As the birthday celebrations of the Baby Jesus fade into our rearview mirror, and the misery of Dry January takes hold, once more the stench of sin pervades the land. Another odour joins it. The smell of weakness. Alongside sloth, gluttony, envy, and all the greatest hits, is the limp-wristed whine of wetness. The mincing march of the sissy. In the worlds of Paula Cole, where have all the cowboys gone?
I haven’t seen such light-toed femininity among men since I awoke in a gimp mask in a Bangkok ladyboy go-go bar joined some fellow men of the cloth on a trip to view the cathedrals of France. So it falls to me, the most reverend Reverend, to help the flock rediscover manliness. Proper, manly manliness. Muscled, oiled, sweaty manliness that is entirely secure in its heterosexuality… ahem…
The best way to prove your masculinity is to unload into a box. To unburden your soul, so to speak. So once more the Last Movie Outpost Confession Booth is wide open for you to release. Only one deity is powerful enough to take such a load of sin. Hark for she does approacheth! The Goddess Gal Gadot has awakened and she is hungry to feat upon your sins. She also has meticulously joined cabinetry.
Do any real men walk among us? Is Last Movie Outpost the final refuge in this sissified world of wet queefs?
What is the scene or sequence in a movie that you consider the most macho?
What makes your manliness flow, makes your machismo peak. Which scene, upon watching it, puts hair on your chest, lowers your voice an octave, and makes you want to immediately throw your partner over your shoulder and head for the bedroom in a blizzard of testosterone? For lady Outposters (both of you), which scene leaves you breathlessly wishing for a real man?
The time of your confession is at hand. You must confess. CONFESS!
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