I was just walking around campus the other day (other day as defined as an undefined point in time) when I noticed the word "Vagina" plastered all over the walls. The posters were pervasive, like the recurring nightmare touches of H.P. Lovecraft's works, the translucent slime of mysterious origin or the strange artifacts of alien civilization scattered over the ruins of UCI. Never mind the "Monologue" in smaller print beside it, Vagina was spelled out with such force and conviction, it was infused with the kind of Rosie O'Donnell approved sensibility of "I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR." What it lacked in subtlety, it made up for in audacity. As a member of the male species, such strong words posed a threat to my position, and I quickly set about thinking of ways to combat such an exertion of feminine will.
But then I realized the joke of a "Penis Monologue" had probably already been made a thousand times over--I would not be adding anything new to the discussion. Not to mention, it would be redundant, an exercise tantamount to explaining why fire is hot, or why water is wet. Men need no advocacy, our station as the better sex has already been proven throughout history. Centuries of superior economic, intellectual, and artistic dominance had ensured that any attempt on my part would be overkill, so I relented on my plans of the complete and total evisceration of the Vagina...Monologues.
As the apprehension presented by the word Vagina disappeared, my mind wandered on to the question of why, why it was that men were superior. I suppose it needed no elucidation, a self-explanatory principle that should be accepted as is. Sure you can go into the molecular structure and behavior of atoms and electrons responsible for the heat of fire, or the wet of water, but it doesn't change that, for all practical intents and purposes, you don't stick your hand into a fucking fire unless you want to get burned. Likewise, don't question man's superiority unless you wanna get pimp-smacked.
In either case, I'm going to detail my understanding of the gender dynamic through the device of metaphor, in particular, the metaphor of fishing. Like Plato's allegory of the cave, I hope that you, the reader, will find this enlightening.
Now suppose that you're traveling to your dream destination, a foreign country that you've always wanted to visit, but your plane is inexplicably (or simply for the purpose of this metaphor) stricken and crash lands on a remote island out in the middle of nowhere. You are the only one alive (it was a private jet, and the pilot died on impact) and being a devout watcher of Man vs. Wild, you quickly take stock of your surroundings and potential resources. The island is home to no animals, save for birds, but the local flora and fauna look promising as reserves of edible fruits and vegetables. Luckily, you located a fresh water spring and a cliff outcropping that can serve as suitable shelter. So, for the first few days, you "discover" fire, learn not to use that particular brand of itchy leaf as toilet paper again, and try and remember which color berries to eat, unless you like experiencing bouts of terrible diarrhea.
After a while, you get sick and tired of subsisting on leaves and berries and try to gun for something a bit...meatier. Scanning the coast, you discover that rich coral reefs surround the island and that fish are plentiful. Now is the point in which the man proves his mettle or the woman her worth. Male or female, the only difference here is in the methodology. It's easy enough to get results, but it's how you get it, that defines the gender.
Now if you're a man's man, manly enough to chew on metal and slap a bull on the ass, then you would hunt fish with the elegant simplicity that is known as the spear. A straightforward, if blunt in operation, yet sharp in actuality, deadly instrument designed to pierce and penetrate the scales of any fish. It is a weapon fit only in the hands of a true man, necessitating the right level of accuracy, aggression, strength, and grace. The wide range of maneuvers possible with the spear, from the thrusts and jabs to the gentle pokes and prods gives it a flexibility that is reserved for only the most sure-fire of fishers.
But if you were a woman, then you would probably elect to use a net. Doubtless, creating a net would require more patience, intelligence, and creativity than is necessary for a spear, and it would be more efficient in terms of overall yield, but the lack of immediacy, the lack of active involvement makes it feel a little...cheap. All you have to do is cast a net and just wait for the fish to idly come on in. No real effort is required; it's a peculiarly passive method of fishing. Even then, a net is still just a net--it's filled with gaps and holes. Fish slip in and out with reckless abandon; it's no surprise if everything you catch inevitably escapes.
But a spear never lets a fish go, it's one shot, instant-kill, and that's why the ability to skewer multiple fish is lauded and admired, because it takes serious skills, concentration, and finesse. To catch many fish with a net is to be expected; to make a fish kabob with a spear is grounds for mad respeck.
I need no longer elaborate on my metaphor as I'm sure it has dawned on you precisely why men are superior. In view of that, something like the Vagina Monologues isn't just provocative, but necessary. After centuries of skewed gender preferences, it's no small wonder that women are finally voicing protests against a society that seems to favor the spear. So I'll let them have their laugh, let them have their traumas, their triumphs, I'll let them have all the time and attention in the world because in the end, their cries will only reaffirm the inconsolable truth that the spear will always be, from the past, present, and into the future, mightier than the net.
