Man Club – July 2013 Edition (Hard Rock and Golfing)


You are back from shopping! So soon?

Men, you’ve been through this before.  Your girlfriend, fiancee or wife has just returned from shopping and she wants to tell you about the bargains she found and how much money she saved.  Be prepared – it’s going to hurt.


Prada, Coach, and Calvin Klein
Oh How I want them to be mine, mine, mine!
(Sung to the tune of the William Tell Overture and Suicide Symphony)

In this month’s Female Code episode, I gave you an educational background of the real story of Adam and Eve – “The Married without Children Era.”  There in episode 666, Eve turns 54 and enters menopause in the heat of July, yet there are no men and there certainly is no pausing, so whose brilliant idea was it to call it menopause, maybe menomurder is more apropos.  So now it’s just you and your non-stop jibber-jabber soul mate from hell!  Somewhere in the female code there is no gene for logic or rational.  I shall prove my point.

“Honey, Honey… I just saved you big bucks on this new Coach bag,” says your loving succubo.

Succubo – not to be confused with a succubus, which is cool and sexy, but a succubo – an evil female demon vampire that bleeds your wallet, a turnip and the federal reserve dry.

“Great, enough for me to go golfing tomorrow?”

“Huh?” asks your sweet little succubo with a look like you are a total idiot.

“Savings – like the one at the bank where we place money into!”

“That’s not savings – that’s hoarding!!!  Savings is where you spend far less than retail!”

And so goes the debate with that sweet little snookums of a succubo you married, as she shows you the contents of her sixteen shopping bags from Prada, Coach, Calvin Recliner, Che Tre Le Vue, Coldwater Creek and Paddle, Diane Von Iceberg, Tahari Mahari Mai Tai, and Victoria’s Sucrets.  Which begs to ask the question, how is it women can find energy to carry all of this, but not one little bag of groceries.  My wife, when she arrives home from grocery shopping, honks her horn for me to serve her.  Carrying the bags – now don’t get carried away!

Logic and reason, this is where you just lost the argument and it can never be won.  Savings and shopping are not synonyms.  It is the one section of the Man Club Manly Manual I hate to refer you to:

Section 666 – Utter Defeat

In those rare instances where you attempt to apply logic, stop, for god’s sake STOP.  You will not win, you will lose, and you will have a splitting headache to boot.  To survive the seven deadly sins you must have the virtue of patience, be deaf from cranking up old 70’s and 80’s rock songs, and play golf – whether you suck at the game or not.  You must also learn nod in agreement.

There you have it men, wisdom in as few as words as possible.  That’s because we men are brief, to the point and can find a solution to everything, except personal finance, which is the “Bane of our Lives” – a new daytime soap and antacid opera. You got to know when to hold them, know when to fold them, know when to walk away and know when to nod.

Disclaimer – men this is not humor, sadly this is reality. Fooooooooore!  Elin – put that club and my golf balls away!

The Age of the Wuss

This sounds like a chapter from a fantasy adventure story, but it is actually a chapter out of modern history. Last night I died laughing, but was resurrected, by my male genetic code to survive this modern age, from watching comedian Don Friesen.  He’s now my favorite comedian because he has observed the modern wussy world and is making a living from it.  Here’s a sample.

All aboard the wuss train – wuss, wuss!  I refuse to ride that train with shaved chest, legs, arms and groin, carrying my little man purse and looking modern in my man Capri.  My daughter says that men like this are now called a hipster.


A hipster you say? If you go back to the 1970’s, my generation, they would have been called a wuss.  Sorry, I know it is not politically correct, but I’m not a politician.  It’s funny too, because when women post photos on Facebook or blogs you see something like the following photo below under a category called “Man Candy.”  Now he might be wearing a leather kilt, but also notice the salivating women bidding on this “man.”  How many of you ladies would bid on an Erkel or a Bieber?  That’s what I thought.


I graduated high school in 1977.  I was 6’1″ and 135 pounds.  I was not a man, I was a twig.  If I turned sideways you couldn’t see me.  I was the incredible disappearing twig wussy. See, I don’t even spare myself.  So I took off on a quest to leave wussyville behind me – forever. One year later I put on 50 pounds of muscle and BAM –  Quakers Instant Man!  My love life went from zero and dead on arrival, to hero and gone in sixty seconds.  I was going on a hunch that strong men survive the gene pool. The age of the wuss had ended.

So ladies help me out here, tell me what you are really thinking?  Here’s your choices – the sensitive, fashionable, video game addicted, completely shaven, hipster twig wuss of a man like slave substance, or


A real man with hair and muscle, ready to lay down his life and rescue you from evil.  With this hero, you’ll have to carry your own shopping bags.


I think I know the answer.

Men in kilts

Yup, I was right the first time. The wuss train is leaving, the man candy wagon is boarding. ALL ABOARD!

Man up men!

The Man Flick


I just had to write this, because I had to sit through Under the Tuscan Sun, again, about a woman with a new life in Italy. The character runs into the man of her dreams, but is set back, when he turns away from her because of a perceived lack of interest. In the end everything comes out perfect.  My wife and daughter refer to this as a great chick flick.  I call it Lord of the Wedding Rings – a high epic fantasy.

As a wide-open family, we discuss everything and I mean everything.  Part of this is so we can talk about human nature, our weaknesses and the path towards self perfection.  I try with all my heart to explain how some men truly feel and how the movies do not accurately reflect some of our thoughts.  We are not all beasts obsessed with breasts and sex.  Here are my points about men and romance  that I tried to convey to my daughter:

  1. Men want to be great lovers.  Let’s face it, women advertise with makeup and clothing that suggest they are more obsessed with sex than men.  Men are also attracted to women with great attitudes and sense of humor.  Yes we are physically attracted to gorgeous women with nice figures, but here’s another secret,
  2. Men are extremely jealous.  We do not want to share the one we love with others.  When we marry and make that lifelong commitment, we want a more conservative public appearance.  We can’t stand it when the one we love has single male friends.  Sorry, jealousy works both ways.
  3. We are not consumed by thoughts of women.  I asked my wife and daughter about Twilight and why Bella was not concerned for her soul and the unhealthy obsession with Edward?  I admit to reading all of book one and just a little of book two.  I did this to gain perspective to be an effective male author. Men are more consumed by achieving goals.  Unfortunately today many young men are too consumed with beating video games than much else.  Who can end this?  That’s right, you ladies can. One thing men can be consumed by is the number of lovers in a woman’s life.  When our love life is not as we hoped for, we begin to think about what others might have done and if they are on your mind.  Men, believe it or not, want a virgin not because of the sexual connotation of being the first, but of being the only. Anytime a woman comes on strong we are faced with extreme temptation and sometimes men fail.
  4. Men want a companion.  We want someone who will exercise with us, engage in outdoor activities, etc. In return we give a portion of ourselves to your interest.
  5. Men want conversation and evaluation.  Yes we love to talk, but not just about your emotions, fashions and home accessories all the time.  I will freely admit my wife and I had marriage counseling.  At the heart of the matter was communication and the expression of our deepest thoughts without having to go into defense mode.  Men hate two things in the communication process – Silence and Criticism. Go back to the first item above.  How can a man be a great lover if his mate is not communicating what she likes and dislikes? We men are not mind readers and we are not supplied with a “How to” manual.  You’ve heard the term nagging of course.  That is direct criticism.  Instead of demeaning the man, uplift him with words of encouragement like, “I love how you pick up after yourself.”  In turn, tell him that is what you want to hear as well.
  6. Men want to feel like a man.  Ever notice how men change with fads?  We are impressionable too.  We shave our body hair, try a new hair style, shave our head, add tattoos, whatever it is we think women are attracted to at that moment in time.  We have our own insecurities and doubts of self worth. For example, I tried desperately to learn Disco.  Luckily for me my wife to be wasn’t into Disco.  We want to feel as though we are strong for a purpose, to be the protector of our mate.  Allowing us to feel this way keeps our ego and our body fit.  Compliment a man on his exercise routine, pinch his buttocks every so often and he will return the compliments.
  7. A Tiger in the Bedroom.  Do you recall My Big Fat Greek Wedding where the mother tells her daughter to be a tiger in the bedroom?  That my readers is wisdom. Men are not looking for Porn Stars.  We are easily visually stimulated, but we love an air of mystery.  Need to gain our attention?  Walk into the bedroom in new lingerie and I guarantee you will gain a man’s attention.  In the movie Under The Tuscan Sun Diane Lane’s character goes home and revels in the sex she just had.  Why not do this in front of the man?  Why not tell him, “Wow you are a GREAT lover!”  The guy would grin and think to himself, “Wow I really did it!” Refer back to number one above. We want to please our mate.
  8. Learn to say “NO.” Men do in fact respect women who set the limits.  If you want to see a change in men, learn to respect yourself first.
  9. Men HATE being trapped.  The absolute worst thing a woman can do to a man is to use sex as a means of commitment.  We do figure this out eventually and deep resentment and anger will set in. You can live a lie by giving a man as much sex after the rings are exchanged, but we can figure this out as well. Go back to number 8.
  10. Have a Deeper Sense of Yourself.  This week we watched together Life of Pi.  I made the remark that I never recalled watching a flick where the woman was questioning the deep meanings of life and her role in it. Hopefully someone can lead me to a movie or book of similar nature.  Recall how we like conversation?  Engage in something that tells your mate who you are deep inside.

Why do men love Lord of the Rings?  It is a a true man flick.  Aragorn is the man we admire the most.  He loves and loves deeply, not just protecting Arwen by leaving her, but the world around him and his fellow man.  I truly miss the movies of our past where men and women displayed grace and mutual respect.  Seems to me we are flooded with movies that are just nags, telling us of how bad we and life are.

Hopefully more movies and stories will be told that reveal the inner beauty of being man and woman, so that we can come to a point where we understand each other and work diligently for long and meaningful relationships.  These are the ones I want to watch or read. It is said an author writes because he cannot find the stories that interest him. The Chosen One of Allivar is one of the stories I hope one day people will again want to read with a passion.

My wife and I have been married for 33 years.  I’d lay down my life for her.  She is my best friend and companion, my lover and my queen and I would do everything in my power for her happiness and well being. This just didn’t happen, it requires a hell of a lot of work with open and honest communication.  I hope everyone is allowed to experience this kind of love and commitment.  This is reality, not a fantasy, or a wish list of selfish demands, but the commitment of a real man, “I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

If you are looking for a good man, or to become a good man, set the standard of your expectations and be true to yourself first.

As always, your thoughts are appreciated.

To Hair is Human

I may  have mentioned 1,000 times that I am 53 years old.  I remember a day when hair on men was considered manly.  Remember Tom Selleck?  My best friend was loaded with chest hairs and attracted all the girls.  Envious as I was, I shaved my chest to grow hair.  Could I grow hair, no way.   Shaving was useless, because I was already clean shaven.  Fast forward to my son, who is now a very handsome man, with a lot of chest hairs, and what does he do?  He shaves it all, and I mean, ALL of his body hair off! He is even having it surgically removed.  I could have saved him money. I have an excellent high speed sander in my garage.

This ain’t right!  What genes did he get that are mocking me?  Nowadays guys and girls shave everything off except on their head.  Everywhere else has to be hairless, like a Chihuahua.

My Son

My Son

I credit this to the influence of the Internet.  Everyone was just going along being human, until some advertiser or adult movie star caught our kids attention.  Somehow being human was bad and disgusting.   Yet, muffin tops, tramp stamps and sagging pants became cool and sexy.  Music that you once could hug and dance to, became beats that you could, well, beat to.  Lyrics like “Love to love you baby,” were replaced with “Yo, @%&*%@ $^%^ !@&**&*#% Yo, Yo, Yo, Walk the Dog, Yo-Yo.

Instead of cars that had muscle and a reasonable 8-track system, we now have super modified foreign lawnmowers, with a sound system designed for 250,000 people.  I kid you not, some kid “slow rides” down our street and I can see my ear drums popping outside of my head, along side my eyeballs.  The glass on the kid’s lawnmower is bending to the beat and trees begin to sway, my golden retriever howls in pain.  My heart is pounding so hard, that I involuntarily shake and convulse like a Michael Jackson video. Hee Hee – Jump on Shamone!

Now back to hair.  Remember the hair days of the 70’s and 80’s when ladies spent all day Friday, just to dance on Saturday nights?  Do you remember those wildly and awesome spandex outfits they wore, as we guys chased them around the dance floor?  Do recall all those hair bands, where the towering hair made the guys ten feet tall and chest hairs exploded from their wide open spandex shirts?  It was all about the HAIR!  I still have the same style I wore back in 1979.  Hey, it works for me.  I also have more chest hairs now than ever before, although they are turning gray and translucent , so you still can’t tell I have any, and my wife could care less.  Although I did grow my beard back and used a little hair mascara at the advice of my hair stylist.  How did my wife like it?  Let me put it this way – I am buying a case of the stuff.

My point is that life is absurd. What was hip and cool yesterday, ain’t today.  There is one thing I do know with certainty that in the end we can all agree on.  One day we will all be fighting ear, nose, neck, belly-button, runaway eyebrow hairs or any other geographical spot on your body you don’t want hair.


Wally, the Wooly Wookiee

To hair is human; Nair for men, divine.  Here’s a flashback.

Oh, how I miss the ladies of the eighties Grrrr… Woof Woof!  Sorry, the beast has been unleashed.

Now ladies, imagine your man in such a commercial.  Yeah, I thought so.  Bring back the Sasquatch.  Okay, since I am such an ancient alien, please explain the obsession with body hair.

Ginger or Mary Ann – Part Deux

A blogger was curious if all men have a fantasy island, where the only thoughts are of food and sex?  She was referring to my first post on the philosophical question of Ginger or Mary Ann?


I mentioned the F5 gene of most men, which are :

  1. Food
  2. Football
  3. Fixing things
  4. Fooling around, which leads to
  5. Fatherhood.

Yes, there you have it, the only gene needed in the life cycle of the single-celled organism known as man.

Now this female blogger, who operates the blog site Free UR Closet, and who only thinks about clothing and wine, stated her husband and son replaced the 3rd trait above with “Freakin Selective Hearing.”  Usually this is a trait that comes much later in life when the last three traits above disappear.

However, the purpose of this post is to philosophically and rationally discuss what if Mary Ann took the drink, and I was left with Ginger the Movie Star, yet food and sex could not be entertained.  Now for you movie buffs, a CPA stranded on a desert island with a movie star would be reminiscent of the 1974 movie Swept Away, with Giancarlo Giannini and Mariangela Melato,  without the passion of course. See, some of us Okies are internationally cultured!  So let me give you an idea of how the scene would work.

Ginger would want to talk, and talk, and talk.  My job is only one thing – to listen, and listen, and listen.  She’d want to talk about her roles, and then about her hair, and slip in and out of fashions with the 16 suitcases where she freed HER closet and managed to salvage, with the age-old question, “Do I look fat in this?” A question no man should answer even with ten thousand men at his back, it is folly.

She’d want me to exfoliate her feet and bunions from pointy toed stilettos, massage her back with coconut oil, and have me place sea cucumbers over her eyes.  She’d want to redecorate the remains of the Minnow on a daily basis, “Can you please move the clam over there, it clashes with the beached whale? Is that carcass chartreuse? Oh no, that certainly won’t do.”  This is when the “Freakin Selective Hearing” trait begins its mutation and overtakes the “Fixing Things” trait.

I would be nothing more than a man-slave to my Fraulein movie princess prison guard.  If she happened to get chilled from the trade winds, she’d want to snuggle, like a body heat seeking vampire, and suck the warmth right out of me.  If it rained, I’d be the human umbrella. At this point, even being a raging heterosexual male, sex is definitely NOT on my mind, escape from Alcatraz IS.  I don’t care if I drown or become shark bait.  I would keep hoping and praying for a basketball named Wilson to show up.  Yet, Wilson could hear Ginger from far out at sea and changed his castaway path.

Then there would be emotional outbursts and I’d rush, in all my protective male macho manner just to see if she was in danger, only to find she snagged her Oscar de La Renta evening gown. Somebody please shoot me! Later that evening, as she rummages around her suitcases she discovers she packed a movie projector, a solar powered generator, and all her movie collections (starring her of course), a microwave and popcorn. Oh, and a box of chocolates and a case of wine, which she will not share.  By this time, Hari Kari is completely occupying my mind, if only a samurai sword or ginsu knife would wash ashore.

Now we humans, yes, even single-celled men included, need food and shelter.  I can cut out the passion, but not the food.  Luckily after two weeks with Ginger, my DNA would mutate based on my environmental surroundings, and my F5 gene would now become the F3 gene:

  1. Food
  2. Fishing
  3. Female Free

You see I was able to create a life raft of Ginger’s suitcases and float to a little known Hawaiian island. This was the last episode of Hari Kari Island- Escape From Ginger.  There on my new fantasy island I took on a new identity, so that Ginger could never find me. I comped Mary Ann a lifetime membership. Grrrrr… Woof Woof! (Sorry she brings the ape wolfman out of me every time!)


See what happens when you ask an insanely absurd, well dressed in a kilt, haggis hurling, Scottish hero wannabe,  CPA and author a question?  Bring on the questions. I’m up for any and all challenges.  Book your trip soon with Big Bollocks Bobby Travel Agency.

Big Bollocks Bobby

Big Bollocks Bobby
Always Ready to Serve

Oh, I almost forgot, the sing along:

Just sit right back and I’ll tell a tale,
A tale of a fateful trip
That started from this tropic port
Aboard this tiny ship.
The mate was a critic from Cannes,
The skipper stylish and demure.
Six passengers set sail that day
For a three hour tour, OMG, a three hour tour.
The ocean still while the actress played,
The crew and guest abandoned the tiny ship,
If not for the courage of the insane CPA
The Minnow would be lost, the Minnow would be lost.

The ship set ground on the shore of a fashionable isle
With man slave – Eduardo,
No Skipper or Mariangela Melato,
No millionaire and his wife (thank god),
Just a crazed conceited movie star,
No professor, or Mary Ann (whimper),
Here on Hari Kari Isle.

Man Club – February 2013 Edition (Super Whale Bowl)



For those of you who read my blog you will know that football is in my blood.  My father won two national championships and went undefeated in his time at The University of Oklahoma that built a 47 game win streak in the 1950’s, that still stands today.  However, I did not inherit his genetics.  As a matter of fact, I weighed only 135 pounds as a senior in high school and was a chick repellent, a human mosquito.  I was fast and could throw a ball 70 yards, but if someone hit me, I’d wind up on row 61.  I was a product of the 1970’s when body building and sculpting was bigger than today.  I went from 135 as a senior to 185 six months later and became a chick magnet, more like fly paper.  Today, I weigh 230 pounds.  How in the heck did I go from 135 to 230?

So fellow Man Club members what does this say?  We men are not as manly anymore. Where has Superman, the man of steel gone? We’ve become pudgy, much too soft in the mid-section and instead of cut muscles, we tattoo barbed wire images on our arms, with the hopes it says we are a man.  Some of us tower at 6’6″ but weigh 330 pounds.  We’ve become whales! This must end my fellow man club members.  Beside being deadly unhealthy, we are not appeasing the football gods. I stopped watching pro football over 25 years ago, because it was no longer about the purity of the game and the athlete. Now it’s about cold hard cash, commercials, half naked cheer and pom-pom leaders, brawls before, during and after the game, riots whether you lost or not, and general public chaos.  It was once about healthy and strong young men beating the snot and sweat out of each other, until one side had scored more points. Now we have hit squads and bounties right on the field. Instead of tackling a guy with our helmet to the knees, we manned up and then used our brute force to bring our opponent to the ground.  A lineman could be seen running up the field 30 yards to make a block.  Today, these lineman make it one yard and then take a big mac (Massive Artery Clotting) break, during the 100 commercials.  They aren’t blockers anymore, they are plugs, that’s right, massive human plugs with the simple purpose keeping the D-lineman from flooding in.

So today I drafted section 330, which deals with our members weight:

Section 330

“Each morning a man club member must get up at 4:00 a.m. to recondition his body.  He will commit to losing 5 pounds per day.  He will begin with stretching exercises, then go through a series of weight lifting to tone his muscles and strengthen bone, by lifting fewer pounds but with more repetitions.  He will then run three miles to get his heart rate up and burn those excess stored calories.  He will come back after three hours of exercise and eat a healthy breakfast.  He will continue with healthy eating habits the remainder of the day.  He will refocus his mind away from excessive snacking, TV watching, and video game playing, by reading his  favorite books to exercise the intellectual athlete inside.  He will complete his honey-do’s. In two months, he will be the envy of every ordinary man, and the driving lust of every average woman.” 

ALRIGHT, who is with me?  Rah, Rah! On second thought, what’s wrong with super world whale championship watching on our 60″ HDTV with surround sound, remote control for channel surfing, and bowl of butter popcorn and a few brews?  Who knows maybe we will be able to double our high school weight. Woo hoo! What a sexy accomplishment.

PS – just know this post, although laced with a little humor, addresses a serious issue.  Many of us men are definitely walking heart attacks, bone and joint replacement and diabetes candidates.  Our wife and children are following our example of idleness and packing on the pounds as well.  I say it is time, we men, look honestly in the mirror (a wide mirror) and man-up to be the leaders of our families and the stewards of our bodies. Learn to enjoy the activities of the great outdoors and actual family time. We are headed for a healthcare apocalypse. Where have the super men gone?

Flash Erotic Fiction

It seems as though everyone is writing erotic fiction.  I can’t tell if these are young lonely people, fantasizing about love, or just trying to prove if human combustion from the heated passion of writing is possible.  So I thought I’d give it a try.

Arlene walked into the room as the college football national championship game just began on ESPN.  She was wearing a silky satin teddy, or doll baby, whatever, it was hot, really hot.  My eyes wondered from the tube to her direction.  She was winking that seductive wink and wrinkling up her lip, with a small trace of tongue appearing and teasing me. At first my eyes veered then my whole head. She had my undivided attention.

Holy cow!  Did you just see that run! Screamed the game analyst. I turned my head back to the tube and screamed my favorite Bobby Bowden curse “Dadgummit!”

Suddenly my attention was diverted again as Arlene ran down the hall shouting ‘REALLY’  and a few obscene words, which I will not utter.  Control yourself Arlene, I thought to myself, coach Bowden would bench a player for such cursing. She was down 0-1.

Suddenly I was trapped in a dilemma.  Watch Arlene or the game.  Now this is what I call pressure.  I was already sweating and my mouth was getting drier and drier. She came back with a silver pole and my lithium charged Milwaukee heavy duty screwdriver set. As I watched her assemble the pole, my attention was back on her.  Of course planting the pole in front of the 60″ TV, was easy to catch my attention. She secured it to the ground and then the ceiling and then proceeded to do the tether ball dance all around it.  My head swayed from side to side as I watched her slink and swirl down the pole.  I was about to give her an Olympic perfect score of 10 hotness, but I lowered myself to see the pass play now in progress and then raised it back up when she was done. My team scored and I missed it. Arlene was now down 0-2.

“That was great honey”, I said.  “I had no idea you could do such things.”

She ran down the hall again and brought in the exercise ball and proceeded to balance it in ways I thought impossible. It was getting hotter in the house, the game was getting near halftime and then the timer in the kitchen went off.  My bacon covered jalapeno nachos were now done.  So I proceeded to the kitchen to open another bottle of beer and wolf down the nachos, just in time to see Arlene roll around, never realizing I had left.  Hey, it was bacon covered I justified to myself.  Now she was 0-3, a strike out, and she went back to the room and torched that new teddy doll barbie thingy outfit, or whatever they call it.

The game ended and after a handful full of TUMS I was ready for the post game action. I came into the room and there she was; my angel, my honey bear, my goddess divine all sprawled out and snoring.  I tore off my jeans and stood on the bed over her in my new Hanes.  “Your loverboy has arrived,” I said with a huge grin on my face.

“REALLY!” She turned and rolled over and resumed the wood cutting.

Appears my chance of scoring was a shut out too.  Not only that she didn’t have the decency to put my tools up.

As you can see, my future as an erotic writer is doomed.  Football, bacon and jalapenos are now my mistress as a middle-aged author.  I may not know women and their complex female code, but I sure know my wife….


That’s right – 50 Shades of Soap Suds, grrrrrrr