The other day, I spoke with a woman who was very upset with one of her male friends. Apparently, her friend picked a fight with another guy in a bar by punching him straight in the face. Someone else illustrated the point that her friend needed to calm down by breaking a pool cue over his head. This left a deep gash in her friend’s skull, and this was, naturally, the main thing concerning her.
This was not, however, the main thing concerning her male friend. He was more concerned with finding the guy who bashed his head in so he could beat up that guy. If at this point you’re wondering why her male friend was not at the hospital getting his head stitched up, then you are obviously a woman. If you were a man, you’d be wondering if anyone has uploaded the video footage of this to YouTube yet, and if not, then what’s taking them?
The woman I spoke with was upset with her male friend because she, being a woman, felt that the most important thing for him to do was get his head stitched up before his brain fell completely out. She couldn’t understand why beating up the guys who attacked him was more important than seeking immediate medical attention. This is because she is a woman. Women are rational creatures, which is a good thing because men are basically ten-year-olds in giant, hairy bodies.
A woman wouldn’t be more worried about finding the people who caved her skull in with a pool cue than getting her head stitched up. Chances are slim that most women would ever find themselves in a position to get their skull caved in with a pool cue unless Jason Voorhes runs out of machetes and has to make do. Women don’t fight for the same reasons as men. If a woman’s going to resort to violence, it’s going to be over something fundamentally important, such as drama. The primary reason men resort to violence, on the other hand, is alcohol.
Men are full of a chemical called “testosterone.” This is a hormone responsible all sorts of immature behavior in men, but leads to particularly extreme examples of stupidity when combined with beer. For instance, testosterone might make a man decide to strap a small rocket to his bicycle, but only testosterone combined with alcohol would make him stupid enough to ride that rocket bike off the roof of his garage. Women have a similar chemical called “estrogen,” only it just makes them roll their eyes in resignation and call the ambulance.
When a man sees an attractive woman sitting at a bar, his testosterone will assure him that she is probably too drunk to realize she’s far too attractive for him. He will then initiate his instinctive mating call, (“Heeeeey, baby, hey! Hey, baby, baby, baby, hey! Hey, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby. . .”), until she throws her exotic drink in his face. This means she accepts his offer of “Hey, baby, hey.” However, when the man’s testosterone is combined with alcohol, it will make him try to get the attention of the attractive woman sitting at the bar by starting a fight with another drunk guy, and the attractive woman will roll her eyes in resignation and call the ambulance.
The guy who bashed her friend’s skull in gave him a clear message: “My testosterone is bigger than yours.” According to the male code of ethics, the most important thing for her friend to do is reassert his dominance, lest he be reduced to the pecking order position of “Wussy Boy.” You’re probably wondering how effectively a guy with a head injury could possibly fight the same people who gave him the head injury, but such concerns are unimportant to guys. The only thing the guy is concerned with is getting his masculinity back, and since he lost his rocket bike after flying it into a lake, beating up the guys who attacked him is the only sensible alternative.
I never did find out how the rematch went. I’m sure nothing is more intimidating to a group of drunken guys radiating testosterone levels strong enough to grow chest hair on women from across the room than a woozy guy stumbling around with blood running down his face from the very head injury they gave him earlier, but in reality, this is an incredibly long sentence. I also never found out if he ever did end up getting his head stitched up, but it’s a safe assumption. After all, he does have a woman looking after him.