The blokes amongst us, not just 'the men', the blokes, must be aware that there is a general dilution in the art of manliness these days. It's not a gender specific, or orientation thing, it's the gradual decay of the standing of The Bloke' within society itself. We beat our chests regarding our spitting, farting, bellowing, wheelying, knee down demeanour, but we are still very particular about picking just the right colour for our skin tight leather outfits when we all go out to play together. Where did we go... Who of us (except for Arthur), could survive and thrive alone in a post apocalyptic world... Let us do away with 'New Man' and bring back the whittling, plug changing, washer replacing, wood chopping, cutting metal with fire, detached from our emotions, manly, 'Old Man'. Ron Swanson Says... Who's with me...
I don't think that there's anything wrong with a little grooming. I like to keep the weeds trimmed around the base of my hampton to make it look more impressive than it actually is and the Mrs won't entertain me dunking my balls in her mouth unless they're hairless. I also like to keep my back shaved because when your hairstyle is modelled on Patrick Stewart's you just end up looking ridiculous with a back carpet. These days though, I agree, it's all gone too far. I even saw two lads in their late teens heading into Tesco the other day who were clearly wearing foundation and had probably spent longer doing their hair that morning than I'd spent on every single haircut combined since 1996. I'm happy that I'm manly enough, though. I do have some feminine leanings in that I'm quite empathetic, I'm good with languages and I'm a dab hand at anything to do with lady parts but I also like working on my bike, getting my hands dirty, riding my bike, cooking things on a BBQ and farting like a hippo that's been living on a fig-only diet. I can fish and shoot guns fairly well and I'm not bad at wiring. As far as living in a post-apocalyptic world........I'd be OK for a month or so, I reckon. As long as people wouldn't mind me continuing to depilate my scrotum as, to be frank, I've just got used to it now.
Well considering that my family have lived in Teesside for at least 460 years; the genetic mutations are considerable but the base DNA structure is basically human. Much in the same way as one might expect with Bonobo chimpanzees.
Yep, they'll shag anything with a pulse too. I'm only first generation Devonian so get by perfectly well with the normal 47 chromosomes...
Bare Grills is a bit too.......strident for me, I'm afraid. A true survivalist should be like a predatory animal, avoiding the actions that might injure it and inhibit it's ability to hunt. Starting the lecture by jumping out of a hovering helicopter before sledging down a ravine on a frozen Sherpa is more Indiana Jones than Robinson Crusoe, in my opinion. Les Hiddens was my favourite. The bush Tucker Man. He was the guy that taught survival to the Australian SAS. He actually taught people how to be top of the food chain in a country where every single piece of fauna is designed to kill you. Personally, though, I think that 4 Star is roughing it. If Kirsty Young asked me what luxury item i would take to a desert island, I would pick Ray Mears driving a Winnebago.
Used to love the Bush Tucker Man! Reminds me of late Sunday mornings sitting in the living room watching him eat leaves and bark while my Dad was toiling away in the kitchen making roast beef and all the trimmings. Ahh happy days.
Also reminds me of being in Australia. I arrived there in summer and was absolutely sh*tting myself at the prospect of all the multi-legged creatures that would be trying to kill me from the moment that I got off the plane. I remember my Australian uncle was obviously completely unconcerned about such things. Almost every day you'd see a cockroach the size of a Yorkshire Terrier scurrying somewhere in the garden. That or you were acutely aware of the fact that, this being Sydney, you were in the home of the funnel-web spider. I'd be making my way to the pool in the morning looking like a soldier about to leg it across a piece of open ground in Iraq and he'd just walk around in his bare feet. One morning as I was sat there having breakfast a huge cockroach happened to be crossing the patio as he was heading for a swim and he didn't even break stride, he just squished it under his bare feet and carried on walking.
A proper Ocker then. Australia could be used as an argument for creationists when you come to think about it... God's there toiling away, struggling to build enough creatures to scurry, slither and fly to fill up this brand new planet he's making when Peter knocks on his office door and says "Sorry, Almighty, but we've got a problem with the HSE. They say there's no way these prototypes are fit to put over the wall into Eden. They reckon they'll kill the Man and the Woman faster than a Seraphim up a viaduct." "Alright," says Jehovah. "Get shut of them then. Don't kill 'em, for feck's sake, else we'll have PETA on our back again. Just dump 'em in some shithole no one gives a toss about and let 'em get on with it." "Okey dokey, squire."...
This is, I'd like to point out, because I figure that I'm only a few meals and a few jars of Nivea away from becoming this.
