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A typical male hunting for sport to demonstrate the indisputable and hard-earned right of Male Privilege.

Males (species Homo pseudosapiens narcissus), of the family priapulidae, are furry but not cute... wait are they!? mammals that have their genitals, the d-ycks,[1] arranged in a ♂ shape. The said d-ycks, also called penises, are the central part of the Males' culture as well as being their principal symbol of worship (see Priapus), even though they normally make up less than 1% of a Male's body mass or length, as will be discussed further later on in this article. Anyway, borne of the mighty thunder god Thor, the Males used to be a race of glorious, powerful entities that hailed from Planet Sparta of the Asgard System, where they battled for glory all day and night basking in eternal sunlight whilst drinking their mighty Redbull (the elixir of Thor) for untold ages.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, a strange, mildly attractive species emerged from the void at the center of the Milky Way Galaxy. Amidst their nomadic, perilous quest within the shadowy reaches of space to locate a viable source of sustenance, find a place offering persistent sanctuary against other hostile alien species such as the Shoggoths or the intergalactic federation of slithering rapists (IFSR),[2] and discover a way to preserve and continually enhance its bloodline, they came across Planet Sparta with its abundant natural resources and pristine, well-protected environment. They were apprehensive of the Males due to their vastly superior stamina and their menacing d-ycks, but they quickly realized through their highly advanced scientific minds how easily the male instincts could be harnessed to their own ends so that they would gain both an unsurpassed, virtually impregnable defensive planetary fortress consisting of loyal Spartan soldiers and premium DNA that would greatly enrich their gene pool.

Men in their natural habitat.

Known as Women, Females, Venusians, or simply Virgins, these delicate but sinister beings modified their previously kinda cute but not very hot germinal bodies into a new, extremely sensual form with one simple adaptation that they knew would greatly arouse and stimulate the Males. This was done by artificially synthesizing and injecting themselves with a hormone called estrogen, sacrificing their now-unneeded seraphic wings, innocence, and even innate goodness in the process. Their plan worked much better than they anticipated, as the Males were so overwhelmed by uncontrollable desire upon seeing their fully exposed sexy dynamite bodies not covered in hijabs that they immediately began showing off and fighting amongst themselves for a thousand years just to get a split second of the females' attention.[3]

After the thousand years of infighting, and a confusing period of philosophizing while wrestling naked covered in olive oil better known as the Great Era of Homosexual Hellenism, the males still had their vigor and virility, but the disintegration of leadership and organization in the chaos reduced them to merely throwing stones, swearwords, and excrement in combat. Having thus crippled the Males, the females' conniving hive-mind wasted no time to devise the inescapable shackles of education, sophistication and family in the name of restoring peace and order. Through these devastating attacks at the core of "Operation Civilization", these femme fatales under their leaders Danerys Stormborn and Hippolyta were able to erase the memories and identity of the males, neutering them with BPA and turning them into mindless Unsullied warrior-eunuchs serving the females' every need, even going as far as shrinking the size of men's greatest weapon and changing the dashing name of the planet into the pathetic name "Earth" to eliminate any sense of self-esteem. This horrific acculturation and humiliation of an entire species far exceeded the scope of any known massacre or genocide recorded in human history, and it would take 1.69 billion years' evolutionary history of indentured servitude catering to the female gender, serving their own flesh during sex to mantis-like succubi after spending their miserable lifetime practicing and engaging in atrocious forced fights against their own kin while wearing colorful plumage and other such degrading decorations solely for the females' sadistic amusement (whoever said The Hunger Games were cruel?), endlessly yearning for their archnemesis' rare nods of acceptance that would allow the once-independent males to have their spinal fluids sucked out with labor and become women's unquestioning spear, ATM, gene donor and shield till death, for the males to emerge from under the heels of females and have their relatively brief and insecure 7,000 years or so of the Machoist Late Holocene Epoch as retribution, only to be threatened again with the last century's emergence of feminism. There, you have it. Thus continues the history of males in the present, with us wishing desperately to revive its former grandeur and sense of identity while realistically aiming to have a decently balanced coexistence with females and comprehend this sexy, shadowy species that is still as enigmatic as fuck, or rather, the mysteries of the abysmal depths or erectile dysfunction for the more sensitive readers, at least half as much as they appear to understand the males.


This is what happens when you get between a Man and his burger.

Males were inadvertently created by the god Thor when, coerced by the god Priapus through assisted masturbation (yep, that's how sick Priapus is), he blew his load on a backwoods planet when he thought no one was watching and fucked up the land. The Great Loadblow was caused by Hentai films featuring irresistible AV stars Freya and Aphrodite in an intergalactic, pre-mortal download website and Thor's long history of Pornography addiction. Males looked nothing like today's males as they evolved from the humble sea men that were Thor's sperm. After only a century, these formidable beings surfaced from the primordial soup by walking out of it with their two muscular legs, learned how to utilize their third legs as lethal weapons, and found many fearsome uses for their two bench-pressing forelimbs on some serious natural and artificial steroids, such as building weapons of mass destruction. At their peak of evolutionary perfection, they were born packed with muscle, grew 17' tall and easily reached 400 lbs with no excess fat. Also, they had tails, which enabled them to turn into gigantic berserker apes whenever a full moon is present ("Yeah, classic males, all right").

They "invented" fire and hamburgers (a discovery attributed to the Burger King's divine intervention), and crafted tools like axes, swords, and +10 warhammers with a damage bonus against Ogres and their kin. Barbeques, the Disposable flamethrower, the legendary katana, the prosthetic Chainsaw, and "B"-rate sci-fi horror films were developed in short order. Males built colossal cities, giant robots, and advanced spaceships such as the Star Destroyer, Tie Fighter, X-wing and Battlestar Galactica, conquering this puny but lush planet along with numerous others through their mastery of Starcraft and becoming an apex predator among apex predators after only a few million years of evolution.


Males are more meatier than females but real males don't have boobies, and can't make milk; Instead, men produce a high-quality low-fat Mayonnaise in unlimited quantity from an "unknown" orifice. You can discern a real man from an impostor by his small penis and the fine pelage that protects his body against the cold. If the penis is big, he is actually Arnold Schwarzenegger, a.k.a, a Terminator. This "fur," or "man-pelt," as the scientific community calls it, is as tough as steel wool, but as soft as velvet and extremely flammable.

The pelt upon a male's head is commonly mistaken as merkin. In fact, many males have sold their hair for the merkin industry, never to see it again; as like a soul, one must go to hell and back to retrieve it. The hair atop a males head and the beard on his chops is actually a mane, like a male lion's, which protects his head and face from injury during battle with rivals and himself during bouts of uncontrolled drunken rage. In nature, Males are carnivorous, and use their mighty muscles to efficiently Subdue their hapless meat-prey, thus why Man's natural prey, Woolly Mammoths, Sabretoothed Tigers, Tyrannosaurus Rex, Locke-Ness Monsters and medium-sized giant ants are in such short supply in this day and age.

Males naturally have a drive to become the Alpha Male and will fight tooth and wiener for the title of High King of Sparta. The Last Male such titled was High King Master-of-the-Universe Leeroy Jenkins IV, who gave his life trying to reunite the male race and revive the glorious Age of Homosexuality after the female incursion. The Alpha drive manifests primarily as a repeated shoving match, swordfighting (often with the d-ycks as swords), beard contests, and empty threats such as, "It wasn't a threat, it was a promise" but most commonly a male tries to dominate another male by repeating a line from an action film that the aggressor hopes his opponent has never seen.

Unfortunately, the brain structure of the male puts them at a disadvantage in many things, such as maths, cooking (assuming it isn't raw meat, which generally requires no cooking), raising well-balanced sons, and satisfying their girlfriends' "needs". Men's barbaric "minds" excel at anything requiring fighting, hunting, penetrating, conquering, or blunt-force-trauma/burning down. A vast majority of men are simple-minded savages with a penchant for teamwork; nonetheless, a substantial amount of cleverness, sensitivity, sophistication, and scientific acumen have been bred into the male race through eons of hybridization with the females. Strangely however, men are excellent drivers by default, being able to literally destroy all opposition, something that even more intelligent females have yet to duplicate with any consistency.

The pureblood males' brain structure also makes it difficult for them to restrain themselves when experiencing anger-related emotions, often forcing them to go into a raging frenzy, receiving a +50 strength and +50 accuracy bonus for 30 seconds or more (depending on what level the man is, if he has a feat for drunken rage or a beer keg's worth of alcohol squirreled-away in his "beer-belly"). At current, the calculation for the duration and frequency of this rage is unknown and may vary between individuals from short bursts in rare circumstances, to constantly. Though sometimes a minor inconvenience to himself but more frequently to others, this supreme rage is what has helped him acquire his lofty place as king of the beasts for the rest of eternity. Amen.



From the massive potential of Thor's manly seed Males did emerge, but to survive for an eternity they had to change. Males diverged into an uncountable number of forms to fill the various niches that their new environment offered. But what is remarkable about this is that they are capable of evolving within only one generation. What a male becomes reflects several attributes: Awesomeness, Studliness, Honorability, Macho-city, How much he can "bench", how many other males he's K.O.'d (females included only if said K.O. is a metaphor for blackout after orgasm), how many different kinds and quantity of animals he's consumed (the more exotic, the better), how good his reflexes are, whether or not he kisses his bosses' ass (kick, not kiss, damnit; please excuse my Freudian slip), and how awesome he is. Based on what quotas a male does or does not meet in all of those and other unknown areas, and the level of his endeavor reflect what he can metamorphose into.

Though all males who live long enough eventually attain the "Old Fart" stage, only a few males ever digivolve into one or more of these forms:

Must live in the barren wastelands of Sparta. They dine in hell, and usually host a feast every Friday night, unless it's the 13th or Walpurgis Night, which is reserved for Satan, the witches, H.P. Lovecraft, and Cthulhu. The Spartan has an ascetic (some say hippie or hobo) Spartan lifestyle, unbounded by needless belongings such as shirts, cars and houses. The Spartan needs only a spear, sword, shield, loincloth, and cape from birth onwards. Fighting, fighting, and more fighting are their mainstays, out in the sun and the cold all day, with their well-muscled chests shaved and anointed with jojoba or olive oil. No, they're not gay (well, maybe a little "brotherly love" and "military camaraderie" here and there, but definitely not as much as Athenians, those sick Greek bastards under that slimy pedophile Pericles.). Oh, and all Spartans get to have a gigantic black hole in their backyard where they can kick their enemies' conniving Persian asses right into while screaming This. Is. SPARTAAAAA!!!!! at the top of their lungs.
Must rape, pillage, love the waves, have no qualms about eating raw sashimi straight off the hook, and be at least 70% covered in fur, preferably the beard. They should be stoic, and willing to heroically sacrifice their lives while battling dragons, frost giants, fire demons, a giant serpent that is exactly 40,075.017 km long (search up Earth circumference if you are man enough, bitches) and other such ridiculously impossible-to-meet supernatural enemies, after which he will go to Valhalla, an orgiastic heaven that all true Vandals dream of. No, not the graffiti artists, you stupid junkie! I mean the Visigoths and the Normans, you bitch, people a whole new level above those whiny Anglo-Saxon writers in this putrid land called England who're always bitching about their shitty weather in their phony-ass poems and idiotic love letters when they've never faced the icy sub-zero Kelvin winds of the North Pole frigid enough to freeze Mr. Freeze blowing in their face like there's no tomorrow and believe in this wimpy wimp called Jesus who always talks about this "love" and "forgiveness", blah blah blah that makes my skin crawl instead of the great Pirate God Odin with his cool-ass eyepatch, orgies and natural selection... Oh wait, I just realized: I'm a junkie too! All that's Viking about me is this tiny-ass Mjolnir tattooed on my f***ing 1-inch penis! God damnit...
One of the most refined, but nonetheless deadly, subtype of males. They have the most in common with females, with their agility, stealth, seductiveness, determination, and lethal capacity against males, and sometimes even collaborate with them. However, there is a crucial difference between ninjas and a great majority of females: they are like shadows, being neither seen nor heard until the moment of attack, unlike females, especially of the women subspecies, who are either only seen, being demure towards males, or both seen and heard in excess. Ninjas have to be at least partially of Asian descent, preferably Japanese, and prepared to defend his honor any second or commit seppuku when it has been stained, such as when someone catches him in the disgraceful act of Kitten Huffing.
Must wear an eyepatch and be drunk, or pretend to be intoxicated, on 100-proof Rum at least 60% of waking hours, as well as stay completely unhygenic 100% of the time. That means he is technically committing DUI on the High Seas 24/7, which makes his expert ability to maneuver his often partially decomposing, salt-soaked ship at at least 30+ knots and still spot profitable ships to loot even more astounding. Hey, that's like driving a car at a speed of at least around 35 mph, not hitting anything at all in a road filled with traps and/or rapid curves, and stopping at the exact places while being as high as fuck. And that's not even taking the waves into account. Seriously, these dudes must be Superman. Anyway, being a pirate means having scurvy, a universal sign of coolness in the Seven Seas, since unlike rum and Redbull, orange juice is only for those prissy "meddling kids" like Peter Pan. Also, to go fully hardcore, they must have one limb or more amputated and replaced with prosthetics, preferably a wooden arm with a golden/silver hand or hook, with the missing limb having something insanely important and ex-machina to do with the plot, such as having been cursed, having a treasure map tattooed on it, or being slowly digested inside a fearsome crocodile's belly with an annoyingly ticking watch attached to it.
Black Belt
Must wear self-earned black belt, and must own up to any challenges. Practitioner gains an ability to reward all opponents, no matter how asininely powerful, with a black eye, but only if the opponent is evil; if the opponent has even a single bit of a good heart within him, the black belt user will lose all his powers and asplode turning into a black hole. It's kind of ironic at first glance, if you consider the color of their belt, but then again it may be a message against racism and bias, as so many things are nowadays. Applicants should have a distinct Korean accent and have the eyes of a tiger or a hawk through genetic engineering. They should also have an ability to summon a special Stand unique to each individual called "阿修羅 (asura)", commonly misspelled as their "aura".
Bull Fighter/Rider
¡Hola! ¿Cómo están, Uncyclopedia readers? ¡Bienvenidos! Yo soy Pedro, El "Bull-Fighter" Hombre Guapo. In order to become cool like me, amigo, you must fight/ride no fewer than one bull and be a cowboy from Texas, a matador from Spain, a gaucho from Argentina, or like me, a proud, simple Mexican. Every bull fighter automatically gets Mariachi bands and sexy female flamenco dancers in the background to either serenade his lifelong pursuit of stupidly waving a huge blanket that's always red in front of an ox to get it horny (get it?) despite the cow being totally colorblind or celebrate his final moments of death-orgasm as he is skewered erotically by the ox's horns (¡Fantastico!). Oh, a note to potential applicants: the "ride" part of the requirement does not include bestiary.
Must shoot at and accurately hit target from humanly impossible locations and situations, such as exactly 17 km above enemy territory (preferably Soviet Russia) while maneuvering a stealth attack jet plane flying at Mach 2, 75 m underwater at the Mafia boss on the deck of a cruise ship while fending off a Great White shark, on top of Mount Everest towards a small window of an Al Qaeda terrorist's hideout in Kathmandu while struggling against frostbite and hypoxia without any mountain gear, from the slopes of Mount Merapi at the Kingpin of a notorious Philippines international human trafficking organization hiding amidst the bustling Indonesian village underneath while fleeing from the volcanic eruption, or simply in a fast-moving Honda Prius 2 km away from a hotel even when obviously more favorable time, places and even methods are available.
Kilt and insatiable hunger for haggis a prerequisite, being born and raised in Scotland helps. Must be proficient with the bagpipe, and answer "No, I'm Scotch!!" angrily to any idiotic bloke wondering if he's from Great Britain despite having a name like Malcolm McDonald and inviting Sinn Féin members to a dinner of fish and chips at McDonald's.
WWE Wrestler
Must have good reflexes and fight in a cage, as well as possessing seemingly great abs and most importantly, amazing acting skills, especially when pretending to be overwhelmed by an opponent who is, in truth, as wimpy as he is. There are no rules and law in the barren jungle of the ring, so to survive, a wrestler must be ruthless, shout like a bear on steroids, and have some seriously ridiculous nonsensical catchphrases like "And His name is John Cena!!" or "Here comes Papa Dragon!!!" rivaling the works of Mozart and Willy Wonka in sheer creativity associated with him that will etch the wrestler's names in fans' hearts forever in infamy.
Must live in cave, eat uncooked flesh, use a crude, stone version of mjolnir, and drag females by hair.
Must be at least 90% mechanized by mass and volume, come from a shady, perilous past that continues to haunt him throughout his resurrected life, and have an existential crisis every 10 seconds pondering about why he can no longer feel pain in some stupid body part that doesn't even matter (like a d-yck... oh wait, that's really important. Also, why was he feeling pain in his d-yck in the first place?) or is invulnerable to certain situations, such as burning in fire or stepping on a Lego brick while barefoot, much to the awe, envy or horror of friends and loved ones. Finally, like all anime characters, the cyborg hero's girl must always face serious death threats that she attracts like a disaster magnet despite being completely oblivious to them for some reason, only for her male servant to show up in the most dire moment (after hiding in a conveniently placed bush just around the corner and watching all the while like a stalker, I presume) and display his masculinity in a desperate attempt to protect his (not) one and only lover/cute owner of his mechanized thong.
Must have honor, must like swords, cannot be wapanese, or else. Other requirements are mutual with the ninja.
Heavy Weapons Guy
Не может быть маленький ребенок! Должно быть тяжелым! Должна нравится пистолет! Должно как Бутерброд! должен быть русским! (No can be little baby! Must be heavy! Must like gun! Must like sandvich! Must be Russian!)
Alligator Wrestler
Must wrestle alligators, must retain all arms and legs, and must not commit bestiary in the process. We understand, you love your alligator very much, but the love should be platonic, lest you want Killer Croc lurking amongst us.
Bear wrestler
Same as above ['cept with bears.]
Must hate anything that has to do with Twilight and get high while watching the moon.
Must hide in forest, must have excess of body hair and ample feces caught in fur.
Space Marine
Self-explanatory. :
Must break the fabrics of the universe through sheer, mindless wrath and exhibit multi-stage transformations.
That strange, silent person present in all anime with his eyes shut all the time
Must act inconspicuously and appear nonchalant, seemingly oblivious to events outside of his mind, only to reveal near-impossible degree of mental/physical/supernatural prowess and, when the opponent is already daunted, open his eyes, get serious to the point of changing the style of art, and shatter reality. This type of male human usually only exists in anime, but in very rare cases, he can manifest in real life, in which case the world may be in serious danger. Identifying points include slimness, white/silver hair (sometimes), an exquisite suit or coat, a handsome face, and of course, the closed eyes that still feel like they're wide open and probing into your soul.
Must have motorcycle, mustn't be rice-powered, must defy gravity.
Pokemon Master
Must be man enough to capture deadly wild exotic animals, encase them in a sphere with no food or drink inside that's obviously too small for their size[4], and watch heartlessly as the cute creatures fight to their death. Pokemon are researched, bioengineered and distributed into the wild by ex-Nazi Schutzstaffel scientist Dr. Josef Mengele and ex-Imperial Japanese Unit 731 researcher Professor Okido Nakamura. Applicants must have a general lack of scientific understanding, borderline psychopathy, and a bad google translate machine which will turn the word that was "pocket monster" in katakana Japanese into "pokemon".
Super Saiyan
Must advance through obscene number of levels in this category and effortlessly endure at least 100 G pressure in the hyperbolic time chamber daily. With the help of dragon balls, resurrection literally becomes a hobby, as 007 once said.
Must have some seriously insane ability to regenerate, good looks, high tolerance to alcohol, a British accent, and a Macho, carefree attitude. Incarnations of double-o-seven will gain dozens of female followers who trail behind him as if glued onto him by a strong sticky (James) Bond, but they will either die, get jealous of each other, or betray him, which is a part of his challenge. He will also have a trusty partner S and considerate boss M to guide him through his drunk, womanizing quest against Soviet Russia and the spectral octopus. Most importantly, he will gain the ability of regeneration much like that of a Gallifreyan Time Lord.
Standard '50s Father, or MAD MEN, if you've watched the series
Arguably the most powerful and sought after form a male can take. Horn-rim glasses, a dress shirt, tie, and garter belts often accompany this form, but the mechanics of his true inner workings are poorly understood as they can only be assumed to operate on another plane of existence. This form is graced by a perpetually perfect haircut, a pipe which will never fall from his lips against his will, and a sepia-tone face that is always gloriously clean-shaven and of a stable, confident countenance. One of his stranger traits is the fact that he is always at least four feet taller than any near observer within their own mind, how this passive ability operates could possibly be attributed to some fibre of Eldritch Abomination within his essence... The jack-of-all-trades knowledge and sagely wisdom that come with this form make all others as nothing; a stern talking-to or even a brief but well deserved belting will be administered to anyone foolish enough to incite his calm, controlled yet unstoppable fury. Nothing cannot be overcome by the infinitely male heart, mind and soul of the Standard '50s Father. It is He who is believed to be the True Form of Male, thus the great rarity of those who walk the sacred and immortal path of this perfect creature.

Genitals (A.K.A, "The Man Parts")[edit]

Besides having Honor, any real Man must obviously possess a Penis, as well as two or more or less Testicles, known to the scientific community as "nuts" or "balls" (a male's only genuine weakness). Men are largely controlled by these organs, thus causing men to act extremely stupid in front of females. Penises are usually comprised of solid mythril, mined by only the swarthiest of Dwarves in the deepest bowels of the planet Mars. The Penis not only acts as a organ of reproduction, but also as the male's primary means of self-defense and definer of social hierarchy. Some Men are even capable of beating their enemies into the ground with naught but their Penis alone, although these Men must be careful because this leaves their 'Achilles heel' (aka balls) exposed. This is why size has always been of such importance among males: the bigger the Johnson, the easier it is to annihilate a "noob", and thus garner respect or not, depending on whether Nerds, Jocks or females are around, with females being ambivalent. Unfortunately for the great males, however, usually it's a competition in millimeters since the average length is about 1 inch, with only a few Titan Shifters, mutants, or magicians like Eren Jaeger, Africans, Beast, or Rasputin achieving phenomenal lengths of up to 30 m, at which point the male is literally a dick. Thus, it's the hardness that really matters.

Oh yes, they can get hard, very hard, if only the females would give them a chance... (sob)
— an unnamed Asian male, most likely a Japanese, proposing to a cute pillow. I concur and sympathize with this poor specimen.
Chuck Norris, one of the manliest men that ever walked the manly Earth, and that's not his leg he's "kicking" with...

But I digress. The males suffer from yet another terrible (but thankfully rare) condition called Penis Dismemberment where the male's penis can dry up and fall off, often in a dank basement in front of a computer or inside a female's vagina, in which case the female may also suffer from everlasting orgasm until it is removed or, more frequently, already be in deep sleep being unable to feel or locate the micropenis, the most notable case being the Sleeping Beauty. Penis Dismemberment generally happens at EXACTLY 30 years of age, but only in 0.05% of men. It is a great social stigma and a shame that is never spoken of above a whisper for fear of becoming a victim... Many men die after Penis Dismemberment, as the penis is one of the most vital organs of the male anatomy. If you feel you are in danger of Penis Dismemberment, please call your nearest P.P. (Penis Practitioner). If a male suffers from Penis Dismemberment and is not slain by another man to free him from his suffering, one of three things can happen: The male is sent to the deepest bowels of Mars, where peni are manufactured, and the Dwarves attempt to attach a penis into his Vagina/Mangina. If the Dwarves fail to attach a new member then they can order a special Titanium one from Skymall for the low, low price of 666 gold coins. However, a male who has lost his manhood and whose body rejects the mithril graft will become transmogrified into a beautiful and treacherous female, otherwise known as a Siamese, within 48 hours. Once fully enveloped by the female hive-mind, he who has become she can be a powerful and deadly foe, applying makeup, wearing a bra, and causing widespread death of Swarthy-Dwarves in the Mythril pits of Mars. Once subdued the now female will be caged, tranquilized, and shipped to Venus or the sun. Either way is fine. Man's greatest fear is vagina, but because of the mighty testosterone produced by their nethers every true male, even the gay ones, desire to meet its worthy challenge more than anything, and at all times (even whilst sleeping).


Males are known for being able to screw up/with anything with their hands and make it anew, be it a turning a tree into a blunt cudgel, an animal bone into a sharp stabbing implement, a mound of rusted steel into a train fueled by coalified dinosaur excrement, an abandoned animal burrow into a comfortable and well furnished house with hot and cold running water and centralized air conditioning, Duplo blocks into a pyramid, giant robot, or even a planet, Males have been able to build it, someway, somehow. One of the Male tribes' most notable traits is the ability to bring home bacon, and as famous bread winners. The bacon is generally carved from the flanks of vanquished questing beasts and smoked in hand-dug pits over slow-burning Ent wood. Bread is generally won in contests of might, such as Caber Toss, Tug O' War, other Scottish Games, or simply by killing another male and taking his bread and bacon. In mixed societies where men include the more trustworthy of the untrustworthy females, men have taken them in and engaged in symbiosis by setting them to work, most notably for cooking, "doing it" and cleaning up indoor "man-leavings", in exchange for protection from harsh weather and wild animals, found scraps of bacon and bread that the males bring home at random intervals, and protection from other males' mythril hammers. At the end of the day though, a Male's true work is to prove his worthiness so that he can enter the great hall of Valhalla, where he can eat and fight and pork Valkyries alongside Thor and friends for all eternity.

Recreation and Personal Life[edit]

Males generally spend the time not spent fighting, working, or masturbating engaging in a variety of quaint pastimes that outsiders can only describe as "disturbing". The first is the daily ritual where the male marks his territory by tinkling mightily on his front door and on foliage at the borders of his territory; he always does this before an outing. One of the better known of their games involves kicking the eviscerated carcass of a hapless swine that fell afoul of the males' inconceivable wrath. The males fight over it awarding points to warring sides for mangling the porker back and forth across the field and intermittently tackling one another. This sport is named; you guessed it: Rugby. And to the victors go the spoils: the adoration of their fans and the greatly coveted and appropriately dubbed "pigskin". It is dragged from the arena, hosed off, deep fried and promptly eaten by the deserving Spartan team. Males also enjoy music to make babies by. The national genre of the planet Sparta is "EPIC TRAILER MUSIC" It can still be found on Youtube to this very day.

Courting the Adversary and Reproduction[edit]

Despite their difficult history and mutually taking advantage of each other, males invest a lot of energy and resources in romancing the vicious female hordes. They spend all of their gold and jewels to buy slightly different gold and jewels for the females to adorn their sinister and extremely hot bodies with. Furnishing food in its raw and unfettered form is often attempted but rarely successful in wooing one of the shrewd females, who know a pathetic inferior male when they see one. A smarter male will take her to a nice restaurant, although he will squirm and shiver at the thought of staying civilized for more than an hour. If he is successful in catching the wily female's attention, he will invite her to his lair, and his nest of moose hides, where the real trial begins. If the pile of money, in units of animal bones, outside his lair is too small, or if his "bone" is too short, then she will not be impressed and will likely leave him for a male with more bones (or cash and dildos, if you prefer the uncensored, "manly" version lacking any euphemism). However, if his skill at killing other living things is ample, she will join him and they will likely make love for an average of three minutes, ten minutes at the most if he has great stamina and a strong mind. After the female develops her inner egg sac, she will nag and threaten the male that she has deceived into impregnating her into bringing bizarre and exotic foods for her to consume. And so, the male goes off with his tail betwixt his legs, questing for peanut butter, pickles, 10 pounds of whipped cream, chop suey, haggis, bear claw, fresh tuna and salmon, foie gras, truffles, giant squid eyeball pizza, nutritious polar bear livers, and other menus that he thought only existed in ancient texts (that he obviously never bothered to read, since he's a man) out in the dangerous wilderness of the Mega-Lo market, where only the fittest can survive. The female will become increasingly territorial and hostile during the gestation of the hybrid offspring, often leaving the male to sleep on the couch... On the front lawn. When the female is ready to birth the whelps, her water will break, causing her to have a nuclear meltdown and sublimate into an entity made of pure plasma that will scare the living shit out of maternity ward doctors and the poor bloke that had to deal with her for nine months with her unearthly cries as sepulchral and horrifying as the shrieks of the banshee. "At least, after all this is over, the babies will spontaneously spawn in nearby cellars, mulch piles, beneath stadium bleachers, and in Da Hood capable of fending for themselves so that I can go back to my barbaric lifestyle and have sex again." is the age-old excuse and self-hypnosis that males have come up with to refuse contraception all for that one split-second of ejaculatory bliss, much to their chagrin later when they find themselves suffering the Nine Months of Apocalyptic Horror and becoming emasculated and domesticated by the feminist society, wearing aprons to cook dinner right after returning from 15 hours straight of forced labor per weekday in a fancy suit and a civilized company with a sadistic female boss both at home and at work for the rest of his miserable life for his child(ren) with Ph.Ds and an impressive resume that no one cares about feeding off of him 95% of the time.[5][6] That, or he says "Fuck it." and goes into the legendary Willy Wonka mode, breaking bad and turning into a badass ex-chemistry teacher through manufacturing and "testing" 99.1% pure radioactive Blue Sky in order to join Da Thug Life and continue his quest of vandalism against the world.


  1. D-yck [di-yíck]: noun. 1. the official term for the reproductive organ of males, to be differentiated with the word dick that designates a person that appears to exhibit the qualities of a d-yck; it is pronounced with a high-pitched inflection at the end as if someone is shoving his d-yck straight up your å-ss (Å-ss [Aa~ss]: to be uttered or sung poetically with a foreboding British accent. See page 69.) as you are saying the word.
  2. **For true Whovians only** Not to be confused with the famous Slitheen singer songwriter group IFSR, the "Ima Fuckin' Sexy Raxacoricofallapatorian"
  3. Damn, I guess the Muslims had one thing right; men, especially fundamentalist Arabs, are serious perverts who would pounce upon a single glimpse of female flesh. Obviously the veils are necessary for their sanity.
  4. Either this is solid proof that aliens exist, along with the pokemons themselves (I wonder why Ancient Aliens isn't looking into this shit), or some serious animal abuse is going on here, unless the pokemon in question a gas-type or that unbreakable electric hamster Pikachu. This kind of cruelty is probably illegal everywhere on Earth, except in Japan, where all fetishes are born, in Texas, where everything is legal, and in Italy, where everything is allowed with "Buon Giorno. Oh, yes. Money, yes, Si, Si, Si(Do)!".
  5. This phenomenon can be explained by the 95% HCI, or Humanoids' Confidence Interval (not hydrochloric acid, sorry chemophiles), which demonstrates that within the normal distribution of human offspring, the bottom 2.5% of children will either die prematurely or become nerds, savants or X-men and only the top 2.5% will become the Spartan savages that can bring pride to their barbaric species, with the middle 95% becoming mindless "Tanguys" who have no productive desires in life, i.e. publishers of Uncyclopedia articles like myself. Personally, I'm rooting for the bottom 97.5%, which will unite to save the world from this mess and create the new Empire of Nerdistan while the males get cirrhosis from their overconsumption of the "Mighty Redbull" and croak heroically after fighting over the size of their infinitesimal d-ycks (Yep, this is how the article fucks with its own glorious subject matter, man.).
  6. The 95% HCI can be applied to humanoid/subhuman species such as the Greys, the Gallifreyans, the Vulcans, the Vampires, the females, the furries, the nadsat, the nerds, the bigfoots, the bullies, the pygmies, the pedophiles, and the politicians.

See also[edit]