Why Are Men Such Pansies?

Men. I miss men. Like, real men, not the sissy boy, metrosexual pansies that are being produced today! They knew how to fix things, they’d drop everything to help you open a jar. They didn’t want to cuddle or talk about their feelings, they didn’t whine about their mothers or their lousy childhoods. They took you camping and wore flannel, they smelled like Brut cologne and the outdoors. They didn’t get manicures or nose jobs, they never asked for directions and they wouldn’t dare condescend to use MapQuest . . . they collected power tools, they built stuff. They mowed their own freaking lawns.

We loved men like this, they made us feel protected and feminine. What happened?

Now if I want to see a guy like this, I have to watch reruns of MacGyver!

Fellas. Come on. The past hundred years have been amazing for women, we’ve become so damn accomplished and independent! We got the vote, we screamed, “WE CAN DO IT!” with Rosie the Riveter! We got out of the kitchen and into the workplace! We stopped making your goddamn dinner and Rosa Parks caused a ruckus when she refused to move for a man! We caused a riot or two and burned a bra, caused a sexual revolution and now we’re suddenly welcome in a world that used to belong to men! We made Supreme Court, we went to space! And you?

Your dumb ass cried at The Notebook.

You actually *watched* The Notebook.


Come on. The Notebook, man . . . the freaking Notebook. No woman thinks it’s sexy you cried at that! Now we may say we want a man who’s in touch with his feelings and is not afraid of his emotions, but dude. We’re women. We’re bitching just to bitch. I’m sorry, but if you look deeply into my eyes and start telling me about your miserable youth and your innermost feelings, I shall laugh in your face and hand you a tampon at once!

I’m taking this very seriously; gentlemen, I blame your mothers. Your stupid effing mothers who taught you to freaking TALK about your feelings. And your emotions. And yada, yada, yada . . . shutup and fix the goddamn disposal like God intended. I swear, with every generation that passes, guys get wimpier and wimpier; I myself  believe it starts in early childhood. MY generation had GI Joe and toy guns were still available. Purple dinosaurs weren’t teaching MY generation to be “friends” and “love” everybody. Guys were not urged to talk about their feelings.

If my generation STILL produced a bunch of saps, think about what the future will bring.  Barney . . . are you serious? Really? Because that’s not the gayest thing in the world! The Gameboy generation who didn’t go out to play because their mothers knew they’d get in less trouble playing Tetris than riding bikes. Yeah. I’m gonna love dating them. Perhaps the only silver lining is that I don’t like younger guys and I’m still part of the NINTENDO generation! We had badass playground equipment!

Playground equipment these days! Just look at playground equipment, everything’s safe and soft plastic w/ rounded edges! If you  fall, you fall on foam and IT WON’T HURT AT ALL! There is nothing that will pinch you or poke you or give you splinters! No way.

At least when *I* was a kid, you had to be brave! You *had* to be, we had REAL playground equipment! There was no plastic covering over the chains on swings! You pinched your fingers! You went down the slide on a summer day, you burned your butt! You fell off the monkey bars (which were jagged and metal and sharp) you didn’t land on any stupid foam, you fell on the hard ground in the mulch and rocks! But it’s a risk you were willing to take! You didn’t have a choice!

But what do you think guys who grow up w/ all the soft plastic foam will turn out like? I shudder.

In conclusion, *grill* me something. And wear flannel.

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15 Responses to Why Are Men Such Pansies?

  1. Jaydee says:

    Shhhh, get back in the kitchen and make me a sammich!

  2. Bri says:

    This one’s harsh, even for me. I don’t know if I like it.

    *Can you dig it? Can you dig it?*

  3. Susan McCoy says:

    Extraordinarily valid point. Your brother can’t even hang a picture.

  4. Kevin says:

    Haha, once again making me lauh. Good points though.

  5. Bri says:

    Someone had to say it. There is an enormous amount of TRUTH in this, you fellas aren’t taking hints~ what kinds of men do women like? We like firemen, we like woodsmen, we like cowboys. Construction workers, carpenters, etc.

    In conclusion, may I point out that there was no goddamn YUPPIE in the Village People.

  6. Jim says:

    There is a lot of truth in what you’ve written here and I’m not sure when or why this happed through the generations. It could be that the real men, like chivalry, are dead…and women killed them.

    I can relate to the playground equipment. When I was a kid I banged the back of my head on a steel bar while swinging upside down on a steel dome thingy. It bled pretty bad. I went to the school nurse and she put a band-aid on my head… over my hair.

    We played war in the woods…with sticks as guns. Until some kids got BB guns that is. One guy I know still has aBB lodged in his head…right over his eye. Good times. Parents would sue over that sort of thing these days.

    Good read and I agree with many of your points, well, maybe not the flannel… I don’t know anything about the Notebook and I can’t believe that you discuss how gay Barney is and then reference the Village People as being real men…really?

  7. Bri says:

    The Village People were all MANLY men. That was my point. American blue collar stereotypes~ construction worker, cowboy, etc. Hot, right? Right?

    LOL. Remember freaking LAWN DARTS? I was too young, but they were in my grandpa’s garage from when his kids were growing up . . . they looked totally safe!

    Lawn Darts, dude. MEN play lawn darts . . . and don’t die.

  8. Bri says:

    “Pointed lawn darts, intended for use in an outdoor game, have been responsible for the deaths of three children. The most recent injury occurred last week in Elkhart, Ind., when a 7-year-old boy suffered a brain injury after a lawn dart pierced his skull.”

    • Jim says:

      ouch…But you know what they say…there’s no crying in lawn darts!

      By the way, The village people were the epitome of gay. They were a bunch of guys that just like to play dress up as real men.

  9. Bri says:

    I know, I know, but I’m making the MACHO MEN point. BTW, I think just the Indian was gay. Then the Cowboy came out later.

  10. Rob says:

    I’m confused. As a 32 year old man, I’ve seen women complain that men are not sensitive enough, they’re too sensitive, we don’t express ourselves, we don’t shut up, We watch our girlfriends go all gaga over some effeminate pansy, dressed up like he’s running a fortune 500 company, yet, you tell us you like firemen, mechanics, and cowboys. One moment we watch you get all hot and bothered by Brad Pitt ( Understandable of course) and then completely throw us for a loop when you mention that Keanu Reeves is hot…huh? You want us to protect you, and your honor, yet get indignant, when we pop a guy who cops a feel on you in the bar. Men are simple, you can sum us up into one of four groups at any given time: Sex, Food, Sports or work. (More than likely in that order) Women on the other hand…you simply have no rhyme or reason to your thoughts and patterns.
    Any explanation would be most welcome.

    Confused Neanderthal Man.

  11. Bri says:

    I’ve told you all before: MEN are simple, MEN I get. Black and white thoughts, black and white everything . . . there are no hidden messages, no lines to read between. WOMEN on the other hand baffle the crap out of me.

    Even after everything, all the crap I’ve been through, I know that ANYTHING a man would put me through, a woman would put me through ten times worse. And then some. I don’t understand them, hardly associate with them; I’m on your side here.

    Ask them to explain Keanu Reeves, he MUST be famous for *something* . . . he certainly can’t act.

  12. Bri says:

    It took me awhile to catch onto this, but you are dead on: there is NOOOOOOOO rhyme or reason, you’re looking for patterns that simply aren’t there. We like the *idea* of a sensitive man, a man who we can talk to that will understand our feelings, but honestly that’s what my tranny friends are for. When I need something fixed, you can bet your ass I ain’t calling the tranny!

  13. Rob says:

    Hah, I think I’ve figured out my place in life. It is to repair things around the house, warm up cold feet, and open the mayo jar!
    No seriously. I agree with you, but that is also the solution to the concern you raised in your post. You see, we men are simple. I’ve often said that if you bring me a problem, it must mean you want a solution to that problem, if you just want a sympathetic ear, thats what your friends are for. We fix things. So when we hear women say you want the sensitive gay guy for your lover/best friend, we (obviously concerned with the continuation of the species) try to become what we think you want. Bottom line we want to get laid, it’s the same thing as when you go to the bar, and some clown pretends to be a doctor/lawyer/movie producer, in order to get into your panties.
    We Lie.
    So in a nutshell, Bri, your own kind has caused the feminization of men. Blame women, and the idiot metrosexual girlymen who pander to them. Oh and on a side note, if you want a real man, might I suggest you pursue them at your local country bar/honkeytonk. As much as it might pain you to hear this, most of your manly men you are looking for, well lets be honest, they are not going to be at the local coffee shop on open mike night reading their heartfelt poetry.

    As always, have fun…

  14. Antonio says:

    Last summer, I spent the summer back in Charlottesville taking summer classes to get ahead for school. I was really running low on money, but my family is kind of in a tight financial situation right now, and I felt bad asking my parents for cash. It was the time the students were moving their stuff into their apartments/houses for the upcoming school year. I advertised myself (specifically to girls) to move their stuff into their apartments to make some money so that I didn’t starve. Sure enough, their parents were really appreciative of my help, and payed me up to $50 instead the $10 I asked for each hour of work. On top of that, I usually did the job in under 45 minutes.

    Oh, and one dude also payed me to move his stuff in. I still did it and got some good money, but I still question his manhood that he would need me to do it for him. I thank my dad for teaching me to be a real man.

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