What happened to men? This country used to be filled with Don Draper-level masculinity. Men would drink at work and smoke in bed. They would wear suits to baseball games and backhand their wives if the roast was cold. Or, as my grandfather likes to call it: the good ol’ days. Domestic abuse jokes aside, today the entire gender is slowly being neutered. Men no longer walk down the street with the swagger that once graced our cigarette-smoking forefathers. And I think I’ve figured out the main cause of this social degradation: rats.
Oh, I’m sorry. Did I write rats? I meant dogs. Well, not all dogs. Small ones. The ones an average high school soccer player can boot 90 yards. The ones Kim Kardashian wannabes carry in their purses while shopping at Old Navy. Those ones. Back in the day, when a man decided to get a dog, he got one that would intimidate robbers, play fetch and chase away the neighbor’s annoying cat. Now, in this ever-changing world of shrinking mobile devices and metrosexuality, dogs are becoming like lowered trucks: completely useless. Like the French in times of war, any sign of danger will send these pocket-sized pooches running for the hills.
Not only do these runts offer nothing in the form of protection, they offer nothing in terms of outdoor satisfaction. Enjoying a dog’s company should consist of throwing a tennis ball and having it run in a frenzied sprint to snatch it up, bring it back and beg and bark to repeat this action at least 200 times. What it shouldn’t consist of is a yapping rodent going into a conniption every time it hears a car door slam.
Fellow men, allow me to address you directly. What is your excuse for owning one of these little fur balls? Could it be that you actually do want a big dog but your alcoholic landlord only allows small dogs in his complex of studio apartments? In that case, it’s better to just not have a dog. By sacrificing a dog that barks like Barry White for one that barks like Barry Manilow, you are in effect selling your soul. You’re going from man to Mandy.
Could it be that you are so confident in your manhood, you can own a Chihuahua and not feel emasculated? Well, if that’s the kind of manhood you’re comfortable with, you need to have your man card revoked. Priority ownership of said man card involves not owning a dog that can be thrown farther than the Frisbee it’s supposed to be chasing.
What we need are the same laws for dog ownership that California has regarding the size a fish must be in order to keep it. For example, if the top of the dog’s head doesn’t come up to at least your ankle, you need to throw it back. It’s not a keeper. If the dog’s bark sounds like Justin Timberlake singing falsetto, you need to throw it back, because whimpering and masculinity are just not in sync.
Men, it’s time to reevaluate our lives. Do you really want to be known as the guy who pushes his Yorkie around in a stroller? If you answered yes, we can never be friends. However, if you answered no, congratulations. Admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery. Just 11 more to go and you will regain that man card.
Mr. Draper would be proud.
—Chris Blakemore is our graphics specialist.