I am an addicted and devoted fan of the Calvin and Hobbes cartoons. I am also Calvin’s evil twin in the flesh. He is my inspiration for the creation of the Man Club blog edition. Today I write about GROSS (Get Rid Of Slimy girlS). Yes, the famous club that Calvin is the president, vice president, secretary, treasurer and dictator of. The only problem is his traitor tiger Hobbes who loves to contradict him with bantering and his (Hobbes’) affection for Susie Derkins. Hobbes gets all the hugs and comments about being “cute.” This is exactly why we men get rid of inanimate objects at the age of 12, when we start puberty and (insert sound effect “boing”) notice women for the first time. We can’t afford any competition.
I accomplished being the center of attention by holding onto my model of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Although this gave many GROSS girls the impression I was slightly demented. In fact they were correct: my wife of 31 years can attest to it.
We men can’t have cute and huggable friends either. If Keith Urban were my friend, I’d have to sacrifice him to the likes of Lady Gagagozilla, because there is no way my DNA would ever bring forth a Greenlee line of succession. So Man Club Rule 2.2, subsection f, paragraph 1 states:
“Get to know and hangout with a few fat and nerdier guys that look like The Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
Yeah, yeah I know it’s not a full paragraph, but I tell you we men are simple. Besides I am founder, president and chief dictator of this club. But as you can see, we guys think a lot like you ladies. You, too, hangout with a few less attractive friends so that you shine when you stand next to them. It is only after the ring is applied that you stand alone and we guys rub our eyes as reality sets in and we proclaim GROSS! GROSS! Then we take a snow ball and whack you up side the head for the crafty deception.
Which brings me to another point. When we men are boys we are rough on you for a reason. It’s the law of natural selection. If you can survive our ruthless treatment of you, then you will fulfill the role of mother of our sons that will (hopefully) arrive in the future. Blame it on Darwin, it’s his theory, not mine. He’s dead and I’m still living – for the moment.
Man Club Rule 1401.122, subsection z, paragraph 666 states:
“When in serious doubt of losing an argument on the behavior of your sons, blame it on the influences of Darwin, Satan, or Calvin and Hobbes. Deflect laying blame on said spouse, or herein and ever after referred to as the ‘Mad Medusa Madame’.”
Go forth now my fellow men and host a monthly meeting in your Man Cave and pay homage to the great Calvin by reciting the club anthem:
“Ohhohh Grohoss, best club in the cosmos!” But always adhere to rule 1.1 “Don’t let your wife hear or read the club rules.” Adios, I hear my wife coming. Let’s see what Darwin has selected for dinner tonight.
