The sexist world of insults

When you play golf, a cart goes around selling alcohol, water, and hot dogs. A girl typically drives it, and, in California, she is known as the golf cart girl.

That same girl outside of California is known as the ‘golf cart bitch’ — or at least that’s what she is called in Texas.

Hearing golf players in Texas so comfortable calling this girl a ‘golf cart bitch’ not only made me uncomfortable, but it made me realize how easy the word ‘bitch’ rolls off some people’s mouths.

Now, at times, I have been tempted to call certain horrible people in my life (that happened to be women) this word.

But I have grown to detest the word. I do. I hate it.

I am working on never using it again, even if I’m not weaponizing it against a woman. I am not doing it because I’m a saint but because I hate the gender disparity of the word.

If there were words equally demeaning to men’s attitudes that I could use against men that have gone out of their way to behave in reproachable ways, I’d use that word against those men. Then I’d also use the other insult against women that have done the same.

But there is no such word.

I don’t even know that we all agree on what the word in itself means when used as an insult. My wife thinks it is used against women who do not play into the standards of behavior men layout for women in our society. I think it is rooted in slut shaming and is used to hurt women regardless of their perceived transgression.

I was golfing with my mother-in-law, and I told her about my experience in Texas and my dilemma with the word. She quickly responded that there was such a word. “You call those men bitches,” which she used to highlight that even when we have terrible insults against men, they still involve women. Or at least I hope that’s what she was trying to highlight.

No insult against men carries that much impact. The ones we have pale in comparison. Some are even funny, like calling someone ‘cock-and-balls’. How can you call someone a ‘cock-and-balls’ and not laugh?

The stronger insults we have in our society are disparagement against the female body and gender. It shows me that all roads lead to the vagina and not Rome as previously thought.

If someone is not masculine, he is a pussy. Why is that an insult? The pussy is the portal of life. It zaps open and spits up the offspring of our species.

While we are on the topic, there are two types of orgasms: a clitoral and a vaginal. Vaginal must be a myth because you can’t compete with a fully developed baby. It doesn’t matter how well hung you are; you will never be 22 inches long, weighing nine pounds, and have a 13-inch head. So forget it — fake news. Sad.

Also, who decided to call vaginas pussies? They are so not the same thing. I don’t know if you are paying attention, but cats suck.

I told my wife I was not a fan of cats early in our relationship, and she instructed me never to repeat that statement in my life. Apparently, men that don’t like cats don’t like women — what a crock of shit. Excuse me, what a litter box of cat shit.

Who conducted that research? Cats? Maybe a social worker cat with post-secondary education. It is so self-serving to cats. If you make cats the totem of femininity, then the human race is invested in not letting that useless species go extinct. And we would all be mandated to advocate for an end to the cat eating festivals in Peru and China.

On this issue, I couldn’t agree more with the out-of-touch French queen Marie Antoinette when she obliviously and lethally said, “Qu’ils mangent de les minettes” of for un-Francophiles, “let them eat kittens!”

This is why there are so many rats in Paris. La révolution overthrew the monarchy and rats’ natural predators.

I don’t like cats, but I love women. They are not the same thing. No woman has ever scratched my face after asking me to caress her. Cats have.

People who love cats always say the same things like “I love their independence,” or “they make life interesting,” or “I love being scratched in the face and dying of toxoplasmosis.”

Or “my dad was emotionally unavailable, and that’s why I keep my cat around. I keep feeding him, and he keeps finding places in the house to hide from me. Just like daddy.”

If you love your pet because your pet doesn’t need you, you don’t need a pet; you need a therapist.

Also, get over the idea that your cat is independent and doesn’t need you. I have pet sit cats, and with that authoritative and authoritarian knowledge, I can confidently state that if it wasn’t for you, your cat would off itself but not before taking a shit in every single corner of your house to teach you a lesson from the beyond.

Having clearly established that felines and females are not both from Venus (or cattus erat demonstrandum), let’s go back to the problem at hand.

How do we establish equality in the language of insults?

If we can’t use the female body to put down people, what other parts can we use?

Some people will say asshole, but that’s just mean to the asshole.

Others will say the penis and the many other names we have for it. But it is not that strong of a word because, truly, the penis is just there. It’s like a blind dog that wakes up when it can smell food. Calling it blind is not fair because it does have one eye, but it’s not like he can see from it. So blind applies, after all.

I hate to admit it, but if we are trying to find a word to describe someone who is flaky, weak, and unreliable, we have to look no further than the testicles which name comes from the Latin’ hidden witness’ or ‘peeping Roman.’ This is an apt name since they are there, but they are just there to watch and not contribute other than a slight clapping whenever they are impressed by intense action.

The testicles are really fragile. You don’t even have to kick them to inflict pain — a simple flick will make a man writhe in agony and give up state secrets.

There is a vein that connects to the testicles, and for some reason, the left one is shorter and in a more awkward position. It is really easy to strangle it by crossing your legs and creating a searing pain that will make you doubt your willingness to carry on.

One time, my left testicle was hurting, and a quick search in WebMD confirmed that I was dying of testicular cancer and had two weeks of life. A more heretic website said that it was very likely I had torsioned my vein and that removing the offending activity while massaging my vein might help.

After a quick diagnostic, I realized the bicycle crunches were causing my testicular distress and potential infertility. Once that was gone, my wife was pregnant, my cancer was gone, and my beer belly was back.

I know you think I’m bragging about getting my wife pregnant, but I’m not. I am advising the world that bicycle crunches can end the human race. So if you are considering natural birth control, consider bicycle crunches.

I already knew about this because there is a mandatory military draft in Colombia. One way to get out of it is through varicose veins, which is the more technical term for the affliction I’ve described above and better than what you want to call them, ‘achey balls.’

If you had varicose testicular veins, you could get out of service, but you didn’t make it out of it with your pride intact.

They carted us all on a bus to a different school’s basement in our senior year and brought our entire class into a room. They lined us all against the room walls; they had us face the walls and pull our pants down. The doctor goes teenager by teenager and asks them to turn around while he grabs their testicles and makes them cough. All the while, your History teacher looks at every ball cupping. Why he was there collecting this ethnographic data escapes me and, quite honestly, I don’t want to think about it.

If you had varicose veins, everybody would know, and you might be given a get-out-of-military free card, but the bullying in the schoolyard would have been relentless. Teenage boys don’t care this could’ve happened to any of us.

But that’s how fragile balls are. If yours are hurting, they don’t let you join the military and kill people, and there are almost no requirements for that nowadays. Unless your balls hurt, then you are out.

But still, ‘testicles’ is not too strong of an insult unless you are getting weirdly creative and spinning compound insults like testicle chewer or perineum licker.

Maybe the point is to not call anyone names.

I’m not sure if I’m ready for that kind of holy living. All I know is that I can start by never using the-word-that-shall-not-be-named again unless I’m referring to a female dog. And even then, I can just refer to it as a difficult dog.