Cleanliness is Onto Manliness

When you think of a woman, you think of a shrill harpy whirring around the house with a duster and a vacuum cleaner under the watchful eye of some imaginary deity of clutter. One errant bill or remote control earns her an eternity of stacking in the Trash Yard of Damnation. That’s how I see it anyway. A tornado of nerves frantically stacking the debris of everyday life into neat little piles and shoving them into drawers like a five year old with learning disability on a reverse scavenger hunt.

That’s what women call cleaning. Women can’t clean for shit.

Men know that the cleaning of things (cars, houses, clothing) is not a one step process. Doing anything in one step is a sure way to fuck it up — especially quitting drinking. It’s called being thorough, and it means that the cleaning of anything can sometimes take several days.

Not that women don’t understand that process. Women can take several days to do things too, like get over a headache or break the rules of a new diet by downing two pieces of German chocolate cake.

That’s right, ladies. In your face. 3000 calories in your face to be precise.

It’s an old stereotype, but just like every stereotype with women, it’s completely true. Women don’t clean they just hide shit. Here’s the proof.

The remote.

The remote can never be cleaned up. It can’t be put away, it can’t be clutter inherently because it is in a constant state of use. When was the last time that a day went by and someone didn’t have an urgent need for a remote control? Putting the remote in some kind of little basket or lock box under the coffee table is the equivalent of putting a piano in front of the bathroom door. Sure, it may look best there, but there’s a fucking piano in front of the bathroom. I sure hope one of those keys is flush!

The bills.

Since women don’t pay any bills they don’t know how the fuck they work. For example, if a bill gets put into some random drawer near the kitchen sink and doesn’t get paid because bill paying time is not supposed to include treasure maps and interrogations. That’s something that women don’t understand. It’s like a child grappling with probate.

Also, when a check is written and put in an envelope, affixed with a stamp of postage, and set on the edge of the counter only to disappear — no that isn’t the bill fairy whisking your monies away to the gas company, it’s a woman “cleaning” shit up and throwing a handful of tacks on the road that is your life.

Soap.

That body wash shit doesn’t work. I know because one time I used it to wash my dog as an experiment. Guess what it smelled like when I was done. A fucking dog.

There’s a whole psychology behind this cleaning business, but it’s as simple as women neurotically clean their homes because they’re lives are exactly the opposite. That’s it. You can sum up all of womankind like a box full of fortune cookies.

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