Yes, Butt . . . .

Most men like to think that they are working their butts off.  This is a man's prerogative.  And it's difficult to do.

Working your butt off requires complete dedication and long hours.  A man might start with lots of butt, but if he's dedicated, he can work his butt off in a few years.  In fact, others might notice that he's working his butt off long before he does.  Usually it's other men who say, "Man, you're really working your butt off!" or "You worked your butt off on that project."

Once a man works his butt off, however, he will want to keep it off.  And the only way to keep it off is to continue working his butt off.  He will want to work weekends, holidays, overtime.  Whatever it takes.  If he has a family he will want to inform them that, while he is sorry if they feel neglected or abandoned, it is imperative that he work his butt off.  After all, his family should be supporting him while he is working his butt off.  He will show love for his family by working his butt off. 

Men who work their butts off are assets to their communities, too.  People all over town will notice and say, "No one works his butt off like this guy!"  Or if the man is involved in athletics, the coach will take note and say, "He's really working his butt off out there!"  A baseball manager will note: "He's coming around this season and starting to work his butt off!"  Sometimes the boss will give a man a bonus and say, "This is for working your butt off."

Men who have worked their butts off are easy to identify.  They have, after all, worked their butts off.  They are rather one-dimensional. 

Men, however, should never tell a woman, "Gosh, you've worked your butt off!"  This would not be appropriate and could get him into trouble.  Even if his wife were to ask, "Does this dress make my butt look big?", he can't respond by saying, "Are you kidding me?  You've worked your butt off!"  She would never believe that she's worked her butt off, even if she's taking care of seventeen children and has spent an entire week painting the house in ninety-degree heat . . . she would never say, "I worked my butt off this week."  Women don't like to admit that they have worked their butts off.  Women are concerned about their butts, of course, but they don't want anyone to think they have worked their butts off.  This would be drawing attention to their butts, which women don't like to do.  But in private they might actually think, "Geewhiz, I wish I could work my butt off!"

Men have a penchant for working their butts off.  They like to think that they are working their butts off, even if they are not working their butts off.  But they would never look in the mirror and say, "Holy Cow!  I've worked my butt off!"  However, they might say to another guy, "You may not realize this . . . but you are working your butt off!"

Of course, one good thing a man can say about working his butt off is that he's actually accomplished something.  It may be the only thing he ever achieves in his lifetime. 

Butt . . . if he keeps working . . . . 

Home Repair

Sooner or later every older man decides that he will save lots of money by doing his own home repairs.  Plumbing, painting, electrical . . . he will become the handyman his wife has always dreamed about. 

Toward that end, we offer here a few tips that will make these home repairs both enjoyable and rewarding.  In fact, a man might even get sex as a reward, so long as he doesn't electrocute himself or paint his face blue.

So, let's begin . . .

First, as for plumbing.  A man should make sure that he has the appropriate tools.  This may require that he spend upwards of two thousand dollars on a full set of pipe wrenches, cutters, vice grips, sockets, and a soldering gun.  If he can afford these, he can do his own plumbing repairs and can also be assured that he will never need any of these tools. All he will need is a ball peen hammer and a full slate of curse words.  A drip bucket also comes in handy after a man breaks the pipe in half and, during the winter, the bucket can also be used as a spare toilet next to the bed in case his children need to puke.  In addition, it always comes in handy to know where the "shut-off" valves are in the basement, so that the water supply can be cut off entirely for two months while his wife works evenings and weekends to locate a plumber named "Delicious Dave".

Now, on to painting. Every man believes he can paint.  And well.  In fact, most men will say--when they are standing in front of a Picasso--"Hell, I coulda painted that!"  His wife will point out, however, that Picasso was both a genius and a great lover--both attributes that he lacks--and that her husband could scarcely complete a canvas of the ocean in a paint-by-number set designed for Kindergartners.  Nevertheless, every older man will attempt to paint the living room at least once, and the basement twice before his wife slaps his forehead with a wet paint stick and says, "I'm calling a painter!"  But if the man insists on painting a room, here is how it should be done.

Step one:  cover the carpeting with fourteen layers of newspaper and drop cloths.  

Step two: Spill the first gallon of paint off the high ladder and get this out of the way.  (The man should tell his wife, "See, I did this early in the procedure so you can stop bitching.  And can you hand me another gallon?")

Step three: Using a roller saturated with two pounds of "Methane Blue" or "Eggshell White", jump off the top rung of the step ladder, yell "Heeeyaaaa!", and lacquer an entire wall from ceiling to floor in one fell swoop, thus saving enormous amounts of time by having to apply a second coat.

Steps four-through-seven:  repeat this procedure for all four walls.

Now, on to electrical . . .     

As simple as this sounds, many men forget to turn off the electricity before they begin an electrical repair project. But these two things are related, and that is why many men are electrocuted when they attempt to repair a George Foreman grill.  (These grills, however, cannot be repaired . . . just remove the hamburgers.)

Electricity, it should be pointed out, can be dangerous, and ranks right up there among the reasons for domestic death right alongside 1. falling asleep in the shower and drowning 2. eating cat food by mistake 3. getting stuck in the chimney and becoming a smoked ham 4. and being asphyxiated by pulling open the teenage son's sock drawer. 

However, if a man is going to undertake an electrical home repair he should first get a permit from the city.  This will take months, during which time the wife will forget about the light fixture all together and will get used to cooking over a kerosene stove by candle light.  This is not really all that dangerous (not as dangerous as the man fixing the electrical) and will actually serve to bond husband and wife together, making them feel that they are defeating the forces of nature and getting back to their roots on Little House on the Prairie.  The man, however, should take note that low light can lead to romance, which can lead to hanky-panky, which can lead to children.

Better fix the light.

Discounted

As a male ages, he begins to note the discounts that are often available to "senior citizens".  He is not sure that he wants to take advantage of these . . . as he will have to reveal his true age, and say to the cute blonde behind the counter at Hertz car rental:  "Can't you see that I am past my prime and have earned a discount, if not your undying respect and admiration?" 

Older men who don't care, however, can often produce their AARP card or Driver's License with the aplomb and panache of a quick-draw artist pulling a Colt-45 from a holster.  "How about them apples?" he might say as he slaps the card on the counter at Lowe's and demands an additional 5% off.  Or he might tell the pimply-faced punk at Applebees:  "I'm only going to say this once, so listen up!  I've got a senior citizens discount coupon in my pocket, but don't make me use it, punk.  Just bring me a steak, take 20% off the total, and there will be no trouble!"

To the older man, a discount is like having an Ace up the sleeve.  He's playing poker with society but he knows most people aren't going to call his bluff.  But if they do, good Lord he's going to show his cards and take the pot.  He would prefer, however, if the managers and retail outlets would just fold and say, "Yeah, we can tell you are fifty-five and we don't need to see your ID.  Just take the package of pull-up, extra absorbent underpants and be on your way.  We know these aren't for you and we're not going to ask questions."

The older man can, of course, be embarrassed by his age.  And there are times when he's not going to call attention to a discount.  If a single oldster is standing in a long line at Steinmart, for example, he's not going to call attention to his age if a woman has just asked for his phone number.  He's going to say something like, "Yeah, Friday night is open on my calendar and I drive a Lexus with a fold down back seat."  Under no circumstances will he tell the truth and say, "I'm sorry, but Friday doesn't work for me.  That's when I do my laundry at the retirement village--you can't believe how difficult it is to reserve a washing machine for a soft-spin cycle!--and my shuffleboard team needs me.  But perhaps we could get together on Saturday to discuss Super Poly-Grip.  And I can get you a discount at CVS in case you need a refill of your hormone-replacement pills."

Most older men chose their spots when requesting a discount, but you can bet they will always want one at the hardware store.  When a man can save ten cents on a handfull of wing-nuts and a couple of 2 3/8 inch bolts, he's going to take it.  And if he can get a couple of car keys cut (he's lost his other ones and can't find them anywhere) he's going to toss those into the mix also and maybe replace the cracked toilet seat, too.

Discounts do vary, of course.  And they should.  A fifty-five year old male should never get the same percentage of discount as, say, a man who is a hundred and seven and walks on a peg leg while wearing an eye patch.  Retired pirates deserve more respect and there should be more barbers willing to trim their beards or tweeze the birdnests from their ears.  Retired pirates should never have to show ID, not even for beer or muskatoon purchases.  They've earned their rewards, and when they die, we can bury them at sea for little to no cost.

Naturally, older men would rather be younger men.  But as they age, they do feel that the discounts they enjoy somewhat make up for the fact that they frequently soil themselves if they laugh too hard.  But if they are married, their wives more than make up the difference.    

 

Stages of a Man's Life

A man experiences three stages of adulthood.  These stages are well-documented in back issues of Better Homes & Gardens and have a profound impact on the ageing process.  Although these stages are known by different names in various cultures (The Tres Dingos, for example, in Latin cultures), they can be loosely defined as follows:

Minipause:  the early stage of a man's life, commonly known as youth, when everything is very small and tight-fitting, and a man can get by with wearing his pants down around his ankles and still keep a job.  This phase is commonly defined by lower pay, school debt, and an insatiable urge for Gatorade.  During this phase the man is also searching the internet for a suitable mate and is infatuated with car engines and all-you-can-eat buffets.  The phase ends abruptly when the man marries or abandons spicy tacos in favor of Pepto Bismol. 

Moneypause:  this mid-life stage is defined by family and income concerns and can last anywhere from five to fifty-five years. During this phase the man is working upwards of 125 hours a week, including weekends and holidays, and earns an average of 25-cents an hour.  This, the three of the longest phases, is the most depressing, although some men attempt to compensate for this blue period by coaching Little League baseball or pretending that they have a sex life.  If a marriage is going to fall apart, it is usually during this phase, but a woman can usually tell if the man is unhappy if he says something like, "Have you seen my car keys?" or "Chicken again?  Really?" or "I want a divorce."  Women can compensate for the man during this phase by earning twice his salary or by keeping a fully-stocked pantry and plenty of beer.

Manopause:  This final stage of a man's life can be enjoyable if his wife is still hot or if the mortgage has been burned.  Manopause is defined by an ability to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, such as a twenty-four ounce T-bone steak, a magazine subscription, or a new package of underwear.  Basically the man hibernates on the couch during this period and has continued difficulty walking to the refrigerator to retrieve a carrot stick.  His wife, if he has trained her well, waits on him hand-and-foot and frequently bakes cookies and calls him "sugar", "sweetheart" or "you gorgeous stud-muffin."  The man, of course, can always find energy enough for a game of golf, but essentially he is content to stay in the house and wait for death.  If he lives long enough, he may enter a fourth stage of life--Mortipause--but this is rare, and a stage reserved only for those men who live past 100 and can still do the Tango with a twenty-year old wife who has married him for his vast estate (see "politicians" or "TV personalities").

Naturally, this is only a guide, and results may vary from man to man.  If you feel that you don't fit into any of these stages, don't despair.  Wait a few years and reassess.  Eventually things will fall into place and you'll have your first prostate exam.  This will clear out the cobwebs.    

What Makes a Man Cry?

Men, as they age, may find themselves crying for no particular reason.  A man may cry, for example, during the seventh game of the World Series, or, if he is sitting in the stands, because he was forced to pay $9.95 for a week-old wiener.  A man may also cry over the results of his cholesterol count, or may weep when he watches the movie, Rudy.  And he may also cry at weddings.  He is permitted this luxury if his daughter is getting married.

A man's tear ducts are designed much differently than a woman's, however, as his tear ducts are connected to his gut.  And, if a man is drinking while he weeps, he may sometimes be able to get milk to come out of his nose.  This looks funny, of course, but on a scale of 1-10 the "milk-out-of-the-nose" trick is a 6+ and is a good trick to keep on hand for dinner parties.

Men are not designed to cry easily.  In fact, most men can lose four fingers in a band saw and still smile about it.  Men can also watch movies like Beaches and Jerry McGuire, but can also smirk at "wind beneath my wings" and "you had me at hello" and yet provide the appropriate sympathy if he is cuddling with his wife when she turns to him and says, "That's how I feel about us!"

A real man, however, is weak on the day of his daughter's wedding.  He is permitted this small glitch, this chink in his armor, and is allowed to weep openly and carry a small white hanky in his pocket.  By using the hanky he also earns points with his wife and, afterwards, can win valuable prize packages.

An older man may also cry at a wedding because he realizes he has an anniversary of his own.  It is approaching rapidly and he has not purchased a card or made anniversary plans and doesn't intend to.  He is broke from having purchased twenty-two pounds of mixed nuts and a new pair of black loafers (with tassels) and the thought of booking a hotel reservation on Orbitz to entertain an old woman for a weekend just isn't in his emotional arsenal.  He can cry at the wedding when he realizes that his daughter is a woman, but he cannot handle the thought of being married to an old woman.

Eventually, the older male settles into his life as a father-in-law and only weeps at holidays, or when he watches Hoosiers and Jimmy hits that last-second shot to win the championship and he knows Gene Hackman is gonna get that young teacher in the sack before the credits roll. 

Yes, the older male does cry.  He just picks his spots.

 

Can Dads Dance?

Photo:  Becky & Todd before Prom, 1978.

A few days ago it hit me:  I'm going to have to dance with my daughter at her wedding on Saturday.

Of course, I'm no stranger to the dance floor.  I was boogie-ing with the best of 'em back in the late 1970s and I had Saturday Night Fever long before the movie premiered. My voice was also a falsetto, like Barry Gibbs, and I loved the idea of Becky being more than a woman to me.  Becky knows this.  She went to the prom with me our junior year of high school (spring of 1978) and I ripped up the floor.  I also ripped out my white pants (which had taken on a yellowed tinge from so much nervous sweat).  This is why I spent most of my time at the prom watching a Don Knotts film, thinking my friends would make fun of me, assuming I had peed my pants when, in fact, I simply had over-active glands.

Naturally, the first thing my mother wanted to know when I got home was:  "Did you dance with Becky?"  Her second question was:  "Why did you pee your pants?"

This is something, however, that a seventeen-year-old male cannot explain to a mother's satisfaction.

I reminded my mother that, in addition to being president of the high school letterman's club and a solid "C-minus" student, I knew how to treat a girl to a really good time.  "There's more to the prom than dancing," I reminded my mother as I reached for a jug of Ajax and began scrubbing the crotch on my rental.  "There are also the intangibles: such as friendship, respect, athletics, honor, C-minus academics, and a really good lime punch with those little strawberries floating on top."

"You should marry that girl," mom told me.  "I like that Becky.  She's a good cheerleader, probably a virgin, and I don't think she'd let you get fresh with her.  In fact, I don't think she'd let you touch her . . . even after twenty years of marriage.  You have to respect a girl with such high standards for herself and such low expectations in men."

From that moment on I took mom's advice to heart and knew Becky was the girl for me.  If mom liked her, there must be something wrong with Becky, and I was certain that, if I worked hard enough, I would discover Becky's trashy side.

Naturally, I married Becky in order to find out.  (But this occurred after years of rejection from hundreds of other women who were not afraid to dance cheek-to-cheek with a pee stain.)

Now here we are--two old people on the cusp of our daughter's wedding--and my wife is once again giving me dancing tips.  She refuses to allow the showing of a Don Knotts film at the wedding reception.  I am not allowed to have a good time.  I cannot wear a white tux.  And she insists I double up on absorbent underwear.

"Is Dad a good dancer?" my daughter keeps asking my wife.  "Has he ever, even once, given you a good dipping?"

"Sweetheart," Becky tells her, "he's going to embarrass the stuffing out of you."

My wife may be correct.  But then again, I'll be wearing a dark tux.  That alone should make me look good on the dance floor.  And I've been practicing my dips.  God knows, I haven't dropped a girl yet.

Understanding Your Colonoscopy

Eventually the older male succumbs to doctor's orders and makes an appointment for his first colonoscopy.  He doesn't understand the need for it, obviously, and there can be a copious amount of anxiety and dread surrounding the procedure.  But understanding the importance of the colonoscopy is the first step.  And if a man can wrap his mind around this, he can eventually have some fun with the procedure.

So . . . let's be clear.

The colonoscopy was invented by Hans Gastric, a German veterinarian who perfected his art on horses and large rodents.  The year was 1857, and these first medical instruments were crude in comparison to the ones used today.  The procedure, of course, was designed to make men feel at ease about their health, operating under the theory that, if a doctor could examine the insides of a man, the doctor would receive a large research grant and get published in a prestigious medical journal and eventually move to America and live in the Hamptons.

As many men point out, the preparation for a colonoscopy is actually worse than the procedure itself.  This preparation phase is awkward, as it includes a visit to the pharmacy where the patient must stand in a long line and yell out, "Hey, I'm here to cleanse my colon!"  Following this public announcement, a young pharmacist will laugh and produce the appropriate drink, whereby the man is given a choice between flavors of Lemon-Lime and Tooty-Fruity.  (Word of advice: don't take any medicine with word "Tooty" in it!)

Once the man has prepared for the procedure, he will then need to secure a ride to and from the clinic.  This is important, since the man will not want to ride with anyone who needs to stop on the way home for a hair appointment with a stylist named Wanda June.  Discussion of the route to and from the clinic is important, as the colonoscopy, for a man, is the same as having a baby. 

Men, obviously, want to know, what goes on during the procedure itself?  Well, it's not that big of a deal.  The man is usually under sedation, and during the procedure the doctors play several rounds of Euchre or, in some upscale hospitals, Bridge.  Usually the anesthetist will tell a dirty joke involving a farmer's daughter.

The man is also under sedation during this procedure, but may recall, days later, hearing the doctors scream, "Thar she blows!" or "Whatta ya make of this one, Howie?"  During the procedure the man may experience a slight sensation in his abdomen, but these vibrations are no worse than he might experience if he were to attend a Metallica concert or if he were to allow a gerbil to run free inside his deodenum.  In less than three hours the procedure is complete, the doctors record notes and deal a final hand of Pinochle, and then insert the cork.

The colonoscopy is now complete and the man can relax.  He returns home under the watchful care of his family, a small group of people who make fun of him and who keep asking, "So . . . how was it?"     

Retirement Calculator

Sooner or later the manopausal male begins to calculate when he can retire.  These calculations are based on many factors, including his general health, the beginning of the NFL season, and how many years he anticipates his wife can continue to work in order to pay utility bills and green's fees.  The manopausal male often hires a financial planner to help him work up an impressive list of facts and figures designed to confuse the hell out of him.  Financial planners can be found in the yellow pages under the heading:  Adult Services and Financial Escorts.

Many of these financial planners work the streets at night looking for clients and as a man nears retirement, he can usually pick up a planner on the cheap at a local bar. 

Manopausal males also become adept at interpreting the numbers associated with retirement.  For example, older males know what the stock market is (a casino), where it is located (someplace out east), and how it works (like Facebook).  Older males also have their favorite investments, and most males are still looking for the jars of Sacajawea dollars they buried in the back yard back in 1997.  That is why older males can frequently be seen with metal detectors on the beach.

In essence, the manopausal male calculates his total value based upon three factors:  how much life insurance money he will receive when his wife kicks the bucket; how much money he will receive when he remarries the young chick in wholesale distributing who is still raking in child support payments from her ex-husband; and the value of his baseball card collection which is stored in his mother's attic.

A shrewd financial planner can also offer help by providing several mathematical tools designed to confuse women and trick the IRS.  One of these calculations has something to do with E=mc2 and the other involves an algebraic logarithm about a chimpanzee who saves two bunches of bananas each week for forty years and ends with the question:  "How many bananas will Bonzo have when he is sixty-five?"

Retirement calculators, of course, are designed to help older men determine if they will outlive their wives, and by how much.  Determining his wife's demise is much like figuring the spread in a horse race, and many men, as they near retirement, begin calling their wives names like "Double-Ur-Money" or "Backstretch Nellie" or "Down-to-the-Wire Wanda".  Some men consult veterinarians to determine their options should their wives pull up lame.

Retirement, naturally, is a bitch . . . and most men discover that they have only saved enough money to retire for three months.  Because of this, they plan low-cost retirement trips to Acron and Buffalo and eat lots of Aldi specials such as canned Cream-of-Hominy.  Some men fall into depression and move to Florida to play shuffle-board for two weeks before they have their heart attacks. 

In the end, the manopausal male realizes that no one is responsible for his retirement except himself . . . and he begins to look for other investment vehicles such as creating his own bottled-water label or selling his wife's gold jewelry at pawn shops.

Some of these investment vehicles are completed on the sly, but if he's efficient, he should be able to attain his retirement number by the time he is eighty-seven.