Last week I back-handed modern day binge and purge feminism. This week I’m monkey slapping upon the australopithicene antics of my own antediluvian gender tribe. Feminists complain that “there are no real men left to date.” First of all let’s just ignore the reverse applicability of this inferential feminist premise. Have feminists ever pondered that there might be “no real women” available for men to date at the outset of their original complaint?

Now the term “real men” is loaded with an exponential array of viscous variables that I won’t attempt to discuss in light of feminism’s ever changing point of spew, but I’m a reasonably self-sufficient, smart-alecky chap who has made every conceivable boneheaded miscalculation in sapient mating rituals that any other male tree swinger can possibly make. This therefore makes me a bona fide expert of what not to do.

Gentlemen: A dishearteningly fair portion of you out there are wusses, abject total wusses, as a matter of fact, with a distinct inability to cowboy up and be unpopular. Learn to say “no” early in a relationship. Saying “yes” for the debasing benefit of simple female appeasement only demonstrates a definitive dearth of your primary sex characteristics.

You might be unpopular for saying “no” but at least you will be respected. Machiavelli was pretty clear on this subject.

Gentlemen: If you are dating, stop wearing your mother’s apron strings as a necktie while channeling her through your girlfriend in some grotesque attempt to return to the uterine comforts of your childhood. Note to self: Your girlfriend is not your mother! She is not the MILF you’ve been waiting for, OK? While you are socially scavenging about for “Ms. Right” or even “Ms. Right-Now,” remember that maid service is infinitely cheaper than divorce and less embarrassing than a messy, videotaped break-up that winds up on the blooper reel of “COPS.”

Gentlemen: Buy a belt! Its purpose is to keep your pants from falling down while you are running away from the police during a videotaping of “COPS.”

If you are over the age of 30 and still insist on “keepin’ it real” by calling yourself “B-Rad” instead of using your given name of “Bradley” while disturbingly attired like an Eminem/Tupac gangsta-wannabe then you are in serious need of a a stylish pimp slap with a rolled up phone book. Lose the skateboard, too.

Real women prefer men who are cocky, well groomed, smell nice and have this stupid thing called a job. A feminist will prefer you otherwise. It gives her something to fix other than herself. Remember to brush both of your teeth. First impressions are important. Check to see if she has brushed both of hers, too. Shaved legs are optional … hers not yours.

Gentlemen: Learn to cook … for yourself. Most modern femi-fascists consider the kitchen a place of oppression and social injustice. Good, as most internationally acclaimed chefs are men and most modern feminists are only capable of burning salad or nuking a bag of vegan soy-popcorn, this territorial acquisition provides you with a new playground to further exercise your genetically superior male dominant expertise.

If, however, you are truly clueless in the culinary arts and are looking for a shortcut method that does not involve a late night drive-thru window, then invest in the cookbook “Two Dudes, One Pan” by Shook and Dotolo. C’mon, gentlemen, how difficult can cooking really be? After all, Sarah Palin can not only cook, she usually has to hunt dinner down and skin it beforehand. She is, however, not a feminist. They don’t do yoga in Alaska.

Gentlemen: Treat ‘em nice! This translates to, “do not try to sleep with [their] girlfriends.” If the saying, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” is the sulfuric branch-chained amino acid index within the female DNA revenge helix, then entwine your porn-poisoned mind around the scorching notion of five or six well-scorned banshees chasing you down the Third Street Promenade swinging flaming pillowcases filled with brass doorknobs at your head. I know that I’d drop a dollar in the tip bucket to see how that sideshow ends.

Gentlemen: There is this very important word that starts with the letter “L” that men and women get all mushy over but don’t seem to have the stomach these days to digest anymore. It’s called “loyalty.” It’s the first and only ingredient you’ll ever need for any successful relationship. And I’m not talking about doggie-style loyalty as dogs sniff each others behinds when they make “friends.” Those are not my flavor of friends and I certainly wouldn’t want one for a mate, would you?

Gentlemen: Keep loyalty nailed to your spine while everybody else is losing theirs. Spend it thriftily as there are no discount coupons, but if you invest well then it will never run out nor ever run away.

Steve Breen is like Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way, and is still the “best looking mailman at the U.S. Post Office.” He can be reached at dulcamarax@yahoo.com.

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