WARNING TO SMALL LIONS: LION SEX HERE!
For me, the best book ever is always the one I am reading. I’m currently reading A Place of My Own, by Michael Pollan.
Precis: Guy with midlife crisis builds cabin in woods to escape reality.
There’s a lot of quoting various philosophical streams of thought, he practically makes verbal love to Henry David Thoreau, but mostly it is about a guy channeling his primal scream into nailing cedar shingles onto a purpose-built cabin. While his wife gives birth to their first-born.
Men should be more like peacocks: Show up once a year, flash your colourful butt, and off you go, squawking into the distance.
Or lions. All you have to do is do some leonine porn whenever the NatGeo camera crew is around, otherwise, you pretty much chill. (Aside: In the Lion King series, when Simba’s father dies, and he eventually becomes king, does that mean his mother, Sarabi, becomes part of his harem? And why does he appear to be a perfect dad, when male lions seem to enjoy infanticide more than should be socially acceptable?)
It takes dedication to be a man: Could Gloria Steinem spend two years building a structure in the woods solely for the purpose of scratching her butt? Could Germaine Greer turn a couch into a mini-habitat, with all life’s comforts within arm’s reach?
Next time the children beg to see the Lion King, I’ll put on a NatGeo DVD instead- reveal the full, uncensored nature of lions. (Ok, maybe slightly censored- they always talk about the male lions having a barbed penis which is difficult to extract. I mean. Do I need to be THAT educated?)
In the meantime, I’ll be out in the woods, with a hand-axe and a mouth full ‘o chaw, thinkin’ about soft furnishings and window treatments for my rough, hand-hewn cabin.
Precis: Guy with midlife crisis builds cabin in woods to escape reality.
There’s a lot of quoting various philosophical streams of thought, he practically makes verbal love to Henry David Thoreau, but mostly it is about a guy channeling his primal scream into nailing cedar shingles onto a purpose-built cabin. While his wife gives birth to their first-born.
Men should be more like peacocks: Show up once a year, flash your colourful butt, and off you go, squawking into the distance.
Or lions. All you have to do is do some leonine porn whenever the NatGeo camera crew is around, otherwise, you pretty much chill. (Aside: In the Lion King series, when Simba’s father dies, and he eventually becomes king, does that mean his mother, Sarabi, becomes part of his harem? And why does he appear to be a perfect dad, when male lions seem to enjoy infanticide more than should be socially acceptable?)
It takes dedication to be a man: Could Gloria Steinem spend two years building a structure in the woods solely for the purpose of scratching her butt? Could Germaine Greer turn a couch into a mini-habitat, with all life’s comforts within arm’s reach?
Next time the children beg to see the Lion King, I’ll put on a NatGeo DVD instead- reveal the full, uncensored nature of lions. (Ok, maybe slightly censored- they always talk about the male lions having a barbed penis which is difficult to extract. I mean. Do I need to be THAT educated?)
In the meantime, I’ll be out in the woods, with a hand-axe and a mouth full ‘o chaw, thinkin’ about soft furnishings and window treatments for my rough, hand-hewn cabin.
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