Things All Men Need To Know

An Early Tribute To Mother’s Day...


Hey all you guys out there…

Yes…YOU…You there…The man averting your beady eyes…answer this question for me if you will:

ARE YOU A TYPICAL “MALE PIG”?

If not, you probably need to thank your mother, and you also need to notice that I intentionally left off the standard “chauvinistic” part of the phrase because that's not what I'm talking about here.

By “Male Pig” I don’t mean the Sally Struthers’ FemiNazi type “Male Pig” that is purported to basically disrespect women and sets about to demean and repress their (the Feminazi’s) government and God given “rights” as the bearers of all of the Vaginas and Mammary Glands on the planet and in the Universe.

No Sirrrrrreeee.

I mean the type of man that thinks that ironing your clothes involves placing a warm cookie sheet and a stack of dictionaries on top of your pants on your desk before dressing for church Sunday morning so you can “dress up;” or that believes that a “bathroom rug” consists of the avant-garde collection of head, body, and pubic hair that accumulates on the ceramic floor tile between your bi-annual vacuuming and occasional random fits of sweeping and dusting.

(Those type guys also think that that pink ring around the toilet bowl is an indicator that the toilet is working properly because the water always fills back up to the same pink ring point after a flush…)

As to being that “type” of “typical male pig”, I’m here to tell you that I aren’t one.

I’m not, thanks to my Mama.

My Mama insisted that I learn what “clean” was.

My Mama taught me to wash my clothes.

My Mama taught me to iron my clothes once they were washed and dried.

My Mama taught me how to “do the dishes.”

My Mama saw to it that I took a bath virtually every single day of the first 17 years of my life (whether I needed it or not.)

My Mama made me take a typing class in High School long before the computer keyboard became a major part of my life. (I've made tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars of extra income as a result...)

My Mama generally taught me right from wrong and caused my face and ears to change shapes and colors based on the veracity of the statement which I was uttering at any given time.


Red ears…liar.

Red face…embarrassed.

Red neck…walking into the expansive woods on my grandfather’s farm with a rifle in my hands.

With those points in mind, I offer a hearty...

THANKS…MOM!!