I don’t like to generalize, because as we know all generalizations are always false, but I know for an absolute fact that babies just aren’t as good as actual humans. So before you tell me about how we need to hire more babies, because it’s wrong to just hire adult humans, you need a reality check. When was the last time you ever saw a baby doing anything useful, ever? They’ll eat, poop, and die if left unattended for more than thirty minutes. That’s ridiculous. If babies expect to get hired in this current job market, they need to really step up their game.
If they want people to support child labor hires, they need to make child labor more appealing.
In A World Of Metrosexuals, The Man Who Knows How The Refrigerator Works Is A God
This dude needs a name. The “Half-A-Handy” video channel is mute on the topic. Biff Mansteak? Gronk Manstache? Denton Fender? Aubuchon Connery? His name is shrouded in the mists of antiquity, along with a summons for discharging a firearm within city limits, no doubt. Let’s call him something: John Craft!
We live in a world where women call men to kill a spider, but the men would rather pretend to be a defense attorney for arachnids than enter a room with a spider in it. “Eek!, a mouse,” is uttered by both sexes simultaneously. Men used to kill their food before they dragged it home, charred it a bit to keep it from twitching overmuch, and ate it right off the bone. Now they shave their chest hair before going out to eat at a vegetarian restaurant, and make their dates go halfsies. The male of the species is slip-sliding away.
We’ve strayed too far from our roots. Look at John Craft. He’s a god. Not The God; but A god, surely. We stopped parting our hair like a missing, fourth Stooge. Jeans didn’t used to come with dirt on them already, you know. The John Crafts of the world put it on there by crawling around under their cars in their driveways. There was nothing wrong with the car, mind you; they just liked it under there. All our shirts looked like they only needed an embroidered name tag to start working at a muffler shop, just like our hero. We had magnificent tool boxes, filled with nothing but hammers and screwdrivers and gumption, and animated by the knowledge that anything we couldn’t fix we could fix so no one else could, either. We were legend. We were gods. We were John Craft.
Craft! Who’s the white handy hick That’s a sex machine to all the chicks? (Craft!) You’re damn right Who is the man That defrosts the fridge for his brother man? (Craft!) Can ya dig it? Who’s the cat that won’t cop out When there’s freon all about? (Craft!) Right on You see this cat Craft is a handy mother… (Shut your mouth) But I’m talkin’ about Craft (Then we can dig it) He’s a complicated man And no one understands him but his glue gun (John Craft)
I won’t say a hero, ’cause, what’s a hero? But sometimes, there’s a man. And I’m talkin’ about this Dude in the culottes here. Sometimes, there’s a man, well, he’s the man for his time and place. He fits right in there. And that’s this Dude, solving a Rubik’s cube while doing one-handed push-ups…
Awww. I lost my train of thought here.
Lacks Verisimilitude. I Didn’t Hear Anything Smashed To Bits When He Threw The Football Indoors.
We would have added additional points if he ate food directly out of a can while standing in his boxer shorts in the kitchen watching wrestling on a black and white TV.