Although debate over same sex marriage has temporarily cooled, a new assault on the I-do-I-do tradition has been sucked into the 24-hour news cycle. I speak of the controversial and very delicate some sex marriage movement.
Champions of the movement, known colloquially as “somers,” argue that if God had not wanted there to be at least some sex in marriage, he never would have invented urologists or RCA jacks.*
In fact, without at least a teeny bit of electrical connecto between the male Jack and the female Jacqueline, the only amplifier for the calliope of life would be the flapping of the human gums through the adenoids. The resulting static could cause a short-circus in the marriage, ending with the daring young man on the flying trapeze letting go too early. Metaphorically speaking.
(Only a guy in a some sex next summer, maybe, marriage could have looked at an RCA plug and a connector and thought of the male-female paradigm. Had a woman invented the RCA jack there’s a good chance she would have called it the RCA rolling pin and referred to its connector as the bottom drawer next to the sink behind the broken waffle iron.)
Critics of some sex marriage insist that nowhere in the modern Bible (i.e., Wikipedia) does it say anything about marriage partners being required to “do the slapstick” multiple times in the same year, let alone the same night–especially if one or both partners have headaches, elapsed Prozac prescriptions or herniated discs caused by carrying matching bathtubs around on their backs.
Marriage, these critics intone, is a sacred institution, in which partners from any two genders, geniuses or species–or novel combinations thereof–must be committed. Usually to an institution for at least 90 days for Rohrschact spelling tests and neenu nanna noonu nana counseling.
Without the bare minimum of a some sex marriage, proponents correctly point out that the birds and bees paradigm would be reduced to a paranickle. Bees would forget about their honey and sting anything that moved; birds would have to work two or three nests just to keep up with the duckbills.
Society might even revert to babies coming from beneath lily pads and delivered via storks. And storks may not even remember what storks do. They may even confuse themselves with tooth fairies and end up leaving triplets, say, under the pillow of a gap-toothed six-year-old expecting fifty cents. That would resurrect unkind phrases like “You’re so full of stork nork it isn’t even funny,” and “Just like a stork, always thinking with your beak.”
Critics of some sex marriage are a widely disparate bunch, from those who propose some more sex marriage to those content with same old sex marriage, to those desperately experimenting with sim sex marriage. And then there’s the platonic love crowd.
The latter is named for Plato who considered getting down and/or getting funky to be vulgar, as well as dangerous at his age. He was the first to refer to sex as “rubbing me the wrong way,” saying that love should be aimed at the spiritual.
His most famous student, Aristotle of Funkland, disagreed. Writing in his autobiography “It’s Greek to Me” he said “Plato was one homely dog with no moves at all. You should have seen him trying to do the monkey.”
*Also, Adam and Eve wouldn’t have been naked in the Garden O’Eden, but clothed in gardening duds or, at the very least, matching barbecue aprons.
©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2015, all rights reserved.