Maniversary Origins

I’ve been asked this question by many people. I don’t care about the women who’ve asked it though. Like most questions women ask, they’re just doing it to set themselves up to say something snotty.

Here it is, for the very special One Year Maniversary.

A Maniversary is like an anniversary that’s not besmirched by a pointless and crass exchange of gifts for simple niceties like politeness and deranged sex acts.

“Dick, why did you start”

Like most great things invented by men, was starting by a man shooting his mouth off and promising more than he could deliver.

That was a trick assertion.

No man can ever promise more than he can deliver. As men, our potential is limited not even by the skies or the heavens above — or physics! Fuck physics in fact. I break those rules practically every day when I think about V8 engines and space ships and men who’ve run a mile in under 4 minutes. That’s why we men are called men and not women, who are tethered to the Earth like great fat elephants with no magic feathers.

A little more than a year ago, I was at a pub called the King’s Head in Richmond, England. I was drinking because I was in a pub and I’m a man. As a man I don’t do things like go to a library and try to buy a Slip and Slide. I go there to check out books just like I go to a bar to drink and have fun. Women, however, are just the opposite.

Women go to a bar to act bitchy and shoot their mouths off. That’s not what a bar is for. That’s what a hair salon and a kitchen are for. And another thing; a screwdriver isn’t for prying the screw-off lids off of nail polish removers.

One of my American friends was hassling one of these women in Richmond. By ‘hassling’ I mean ‘talking to’ and that’s always a mistake. I believe he was trying to inform her that she was in the wrong place for acting bitchy and shooting her mouth off. The phrase ‘Bitch Store’ may have been used.

I’m joking of course. Americans can’t understand anyone British or anyone who’s lived in England for more than a week. My friend was sitting there with the look of a deer caught off-sides as the lass rattled off the following:

“Sure. Long as he’s had a few pints, I could out drink any man here.”

If there’s one thing I know, it’s that women have winning and losing backwards. When they “won” equality and the right to vote, they actually just “lost” respect as a whole and a life of luxury enjoyed by every woman in the history of time. Just like that, women think “winning” a drinking contest is passing out drunk in a taxi with or without your knickers. Classy.

“Bullshit,” I said. Then before she could say anything I added, “You could not out-drink him. Both of you could not out-drink him.”

That’s the best way to argue with women. They’re not listening to you anyway, so phrase your case as well as you can as a man and then walk away.

“Oy!” she said — or something very much like it. I don’t know and I didn’t give a fuck. “Well he’s three times my size!”

“That’s not why,” I said. “No woman could out-drink any man because women don’t know how to drink. Six artificially flavoured apple martinis and a shot of Jager someone spilled half a Guinness into is not drinking. It’s experimenting on yourself to see how fast you can throw up. No one wins that contest.”

“What do you call this then?” she said.

Whatever she had and was holding was irrelevant. It was a pint of lager, but it wasn’t hers she probably just grabbed it off the table. We all know women don’t drink beer in pubs and if they do, we know what they look like: hideous. Women lie about stupid shit like that to prove points.

Needless to say, an entire conversation was sparked about the merits of men in this modern world. Apparently several women at the table were under the impression the sexes were “equal”. It was a silly assumption, but these women also thought make-up would make them more attractive when not even a paper bag, a picture of Claudia Schiffer, and a stapler could have done that.

They had “woman-reasons”, which behave in conversation like the spleen in the body — by doing fucking nothing. I was like a glorious man-cancer to these mouth spleens, and at some point the following was said.

“That’s still only four reasons! You said you’d give ten.”

“Well how much time do you have?” I said.

The rest is history.