG ways. Poor Laura—let’s analyze her to death. Poor Cassie—robbed of her chance. Poor Joel—robbed by his “faith.” Poor Wisconsin—they’re about to just “bend over.”

Yes, as I type this, the Liberals of WI are… wait, forgot to say that “WI” stands for “Whiny Ingrates,” not Wisconsin, as you assumed—the WI Liberals are demanding not to “suffer” and we are TOTALLY focused on them, too.

It’s all about victim analysis.

What the Hell happened to dealing with the heroes and villains, and letting FAMILY quietly and steadfastly care for victims? Why are we so focused on the victims and not on the people of action? Heroes belong on pedestals—villains behind bars, in boxes, or on blazing pyres. There’s the story people….

The world is upside down.

(But then we worship, and have elevated, as a society, a man who hasn’t ever really done anything but talk. Our heroes and villains are exactly as we have arranged them….)

The “True” among us are BEGGING for things to be put right. Why else are movies like “The Magnificent Seven,” “Death Wish” and “Taken” timeless for men? Why do we ache for Mr. Smith as he discovers Washington? Why are we both torn to our very soul--wanting Shane to stay, AND ready to walk with Shane out of town and NEVER LOOK BACK. We know deep inside who the real hero is. (Despite what Heartless Bitches International says, and we’ll look after them anyway…. It’s our JOB.)

What should have happened this week?

I don’t know. I think we might be too far gone for a guess. But I know what I want. I don’t want a movie. I want someone real to STAND. (Governor Walker of Wisconsin comes to mind….)

I think my wish list is simple.

I want an executive at a news company to say, “The men can go. You women stay here until the VIOLENCE subsides. Work on the INTELLIGENT stuff and be ready to ‘hit the ground running’ as soon as it’s safe.

I want the people at CBS who sent/let Laura Logan go to Cairo IN JAIL.

I want, now, to leave Laura Logan alone until she feels safe and ready. The barn is empty. She’s been raped, for God’s Sake! She owes us nothing. Not even her story.

I want the president to say, “This is Wisconsin’s problem to deal with as they see fit.” I don’t want him to compare legislation to ASSAULT. (Logan was assaulted. The Unions and people of Wisconsin weren’t. Don't insult me. And don't be a firebrand. Mr. President you're only the President, you don't have enough experience to be a Governor.)

I want covert US Special Forces in Egypt. With knives. And silent, deadly things. (I'd like to think Mark Harmon's Leroy Jethro Gibbs is out there with his "Kate." Waiting for the word "go" in his earbud.) I don’t want to ever know, really, what happened to Logan’s attackers. I just want to hear whispers and rumors that they’ve never been heard from again. I want to hear that ugly, violent men just… disappeared. Or NOT hear, actually. I just want to think someone took care of that and the next perp will think twice.

(I also want UnPlanned UnParenthood to have to beg, borrow, bribe, blackmail, steal, and hold a bake sale to get even one public penny to operate on… but THAT’s another story entirely….)

And I want someone to build a Men’s Wrestling Stadium with Joel Northrup’s name on it. In big letters. Or just a simple statue with the inscription, “Hero.”

You see, of all the names in the news this week. His is the one I can admire and revere most.

As far as wrestling goes, he could only lose. He couldn’t win. Not for himself. Not for his team, coach, school or state. Not for his friends and family. Not for men. Not for women. Not for wrestling. And certainly not for God.

And then, he did what men twice, three times his age can’t do. He figured it out. He found the ONLY way to win, however painful, and he sucked-it-up and did it. I don’t know what his wrestling kit reveals, but that boy has a giant, man-sized, clanking, shiny brass pair that I can only hope I’ll have when the time comes.

I don’t really think he’s a misogynist. And I know I’m not either. We both believe according to the Bible, God created everything in ascending order, and he created Woman last. (Is that a Misogynistic Fairy Tale?) He created woman last and then said, “Dude!” (Or maybe he just said, “Adam…”.) And he and Adam just stared at each other and then God said, “I can’t top that. I’m done. It’s ALL GOOD. Take care of each other. Y’all have fun….”

And Joel Northrup said to Iowa, (and to any of us who are looking for a hero,) in essence, “If you people are going to be this stupid… if you’re going to try to redefine humankind to fit your desire and not God’s… if you’re going to ignore Natural Law and Social Propriety… if you think you’re going to take my manhood and humanize it or feminize it… well, I’ll just be going, thank-you.

I’m not going to be sport for fools. And, for me, it's all good.”

Fifteen years old. Fifteen years wise. Fifteen years strong. Fifteen, and already a man.

My hero.

But then, he, like me… is, in reality, probably just a sick human being. He is, after all, probably just a misogynist.