Revenge Of The Toolmen The Sad Saga of Chipper and His Chainsaw
So you say believe in women's rights. So you say you do your part for the earth. So you think women and the earth have made progress in the last twenty or so years.Think again - 'cause here comes Chipper and his chainsaw to cut you down to size.
OK. Here's my radical social theory, for which, in times past, I probably would have been burned at the stake, or at least forced to live on the outskirts of Good Society. You can call it Hughes' Law of the Conservation of Male Anger: The level of hostility and violence against the feminine in our patriarchal system always stays the same; only its form changes. Look - dominator males are pissed. Why? Because all over the globe, in ways too numerous to mention, they are being prevented from doing what they are just straining at their bits to do: penetrate, dominate and destroy the feminine. H-bombs are being dismantled, missiles are being sold for scrap, nuclear power is the last refuge of the suicidal; women in increasing numbers are being educated, refusing to serve as breeding machines, fighting back against rape, incest and battering; people everywhere are beginning to question things that only a few years ago were taken for granted-from zoos to pesticide use, from meat eating to fur wearing, from the viability of war to the philosophical basis of Christianity. What is there to do? Where oh where will the anger be released?
For those of you not quite ready to bomb an abortion clinic, there's still hope. It's the Revenge of the Toolmen! Think the Hydrogen Bomb is the ultimate weapon of destruction? Oh no, it isn't. How can something be the ultimate of anything when it's too powerful to be used? No. Just listen. Hear that comforting, ear-splitting roar emanating from your backyard? It's the leaf blower - that big, ridiculous gasoline-powered penis extension that, right now, is violating your neighbor's space and destroying his peace. OK. So here's where my rad theory comes in: all that destructive energy that can't be released with H-bombs, is being released, slowly, a little bit at a time-and probably by you.
Kill that dandelion; don't eat it! It's a beneficial herb that just might prevent you from getting sick from all that meat and toxic corporate food you eat-and then where would your local hospital be? Not to mention your friendly, ever-so-compassionate insurance company that depends on you to pay your Sickness Insurance bill. And pity the poor oncologist who can't buy a new Mercedes Turbo Diesel every year. And the multinational drug companies, suffering under the weight of all those annoying lawsuits-you know, the ones who are forced to sell off all their poisonous, substandard drugs to Third World countries just to pay their legal bills-what about them? Besides, that pesky yellow weed is probably blocking your putt. So kill it! Stamp it out! Poison it, chop it up, blow it away! And please, whatever you do, don't worry about the cost. Blue Cross will pay for your morphine drip, for your wife's breast cancer, for your son's birth defects. The really important thing is that new rec room you're adding to your multi-million dollar home. So sit back, relax with a cigar and a tall, cool one, and watch Monday Night Football secure in the knowledge that you've done your bit for the dying patriarchy. After all, it is your land. You've earned the right to own it. You've amply demonstrated your superiority over nature. Even the moon, the symbol of the Goddess herself, has your big hard rocket and your little white golf balls forever implanted in her. So why worry? You're in total control!
Toolman, the Golfer who makes ten or twenty times what you make is really your best friend. Golfer, the Toolman whom you relegate to the ghetto is really your symbiotic companion. Pull together and you may defeat yourself yet! For when the feminine dies, you die. But that's what you secretly want, isn't it? No? Look at the image above your altar next Sunday morning and deny it.
Peter Hughes April 17, 1997
©1997 Peter Hughes
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