Real men don’t share with multiple-blade razors.

Real men don’t give a shi..ne about razor burn. WTF is razor burn, anyway? Something that happens only when you attempt or labor to actually scrape your bare dry skin with a razor blade? Sure, go have fun – dry shave if you must – and you can do this. (I think they even made a big deal of it in a move once . . maybe the VERY manly Dirty Dozen.) Real men do shave with some form of lather and therefore don’t suffer the dreaded “razor burn” that some marketing wimps attempt to put should-be-real-men in fear of.

Don’t buy it. Forget the plastic blade pre-packaged razors. Forget 2,3,4 or 5 blade razors. Really . . . 5 blades? 4 blades? 3 blades?

I’m older enough to remember when Saturday Night Live (SNL) ran a Mock-U-Mercial (mock commercial), shortly after the introduction of 2 blade razors, that touted the new 3 blade razor’s ability to grab the whisker and cut it, then cut it again as it snapped back, and then the third blade would do even more . . with the commercial ending with the statement (something like) “We’re bringing you this new product . . because . . YOU’LL BELIEVE ANYTHING!”.

Words out: MAN UP. Go find a single blade injector razor and use it or, if you’re into even older “has stood the test of time”, buy the even older fashion double edged razor blades in stainless steel. And if you really want to go to old school buy the type of razor blade that you never change. You only sharpen. On a leather strap.

Seriously, stop feeding tons of ridiculously unnecessary trash to the landfills in the form of billions of disposable plastic razor blade wraps. Stop feeding the oil barrons and sheiks your hard-earned dollars on all that needless plastic.

All you really need is a small piece of sharp steel to get the job done. Every time.

I’ve been shaving with a single blade injector razor for 40 years and can’t recall a single case of “razor burn”.

Oh, yeah, maybe once . . when I UNMANLY tried splashing someone else’s UNMANLY “aftershave” (WTF?) on my face. Mostly water and alcohol, the undrinkable kind. Got a bit of a momentary tingle. Ooooooo . . . call the baby doctor.

So, support the continued existence of manhood by buying and ONLY USING single (or double) edge injector (slides into the razor) blades. They will last about a week to 10 days each, if you’re a real man – will and able to yank out a few whiskers by the root at the end of its service life. But heck, you’re a real man, so you will have plenty of whiskers to spare . . and a little bit of pain in the morning wakes you up and reminds you . . that you are MAN and taking pain is just part of the job.

The spawning of an idea?

There are Italian festivals, film festivals, music festivals, even garlic festivals.

Why not a “Man Festival“?

I’d like to go to a “man festival”, at least so long as it issn’t populated by manly macho a-holes. Not that I have anything against many machoness. It’s just when you add a-holeness . . .

Man festival? Yeah, like man stuff, man fun and man education.

Man education? Sure, like a more “by design” version of the stuff we men “learn” in ad hoc fashion, the man-stuff we “learned” by observing our fathers or uncles. The stuff we’re supposed to know by osmosis or by listening to man-talk. All the stuff we think we figured out by being spectators and role playing and . . . doing a lot of “fake it, until you make it” behavior. The messy disorganized learning of socialization.

So our Man Festival could have an educational component AND a good bit of humor attached to it, as in “Anyone ever hear of Defending the Caveman“?

Yeah, but “Man Festival???”, you say.

Sure, why not? I’m not talking pure unadulterated testosterone, us-versus-”them” crap. I’m talking maneducation with a bit of manfun.

For example, I’d like to learn how to ride a hog, as in ride a Harley or a big bike. At least some basics. That’s manly and most bikers I know aren’t a-holes. It’s a fantady that I have, having ridden a few smaller bikes, about maybe doing a long-haul bike trip with my brother or maybe a friend or two. So, maybe the Man Festival has a corner where you can get an into to ATV riding or big bike riding or biker education.

I might like to learn how to help someone get out of a tough spot . . without getting . . . Well, I’d just like to know better how to help someone in trouble, because – as men – aren’t we supposed to come to the aid of those in trouble . . I guess, if they didn’t really bring it on themselves.

I wouldn’t mind learning a bit more about how to grill and barbeque, because there’s something about me that is drawn to fire and beast pieces and putting food on the plate every now and then. Man-beast stuff. Caveman maybe.

Maybe I could have been a better father if . . . but, you know, you always know you didn’t do everything right. And, no, I’m not going to do it all over again thank-you very much.

I’d like to learn how to a whole bunch of manly things . . . better, some even a woman might be able to teach.

So, not be be politically incorrect, but where’s the Man Festival?

I know I can pick up this stuff here and there, but really, would it be possible to have a “man festival” without inevitably bringing out or attracting to the show the inner a-hole of mankind?

Man Festival! Everybody  . . . I wanna hear you grunt!

And, no, grunting is not an expression of man’s inner a-hole.

It’s an expression of our lingering inner caveman. An admission that we’re not yet that evolved that we don’t feel a certain fondness for or kinship with the caveman. A feeling imbued with a slight longing from simpler days, when work consisted of defending the family against attacks by real beasts versus attacks by investment bankers on our savings . . and most days were spent wandering about the woods . . with spears . .