Boys with Balls

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So it has at last truly happened. Right there in the land of the free and the home of the brave, the old gunmen of Wall Street can with confidence take on and kick the crap out of them young whippersnapper preppies. Plus, screw women until they scream for mercy; and live to ninety seven. Don’t just get it up, get it on going forward.

According to impeccable news sources, American chemical wizardry and a very smart corporate entrepreneur have repackaged testosterone as the number one solution to the real problem for ageing males; which is how to stay ahead of the young set at work. This is an interesting twist on the conventions of sexual chemistry which has mostly been concerned with female fertility control and male potency.

The premise and hence the promise is that maintenance of youthful testosterone levels will enable men to stay as top contenders in the herd for way longer – such as beyond 40, than otherwise. Because if they don’t they will be fired or treated with disrespect. Financial markets and their denizens seem to be the primary targets of the new snake oils. But there are many professions in which to stay sharp and aggressive and totally switched into the game structure is critical. Otherwise how do you retain the esteem of your bosses and underlings who are just waiting for the first sign of weakness to give you the bullet, since experience, knowledge and wisdom have little value. To be faster on the draw is everything. Subliminally too, the message is that this testosterone stuff is going to gladden the woman (or indeed women) in your life. No woman, however successful in her own right (and unless following her own very special agenda) wants a wimp accountant or subservient house husband being helpful and annoying her. That is, she doesn’t want such a fellow in her bed. She has her tennis coach for that. What she wants is for her man to be out there earning big bonuses.

Such selfish arrogance appals – and is very dangerous. It was our cocaine-fuelled Masters of the Universe who got us into the mess we are in. To encourage them to enhance their capability to make insane decisions through the ingestion of yet another drug is foolhardy beyond belief. It is also mistaken to suppose it will be universally welcomed by the WAGS, who when passion’s novelty has worn off are happy to greet the breadwinner merely with tea and sympathy; and consider that to be perfectly adequate and a bit of a relief from the Agent-Provocateur and blow-job routine.

So it may be that many women, especially those for whom sexual gratification has become more to do with fantasy or whim than necessity, will almost certainly join with feminists in deploring anything that will prolong the ability of men to behave badly; which is of course the assumed default male condition regardless of whether drugs are involved.

This prejudice is confirmed by the most recent plaint (following the EU ban on wolf-whistling) about the male habit of hailing women in the street with a variety of vocal appreciations which include whistles and cries of ‘hullo darling’ and ‘hey baby’. Rejection is claimed to lead to more aggressive approaches. Whether this is a widespread phenomenon – except in places where ‘Eve-teasing’ is commonplace we don’t know; but in general the argument has been made that women deserve better than to feel permanently assailed by the libidinous appraisal of men.

Presumably the leers of fit young men are nonetheless preferable to those of older men; who are in any case expected to flaunt their wallets and Ferraris rather than their cocks. An older man articulating ‘hey baby’ is highly unlikely to get other than a sharp rebuff even if he is wearing an Armani suit. In truth, so is a young man. Except in Florida, or a club resort where people go for this sort of encounter. In fact the phrase is entirely American (popularised by Kojak in the eponymous TV series). The last person in England to say ‘hey baby’ was probably Jason King in 1973.

The specific exception to what might be called the objectionable random verbal pick-up assault however phrased is quite evidently when the woman involved fancies the man or presents herself in an appropriate context. That surely makes it acceptable and must be part of the currency of introduction in whatever venues youth goes to find mates. It’s hard to see how in the absence of knowing a girl’s name ‘hullo darling’ or possibly ‘yo, bitch’ if amiably articulated isn’t merely one of a number of perfectly reasonable ways to open the conversation. And in case anyone thinks this is somehow culturally offensive, let me say I have no idea quite what is now said at the Ministry of Sound or the Dog and Frog Disco any more than I can remember what served at the Hunt Ball.

In my experience having been an audience to their complaints, the women who are most vocal about verbal commentary (and who interpret it as abuse) seem to have been both physically assaulted themselves and in certain social contexts such as bars have responded to advances in a possibly too humourless and unnecessarily combative way. This is not to excuse male bad manners or deny women’s right to be stroppy but it does suggest there may be value in trying to make an objective evaluation of the issues rather than leave it to the aggrieved campaigners to conflate all offenses great and small into one giant crime.

Another world exists beyond that inhabited by us mere humans. It is one in which bureaucracies and pressure groups compete to create the societies of their delusion. Most of our planet has enough fundamental lunacy and incompetence to cope with. Here in the Caucasian West we are so fat and stupid that we have whole legislatures devoted to making wolf-whistles illegal and science that produces drugs to make men utter mating cries long past the age when they have the style to deliver. But as the great Camilla Paglia once said, “Men – get it up! Women – deal with it!”

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