Dear Modern Persons,
OMG. In the past 500 years you’ve taken so many wrong turns. You’ve let peasants elect rulers. You’ve walked away from arranged marriages. You’ve totally turned your backs on The Buggery Act of 1533. And holy Christ, you’ve taught women to read!
And yet your most colossal mistake has to be abandoning the codpiece.
The eradication has been so complete many of you no longer even know what this masculine ornament is so I’ve helpfully posted (see above) a portrait of my glorious self sporting my frightfully inspiring codpiece.
A long time ago in a gorgeous era called the 16th Century men and women were equals in this way: We were both welcome and indeed expected to advertise our sexy wares.
But in your “enlightened” era ― YES THOSE ARE SARCASTIC QUOTATION MARKS! ― it is only ladies who are empowered to thrust about showing off the height, breadth, and jiggle of their accoutrements of enticement.
Every day that a modern woman steps out of the house, she gets to be assessed, judged, and assigned value by everyone with a set of eyeballs based upon the merits of her boobs. It’s a level of engagement with the world that codpiece-wearing men once had too and are now denied.
Over the centuries there has been a jihad of sorts directed at men forcing them to keep their man parts to themselves, locked away, like little Harry Potter under the stairs, behind zippers, stays, buttons, and whatnot. Why? Why this inequality? Why this subjugation? Why this inexplicable fundamentalist zealotry to keep a man’s man bits behind flat-fronts? It could not be clearer ― trousers are the modern man’s burkini!
It truly astonishes me that the French, at least, have not passed a law mandating the wearing of a codpiece by now. It’s shameful the way men are being oppressed, forced to keep the bulk and brawn of their soulful heir-making bits in the shadows.
Men have the same needs as ladies to face each day shouting to the world, “World, this is me and this is what I’ve got!”
Real world consequences come with this repression. A disturbing, recent example is poor, disempowered Anthony Weiner, a former Congressman in the United States. Here is a man who represents the plight of so many. God has endowed him with, apparently, a very noteworthy set of croquet equipment. And naturally he wants to make the world a more beautiful place by sharing his prodigious gifts with others ― like a painter might wish to unveil a landscape. But with no codpiece option in your era, no healthy, normal, everyday way to trot his thrust-y, erogenous bits about, he is forced to sext, which is clearly out of love. As the song should probably go, when the moon hits your eye like a big Weiner pie, that’s ― THAT’S ― amore.
And as another song ought to go, give codpiece a chance.
Tyrannically,
@knghnryviii