Ronovella #17 - BEING A MAN SUCKS

I know that statement may sound harsh, and as I sit here doing two things every man enjoys, (drinking beer and
sitting by the pool. . .at my own house) I still find myself lamenting the fact that as men, we have it pretty rough.  
Hear me out on this; men are the most misunderstood species on the planet and I have proof.

"How do you keep a man happy? Easy.  1. Suck my dick.  2.  Play with my balls.  3. Make me a sandwich.  4.  
Don't talk so goddamn much."
-Dave Chappelle

See, women will spend hours pouring though the latest Cosmo when all they have to do is ask. "Hey Honey, what
kind of sex would you like tonight?"  The answer?  See above. Men are testosterone fueled machines that have
two things on their minds:  1. Sex. 2. Beer.  If they say they aren't thinking about either, they're either lying or gay. .
.possibly both.  Our wives wonder why we would ever try to fuck them when we just got it last Monday (while they
were sleeping, no less. . .but I digress).  Is it any wonder we look at porn?  Seriously. They want us to go and
whack it, then get all bent out of shape when we seek external stimulation to facilitate said whacking.  We also get
hollered at when we get caught checking out the ass of some fine young woman.  What the hell are we supposed
to do?  Let it go unnoticed?  That's just plain un-American.  The bottom line here is we as men are simple when it
comes to the whole complicated sex thing; suck us every once in awhile and we'll be forever happy.  Otherwise
don't act so surprised when you end up with Chlamydia because we were forced to hit up the desperate soccer
mom during practice when she suggested that you both had a certain "chemistry" and that the rendezvous in the
back of her Honda Odyssey was inevitable.  Just sayin'.

Next; men can't get hurt.  Why am I sitting by my pool drinking my third Michelob? Well, I am nursing lower back
spasms.  They suck and they hurt.  Beer makes them slightly tolerable (and I'm drinking the full octane Michelob,
not the pansy-ass watery "Ultra" crap.  How I hurt my back is not important (OK, I was leaving my yoga class when
my lower back seized up faster than a Ford 386 V-8 with a quart of oil left in it. . .exactly what happened to me
once on my way home from Berkeley while driving though Oakland. . .the engine seizing, not the lower back thing),
what is important is the fact that men can't get hurt without being labeled a giant "pussy."  Go ahead, get it out of
your system, pricks; but you know as well as I that the last time you "pulled a hammie" or stubbed a toe, your wife,
girlfriend, mistress, or "friend with benefits" looked at you with mock sympathy and said, "Aw, does baby need a
Band-Aid for his boo-boo?"  See, women have the birth card on us and they play it whenever they can.  "Oh, you
blew your ACL?  I had your son's 8 inch head go through my vaginal opening.  Quit whining."  Kind of makes you
rethink cunnilingus doesn't it?  No, we can't be hurt without coming off like so many pussified man-children.  Hey,
my back hurts.  If I choose to rehab it by going to the local Asian massage parlor and I just happen to get a "happy
ending," so be it.  I don't see any wives, girlfriends, or mistresses lining up to help a brotha out.  Thought so.

Finally, there's the whole topic of diet and drink.  We don't diet and we drink.  This makes us diametrically opposed
to women.  Unfortunately, they do the shopping for food.  As a result, my refrigerator is full of frozen Weight
Watchers meals, low-fat ice cream, and yogurt.  Now, I like a yogurt as much as the next guy, but I draw the line at
the WW angel hair pasta marinara.  It's truly enough to induce an eating disorder.  I ask for beer and I get that
Michelob Ultra crap.  If I wanted sparkling water, I'd ask for it and I get a flavor that didn't taste like ass.  See, I
don't gain a lot of weight anymore.  I have my diet down to a few simple rules: 1. Eat unprocessed stuff like real
meat and real vegetables; 2. Be active, not necessarily obsessive with exercise, and; 3.  Don't shove so much
down your fucking pie-hole.  It works, trust me.  Women love to diet because they love walking as exercise.  I've
tried walking just for exercise and was bored to distraction (that distraction was staring at the asses of women
walking at the same time as me. . .if my wife was walking behind me).  I like to lift something every once in awhile.  
I also like to run short distances as fast as I can, which isn't fast at all.  Finally, I like to ride my bike.  All of these
activities burn a few more calories than walking.  But as men, we know this.  We naturally burn more than women
and it pisses them off.  So, our punishment for having a higher metabolism is having the wife go to the store to pick
up 20 Lean Cuisines and a twelver of Natural Light.  Like I said, it sucks.

So that's it good readers.  Thankfully, my back is better thanks to rest, Advil, and a neighbor who's a massage
therapist (no happy ending, but at least I can walk).  Maybe being a man isn't so bad after all.  My wife did bring
home an 18 pack of Budweiser and 3 pounds of hamburger for dinner.  I'll keep my gender, thank you.