Man sized mangoes

Being a man is tough. Talking the talk is one thing, manning up is another. I know. I’m a man. I man up. I man up when I’m wrong and well, I dance a little when I’m right. Not a lot but a little. Sometimes, when I’m right I even sit back and let it shine on my private parts. I spread my stuff and let the glorious sunlight that is righteousness glow on my testicles that are the size of ripened Florida mangoes. Like one of those lemur looking things. Just laying there sunning. Basking. Not worried about an attack, not worried about nothing. Secure. Man. The shit. Mango’s hanging, dangling, ready for bangin.

Legs akimbo. Ahhhhhhhh Vitamin D baby.

You getting that? God damned awesome picture. You know how I confirm that I’m all man? Because I just wrote that. Appreciate it. I do. It’s god damned brilliant, graphic and disgusting all at the same time.

MANGOES BABY! F’ing Man goes! That’s right, laying there dangling a mm above the grass. The warmth is glorious. As it should be.

Man. I am.

So what happens when Delaware’s coolest blogger get’s attacked you asked? What does Donviti do!??? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU, DON-VI-TI! DO!? What do you do when someone says that you are fat and makes fun of your fat fucking self? How do you act? “I need a role model” I hear you say. “Donviti?” I haved no where to turn but to you and this awesome blog?!!!

It’s ok. I know you have been looking around the blogosphere for leaders and it is hard to find them. Who wants to look at a proselytizing homo-phobe, an anti-Semite, a comic book reading spaz that takes shit way to personal, a carpet bagging, blue-tinted glasses wearing fascist that has skin as thick as a near extinct Amazonian tree frog, a shrieking misinformed wind bag, or even a blogger that get’s off on revealing peoples real names. Or you could be all that, in one fat, disgusting black long sleeve polo shirt wearing, get a new career every six months slob, that doesn’t know what being a man is all about and forced to learn what it means to be someones little bitch whenever they get made fun of and can’t defend themselves because they are trying to hide.

What do you do when someone says that the first time they met you, your shirt was so tight that the fabric was making your tiny nipples excited from the friction caused from the movement of your fat belly jiggling with every breath you took? What do you say, Donviti? What do you do?

WHAT?
DO?
YOU?
DO?

It’s hard to fathom people coming after you when you are a such a huge tough guy with mango-nuts. I know! I know, I know, I know. I can’t believe it either, so when the question is asked I brush it off. I hardly think about it. Because quite frankly, who gives a shit. I’m secure in my testicular fortitude. I pay it no mind. I guess I don’t care. I mean, I’m on a blog right? I’m opinionated right? I have to sort of take what I give, no? I guess If I’m to have these huge swinging testicles, named bob and rob by the way, I’m going to have to expect to be attacked now and then. (I’m Looking down and Bob and Rob now, I sort of stop and think, “Damn who wouldn’t want to come after a guy with these?”)

People don’t like it when you are on top. People don’t like it when you poke fun at their weight. It’s a sensitive subject for those of us struggling with our appearance. It’s all we have. Our tiny self esteems. When we get called chubby, or fat, or an asshole, or a wimp, or even a fetid, disgusting, condescending, smug, self righteousness scum bag by someone we don’t like, it’s hard to not want to cry and run up to your room, bawl in your pillow, swipe your loving wife’s hand away when she says, “what’s wrong my tubby, wubby, burrito of love?”

(sob, sob)

“nuffin…(sniff) go away”

“I don’t believe you” (petting the part of his belly hanging out from under his under sized t-shirt and above his Champion mesh shorts that have now become the staple of his leisure wear on weekends when he isn’t wearing his elastic banded Khaki Slate pants that came with the attached brown belt that he got on sale at the local Peeble’s)

“nope, it’s nuffin. I swear…”

“are you sure my wubby, tubby, hubby?” patting his balding brown hair patch

“well” (sniff, sniff) ist, just that sum one made fun of me. They said I’m fat. And then, then (starting to well up again) they made fun of a job I had a while ago when I carried wudder for Harlie and Marlie!” (clenching pillow tighter as the thought of his bestest friends getting made fun of resonates through his disgusting gelatinous ass)

“Now honey, you know I love you and I’ve told you that it’s your thyroid condition that put this weight on. It happens to every man your age. It’s O. K. We can work on it together. I will stop working out with my trainer, and we can go on walks together like we did before you had a job that kept you on the computer like a crack addicted monkey that reads blogs, ignores his family and all the while you were thinking that you are something so godly important and smart. I love you and it’s ok to be irrelevant and not that important. You aren’t that big of a failure…”

sniff, sniff “It’s just, jwwust that it’s not fwair for pweople to call me names. but, but you know what else?”

“No? What my jelly belly?” rubbing his fat wrinkled,sporadically gray haired back, all while looking down at his plumber’s crack being shown intermittently with each gasp of air that his overweight middle aged body is taking between snot laden sobs. With an increasing amount of disgust she sighs and looks away, tired of the 6 month routine she has to go through with his compulsive silver spooned ass.

“He picked on my bwest fwiend’s and called them mean names. He was saying meany things!” Starts bawling into his custom made ronald reagan pillow case again.

Wife rolling eyes…

When those things happen it can go one of two ways. You man up, expose your nut sack and say, come and get em. Or you pussy out and try to sink lower and act like the little white lily pantie sniffer we all know you are. Other than that, there really isn’t much in between.

But what takes it to another level is when you try to stick up for a friend that is being attacked that we are pretty sure can defend himself. What is more perplexing is why you would even care to defend said friend against a bunch of ill-informed losers that no one cares about or even bothers to pay attention to so you say over and over and over again.

But, there are some rare conditions that in Donviti’s mind it is ok to defend a friend. IF, if you and your friend are sitting there sunning, nuts a blazen, holdin hands in a field of daffodils and lilacs, talkin about how great it will be to hide behind the veil of this little lemonade stand business you’ve been dreamin of startin up and then someone right out the blue punts one of your buddies danglin mango’s up into his kidney; then that’s is when you disengage from the lip lock occupying you both in the first place and you are free-and-clear to pound the living shit out of the guy attacking your defenseless friend.

Also, if you friend is handicapped and somehow unable to fend for himself that is when you zip up and take action. I mean, if the pansy that can’t defend himself is in a vegetative state and you walk into the hospital and the attending CNA is dangling a hairy sack in his eye while his doped up buddy is holding an Iphone and twittering what is going on then sure, maybe, JUST maybe you take action and hit them where it hurts. Assuming that guy wasn’t the DUI driver that just killed an entire family or even worse part of some group of pussies that try and hide behind their money in an attempt to misconstrue their opponents actions hoping to score cheap political points that will damage them severely enough that a petite, smarmy, connected dilettante’ can gain that public office that has avoided him his entire privileged life.

I think, for the most part those few examples exempt one from looking like a big fat morbid piece of deer guts hanging out the rectum of a freshly plowed tractor trailer kill. Other than that, you sit back and do what you do best. Be a smug piece of shit that no one likes and pepper your ill informed pre-written posts where you think you are making a difference. You suck up the fact that people know you are nothing but a little neutered chihuahua being looked down on by everyone outside your circle of ass kissing friends not afraid to tell you what they really think of you. You bite the bullet and take the verbal bashing your pussy friends are getting. If they aren’t going to fight back, you don’t soldier up and take it for them. No matter how many emails you get from your little bitch that says, “You need to out this little fucker saying mean things about me!” No matter how many times your little sister comes crying to you about her meany friend. No matter how many times you keep clicking refresh and the meany comments someone makes about your fat ass, your friends fat ass or any combination there of keep appearing and aren’t sent to moderation.

Suck it up, be a man. That’s my advice. If you want to know of course. I know, It’s hard to lay back and take it. It’s harder to lay back and let friends that are too big of a pussy to come out from their locked door and pulled shades defend themselves. It’s hardest when your friends are paying you, potentially employing you or even promising you that they will let you have sex with their sister, to not want to defend them at your own peril and allowing them to stay spotless.

But, that is what makes you a man. There’s very few men out here and I hope in the future, more people can learn from this example and be a man. A real man.