Well! Hasn't this conversation taken a turn into the nastiness of differential finger pointing? I would prefer we kept these discussions to ourselves, as individual personality traits, and kept our own slates clean internally with regard to how others see and hear us.
Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me.
At a Mensa-high IQ, I found solice in using the language of my youth and peers (be "cool" or be cast out), as learned in the Shipyard Community of Mayport Naval Station, Jacksonville, FL - the third largest Fleet Concentration Area in the United States), these personnel (except for Civilians, NAF Employees, and Contract Personnel) are each in the 18 to 25 year young age bracket:
Active Duty and Reserve FTS: 8076
Family members: 21500
Civilians: 826
NAF Employees: 523
Contract Employees: 1,504
Reserve SELRES: 19
Their minute by minute conversations were just like every construction site and every High School hallway between rival males as we puffed out our chests and displayed our tail feathers - to attract females and assert dominance from our respective micro-cosmic world views. It is said that manners are learned at home and rightly so. If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
So, until we get our next Gen women to detest such speech, vociforously and with malice aforethought, we will continue to hear these "slip ups", for which WE WILL SAY NO MORE. Convoluted as it may sound, continuing on, and on, and on only exacerbates the vile and lickspittle nature of the practice. Why?
It is akin to complaining about Liberals posting on this site. Why?
Why give it (or them) a second's more exposure? Forget about it.
Isn't it is controversial? Of course it is. Does it need to be reguritated, spit up, chewed, swallowed, digested some more, spit up again, etc., and so on. and so on? No. It does not.
Call me "Kill Joy", "Ender of Threads", or just plain "Land_Owner" (Richard). Just don't go on about the useless stuff - particularly at one another.
Remember when Mom would stand up from the kitchen table, look toward the roof listening to your brothers and sister, who were supposed to be getting ready for bed, but were instead "cutting the fool"? Mom would raise that wooden salad spoon like a sword and cry out to the popcorn ceiling, "I have had enough of this!", just before charging upstairs to deliver the nightly beatings - you know what I mean. I was glad on those evenings to already be 'in trouble' and bound to the table until I had finished what Mom dished out for me.