I have no problem bein’ a man.
I know who I am … and what I’m like. I own up to myself … ‘cause I can’t lie worth a damn.
I confess to lots …
and it ain’t saintly stuff.
First off, guys are … well … guys. And to hell with anyone who says … “Oh, that’s just a sappy cop-out for bad behavior!”
Of course, it is.
I just told you I’m a man … and that I can’t lie worth a damn. You must be a woman. I can tell by the way you don’t listen.
Ladies only listen to every tenth word a man says. That’s why they’re always ticked off at us … because they mad-lib what we say. Hear only certain parts … and then fill in the rest with whatever’s bothering them.
So, when we mention that it might “shower” later in the day … ladies get on our case for some plumbing problem … that’s really only a small-small problem … that’s been hangin’ around for maybe six short years. Then that leads to an outburst about being lazy and gross … which leads to us thinking about beer. And sex.
It’s a vicious cycle.
Ladies, are you learning anything about us at all?
You see … sex is our therapy.
Yup. Without sex, mankind … NOT womankind … would be at war 24/7. Probably having a good time, too.
Men have that Neanderthal gene goin’ on … and the only thing Neanderthals love more than a good knife fight is good sex.
They’ll chuck spears at each other all day long just to show off for the ladies. And maybe get some reward-sex. And a fanny-pat.
Look at Sir Lancelot. He was no dummy. For goodness sakes … look at the size of his sword! Lots of Neanderthal goin’ on there.
So, kind ladies … think of us as Lancelots.
Just bein’ honest here.
Women never inherit the Neanderthal gene. They get the Macy’s gene. Or the Neiman Marcus gene. But never, never, ever bring that up. You wanna keep the peace … except when your killin’ other guys to impress you know who … for you know what.
It’s not easy being a man. I hope women realize that.
We need lots of excuses. We actually collect excuses … because we anticipate guilt. And we’re used to being found guilty. Of everything. Trouble doesn’t find us … no, siree. We grow our own trouble … as a hobby.
So we get accused of everything … for just standing around. That’s how we learned to shrug our shoulders and wink … and play with our belts. In case sex happens by.
Still, I don’t think all’s lost between men and women.
I know men are coarse … and gruff. Off-color, too. And we try not to be. Honest.
But we suffer … lots. Because men think of sex all day long … and never get sex all day long. So we act out. Drop our clothes around house … leave the car stickin’ out of the driveway. Forget the kid in the car seat.
The sad truth? We’re actually handicapped. That’s right … I said it. Handicapped.
Because of that sex stuff. Yup.
So now … now you know the truth. The whole truth. And maybe ... just maybe you’ll find some sympathy or empathy … or any sort of ‘pathy’ for us men. Maybe something that begins with an “s”.
And remember … handicapped people have rights … in addition to parking spaces. That’s right. We do. Every man should get a handicapped sticker … and a hat and t-shirt. A beer mug, too. As reminders … to the lady folks … of our handicap.
At least until this sex crisis blows over. And peace comes to the kingdom once again.
Can we all agree on this?