According to the Code of Boy, you know when the time has come, and you've been called on it, and you have to surrender your man card.
I took my buddy, Casey's, away from him last week for using the word "bliss" out loud, in a statement. Seriously. Lots of people heard him, too. He could just have easily lost it for the way he gushes when he talks to his wife on his cell phone and refuses to cut his conversation short in the presence of other men.
What could he do? He knew it was a fair cop.
He tried to take my MAN CARD from me a few days after that, and he could have justifiably done it. I was wearing a pink Oxford dress shirt. But noooooo, I already lost my MAN CARD before that.
And the Code of Boy is very specific about the only ways you can ever get your man card back:
The person who takes away the MAN CARD cannot give it back. The person who has forfeited his MAN CARD must perform one of many and various testosto-tasks.
Although blogging, in and of itself, is probably as valid a reason as any for the forfeiture of one's MAN CARD, blogging about things like Whiskey, fine hand-rolled cigars, urinal strategy, Hemingway, and even The Code of Boy itself, have magically protective charms.
[Smith has posted those topics]
Oops, I used the word magically.
Let's just pretend I didn't just say that.
How did I get my MAN CARD back? Duh... I played rugby last weekend.
Rugby is the manliest of pursuits, the absolutely perfect sport that Americans just don't "get," even though it's played in every country in the goddamned world that laughs at us for our devotion to gridiron football.
So... ugh... I'm late, and here I am trying to finish this blog while having a back-and-forth session with a North Korean friend about how to make North Koreans laugh.
More on Clown College, Rugby, the MAN CARD, and The Code of Boy to follow...
