Are You Man Enough?
by Denis Leary

Here's a cold hard fact that you must now chew and swallow: if you are
reading this, you are not macho. Period. Case closed. Real men do not read
anything other than GUNS AND AMMO, SPORTS ILLUSTRATED,or
SHAVED BEAVER.

Do not mention FIRE IN THE BELLY.  Do not clutch your copy of IRON JOHN.
Sit your soft little ass down and listen up. Understanding macho means
that you don't possess it. I have proven myself to be the pussy that I
am by writing this piece. (I'm wearing a powder blue cotton print shirt
and peach panties as I type) [sic] Ernest Hemingway, you say? Wrong.
Ernest lived a very macho life and wrote some very macho stories. But
Ernest threw it all away by blowing his head off with a shotgun. Very
unmacho. Real men do not commit suicide. Real men know just how much
life sucks. Real men grit their teeth and take it bill after bill, war
after war, tumor after tumor. You don't greet Death, you punch him in
the throat repeatedly as he drags you away. I think John Wayne said it
best when he said, "Fuck Death and the lung cancer he rode in on."

Macho is a very slippery thing. You don't read about it, you don't write
about it, you don't even know the correct spelling of the word. In a
vain attempt to keep some semblance of masculinity, I didn't research
the roots of the word while writing this article, but I can only assume
that "macho" comes from "machismo," which sounds a hell of a lot like
machine. Being macho implies a tough, hard, blocklike approach full of
pistons and rods and axles and other big steel-type stuff.

It's hard to live by the old macho code these days. They've chipped away
at it over the years, slowly but surely. Drinking has been reduced to a
few beers or a couple of whiskeys, if that. Otherwise, your AA friends
begin to stare across the table with that "I personally think you have a
problem and that all alcohol should be banned so that I won't feel the
urge to drink myself into a naked stupor but I'm not gonna say anything"
look on their faces. No mess, no mauling, no mistress, no mas.

>From time to time, people try to use macho as an image builder. Bush
tries to make himself seem like a card-carrying Mace Club member. He's
not. The last macho pres. we had was FDR. FDR - a man stricken by polio,
stuck in a wheelchair, fighting the Nazis all the while smoking 3 & 1/2
packs a day. "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself!" Yeah, and
staircases, of course. And soccer and dancing.

I think the death of macho is easily located on a very recent map.
Sometime in the late '70s-right around the time the Village People
released "Macho Man" and Barry Manilow sang "Copacabana" and Robby
Benson was mewling his way into the hearts of teenage ultra-virgin, men
made a serious mistake. We started TALKING to each other. We stopped
punching each other and began discussing why we wanted to punch each
other. I'll bet my right nut that if I had done some research, I would
have found a dramatic decline in facial cuts and brain contusions
starting in 1977. Now we're supposed to be sensitive. We are supposed to
share our feelings and cry at funerals and care about our hair. We're,
in short, supposed to be women.  Hello, my name is Shirley. Touch me in
the morning.

I believe in equal rights. I believe that women should get equal pay for
equal jobs. I believe women should have control of their bodies and be
in positions of power. I believe we should have the same size shoulder
pads in our suits. But I also believe that men should be men and women
should be, well, women. Women should be soft and smart and mysterious.
And men should have their own tools. I pine for the sheer stupidity of
the old macho days, when men would brandish hammers and build huge,
bulky cars that sucked up gas and tore open the ozone layer and crushed
small animals beneath totally useless but totally cool-looking tail
fins. When men were apes with good shoes and a dental plan. John Wayne,
John Huston, Bill Holden, Bob Mitchum, Clark Gable, Babe Ruth, Lee
Marvin, Sam Peckinpah. Men who drank and fought and puked and ate raw
meat right off the bone and drank some more and fought some more and
puked again and kept on drinking. Men who died of massive heart attacks
or sudden brain seizures or who just plain fucking blew up. Men who had
cancer six or seven times. Men made out of leather.

My dad was one of these men. My dad once cut off his thumb with a power
saw, duct-taped it back on, and drove himself to the hospital smoking a
Camel un-filtered on the way. My dad's theory was simple: no pain - no
fucking pain. My dad smoked 5 packs a day, worked 3 jobs 7 days a week,
ate beef for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. One night in 1985, he ate a
big steak dinner with a side order of bacon and extra steak fries. He
ordered some coffee, sat back, lit up a cigarette, and exploded.

I don't wanna hear about Arnold Schwarzenegger. Even Arnold caved in. In
Terminator 2, he was all of a sudden Mr. Caring Guy, protecting the kid
and hoping the earth wouldn't end. Bullshit. There was even a sequence
at the end of the movie where a huge truck full of flammable liquid
tears down a highway for about 3 minutes and then doesn't blow up. A
sign of the times if ever there was one. Every real man knows the 1
golden rule of macho movie making: if you see a truck on screen, blow it
up. In Thelma & Louise, the women saw a truck. What did they do? Susan
Sarandon pulled out her gun and blew the truck way the fuck up. Another
sign of the times. Arnold's tromping around praying for the earth to
save itself and Ms. Davis and Ms. Sarandon are drinking and shooting and
screwing their way all over the macho west. Citizen Kane? A masterpiece.
But every real man knows it would have been better if a huge Mack truck
with the word ROSEBUD emblazoned on the trailer drove through the front
gate of the mansion and then KAA-POWWWWW!

Another movie matter I'd like to get off my girly little chest: asses.
Part of this new male code has men baring their butts on screen the way
women used to do. Mel Gibson, Kevin Costner, Michael Douglas, and of
course, Arnold. Hey if I wanted to see Kevin Costner's ass, I would've
married him. You never saw Bob Mitchum's ass. I am in a macho movie
called GUNMEN, and I can guarantee you that you never see my ass on any
screen but if you do, it will not be shaved. It will be hairy and hoary
and very, very white.

Our macho movie idols have changed forever. No wonder they end up baring
it all. Listen to the names - Mel, Kevin, Michael, Arnold. In the old
days movie stars had real names: John, Bill, Duke, Buck, Chuck, Rip.
Kevin sounds like your skinny Irish cousin with the big Coke bottle
glasses and a heat rash;  Mel, the guy in charge of aisle five at
Woolworth's. ("Excuse me Mel, where are the light bulbs?")

It's getting very bad, boys. We don't blow up trucks anymore. Hell, we
don't even drive trucks anymore. We drive simple little Japanese cars
with air bags. In the old days we used to rip out the seat belts and fly
through the windshield ready for action. "Thrown from the car." Remember
that phrase in accident reports? Always the sign of a very macho driver.

We seem a little more sorry, a little more plump, a lot more ladylike
around the edges. If you really want to reclaim your macho self, if you
really want to be a macho, macho man, stop reading this article.

If you are still reading, you probably need a little more help. Forget
Robert Bly or "FIRE IN YOUR PROSTATE." Don't go on a Male-Bonding
Self-Discovery Weekend, which is just another term for Circle Jerk as
far as I'm concerned. Here, instead, is a guide:

BALLS, A.K.A. COJONES: You should have several. Preferably brass or
steel. Extra large.

CRYING: Never. Ever. Over anything. Not death in the family, not a
bullet in the chest. You may tear up ever so slightly in one eye only
when watching a favorite sports legend retire. You may tear up in both
eyes only when kicked, accidentally or on purpose, in the COJONES.

KISSING: see "SPORTS"

HUGGING: see "SPORTS"

SPORTS: Once all men within reach are dressed in a team uniform, it is
perfectly acceptable to kiss and hug and grab each other's ass. This is
probably because all men are latent homosexuals and prefer male company
to female company. But if some guy points out this fact to you, punch
him directly in the throat. (Optional retorts:  "Prefer this!" or "Fuck
You!" or " Shut the fuck up!")

HEALTH: Never go to the hospital or visit a doctor. If you have a
stroke, keep drinking and act like you prefer to use only one side of
your body. If you cut off a limb while using a power tool - so what?
That's why there's duct tape and staple guns. If someone tries to drive
you to the hospital after a heart attack or maiming, punch him in the
throat. (Optional retorts:  "Drive This!" or "Fuck you!" or "Shut the
fuck up!")

DIET: meat, cigarettes, meat, booze, meat, and coffee. In case of
aneurysm or alcohol-induced coma, see "HEALTH."

FIGHTING: At all times, over anything. Never hit a woman. Or a child. Or
a bus. Never hit a priest until he takes off his collar. (If it's the
pope, wait until he removes the large hat.) Clergy will often provoke a
punch in the throat with their "violence doesn't prove anything"
pontifications. (Optional retorts:  "Prove this!" or "Fuck you Father!"
or "Shut the fuck up, Padre!")

DRINKING: No falling down. No puking - unless to empty the stomach in
order to continue drinking. No slurring of words. Tell a few war
stories: "See that scar?  I was in 'Nam and I ate a grenade and it blew
up in my colon." If your aim is off due to alcohol, it's acceptable to
punch someone in the head or solar plexus.

SEX: You're probably too drunk or just plain stupid to have sex but
pretend you get a lot, i.e. "You should've seen me last night, blah,
blah, blah, blah."

Absorb this info and you should be on your way. If you have any further
questions, call 1-800-COJONES. Remember: We're men. Big, boxy, sweaty,
ignorant men. We have penises. Well, we used to have penises. Either
way, I think Billy Martin, the late Yankees manager, said it best when
he said, "Hey, I can drive."