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Man Up – TBT Post 12.08.10

Can someone please tell me what makes a man, a man?

For the longest time I thought I had an idea, but could never quite grasp it long enough to make it a fact.

Is it how many plates he can bench without making any obnoxious grunts? Is it how many fights he’s been in and won? What about how many bitches he’s fucked? Do the extreme sports or extra curricular activities he participates in have anything to do with it? What about the kind of car he drives? A real man should at least know how to change a tire right?

So then what makes a man, more importantly your man – gay? One would think a determining factor would be if he likes it up the ass. But nowadays, it seems as if everything makes him suspect.

Is he gay if he has no qualms about holding your purse for you while you go try on a jacket? What if he hit you with a *muah/xoxo/;o)* combo via text message? Is he in the chair next to you getting a touch up when you’re getting threaded? What about if he uses body wash instead of soap? What about if he uses scented body wash instead of soap? What about if he uses a loofah with this scented body wash instead of soap?

I’m sorry but he if can deep throat a banana – not only am I going to question his manhood but I’m also going to question my womanhood and need to step my game up.

I used to think the definition of a man was some 6’4″ motherfucker with muscles. They got into fights and kicked ass. They road motorcycles and only drove American cars. They shot guns, fought fires, and built houses with their bare hands. They never showed emotion, or weakness. Women wanted to fuck them, and men who weren’t scared of them wanted to be their friend.

I don’t think I’ll ever know what exactly makes a man, a man. But I can tell you that none of the above matters. Because I’ve dated the hero, the athlete, the fighter, and the “man’s man” and at one point or another, I had bigger balls than all of them. I used to love one man who was willing to risk his life for complete strangers – yet couldn’t be honest with the one person they cared about most. Women love all types of men. Men who get paid to get their asses kicked, men who go to war for their country, men who climb mountains and jump out of planes. Yet these are the same men who would rather wrestle an alligator than say, “No, I don’t love you anymore”, “I’m seeing someone else”, “I cheated on you.” Or even “I’m sorry”, “I fucked up”, or “Help me please.”

So you can drink your Muscle Milk, play tackle football, take me on a shopping spree, and fuck a different bitch every day of the week. Shit, I ain’t even gonna front. I want my men “manly” too. So be competitive, and primal, and cocky (my bad, I meant confident), and everything else society says you have to be. But if you can’t ALSO be sensitive, considerate, humble, and caring – then not only are you NOT a man in my book, but you are also not human. Because even if you’re Bear Grylls himself – if you cannot take responsibility for your actions, if you cannot keep your word, if you cannot handle your business? Then you are STILL a pussy.


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