I am about to rat out my gender. Men are rotten. And it’s about time one of their own exposed them.

There isn’t a man alive who hasn’t done or fantasized getting a date with a busty, beautiful woman as Brett Favre did (without the stupid, insane taking and transmitting pictures of his privates, of course). Have you seen those pictures? I have. I saw them on Deadspin.com and I can tell you Brett Favre may still be playing football, but I can also tell you what part of his body has taken early retirement.

The sad fact is, Brett Favre is a man. And all men are contaminated from the day they reach puberty by testosterone, a poison that runs through their veins and causes them to do unspeakable things. Men think about sex all the time. They just don’t think about their spouses when they think about sex.

What I’m about to reveal is word-for-word true.

A few years ago I was driving in my car with a happily married male friend of mine. The subject of marriage came up. My friend, who had been married for 12 years, revealed to me that lately he’s been feeling like he is “cheating.” “What do you mean you ‘feel’ like you’re cheating?” I asked. “Well, ever since I got married to Jane [not her real name], whenever we have had sex I have fantasized that I was with a woman who works in my office.” “You have fantasized about this other woman for 12 years?” “Yes,” he replied. “And now you finally feel unfaithful for doing that?” I asked incredulously.

“No,” he answered. “The fact is that for the last few weeks I’ve stopped fantasizing that I’m with the woman from my office, and now I’m fantasizing that I’m with this beautiful woman who just joined my tennis club, and so I kind of feel that I’m being unfaithful to the woman I’ve been fantasizing about for the last 12 years.” If you are a woman reading this, don’t make the mistake of asking a man if this is true. He will assure you that it is certainly not true of him. Don’t believe it. Men lie.

On the positive side, testosterone increases sexual desire. It is a fact that one the highest levels of testosterone ever recorded in a man was that of Albert DeSalvo, also known as the Boston Strangler. Need I say more? Testosterone also causes men to swagger. It makes them fight. It makes them drive like jerks. It makes them refuse to ask for directions (even though they have driven out of the state where the destination they are seeking just happens to be). It makes them go to war. It makes them bump each other and high-five each other and belch and pass wind as amusing “man gestures.”

Testosterone enables skinny, rich, wimpy old men who own football teams to take 11 young, 350-pound dolts and put them on a field in a match against 11 other young, 350-pound oafs and, for three hours every winter Sunday, they attempt to break each other’s bones and cripple each other for life. Meanwhile, 40 million testosterone-filled jerks like me watch this spectacle on the TV and drool with joy.

Last Sunday a Detroit Lions player named Zack Follett was in a sickening helmet-to-helmet crash with a testosterone-dripping giant who plays for the NY Giants. Follett’s head snapped back and he crumpled to the ground and looked as though he was crippled for life, or dead. The announcer said, “He’s not getting up. Did you hear the sound of that hit? Let’s play that again.” He replayed it three times. On Sunday night it was one of the “highlight hits” on every sports show on television.

Isn’t it about time some smart pharmaceutical company came up with a testosterone modifier? A powder that a woman could sneak into a man’s oatmeal that will have him acting like a lamb instead of an ass? I guarantee such a product would reduce the divorce rate and make this world a better and happier place for all of us.

As I was writing this, my wife, the beautiful Judy Licht, looked over my shoulder and said, “This is my favorite column of them all. It’s about time a man told the truth about men.” Then she paused, looked at me, and said, “You’re not like that, are you? You don’t act like that when you get together with your male friends, do you? You don’t have ‘Derek Jeter envy,’ do you?”

I looked her right in the eye and said, “Would I be writing this stuff if I was like all those other men? Do you think I would be nutty enough to reveal myself this way if that were true?” As Judy left the room the testosterone in my body bubbled up with joy. I smiled. Fooled her again.

If you wish to comment on “Jerry’s Ink,” send your message to jerry@dfjp.com.