Although he'll likely hunt me down and shoot me with a black-powder rifle for linking to him, I just have to, I simply can't help it.

New York women discovered on September 11, 2001 that the metrosexuals who were into their feelings, wore perfectly matched clothing, had perfect manicures, and made great conversation weren't worth a damn when the sky started falling. But there were a bunch of macho men who ran into burning towers to rescue them. Thus they now look for men who can protect them, and if they want to spend the fall hunting Bambi or Sundays watching a bunch of gorillas try to capture and move a funny shaped ball, then it's okay because they feel safe with them.

They know if the boogieman comes for them, their man is going to rip his head off and mount it on the wall. That might be extreme, but it's a lot more useful than cowering in the corner. A lot of women drivers have figured out that the latest XK is beautiful, and a Miata is cute, but when the rain is at 6" an hour or some evildoer is aiming to run them off the road preparatory to kidnap-rape-murder, some big, strong vehicle that can climb a 30% slope, go over a 6" curb, and withstand a T-bone by a Kenworth is probably the vehicle to have in a pinch.

This guy sells cars. I bet you'd be afraid to not buy the car.

Macho men can rejoice (by, no doubt, having a politically incorrect beer and watching a movie with guns, explosions, and nipples.) Then they can go outside and wash/wax the wife's new GL450, ML350, or G500.

What movie is that? Where can I rent it?