The chirping of birds is only relaxing if you don’t speak bird. If you did, all you’d hear is an endless series of sexual advances. “Hey baby! Hey Baby! Hey baby! Hey Baby! Hey baby! Hey Baby!” How long do you think it would be until you got out of your lawn chair and started screaming for them to shut the fuck up if you spoke bird? Not long, believe me. That’s what I hear when I hear birds chirping. An endless series of come-ons.
That’s what passes for romance in the bird world. And whether you want to admit it or not, birds are just the tip of a very weird sexual iceberg. Nature offers us a staggering variety of ways that males and females get together. Sometimes it’s based on a physical feature possessed by the male. Sometimes it’s as simple as the largest one gets the girl. For every example of a hard-working male who provides shelter for his intended, I can offer you a dozen where copulation comes as a result of rape or a free-for-all gangbang.
So don’t tell me that romance is the norm in the animal world and don’t try and tell me that we’re not animals. When I stop and think about it, I hope you don’t try to tell me anything that doesn’t support my contention that romance is unnatural. An aberration created by females to avoid packs of men descending on them with procreation on their minds every time they slip down to the bar for a drink.
Just like in the woods, whom a girl ends up with can be determined by any number of factors. What’s different is that in the woods, each species usually has one attribute that all females go for. Every female of that particular classification is looking for the same thing. The winning male will be the most aggressive, most persistent, have the brightest plumage, have the biggest dick, whatever.
Not so for human females. Each woman has a completely different set of standards, which makes courtship a pain for the male. Is she looking for the most aggressive, most persistent, the brightest plumage, or the biggest dick? And if it is the biggest dick, how do you let her know you’re packing? If you’re a bird, you just lean back and whip that puppy out, all red and engorged, and start calling attention to it with all vigor. I tried that once at a bar and let me tell you, Applebee’s did not appreciate it.
Which brings me to the concept of love. Talk about an emotion that muddies the sexual waters. Are we looking to spread our genetic seed to every willing female or are we to buy into some bastardized version of the nest-building instinct? The shark would simply laugh and explain why it’s better to just bite a fin and plow away every chance you get. There are no sharks marching down the undersea aisle with friendly fish throwing the aquatic equivalent of rice and wishing them well. Bite. Insert. Repeat.
Is it because female sharks have never seen a Nicholas Sparks movie?
No textbook on animal physiology or nature special on the National Geographic channel is going to explain to why a male feels the way he does about a specific girl instead of all of them. Not the urge to mount them but the desire to make them smile. The feeling that he is somehow diminished if she is not in view. Passion that transcends the need to have his DNA muddle on.
It’s at this point that you might be asking yourself why getting thrown out of an Applebee’s for exposing myself would bring me to the concept of love. Well, if you must know, because somewhere there is a girl who would fall in love with a man like that. She would find it endearing when no other girl would. Reason and logic would wilt in the face of the primordial attraction that would blossom in her breast. I’m not sure that is the definitive definition of love, but I’ve heard much worse.
Especially on Hallmark cards.
Maybe National Geographic would appreciate that observation.
I knew a guy who, once he fell in love, never stopped. He loved four girls in his life and from the moment he fell for each one, he was in love to stay. It made no difference that circumstances and harsh realities intervened in each, he remained in love with them all. He didn’t have a finite amount of love to distribute amongst them, loving one did in no way reduce the amount of love he felt for the others. In fact, he could never understand the concept of falling out of love with someone. He did not view it as a conscious choice. It just was. He would have made a terrible husband but, on the other hand, he would have made a tremendous bird. Flitting from one to the other, his plumage fully on display. An image so convoluted that it should help you to understand a little better why getting thrown out of an Applebee’s for exposing myself would bring me to thinking about of love.