In case you didn’t know, men have this desire to be manly. You see, with manliness comes sex, and with sex comes…I guess that’s sort of the end goal really. So yeah, that’s the two-step process. Manliness → Sex.
I know what you’re saying: “Don’t worry, Russ. I’m sure you’re as manly as any chainsaw-toting, cigar-smoking lumberjack.” And while I certainly do have enough chest hair to weave a very small blanket or perhaps a fashionable handkerchief, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my manliness is about two hand-slain deer carcasses shy of ideal.
It all goes back to one fateful day in the dorms. There I was, minding my own business with some of my friends (if that’s even possible). We were sitting around watching The Simpsons, having just finished a rousing session of Rock Band, when in walks Chris, god among men, man among dogs, and regular dog among poodles.
He’s got these wavy blonde locks, arms the size of porpoises, and a smile that could cure cancer. His body is so sculpted Michelangelo himself might reshape David in his likeness. Not to mention that he’s unreasonably friendly and intelligent. He just got back from a trip to Iceland where he filmed a documentary on the whaling industry and learned to throw javelins. Anyway, he walks in, and in that unreasonably friendly way, asks us what we’re up to. We explain (Simpsons and Rock Band), and he’s genuinely supportive.
“Oh that’s cool,” he says. “I don’t really spend my time watching TV or playing video games, but it looks like fun.”
Just then, his painfully hot girlfriend enters the scene. “Oh, hey babe,” he says. “You ready to go to the beach for our hike and sunset picnic followed by pleasurable and numerous sex things?”
“Of course I am, you irresistible hunk of man,” she says, swooning.
I don’t know if that’s exactly how it went. Whenever I’m around her my brain turns to mush and all my words run together. One time she gets back from a run decked out in tight little shorts and a sports bra and I ask her how it’s going. That’s a good conversation starter, right? She says “so hot,” and all I can think of is “yeaaaauuuh you are!” which of course I say because I have no filter.
She gives me this, “I can’t believe you just said that” look and walks away.
Anyway, Chris turns back to us and wishes us good luck on the videogames and stuff with infuriating geniality. I know that deep down he was letting us know he’d be too busy boning under the crepuscular sundown to waste his time with such frivolous frivolity. Or maybe he didn’t even care. He probably thinks of us with only a vague, detached pity. I bet the car will break down on the way and he’ll change the tire and lift some heavy objects or something.
Damn, that guy is manly. Even if he’d been born a Viking or a barbarian in the age of extreme manliness, he would still be king. He probably lives a full, rewarding life, filled with physical accomplishment and a sense of satisfaction. But I bet he doesn’t have a complete set of Pokemon stuffed animals to keep him company, so there!