Month: August 2015

Let’s Talk About Manliness: Part 1

If you’ve ever found yourself asking “what does it mean to be a man in 2015?”, congratulations, you’ve lost your man card.  That’s right, as a feminist male who strongly opposes outdated and useless gender-norms, I’m taking away your fucking man card.  Why would I do this?  Simple, it’s because there are two types of men who like to explore this question.  The first category are men with beards and feathered hair and acoustic guitars who like to have workshops exploring masculinity, and these men are perfectly okay with hugging other men that they don’t fucking know.  You know who you are and you can fuck right off with your talk of tantric sex and bullshit rituals that bring you closer to your inner man-beast or whatever.  Eat all the dicks!  Sorry, I just really don’t like being hugged by strangers.  The second and more prominent group are far more idiotic, and that group is the men’s rights activists.  While none of them have ever tried to hug me, I still get their bullshit polluting my Facebook feed every single day.  That space is for depressingly unfunny memes made by conservatives and platitudes about how much people love their children that make me think they’re terrible parents.  But I digress.  The point is, both of these groups are annoying and aren’t fit to call themselves men.  Since I’m not out to insult any other gender identity, I’ll call these people jellyfish.

I think there's a federal law that says this picture must be in any article talking about masculinity.
I think there’s a federal law that says this picture must be in any article talking about masculinity.

Men’s rights activists, or meninists as they now like to be called (not a very creative bunch), or jellyfish as I have just dubbed them, believe that feminism is destroying the modern male, and that they, as men, are helpless against the onslaught of feminist idealism.  For a group that idealizes strong old fashioned manly traits, they’re not off to a good start.  Men, traditionally, are not supposed to be helpless against anything.  These men cower at the thought that someone might call them an asshole.  The ideal manly man will stand his ground if he believes what he’s doing is right.  A friend of mine once said to me “it’s getting to the point where you can’t even be a man anymore.”  I have no idea what this means.  If he means that society is labeling as sexual assault formerly innocent “manly” things like groping the beer tub girl, then yes, he’s right, and that’s a good thing.  I’ve asked him several times and he still hasn’t explained it to me.  Interestingly enough, a few months after he said that to me, the UFC fighter and all around sack of shit Jonathan Koppenhaver, aka War Machine wrote something similar in his suicide note while in jail for aggravated assault against his ex-girlfriend.  From the evidence presented to me, his complaint really seems to be on par with any other dominant group losing power to treat people like shit and get away with it.  Can’t shout obscenities at women on the street, can’t slap my secretary’s ass, can’t tell my girlfriend I hope she gets raped by a pack of niggers (can’t even be racist, is this even America anymore?).

Anyway, as a man, please allow me to give you a quick rundown of the rules of being a masculine man in our first ever listicle.

#1. All men must have a beard, or not, do whatever you want, I’m not your mother.  

Beard culture is getting out of hand.  The appalling label “lumbersexual” makes me want to vomit glitter.  For all their rugged posturing, they seem to spend a great deal of time primping their beards to look just right.  Knock it off, you prancing ninnies!  Grow a beard and then shut the fuck about it.  I don’t want to know about how your beard collects panties.  The only product your beard requires might be some dandruff shampoo, as I found out a few years ago.  The beard trend needs to go away for so many reasons, not the least of which is that it devalues my laziness.  Facial hair exists because we don’t like bothering to shave.  When it comes down to it, I already have to brush my teeth and take a shit, how much of my morning should I have to give up?

No it doesn't. I just covers up your weak chin. You seem like a good candidate for #4.
No it doesn’t. I just covers up your weak chin. You seem like a good candidate for #4.

#2. Men must fuck a lot of women.  Or men — if you’re gay — or transgender people.  Goddamnit!  Men should fuck a lot of whomever they like to fuck, or don’t, whatever.  

Having a hard cock and fucking things with it is the the pinnacle of manhood.  It always sounds like I’m bragging when I mention that I’ve had sex with a lot of women in my life, and I’m really not.  I wouldn’t take it back, but neither is it a point of pride.  It’s just a series of fun and not so fun things that have happened in my life.  Either way, men, the ability to conquer strange has nothing to do with being manly.  It has more to do with being noticed, being in the right place at the right time, and maybe eliciting some good laughs.  You won’t believe how a well-timed fisting joke can lead to coitus.  A friend of mine once asked me how to arouse a woman’s interest.  I have no system so the only thing I could tell him was “just stand around being awesome until someone offers to fuck you.”  If any of you, dear readers, have ever brought someone home from the bar, you know what I’m talking about.  My point is, do whatever makes you happy.  There’s almost no such thing as too many sexual partners provided you’re being safe.  But there is absolutely such a thing as too few.  It won’t make you less of a man, just less able to make an informed decision about a potential life partner.

#2.5. Sometimes women hook up with men that aren’t you and you have to deal with that.

Have you ever been to a cool party bar and looked at all the hot women flirting with meaty asshole dudes and wondered how those men are getting all the attention?  Perhaps you found yourself getting angry.  After all, you’re polite to women, cultured, intelligent, you’re a nice g1243268661054086690uy.  Nice guy is code for boring.  The whole Nice Guy thing has been talked about ad nauseum.  There’s probably thousands of websites about Nice Guys.  You should know by now that it’s not a good description.  Women aren’t attracted to assholes, they’re attracted to men who are fun to be around.  There tends to be some overlap.  Or maybe they’re just looking to hook up with some looker with a six-pack.  Women can be just as shallow as men.  I know Kevin James movies would have you believe otherwise, but no, sometimes ladies just want to bang a hot guy.  Recently, while watching the Republican debate, I thought about how how much I can’t stand Megyn Kelly’s politics, but I still wanted to jerk off all over her face.  If you don’t think there’s a girl version of that impulse (run over there and make him open all my jars?), you need more female friends.  If you were to hear my girlfriend talk about Channing Tatum, you’d faint like a southern belle.  Anyway, the important thing to remember is that none of this has anything to do with you.  Most likely, you’re in the wrong bar, pining after the wrong women.  Consider going to places with chicks that are into the same kind of shit you’re into.  Or if you’re just fucking boring or fat or smelly or whatever, consider working on that.

#3.  Every man needs to drink whisky, goddamnit!  Then again…

Men, stop drinking whiskey.  Just stop it.  You’re ruining it for those of us who really like whiskey.  You’re driving up the price and creating shortages of the stuff.  I know a shot of Knob Creek looks good with your perfectly parted hair, expensively groomed beard, and flannel fucking shirt, but just knock it off.  In five years you’ll go back to drinking vodka sevens, but by then the damage will be done.  So quit it.

#4.  Every man needs to be willing and able to punch a motherfucker in his stupid goddamn face!

This is one rule that I’m going to stand by.  Several years ago, I was drinking with a friend of mine who was going through some problems.  She stepped outside for a smoke and a cry and this guy started fucking with her.  I politely asked him to back off and he said I should “tell [my] cunt to 6a00d8341c630a53ef0120a7af409b970b-800wishut up.”  I punched him in his stupid goddamn face.  Why?  Because that’s my job.  I’m not a violent man.  I hate violence unless it’s in film, literary, or game form.  But he needed his stupid goddamn face punched and I stand by punching him in his stupid goddamn face.  Some people will disagree with me.  They’ll say that a measure of a man isn’t his ability to punch a motherfucker in his stupid goddamn face.  Those people are dead wrong.  Treating some dipshit to a bit of chin music is a solemn duty (hehe, duty).  Sure, you might get your ass kicked.  You might end up with more than one guy kicking the hell out of you.  But everyone needs to get their ass kicked at some point in their lives.  It humbles you.  And the motherfucker you punched in his stupid goddamn face will at least remember it.  That is not to say you should just go around punching faces all willy-nilly.  If you go around looking to punch faces, you run the risk of becoming the guy whose stupid goddamn face needs to be punched.

Above is a video of someone who needed to be punched in his stupid goddamn face.  Sadly, it didn’t seem to have much effect.  If you see this motherfucker, feel free to punch him in his stupid goddamn face.

Serving time: Part 2

Day 2:  After receiving word that my electric shackle falsely reported two escape attempts, I was interrogated as to my whereabouts and how I might have tunneled to freedom.  The prison guard said it was likely a faulty battery and that they would look at it on Saturday.  I can only guess at the tortures that await me.

I was shipped off to the labor camp this morning where I had to endure eight grueling hours in front of a computer screen.  The fan in my area was broken so I had only the industrial level AC to keep me cool with no breeze.  My mind wandered back to the ride over here, where I would stare out the window of my vehicle and think about the innocence of the poor fools around me taking their freedom for granted.  They’ll never know the torment of leaving their residence to work for a third of the day, only to return home to stay until the next morning.  It’s almost lights out.  They make me go to bed sometime between 21:00 hours and 01:30.  Any later than that, and I’ll be a bit groggy tomorrow.  15 days and a wake up left.  I can only hope I at least somewhat resemble the man I was when I’m finally released.

Serving Time


Day 1:  The guards were all taunting me with their politeness.  “Just fill out these forms and we’ll get you set up” she said with that cheery inflection.  I waited 15 minutes with nothing but my phone and many games to keep me company.  The birds might have been angry, but I was downtrodden.  A subhuman beast for them to toy with.  The man explained the rules and how the device worked as he fastened on the electronic shackle.  “Is that too tight?” he asked knowing full well that it was.  I could tell that he got some kind of perverse pleasure from this.  “Yes, it’s a little tight.” I told him, trying to hold back my humiliation.  He would not win.  “Alrighty,” he said, “I’ll just loosen it up a notch… how’s that?”  Straining to stifle the tears I said, “Yes, that’s much better, thanks.”  I’ll not give this sadist the satisfaction of seeing me brought low by the careless society that made me who I am.

Back in my cell it was lonely, drab.  Another prisoner demanded to know what was for dinner.  Something the warden was cooking up, I told him.  I could sense it in his very being.  I was an easy target, someone to take advantage of.  He knew I would have to cater to his every whim or suffer his wrath.  They say the first day is the worst.  God I hope that’s true.  16 days to go and I can’t even begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel.