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Monday, July 16, 2007

Manhood On The Grill

In the ever repeating cycle from boyhood to man, there are a number of milestones. There’s the moment you discover your first pubic hair during your tri-monthly bath. There’s the first time a non-imaginary third person operates your joystick. There’s the time you get so over-excited because you’re on the verge of ‘doing it’ for the first time (without paying, bribing or threatening) that your warhead explodes just short of target. There’s the monumental event of having had sex for the first time without maiming yourself with a condom or fumbling in such a way at the main gate that you accidentally hit the back entrance. Note that most milestones in a mans’ life are related to intercourse or the desperate need thereof. Other important moments are drinking your first pint, throwing up your first bucket of puke and nuking your first relationship by throwing up on the first non-imaginary person that operated your joystick.

But nothing – I repeat, nothing – says you’re a man like becoming the proud owner of your very own barbecue.

This weekend, I made that giant leap. It was about time too! For years I had to live without a BBQ because my apartment really didn’t have a proper and suitable terrace. And ever since we bought the house, either the weather or my financial situation was depressing. But last Saturday, I recognised these so-called hurdles for the trivia they really are. I drove my car to the DIY-store, I entered with a manly pace, fixed the man behind the counter with a steady gaze and proclaimed with a booming voice: ‘I sir, wish to purchase a barbecue! Not a silly tiny table model suitable only for wankers, but a real manly barbecue with ample space for steaks, sausages, chicken drum sticks, lamb chops and brochettes. The time has come for me to acquire a barbecue, so without further ado, provide me one before I puncture your gonads with a pick-axe and suspend you thus on the wall.

And the man behind the counter recognised the importance of my request, and he sold me a proud model with an impressively sized pan that can hold a whole bag of charcoal and a chimney underneath to feed the fire and a water basin to extinguish any burning coal falling down and a grill that can hold many steaks, sausages, chicken drum sticks, lamb chops and brochettes at a time.

And yesterday we barbecued! And I didn’t fumble, but operated it like a real man, the testosterone and the heat of the fire making my torso gleam with sweat.

If only there were still mammoths around to hunt.

Posted by Bart at 10:28 PM
Categories: The Hunter Gatherer


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