Making the most of toxic masculinity before it goes extinct
Bad news, brothers. Studies show that toxic masculinity is bad for men’s health, women’s safety, and everyone’s Twitter feeds. But you and I both know that being a toxic man is also drugs! We have camo pants and PornHub Premium Accounts. Well, apparently it’s only a matter of time before the toxic brethren grow into gentle, “emotionally intelligent” adults. So here are the top five tips for getting the most out of our badass lifestyle before it goes extinct.
1. Never ask for help.
Refuse to see a doctor even when you dislocate your spine by crashing your Harley during a tire burnout genre revelation. Before Patriarchy is brought down like Old Yeller, impress every guy living with your self-reliance by using a blue and pink confetti cannon to put your spine back in place. Fortunately, the only drug the Toxic Brothers need to feel better is Call of Duty: Napalm Disco.
2. Bury your emotions even more.
Some say pushing your feelings down until you explode like a volcano is unhealthy. I say, who wouldn’t want to be a volcano? The volcanoes are fucking sick! If someone fights a volcano, they die. Unfortunately, time is running out for you to act like a volcano and not mourn the death of your grandmother. Grammy, if you can hear me in heaven, I’m sorry I never got to tell you how you inspired me to be a better person. Oops! Someone hacked into my account and wrote a pathetic Jane Austen poem as a prank. It’s time for me to visit the library and beat all the books.
3. Accept that all women on earth want you.
You can even hear some sexual tension in Alexa’s voice when she tells you the weather.
4. Require all televisions within a five mile radius to show sports only.
Before you know it, every sports bar will be replaced by a rom-com bar where eight Hugh Grant films simultaneously burn your retinas and kick your soul. Until then, force everyone within earshot to binge on SportsCenter Seasons 1-4000.
5. Become stronger than the Rock.
Soon you will no longer be blatantly ashamed if you are thinner or fatter than the Meninist idol of Rock. The looming ‘body positivity’ nightmare is why I suggest you hit the gym as soon as possible to become a terrifying mountain of muscles seven feet six inches and three hundred and eighty pounds. Have you ever slept awake at night wondering what the Rock wishes when it blows out its birthday candles? Uh — sorry about that. Me neither! I stay awake until dawn to prepare how I am going to bomb the Rock in the Grand Canyon, which I have filled with gasoline and ignited.
So, my fellow alphas, I encourage all of you to strut the world and do random acts of kindness! OH NO! THE TRANSFORMATION HAS BEGUN! QUICK – SOMEBODY COMES TO ME IN A COLOGNE GALLON TOM BRADY AND HELPS ME CHOOSE A RANDOM D-BAG FIGHT AT BUFFALO WILD WINGS!