I’ve spent over 40 years on this revolving death star we call Mother Earth and it wasn’t some deep seated mommy issues that made me chase liquor and women all the way around it, it was a love of the female body and an enjoyment of a good buzz.
One of the most multifunctional words in the English language may very well be fuck but the word that causes more people to blush is S-E-X! Why is that? Is it some ingrained puritanical nonsense or is it simply a lack of experience that causes people to react?
I’m not going to tell you how to pick up women, how to make a relationship work or which wine would be the best to drink with baked scrod. I will, however, tell you the secrets to being not only a mans man but also how to be "That Man", not the one she wants to marry, the one she wants to bed before she gets married.
I'll tell you how to survive in those out of the way bars you only dream about going into and what to do when some 375 pound biker chick at the end of the bar with a “Born to raise hell” Tattoo across the front of her neck grabs you around the waist and slurs....
We're also going to discuss what I call the "Amoeba Quandary" or rather the castration of masculinity!
I blame a good deal of it on our childhoods. Think about it, most of our teachers in the mid to late 70’s were women and men who less than 10 years before had been marching at Woodstock and holding love-ins. I include into this the replacement of the daily western TV program with people like Mr Rogers and Captain Kangaroo.
They wanted to mold us all into good little nonviolent, unassuming, sexless robots. Meanwhile all the feminists wanted to emasculate the young men.
“Don’t draw pictures of boobs on your fourth grade notebook it’s demeaning to the girls in your class.”
“Be polite with asexual conversations and don’t you dare open a door or pull out a chair.”
“Hell NO, we won’t shave our legs or armpits and you can fix your own damn dinner!”
Well I say “KISS MY FUCKING ASS.” Let the boys draw on their notebooks, hell for most of us that and the occasional peek at one of dad’s Playboys was the closest any of us came to an early sexual education. I remember in the fifth grade being the hero of the neighborhood when I found a stack of Hustlers and Penthouses underneath a couple of boards beside the baseball field and then snuck them back to the clubhouse. I continued my legacy the next year by going into the Men’s room at the neighborhood barber shop and sneaking out with the latest issue of Penthouse.
Here’s a tip ladies, if you don’t want me to open your door, or pull out your chair or call you ma’am then you can buy your own fucking dinner and pay for your own ticket! Also, if the conversation I’m having with my buddies in a bar while drinking is offending you, then take your ass to the other side of the room or join the conversation with a creative counter argument. Either way, unless your lips are wrapped around my cock I could care less about your opinion.
Somehow we got molded to follow in the footsteps of men like Woody Allen, Bob Newhart and Allan Alda. Quiet unassuming men. Men who wouldn’t even consider going into a biker bar and most women wouldn’t speak to, let alone sleep with.
Would a real man pluck an eyebrow? Only, I think, in an effort to get the piece of shrapnel out or to win a bet.
Would a real man wear eyeliner or finger nail polish? Only if he woke up with it after a night of endless tequila shots and his friends had also drawn a penis on his forehead.
Would a real man go in for a facial, manicure and pedicure? Only, if it also involved midgets and a happy ending.
In other words when you go to do something and you think the perfect person to take with you is your mom, sister or the homely girl from work, STOP, slap the ever living shit out of yourself, go drink a few beers and try to forget your momentary gayness.
Role Models
We as men have wasted way too much of our lives looking up to spineless amoebas! Our grandfathers modeled themselves after men like Generals George Patton and Chesty Puller. Our fathers after men like Roy Rogers and John Wayne. It’s time we molded our lives after men we would want beside us in a foxhole or to be lost in a blizzard with. Men who are not only going to carry themselves out of the situation but in all likelihood your sorry worthless ass too.
Donald Sutherland---By far the only good version of Capt. Hawkeye Pierce. Not to mention the fact that he was the A-Teams Murdoch long before there was an A-Team.
Dennis Hopper—What can be said other than when I die I pray I make it into the diner at the end of the road with James Dean, Marlon Brando and of course the existential Mr. Hopper for one evening of thick, rare steaks, wedge fries,onion rings, an endless supply of 150 year old Bourbon, Cuban Cigars and a bevy of not so virginal, mute, 18 year old catholic girls in full uniform.
Sam Elliott, Robert Duvall and Tommy Lee Jones----Now there’s a western cast for ya. All men I'd be proud to take a punch from. Hell lets resurrect John Wayne and somebody shoot Kevin Costner so he can’t audition and we’ve got ourselves a movie.
Well that's about enough of this crap for one day. I wont be writing this column often it belongs to my buddy D.S. Duke but he's still unconscious thanks to the Tijuana shipment that came in yesterday, not to mention the bottle of Drano I caught him snorting off the back of the cat at 5am. But until next time wash that shit off your face and out of your hair. Loosen those pants so you don't look like you're wearing tights. Then put your thumb in your mouth and blow real hard on it maybe you'll get one of em to drop back down. Now I'm gonna go hunt myself down something that used to be breathing and eat it and then wash it down with something that was slow aged in a wood cask. Remember there's no reason to be ashamed of having balls only for not using them!
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