Nothing is more emasculating to a man than the presence of a little girl. It’s probably one of the primary reasons for my seething hatred of children.

Men are men – valiant and courageous – but witness one with a little girl and you will see a milquetoast fairy, enslaved by his nefarious nymphet. It’s only rational to draw the conclusion that little girls are masters of some terrible black art of hypnotism or witchery.

Imagine a bold, daring man. Visualize his swagger, broad shoulders, and bulging biceps. He is a manly man. He eats Bacon® with a side of Bacon® and washes it down in one gulp of his favorite brew. He guffaws, “Haw haw! Behold, I am Mighty!

“Little girls are wicked and deceptive.”

Clearly this man is a force to be reckoned with. Yet, how do you explain how this potent powerhouse of testosterone is reduced to a weak-kneed wuss in the hands of a helpless, defenseless little girl? How do you explain that such a model of masculinity is feebly sitting by as the malevolent tiny female paints him with garish makeup and feminine accessories?

I can only explain it rationally through the belief that little girls are wicked and deceptive. It’s obvious that the facade of helplessness is nothing more than trickery. These demonic she-devils are dangerous. Do not be fooled into thinking otherwise.

Think again of this strong and powerful man. He walks tall, with his head high. He proclaims proudly, “I am Testiclees! Fear my wrecking balls of wrath!” What vile voodoo is behind his enthusiastically coordinating Bratz Doll (aff) costumes, like a simpering sissy?

I’m talking about Real Men, whom if you suggested needed a pedicure would reply with, “A cure for what? Scienticians, to the lab to cure this horrible disease!” Yet, at the whims of dainty damsels, they are flaccid, limp shadows of their glorious selves, sipping pretend tea in a tiny chair.

When a real man – a model of machismo – goes to the pool, he brings a towel worthy of his masculinity. It will be emblazoned with the logo of a beer brand, a rock band, or a skull and crossbones. It may even have a slogan that says, “This towel was dyed with the blood of impaled hippies.” A man’s towel will always reflect his supreme authority.

So why is it that I was stuck with using the Tinkerbell towel that I brought for her to use?

Oh, the indignity!

We must unite, and do whatever it takes to purge this scourge from the Earth, with the help of Humor-Blogs.com.

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Category: Humor