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I am a man. Sometimes I am an asshole, even I’ll admit that. I have a demanding demeanor at work, and am not afraid to delegate responsibilities to my subordinates, who likely fear me. Outside of work, I grab beers with the boys and talk sports, business, and women. We burp, fart, chew tobacco, and call each other vile names, because that’s what men do. We even talk about each other’s hot sisters and how we want to bang them. Sorry, but it’s true.
With all that said and done, deep down inside is a fragile ego created by a caring, sweet, and mentally unstable mother. I am a “mama’s boy” through and through. Most of us are, really — we just don’t talk about it because it would take away from our beards and love of a good prime cut. Our mothers, no matter…
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