Real Men Smoke on Airplanes, with Dixon Coltrane

 
 

In the first of a new series, Dixon Coltrane, our new masculinity columnist, teaches the boys of UCD how to be men.

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Dearest Dixon,

In a day and age where strippercise is considered a fun and legitimate work out, you’d think man would be the master of all he surveyed. I, however, can only feel myself being crushed under the thumb of my domineering lady friend.

We watch what she wants to watch, we eat what she wants to eat, we dress how she wants to dress, it’s just depressing.

As the days pass and the seasons change, I feel my sense of masculinity becoming a distant echo in an echo-y cave, in the past. As you can see, she’s got me writing really shitty prose too.

Frankly, I’m disturbed by the sway she holds over me, and was wondering if a man of your standing could help me out.

Yours,

Jack’s Raging Bile Duct, Apartment 6, Merville

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Listen here Jackie-boy,

It’s good you came to me first. I’ve dealt with more dizzy dames than Douglas Fairbanks, but take it from someone who writes excellent prose all day long; dizzy dames are dime a dozen.

Top-notch ankle won’t respect you if you let them walk all over you. I’ve known some broads who’d drain you dry and leave you without a penny to your name if you let ’em. They’ll leave you lying naked in a flea-bit six, holding your own film-flam. Sometimes, a man’s just gotta say no.

Romance is dead, sonny boy, dead as vaudeville. It’s time you stopped bending over backways and frontways for a piece of frilly skirt-sandwich. It’s time you bucked up, buckled down, and started being a real man.

The first step is to drop that double-breasted floozy as if she was hot, drop her like a Chinatown roscoe. Sure, it’s never easy to lose a dame, just like it’s never easy to lose a buddy to the switchblade red, but Jackie-boy, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

Now you’ve given that two-pot tramp-daisy the bum’s rush, it’s time to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and earn some self-respect. Buy a suit, and get it pressed. Wear your hat at a jaunty angle. Take up chain-smoking and only speak in when necessary, if you can manage to respond with exclusively monosyllabic answers, then you’re halfway to manhood, son. Maybe get some venetian blinds for your bachelor pad. You want top o’ the line gear, none of that cheap stuff – all the better for staring at suspicious folk and the like.

Then get out there and meet some new lady friends who’ll treat you with the respect you deserve. Be assertive with your new lady, but never hit her – unless she’s a commy, then you can send that who-ore straight to Hell. Instead of throwing punches, throw out a devastating one-liner or two, just to ensure your rugged embrace is all that broad thinks about.

If that doesn’t work, why not audit one of those stippercise classes? They sound like a grade-A hoot.

That’s the rub,

Dixon Coltrane

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