And so women do not understand him, can not understand him, can not comprehend the power of this deadly hormone that builds and builds within him until it reaches its peak in his late teen years.
It is a slow and stupid drug this testosterone, it is unlike estrogen the way the flutter of a sparrow is unlike the erupting of a volcano. It courses through his system building to dangerous and toxic levels that cause us moments, hours, days of temporary insanity. It feeds anger the way gasoline feeds a campfire, making him rage and kick for days over things that women have long forgot. Mixed with alcohol it becomes like an ultimate entreaty to idiocy, causing him to believe that he is somehow handsome, rich, indestructible, bulletproof and ultimately invisible. Entitling him to tell strange waitresses he loves them and call motorcycle gang members faggots.
And it is only later in the jail cell or the hospital or in a strange bed, that just a part of it comes into focus. Yes, it makes him drive fast cars into trees and poles and invent things like Monster trucks and professional Wrestling. It makes him want a sandwich after sex instead of holding you a little longer.
That's us, the Man. We don't understand it and we can't control it. It is like the monster alien bursting out of our chest forever, it commands us, controls us, damages our attempts at communication, pulls at us like a maelstrom in lightning storms, sucking us back a million years to the moment and mental capacity of the first fish who dragged itself floundering up on the banks and thought about walking.
Yes and then as if a final dip in this cosmic waltz of idiocy, in the middle years of a man's life, while a woman's hormone levels rise to dizzying heights of sexual excitement, testosterone begins to leave us, taking with it most of our hair, leaving us bald impotent husks wandering bewildered once more. Such is the beauty and pageantry of testosterone.