Let me just say, for the record, than men are manly and women need to learn this.  So seriously, women, quit asking us to do unmanly tasks like the dishes or washing our hands.  Men aren’t clean, nowhere near, we’re grungy, dirty, disgusting and overall unfit to be seen at a family dinner, but without the man it wouldn’t be a family dinner.  I mean come on, someone’s got to make that shit exciting.  Picture what a family dinner would look like without someone manly at the table.

“Gee, golly, pop.  It would sure be swell if I could go outside and play ball with the fellas after dinner.”

“Why sure you can, son.  Just remember to do your chores and homework before you leave the house!”

“Shucks dad, it’ll be dark before I get done with those.”

“Well just this once I think we can allow you to go outside and play before chores.”

Yeah, what the fuck?  Now compare that to a regular family dinner with a MAN in charge.

“Dad?  DAD?!  DAD, I’M GOING TO GO OUT AFTER SUPPER!”

“The fuck you are.  I don’t put food on this table, clothes on your back, a roof over your fucking head for you to go out and play some queer jumping jack games with that faggot neighbor kid.  He’s a peter-puffer, you know, stay away from that little fairy, you hear me?”

“Aww but da-”

“But what? Are you trying to overrun me you little weasel?  Do you think you’ve got what it takes to run this family?  HUH? DO YOU!?  Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought, just sit there and cry like life is so damned rough.  You want rough?  How about I take you to Vietnam, you know, Korea, that was fucking rough.  But you don’t see me crying, do you?  Fuck no.  Hell, I came back, built this house, married this bitch who can’t cook, then got really fucking careless on New Years and then some asshole decided he was going to win the egg race.  You think you’re fast you little shit?  Maybe you should run the fuck away from the table before I slap the tears of your face.  You sound like a water-filled carburetor, I ought to fix you the same way I fix those, hit you with a wrench 30 times then unscrew your head.  Ungrateful prick.”

This would normally continue on for about 30-45 minutes or until the child smartens up and stops breathing.  The man would then make a statement about how the child ruined his appetitve and promptly leave the table and head out.  Of course, the man in the situation is only proving how manly he is by not eating.  Men don’t need food, men can survive for years on nothing but beer and adrenaline.

But men DO NOT do the dishes.  The man’s responsibility is the maintenance of the home, accessories, vehicles, you name it.  The man fixes shit.  There ain’t no time in a man’s day to worry about the cleanliness of porcelain. 

It wasn’t our goddamned choice to use the plates, we didn’t want anything to do with making more of a mess that would be required to be cleaned, fuck that. Hell, if it were up to a man, we’d be eating off industrial strength napkins and drinking out of the carton, us men can’t be bothered with unnecessary, time consuming tasks that could have been avoided with simple planning.

Let’s say you’re in an airplane, an airbus, jet, whatever and you’re flying to X location. (Yes, you silly bastard, this is a math question.) Now, let’s say that the aircraft malfunctions and begins to fall out of the sky at a 45 degree angle. At this point, air begins to suction itself out of the plane and WHAM your little oxygen mask falls from the overhead compartment.

Would you be able to reach that if you’ve got your seatbelt on? I’m no mathematician, but I’m damned positive that unless you have ape arms, this dangling cord-o-life would be out of your reach. Even if you managed to get your seatbelt off, you’d probably have gravity issues, falling down through aisle after aisle of airbus roominess, with the smudged in-flight movie screen breaking your fall towards the nose of the aircraft. At this point you’re going to be gasping for oxygen from the now depressurized cabin and probably drifting somewhere between unconsciousness and imminent death.

But now, what if, as you were at the moment of absolute death, the plane levels off. Would you survive? I’m thinking yes, but only if you’re beginning to make an inward breath as your last. Exhaling would only make the other passengers laugh at you for not timing this phenomenon properly.

Now what if this plane is heading towards a mountain side, eh? I’m sure glad I’m a cheap asshole, having my seats in the very rear of the aircraft. To this day I have yet to see any airplane back into a mountain. This tactic is also a great way to get to the bathroom’s first, in case of other mid-flight emergencies. Lord knows the human body cannot properly digest the cordon bleu, which translated from French means, “bile-stuffed turkey ass”.

Then there’s the patrons of the airline who “respectfully request” you to close your window. Hi, I’m Servo, I chose this window seat so I could avoid watching Maid in Manhattan in which I paid $5 to rent headphones for prior to my knowledge of the cinematic suppository. Is there really any other reason you want me to shut it? Is it too bright during the daytime for you to be seeing outside? Are you allergic to altitudes? Maybe you’re just grumpy and didn’t spend the extra $20 to strategically choose your seat and now feel the need to force upon me your attitude? Here’s me giving two shits: While you sleep on this flight, I’ll be enjoing the view of city street grids and mountainside snowcaps while I slowly pickpocket all your loose change and pens from your carry on bag.

Why don’t long, cross-country bus rides show the same courtesy as the airlines? You’re forced to sit on a bus for 2 days to get halfway across the country and you don’t even get a complimentary, mini-sized can of cola. No tinfoil wrapped orange juice. Not even a packet of 7-9 honey roasted peanuts. All a bus has to offer you is that creepy minority who keeps staring at you as if you were old foes from prison and the overwhelming smell of the bathroom entrails everytime the bus hits a bump. Hell, they don’t even give you seatbelts on a bus. To me, seatbelts on a bus make more sense than on an airplane. Airplanes should be regulated with 3 point harnesses and a feed bag. Busses should be equipped with seatbelts and an economy size bottle of Purell.

Then there’s the airports themselves, screening individuals like they’re hostile, 3rd world terrorists and “additional screening” minorities and anyone who sneezes out of turn. This whole war against terror thing has taken security to new, more ridiculous levels. Not to mention making it harder for citizens to travel, vacation or even defecate on their own soil. This has only given conspires around the world yet another chance to voice their schizophrenic opinions and thoughts to the masses of potential recruits to the ever-growing “underground” population. Nobody cares that you can make up elaborate stories and fictional coverups from thin air. Hey, I can do it too:

As a man once said to me, “12 men total have physically walked on the moon. 2 members from 6 Apollo missions, 11, 12, 14, 15, 16, 17. This is not the work of government conspiracy, but the tactical evasion of Chinese snipers. You’d be silly to believe otherwise, the moon is filled with those damned sneaky bastards and we have yet to send a full platoon up to deal with them. If were up to me, a large nuclear warhead would be the most sufficient method of dealing with them, but I think people enjoy their precious orbiting rock more than they should.”

Now, having heard that, I had replied with the following, “If you add the Apollo missions together, you get 85. 1985 was when WrestleMania first debuted at Madison Square Garden. WrestleMania is an anagram for Warmest Alien. The conspiracy is obvious, aliens on the moon have been trying to capture astronauts for their skins!”

That was a 10 minute conspiracy, no real thought involved. Now picture the hundreds of thousands of conspirators who take this shit seriously and will spend a decade trying to figure out who drank the last of the milk in the refrigerator, only to be disappointed that John Edgar Hoover didn’t come back from the dead to make a malt, but his mother decided she didn’t want dry cereal anymore. Some of these people are just plain deranged. Did you know the Titanic was sunk by the Jews piloting German U-Boats? True story, I have all the documents at hand, right here. Iceberg? How about Glacierstein? Need I say more?

But that all being put aside, I must say, there’s nothing more exciting than a well written conspiracy. No joke. Let’s take the Unfastened Coins theory for example, involving all the events of the 9-11 “tragedy” and whatnot. These guys tore apart every imaginable and unimaginable detail and turned it all into a huge, nearly believable, conspiracy. Everything from counting phone numbers of passengers to individual counts of airline inventory, seemingly adding endless equations to any number to bring the sum/product to a 911 related digit. It’s amazing what the unemployed can do with their time.

Real men don’t defend themselves.  A real man never has to defend in a fight because a real man would have started the fight in an offensive position from the get-go.  What do I mean?  Let’s say for example I’m sitting in a bar and some guy next to me orders a light beer, I’d bicycle kick this man with the fury of Lu Kang, using his teeth as pedals before he even has a chance to finish his sentence.  Why?  Because if you don’t take an earlier offensive position, everyone will know how much of a bitch you are and you will never be considered a full man from that point forward.

If you or your friends should ever experience a situation where you think someone deserves a beat down, administer it long before anyone else gets the bright idea.  Being the first is always the manliest way to earn points and get laid.  Don’t believe me?  Chew on this following example for a moment while I prepare to sucker punch the back of your head.

It’s the holidays, you’re a man, you’re at your family’s holiday dinner by force.  You don’t need nor want to be there, but you show anyways for the free meal, not to reminisce about how cute babies were and how dumb children are, you don’t care because you’re a man and you’re hungry.  You’re there for 2 things, meat and booze, and lots of it.

So it’s dinner time, everyone wants to say grace, but you know better.  Unexpectedly, you bust out a window and threaten your uncle with part of the broken glass to stop preaching in your presence, then you continue to eat.  As the food is being passed around(which I must add as a side note, this is stupid, real men don’t pass food, they take food) your grandmother, who just desperately needs to sit next to you during all events, decides to pyramid an architectural disaster of beans and cooked vegetables on your plate.  So you roundhouse kick her in the face two or three times and watch as she tips over sideways in her chair dragging her plate of gravy and potatoes on top of her.

You’re a man, that’s a legal move.  Nobody decides what you eat, ever.  It’s science.  If I wanted to eat a phallic, elf-cock looking vegetable, I’d gnaw off one of TV’s Corky Thatcher’s legs.  And I’d use a lot of Tabasco on it too.  After I was finished, I’d probably make a dramatic example by bringing back the show Life Goes On and replacing Corky Thatcher’s character with the corpse of Christopher Reeves.  That would show the world, near and far, that even the most lifeless and untalented of creatures can still have more entertainment value than a screaming handicapped.

Most of you are thinking, “But Servo, that’s so sadistic and unrealistic.  Why would you even think something like that?”  Think?  Fuck you, I act.  You think this is a game, that being a man is something you should take for granted?  A man is not a man without first setting dramatic examples, even if it means busting your grandmother in the chops to show the surrounding horde who the alpha male is.  If we don’t set the bar, nobody will.  You as men have to realize this.  It’s about the courage to do what is necessary to keep your profile as a man.  If someone believes you are weak in any way, no matter who, thump them until they become believers.  The true road to success starts with pain.