“Are you drunk?” “It’s my birthday. Again.” – The Experts
I ate an abacus – it’s inside what counts.
So, it’s St. Valentine’s day. Again.
For this year, I decided to go into the deeply romantic box of ideas, and got The Mrs. a bottle of scotch. Not great a great bottle of scotch, because that’s what I always give her for Christmas (saves on thinking, gents). Well, this wasn’t a great bottle, but it was also not something you’d use for lighter fluid, either.
Not that The Mrs. won’t drink lighter fluid (don’t ask me about that story!), but because The Mrs. sounds like Kim Carnes afterward. Anyone else but me listen to Bette Davis Eyes and not think “Marty Feldman Eyes”?
Regardless, here is why I enjoy my time with The Mrs. As a part of our conversation, we discussed the evolution of modern warfare from the United States Civil War, and World War I. In it, I brought into play the idea that the Germans had totally melted the minds of the French.
Why do French ghosts smell so bad? They are covered in sheet.
Why? Let’s go back to the Franco-Prussian war. Not Franco-American®, because there were far fewer Spaghetti-O’s® back in 1870. And Chef-Boyardee™ was still Chef Notbornyet. Sorry for the digression – it turns out that I bought The Mrs. some scotch, but she bought us some wine. And by us, I mean me and her, not you and me and her.
Our conversation wandered, and I pointed out the reason the French were such wussies was because of the Franco-Prussian war. It seems, the French had a far superior rifle, the Chassepot (pronounced “frog hat spinner” because the French don’t even pretend that letters have meaning). This means that the German soldiers had to attack (they’re Germans, they’re always attacking) for 200 yards (17.3 kiloPascals) while being shot at with relatively accurate rifles before their rifles could shoot back.
You’d think this would mean an easy French victory. Nah. The Germans were surrounding Paris within weeks, because, always remember the first dictum: the French can only win a war in which all of their opponents are French.
Then, The Mrs. demanded (on Valentine’s Day) that we watch either a documentary on WWI or All Quiet on the Western Front (new version, which I had not seen yet). I bring this out not for any other reason than to brag. Chocolates? Flowers? Nah. Scotch. Rom-coms? No. The Mrs. demanded we watch a war movie. It’s like Christmas and we talk about the geopolitics of WWII and The Mrs. demands we watch Patton. Again.
I found a corpse along the road with no arms, head, or legs. The local police are stumped.
This isn’t entirely bragging, since this is Wednesday and we’re supposed to talk about money. How do war movies, moderately priced scotch, and romantic discussions about warfare have anything to do about money?
It has everything to do about money. Everything.
Women can make or break a marriage. Modern societies, especially in the United States, give women an out, and incentivize them to break up marriages for fun and profit. Don’t believe me? Here’s a Tweet® from a Twunt©:
When I first read this, I thought it was sarcasm. It’s not. I feel sorry for her wine and cats.
Yeah, she said that. It’s an awful sentiment that an elected official could say that and remain in office. I’m beginning to understand why they burned witches at the stake, and becoming much more amenable to that idea. After a fair trial, of course. I’m not suggesting that South Dakota do summary executions, but I am suggesting they bring back witch burning.
The economics of the love in 2023 are heavily skewed against those who would love. In my mind, love is the glue that holds the atom of civilization together. That atom? The family. And no matter how you slice it, there is no world where two women or two men can have actual children, so they cannot form the nucleus of the family. Unless cats are children.
The economic incentives right now are against child rearing. It’s amazing to see the number of criminals with no fathers in their lives. It’s amazing to see the number of children coming from “blended” (i.e., divorced parent) families. Here in Modern Mayberry, about (Pugsley’s guess) 65% of the kids come from intact, two-parent families.
In my mind? That’s a number that’s amazingly low. Sure, I was adopted, but I was adopted into a family where my Mom and Dad had been married for 26 years before I was adopted and The Mrs. family was stable for 61 years until The Mrs. father passed on. Sure, my family had ups and downs, but their marriage was approximately as stable as helium or the Democrat’s hold on counting votes. Neither of Ma Wilder or Pa Wilder needed nor wanted surprises.
What they call Frodo if he had lost a leg instead of a finger? A Hoppit.
Today? Husband won’t agree to a new dining room table? Divorce him. Most divorces are initiated by women. Because? They’re unhappy. I understand that’s a reason, but it’s not a good reason, since, until the caffeine kicks in around 11am each day, I’m unhappy, too, and you don’t see me firebombing Dresden.
But those are the women who even bother to get married. There’s a deeper pathology here.
What incentive to men use to improve themselves, to work harder, to get into shape, to earn money?
The prospect of wife and family. If that isn’t there, why bother? It’s easier to eat Cheetos® and play Call of Duty™: Ukraine™ on their PS3©. I’ll admit that this isn’t an attractive mate, but is it any different than a 34-year-old women who has had sex with 143 guys? Women think their value shouldn’t be based on the number of sexual partners they’ve had, but, dudes, who wants to own a pair of shoes owned by 143 other dudes?
Yeah. No one.
The structure of incentives is important. Right now, men are incentivized to eat Cheetos™ and play vidya games. Right now, women are encouraged to have sex with all the men, and then try to find someone after they’ve gone had sex with all the men, gone to graduate school, lost their fertility, and bonded with wine and cats.
Ugh.
Economics is about incentives. Give incentives to women to not marry and then divorce at the slightest provocation? Men will turn into Tostito® munching morons. It’s simple. And then both will be sad. The 45 year-old wine aunt? She’s not happy, she’s just out of options. The 30 year-old man-boy?
He’s just looking for a wife, children, and to make a place in society. That’s it.
Not pictured: The Mrs.
I’ll say this again – my Gen X road was easier than the Zoomer and Millennial kids. A young man faces women that are hostile. That turns him into a man that’s not prepared. If I might make a modest proposal, let’s bring back shame for women. And let’s bring back pride for men.
Seems like a fair deal. And, honestly, the best St. Valentine’s Day present that they could have. Unless their wife demands they watch a war movie before sending them out to smoke a Rocky Patel® cigar in the hot tub so they can finish watching the documentary about the Franco-Prussian War after having a few glasses of wine and scotch.
Hope you had a Happy Valentine’s Day!