One hell of a difference.
There are only a few measures of a real man. If you are a father, that comes in ahead of this. If you love someone, that too. But not much else.
I cannot fathom the fucktardation that is commonplace in the perpetual unemployment line of life. Was it always like this? Was there a whole generation of 20-something men more concerned with Call of Duty than their call to duty?
I find it hard to believe my grandpa shared a beer with a room full of tight-jeaned hipster can-I-bum-a-smoke mooches, or his generation’s equivalency.
When it comes to work, its goes like this: if you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late. And if you’re late, don’t bother showing up at all.
Man the fuck up.
Earn your paycheck. And when you are done. You are never done. Mow a fucking lawn. Clean a fucking pool. Wash a fucking car. Install a fucking floor. Change a fucking wax ring (heya, cupcake).
If you are over 30 and are not established by now and have a dick you are a giant pussy in my opinion.
Sorry, but it’s all about the Benjamin’s when you have mouths to feed. Tuition to pay. Mortgages. Cars. There is no excuse for an able-bodied man to not carry the torch. Fucking period.
Sack up. Get a second job. A third one.
Ugh. Fuckin pansies.