& a lesson in manhood: friends

Lessons in Manhood

Lesson 2: Quality over quantity

These horses get it. If you have more friends than you need to help you pull a cart, you've got too many.

Squatch, I know you think your dad is a loser. And I can’t say I blame you.

You see the celebrities on the television or on the TMZ with their entourages, and everyone you know on Facebook has like 2600 friends. Minimum. Your lame-ass dad doesn’t have an entourage. Or Facebook. And he never hangs out with anyone.

Well, maybe one or two people come around every once in a while, but they just talk and drink a beer and then go home before the late night talk shows even start. And it’s always the same couple people.

Here’s a little secret, Squatch: your dad does it that way on purpose. Ignore your mom’s talk about me being a hermit. That’s (mostly) nonsense. I just like to keep my numbers down.

See, Squatch, those 2600 people on Facebook—they don’t actually care about you. They aren’t your friends. How many of them would know your birthday if Facebook didn’t remind them? How many of them call you when you post some pathetic, cryptic, self-pitying status update? Trust me, when shit goes down, you’ll know who your friends are.

You need two or three, tops. And for me, that number includes your mom. Trust me, you can’t handle 2600 relationships. Hell, if you’re anything like your mom, I’m always stuck taking your dog out for its nightly deuce. How in the name of War are you going to keep up with 2600 friends?

I’m going to give you a little advice. Facebook has made the term “friend” a little watered-down. Time for you to reclaim that word for what it really means. Here’s how you whittle those hangers-on down to your actual amigos y amigas*.

*Family doesn’t count. They’re in automatically. Unless one of them tries hitting on you. Then you come talk to me and your mom, and we’ll have a whole different discussion.

It’s easy. I’ll give it you you in handy step-by-step form:

  • Go to the bathroom and grab my electric razor. Forget that real men don’t use electric razors. Your dad’s not a real man. Anyway, take that razor and shave a little bald patch on the side of your head. For it to really work, make it look like something, but not enough so that people can tell what it’s supposed to be.
  • Once you’ve done that, go talk to your friends. In person. Don’t post a picture on Facebook. People say whatever the hell they feel like on the internet, which is stupid, but that’s a lesson for another day. Go find your friends and act excited about your new hairstyle. Ask them how they like it.
  • Now here’s where you’ll be able to tell. A lot of people will tell you how awesome it is. They’ll smile and tell you that they’re going to go get the same thing done. They’re lying. But not in a mean way. They’re doing this to spare your feelings. These people are not your friends.
  • A few people will tell you it looks like you got in a fight with a blind wolverine. They’re telling you the truth. These people will fall into two categories: either they’re your friend or they hate your Squatchy guts. You’ll be able to tell the difference because your friend will demand that you let them shave the rest of your head. It’s the only way to save that horrible mess. Or they’ll loan you a hat. These are the people that (when you’re old enough) you’ll have over for a beer until a reasonable hour when you’re an old fogey with a real job and kids.

Of course, there’s a chance that none of the people you talk to will tell you the truth and try to save you from your idiotic haircut. That means you have no friends. And who’s the loser now, Squatch?


5 thoughts on “& a lesson in manhood: friends

  1. Given your account of how you keep the socializing limited to one beer with maybe one other couple, I think we’d be friends if we lived in the same town. Our friends in korea gave us endless grief about how lame we were to want to be in bed by eleven. Lame? No, just married. We have nothing to prove.

  2. Pingback: & the freak-down: an old man’s game « & squatch makes three

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