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    Be a Man: The Ultimate Guide
    Be a Man: The Ultimate Guide
    Be a Man: The Ultimate Guide
    Ebook198 pages4 hours

    Be a Man: The Ultimate Guide

    By The Be a Man Guy

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    About this ebook

    A Tik Tok, Instagram, and podcast sensation, The Be a Man Guy discusses what it takes to Be a Man in this funny and insightful book.
     
    Sharing stories, vignettes, anecdotes, and pearls of wisdom, Be a Man celebrates and pokes fun at the strengths and flaws of men today, offering timeless advice on How to Be a Man, including:
     
    * Never ask for directions, or use a GPS, just drive around forever.
    * Fall asleep watching TV, then get pissed off when somebody changes the channel.
    * If you can’t fix something, chuck a wrench.
    * If you can’t find what you’re looking for in a store, don’t ask for help. Walk out.
    * When your dog dies, hand dig its grave. After all he was your best friend.
     
    The Be a Man Guy also takes readers into his early years, from learning math from his uncle the bookie to discovering deep truths about life from the patrons who drank and gambled at his family’s bar in East Boston. Whether in stories or one liners, The Be a Man Guy will make you laugh and shake your head in recognition.
     
    Be a Man: The Ultimate Guide lets men of the world (and the women that might live with them) know that they are not alone.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateNov 1, 2022
    ISBN9780063272699
    Author

    The Be a Man Guy

    THE BE A MAN GUY, aka “Harmon,” was born and raised in East Boston, Massachusetts, in the 1960s. He was raised in a barroom by his uncles who were loan sharks and bookmakers. He has worked in jobs across the board from selling mortgages to being a bouncer at some of Boston’s biggest establishments. His dad was a mailman in Boston who saw it all and raised his three sons with the manliest of outlooks.

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      Book preview

      Be a Man - The Be a Man Guy

      Introduction

      HERE WE ARE

      I’ve been busting my ass for the past fifty years. I’ve seen every scam, I’ve run every hustle, from running numbers for bookies to every kind of construction to private security to processing mortgages and buying real estate. A few years back, I started to think about settling down and retiring, sitting by the pool with a scotch on the rocks and just watching the clock run out. Then Be a Man exploded across social media and completely changed the course of my life. Now in the twilight of my career, I have been thrust into the role of the Godfather of the Be a Man Mafia.

      We call it the Be a Man Mafia because even if I wanted to get out, the Mafia wouldn’t let me. These days, I can barely walk down the street without some maniac yelling, Be a Man, out of the window of a passing car or someone pulling over to the side of the road to ask for a picture to show their friends. For years, I lived happily in the shadows. Now complete strangers are walking up and asking me for advice on how to Be a Man when I’m taking a piss. So instead of doing a stop and chat with every asshole for the next twenty years, I wrote a book to serve as the Ultimate Guide. Now leave me alone.

      The Struggle Isn’t Real, It’s Everything

      Work harder, not smarter. Be a Man.

      These days, every young guy is looking for the easy way out. They want to cut corners at work, they want to get rich quick, they want to pick up girls with no effort. Since I was a little boy, I was always taught never to take shortcuts, that the road to success was a backbreaking one. We grew up framing houses by hand for shit pay, we worked long days at multiple jobs and somehow only made enough money to still be broke, we put in countless hours buying way too many drinks at smoke-filled local dives trying to pick up women.

      Don’t buy drinks for girls. Always go home alone. Be a Man.

      There were no YouTube tutorials, no cryptocurrencies that could make you a millionaire overnight, no dating apps you could use to handpick Filipino chicks under five feet tall who like dogs and Jack Daniel’s. We were taught to work for everything . . . and that’s the way we liked it. If you really want to be a man, here’s a helpful life hack: life hacks are for cowards. The hardest way is the only way.

      Don’t take the elevator. Take the stairs. Be a Man.

      As men, we’ve always been on a mission to do it our way, no matter how difficult or ridiculous it might seem to everyone else. As far back as I can remember, my brothers and I learned life lessons by doing chores around the house. My dad didn’t wait for the perfect conditions or supply us with the best tools for the job, he made us struggle in order to learn. This is a lesson I have applied in all facets of life over the past five decades. It’s not just about taking the scenic route instead of taking a shortcut, it’s about abandoning all possible routes in favor of the longest, most nerve-shredding, life-threatening, inches-wide coyote path on the side of an unforgiving cliff till you feel like you’re losing your fucking mind from terror and regret.

      Don’t let anyone ruin your day. Ruin it yourself. Be a Man.

      When the leaves fall off the trees in November here in New England, the northeast wind blows and they go everywhere. Cleaning them up can quickly turn into a month-long project. Just when you think you’re done, a strong gust of wind out of nowhere blows everything from your lazy prick next-door neighbor’s yard into yours and you’re back to square one.

      I’ve been told that leaves rake best when they’re light and crisp, but I wouldn’t know. While the eager beavers were out there as soon as the first leaves dropped, we grew up with a different, more challenging approach. We would ALWAYS get our leaf assignments fresh off of a nor’easter. Those light, crisp leaves would soak up water until they weighed as much as wet concrete and smelled like the flooded basement of an abandoned insane asylum. My dad said it was good that the leaves were heavy because it made for a better workout. You don’t have to go to the gym today. Lucky you.

      Blow your leaves onto your neighbor’s lawn. Be a Man.

      When we had to paint the house, there were no sprayers, no rollers, no fancy blue tape for the windows. There was a brush, a bucket, and a don’t fuck anything up pep talk. Any asshole can use a roller on a wall but painting the edges next to windows with a brush taught us how to do the job right. No one ever became great at anything by putting in the least amount of effort. Sometimes in life, struggle and hardship are exactly what we need.

      Don’t take the easy way out. Struggle at all costs. Be a Man.

      A STRUGGLE FOR EVERY SEASON

      FALL is all about harvesting and cashing in on the hard work you put in all year long. Time to hunt, gather, and prepare for the winter. Spend a thousand dollars at Costco on canned chili and booze in plastic jugs.

      Don’t use a log splitter. Chop three cords of hickory by hand. Be a Man.

      WINTER has always been synonymous with things like death, pain, and being miserable. It has always been a time to reset, throw on twenty pounds, and hibernate. We only leave the house for the essentials and when we do, we are wearing shorts.

      Don’t use a snowblower. Shovel the whole driveway by hand. Be a Man.

      SPRING is when everything and everyone comes to life. The birds return, the flowers are blooming, and the squirrels and other vermin emerge from hibernation. This is the perfect time to start tackling those jobs in the yard and on the exterior of the house that you have been contemplating all winter while the girls shed their North Face jackets.

      Don’t use a nail gun. Hammer till your fucking arm falls out of the socket. Be a Man.

      SUMMER is the only time we really feel alive. On a hot summer day with the top down on the car, we feel like we are twenty years old again. The world is full of possibilities and we feel like we can do anything: get a bad case of poison ivy, get a case of the clap, get a DUI.

      Take all the groceries in one trip, in one hand, and cut all your circulation off. Be a Man.

      Born to Be a Man

      Every day after school from when I was nine years old, I hung out in my uncle’s bar, the American House Café, down the street from my house in East Boston. I can still smell the beer and the booze-soaked hardwood floors and the smoke from a dozen lit Marlboros wafting through the air.

      Rip butts till you’re dead. Be a Man.

      Most days consisted of me sitting on the bar drinking Cokes from the fountain as the neighborhood drunks, shipyard workers, and degenerate gamblers stumbled through the door. Some were there for a drink but most of them were there to place a bet with my Uncle Libby. Other kids learned how to do math in school, but I learned by sticking close to my uncle. Libby drove big red Cadillacs, and always wore a suit and glasses with a pen behind his ear and a folded-up newspaper under his arm. His hair smelled like Tres Flores pomade and he liked to keep a glass of water on top of the fridge because he said it kept it cold. He was married once for nine months but his wife chased him through Day Square in East Boston with an axe one afternoon. Libby always had a wad of cash on him as thick as a two-by-four. If you wanted to gamble on the horses or the Celtics back in those days, there was no credit: you had to show up with the cash plus the vig in hand to get in on the action.

      Pay for everything in cash. Be a Man.

      Libby’s brother, my Uncle Nacco, worked the front of the house, serving drinks and running the day-to-day while Libby ran the books. Italians were a different breed back then. These two brothers ran a business together, they sat ten feet apart all day long, but they still barely spoke to each other. They liked to use me as a carrier pigeon, walking back and forth across the room to relay messages, even though they could both hear what the other was saying. I could see them perk up the minute I walked into the room and over to the bar.

      Your uncle is being a real prick today, you know, Nacco muttered as he handed me a wad of cash.

      When I walked over to hand it to Libby, he snapped back, Tell Nacco to go fuck himself!

      The only time I ever heard one of them say something nice about the other was the day we got raided. Two cops busted through the side door. Libby tucked his newspaper under his arm, put his hat on real low, and made his way to the back door. Before he could slip out, a cop grabbed him by the arm and slammed him against the wall.

      Nacco stood up and yelled, Get your fucking hands off him, he’s an old man.

      Always talk shit about your family, but if someone else does it, fight ’em. Be a Man.

      The American House Café was never busy, and that’s the way they liked it. They served a couple of kinds of beer, whiskey, scotch, pretzels, and the occasional sandwich or burger. Nothing crazy. Most bars rely on booze to keep the doors open, but not here. Guys rolling their paychecks on a thoroughbred in the last race at Belmont is what moved the needle.

      Spend all your money on shit that will kill you. Be a Man.

      Most people would say the inside of a seedy bar is no place for a kid but I learned more inside those four walls than I ever learned in school. One day, one of the regular delivery guys walked through the empty barroom and grabbed a fistful of dollars out of the tip jar on his way out the door. I was tucked away in the corner and saw the whole thing but he never saw me. As soon as he got around the corner, I

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