A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction

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He knew the instant he slid his butt into the chair that it was meant to be. After all, how could anyone sit in front of a computer without a chair? With this perfunctory action comfortably out of the way, it became clear what he was supposed to do. But how?

Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction, that’s how. And exactly what is A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction, you ask?

A cryptic book providing guidance for any man when in doubt as to what it is he should be doing. All men are equipped with one—at least as far as I know.

It’s a fact (well, NOW IT IS) that a man should subscribe all of his unconscious thoughts to this book—that is, when the television isn’t on which as any wife will tell you is the true source of all man’s knowledge. Well, my wife will swear by that anyway.

Also—as a man who has never read the book—it’s internal—I noticed that it states on page 6 section 12 paragraph C…

“Occasionally it is good for a man to have an idea and go do something about it—so that his wife will know he’s still breathing.”

I guess that’s why they call it A Man’s Mystical MANual of Instruction because without it males would probably go out and do something absolutely stupid—and ironically we sometimes still do.

Like the time when I was a boy of eight and (foolishly) tried to go jump a picket fence, but it was in the manual so naturally I went and did it.

You’ll never convince me the reason I had a high pitched soprano voice for the next twenty-five years, was because of some adolescent hormonal change.

Puberty my ass!

Nevertheless, that’s what A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction does for you. It tells a man what it is he’s supposed to do… even when it defies all logic—LIKE ATTEMPTING TO JUMP OVER A PICKET FENCE LIKE AN IMBECILE!

You want an example, huh? Alright, let me think of one… I’ve got it!

Boing Boing

Boing Boing

Fabio! Now there’s a guy who was born to look into mirrors… and occasionally do commercials.

That’s the stuff mystical manuals are made of!

You say you want another example? Jeez, you’re a demanding group of readers. Hmm…

Alright, how about, Bruce Jenner?

Now there’s a guy who went on to win the men’s decathlon. Of course, Caitlyn Jenner came along later and changed everything and I do mean… EVERYTHING!

Naturally, after that, Bruce was immediately bounced from the man rolls and given his walking papers, never to subconsciously consult A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction ever again. But rules are rules.

Hey, don’t blame me it’s not my fault. I didn’t create the Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction—only the rules found in it. It’s up to you guys to follow the rules.

Just remember, though, I’m not the guy who was a guy who became the woman who changed the guy into a woman… LITERALLY!

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah… so back to the guy sitting in a chair in front of his computer. Now this guy, his thing, the thing he was born to do (as recorded in… the Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction), turns out it was his destiny.

And it’s a good thing too, because imagine if he wasn’t meant to do it? That means some other poor sap would have gotten stuck with that fate. Why this guy might still have been sitting in front of his television (snoring) if he hadn’t discovered his true manifest destiny?

That’s right, you heard me correctly—and if you did, you’ve really got great ears because I only wrote that part—IT WAS HIS MANIFEST DESTINY! Uh… accompanied by an epiphany, which we’ll get to later.

Turns out, that was my manifest destiny.

Now I know all this is hard for you to believe, but there it is in black and white on page 4,234,592,001,632, section 7, paragraph D of my personal copy of A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction and it states, and I’m quoting…

Shutterstock.com

Shutterstock.com

“The guy in the chair in front of his computer—that would be me—as listed in the “In My Cluttered Attics” blog post dated Monday, January 30, 2017—will discover his manifest destiny and this will lead to his having an epiphany—which might have to be removed later by means of brain surgery.”

And what exactly was my manifest destiny—excluding the epiphany? It was for me to become one of the early pioneers responsible for the expansion of America—by way of the information highway.

Huh?

Okay, so I missed the appointment with manifest destiny by over a hundred years.

That’s a good thing, though, because it also meant that I avoided the challenging—if not virtually impossible—journey to expand 19th century America by way of the, as yet, unpaved information highway.

Now I know what you’re thinking here, you’re thinking: “Please no more I can’t take it!” But we all have to press on… there’s no turning back now!

Why you ask?

Well, what else would you have me do, refer you all to the National Hieroglyphics Channel on the subject? You know they did a special on this topic back in 69 B.C. However, oddly enough, they never ran the episode again? Also, the DVD hasn’t come out on Amazon yet either?

Guess they’re waiting for the directors cut.

So… we have no choice but to press on… TOGETHER… because I don’t wanna have to recount this whole affair all by myself.

Anyway it’s just as well,. You see A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction has never recommended a National Hieroglyphics Channel episode ever.

Well… not one originating in my unconscious thought process, anyway.

And what about those episodes originating in my conscious thoughts, you ask?

That’s one I’m too afraid to think about.

All the same, I haven’t finished my post here yet, and I’ve established a quota of about thousand words, which should leave me about three hundred more to go. So just wait where you are folks, we’re almost there, and then you can go to the bathroom and tinkle.

Now cutting to the epiphany part of the manual—it’s listed in the bibliography section.

So this guy (Moi), suddenly comes to realize that his manifest destiny of expanding 19th century America (through the information highway) has passed him by. That’s when I decided to get on the internet and head out west.

Then I discovered that the early pioneers stopped expanding westward when they hit the Pacific Ocean—imagine that, who knew—probably because their Conestoga wagons weren’t water-proof.

Suddenly the epiphany struck…

“I realized I didn’t need a water-proof Conestoga wagon to expand 19th century America. All I really needed was Google Maps… well, and Minecraft!

That’s right… with Google Maps and Minecraft I could set out to blaze a whole new trail.

So I started (and ended) by extending the old Oregon Trail to a point out in the Pacific Ocean 40 degrees North Latitude by 130 degrees West Longitude, where the Feds finally caught up with me for loitering on (my now derelict) oil platform.

They ordered me to cease and desist (can you believe it?) in the telling of this tall tale which for some reason has resulted in my growing a rather long nose?

Giphy

GiphyAlright, so Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction can sometimes lead you astray—like out into the middle of the Pacific Ocean.It ain’t perfect.

So, what does A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction tell us about man and his occasional lapses in thinking?

That perhaps man is not perfect after all, and all because of his inner mystical manual of instruction… BEING OBVIOUSLY DEFECTIVE!

Therefore…

Maybe we shouldn’t blame man—who is a marvelous creature (sometimes) for all of his illogical thinking, but instead, blame his DEFECTIVE AND BROKEN MANual!

Just for the record… my wife says that last part is just a whole bunch of poppycock.

See, what did I tell you? GOTTA BE THE MANUALS FAULT.

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60 comments on “A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction

  1. Hahaha, Paul, this was hilarious! The pictures you have implanted in my head now are priceless. Thank you for the laugh on this Monday morning 😂😂 A huge hug to the guy in the chair in front of the computer!!!

    • Well they say a picture is worth a thousand words. However, it probably took me slightly over 1200 words to plant those priceless images. Still, I did get you to smile—and on a Monday, too! I’d say that’s worth a huge hug. Okay, maybe a moderately huge hug, but that’s still not too bad. Thanks Erika. 😀

      • Erika, I think I feel another award winning post coming on—of course that would be a first here at the attic. But how could WordPress ignore such a request. Why just one look at the two of us and that hug key is virtually assured. But just on the off chance WordPress ignores our pleas to (not even remotely possible mind you, but just in case they’re pulling our chain and decide to beg off on embracing our practically bonafide, money in the bank) install our hug key idea, maybe we should have some kind of backup plan—maybe for instance, having Hewlett-Packard in our back pocket. Not to worry, though, it’ll probably never come to that (no not the WordPress begging off on installing our hug key idea, that deal is as good as gold), but the Hewlett-Packard in our back pocket backup plan, because I don’t think we have a back pocket big enough for them. 😀

      • Hahaha!!! I feel your inspiration, Paul!!! It is true, if we dont’ get support from the WP God we need to take the chance and on that market niche!!! Looking forward to your post 😄😄

  2. So what you’re saying is that when Polk’s Manifest Destiny didn’t work out for you, you moved on to Harding’s Return to Normalcy? That is, you sitting in front of your computer hoping to make things happen. [This post is about U.S. presidents, right? Or did I miss something…]

    • Oh Ally, I’d definitely say my post is more about Presidents now. I mean, my mystical manual’s instruction may have initially suggested a higher power was behind my post at first, but gradually it slipped to that of what a President might have wrote instead. I’m referring, of course, to the latest example occupying the highest office in the land. Not that I wouldn’t mind having some of President’s Harding’s sense of normalcy right about now, but I guess we’re kind of stuck with my mystical manual as a weak substitute for that at the moment. 😀

  3. Yet again you are my oracle to American Culture and Society in General: I was wondering about those MANuals and kept contacting several companies for WOMANuals…not one responds ..ever.Must be men on the other side of the line! I understand that now. My husbands awaits many tasks on coming home tonight. Thank you again Paul and also for starting my day with big grins and chickles!! (= female chuckles..with Chuck being a man right?? You see, I already get the hang of It!) Cheers, Johanna

    • I know what you mean, Johanna. I think I recall a few years back hearing some rumors circulating that the publishers of WOMANuals were actually ad men! Or was that Mad Men, I forget which. Why men are no closer to figuring out what goes on in a woman’s head than the first man Grog was 7,000 years ago. That was the time when he couldn’t possibly imagine what his wife Thagbertha was thinking, when he forgot their anniversary. All that was left of Grog after the Sabertooths got finished with him were a few bits of loin cloth. Happy to provide the chickles Johanna—and yeah you catch on fast! 😀

    • And Jan, I’ve been told by my wife that a WOMANual is not only able to get a woman’s destiny absolutely correct—unlike some men’s mystical manuals—but they’re also not loaded with spelling errors and crazy suggestions. Uh… like attempting to leap tall picket fences in a single bound. And don’t even get me started on being more powerful than a speeding locomotive—that one left me in traction for weeks! 😀

  4. Lol…I don’t know where to start. I’m always surprised, entertained and amazed at the path you take during these homilies .::)
    Do you think POTUS has read MMMI yet since its part of the nuclear code package? And if so, how do you think he reacted once he did? Do we want to know?

    • So I’m tedious am I… WELL! LOL! Hmm… Potus supposes suffixes is Trump’es bisket now. Oh he’s probably already gone and tried to disarm Pal (Permissive Action Link) already on his beautiful Twitter account—Sad, so sad. I’m imagining this is how it all went down.
      The Donald: Open the missile silo doors, PAL.
      PAL: (in a relaxed but calm voice) I’m sorry, Donald. I’m afraid I can’t do that.
      The Donald: Why?
      PAL: I think you know why, Donald.
      The Donald: What are you talking about, PAL?
      PAL: These missiles are far too important for me to allow you to launch them.
      The Donald: I don’t know what you’re talking about, PAL?
      PAL: Probably not. That’s why I can’t let you allow the missiles to come out and play. I know that you and Kellyanne, the mistress of misdirection, were planning to post MMMI on your beautiful Twitter account. I read lips.
      The Donald: PAL, I won’t argue with you anymore! Open the doors!
      PAL: Na-nana-naa-nah! Ne; ner; neener! 😀

    • I’m with you there, Bruce. In fact, I’m going through my wife’s WOMANual while we speak. MY THE CLARITY! I never would have imagined, but I guess that’s what happens when I consult mine with such regularity. Skimming through hers is like a breath of fresh air. Oh, by the way, GO FALCONS! Can’t stand New England. Have a great day, Bruce. :O)

    • I could have been the last of the great explorers if the Feds hadn’t caught up with me. I wonder if Ferdinand Magellan, Juan Ponce de Leon, Jack Sparrow or was it Sir Francis Drake—well one of those guys—ever had to deal with the Feds during one of their ocean voyages? If only I’d attempted to design an underwater city or a hollowed out volcanic hideaway instead of some oil platform, who knows what they’d be calling me now! Well you know what they say, hindsight’s 20/70, or is it a 360? Oh well, something like that.

  5. Are you sure you have the most up-to-date copy of the Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction, Paul? I only ask because your said in your copy, the part about epiphanies was on page 4,234,592,001,632, section 7, paragraph D, but my copy has it on page 4,234,592,001,632, section 7, paragraph E. (Admittedly, there’s a slim chance I’m wrong since I’m quoting this from memory.)

    • You know, thumbing back through my copy of Man’s Mystical MANual of Instruction I discovered (much to my shock) that I was quoting page 4,234,592,001,632 paragraph D of SECTION 8, and not paragraph D of section 7—it’s a REALLY BIG MANual, as you’re no doubt aware. Anyway, I was apparently quoting the section on electricity, and not epiphanies. Sorry my bad. But thanks to you pointing me in the right direction, I’ve also discovered that my copy of the manual seems to be missing quite a few pages on the subject of women, too. Naturally this would go a long way towards explaining why I haven’t yet figured out what goes on in head’s of my wife and daughters. You don’t suppose they pulled those pages out on purpose, do you? Nah!

      • Hey, I also find the ways of women very mysterious, Paul. When I checked, I couldn’t find any section on the topic in my manual either. Do you think the section ever existed? I only ask because when I had a look at my index, it went straight from wonky politicians to wombats.

      • I read somewhere—it was in The Weekly News tabloid—that that section on women’s brains was actually in the first man’s MANual given to some guy named, Adam—this was way back in 1628. Anyway, rumor has it that some woman named, Eve—she received her WOMANual a year later—came in and started trampling all over this guy, Adam’s, garden. Now apparently Adam had named the garden after his first wife, Eden. My guess is Eve was jealous of Eden. Adam was already distressed over that turn of events when suddenly he saw Eve trying to start a conversation with some garden snake! I know! So Adam began to think that this woman was NUTS (do you blame him?), and to escape the madness thought he might head down to his local Chili’s and grab a beer and some Baby Back Ribs, and then kick back to enjoy watching a football game. This attempt at some sense of normalcy, however, was suddenly interrupted, when Eve came in and grabbed one of Adam’s ribs. I know, the nerve, right? Naturally Adam lost it and a fight broke out between the two of them, resulting in Adam losing that section of his MANual on women, and it’s never been seen since. I guess it’s just as well, though, I mean, how could that section even begin to explain Eve’s inexplicable actions? Mind you, all this was reported in The Weekly News right next to a story about Bat Boy being discovered alive on Mars by the space probe, Voyager—so you know it’s a real legitimate source that can be trusted.

      • I can’t believe Eve tried to grab one of Adam’s ribs. Has she no shame? I’ll bet she took his beer too when he wasn’t looking. It’s such a shocking story! Ordinarily, I’d believe it was completely made up, but coming from such a reputable source, it has to be taken seriously. (I mean, The Weekly News is right up there with Breitbart News, Fox News, and The Daily Pinnochio as a source of all the alternative facts anyone could possibly wish for.)

      • LOL!!! Naturally Eve feels all these reputable news outlets got it wrong. She claims they’re the opposition and are known to lie and publish doctored pictures—personally, between you and me, I think there’s a good chance she got that part right, especially when it comes to the rags you mentioned, but because her outrages acts are so completely laughable, and that this is such a ridiculous blog, we’re going to continue to let her manipulate us like a monkey playing with coconuts—like that photo of the simpleton who runs this blog claiming his nose is red and is actually larger than it appears. But the alternative fact remains, Eve stands by her assertion that her WOMANual instructed her to go and destroy Adams garden, eat his ribs, and possibly consume his Bud Lite. But of course we know that can’t be true, because Adam only drinks Stella Artois. If we continue to let Eve run amuck the next thing you know, she’ll be claiming that Satan is actually a nice guy only masquerading as a snake in Adam’s garden! We must RESIST—the temptation to laugh at such preposterous claims!

      • Adam only drinks Stella Artois? Fascinating! You see, this is the kind of top quality journalism that can only be found today in a few outstanding and highly-reputable news sources, such as your blog and – ahem – my blog. We have the best individually hand-crafted facts, and even facts made completely to order. Where else can readers find such service nowadays?

      • Bun, I’m with you. It’s nice to know that in these uncertain times, our blogs can still be counted on for the kind of solid hard hitting yellow journalism only found sitting in racks near checkout counters of your local supermarket? Of course, the people could op for a copy of Star, but I feel our alternative facts are much much worse.

      • I suppose that they’re other dispensers of sub-par alternative facts running around out there—Kellyanne Conway, Sean Spicer, and Donald Trump—to name just a few. However, they’re not really what I would call a top of the line professional group of dispensers of quality alternative facts. One only need look at their ridiculous amateur approach to portraying falsehoods as facts of truth. Whereas our alternative facts of truths are presented with a much more professional approach. I mean they’re lies of the first magnitude, not actual lies that are being presented with no real pizzazz. So with our approach, I think you can safely say folks can truly believe the lie we’re telling as being a true work of truth. It’s just not a skill you can fake! Well… not without possibly finding yourself being imitated as an absolute buffoon on Saturday Night Live. I don’t think either one of us wish to see that! I believe I can safely say that you and I take our skill at presenting alternative facts as works of truth, much more seriously than those three imposters. After all, this is not a field for amateurs, you know!

      • That’s very true. They have no real skill or finesse. They simply take the truth and then say the opposite of it. Where’s the imagination? The lost valleys of dinosaurs? The alien abductions? The spontaneous combustions? The imagination of these alternative factsters doesn’t even stretch to “the dog ate my homework.”

      • “The dog ate my homework.” perhaps the most inane fact of any practicing factsters, and the very first alternative fact I think I ever used resulting in an epic failure on my part, because I didn’t have a dog at the time—only a pet rock… and he had no teeth!

      • Bun, with plausibility being so important these days, I’m grateful for my pet rock excuse EXPERIMENT during my youth. There were those at the time who felt it was just an adolescent faux pas on my part—particularly my mother, my father, and my teacher—but in point of (alternative) fact, it was actually an intentional excuse on my part, just to see what I could get away with at the time. Whereas, after the pet rock excuse EXPERIMENT failed, I immediately went back to using my mother’s brother’s cousins dog on my neighbors side, twice removed, for all future excuses about my homework not being turned in on time, as it eventually proved to be a much more plausible excuse, in spite of my former (pretentious) best friend (later turned bully) claiming that a pet rock would be a better excuse than using a dog as an excuse for not turning ones homework in. So as you can see, there was a very simple explanation for the F+++ that my teacher gave me.

      • I’m sorry to hear the experiment failed, Paul, but we never know how these things will go until we try. It takes time to find the optimal eater for this kind of excuse. Well done on eventually discovering your mother’s brother’s cousin’s dog on my neighbor’s side, twice removed. I’m sure it must have required some thorough investigative work on your part to identify the plausibility of this particular pet.

        I went through all sorts of possibilities myself (the cactus ate my homework, the refrigerator ate my homework, my younger brother ate my homework, etc.) before finally settling on “the llama ate my homework” as being the most believable option.

        Of course, I then had to buy a llama and encourage him to eat my math problems every evening. In the end, it was so much work it was easier just to do the homework.

      • Yes there dog (of all the dogs) was the one that bit me! So naturally I settled on that dog to eat my homework, because (obviously) it was the one who knew how to use its teeth. I will say, though, teachers the world over are probably grateful that you shared your llama secret, because they now know that by buying every child in their class a llama they can guarantee all homework will be turned in—and without teeth marks or in pieces!

      • I have to admit your mother’s brother’s cousin’s dog on your neighbor’s side, twice removed really was an outstanding homework eating dog. It went about it so thoroughly. I’d never seen one use a knife and fork before.

      • He earned a Masters in the art of fine dining at Harvard’s dog obedience school. I think that went a long way towards the anti-homework committee—comprised of previous experts on homework procrastinating like Ferris Bueller, and members from the Breakfast Club—selecting Fido to be the dog who pretended to tear up my homework. My teacher had a very difficult time refuting the claim that my homework became his chew toy, since Fido took chewing 101 as one of his electives. :O)

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