The pussification of the American male is nothing short of disturbing. Where’s Don Corleone when we need him to slap some sense into these whimpering messes? It’s the number one complaint women have: Why can’t men be manlier?

Most straight men already assume they are among the manliest beasts of the jungle. Not true. Dude, if your hands are softer than your woman’s, you might be a pantywaist. At the base of each finger should reside a callus or blister. Your forehead, knees, or elbows should have sports-related scars. If you moisturize (my brown buddies excluded), you probably sit to pee.

The entire cast of Bachelor Pad shaves their chests. (This includes Vienna, who I am convinced in none other than a slow-eyed demon, risen from Hades to torment and annoy.) Hey, Old Navy doll boys, you’re supposed to have fucking fur. Razors don’t belong around your nipples. I can’t imagine the horror a woman has when she goes to caress her toy and finds stubble. I’m not saying there shouldn’t be some hedge trimming. I’ll also give a pass to men who apply conditioner to places other than their brain-closet. Go ahead and shave your balls, but stop with the chest waxing, will you?

Skinny jeans for men must be outlawed. Anyone wearing ankle-tight pants and Keds is in danger of sprouting a uterus. I saw a handsome young fellow enter my office (bar) last night wearing a deep V-neck and jeans so tight that I could see his labia. I wanted to take a picture and show him.

“Hey, Tinkerbell, have a look-see.”


“This is you and note all of the people around staring at your ankles.”

“I guess they appreciate my taste in clothing.”

“Your taste is numb, dumb dumb. And, what’s with the duck’s ass on your head?”

“My stylist gave me the latest Twilight do.”

“It’s not a do, it’s a don’t. Duck’s asses belong on ducks. Also, before you do it, bangs belong on schnauzers.”

“But …”

“Shut it! Let me ask you something: Have you ever touched a boobie?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t suck.”

“You’d like to touch more boobies, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then, lose the fucking martini and man up, will you?”

The bars around here are encouraging this behavior by showing golfing, surfing, and skating videos instead of actual sports. Here’s what belongs on a bar’s TV: men competing against men while inflicting injury, pain, or at least discomfort to the opponent. Riding a fucking kiddie bike down a ramp, doing three flips, and finishing with a bruised-sternum landing isn’t manly, it’s asinine.

I wonder what these emasculated men do around the house. I bet they can’t change a flat, snake a clogged drain, or plant a shrubbery. They probably sleep until late morning in their fluffy sheets while cuddling their fuzzy bears. For breakfast, they foam up a latte and eat a scone. Then they flit away to their graphics designer job and listen to Maroon 5 while staring at their dual monitors.

Unless you ladies act now and refuse to grant access to such weenies, you’ll soon be stuck changing your own oil and dating your vibrators.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.