Thursday, October 14, 2010


I do not have a man cave.
I am not a lumbering neanderthal who drags his hairy knuckles on the ground, as he ambulates idiotically toward beasts or women. My conception of "maleness" does not in any way try to obfuscate intellect. I have a well-designed studio, which is my place for comfort and isolation. I alone, drew up the blueprints, and supervised it's construction. I paint, write, study, and do business in this, my realm. I have a collection of three hundred paintings. Most are mine, but those I own, done by other artists are magnificent. I also have a collection of two-thousand books, some valuable, signed first editions, in my wonderful Shangrila. I refuse to carry a "man bag", or own a "man chair". I find no humor seeing males or females make light of an individual's right to well-earned peace and solitude. I do own a Human Touch massage chair. My wife and I both enjoy it's relaxing benefits. I don't care to sexualize inanimate objects or place personal affectations on living spaces or material things. I don't refer to prized muscle cars or Harley Davidson motorcycles, as "she", "She's sure a purty Harley, ain't she, Billy Bob?" Or, "She's sure gonna' be a hot one today, eh Goober?" Oh well, I guess I'll go downstairs now and sit in my man chair, in my man cave. The Chicago Blackhawks are playin' tonight! I can't wait to see the violence and gore. I'm gonna eat all kinds of crap that isn't good for me. I'll burp, fart, and scratch myself wherever I want! I'm gonna love every minute of it! Whoops! The real me just snuck out! Don't trust these artsy-fartsy guys, you girls who are reading this. They're all hypocrites ladies. Real men are all like dogs. The best ones are just like Pit Bulls. You might love to pet 'em girls, but watch out! They might snap at yah!

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