Pirobolus

[xoxoxoBruce]

Actually, "99 Problems and a Pirobolus Ain’t One: The Inflammatory History of Gendered Stones" is the name of the article.
I think he makes some valid points in his exploration of the ancient myths of flaming stones.
It starts with a quote...

“Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.” – Katharine Hepburn

Then he defines "Monsters" (not ours, just in general. Although on second thought...)

Monstrosity is hard to define except in relation to a peer group. Nazis are monsters in relation to others bent on world domination. Sea serpents are monsters in relation to other ocean creatures that politely offer themselves up for a fish fry. Miley Cyrus is monstrous in relation to other teenage girls (but only marginally so). We classify organisms as monsters when they step outside the margin of what we consider reasonable behavior for their particular category of critter. Consider the alien. Aliens can be monsters, but generally only when they plot to blow up the Earth, consider us a food group, or spend an inordinate amount of effort on painful probing. Otherwise, they’re just humans in monster suits. Vampires were monstrous until they started getting all emotive, sparkly and made you feel special. Tales of monsters are about what to do when things get funky. Mythology would be awfully boring if it simply described a bunch of mortal humans running around bashing each other on the head and sleeping around. I mean, that’s just a Thursday on planet Earth.

Another quote that rings true to me...

George Gilder said, “the differences between the sexes are the single most important fact of human society.”

Followed by...

I’ve been married for almost fifteen years. I have a five year old son and house in the suburbs (but in case we’re ever in a bar together, I’m a dangerous, love ‘em and leave ‘em outlaw biker. Try and remember), and sometimes I’m still convinced my wife is an alien. Not literally, so don’t get on the phone to the psychiatrist; rather even though she is my best friend and soulmate, we live in different and incongruous mental universes. Hopeless romantics are no doubt objecting to this, imagining the depth of understanding that they share with their respective partners. They are wrong. That’s why we call them hopeless. The simple fact is that men and women experience the world differently. The authors of the classier medieval bestiaries recognized this, and insightfully encoded this important piece of information in a set of gendered monstrosities called the Piroboli (singular, “Pirobolus”).

Then he gets into the stones.
I liked it.