It’s mid-day, you’re taking a leisurely stroll down Nowhereville Lane when you pass a yard populated with some dude mowing his lawn… nothing strange there, he’s just shirtless. No matter. You continue down the road, listening to the crows sing about some sort or another of carrion they’ve managed to scavenge when you pass another homestead. Here there is another gentleman, he happens to be checking the timing on his vintage Camero, also shirtless… this seems a little stranger, but no bother. Again you take to ambulation, but now you are painfully aware of men in all varieties of age and fitness and ethnicities, all either working alone or in packs; fixing roofs, changing oil, drinking tea, offering little boys bags of sugar for a mere tuppence and a few strands of pubic hair… is Rod Sterling behind this? Leo and Satan?
This, ladies and gentlemen, is the rarely spoken of conspiracy known only as “Shirtless Male Syndrome.” You will notice men when they are around their significant other; slow, docile, and barely able to function beyond tying shoelaces. Their minds seem to be almost brought down to a base primal level of mere beasts of burden. There is only one known cure for an Alpha who, despite having a below level of intelligence anyway, is slowed to a snails pace when encumbered by either natural or unnatural fibers constricting vascular areas of the back and neck.
Where is the proof you may ask. Simple, it exists in the suburbs and the rural jungles, in schticks and cities, from Stuckies to HyVee. Men everywhere, in order to complete a job of any varying nature, require their shirts to be elsewhere. You may have never noticed this before, but soon, very soon, you sill see this in practice. It is almost as if society itself is attaching a yoke to men around the world in order to drop testosterone and thus turn men into drooling invalids. UberCrappie, Air-O-Poopster, these are the natural enemies of men everywhere. Be afraid, be very afraid.
My point being, they’re everywhere. From toddler to octogenarian, they’re all over the damned place. I laugh every time I see one of these guys, and more power to them for letting their beer bellies flap freely in the breeze… but let’s face it, if you’re going to do it the least you could do is work out a little.