We did the family vacation thing which accounts for some of my time away from writing, and I was otherwise generally uninspired until this afternoon when Mike commented on how much excitement he gets out of thinking of what Dee might be wearing on a particular day, especially in the panty department. That got me to thinking just a little about clothes and how much I wish we didn't have to wear them. What got my dander up, though, was when our daughter at dinner explained that a concert that she'll be attending soon is being sponsored by some kind of catalog from which boys order shoes. Boys? Order shoes? Something's very wrong with this and troubling at a deep level!
When I was a kid, boys didn't order shoes. Boys didn't shop for shoes except for when their moms dragged them out shoe shopping. Come to think of it, boys didn't give a rat's ass about clothing of any sort, and shopping for clothes in anticipation of a new school year was every normal, healthy, masculine young man's nightmare. I'd like to fuck every designer and advertiser up the ass with a red hot meat hook who has in any way, manner, shape, or form created this generation of fashion conscious pussies - damned panty wasting sissies who wouldn't know the business end of a power tool from a zipper on something from Old Navy. Ralphie didn't want clothes for Christmas, and you can bet your pecker that he'd never have sat down with a shoe catalog dreaming of what he might ask the Birthday Fairy to bring him.
Is it any wonder that we've become a society of assholes concerned with political correctness when we've allowed Tommy and the Madison Avenue crew to make our future men into sniveling little dweebs who know a paisley from a herringbone and a tweed from a gabardine? If I had a son... And he asked for shoes for Christmas... And we weren't so poor that he didn't have shoes... He'd be off to some he-manly military school until he came to his senses. Real boys don't ask for clothes. Ever. They don't buy shoes from catalogs. They don't think about shoes except when they're looking up a girl's dress in the reflection off her black patent leathers.