Fishing had been unsuccessful. But, on any school field trip, there was always the hope of sliding in some educational facts on the students while they waited impatiently for the teacher and assistant to eat their MSG delivery packages with plastic forks from the hood of the car that was some fifty years old.
“Okay boys, all we learned about fish today was that they’re harder to catch than you might think.”
The oldest boy said something about Dad better be better at catching a new girlfriend than fish, because the current one had, “dumped your ass!”
So Yeti Waters intoned, “Well, I think I might take her back.”
“Come on Dad, you promised us McDonalds and you just got done eating your nasty Chinese food, and what now, a lecture on sluts?”
The big man answered, “Why yes,” and turned to me and inquired, “James LaFond, how about an explanation of the varied charms of the fair sex—otherwise known as bitches?”
I shrugged my shoulders and grinned as the younger boy eagerly said, “Slut knowledge!” and the older boy groaned, “Really, you already taught us that they’re all whores and they’re just for sex. What else could there possibly be to know—I want a fucking happy meal!”
“Well—and James LaFond, feel free to oppose any of the following assertions.”
I raised my hand as the older boy groaned, “Oh no, fucking roll call of the bitches!”
Yeti Waters asserted, “I contend that a really big set of titties, big, nice, hanging, honking titties, can make up for a lot of shortfalls. Agreed?”
I, leaning against the back right fender, and raised my hand in agreement.
Yeti Waters then turned to his cubs, who were now rapt with attention, knowing that their bull father and his silverback sidekick were in concord as to the importance of mammary development in their opposites.
“Most important is face—girl with a pretty face can have anything else going for her and I’ll still do her.”
The youngest one agreed, “Pretty, check that.”
The oldest objected, “Who the fuck cares. You’re just going to slap the stupid bitch anyhow and she’s going to dump you like all the others.”
Undaunted by the split audience, the professor continued: “In order of importance: face, got to have a pretty face—do you agree James LaFond?”
I answered, relaxed and sage-like, “Well the only hard-looking woman I went with tried to stab me—so, yeah.”
The youngest boy noted, “Point, point, stabbing is bad. You want to avoid that.”
The oldest boy objected, “What was she a fucking ork or something? You’re literally the nicest guy in the world! Who the hell would want to stab you?”
The professor jumped on this, “Bitches, that’s who, unreasonable bitches. Pretty face, as the ancient Greek philosophers believed, beauty was a sign of character: pretty face is Number One.”
“Tits, tits are Number Two—a nice set of tits can make up for a lot of shortcomings. She could have a saggy ass—if her tits are nice enough it makes up for it all.”
“Legs, legs are number three. There are not a lot of girls out there with nice legs.”
“Ass is number four, for the simple fact that they pretty much all look good when they’re bent over and when the bitch is on her back, you don’t see her ass anyhow.”
We all laughed at this bit of wisdom.
“So, it’s time for anatomy class. What do you boys know about vaginas?”
They both began to answer and he cut them off, “Bullshit, you haven’t seen a vagina since you came out of one. Here, I’m about to lay it out for you.”
They were both smiling and the youngest got out of the backseat and ran around the car as the eldest snarked, “Well, they don’t think, do they?”
The professor pointed at the eldest and said, “Very good, son.”
Then, after patting the youngest tenderly on the shoulder and stepping back as the little fellow looked up beaming joy of learning, he spoke with his big oil-stained hands, “Here is the anatomy quiz, for a free happy meal: what is the useless flap of skin surrounding the vagina?”
I was thinking, “Labia, right—but it surely has a use, like a filter or something?”
We were all stumped, and then I realized the lesson being taught was how to set up a joke, as he delivered the answer, “The woman!”
The boys enjoyed their happy meal in an empty McDonald’s parking lot and were already fighting in the backseat before we got home….
For the record, the preceding conversation was conducted in a humourous tone, all parties involved knowing that it was 90% comedy. My boys know I don't really slap women around, or consider them all to be sluts and bitches. Everything is a joke with us, and behind every misogynist (well, most) is a frustrated romantic. The chauvinism merely acts as a counterpoint to the feminazi propaganda that the system tries to shove down their throat. Femimism and extreme misogyny are both equally ridiculous.
that's right!
You had me hooked—didn't know it was a joke until the punchline.