I’m not a big fan of the 19th Amendment. Don’t get me wrong—I value women as much as men—I just think when it comes to rational decision-maki… oops, phone’s ringing. I’ll be back.
Where was I?
Have any of y’all ever been squirrel hunting? Women are like squirrels. The last time I went was with my buddy Jeff Brooks. We were in college and floated down the Pamunkey River. Because we were on the river and not walking through the woods making noise, we got to witness squirrels in their natural habitat.
One: they are constantly chirping—talking over one another. The noise is deafening.
Two: they can’t make a decision. They jump from tree limb to tree limb, all over the place, but they always seem drawn to the most fashionable branch—the one all the other squirrels like best.
They are emotional animals. They model their behavior on what the cool squirrels think.
Now, turkeys in the wild are much more grounded. The only time tom turkeys talk is when they're calling out to lady turkeys for sex. Seems quite sensible to me. Their restraint from loquacious chatter is comforting—especially if you’ve spent all day in a room full of squirrels.
Turkeys are independent thinkers: methodical and judicious before acting. They’re good with money and always on time. Benjamin Franklin, an old tom turkey himself (wink), wanted the wild turkey to be our national symbol. If we can admit there are differences in the way animals are wired, why shouldn't the same be true for humans?
All of this brings me to the recent conduct of Senator Alex Padilla of California. On June 12th, while Kristi Noem was giving a press briefing, he bum-rushed her—yelling and clashing through her security team. Naturally, he was handcuffed and arrested.
A few days later, he spoke on the Senate floor about his experience—and started to cry. I’ll repeat that. A United States Senator, a man (or at least ostensibly a man), cried! He cried because of the trauma he experienced—being pushed to the ground, cuffed, and perp-walked down the hallway. Boo hoo.
Back before there were 164 genders, the University of Virginia was a great school. It was great because it recognized reality: One, that there were only two genders; and Two, men and women are different.
Because men will be men, the university had a bail bond fund (which I used to spring many a fraternity brother). A famous 1853 illustration depicting a typical student stated in its caption:
“It gives me great pleasure to say that, although the vivacity of these blooded colts at the University frequently leads them into all sorts of deviltries and excesses, they have almost invariably the manners of gentlemen.”
I got arrested and thrown in jail for being at Sweet Briar after hours. Just about every guy I know spent the night in the drunk tank at least once. I don’t remember going to the Senate floor and crying about it like a little bitch!
Remember when Senator Eagleton had to withdraw from McGovern’s presidential ticket because he had seen a psychiatrist for depression? Seems to me that a grown man blubbering in public because his feelings were hurt is a much graver offense. If you can’t muster a modicum of self-control, you can’t make rational and sober decisions. Sorry, but that is the truism of truisms.
Have you ever heard Elizabeth Warren’s unhinged, factually vacuous, high-pitched rants? Would you trust her with the nuclear football? Our wise Founding Fathers crafted the Constitution specifically to prevent Katherine Minola types from having a say in government.
One of the most embarrassing moments of my life occurred when I was nine. It marked the beginning of the decline of America—indeed, all Western civilization—the day Johnny Unitas and the Baltimore Colts lost to Joe Namath and the Jets in the Super Bowl. After the final play, when I prophetically realized America was doomed, my eyes started to water. I felt like sobbing, so I went to my room to avoid my brothers and dad seeing me in such a state. I didn’t cry, but I came close.
Had I cried, I would’ve cried for America—not because my little feelings were hurt, like Senator Padilla.
My oldest brother was a Marine fighting in Vietnam. Johnny U and Baltimore represented the virtues that made America great. Joe Namath and New York represented the Sodom-and-Gomorrah future. Could you imagine Johnny Unitas making a pantyhose commercial?
To all the women and emasculated men who surely hate me for speaking the truth: do you want to be flying on a plane where the pilot breaks down crying because the stewardess forgot the almond milk in his latte? How would you feel going into surgery, and during pre-op your surgeon pops a couple of Midol and starts crying because the head nurse hurt his feelings?
Do you want your male financial advisor putting all your retirement money in Lululemon stock because he “just loves the pink leggings” he wears to his Jazzercise class?
Now, to prove I’m not a heartless heathen—I find it quite endearing when a woman cries over nonsensical nothingness. You go, put your arms around her, and tell her how to fix her problem. It’s a good system. It’s worked for centuries.
As I predicted when the Colts lost, the world has slipped into a dystopian nightmare. Now, we have men who cry like women. It all started when Joe Namath slipped on those pantyhose.
There should be a No Crying Rule in all leadership positions—especially in politics. Criers are erratic, like squirrels. They are not in control of their emotions. Unlike turkeys, they lack a balanced temperament. If your brain is consumed with your feelings, there’s no room for logic or reason.
I understand that women are going to cry, but when emasculated men cry on the Senate floor! Ick! They shoot horses when they have a broken leg, perhaps a defect in a man like crying should be met with……, I won’t go there! See how self-control works?
Please spare me the drivel about how healthy it is to “be in touch” with one’s emotions. Newsflash: that can be done without losing your faculties and becoming an unhinged lunatic. If you lose it over small issues, you can't be trusted on big ones. You’re disqualified. Period.
Self-control and discipline instill Aristotelian logic. Crying is a precursor to really bad decision-making. It’s like a gateway drug. Start smoking pot at 15, and by 20 your teeth are rotted out by crystal meth.
A perfect example of this phenomenon is Harvard Law Professor Alejandra Caraballo who stated this yesterday after the Supreme Court’s Skrmetti decision:
“I honestly don't care anymore if this country destroys itself and burns down to the ground. The current form of the United States is incompatible with democracy or human rights. It no longer has any legitimacy to govern, and I’ll dance on its grave. Let something better rise from the ashes.”
She said this because Tennessee thinks it’s a bad idea for doctors to make money removing the testicles of mentally ill 10-year-olds. Yep, she’s stable. No doubt she started out as a crier, moved on to a sobber, then an uncontrolled blubberer—eventually morphing into an unhinged leftist fruitcake.
That’s how it works.
No Crying.
