COLUMN: Giving Up Men

From Rob Faunce's "Quoi d'ever" Fall '1995 From Rob Faunce's "Quoi d'ever" Fall '1995I am giving up men. I've had it; men are boorish, loudmouthed, selfish irritants who wouldn't know how to treat me even if I was shaped like a Heineken (and don't get me started about beer cans)! I sympathize with the plight of my female sisters who have spent decades primping and plucking and perfecting themselves in order to look good for some testosterone-laden malcontent who feels "oppressed" because Monday Night Football is only on Monday nights. I am sick of men who want "space" but then want to inhibit you once more as soon as you move on. Two words: go away. I am sick of men who live only for the next night's plaything, never even stopping to ask your name or waist size on the way out the door. Three more words: that was it? I am sick of men who pretend that they don't understand Alanis Morrisette (and speaking of her, did you know that she used to be the Debbie Gibson of Canada? You must wonder if some scumbag put one hand in her pocket once too often. Shake your love!)? I am sick of men who want to dominate you simply to show their authoritative drive, but who are weak and unable to finish the job they started. I am sick of men. So what is a gay man to do? Maybe I will become a priest, and devote myself to the glorification and beautification of God's kingdom. The pay is good, the parish gives you a groovy car, and how can you argue with that wardrobe. Like Richard Chamberlain in The Thorn Birds, I was made to wear cardinal red. And unlike Richard Chamberlain, I can keep my hands off Rachel Ward. Alas, the problem is not Rachel Ward, but Scott Ward?so alas, it seems that the priesthood is not a place for me to hide from men. Perhaps I could marry a (gasp) woman! It's been done before. Many gay men have married perfectly lovely women (usually named Ellen) for less noble reasons than my own. I could be a good provider, considering that as a gay man, I make an average of 8 percent more than the average heteroman. And our home will benefit from my highly stylized sense of drama and fashion; Laura Ashley will wish she'd never heard of suburbia! Yes, I think I wish to marry. And this woman could use my wardrobe advice (not to mention some VO5 hot oil help, but one trouble area at a time). Her name is Courtney. Courtney Love. And I will love her, and cherish her, and ache like she's ached. What is it about Courtney that so sets ablaze my infernal fires of desire? Is it her moplike hair? Her wailing, screeching voice? Her moaning, groaning pants of hunger and vulgarity? God, yeah. She's everything I could ever hope for in a spouse: domesticity, passion, verve for life, open tolerance of sexuality (oh yeah, as if Kurt wasn't boinking Stipe!), and even a ready-made child with an adorable name? However, she lacks the one thing vital to me, the one thing that makes me tolerate men and their ridiculous thoughts. It's a penis. Say the word. Don't be shy. It's why we all come back to those Rolling Rock retards anyhow. No matter how hard we resist. No matter how hard we try to get away. We love men. And their earnings potential. That may seem really cold, but when push comes to shove?it comes down to that inextricable piece of anatomy. No matter how much complaining I may do about men, or how much I love every woman in my life, I'll always come back to the men who bring me comfort and pleasure, even if they bring me grief and agony along the way. No matter how you slice it, men can always be a great source of delight and amazement. I may have started this day irritated at all men for being men, but when you boil down all the issues, me and Alanis still end up with our man at day's end (though I get him before she does). We complain and fuss and get perturbed at the men in our lives, because that is how it is and how it will be. We will always be what we are by nature. So, stand by your man! Give him some rope to hang himself with, and go from there?he can't help but be a man, so be patient and stand firm.