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I want to talk today about a subject that is near and dear to the hearts
of my fellow Americans … well, at least those who remain obsessed by this
whole Clinton business. The subject I’m referring to, of course, is
sex.

It seems to me that the latest wave of the Clinton/Lewinsky ordeal has
found the pontificators dividing themselves into two camps; one who seems
bent on depicting Lewinsky as the “victim” of a vicious predator (these are
the folks who are busy tossing around that most meaningless of terms,
“sexual harassment”). Meanwhile, the other side characterizes Lewinsky as
the prime motivator — let’s make that manipulator–in the whole affair. To
these folks, ol’ Monica very consciously, and with malice aforethought, took
advantage of some poor besotted “sex addict.”

Whichever side you fall on, the topic of this week’s sermon is (da dum!)
THE WAR BETWEEN THE SEXES. Frankly, I don’t care where you stand re the
Clinton/Lewinsky bugaboo; you need to listen up … because this is a war of
the highest magnitude.

Excuse me? Did I hear someone say there’s no sexual war?

Think again, friends. Today, the much revered concept of “penis envy” is
no longer valid. It has been replaced by “penis contempt.” Witness this
manifesto from a feminist group called SCUM (The Society For Cutting Up
Men): “The male is a biological accident. The Y (male) gene is actually an
incomplete X (female gene); the male species has an incomplete set of
chromosomes. In other words, the male is actually an incomplete
female
— a walking abortion. The male spends his entire life attempting
to complete himself, that is, to become female. Thus it’s impossible for a
woman to have ‘penis-envy;’ the truth is, men have ‘clitoris envy.’”

Everybody got that? Now I don’t know who the author of this esteemed bit
of brilliance is, but you can bet your booties it’s some zit-faced,
overweight, hairy-armpitted Andrea Dworkin clone. Whatever the case, the
very fact that this gibberish is out there — on bookshelves … on the
Internet — should give us all pause.

So, in this grave hour, I speak to my fellow man, because, frankly guys
— we’re losing the battle hands down. So listen up, mates! There is one
(and only one) way to turn the tide before it’s too late — and that is to
grab your gonads and call a moratorium on sex! That’s right … I’m talking
about celibacy! Trust me. I have tested this out for myself and have come to
find out that sex is not (I don’t care what Masters and Johnson say)
a necessary staple for leading a healthy, happy life.

As Norman Mailer put it so well, most of us are “prisoners of sex.” (Ol’
Bill surely was/is.) We are ruled by our desires. Desires are funny things.
The more you indulge them, the more hold they have over you. The more sex
you have, the more sex you want. And the more you get, the less satisfying
it is.

What it all boils down to is that sex (I’m talking about sex for
pleasure, not sex for procreation) is an addiction; and we are all — to
some degree or other — sexaholics. The only cure for this (I’m talking to
you married folks too) is to go on the wagon … at least until you’ve got
yourselves to where you control the urge instead of it
controlling you.

By and large, sex is not about love. Sex is about power. The whole mating
dance is essentially a power struggle — an age old ritual in which the
woman essentially dangles the bait in front of the guy’s nose, then runs
like hell when he comes after her. The guy keeps up the chase … tires out
… gets another whiff … goes nuts — and is off and running again.
Eventually, he gets fed up with the whole thing, clubs her over the head,
and drags her back to his cave.

It has been thus throughout the ages.

While men may have it over women in the “business” world, in the sexual
arena, the more powerful entity is clearly the woman. (If you don’t buy
this, just go down to your local topless bar and check out the droolers
sitting around the edge of the stage). Why this is so has been (and will
continue to be) the subject of much debate. However, certain “experts” state
that one of the reasons is that the male of the species has the need to
experience orgasm much more so than the female (this notion has been
corroborated by some of my women friends). The result of this little
biological twist is that a lot of guys walk around their entire lives with
their weenies in their hand. To be more precise, many men “think” with their
penises.

Let us further explore the scenario. From the very get-go, the woman has
the man by the proverbial cojones. In fact, the dumber, the more
vulnerable she appears (I say “appears” for in the final sense, dumbness is
an act), the more he wants her, and hence, the more power she has.

How many times have we seen it? The man endlessly pursues the woman,
finally following her into her lair — her nest of seduction. He appears to
drag her back home, but in fact she has captured him! This
makes him feel strong; it feeds his ego. But the truth is, he’s already lost
the battle.

The next step is, he becomes dependent upon her. The longer the
relationship carries on, the more dependent he becomes. This may go on for
weeks, months or years. Finally, when she has used him up, she discards him
(“Of course I still care about you, but I’m just not in love with you
anymore
“). Ever heard that one before? Sure you have.

The man proceeds to fall apart; the woman, conversely, flourishes. She
has sucked all the lifeblood out of him and now, like her counterpart — the
black widow — she leaves him to go in search of new prey (why do I keep on
thinking of Nicole Simpson?). She doesn’t do this intentionally, but simply
because that’s her nature. Essentially the (unenlightened) woman —
this means most women — is a psychic and spiritual vampire.

I am not saying that women consciously do this. In fact, most women,
despite their natural intuitiveness, are very unconscious. Women
function largely by instinct … by feeling. But the instinct isn’t
connected to the brain. In fact, it is not the much-vaunted quality of
intuition which is a woman’s mainstay. No, the art at which women are most
adept is that of manipulation (and if little Miss Monica isn’t one of
the best manipulators you’ve ever seen, then I suggest you go back and
re-read your copy of the Starr Report.

You can argue all you want; it makes no difference. This is not my
theory. All you have to do is to look.

Even the ugliest wench — if she learns the art of the tease — can have
a man chasing after her in no time flat. If women would but realize that
they possess this quality, there wouldn’t be a multitude of books on the
shelf teaching women how to snare a hapless mate. One of these has actually
become a best-seller! Its title: “The Rules: Time Tested Secrets For
Capturing The Heart of Mr. Right,” penned by someone named Ellen Fein.
Warning, guys: if you happen to spot this thing lying on your girlfriend’s
night-table, run like hell! I’m telling you, this is one scary little book.
A small sampling:

  1. When he asks you out, count to five before saying yes. It’ll make
    him nervous. And that’s good!

  2. Don’t meet him halfway or go Dutch on a date.
  3. Don’t ever call him and rarely return his phone calls.
  4. Always end phone calls first.
  5. Stop dating him if he doesn’t buy you a romantic gift.

So fellas, I’m telling you — it’s up to us to cool it. Why? Because the
gals just aren’t gonna go along with the program. Why? Because women are
essentially weak, helpless creatures. Doomed, I’m afraid — ever since old
Eve took the serpent at his word — to temptation.

Women need you to be strong! Women need you to say “No!” Women
need you to reject them! Sure, I know it’s hard, but there are
certain little tricks you can use to get yourself through the early, more
painful stages.

Pour water on yourself, like Robert de Niro did in “Raging Bull.” Or, if
you’ve gone over the line, and find yourself engaged in “that most holy of
acts,” the best way to kill the mood is simply to start laughing like a
madman. When she overcomes her initial shock and asks you what’s going on,
just plaster a crazed grin on your face and say (in between giggles) “I
don’t know … it’s just that this seems really absurd.”

And you won’t be lying. Because, just a wee bit of detachment … a
slight shift in focus … reveals the sight of two human beings engaged in
the act of mating to be completely, unendurably, insanely hilarious!
Ever watch two dogs doing the old humparoo? Well, sorry to burst your
bubble, but people look equally ridiculous.

Forgive me, please. I don’t mean to be cold-blooded. All I’m doing is
simply restating the time-honored Aristotelian truth that nothing — in and
of itself — has any intrinsic value. Rather, values are placed on things
from the outside, by us. And, for a multitude of reasons far too complex to
delve into here (the prime one being our fear of confronting our own inner
emptiness), we have projected upon the poor little act of coitus a
meaning far beyond what the good Lord intended.

Now, to set the record straight, I’m not calling for a lifetime
moratorium on sex. Just some de-tox time. After you get over the initial
DT’s, I think you’ll experience a newfound sense of freedom and
peace-of-mind. Those are, after all, the results when you kick any
addiction.

Final warning, guys. It’s up to you to lead the way. If you think you can
trust women to take the bull by the horns, just remember what my pal Jack
Nicholson once said: “There’s three things you gotta remember about women.
They hate us. We hate them. They’re stronger than us. They’re smarter than
us. And most important … they don’t play fair.”

Hey, Ellen Fein … eat your heart out, sister.

THE FAIR GAME MAILBAG: I realize that this column is probably
going to make some of the ladies mad. Perhaps it’ll cause some of the more
Alan Alda-type males (never trust any man who tells you he’s a “feminist”)
to become a bit miffed as well. To be perfectly candid, that was my
intention. (That doesn’t mean I don’t believe — and practice — what I’ve
just suggested). But you see, a terrible thing happened after last week’s
column. I got nothing but entirely positive emails! Not even one
eeensy-weensy piece of hate mail. (Well, there was one … er, attempt —
but it was so abysmally stupid that I can’t really
count it). You see, for someone who thrives on being in the heat of battle,
this is anathema. So, come on. Load up the cannons. Hoist the mainsails! Let
me have it!! Just do your best to make your slings and arrows halfway
intelligent. I mean, calling someone a “chauvinist pig” is neither
particularly interesting or original. So put on your thinking caps, take off
the gloves, and fire away! I look forward with great anticipation to that
first volley.

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