To: Kleenex, From: Concerned Consumer, Subj: Please, Man the F*ck up!

I...

... am a man. This was realized at a very young age at a very awkward moment... gender defining moments that Im sure we all went through.

Like any good man, I grew to appreciate everything that is inherently manly. Beer. Big Explosions. Power tools! Ass kicking in all its forms. Beir. The ruggedness of beard. Food (red meat, or prepared by women). Cars (fast or big, mean or sexy). Chest hair. Fire. Sleep. Not asking for directions. Face melting guitar riffs. Blowing things up. Rational thought and discourse, followed by irrational activities and actions. And never being wrong.

Also, like any good man, I fully realize that I and I alone epitomize all that is man (like any man should). I revel in my statuesque wonder. I radiate beams of awesome that force the weak and feeble-minded into submission. Everything around me exemplifies and reflects the manliest of man.

My issues with Kleenex began at the local Walmart. I entered the store, and headed about, seeking various manly implements needed for only the manliest of ventures. You know, things like car parts! Massive tires! Large Stereos! Biore Pore Strips! And Explosions!! (they were on sale)

As I dodged, ducked, dived, dipped, and dodged around the fattest women Dayton Ohio could muster, I finally stumbled upon the household goods. Figuring that I had strayed from the path of my manliest of missions, I figured I could stop in and pick up a few delicate essentials.

Now at this time, I had been recovering from some kind of sickness. Most likely a badass, manly virus, as it had somehow beaten down my immune system and made life inconvenient for a couple days. My throat was sore and woke me at times in the middle of the night with hacking coughs. My nose was constantly compacted with bodily fluids. Mostly I felt like shit. Well, in the recovery stage, I had begun to discharge large amounts of viscous fluid from my nose. A manly, though inconvenient, occurrence. As cool as this was, I figured a box of ladylike tissues couldn't hurt too much. So I wandered over to the tissues.

This is where I found issue with Kleenex. My small (but manly) apartment is arrayed in striking, bold dark blues and blacks; shades of gray tastefully thrown in. Some might argue that tasteful decorating is not manly, but I say if god gives you lemons... you FIND A NEW GOD!! (Reference from: Here and Here) I had hoped to find a generic box, but no. Alas, Kleenex had shafted me with the girliest shaft it could muster.

As Im sure you've noticed, littered throughout this rant are several boxes of Kleenex. All of them sport sickening arrays of flowers, daintily arrayed in pastels and shades of pinks, purples, and baby blue (although baby blue is arguably a shade of blue, this fact will be ignored to support men everywhere).

What did I have to settle for? Blue flowers.

Man... fuck that.

3 flying monkeys for functionality.
-2 flying monkeys for failing at being awesome.