Real Men Read Blog Posts While Fighting Ninjas

 There is perhaps no greater proof that evolution might just be a fad the planet is going through at the moment than the manner in which men are marketed towards. If one were to base all men solely on the calculated efforts of their marketing demographic than you would easily assume all men boil down to three core components:

1. A love for all things that go VROOM
2. Will go to any lengths in order to secure intercourse
3. Are incapable of acting with any degree of intelligence unless they're chugging down pints of alcohol.

Though of course my favorite commercials are the ones that try to sell the notion of "real men." You know, "Real Men Buy Trucks!" As opposed to Imaginary Men who have no need of trucks and can simply whistle and call upon their imaginary flying carpet through which they travel the netherverse in search of the gateway to Narnia before magically teleporting back to Earth and petting a cute puppy. Uck. I mean really. Who wants to be that guy? No, I prefer to have a pickup truck. Though of course not just any pickup truck. I want one with a large number following the letter V (which I assume stands for Vagabond) being towed by lots of horses and stopping on a dime. Mostly because in my career as a professional dime cruncher having a truck that can do most of the work for me is a real added bonus. And you can never have enough horses around to tow your truck (these things break down a lot so you've got to be prepared).

Of course it helps if the announcer telling me all of this has a gruff and growling voice. The kind of voice Clint Eastwood listened to as a child while being rocked to sleep (though I'm sure his cradle was lined with spikes and packed a fair amount of chewing tobacco for added snarl power). Though I don't always want the same thing in my trucks that I want in my alcoholic beverages.

No, I want to know that my alcohol will not only prove how cool I am - as demonstrated by an obscure guy in his 60s doing mostly uninteresting things while a narrator tells you how cool he is - but will also go that extra distance to insure the cute girl staring at me across the room knows that I'm the real deal. By the real deal I mean so dreadfully uninteresting that comatose patients wake up when I'm in the room just to walk out so they can avoid having to listen to me talk. The kind of real deal that comes with a particular type of knowledge you don't just find anywhere. Yeah, with this beer in my hands I can tell you things that would blow your mind. Like what happened on Jersey Shore last night, or what might happen on Jersey Shore next week, or... you guessed it, how amazing that Jersey Shore episode two weeks ago was. Oh yeah, check out captain awesome. With this beer in my hands I'm going places... most likely the bathroom in 10 minutes but don't you worry about that because my leg is already arched as I do a spot on impersonation of Captain Morgan.

Which brings me to perhaps my favorite part of the male marketing machine - the carnivore. That's right men like meat. We like big, thick, juicy whoppers of meat. The kind of meat you could wrap your mouth around and swoon over for ages. That's right, I'm talking about beef. Not just any beef, Angus beef. Quick poll guys, which is your favorite Red Angus or Black Angus? Hell, I don't know about you but I can name all of the 10 components that factor in certifying meat as Angus beef by heart. That's how much I love my beef. Unlike all these fake men out there who go to restaurants and dare order a chicken salad. You're weighing the whole species down man.

Besides, how can we ever distinguish ourselves from one another unless we all force the exact same actions upon one another? It's the only way we can ever fully come together as a species... and watch football. Because without beer, beef, and oversized trucks football just isn't the same. Now if only I could convince everyone that watching sports is so much better with an accordion playing in the background.