Dear friends, I confront you today, my whiskers a-bristling with outrage. I was traversing o'er the Great Plains in my airship on my way to a gentlemen's conference on Potions, Elixirs, and Poisons, where I was to deliver what reviewers of the talkies call an "epic tour de force" on the potential curative properties of kudzu for sufferers of Pantaloon Fever, when I was indefinitely delayed by the most scandalous report!
My faithful yeoman Bruce was perusing his favorite web windows on the visual-teletype (keyword: men) when he stumbled across an outrageous electronic-newsey regarding the male brain.
Quite obviously, I am in no disagreement with the assertion that the male brain is a special and robust organ, which should be self-evident to any man with even the most modest of educations. One needn't have spent thirteen years of diligent matriculation at Emmett Q. Crumblecorn's Preparatory School for Fancy Lads to understand that the male brain is the finest organic machinery ever created by our gracious and wise Lord above.
It is as natural as silencing a babe in arms with a nip of moonshine that the male brain would respond to a lady's petition for support in the midst of a crisis by "racing to find a way to resolve the problem as soon as possible." If a gentleman does not make available the extraordinary capacities of his brain to a lady in her moment of desperate need, how will her problem ever be solved?
But I most object most strenuously to the decision by the editorial slobberchops over at CNN—which I had never taken to be a hotbed of Suffragette sucklemucking!—to allow a woman to seize control of their virtual newspaper in order to report this "news." A lady doctor, they say. Poppycock and balderdash! Curses on CNN! Fie!
The lady-brain is a highly delicate instrument that must never be taxed with complex thought, lest it overheat and cause a dreadful case of the vapors, requiring a cooling period in repose upon a fainting couch, preferably on a shaded veranda, during which the swoonful lass must be cautiously revived with a steady influx of mint juleps. The lady-brain cannot be stressed writing for web windows! Complete uterine collapse will not be far behind such wanton willynillying!
Such fragility is precisely why no one of the female persuasion is allowed on the airship! Not only can I not abide the exploitation of gentlewomen by the unnecessary strain of their pitiable mental facilities, but I cannot fit a fainting couch in the infernal contraption, anyhow—not with Bruce's enormous collection of classic gentlemen's calendars and physique magazines lying about!
The chap is very interested in good health.
As well should we all! Let us begin promptly with a collective endeavor to cosset the precious and weak lady-brains into which we shall entrust only the simplest of tasks, such as raising children. Particularly virile young men, who will someday realize their birthright as superiors to the mothers who raised them.
Good day to you, Shakesvillians! I said good day!
[Previous Grumblings: Benjamin H. Grumbles, Progress: Dagnabbit!, A Day in the Life of Benjamin H. Grumbles, What in the Sam Hill Are You Rascals Thinking?, Friday Cat Blogging, Damnable Milkshakery, Grumbles' Gashouse, Dash It All, McCain Is Off His Trolley, I Say, Somebody Bet on the Bob-Tailed Nag, Grumbles Writes Letters, Hosiery Is No Laughing Matter, Fear Not, Shakesvillians!, Bunsen's Balderdash!, Taint a Good Man, A Hearty Yawp of Well Wishes.]
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