The Deuce and the Man Cave

WARNING! THIS POST CONTAINS ADULT LANGUAGE AND WILL ASSUREDLY BE OFFENSIVE TO THE MEEK AMONG YOU. EITHER BE PREPARED TO DEAL WITH IT OR STOP READING HERE.

Seriously...you've been warned.



It may be the very last place an average guy can still be a man. The Man Cave, where political correctness is not only banned, but punishable by death, or at least withering ridicule toxic enough to shrink testicles. In the Man Cave, belching, farting and nut scratching are unremarkable. Bullshit is both admired and rejected depending on the context. A good dirty joke is applauded while a bad dirty joke is just a bad joke. A play by play account of your latest sexual exploit is admired, laughed at or hooted down depending on your story telling skill and chutzpa.

In the Man Cave, demons are released, frustrations vented and the plain truth, ugly or sublime, finds free expression in a world no longer free.

You see, what happens in the Man Cave stays in the Man Cave. Say almost anything, no matter how off the wall or embarrassing or socially unacceptable, and it goes no further. Like the Ia Drang Valley in Vietnam, the Man Cave is a free-fire zone; shoot anything that moves, defend yourself at all times and watch your buddie's back. Enjoy being alive minute by minute. No one is promised tomorrow, and sometimes you just have to run up the Jolly Roger and start cutting throats.

Women and Castrati ( fags and the pussy-whipped ) have already tried to co-opt the Man Cave into something that's nothing more than the outward trappings of guy stuff. To them, the Man Cave is just interior decorating tinged with masculine favorites like dark paneling, a big screen HD TV, a pool table and a fridge for the beer. It's just butch Feng Shui. As usual, they've got it all wrong. It's not really their fault though...women and castrati have never been in a Man Cave. What makes a Man Cave is not the neon Bud sign or the foosball table or the gun safe...it's the free flow of ideas, speech and actions awash in unrepentant testosterone. Man Caves are for cave men, and cave men don't give a shit about Feng Shui. And if you don't think you know a cave man, I guarantee you you're wrong. You just haven't earned enough trust to see the cave man come out and play.

By definition, what goes on in a Man Cave is for men alone. Women and children may pass through the room, but when they do it's not a Man Cave. Their very presence transforms a Man Cave into just another living space, suitable for polite company, minors and Hallmark moments. It is only when men and only men are present does a Man Cave actually exist. It's like a tear in the fabric of space-time where estrogen does not exist, where breasts do not go but a nice rack is worshiped and primal violence is understood to be as necessary to life as breathing. Where tribal membership is acknowledged simply by being there because those not of the tribe never enter your Man Cave. Testosterone knows no race or ethnicity or faith. Men recognize men, and while we may refer to one another by crude racial and ethnic epithets, sometimes in friendship and sometimes not, that does not negate our essential understanding of what each experiences every day of our lives. The need to compete, the need to provide, the need to conquer...the need to advance our station in life...and the devil take the hindmost.

There are some things that are not tolerated even in the Man Cave. Protestations of the essential "rightness" of pederasty will at the very least get you a beat down and permanent exclusion from the Man Cave. Confessing to an on-going life of crime, ditto. Criminals who prey on the innocent are just parasites, not men, and not tolerated in the Man Cave.

Booze flows; high end Scotch, low end beer, tequila, Jack and Jim and the Captain...it doesn't really matter which. Men drink what they want, and if it's not for you, well you're just a pussy and pass the chips asshole.

The big game is on the big screen, but the the volume is turned down. AC/DC, Motley Crue and Guns N' Roses rumble and bellow out of the stereo, with some Hank Jr., Waylon and Toby Keith thrown in for the country guys. The Texas Holdem gets to rolling while someone gets a good break in the 8-ball game.

The talks goes everywhere. "The wife's busting my balls about working too much and not helping with the kids." "My boss is on my ass about production while he spends a two hour lunch screwing the new receptionist." "My new AR-15 is the baddest motherfucker on the range." "When is this shitty state going to pass a "Shall Issue" concealed carry law?" "Come help me cut those trees down you lazy fuck! I'll supply the beer and pizza." "How much gold you got in your 401k?" "Does that Viagra shit really work?" "My truck needs new tires but they cost a damn fortune. Anybody know anybody in the tire bizz can maybe give me a good deal?" "Are the Chiefs gonna suck again this year?" "Church is a drag. It's all 'save the poor in Douchebagistan' and 'we're really sorry about all the pervs'." "I'm fucked if my unemployment runs out next month." "I'm cutting up all my credit cards...the wife is bankrupting me buying shoes and drapes and quilts and other worthless chick shit." My daughter wants to get her fucking eyebrow pierced." "Every time I workout my damn shoulder hurts like a bitch." "If I don't have a gaping hole somewhere and I'm not bleeding like a stuck pig, my doctor don't know shit." "I think my dad's got Alzheimer's. Christ!" "I can't stand that Pelosi bitch." You see that blond chick on Fox News with the great tits?" "I'm hearing rumors that the plant is shutting down. Gonna outsource the work to China or India or some damn place where the peasants work for a bowl of rice a day." "Don't get married...just find a bitch you hate and buy her a house...same thing." "Deer season opens next week." "Getting old is a motherfucker!"

Sometimes tempers flare and a little dust up spices the evening. Not everyone agrees on everything, and some beliefs are held close to the heart. Bottom line...never take shit, and if a friend crosses the line you gotta let him know. It's understood, it's expected, and it's all good.

At the end of the night everyone goes home feeling a little better than they did when they arrived. Tomorrow doesn't look quite so daunting, life's challenges a little less insurmountable. The night has reminded them how much easier they have it than their fathers and grandfathers did.

It reminds them how sweet life is, no matter the disapointments and pains and fears.

The Man Cave. It's not pretty, but it's real...and we like it like that.

Now you know.