Paula

Okay, first draft (men like that word)

Paul of Tarzan, the High-Ranking

To Tim the Toolsmith, my best buddy

Okay, listen up! I’m gonna cut to the chase and skip all that sissy stuff about love and peace and tender-hearted. I’m in charge, and you’re not, got that?

In the beginning, God made Man. Not mankind, Man. But God said, “It ain’t right for the Man to be alone– he needs somebody to boss around.” So he made woman, which everybody knows means “woe to man”. Things were okay for a while, but one day she brazenly dusted his golf clubs. That was unforgivable, so God cursed her and her female offspring for all eternity. And even though Man wasn’t supposed to leave his golf clubs out where they’d get dusty, God decided to let him keep bossing Woman around anyway. It’s just how things are, and everybody knows God is a Man too. But a really big one. Ever since then, women have lusted after golf clubs, and it’s men’s job to keep their wimpy hands off them.

So husbands, rule your wives firmly. Don’t give an inch or they’ll take a mile. Never let them catch you without an instant ruling on any matter; a wrong answer is better than “I don’t know”. Grow a beard, because women can’t. Not good girls anyway.

Fathers, teach your sons to hunt and your daughters to shut up and cook. Give the sons manly names and just give the daughters numbers, because they have to take a man’s name someday, so who cares.

Ruling men, you’re in charge, so act like it. You are the alpha-males of the pack; do not back down from any challenger. No man can be an alpha-male unless he has hair on his back and can take a tight S-curve on a Harley at 80mph without breaking a sweat.

Women,… um… just do whatever any Man tells you. That’s all you need to know. Hey, what are you doing reading this?? It’s only for men!

Men, find the dipstick that taught the women to read, and send him to boot camp.

Well, real men don’t like to write, so I’m signing off. Say ‘hi’ to to the guys, tell the girls to stifle. Tell Peter to bring my tools, I left ’em in his garage. Demetrius the Ironworker still owes me five bucks.

Now, git ‘er done!

Paul