Don’t Read if You’re a Wimp

I must admit that I am sick and tired of a-holes who spit out big ol’ loogies right as I walk by. I mean, of all the bodily fluids that one could exude from their body, spitting a small bit of saliva seems like the wimpiest. I just can’t respect a man whose primary expression of intimidation is a small gumball of dribble spewed from a pair of persed lips. I’ll tell you what I can respect though. A real man. A man who decides to perform a proper act of intimidation. A man who is prepared to deliver the ultimate scare tactic by dropping a big stinking duke—a shit-line in the sand if you will—right in my path. A don’t-fuck-with-me announcement— “I am a man, and I offer this beastly crap to you as evidence of my manhood. Do you see? Do you see that which I have produced on the pavement like an official document of my power? Don’t fuck with me, my friend. I am a man.”

Now that I could respect.