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Ever since I was
toddling around in diapers back home in my
Care-Bear-trimmed pink room while holding my Kid Sister doll, I pretty
much always exemplified everything manly.
Even in my teenage years I continued to live out the dream of the
manly man. I did things like work out (sometimes with weights) and
never ever called girls after a first date. This is probably
because
my first date is scheduled for next weekend. At least that's what her
away message says.
Lately this whole "manly" concept has been on my mind. And it usually
happens at ironic moments like during my monthly shave. I often stare
at myself and reflect on how some college men tend to lose that
certain manliness they had when they did things like play high school
sports and walk around the P.E. locker room with wang aplenty. This is
mostly because now they're distracted with less-manly things like
studying philosophy and downloading songs by My Chemical Romance.
Also, please ignore the fact that I think about dudes while shaving.
This is obviously not the case with me, and I wasn't exactly sure why
until I did a little research. In attempt to better understand why I
frighten even myself with my own robust hunkiness, I decided to take a
peek at my family tree. Though the verb I actually used at the time
was much manlier than "peek."
What I found pretty much explains why I'm such an awesome specimen of
nard. I've discovered that with my historical gene pool I literally
can't help but be an unstoppable combination of staunch
heterosexuality and brute strength. In my research I discovered that
I'm part French, part Italian and part German. Not only does this
explain why I'm so stereotypically romantic, but it also explains why
I like French fries, love meatballs and, well, hate everything
else.
Growing up, a wise person once told me that people will stomp on your
heart your whole life unless you exemplify ruthless power. Though my
kindergarten teacher was ultimately committed, I still believe it. You
don't want to be brushed off as a pushover from the get-go, so you
might as well look as manly as you supposedly are.
Take me for example. I never wear pink (unless I had a mix-up in the
washing machine. Or it's a weekday.) but I do wear borderline manly
things like sunglasses because they make me look mysterious. It is
important that you keep in mind that I don't wear sunglasses because I
need to. My eyes are as perfect as the rest of me and ultraviolet
radiation can lick my butt.
As a man's man, it's important that I maintain my godlike image
through my amazing vehicle. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I
have to go to special gas stations to fill up my car. I know you
probably only have three options when you fill up your Hyundai, or
whatever girly trash you drive, but my gas station includes the
following options at the pump:
1. Regular Unleaded
2. Super Unleaded
3. Supreme Unleaded
4. Pure, Unadulterated Testosterone Madness
When you're Tim Landry and you drive such a finely-tuned machine as a
1993 Toyota Camry, you've got to treat her right. Just like a lady,
except with more respect. I wash my stallion at least once a semester
and always maintain at least 75 percent of my hubcaps.
I understand that recent outbreaks in popularity of television shows
such as "Pimp My Ride," "Cribs" and "30-Minute Meals with Rachael Ray"
have created unrealistic standards for men's vehicles. It is not manly
to have a Foosball table in the back of your car. It is, however,
manly to have a seatbelt strap sticking out of the bottom of your
door. Please note that this rule does not apply for the dresses of
your female passengers. Unless it's a leather dress, which, let's face
it guys, is unlikely this season in the world of fashion.
Those of you who drive trucks please note that it is manly to have
boots sticking out upside-down in that gap between the cab and bed of
your truck. Not only does this tell other drivers that you walk around
in the mud whenever the hell you feel like it, but also confuses
children and makes 8-year-old Tim Landry think there's a man squished
in there.
©2005 Tim Landry
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