The Proof is in the Penguins

Once upon a time there was a shitload of penguins that lived in Antarctica. One day every year all the penguins would get together and have sex with each other. Eggs would be born and everyone knows what happens next.

The women assume that they are done, fuck off completely, go and eat to their hearts’ content while their mate starves, and don’t come back until they are so bloated on fish carcass they can barely walk. Needless to say, their demeanors have not improved.

Sound familiar?

I read something in a man-book of science and knowledge that said all the organisms on Earth have a great deal of similarity genetically speaking — some impressive percentage that I don’t remember. When it comes to the DNA, we’re all pretty much the same animal. Is it any surprise then that we can find examples of women and their awfulness up and down the food chain?

I’m talking about March of the Penguins here, which is a good movie if you like to watch men suffering for goldbricking harlots and matriarchal moochers. That’s a trick question of course. You can watch a movie without seeing men suffer for goldbricking women just as easily as you can live it — which is not easily. The only way to escape women, their selfish henpecking, and the wake of its destruction; is probably to be in prison. Believe me, I’ve considered it.

Penguins can probably teach us a lot of things about surviving in the cold and catching fish, but they can also teach us the much more important lesson of men being better than women. In the movie about the breeding habits of emperor penguins, the females are completely fucking useless. They only go like a month without food while the males go four; they are conveniently gone during the month-long portion of the mating season that involves wedging an egg the size of a softball in your ass and balancing on your goofy looking feet against two-million mile an hour winds; and they are constantly making noise. It’s very annoying after a while.

The only thing the penguin women do right (and this is purely on accident) is square off with one another during the mating dance. I don’t know how much man has genetically in common with his penguin predecessors, but I don’t think you can have a penis and not enjoy a good cat fight.

The women penguins also can’t protect their baby penguins for shit. When they come back from their feast, sliding on their distended, fish-packed, bellies, and the males limp toward the sea at one third the healthy penguin weight, some of the first shots we see are birds just swooping down casually and picking the babies off like bread crumbs. Frankly, it made me sick, and I don’t know how you can watch that scene and not think of every single child who’s ever been abducted in a playground with a yappy, irresponsible mother yapping away incessantly less than twenty feet away.

That’s another thing. Women are responsible for most child abductions, and guess what we see in March of the Penguins. That’s right, when one of the new mothers, fat on fish jelly, accidentally drops her baby onto the freezing tundra, her first move is to snipe the baby of another. Real classy ladies. Real classy.

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