From deep within the bowels of the Library, a grunt is heard.  Scratching.  A rustle.  Another grunt.  Wafts of stale malted beverage and pork rinds emanate from the far corner, where I’ve just shelved a few of those bawdy romance novels that always seem to trickle in Monday mornings.  Something’s been awakened. 

Intrigued, I walk, with cautious steps, following my nose until I reach the edge of the bookshelf and glance askance. 

            Nothing’s there.  Yet the noises continue, growing louder as I make my way towards the back of the room, scanning all directions with furtive eyes.  For a moment I could swear that I hear a TV on, with Rosanne blasting away, and then it’s gone.  A toilet flushes.  All is quiet. 

I pause with the silence, taking shallow breaths, and begin inching forward.  Then, just at the moment I feel myself taking the exit towards Crazy Town, a belch ripples through the air.  There!  Just beside me. 

            It’s a small, blue, unassuming book from which such thunder comes, and once I read the title, my courage comes full circle.  The penitent man has passed.  My time is at hand.  And all of life’s trials seem as naught for finally, against all odds, I have found: Maximized Manhood. 

            Now please, no giggling.  If this was a spam box email the conclusion would be obvious.  And guaranteed.  The only guarantee I can offer, however, is that of spiritual enlightenment.  Sound like a deal?  Then away we go!

            This week’s book is a back-slapping, rump patting, noogie-giving guide for those of us of the male persuasion that want to be “real men”.  Maximized men as the author puts it.  Here, read a passage from the introduction to see if you fall into the category of those needing some assistance in the man department.

            “So, today’s man may wear jewelry—bracelets, necklaces, and perhaps, an earring.  He has long hair, usually styled by a unisex hairstylist; he wears unisex pants and soft, silky shirts opened to display “cleavage.” 

            Whoa now.  Just a minute.  How did they know I wear unisex pants?  And is my cleavage really a problem?  Talk about a blow to the old self esteem.  Suddenly I’m not feeling so confident.  I feel…I don’t know…unisexy.  That’s bad.

            Well, I’m taking the rest of the day off and going next door to Ray’s Reusables.  Sounds like I could use some wardrobe advice.  So, tell you what.  How about we continue this odyseey of awkwardness another time?  Until then, stay strong out there fellow unisex men.  Help is on the way!