Pookie’s new blog?
I am considering starting a new blog focused on commentary about historical events. Of course if it is anything like my current and past attempts I can expect that after a year of effort, I will have received about 35 hits and perhaps a dozen comments. About half of the comments will be from Nigeria or some place like that letting me know that my efforts have changed their lives and inquiring if I would be willing to open up a bank account in their name where they could deposit $20 million they just happened to find lying around in the jungle that, for “technical” reasons they can not move out of the country. The other half will come from people with names like Cindy, Mindy, Sandy, Darla and Isabel telling me how “awesome” (yes that is the word they use) they found my post to be and how awesome (again) it would be to get together sometime where we could exchange blogs in private.
Everyone I assume is familiar with history. History is “His Story,” the songs and stories men tell to themselves, about themselves and for themselves. His Story probably began about 50,000 years or so ago when the biggest dickhead in town turned to the skinny smart guy and says,”Sing a song about me or I will push your face into the bottom of the campfire.” And so it has been ever since.
Of course women have songs and stories too, but men never seem to have gotten around to remembering very many of them or writing them down.
Did you ever wonder why, in the few cases where the His Storians got around to retelling a woman’s story or song, say like Catherine the Great or Boadicea, they sound a little incredulous like, “No shit! She did that? Wow.”
It never ceases to amaze me that we men, who happily can sit around the campfire getting drunk and stoned contemplating raping one or more of the women in the band while recalling with pleasure killing a shitload of humans or other animals earlier in the day, rarely if ever seem to realize that some of the women simply do not get it. That is why we are all so surprised when every hundred years or so some woman gets pissed off when she recognizes what had been done to her and wrecks havoc in retribution.