I grow BS

One of the greatest things about Don Draper is that he is rarely at a loss for words. He’s never flummoxed. Of course the fact he rarely speaks does’t hurt. Those who flap their gums too much are the same people most likely to step in it and spend their days making asses of themselves. When the time comes for him to step up, Don Draper always says the precisely correct thing in the specified measure with the intent of having maximum effect on the listener. There is nothing quite as amusing as his verbal slap downs of floundering subordinates. This clip is awesome because for once Draper gets dressed down. Here, by his father’s narcotic-induced ghost! Check it out.

How about that?

The 1960-style debonair “he man” exposed for the tool he has become by the raggedy ghost of his long struggling Depression-era father. Don Draper, Alpha stud, and idol of much of today’s manosphere, shown to be the egotistical pawn that he is when measured against the backdrop at this juncture in male human socio-evolution.

“What do you do? What you make? You grow bullshit!” taunts his father’s memory. In fact, the very dynamic which Draper’s father lays out sarcastically can be overlaid across the span of modern man’s turmoil. As modern men, our fathers and grandfathers, and male heirs before, can reasonably castigate us for the same reason Draper got his ass handed to him. Our hands’ are as soft as a woman’s and we all grow bullshit in the safety of our sterilized and dehumidified corporate pristine environments. Climate control saps our hunger and our strength, makes us weak. We push paper and toner by the ton and bytes by the million. We don’t make anything. We grow bullshit, is what we do. Draper’s father is our’s. Draper’s father issues ridicule we can scarcely envision.

Today’s man grows bullshit.

The most humiliating thing for a man of Draper’s constitution is that even though he is a man of strength as measured by the standards of emasculated 20th Century weakness (the show’s setting) of the modern techno-age, he still has no monuments of strength or accomplishment upon which to lean when compared with the generations which preceded during which man did make and grow things. Antiquity, when man used his hands and by doing so, distanced himself from the weak physical passivity of the female. Man’s fierce physical nature expressed itself in the manner it had been intended over millions of years of physical evolution. Man’s primal essence is to rigorously exert himself and build and construct a physical environment. Draper’s generations were the first that saw man begin to use his ass more than his hands as it wheeled from desk to phone, and back. Or as it sprawled across a car seat as he steered his immobile carcass over several miles.

Draper, a “superior” man in comparison to his father in most ways definable by modern culture, was nevertheless restrained by the awareness that his masculinity was a pale shadow of his father’s rough, hardened masculine edge. Modern man bows in silent reproach before the unearthed knowledge that even though he represents the strongest and most powerful of men, he is nevertheless a weakened male mortal in contrast with the generations of rugged male survival which preceded. Even Don Draper, with his chiseled face and expensive suits and large suburban house, was still impaled by the fact he was half the man those of his father’s generation were by virtue of their physical toil.

We have fashioned a new manliness in the modern age and it is not manliness at all. It is the expression of greed and materialistic fervor and socially conscious pretensions. The new manliness is weakly erected and man’s nature, his inner primal voice, knows this. Man grows bullshit now.

I grow bullshit.

I push paper, I print garbage, my garbage is then distorted and manipulated by other BS growers and made into their own BS. BS is transmogrified in the modern corporate environment. One person’s BS crop is assumed under the guise of someone else’s duties which involve taking your BS and transforming it into their own through a series of esoteric flow-charted manipulations which in turn are then seized by a higher up who then makes it his own BS. BS rises continually through the ascending ranks and spawns greater shares of profit as it climbs the hierarchy. The old saying that shit flows downhill has experienced a salmon upstream reversal because now all your BS is ultimately paraded by those higher than you for their own benefit.

No one makes anything except smoke. Men all have soft hands now.

Everyone looks for reasons why men and boys in today’s culture seem weak and beaten down. There is much to blame, but the thing I blame most for its elemental role in the loss of modern masculinity is technology. Technology has seen to it that men’s hands become soft. Technology has usurped man’s reason, his motivation. Man does not create, he merely supports the technomachinery which has whittled away at the manifestation of manhood for long. As man’s ability to create and toughen his hands loses traction, so does the ability of woman to fill man’s void become more necessary because the environment of non-creation and structural management befits the feminine persona. Therein lies the equality feminists have sought. It wasn’t equal pay or equal rights. That was a smokescreen. They strove for a technically fashioned world which neutered the masculine strengths of laborious creation into forgettable nuggets of archaic extinction.

I grow BS because I am a man and that is what men do.

Now.