Saturday, November 7, 2009


This here's a man's world. It's nature. The Yankees? All men. The Giants? Men. Who do you want walkin behind you in the woods with a shotgun? You don't even have to say it. You know it's true. We're the ones who hunt.

We love food. That's why we talk about it all the time. Killer wings. Ribs. BBQ sauce. Shrimp cocktail -- now that's what we call fish. Chili cheese fries, curly fries, waffle fries, tater tots, mashed potatoes and gravy. We love spuds. Hot dogs, brats, kielbasa, any kind of sausage. Reminds us of our manhood. The girls say, "Yeah. You wish." But we can take it -- we're men. We like our sandwiches big and oozy wet. Drippin down our chin. What do you think we got effin sleeves for, darlin? We love to eat. We dream about food, even when we're awake and supposed to be workin. Red sauce -- oh man, is that good. Pasta, crusty bread. We can't get enough of those effin carbs. Chicken parm. Mutz. We're so good lookin, we turn it all into sugar. Coffee -- can't get enough of it. Donuts. Buttered rolls. Taylor ham and egg sandwiches, with cheese.
American cheese. Pizza. Hey, poot, you ever seen a girl make pizza? Lemme tell you -- workin that dough feels good. Mmm boy, damn good. Steaks and chops, we could eat em every day. Burgers. Onion rings. Sloppy joes. You think girls have the same effin relationship with food we do? They can't take hot pepper, but we say bring it on, the hotter the better. Cosmic chili. We like the sound it makes inside our gut, the gurgles and fizzles, the slow hiss of escapin gas, the occasional crackle and pop. We love mudpies. I'm a man. We love to eat and we like the way it feels the next morning when we're on the pot. It's an accomplishment, being regular, spoolin out our two pounds of shite a day. Feels great. Like a man. We look down and say to ourselves, man I made something today.

Girls eat candy. That's some effin diet.

That's just the way men are, and the way the world is. You do right by me and I'll do right by you. You touch my plate, I'll crack your knuckles. Main thing is this -- we wanna be left alone. Can't stand rules and regulations. We may like uniforms, but that's different. Can't stand someone lookin over our shoulders. Makes us nervous. My effin Pa used to look over my shoulder. That shite ain't right. When we dig into our food, we don't want to hear about manners. Use a fork. Use a knife. We wanna pick it up with our hands. You can wash the grease off later. Men live in the moment when we eat. It's a beautiful thing to see -- the animal pleasurin itself, happy and fat. Like lions nappin in the tall grass.

You won't catch us readin a book. No way. That's for four-eyes, eggheads, and sissies. That's a girl's world, gettin caught up in books. Only time we'll set foot in a library is when we need to use the toilet. Keep em clean. Look around in there -- it's all women. Puttin books away, checkin people out. Lookin things up. Readin their books, from beginning to end. It's too quiet in there. Gets on our nerves. Plus we ain't got time to read. We're too busy eatin and sleepin and workin our angles. We're too busy hangin. That's our nature. There's nothin you can do about it. You can print all the books you want, but that don't mean we're gonna read em. Let the girls read em. Not us. We got our machines to keep us company -- the mower, the leaf blower, the wood chipper, the chain saw. All that crap out in the shed. Nuts and bolts, power drills and drill bits. Tools. Wire. Scraps of sheet metal. Wood, bits of molding, some leftover odds and ends, dowels. Knives and guns. Oily rags. We got our own ways of havin fun. Under the hood. You girls, you go ahead and do the readin and writin. This here's a man's world. We got our cars and our trucks.

We're okay the way we are.

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