T Nation


            You there- reading this: put down whatever you?re drinking and put out whatever you?re smoking. Pay attention. We have serious business here. To wit: there?s a good sixty percent chance that you?re a girly man.

           Do you color your hair? Do you wear one of those little necklaces made of tiny silver beads? How about shiny shirts when you go out clubbing? Hell, do you go ?clubbing? and refer to it as such? Is your hair frosted? Does it do that stupid thing where your bangs are flipped upward while the rest of your hair lies relatively flat? Do you lie to women in order to have sex with them?

      If you answered ?yes? to any of the above, chances are excellent that you?re a queef. A q-tip headed nancy-boy. Not any kind of a real man.

There?s a surfeit of twerps running around these days, clogging the boulevards, wearing huge pants, and laughing overloudly in bars. To even a casual observer, it seems that this nation has birthed a Generation of Weenies. Guys don?t do guy stuff anymore. The average middle-class male under forty years has no idea how his car works or what to do if it breaks. Household repairs are a mystery to them. At best, they?ve managed to figure out how to hook up their VCR to their TV. Whoop dee doo- so has my grandmother.

   It?s almost as if, because of women?s increasing independence over the last thirty years of American life, men have become largely more pussified. It?s like, somebody has to be ?the girl?, and a lot of ?guys? are stepping in to fill the role.

      Make no mistake: there are certain things that are expected of males. And no, no one cares if you like it or not. No-one cares about your ?feelings? at all.

And no, gay guys don?t get a pass on this stuff for being gay. They have to play by the same rules as everyone else. That?s why it?s called ?equality?. What, do we live in Red China, with different rules for different groups? Hell, no, we don?t! That?s how the terrorists win!

  Men should know how things work, and how to fix them. To a degree, at least. You?re not expected to be Carroll Shelby, but you are expected to know who Carroll Shelby was, and why he was a Great American.

The workings of the internal combustion engine, like so many things, raises issues of class. One of the funniest things in the world is how much contempt office guys have for guys who work with their hands, and how quickly an office guy will run to them, shrieking and flapping his hands like a giddy old woman, when something mechanical or electronic breaks.

 Men shouldn?t be a lying weasels. Just because some drunk chick will believe that you?re a test pilot for Lockheed, it does not follow that you should tell her this, even if telling her this will cause her to fuck you. Honor still counts for something, and it?s one of the hallmarks of masculinity. A real man doesn?t say ?yes? and do ?no?, if you take my meaning.

     Quit dressing like a shithead. Pull up your pants, wear a shirt (a whole shirt, that means one with sleeves), turn your hat around, and unless you?re Jesus, throw away the sandals. The rest of the world is not Mill Avenue, and the rest of the world thinks you?re a schmuck. This is especially true if you?re dressing in the above manner after the age of thirty.

The world is not fair. No-one owes you anything. No-one gives a rat?s ass how you feel or what you think you should receive. Get used to it. This doesn?t mean you get to be one of the assholes who makes the world unfair, but it does mean that you realize the world?s inequities, and strive to overcome them. This means you will probably have to get a job. You will have to dispense with your sense of entitlement. Nobody loves you, except for Mommy, Daddy, and Oprah, and probably not even them.

 Now, even if you are guilty of some or all of the above sins and thus are languishing in non-manliness, don?t despair. Proper training in time-honored ways of masculinity are only as far away as your television and local purveyor of movies. Absorb the following examples of manly media, avoid the weaselly, craven counter-examples, and you?ll be on your way to manhood in no time, my limp, whining, little friend.


The Dirty Dozen- Featuring a who?s who of movie tough guys: Lee Marvin (more about him later), Telly Savalas, John Cassavetes, Richard Jaeckel, Jim Brown, Clint Walker, Donald Sutherland (okay, he?s not a traditional movie tough guy, but he does better than you?d think), Charles Bronson, Ernest Borgnine, George Kennedy, Robert Ryan, and Ralph Meeker.

They don?t make movies like this anymore, but the sixties were the heyday for this kind of flick. Get a bunch of badasses together and send them out to kill bad guys in mass numbers. The closest we?ve come in the last fifteen years is Predator.
Also see The Magnificent Seven with Bronson, James Coburn, Yul Brynner, Steve McQueen, Robert Vaughn, and Eli Wallach. Not to mention the original Ocean?s 11 starring Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Cesar Romero, Peter Lawford, George Raft, Richard Conte, and Henry Silva. I still can?t believe this got remade with Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, and some other pansies. Oh, the humanity.

    If you can watch any of these films and not come away understanding their elemental appeal to millions of guys, just forget everything I?ve said and prance right over to Fashion Bug to see if they?ve got any plus-size pink cullottes left in stock, Susie.

Goldfinger- Hands down, the best Bond flick ever, from the one-man commando raid at the beginning to the end where Bond electrocutes a giant karate freak . Not to mention the points in between, including the scene where Bond?s CIA contact shows up and Bond dismisses the blond who?d been giving him a massage with a slap on the ass because it?s time for ?Man talk?. Now, it?s wrong to do stuff like that, but not wrong to want to.

Point Blank- The other face of Lee Marvin (who had an admittedly small range of expressions). Here he?s a zombie (perhaps literally) lurching through Los Angeles killing everybody who stands between him and his quarry- an oily worm played by John Vernon who ripped off Marvin?s half of a robbery score.

This was remade as Payback with Mel Gibson in the Marvin role and thus was pretty bad. Mel has to be likeable- Lee Marvin could not?ve cared less about that sort of thing. Mel also indulged his disquieting penchant for being tortured in almost every film he makes. Lee Marvin wouldn?t have put up with that shit for a second.

The Searchers- Almost the only John Wayne movie worth a damn. While at times it?s nearly derailed by director John Ford?s love of Irish schtick and low comedy, as well as the casting of Jeffrey ?The Blue-Eyed Jesus? Hunter as Wayne?s whiny sidekick, Wayne?s portrayal of an obsessed, cruel, and unfortunately racist gunfighter helps keep his career from being a total loss.

Wayne?s grossly overrated as a movie tough guy, but he get mucho credit for this one and True Grit, which is also brilliant, and a lot more fun. Stay away from The Green Berets, Big Jake, and Hatari.

The Right Stuff- Scott Glenn, Fred Ward, Lance Henriksen, Ed Harris, Sam Shepard (also a very manly playwright- much more so than David Mamet most of the time), and Dennis Quaid as test pilots and astronauts. What the hell else do you need to know?

Dirty Harry- Clint Eastwood?s finest hour. Cool hair, cool shades, and cool huge goddamned gun. If you can walk out of a viewing of this film not wanting to own a .44 Magnum and to shoot hippies with it, see your doctor to enquire about gender-reassignment surgery. Also required viewing: Unforgiven, Magnum Force, High Plains Drifter, For a Few Dollars More (also starring Lee Van Cleef), and Kelly?s Heroes. Some people like The Beguiled, but they?re weird.

If after absorbing all of the above, you?re still a wussy little twerp, you have no-one to blame but yourself. Maybe you like being that way, I don?t know. All?s I know is, the above course of study (and the stuff I didn?t have room for) made me the man I am today. And I?m tougher than a two-dollar steak, baby.

Cut from http://home.earthlink.net/~gussheridan/id20.html

Just thought i should share this with what is possibly the manliest place around.


Do you color your hair?

  • No

Do you wear one of those little necklaces made of tiny silver beads?

-I wear a ring my father gave me around my neck on a necklace

How about shiny shirts when you go out clubbing?

  • I just wear a wife beater and a zip up hoodie, if I even go.

Hell, do you go clubbing?

  • I'm a promoter its kind of my job

and refer to it as such?

  • Nope just say I'm going out.

Is your hair frosted?

  • Only thing frosted is my breakfast cereal.

Does it do that stupid thing where your bangs are flipped upward while the rest of your hair lies relatively flat?

  • Uhhh I shave my head and I have a goatee lol

Do you lie to women in order to have sex with them?

  • No I generally inform them right away that I'm only interested in bedding them. If they want to continue our conversation we can, but I'll be uninterested and just looking at her friend.


Haha...I found this funny as hell, but you're still an ass.


Honestly, this has been done a million times over and far better by others. I agree with the principle of the whole thing but it's starting to get boring and repetitive. Blah blah, not as manly as the old days.


Honor, integrity and discipline - Good

I can't believe you mentioned the Magnificient Seven, though, and didn't include all those great samurai flicks which inspired such movies. If children were brought up on Kurosawa, Zatoichi, Lone Wolf and Cub - and for sure, the old Kung Fu tv series - I believe we'd be living in a better world.


Again - GOOD, less competition.


I thought this was going to be about Harvey Mansfield's book. Oh well!


ok this was surely written by a big fat ugly guy who lives in his dead mother's house wearing a plaid shirt with back hair sprouting out all over the place, doing "manly" things. Who hasn't been on a date with a woman under 300 lbs in years.

go to a bar, find a girl who rates as a 10, then see who she is with? is he Dan Haggerty or David Beckham, bet you a 200lb tub of Surge! that she's not with a mountain man.......


Really. He insulted my hairstyle of flipping the front up.

But hey, I get laid. So fuck the internet manly men.


This article makes me want to punch somebody right in the nugget.


So did I, actually.


I do not consider myself a girly man, rather a FANCY man.


  • I don't fix shit, I don't care how it works, nor would I if I had the time to.

  • Do I know how an internal combustion engine works, hell no! But I like fast cars.

  • I do not frost my hair, but I do have the sexy flip thing, spoken about so eloquently in the article

  • I like nice things, so bite me.


Gee I dunno, maybe being a "man" is doing your own thing, even if that's being a metro.

In any case, is there anything less "manly" than living your life according to internet lists?


This thread needs a queef muffler.


"This is why I can never have nice things!"


Dr. Seuss

The Sneetches

Now, the Star-Bell Sneetches had bellies with stars.
The Plain-Belly Sneetches had none upon thars.

Those stars weren?t so big. They were really so small
You might think such a thing wouldn?t matter at all.

But, because they had stars, all the Star-Belly Sneetches
Would brag, ?We?re the best kind of Sneetch on the beaches.?
With their snoots in the air, they would sniff and they?d snort
?We?ll have nothing to do with the Plain-Belly sort!?
And, whenever they met some, when they were out walking,
They?d hike right on past them without even talking.

When the Star-Belly children went out to play ball,
Could a Plain Belly get in the game? Not at all.
You only could play if your bellies had stars
And the Plain-Belly children had none upon thars.

When the Star Belly Sneetches had frankfurter roasts
Or picnics or parties or marshmallow toasts,
They never invited the Plain-Belly Sneetches
They left them out cold, in the dark of the beaches.
They kept them away. Never let them come near.
And that?s how they treated them year after year.

Then ONE day, it seems while the Plain-Belly Sneetches
Were moping and doping alone on the beaches,
Just sitting there wishing their bellies had stars,
A stranger zipped up in the strangest of cars!

?My friends?, he announced in a voice clear and clean,
?My name is Sylvester McMonkey McBean. And I?ve heard of
Your troubles. I?ve heard you?re unhappy. But I can fix
That I?m the Fix-It-Up Chappie. I?ve come here to help
You. I have what you need. And my prices are low. And
I work with great speed. And my work is one hundred per cent guaranteed!?

Then, quickly, Sylvester McMonkey McBean
Put together a very peculiar machine.
And he said, ?You want stars like a Star-Belly Sneetch? My friends, you can
Have them for three dollars each!?

?Just pay me your money and hop right aboard!?
So they clambered inside. Then the big machine roared.
And it klonked. And it bonked. And it jerked. And it berked.
And it bopped them about. But the thing really worked!
When the Plain-Belly Sneetches popped out, they had stars!
They actually did. They had stars upon thars!

Then they yelled at the ones who had stars at the start,
?We?re still the best Sneetches and they are the worst.
But now, how in the world will we know?, they all frowned,
?If which kind is what, or the other way round??

Then up came McBean with a very sly wink. And he said, ?Things
are not quite as bad as you think. So you don?t know who?s who.
That is perfectly true. But come with me, friends. Do you know
what I?ll do? I?ll make you, again, the best Sneetches on the beaches.
And all it will cost you is ten dollars eaches.?

?Belly stars are no longer in style?, said McBean.
?What you need is a trip through my Star-Off Machine. This
Wondrous contraption will take OFF your stars so you won?t
Look like Sneetches that have them on thars.?
And that handy machine working very precisely
Removed all the stars from their tummies quite nicely.

Then, with snoots in the air, they paraded about. And they opened
Their beaks and they let out a shout, ?We know who is who! Now there
Isn?t a doubt. The best kind of Sneetches are Sneetches without!?

Then, of course, those with stars got all frightfully mad.
To be wearing a star was frightfully bad. Then, of course, old
Sylvester McMonkey McBean invited THEM into his Star-Off Machine.

Then, of course from THEN on, as you probably guess,
Things really got into a horrible mess.

All the rest of that day, on those wild screaming beaches,
The Fix-It-Up Chappie kept fixing up Sneetches.
Off again! On again! In again! Out again!
Through the machines they raced round and about again,
Changing their stars every minute or two. They kept paying money.
They kept running through until the Plain nor the Star-Bellies knew
Whether this one was that one or that one was this one. Or which one
Was what one or what one was who.

Then, when every last cent of their money was spent,
The Fix-It-Up Chappie packed up. And he went. And he laughed as he drove
In his car up the beach, ?They never will learn. No. You can?t
Teach a Sneetch!?

But McBean was quite wrong. I?m quite happy to say.
That the Sneetches got really quite smart on that day.
The day they decided that Sneetches are Sneetches.
And no kind of Sneetch is the best on the beaches.
That day, all the Sneetches forgot about stars and whether
They had one, or not, upon thars.


there sure are allot of queers pissed of by this article. beware the douchbags, they do exist. fukin pussies. button your shirt, take off the beads, and go cut down a tree or kill something. it's good for you.


i would consider you a girly girl. you seem to fit the profile.



That brought back some cool memories of reading to my kids when they were younger. Thanks. That and Marvin K. Mooney will you please go now. and Farmer Brown can moo.