Blame it on the fish
As the great exchange of comments in my last post got around to both fishing and profound questions about the nature of man and men I thought I would take this opportunity to recommend again, my favorite book, The Flounder, (1978), which contrasts the destructiveness of men with the sanity of women, and examines such matters as politics, feminism, and the art of cooking.
It is the story of an oft re-incarnated man and his ever present companion. Though they don many bodies and minds through the ages they are ever the same spirit. The saga begins in the marshes of the mouth of the River Vistula near Danzig, where a prehistoric fisherman catches a talking flounder. The flounder, in return for not being placed on the menu, takes the hopelessly confused man under his fin and guides him out of the matriarchy which predominates. The women have three breasts and suckle their men. Peace and order reign but…nothing ever happens. Eventually, in modern times, the flounder his hooked again by a gaggle of trolling feminists and is placed on trial for his crimes against women. I won’t tell you more in case you do yourself a favor and read it. I believe the book might give dear whattheheh fresh perspectives with which to sort out her very valid, but hard to plumb, questions.