You're Not a Man If...

12. You Go to Hooters for the Wings

2009-06-23T21:55:00.000-05:00

Listen,
1st off, you don’t and you know it you two faced lying piece of home wrecking trash. A little tip, you’re wife isn’t that stupid, no one is. We all know why you go there. It’s not for the wings, they could serve nothing but kumquats and cigarette butts and you’d still file in to watch Southwest Texas State get clobbered by Kentucky on Thursday Night. You go there to stare at a demographic of women that have two things in a common, lack of self respect and a dad that just really wanted a son. No matter what you think, the waitress isn’t “totally lovin” you. She finds you as unattractive and repulsive as every other beer swilling, gut having, obnoxious has been that can’t stand the site or sound of the butter face he accidentally knocked-up at 24 that he now begrudgingly refers to as his wife. All she wants is for you to shut up, leave her the 12% tip that you always do and go about your business so she can go home to her efficiency apartment and dream about becoming a model, or an actress… or a news lady…and if that doesn’t work out, a nurse.
Guess what half wit, this isn’t a way to meet women. I know that you think you’ll stand out because you started up conversations with such gems as “Hot enough for ya,” “Veronica, that’s a pretty name,” or “When I was in court today, oh, I didn’t mention that, yes, I am a lawyer.” You won’t stand out, in fact she’ll forget you before she goes out to warm up her 1999 Chevy Cavalier for the three minute commute home to cry about her boyfriend who dropped her like a hot rock because a met a new girl over at the Show-Me’s.

Josh...
Will seems to be under the impression that if you go to Hooter’s for wings, you’re nothing but a gigantic liar. I have a different theory. A darker theory. Something far, far more frightening. A truth that goes so deep as to strike at your very core, and shatter the foundation of everything you stand for.

I think you really do like the wings.
That, my taste deficient friend, is downright pathetic. The fact that you call those plastic, greasy sticks of disgust food is an insult to food everywhere, but I guess you don’t have a problem with that since you’re already forking over 14 dollars for a plate of dog toys. You may as well just down a shot of vegetable oil and lick the bottom of your shoe and save a few bucks. Or, you could develop some actual taste, and hit up the local Wing Stop right next door.
“But Josh,” you say between bites of third world army surplus rations. “Look around. I’m not exactly the only one eating wings at this place.” Well, no you aren’t. But you are the only one staring at his plate, thinking how this was a great idea for lunch, while the rest of the guys there have one eye on the game, and the other on your waitress. “But Josh,” you say again, the sickly, paltry scraps of overcooked meat rotting straight into your incredibly dense skull. “If the wings really are that terrible, why do people even come here?”

The picture at the top of this post...THAT’S why, you disgusting, tasteless, blindingly inappropriate excuse for a man. Men will shove nightmarish things into their own gullet just for the fleeting chance of one of these girls giving them even the slightest amount of attention, even if it is the most unbelievably fake encounter they’ve had since they tried to convince their buddies that they “totally went all the way” with the head cheerleader in high school. If the lunch ladies back in school looked like that, you could bet your last shred of dignity that no one would have complained about the food there, either. If there’s one thing men know how to do, it’s shut the hell up.
Listen, it’s time. Accept it. The wings are crap. You’re just there for the legs.

Just admit it, cleanse part of you black hopeless soul by saying “Yes, I come here for a two hour tease fest from a group of women who know two things, pad a bra and make hopeless losers stuck in loveless marriages feel attractive for the first time since they won their rec league Frisbee Golf tournament junior year.” You’ll feel better, living an honest life beats saying, “No son, I don’t mind if you join the cheer leading squad, they’re athletes too.” Or looking your wife square in the eye just to tell her “Honey, after 3 kids, a bankruptcy, 2 mortgages, 7 crash diets, 1 affair, and a 3 year prescription to Quaaludes you’re still as beautiful as the night I met you on the Kappa Kappa Kappa hay ride covered in your roommate's vomit and the smell of Clinique Happy.” She’s knows your lying, and she doesn’t care that you go to Hooters, just do her the decency of telling the truth. But, I guess it all evens out, because when she says, “It’s not a big deal, it happens to every guy,” or “Of course size doesn’t matter” she walks back to the bathroom and cries into a monogrammed towel for 30 minutes praying for a life that doesn’t so closely resemble hell.
-Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz

11. You're a White Guy with Dreadlocks

2009-06-19T14:50:00.000-05:00

People,
Some of the trappings of manhood are accepting who you are, where your place is in the culture, what your plight is in life, and at what point you give up all hope that any that your real dreams will ever come true and realize that you’re simply another cog in the wheel that winds around the road that takes you to a life of servitude and eventually a stress related death. If you are a white guy with dreads….you have failed on all four of these you pathetic Sublime -loving poser. First off, you look absolutely ridiculous. Second, when anyone, and I mean anyone, with an IQ above 90 looks at you they think, “Get a load of this tool. Does he actually think that resembles anything remotely attractive? Does he know that Omaha, NE is nowhere near any kind of island? Does he know patchouli smells like a dead dog wrapped in skunk’s ass covered in three month old cheese?” Guys, there’s nothing wrong with being who you are. In fact, most people find your actual identity more pleasing to associate with than this pathetic persona you have that was built around four days during freshman year when your dorm mate and you sat back and listened to “Legend” on repeat “ for like three days dude,” and got “like totally baked.” Don’t get me wrong, there isn’t a damn thing wrong with liking Reggae, there’s nothing wrong with liking Bob Marley. He was a tremendous songwriter. There is something wrong with thinking you are from Jamaica or that you’re Rastafarian. Trust me, you aren’t. If you have a meal plan, a car manufactured after 2000, the ability to shop at Urban Outfitters or you local head shop to pick up the “dopest pipes in town man”, you don’t qualify you identity crisis having, walking trust fund.

Josh….
“Whaaat’s the deeeeaaaal with dreadlocks?” a poor Jerry Seinfeld impersonator might say. “Are you in dread? Do they lock up? Do they only lock up when you are dreadful? Whaaat’s the deal?”
Strangely, he does raise a point, although in the most annoying way possible. Now, I can be pretty lazy. There have been times when I just don’t feel like grabbing a shower and choose instead to slowly die in front of the TV. At no point, however, did I ever say ‘You know what? I don’t think I’m going to wash my hair for..oh…3 months. I bet mom will like that.”
And then, as if walking around like a wannabe Robert Pattison wasn’t enough, you take it one step further, look yourself in the mirror and say, “My head doesn’t look enough like Japanese tentacle porn,” and proceed to coil your hair into the latest Asian fetish. ..Because that should get you some respect.
You sit there in wonder as to why mommy and daddy don’t take you seriously when you ask them if you can move the band into the garage. Well, gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s the rat’s nest you voluntarily crafted on your skull. There are no good decisions following dreadlocks, except manning up and washing your damn hair. I can only assume this is due to the tight threading of hair pulling mercilessly on your already damaged brain.
If you have dreads, I offer you two alternatives. Either unwrap that spinning mass of disgust , or learn to play bass.

Verdad me amigo…
In closing ladies, your dreads look like a pile of dead snakes covered in stink bait. Do society and yourself a favor. Cut the damn things, give up the dream of becoming one with Ja, and get normal. You’re nothing special. You’re just the guy who caught the reggae train but stayed on a few stops too long after college graduation. If you are in love with delivering sandwiches till 3am every Saturday night or cleaning out the same friolater you cleaned sophomore year of high school when your biggest dream was to make assistant manager…feel free to keep them. If you want to live a life of dignity and self respect, buy some 3 in 1 oil for your old man’s weed eater and give him the joy of cleaning off that mess of failure you call your hair. He deserves it.

Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz

10. Your Mom Still Does Your Laundry

2009-06-02T14:02:00.000-05:00

Boys,
Are we still 12? If not, do your own damn laundry you teat suckling little waste of space. Give your mom a break for god's sake. She had to raise your sissy ass and kiss every one of your poor little boo-boos until you were 26 and finally moved out of the house because you’ve realized that the phrase “try not to wake my parents” doesn’t really get the ladies going. Your mom had to carry you for nine months, change your diapers, explain to you that yes it’s okay to cry but when you're 14 enough is enough, grow a set, and that no, it’s not okay to still sleep with a blankey. I know how much you love coming home, laying on a twin bed and staring up at your favorite Creed poster but it’s time to sack up and learn when to add the fabric softener. If you’re too stupid or too lazy to learn how to do it, go to the local cleaners and cough up the 72 cents a pound to get all of your pink Polo’s and plaid shorts pressed just the way you like them.

No, your mom doesn’t love doing this, no matter what she says. You are making her secretly resent herself for raising such a maternally dependant little piss ant who would rather brag about the glory days of winning some rec Ultimate Frisbee competition at the local JuCo than putting on his only suit and going to a job interview that his dad had to set up for him because a resume that shows nothing but being the social chair their fraternity doesn’t exactly scream “Management Ready.”

Josh…
There are some things men know nothing about. Purses. Shoes. The Prime Time slot on the CW. And, of course, laundry.

Look, I get it. You don’t know a gentle cycle from tricycle, but you smell like hell. Who better to turn to than the woman who’s been washing your skid-marked tightie whities for as long as you can remember? Newsflash: She doesn’t actually enjoy that. I know the image of Susie Homemaker has been ingrained into your deepest memories due to your unhealthy attachment to Nick at Nite housewives, but soon you’re going to realize that your mom didn’t want to be Carol Brady, she wanted to be Lucy Ricardo.

Let’s be honest here. You haven’t separated white’s from colored’s since that awkward day in grade school when your 4th grade teacher decided to take the hands on approach to teaching about Black History Month. Well, guess what? Your mom doesn’t want that job either, you Aryan prick. That’s where Color Guard comes in. I don’t know if this technology was created by men, but it sure as hell is for men. With this crap, you can throw whatever you want in the wash, and you can be sure your Reading Rainbow t-shirt won’t turn you and your socks into a transgender Rainbow Brite.

So, what’s your excuse now? Nothing. Man up and clean up those pit stains, you sweaty, disgusting pig. And for crying out loud, call your mother and thank her for the years of torment she’s put up with.

Yes...the man speaks the truth. Give your poor mother a break from having to wipe your ass. Soon enough you'll starting dating a woman exactly like her so you can finally exercise those Oedipus like fantasy's you have and get your wash done and folded like a big boy. Until then, if the hamper is overflowing and you don't know what to wear to the latest Nickelback concert, do your mother a favor, man up and try to unwrap the mystery that is the laundromat. "$1.75 per load? What the f@#& does that even mean bro?"

Trust me, it'll be a wild ride.

-Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz

9. You Go Dancing

2009-05-18T10:34:00.001-05:00

No,

I don't mean if your wife has ever drug you out to the club, or you had to partake in the electric slide at your sister's wedding to that douche bag Brad last summer. I mean if you've ever gone out with the express reason to dance...to "feel the music" or to "break somethin off." If you ever have the unsupressable desire to hear the latest cut from Lada Gaga or Flo Rida you've lost your all access pass to Manville. In fact you don't even deserve the upper terrace reserve tickets. I know, you think that girls may find it impressive when a man can "tear up the dance floor" but unconsciously we all know this..."that guy doesn't just 'know' how yo do this stuff, he has to practice some where...At home...alone...in front of the mirror at his studio apartment."

Why is this the physical activity that you choose to spend your time trying to hone? At what moment in your adolescence did you go from playing catch and 1 on 1 to working on your "top rock" or attempting to "pop" and/or "lock?" You know what's more impressive than knowing how to rock it at the club? Having a steady job, self respect and dignity. The stench of a lonely, self loathing dance machine is impossible to cover up with any cologne known to modern man. Here is some advice, take off the dance shoes and learn how to draw female attention without becoming the most effeminate thing in the room.

Josh...

Oh yeah. I’m feeling the groove tonight, boys. Put down your cards, it’s time to fold ‘em. Finish up your beers, and turn off the game. Grab your jean jackets and break out that swagger, my friends. Tonight…we dance.

Look…guys don’t go dancing. In fact, we barely dance at all. Sure, we nod along to the beat if we like the song, maybe even a tap of the foot or knee, but we sure as hell don’t have any need to “hit the dance floor” or “bust a groove.” Guys get dragged onto the dance floor by girls, and we’re momentarily okay with that, mainly because our primary dance partner is the cold beverage in our hand, with a close second going to the stranger of the moment rubbing her inebriated posterior into our exterior. About the only dancing you’re going to get out of most guys is an awkward drunken dry-hump in a smoke-filled dive bar, followed by a slobbering stutter of a pick-up line and the reception of a fake number as she hammers out the first random grouping of digits she can think of, only for you to realize that there aren’t 17 numerals in a phone number, dumbass. But hey, that guy from Sweden was actually kind of nice.

Ahem.

What I’m awkwardly trying to say here is simply that guys don’t “go dancing.” We are occasionally forced into it to appease the ol’ ball and cha..I, uh, mean the significant other, and to make sure the family gets all the appropriate photo ops at Sol’s Bar Mitzvah. Guys go to the club to get drunk and watch other people dance. And by people, I mean girls. So pull up a bar stool with some pals and take in the scenery, and stop ruining it for the rest of us.

Oh, and by girls, I mean strippers.

In closing, lose the Lance Bass and JC Chasez obsessions and come back to glitterless world of manhood. Steve McQueen never went dancing, he just drove his Corvette straight into your mother's bedroom for for a different kinda of Mamba. Did you ever see Paul Newman out dancing? No, he hustled your dad for his week's pay and then put his cigarette out you old man's seltzer and said, "This here pool hall is for the big boys. If you can't handle it, I suggest you stick to your local Boys and Girls Club."

-Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz

8.You Use Guyliner

2009-05-08T13:09:00.000-05:00

Fellas,

You gotta be shi***g me. For those of our readers who do not know, Guyliner is when a "so called" man wears eyeliner. This fad was just recently brought to my attention and I am somewhat appalled. Are you in the movies or on TV? If not, then you are never to break into your mother's make-up bag and adorn your girlfriendless face with this nonsense. Eyeliner is not for men. Period. End of discussion. Did you decide this was the "statement" you needed to make after you polished off your fourth Appletini while crying your way through "The Notebook" for the seventeenth time? Did you have the urge to "change your look" while finishing a bottle of Peach Schnapps after venting to your bestest friend about how people need to be nicer to Adam Lambert? Does dolling your eyes up like a some street walking Brooklynite from 1977 make you feel attractive? If so, throw away your big boy pants, you don't deserve them anymore.

Men, real men, do not use, and more importantly do not NEED to wear any sort of make-up. Real men need pants, shoes, and a shirt. That is it, nothing more and nothing less. We don't need a paint sprayer and some stencils before heading out for "a night on the town." We put on a clean shirt and "go grab a few drinks." We don't "put our face on" and "meet up with our besties." We "throw on our jackets" and "go meet the guys." These are simple but vast differences. The only accessories we need, are ones we already have, confidence and a set of balls.

And now a message from Josh Yakovitz:

Oh, look at you.. You’re a rock star now, huh? You’ve got the ‘tude, and now you have the makeup to go with it. You’re young. You’re hip. You’re “with it.” You told them you were hardcore.

You were wrong. Look, someday someone is going to call you out on your little facade. And once that happens, you won’t be needing your compact and a steady hand. That’s because some guy is going to catch you giving the raccoon stare to his girl, and he’s going to give you all the black outline you’ll ever need for those pearly blue’s.

Let’s run down the list. Are you in theatre? Hey, that stage is far away and the audience needs to be able to see you. Ok. Are you in the movies? Promo shots are important to that business. Sometimes the mood of the photo demands some changes. Are you going to a Fall Out Boy concert? See, now that’s a red flag. Not only do you have horrible taste in music, you’re telling everyone there that you came because you like the music, not because you’re girlfriend dragged you there since you agreed to go so long as she goes with you to the midnight Terminator premier and Rambo marathon. Additional points reduced if you go alone, or with one of your mascara wearing “buds.”

What was the thought process that led you to even try this? Were you watching Good Charlotte videos on YouTube one afternoon and just thought “Man…I really like the way his eyes just ‘pop’.” Or, more likely, you saw the throngs of girls in the audience screaming and singing along, ready to jump their skinny jeans at a moment’s notice. I’ve got news for you, it’s not the guyliner making them go crazy, it’s the fact that they have no idea what talent actually is.

Lose the makeup. Get a band.

Gents, it's time to give it up and get normal. If you want to stand out do something insane, like develop a personality. Who you are isn't defined by how much Cover Girl your purchase over the counter at Macy's, it's defined by actual substance and depth as a human being. It's 2009, join the rest of us in this thing called reality. If you prefer looking like shi* ran over twice, good luck at that next job interview when you hear the words "Umm, you're just not what we're looking for. We need someone who we can put in front of customers without them deciding to choose Captain D's instead."

-Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz

7. Your favorite drink comes with an umbrella in it

2009-05-05T09:48:00.000-05:00

Or...

your weapon of choice is a Zima, or when you belly up to the rail you say the words "Fuzzy" or "Navel." Drinking and the ability to hold your liquor has long been seen as a rite of passage into manhood. As a man you must know your drink, how it is made, and more importantly, how much you can handle. Over the past couple of decades the line between what is acceptable for a man to drink, and what is down right wrong has been blurred to an unrecognizable point by the general acceptance that anything on the drink menu at your local Bar Clevername by owner Douche Baggalo is somehow acceptable. It isn't. You should never order a drink with catchy description as it's name. The name of a drink, should be what's in the drink. Whiskey and Coke, not Golden Dream, Vodka and 7, not Pink Squirrel, and Gin on the rocks, not Creamsickle. There are of course exceptions to this, Screwdriver, Bloody Mary, and Mimosa. These have been long established and fine for any man to drink.

Now, wine coolers. Unless you're an 86 year old grandmother knocking a few back after bridge club, these are never to be consumed. If you like the taste, just put some bourbon in a glass of Kool-Aid and save some pride. Yea, the two old guys in the commericals from the 80's were funny, but I guarantee you they spit that filth out and downed a glass of Moon Shine right after the director yelled "cut." And further more, if this is your idea of drinking you should look into the mirror and strongly consider what happened along the road of your so called journey to manhood that turned you into a snivelling little sorority girl who's daddy's credit card just got cut off.

I am a booze man, my friend Josh is a beer man...

Look, if you want something sweet, get a hard candy from your grandma. But if you want a drink, get a beer. Yeah, that’s right, a beer. Not that corn raised swill that commercial America is trying to shove down everyone’s throats, but a real, authentic, FLAVORFUL beer. Yeah. I said it. You throw down your credit card and ask for a Fuzzy Navel because you “like the taste” and “beer just doesn’t taste good.” Newsflash, nancy boy. If all you’ve ever had is a sip of your boyfriend’s watered down horse piss at your cousin’s wedding reception, you’ve never actually had a beer. You’ve never experienced the malty goodness of a Porter, or the kick in the teeth of a Double IPA. You’ve never known that you can have a beer brewed with coffee, fruit, and even chocolate. No, you just assume that you don’t like beer. That beer is all the same.

I’ll put it into words you can understand. Next time you’re at dinner at Applebee’s because you “just want a really good steak,” and you look down at the drink menu and you think “I really like the blue one, but the yellow one isn’t very good.” . Beer is kind of like that. There’s a variety of flavors and experiences. No one blames you that you don’t like corporate crapwater. This is what’s referred to as a "Good Thing." But don’t let that stop you. Go out and get a beer. Your manhood will thank you.

“I just don’t like beer.” You sicken me. Get out of here, and don’t come back until you’ve ordered something that doesn’t say “Light” on the bottle.

So now that you have received your lesson in manliness for the day what you choose to do with what you have learned is your choice. If you choose to continue down your path of "Toasted Almonds" and "Pink Lady's" I have nothing else for you except this. Never come to my bar. If you are willing to change your ways and accept a life of being a man and all of the responsibilities that come with it, then saddle up between Josh and I and the first round is on us.

Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz

P.S. Other acceptable drinks: Ling Island Ice Tea, White Russian, Tom Collins, and Sloe Gin Fizz

6. You Wax Your Chest

2009-04-27T10:08:00.000-05:00

Okay,

First, never trust a man who waxes his chest. Secondly, waxing your chest isn't a wild hair up your ass idea, this is something you've put time in to and planned your day around. You don't just squeeze in a chest waxing before watching the Saints and the Bears. A chest waxing is most likely something you planned before brunch at the Wellington's residence where you will discuss the market, the Belmont Stakes, and why you sons are both little nancy boys who whine about golf lessons and how their tennis instructor hurts their itty biddy feelings.

My main question...why? Why in holy hell would you consider this practice? If it's because of a girl, trust me she's not worth it. She'll end up being a controlling, high maintenance, purse dog having, vodka guzzling, life sucking hag of an ex-wife who will drain you of any monetary worth and self esteem and leave you a tattered husk of your former self.

Is it because you think it looks good? Gentleman, gentleman, gentleman, it most certainly does not. It makes you look twelve, and if you think that looks good, you're on the wrong website, get some help. A waxed chest on a man has never been a sign of virility, it's been a sign of prepubescence.

Josh...

Alright, you hairless apes, listen up. There’s no reason to live like this. Why anyone would want to bathe their chest in Elmer’s and rip out their man-forest is beyond me. The pain alone is enough to deter me. No, I’m not talking about the pain of the act itself, but rather the pain of single-handily removing your mighty, hairy soul from your pathetic body. Now, let’s get something clear here. No one wants a bear skin rug to puff out like a scared bird every time you remove your shirt. Trim that beast back. Save everyone the horror of having to always wonder “…is…is that guy wearing a sweater in the pool? Oh God, it has Cheetoh’s in it.”

But just don’t wax. There are very few scenarios where this is acceptable. Like, say you’re about to win 8 gold medals for your country. That’s ok. Go to town. But the minute you step off of that 1^st place podium, it’s a one-way train straight back to Being-a-man-town. Another acceptable scenario is professional bodybuilding competitions. Because, let’s face it, a waxed chest is the least of your concerns when you factor in all the backstage towel-snapping.

If you don’t fall into one of these categories, you, my aerodynamic friend, need to man up. I don’t care if your girlfriend says she likes it. She’s lying. If she wanted someone with silky smooth pectorals, she could just close her eyes and remember that magical week at the all-girls Catholic Retreat. Put down that razor and pick up the remote. You’re a man. Look like one

In closing, men, it's time to put down the wax and pick up the pride. There is no need for this display of boyhood well into your adult life. The rest of us are calling you back where you belong, in the kingdom of sports, cars, and body hair. A place where you can scratch your chest and not leave a trail of red marks like Willem Defoe had in that Madonna movie. Remember those times when your grandfather said, "Drink this son, it'll put hair on your chest." he was right, now make him proud and stop pissing on his dreams.

-Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz

5. You've Ever Worn a Pink Shirt

2009-04-23T12:17:00.000-05:00

Yes yes yes,

Nothing screams "my balls are in a glass jar", or "Frat Boy Douche Bag Extraordinaire" like a Pink Shirt on a man....Correct that, if you're wearing the shirt, you're not a man. What you have become is a fractured shell of what was once intended to become a man but was somehow derailed by life, bad decisions, submission to the pressures of mass culture and a lack of testicular fortitude. Gentleman, how have you fallen so far and become so disconnected that you think this behavior is acceptable? Well, it isn't and it never was. I don't care what your "Bro" at the Kappa Delta Dumbass house thinks or says...he is wrong and so are you. It doesn't matter what the Local Golf Pro wears around the club house (You'll hear about golf in a later post) pink is for women, not men and never boys. If you dress your son in pink you might as well write in huge letters across the chest of his shame colored shirt "Punch Me, My parents want you to." This is, no matter what the courts may say, a form of child abuse.

To my married readers...if you wear pink because your wife bought it for you, or she thinks "it looks great," you should be ashamed of yourself. As we mentioned in entry number 2, women want a man who has the ability to say no. If you do not have this ability, you are destined for a life of servitude finishing out your days drinking Natty Light on a flower patterned couch in your 1.5 car garage in suburban hell. This is not a life worth living.

For a different point of view, I turn to Josh Yakovitz.

Look, I’m all for supporting the “Save the Boobies” campaign, and you’ll get no crap from me for anything like that. What I’m talking about here is that bubble-gum colored popped-collar you have wrapped around your man-bosoms. How you walk around with your head held high while looking like some sort of cotton candy salesman is beyond me. Just give the shirt back to your kid sister. And while you’re at it, she wants her Juicy pants back, too. And don’t give me that “Real men wear pink” bull crap either. You know what real men wear? Pride. Have some.

So, fellas, if you have one of these wardrobe atrocities, find a bottle of lighter fluid, a book of matches and a bottle of whiskey and reclaim your manhood. It will be an experience worth cherishing and time to share with your son in true male bonding. If you cannot bring yourself to do these things, you are not a man, and in the best interest of future generations of men, put your son up for adoption and may God have mercy on his soul

-Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz

4. You've Ever Worn a Fanny Pack

2009-04-20T11:28:00.000-05:00

Fellas,

Seriously....a Fanny Pack? You might as well keep your testes in there with your wife's keys, your walkman, a pack of juicy fruit and what shame you might have left. The fanny pack is your way of saying "I am no longer a man, I'm a husband." A husband who is nothing more than a whipping boy for his overbearing, browbeating wife. If she has you wear this as "a need for the kids stuff," or as "a way to help her out," let her know that the four pockets in your jeans, and the two in your jacket, and the one in your shirt are more than enough to hold anything that a man needs to carry around.

If, on the other hand, you freely choose to wear a fanny pack with no out side pressures, you are worse off than I could have ever imagined. For your advice, I turn to Josh Yakovitz.

Ah, the fanny pack. For when life just doesn’t give you enough pockets.

Seriously, these things don’t even hold anything. If you really need to hoof around your lip gloss and signed photo of Hugh Jackman on your morning constitutional, just shove that crap in your pocket like a normal person. And, I swear, if I hear the argument “But I don’t have any pockets”, that just means you’re out on your morning romp through the streets wearing those ridiculous neon biker shorts, in which case I am personally calling the neighborhood watch on you.

God knows how many Poke’mon cards and bite-sized candy bars you have stuffed in that thing to coax the little ones from their homes. Bottom line: Shave the 1970’s moustache and buy a backpack.

Josh poses a valid argument, why, truly why a fanny pack. Men carry back packs, brief cases and duffel bags, but never a fanny pack. Did you ever seen John Wayne with a fanny pack? No, anything he wore around his waist was filled with Ammo, chewing tobacco and Tabasco sauce. Clint Eastwood in a fanny pack? Never, the only thing he ever carried around was musk, a 357 and your wife's phone number.

Ladies, I mean Gents, lose the fanny pack and join the rest of us in our life of normalcy and manhood. Trust me, you'll love it, you'll never again utter the phrases, "I can't find anything in here," or "Geeze Louise, this could use a cleaning," or my favorite, "Honey, where on earth is my fanny pack? I just can't make it through the day without it."

It's time for a change, use your pockets and your god damned wallet...like a man.

-Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz

3. You've Watched Titanic or Twilight...Alone

2009-04-16T13:31:00.000-05:00

Gents,

Yes, it is somewhat acceptable to have seen these movies at the request of a girlfriend, wife, or fiance, they do have most of the controlling power over you, but alone is completely unacceptable in the hallowed halls of man hood. Listen, I know that TV has molded you into this thing that needs to find his feminine side, and get in touch with his feelings, but this is not the way to do it. The way to do it is with a bottle of Whiskey and carton of Cigarettes while you and your best friend reminisce about how you once lit books on fire that were stored in an old shed next to the local Catholic Church.

According to noted Kung-Fu Expert and resident bad ass motha Josh Yakovitz, here is why you are less of a man than Nathan Lane, Clay Aiken, French Stewart, and Kirk Cameron at a Martini Bar after wrapping the shooting of "Sex in the City Two-Guys Night Out!"

Any movie where the main actor in the film is the same person who covers a 15-year-old girl's glammed-up sparkly MySpace page is a sure red flag that your neathers are on sabbatical.

A movie that has a 100-year-old vampire in it who chooses to go to HIGH SCHOOL, of all places, should tell you up front that the main character is dumber than the stake you should ram through our own heart once you realize that there’s not even a warm body next to you as you let the coke-induced stare of a pill-popping emo teenie-bopper suck the soul right out of you.

But hey, I’ll give you this, at least Titanic had some nudity. Too bad it’s all your getting since you decided to spend your evening crying into a box of tissues and Bon-Bons.

I couldn't have put this any better my self. So, before you take Net flix up on that no late fees deal, remember, if you have these mailed to your residence for your personal viewing pleasure you are letting all of us down and moving us one step closer to the seventh horseman showing up at your door and saying, "Well, you've finally done it. I knew as soon as I saw that god damned trailer one of you little wooses would try to sneak it by me and I'd have to come down here. Well, I hope you're happy you little bastard, I hope you're happy."

Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz

P.S.Acceptable movies to watch alone: Commando, Rocky I-VI, Out for Justice, Hard Target, any of the Missing in Action Films, American Ninja and Cop Land.

2. You Wear Skin Tight Jeans

2009-04-13T12:42:00.001-05:00

Okay,

It doesn't matter how many Grammy's Lil Wayne wins or how many records all of the collective bands in Brooklyn sell, it is never acceptable to wear skin tight jeans. No true man would wear such an atrocity, revealed by the “leave nothing to the imagination” camel toe you are displaying to the world. No one, I repeat, no one wants to see this, ever. What part of your fevered imagination saw these in the store, tried them on, and then said, "Yes, this is the look I want, this is how pants should fit." I don't care what kind of methamphetamine induced state you were in, you have to listen to that voice of reason that comes forward during any decision and says, "Listen, I know you see this in the magazines and on TV, but come on man, come on."There is a reason men's pants are naturally loose, we as a species are meant to be useful. We are supposed to be able to "bend down" and "pick things up." We are made with the ability to "lift things" with out having to worry about the seams of our pants doing their best Stretch Armstrong impression.

Skin tight jeans send two messages. 1. I've given up on trying to be an adult male, and am now shooting to become a prepubescent girl. 2. I have a small enough understanding of the female brain that I think "they always seem to run in packs and stick together, so if I look like one of them, I will be able to sneak under the radar and maybe, just maybe, find a mate." Sorry to brake it to your flat ass, it doesn't work that way.

Women, no matter what they say to your face, or fill out in some online survey, like men who act and look like men, period, end of discussion. They don't want a man with "great fashion sense," or "great style," they want a man who can A) Handle himself B) handle them C) Actually have the guts to say "No" without apologizing later and begging them not to leave, and D) not wear pants tighter than hers.

These are all simple steps to take and easy laws to abide. I am sorry to admit gents, if you wear skin tight pants, turn in your man card, actually, go ahead and light that bad boy on fire, you don't qualify.

- Will Saulsbery

1. You know more about fixing bikes than fixing cars...

2009-04-11T09:47:00.000-05:00

Yes gents,

If you know more about the workings of a Schwinn than a a piece of hand crafted American Steel Art Work, you have failed the test for being an actual man. Yes, you may have the anatomy, maybe the build, but the not true underlying subtleties of true manhood. Does your day feel incomplete without putting on skin tight shorts with a giant padded ass that looks like something out the the primate house at your local Zoo, does the thought of wrap around shades and an aero-dynamic helmet excite you almost to the point of no return, do you see Greg Lemond in a magazine ad and think "Mike Ditka who? this is an athlete," do you think Lance Armstrong passing someone through a mountain range is more impressive than "The Drive," do you derive more satisfaction from replacing a spoke than replacing a set of white walls on a 65 Fairlane, does the thought of a single speed race through your local college town seem more exciting than a back alley drag strip race through an empty part of the city....if so, my friend, you are not a man.

In closing, you're disappointing your father who most likely poured hours of sweat and blood to to raising your ungrateful little ass, teaching you what a piston is and why engine timing is absolutely crucial to horsepower and fuel efficiency. He's a man who dreamed of having a son to share all the great manly moments that he once shared with his father, and now you are pissing on his every dream of raising an actual man. Ohhh, you want to be your own person, not live in his shadow??? If you were really a man, there would be no shadow.

So next time when you pump your breaks, remember that a real man pumps them with his right foot, then pops the clutch and leaves the asphalt smoking.