“Why do people say, ‘Grow some balls’? Balls are weak and sensitive. If you really wanna get tough, grow a vagina. Those things take a pounding!” – Betty White
Anger can be a great motivator, if only you have the balls to use it.
I’ve sensed a change around here recently, around the blog. I’ve seen the change start slow and start ambiguous-like, where I wasn’t sure it was happening. And I’ve tried pretending it was all in my head. I’ve felt it closing in. I’ve heard the folks at the corners whispering and kicking around an unmistakable anger. I’ve smelled it in the air. Mmm, I’ve tasted it.
And you – if you pull up a stool by the bar here at “Lesbians in My Soup” with any sort of regularity – you probably could not help but notice it, too. There has been a disturbance in the Force. Folks around here seem a bit on the irate side. Pissed off, even. Less than fully gruntled.
There has been a marked increase of activity in the gnashing of teeth department.
Commenters have said things like this: “Katy, enough of your frivolous, irrelevant nonsense.”
And they’ve said things like this: “There was a term created for people like you. ‘Attention whore’.”
And my commenters, they’ve even said this: “Katy, that fat hairy dude of a hobbit... his name is Dana. You both are disgusting.”
Isn’t that amazing? Can you imagine what it is I say that makes so many people so angry?
* * * * *
There is something I notice about the villagers who are carrying torches and pitchforks: They are almost all of them… anonymous.
In fact, to go further, I think it is a safe thing to say to say they are all angry, all anonymous, and all male. They don’t seem to have any blogs of their own to go home to when things here at “Lesbians in My Soup” get too rough for them. And as far as attaching their name to their biting observations goes, they never can.
I think I know why. Can you imagine how emasculating it would feel for any red-blooded Western male to get his ass kicked and his balls handed to him by a chick who looks like this?:
What dude has the cajones to risk going mano a mano with that? I mean, my anons are going to need those balls!
‘Cause this life, it takes balls. It takes balls to build a railroad. It takes balls to climb a mountain. And balls are required to pull oneself up by the bootstraps, tell the emperor he is naked, to run down the curtain and join the bleeding choir invisible.
Friend, it’s balls make the world go ‘round. Balls! Balls equal strength and balls equal bravery and ingenuity.
It takes balls, yet I have none. It takes balls, so I am left to sit around wondering what I could do if only I had a set to call my own…
Why, I bet I could anonymously insult rag doll lesbians on the internet, for starters! From there, it would be only a hop, a skip, and a jump for me and my freshly-minted balls to invent the internet and then maybe invade Poland or something.
Oh, the things me and my balls would do and oh, the things we would see if only God had not cursed me with these damned inferior gonads! I swear, I’d name them, and I’d keep them clean, and I’d take them to the zoo. And I promise to never hang them on the bumper of a truck like some people with balls seem wont to do.
* * * * *
Yeah, there is a line that has been drawn across this world since the very beginning. Just read your Genesis. Those with balls and testicular fortitude are on one side of the line, and I am on the other side, looking in.
It’s just so clear.
And when you think about MACHISMO, when you think POWER, when you think POTENT as a mother-bleedin’ ram, what better case study could there be than the Most Powerful Man on the Earth? The balls that send kiddies off to war?
Of course, what I’m talking about’s the Big Black Balls in the Big White House. The Commander in Chief! Now them’s a pair! It must take aircraft carriers to transport balls that big.
If you’ll give me a moment or two, I am certain I can find some proof of this… Let’s see here… “Barack Obama caves on…” No… “Barack Obama compromises on…” Uh-uh… “Barack Obama loses on the issue of…”
This guy sort of sounds like a pussy. Almost – but not quite – like a person who would comment anonymously on my blog.
Where are his balls? Good Lord, where the hell are President Obama’s balls?
Follow this bouncing ball, kids…
…If Truthers are people who doubt the government told the truth about 9/11…
…and Birthers are people who doubt the President’s birth certificate…
…then what do you call people who doubt the President’s balls?
It turns out now that the anonymous people who insult me on my own blog week after week have performed an invaluable service to the American voter. To the world, even!
And I hope you will – anonymously or otherwise – join with me in demanding that the President show us his balls. Because I’m trying to make a point here about balls and I cannot make it so long as the Obama question is left unanswered.
Why won’t the President tell us the truth about his balls? What is it that the President is afraid of, anyway?
If you were already angry, get angrier. All ye livid denizens of my comments section, have the balls to speak up, speak out and to demand that the top elected official in your government drop trou.
Why won’t the President show us his balls?
I know you folks are angry. So c’mon. Focus that anger. Hit the streets, rent out billboards, file lawsuits, scream about it at your Teabagging parties.
And let the mad comments commence!