You know it is not all sweetness and light blogging. Sometimes my little voice says don’t do this. I operate under a self-imposed deadline and some days the media just doesn’t provide the material that I need. I acknowledge my little voice and from long experience, I know that it is right. But then this other voice says things like, “You ain’t got a hair on your ass, or “Hold my beer”, or “If I don’t do it who will?” Here we are. I can’t help myself.

If I don’t point this rather obvious set of circumstances out then who will? I have looked at the topic through my warped lens and concluded my reading of history is on point. This needs to be said. There is a movement afoot to spread discontent across the land.

The ancient Greeks identified the disease and identified a regimen of treatment. Female Hysteria is a variation on the Greek word for uterus. Greeks believed it wandered and if it wasn’t serviced on a regular basis “female semen” would build up and turn venomous. The treatment, ‘hysterical paroxysm’, is more commonly known as climax or orgasm brought on by masturbation or intercourse. Female hysteria was recognized in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) up until 1957.

By Victorian times physicians were making money hand over fist, so to speak, making house calls to treat Victorian matrons and relieve the symptoms of hysteria. About 1858 the first vibrators were developed and they sparked some debate. Some of the medical community were for their use in treating female hysteria, others were not. By 1899-1900 the first home model electric vibrator was marketed and soon thereafter physicians abandoned their home hysteria treatment regimen. Apparently, a guy can get too much of a good thing.

My theory is that all the great social movements brought about by females had nothing to do with politics and everything to do with a dearth of the big “O”. History is replete with examples. Take for example the beginning of the twentieth century.

Victorians didn’t talk about sex. Doctors were no longer around to pick up the gauntlet and carry it forward to the next generation. The essential knowledge regarding masturbatory technique was not passed along. The men were away fighting wars and women’s role in society began to change. By 1914 Europeans were at each other’s throats and WWI started. Across the pond, the Mexicans embarked on a ten-year civil war and took occasion breaks from fighting each other to fight Americans. Women found out what men already knew technique was everything and they weren’t paying attention when the doctor came calling. The orgasms stopped or declined significantly.

By 1914 Europeans were at each other’s throats and WWI started. Across the pond, the Mexicans embarked on a ten-year civil war and took occasion breaks from fighting each other to fight Americans. Women found out what men already knew, the technique was everything and they weren’t paying attention when the doctor came calling. The orgasms stopped or declined significantly.

It was a miserable decade between the suffragette movement and the temperance league nobody was having any fun. Nobody was getting any and there was no place to go to drown one’s sorrows. Thank God Al Capone and his cronies showed up. Soon booze was flowing again. Women were losing their inhibitions and through trial and error and just plain persistence before you knew it orgasms and booze were once again plentiful. Times were good, the stock market was active, people were having fun, the jazz age was coming alive.

It couldn’t last and it didn’t. The Great Depression hit people cut back, no unnecessary expenses. Orgasms were a premium that people couldn’t afford. I know you’re hollering bullshit on that one. Think back to your childhood of the fifties, sixties, and seventies. What happened when you left a light on and left the room? Chances are you hadn’t seen your parents or grandparents all day. Leave that damn light on and within five minutes here they come, “Turn that light off when you leave a room, electricity costs money.” You know I’m right.

Then comes WWII, the big one. If ever there was a reason to be down in the dumps here it is. But it isn’t. Men go to war, women go to work. Pretty soon women are doing the jobs of men. No bitching and moaning. All over the country, women are driving under sprung tractors, operating jackhammers, putting their weight behind riveting guns. They are in aircraft factories sighting in the six fifty caliber machine guns feeling the vibration through the airframe as they run through the “whole nine yards.” The working women bear up to hardship with remarkable fortitude. They even volunteer for overtime. It is probably impossible to measure how much the Big O contributed to the war effort.

To save gas they are wearing slacks and riding bicycles and horses astride.  Every GI is equipped with a supply of condoms and encouraged to use them. The predecessor of the CIA is sending “Made in The USA” 8″ long condoms, size small to Germany and dropping them along with bombs. German women have seen the bombs and look forward to confirming the fit and finish on the condoms. All and all, life is pretty good.

Throughout the late forties and fifties, people all over the world play catch up for the war years. The baby boom arrives. Families bursting with kids are the rule.

In the sixties, Hugh Hefner is a cause for discontent. The ultimate hedonist advocates “plain and fancy trick fucking” great for the guys, but risky for sixties women, who are thinking career, not family. Science steps up and delivers the “pill” a more effective form of birth control. The Supreme Court tells Connecticut and the other states, in Griswold v Connecticut to mind their own business, when it came to the availability and use of birth control. The Hippie movement sprung up in Height Ashbury calling for free love. Everybody male and female is looking for that magic moment when it feels like all their birthdays are concentrated in their pee-pee.

Bras got burned, boobs jiggled in tee shirts. The wet tee shirt contest was invented, topless bars came into vogue and guys were only lying four out of five times when they claimed to have gotten laid last night. Xavier Hollander set women off on a search for the perfect orgasm. Bridget Jones reinforced the concept with the zipless fuck, back to Hugh Hefner’s plain and fancy trick fucking. Peace reigned supreme.

Then Bela Abzug and Andrea Dworkin got old and fat. Like bitter old people everywhere they determined if they weren’t getting any neither should anybody else.  The politically correct movement was born. The goal of the movement was to ensure that women have control of their bodies at all times. Sex was not prohibited, but certain classes of men were prohibited from sex in favor of others.

Women soon found that men willing and able to wield the”Old mocassin head” to great effect, were not allowed. Men who had no interest in male/female sex were physically undesirable, inept in the act or card carrying liberals were all deemed acceptable. Even when chosen to participate in the act the Big O eluded participants.

In an attempt to increase the political base the feminists added the “trans” population. This may be a step too far. People who feel they are transsexual are suffering from a mental illness. They are crazier than shit house rats in the mistaken belief that their peepee belongs to somebody else. They are supported in their delusions by two groups. One is psychologists who will support anybody’s contention on any subject, as long as the money is right. The second group is surgeons, who perform bodily modifications to suit the visions of a crazy person.

Women are being misled by a “fifth column” who has seized control of the feminist movement. “Fifth column” is a tactic used by the Germans from WWII and described individuals embedded in a country or society who, at first glance, were operating in the best interests of that country. Investigations show that they are actually working at cross-purposes, deliberately undermining the host country in favor of a third. In this instance, political correctness is turning women away from traditional methods of achieving the big O to the sexually confused swamp occupied by trans, lesbians and fellow travelers.

What happened in Washington D.C. last weekend was not a political event. It was a cry for help, 300,000 women shouting in unison, “Throw me the Mocassin Head!”

Texas men we can solve this crisis on our own. It will entail sacrifice. Here are some simple suggestions:

First, fat girls need love, no shaming your buddy because he’s with a fat girl. She might have a skinny friend and he’s laying the groundwork for a twofer.

It wouldn’t hurt to take an etiquette lesson or two. Sure, “Pass the fucking ketchup” imparts all the necessary information but women don’t think it’s proper.

A goat roping and nut cutting are an acquired taste.

Since there is so much misinformation out there I feel that I should point out that if women come to Texas and they see a cowboy with the outline of a three-inch circle etched in the back left pocket of his Wranglers, don’t panic! That imprint is left by a can of Skoal

It occurred to me that a survey might help to identify that my reading of the situation is correct. So I came up with three questions.

1. Have you masturbated today?
2. Would you like to masturbate to see if you feel better? I’ll wait.
3. Are you masturbating with originally installed equipment?

Feel free to get back to me with your results.