Cold war: (n) a state of political hostility between countries
It happened over the summer between sixth and seventh grade.
When we returned in the fall for football practice, some of the guys in the locker room had hair on their balls. Some didn’t.
Needless to say, this developed class warfare.
Those who had been endowed with hairiness were also convinced that their “hanger” was “better hung.”
Having no follicles sprouting black shrub, the other boys were at a loss to rally much of a defense. For two weeks, it literally created a separation on our football
Supposedly not having it was hilarious to those who did.
Even though the coach sat us down and explained puberty, and that the rest of the “penile Chihuahuas” would eventually sprout some overgrowth, there was still a cold war for most of the football season, until nature took its course.
Now, you may wonder why I begin this essay talking about junior high school football. I do so because I don’t believe that we, as men, ever progress much beyond it.
Whether we’re comparing our gross national products, our armies or our missiles, there is certainly not much difference from the locker-room jabber that caused so much tension and brooding in junior high.
Maybe we should just go ahead and call it a “cock war” instead of a “cold war.” Maybe such a revelation might stir a consciousness of the futility of comparing strength and might based upon physical virility.
Is it really necessary to know how many times the world could be destroyed by nuclear weapons, or might it be intriguing to contemplate clever and inventive ways to avoid it?
If you don’t want to fight, stop comparing.
It’s that simple.
The minute you feel the need to compare what you have–especially favorably–to what others have, a chill will fill the room.
If it gets cold enough, unfortunately, somebody may want to warm it up.
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