Talking Pulp: Rotten Tomatoes Has Always Been Rotten

Everyone and their mother seems to be outraged by this Rotten Tomatoes controversy of the past 24 hours. Everyone has written an article or done a video on it and I figured I’d stay out of it because it’s monopolizing my social media feeds.

However, I have a different perspective on it because where people seem to be surprised and offended by their bullshit shenanigans the last few days, I never relied on the website or took it too seriously to begin with.

Rotten Tomatoes was never about audience participation, it’s always been about using an unclear, bullshitty algorithm to give unreliable scores to movies that do nothing but benefit the big studio system’s marketing machine. This wasn’t a secret, they’ve been shilling for their corporate masters since the Clinton administration. While it may have started with noble intentions in 1998, I can’t remember a time where I ever saw Rotten Tomatoes as relevant and I was using their built-in proto-social media platform back in 2001 or so.

People have been asking where they can go now, since Rotten Tomatoes has silenced anyone that isn’t approved by them to be a film reviewer. I’ve always found IMDb to be the most reliable source for how good a movie is. More often than not, IMDb ratings line up with my feeling on a movie. For those that don’t know, IMDb’s score is solely comprised by the audience. Anyone can vote on a film’s rating and millions already have. In fact, more people have voted on films on IMDb than they ever have on Rotten Tomatoes.

Now that’s not to say that IMDb won’t throw us a curveball in the future, as more and more tech industry companies continue to control speech. But, for now, it’s a better source and it always has been. Plus, the website doesn’t look like it was designed by a Nickelodeon intern. It’s basic, informational and straight to the point. Although those video ads that expand on your page are a pain in the dick.

Rotten Tomatoes doesn’t give you an accurate rating. They control who can be considered a legit critic and then they reduce in-depth critical analysis down to a binary result: did the critic like it or not like it. So if a bunch of critics think a film was a 6 out of 10, Rotten Tomatoes calculates that as a like. So when likes equate to 100 percent and dislikes equate to 0 percent, you can end up with a film getting a 98 percent approval rating even if most of the critics only thought it was a 6 out of 10.

So it’s not like they’ve been honest or given us accurate numbers, anyway. The only reason they are as big as they have gotten is because they have a simple logo that is easy for Hollywood marketing firms to throw on posters and into TV spots the day before a film drops. So by smooching that Hollywood ball sack, Rotten Tomatoes gets their own free marketing, gets considered relevant by casual filmgoers and then just increases their power and hold on the industry.

Additionally, Rotten Tomatoes is owned by Fandango, who are owned by NBC Universal (70 percent) and Warner Bros. (30 percent). So if it is under the umbrella of two massive film studios, why wouldn’t they build up their own propaganda machine in an effort to convince people that Rotten Tomatoes means something?

Now on the flip side, IMDb is owned by Amazon. While Amazon has its own studio, it has a much more neutral position within Hollywood. Plus, IMDb continues to use a ratings system that is controlled by the people and not some vague, complicated aggregator.

But what most people are upset about is that Rotten Tomatoes has taken their voice away. But even the audience scores have been found to be skewed, as Rotten Tomatoes won’t calculate in audience scores that are zero stars. And this has been known for awhile.

Frankly, Rotten Tomatoes is disingenuous, it doesn’t give a fuck what you think and it’s only purpose is to shill.

So I’m glad that they took a giant misstep and have now made more people aware of just how full of crap they are.

In the end, you can just come to TalkingPulp.com and I won’t steer you wrong. Unless you have really poor taste. But then again, I also don’t go to the movies too often anymore because people forgot how to behave in a theater and I’m usually seeing red instead of the movie I paid to watch.

DiGiorno Design-A-Pizza Kit Is Bullshit

*The Bullshit Series started on an older blog but I wanted to bring these articles back here, as I have new installments for the series that I want to release over time. The series focuses on things that I think are bullshit… like filet mignon, Zubaz pants, the Pro Bowl and diets.

*Written in 2014.

Let me start by saying that I do like DiGorno’s pizza. This isn’t a knock against their quality and what they produce in general, which is one of the best frozen pizzas on the market.

Recently though, they’ve come out with this “Design-A-Pizza Kit”. C’mon, man? Really?

This is a product that takes financial advantage of the complete idiot. Reason being, it is pointless and stupid. If you buy this, you have no imagination and are buying into some marketing ploy to make frozen pizzas more interesting. Fuck that, it’s a goddamned frozen pizza! How interesting can it be?

And by financial advantage, I mean that this thing costs extra. Yeah, it costs extra to put your own toppings on a pizza. Fuck that! You want to charge me more money, you better not be a lazy ass and you better put the damn toppings on! Why am I paying DiGiorno more money for me to do extra work? It’s like some sort of socialist welfare system where I’m paying these deadbeats out of my own pocket not to work.

Rewinding back a bit, yes, I attacked the imaginations of those who would purchase this. Why? Well because they apparently didn’t have the foresight and creativity to realize that every frozen pizza they have ever bought is essentially a “Design-A-Pizza Kit”.

You see, every frozen pizza comes with its toppings already on top of it. Sure, they don’t come in organized little pouches to make you feel special but ultimately, you can take the toppings on your frozen pizza and rearrange them (or remove them). They aren’t glued to the fucking cheese. No! You can physically move the pepperoni, sausage and veggies around however the hell you want. Why do I know this? Because I’ve done it. I guess that makes me the most creative frozen pizza-eating motherfucker in America. I’ll take that distinction and title with some serious pride.

There was one time when my ex-girlfriend was all like, “What the fuck? I don’t want meat pizza?!” So I took all the meat off of her half and added it to my half and that was that. She got what she wanted, which didn’t prevent her from still being a whiny bitch, and I got double meat plus other toppings. We both won, other than her attitude – her attitude was a loser.

The ads for this pizza just irritate me. A bunch of “hip” younger motherfuckers making smiley face pizzas with minimal toppings. Why would I want some bullshit smiley pizza? The assholes in the commercial wasted like 95 percent of the toppings. This is just some pretentious hipster pizza.

Really though, all irate ranting aside, how stupid is this?

I guess if you have kids and shit, it can be entertaining and whatnot. But seriously, if you want your kids to have a cool pizza-making experience, make that son of a bitch from scratch. When my mum was like, “Hey you wanna make a pizza pie?” and six year-old Rob was like, “Hells yeah!” my mum made some damn dough, rolled that shit out, tossed it around like some uncooked bread frisbee, hand cut all the toppings, made the sauce from scratch, shredded the cheese and then had me put it all together like some badass Italian Frankenstein’s monster that we could eat! It was a great experience and certainly way better than if she had pulled out DiGiorno’s “Design-A-Pizza Kit” and told me to just open the boring ass pouches and drop the boring ass contents on a boring ass frozen pizza.

Maybe I am overreacting here and reading way too much into this, making a big deal about something trivial and unimportant?

No, fuck that! This is a pretty asinine product and when I see people buying it, I will immediately know that they are escaped mental patients trying to blend in to society. You’re not fooling me you crazy bastard! I see your “Design-A-Pizza Kit” and I know that you’re an insane person!

This product just makes no sense to me. If it makes sense to you, you make no sense to me. That’s it.

Retro Relapse: Waffle House: America’s Greatest Institution

RETRO RELAPSE is a series of older articles from various places where I used to write before Talking Pulp.

*Written in 2010.

Waffle House is the greatest restaurant in the history of the world! Now some of you pansies may be scoffing at that statement but it is only because you don’t know how to properly party, get trashed and cut your budding hangover off with an All-Star Breakfast. Now I’m not advocating drinking and driving, you better make sure that you have a designated driver who will take you to one of these awesome yellow buildings wedged between your closest Interstate highway and Texaco filling station.

Enough with the introduction; now let me elaborate on my opening statement.

Waffle House is an American institution. It has been a part of this wonderful country since 1955 when the first location opened up in Avondale Estates, Georgia (a state I can never avoid getting a ticket in). If it were opened around the time of the American Revolution, you can sure bet that the Founding Fathers would’ve eaten there regularly. No modern president has probably been in one because most of them have been pussies; I’ll leave it open for you to decide which of the few weren’t.

Ever since I was a young man, I have frequented Waffle Houses all over the southeastern part of the United States. They have provided two really awesome things in my life.

The first thing that they gave me was a quick and tasty meal while traveling long hours to and fro.

The second thing was weird random encounters with strangers in the night, which almost felt like characters that were going to give me some sort of side mission to sway me from the main quest I was on. If anything, it added quality hours to the gameplay of life.

However, the greatest thing of all is that they serve the world’s best waffles. I don’t care what your argument may be; NO ONE can give you a better waffle. Waffles were around long before this illustrious organization. Although, once Waffle House came on the scene, muthafuckas had to step their game up! Now you can argue that your mom makes sweet ass waffles or that you had some insane Belgium waffle in Belgium that my homies from Georgia couldn’t touch, but all that means is that you’re either a mama’s boy or someone who wouldn’t even go into a Waffle House. Either way, you’re a bitch.

My boy Greg and I have probably been through Waffle House hundreds of times since the start of our heterosexual partnership, and every time we roll through, we feel more powerful, like Hal Jordan after he charges his ring. He and I practically lived off of Waffle House for three to four months in the early parts of 2003. We were on a budget and we recognized greatness. Our experience there was so memorable, that it created a certain feeling of nostalgia just talking about those days at Waffle House. Fortunately for us, Waffle House is still there, unchanged, offering us the opportunity to step into the past.

Waffle House is a fucking time machine!

Now earlier, I mentioned the All-Star Breakfast. This is the single greatest menu item that one can order in the world! It consists of two eggs (any style), hashbrowns or grits, toast, sausage or bacon and a waffle. The only thing that could make it better, is if it offered bacon and sausage. I order it with bacon and then order a side of sausage, so I win big anyway. I also triple the hashbrowns and add cheese, onions and chili to them. I call my modified combo meal the Rob-Star Breakfast.

Greg orders some sandwich thing, but we can’t all be perfect.

Now, if you’re a drinker, there is no better hangover cure than Waffle House. A bottle of Two Fingers or Gilby’s Gin can’t stop the might of a Waffle House meal at three or four in the morning. You’ll wake up with a stomachache but drop one deuce and it’s gone. It’s not a lingering stomach issue; it’s just cleaning you out. Wipe your ass, look in the mirror and smile because surprise! No hangover!

I have also had many short lived relations with women that either worked at Waffle House or who I drunkenly met at Waffle House. But mostly ones that worked there, if you’re keeping score; I certainly am. In any event, that’s a tale for another blog.

So, in closing, waffles are the best breakfast food ever and breakfast food is better than lunch food and dinner food combined. With that said, waffles are the single greatest food item one could ever ingest. So why wouldn’t you get them at a restaurant named after them? Waffle House kicks Capital Grille in the tits! And IHOP is for lamers. Step up to the plate, be a real American and tear into that sticky flaky fun cake!

So who’s hungry? I need my fix now.

Axe Is Bullshit

*The Bullshit Series started on an older blog but I wanted to bring these articles back here, as I have new installments for the series that I want to release over time. The series focuses on things that I think are bullshit… like filet mignon, Zubaz pants, the Pro Bowl and diets.

*Written in 2014.

There is an epidemic going on in America. Come to think of it, as far as I know, it could be crossing over our borders and seeping into the rest of the world. An epidemic of monolithic proportions that is rewriting human history and destroying our future.

While people worry about climate change, rising seas, nuclear meltdowns, oil spills, radioactive tsunamis, alien invasion, kaiju attacks, zombies and haunted VHS tapes, there is a much bigger and more sinister threat that must be dealt with. Something that is comprised of pure evil, which needs immediate attention because in all actuality, it is probably already too late to stop it. The threat I am talking about is Axe body spray.

Interestingly, Axe isn’t even made in America. It comes from the British-Dutch company Unilever, who make food, beverages, cleaning agents and other personal care products. In the UK, Axe exists under the brand name of Lynx. In America it is called Axe because it is actually an acronym that means “America X-terminated Exactingly”. The acronym is of course not publicly disclosed and just adds to the mystique of this evil anti-American conspiracy. The thing is, we are America, we are the best and the rest of the world is mad because they want to win their fair share of blue ribbons. Sorry world, America wins. It is also believed that it is a half-British company who manufactures this because they still harbor a lot of animosity and anger after losing the Revolutionary War over two-hundred years ago.

Men, teens and young boys need to stop buying this stuff – especially men. Their ads sell you on the idea that if you drench yourself in this toxic waste, supermodel bitches will chase you down in an attempt to take your seed. Somehow this magic spray has some mystical element that turns women into lust-driven hyenas that will stop at nothing to tie you down and smother you to death with primal sex moves. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I have yet to meet a woman that has turned into a slut zombie by whiffing this stuff. The results I’ve seen have actually been the opposite. I can’t tell you how many sad saps I’ve seen walk into a bar saturated in Axe body spray in an attempt to stir up a maniacal orgy only to have the women flee to the other end of the bar: huddled up and giggling at the poor idiot.

The truth behind this stuff is eerie, as they are convincing dudes to buy it like it’s sexual crack rock when in fact it is a lie created to implement population control. If guys think it works, they put it on. When women flee, men can’t have sex with them and thus population is controlled, as babies can’t be made. It’s a pretty fucked up situation but with America out of the way, the British Empire can move back in and start taxing the crap out of our tea. I’m not completely sure why they’re selling it to their own people though, other than it is usually bought by people on the lower end of the social and economic scales and thus, the Royal Family can flush out all the poor people and have more money to buy jewels and scepters.

Regardless of whether or not you believe in crazy conspiracy theories doesn’t really matter. The proof is in the pudding and the proof is that Axe will do the exact opposite of getting you laid. Also, it is probably made with Smile-X and may turn you into some Jack Nicholson-looking Joker person. Plus the packaging looks like an energy drink; do you want to dump energy drink all over your body?

Man up and buy some goddamned cologne. Even cheap real cologne from CVS is better than this aerosol gamma radiation.

Retro Relapse: Men Who Drink Mic Ultra Are Missing the Point

RETRO RELAPSE is a series of older articles from various places where I used to write before Talking Pulp.

*Written in 2014.

There is a class of male out there that is far and away the most emasculated and douchebaggy of all others you will find at your local watering hole. They are the Mic Ultra drinker. Granted, there are other beers that fit this template but Mic Ultra is the most popular. Bud 66 is probably the second most popular of these bottles full of ass swill. Really though, any light beer or mega light beer should be included here. If you drink beer infused with lime or some other bullshit, you might as well make an appointment with the vet to finalize your neutering and go to the surgeon and have your taste buds removed because you aren’t deserving of them.

Beer is something to be enjoyed, something to savor, something to remind us of our manly passions and reinvigorate our masculinity. It’s not something a man should drink just for a quick buzz while trying to cut back on calories and carbohydrates. Beer is calories and carbohydrates. Calories and carbohydrates are energy. Beer is the essential energy we need to build massive warehouses to hold more beer! It is a divine cycle, one that powers us, empowers us and makes our taste buds and stomachs reach monolithic levels of ecstasy and heavenly bliss! Beer is the most romantic thing in our lives. Well, ribeye, whiskey and camping are pretty romantic too.

The guy who drinks Michelob Ultra is one of these seven things:

Number One: He is a guy who doesn’t make his own decisions because the love of his life is a dictator and he’s too afraid to man up. Reason being, he really enjoys the privilege of going down on her once a year on her birthday and the rare times she schedules for him to look at the closest thing to porn he is allowed to see, the underwear section of her Spiegel catalog.

Number Two: He is a trendy fuck and has no idea what tastes good and follows the crowd. Since he’s trying to socialize with boring one-dimensional women at the bar, he unknowingly mimics them and walks around sipping Mic Ultras like a twat. This guy drank Zima in high school and Smirnoff Ice in college. He has a collection of Hpnotiq bottles on his fridge at home. He is also a really shitty tipper but portrays himself as a baller.

Number Three: He is actually worried about his caloric intake. Yet he ate a triple bacon cheeseburger for lunch, had a monstrous breakfast burrito before work and is probably going to hit the drive-thru on the way home from the bar or gorge on some Entenmann’s in bed while watching The Colbert Report. He is the guy that orders a Biggie-sized number two and a large Frosty but asks for a Diet Coke to drink. He thinks that the five minutes he spent on the elliptical last week accomplished something.

Number Four: He is a guy who is completely susceptible. He sees the Mic Ultra billboards and trucks everywhere, so he just mindlessly orders one because his environment tells him to. He probably wears khakis for every occasion and owns a “man bag”. He also can’t figure out why he’s held an entry level position going on five years. He participates in “Movember” and hopes no one notices his shit mustache and can’t wait to shave it. He has a closet at home full of “As Seen On TV” products that he has never opened.

Number Five: He is a man that is completely lost. I use the word “man” very loosely. He could be a man, deep down inside. However, he needs to find a respectable beer or a good whiskey, pound it and let his nuts drop like a Dutch oven! He tries really hard to be one of the guys but finds that “harder” beer to be unpalatable. He doesn’t realize that a guy drinking Mic Ultra doesn’t have the right to his opinion about palatability. He’s the type of guy that asks others if they want to split a dessert at a nice restaurant.

Number Six: He is just a total fucking douche. He thinks he is the king of the bar, the grand puba of style and usually hits on women with insults. He subscribes to Maxim and heeds the advice of the headlines at face value because he doesn’t actually read the magazine. He argues with bouncers for no reason, pushes his way through a crowd to cop feels and usually has an entourage of just as douchey males. He buys Mic Ultra because it’s cheap and he’s used to stealing it from his older sister when she’s at work because he is unemployed and doesn’t have his own place.

Number Seven: He is actually a real manly motherfucker and he likes Mic Ultra, embraces its shittiness and doesn’t give a shit what you or I think about it. He drinks it like a champion and scans the bar ready to throw a tomahawk at anyone challenging his awful taste for ultra-light piss lager. He knows it’s bad, he doesn’t care, he drinks it, he likes it and fuck guys like me with our pretentious beverages and lifelong journeys to expand and mature our palates. There is nothing you can say to this savage wildebeest that will get him to try something else. I actually respect him for this. Although, I’d respect him more if he chugged 10W-30.

What all seven of these types of guys have in common, is the fact that they don’t know anything better than the absolute worst. They are like soldiers who get home from war and don’t stop eating crappy MREs. They’re an adult who grew to full maturity physically but still has a diet of just Gerber baby food. They’re like an adult that chooses to stay seated at the kiddie table, eating Spaghetti-Os over prime rib. There is a whole world full of options and to not exercise that and take a leap and develop a sense of adventure is the antithesis of manliness.

Life is about new experiences, new adventures and seeking out the best this world has to offer. To the dudes drinking Michelob Ultra, come out of your fucking shell! Grasp the best that this world has to offer and enjoy the fuck out of it. Stop tip-toeing through life like a bitch and start stomping your feet like a beastly fucking orc! Or keep drinking your sad excuse for a beer and wonder why everyone else’s lives seem so much more awesome than yours.

I can’t tell you what beers to try, as everyone has different tastes and a palate grows and changes with time and experience. But you can’t expand your palate sucking on sand and shit.

Zubaz Are Bullshit

*The Bullshit Series started on an older blog but I wanted to bring these articles back here, as I have new installments for the series that I want to release over time. The series focuses on things that I think are bullshit… like filet mignon, Zubaz pants, the Pro Bowl and diets.

*Written in 2014.

Zubaz. God, just the name of these atrocious pants sends a tsunami-like wave of horror and nausea down my spine. Born in the late ’80s and popularized in the early ’90s, these ugly, baggy, zebra vomit covered polyester/cotton blended abominations have been in my nightmares since I first saw some idiot in my middle school walking around the cafeteria in them. They’re worse than a fucking eyesore and have been known to induce migraines and instantaneous diarrhea in those with just little-to-moderate fashion sense. There is nothing good that has ever come from these fluorescent parachute faux animal pelts.

To give a bit of history on these awful things, they were invented by the mega-successful wrestling tag team the Road Warriors a.k.a. the Legion of Doom. For those who don’t know or remember, these were the big meathead guys who ran around with mohawks and spiked football pads. While quite alpha and intimidating in their appearance, they probably shouldn’t be designing fashion for the general public. In doing so, they have created the worst fashion statement possible in an era that can only be described as the worst fashion era in the history of the world.

Go back to the late ’80s and early ’90s and check out what people were wearing. Look at the bullshit that was the most popular: Hypercolor t-shirts, Baja hoodies, Z. Cavariccis, Skidz, No Fear shirts, overalls with one strap down, Cross Colours gear, hip-hop Looney Toons shirts, Starter jackets, Mossimo shit, Stüssy shit, patterned vests over t-shirts, Blossom hats, sweaters as hip-warmers, Bugle Boy, denim button down shirts, the list goes on and on. However, if you put all that shit in a big cauldron and mix them into a big horrible fashion stew, they still wouldn’t be as bad as Zubaz.

Zubaz were designed by big meathead guys with no fashion sense for other big meathead guys with no fashion sense, all in an effort to give them fashion sense while still feeling alpha badass and cool. Well, from a fashion stance they failed… miserably.

That doesn’t mean that dude brahs all over didn’t rush out and buy these things like they were a guaranteed golden ticket to alpha eliteness. These horrible pants were hugely successful as far as sales go but then, so is Nickleback. Despite looking like a Tiger Force G.I. Joe toy, gym rats and middle school boys had to have them and couldn’t get enough.

In fact, Zubaz started producing pants in every sports team color combination available. When that wasn’t enough, they evolved from zebra and tiger stripes to even more atrocious designs. Within a few short years, males and even females were walking around with puffy pants that looked like magic eye posters (another horrible ’90s cultural turd).

Luckily, Zubaz died out not too long after they peaked and were washed away like other fashion disasters from that era. All was fine with the world and I was sure that I’d never have to see them again. Then some sort of weird resurgence happened. Sports teams started resurrecting them and had Zubaz nights. Even my beloved Chicago Cubs had a night last season celebrating these horrible fucking pants. The Cubs even gave them away! What the fuck is wrong with the world?

I’d like to state that I feel like the resurrection of Zubaz in sports is a curse to those who buy into it. In 2008, independent baseball team the St. Paul Saints wore Zubaz during a game. They were shutout by the Sioux City Explorers. The Russian curling team wore Zubaz in the 2014 Winter Olympics. They finished 7th out of 10 with a record of 3-6. This year the Detroit Tigers were dominating the American League, then they wore not just Zubaz pants but Zubaz jackets. They are now in 5th place overall in the AL and 2nd in their division behind the Kansas City Royals. Going back to last year’s Cubs team, they weren’t great when they celebrated Zubaz night but they were improving. As soon as they gave Zubaz away at Wrigley Field, the Cubs plummeted for the remainder of the season. The proof is in the pudding and sports teams should steer clear of the Zubaz Curse.

I hope that this Zubaz resurgence stays small and quickly fades away. I don’t need my favorite athletes looking like cougars wearing leopard print hoochie dresses out on the prowl for young meat. Essentially, that is what Zubaz are. They don’t make a man look tough and badass, they make him look like a sloppy man cougar who doesn’t understand fashion expiration dates. Besides that, no one has ever said, “Damn, that motherfucker looks sexy in his Zubaz.” And no one ever will.

Retro Relapse: The Weirdness of the Term “Man Cave”

RETRO RELAPSE is a series of older articles from various places where I used to write before Talking Pulp.

*Written in 2014.

I had a friend say to me a few years ago, “Hey, do you want to come over tomorrow night? I’ve got a few guys down to party in my man cave. Oh, and the wife said it was cool.”

Now imagine that you had never heard the term “man cave”. At that time, I hadn’t. So imagine how that friend’s invitation translated in my brain.

Sure the term “man cave” has now become a big trendy thing. The NFL is giving away ultimate man caves to contest winners. Hell, even the company I work for is looking for the best man cave out there that is featuring our products prominently (I didn’t come up with this marketing idea, by the way). And every dude out there who is celebrating the fact that their wife lets them have one room in their house solely for their man shit to be displayed, is happy to be a part of this big man cave craze.

It kind of feels like people who are excited about their tax refund but don’t even realize how much they are actually being taxed because hey, this is all just a part of life.

I bet a woman, probably an overbearing wife, came up with this term “man cave”. Sounds like a way for control freak women to rule the household by gifting their weak men one room for their stuff. Besides that, the woman is still probably in control of what he can display on his man cave walls. For instance, no porn posters and some stuff that reminds the man that the wife is always watching. You know, stuff like a cute sports sign that says, “We Have a Red Sox Marriage.” These fascist women, I call them Big Mother, are the same sort that like to trick their men into eating quinoa burgers. It should be noted that quinoa isn’t a real food, as spell check doesn’t consider it a real word.

I see many guys that I know and I am glad that I am not married. Truthfully, I’m that asshole that sees it as an outdated concept but that’s a blog for another day.

I get that people get married, they have families and the amount of space a man has will decline. Honestly, fuck that, buy a bigger house. If you can’t afford a bigger house, why are you having so many children moving in on your territory? I kid, I kid – take it easy.

I’m not trying to promote an alpha male Neanderthal mentality here but for fuck’s sake, the term “man cave” is just awful. The men in my family never had a fucking man cave. You know what they called their space? The den. Or they called it the living room because they weren’t duped into moving all their man shit into the basement, a garage or a shed. They had those things too but they were really just additions to the shit they had all over the house.

The point is, why can’t we just call it a den? It has always been called a fucking den. I’m tired of these cute words with “man” thrown into them to make them seem okay. Terms like this are part of the reason why the American male is an emasculated pussy and both sexes are dissatisfied as a result. Plus, how long until “man cave” is considered offensive and “genderizing”?

Now getting back to my initial idea of what the term “man cave” meant, I thought I was being propositioned for some sort of Eyes Wide Shut sex party for dudes. I thought “party in my man cave” was code for “many dudes filling my butthole” or “we’re going spelunking in my poop chute.” Being that I am neither gay nor find any of those guys attractive, I did not attend. Had I known that they were just going to watch hockey, drink shitty beer and eat wings, I probably would have gone. Granted, I would’ve given my friend shit for calling it a “man cave” and drinking shitty beer but I still would’ve been there.

But this is what happens when manly things are re-branded as female-approved cutesy bullshit. It loses its masculine luster and becomes a bored housewife’s bi-sexual gangbang fantasy.

The End.