Strong like bull: Some men measured by their prowess
In northeast Georgia, where red clay formed rolling foothills and yellow daffodils covered the sloping pastures each spring, my family owned a farm at the foot of the Southern Appalachians. We raised chickens and a few head of cattle in that soft, green part of America, and I spent my first seven years learning the ways of farm life.

By my fifth birthday, I had a vague idea, still cloudy in parts but mostly accurate, of where calves - and, by extension, babies - came from. On our farm, there was no need for hemming and hawing about the birds and bees. Anybody who stood in the pasture long enough could see exactly how things operated.

We had a prize bull, Napoleon by name, whose virility made him famous in our rural community. He was thickly muscled and solidly built and, most importantly, he was a good stud. He sired more calves than most bulls in the county, and for that my farming father was proud.

I've since moved off the farm but my roots are still country, and I can't help but notice a little bull in every man. Sometimes, it seems like men are hard-wired for progeny, propelled by a biological need to spread their genetic material far and wide. While women are conditioned to nurture and nest, men are shooting (pardon the pun) at an entirely different target. It's as if masculinity is defined by the seeds a man sows, and more is always better.

Genghis Khan

Cracked.com lists the "5 Pimpingest Historical Figures of All Time." Among them are Genghis Khan, who fathered the generation that produced a half a percent of the world's population (about 16 million people) and Ramses II, who, with eight wives, churned out over 100 children.

Does this hold true in contemporary society? Check out NBA star Shawn Kemp with seven children by six women and NFL running back Travis Henry with nine kids by nine women. These days, professional athletes are the pinnacle of male prowess, and they demonstrate their virility both on and off the playing field.

For me, the point really came home after a holiday party that I thankfully missed. In my absence, a friend introduced her bachelor son to my mother, hoping my mom would put in a good word for him.

He had a lot to offer: good looks, charming personality, a steady income. When it came time to make the hardsell, handing my mom his phone number to pass along to me, this is what he said: "I'll make you pretty grandbabies."

To which my mother responded, "Can I get another shot of tequila over here?"

As for Napoleon (whose namesake was also listed as one of the 5 Pimpingest people), he ultimately met a tragic end. On a cloudy fall day, the leaden sky drizzled a cool rain and a sheen of moisture slicked the muddy pasture. He was midmount, doing what bulls do best, when he slipped to the ground and permanently damaged his bovine member. When word reached my dad that his prize stud would be forever out of commission, he made the kind of hard, remorseless decision farmers make every day. We feasted on steaks for months afterward.

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