Well I’m not the kind to kiss and tell, but I’ve been seen with Farrah…
I’ve never been with anything less than a 9…so fine…
I’ve been on fire with Sally Field, gone fast with a girl named Bo…
But somehow, they just don’t end up as mine…
It’s a death defying life I lead, I take my chances…
I die for a living in the movies and tv…
But the hardest thing I ever do is watch my leading ladies…
kiss some other guy while I’m bandaging my knee…
I might fall from a tall building, I might roll a brand new car…
’cause I’m the unknown stuntman, that made Redford such a star…”
Yes folks, the unknown stuntman turns 70 today. Lee Majors may no longer be the Bionic Man, but he is certainly more of a man than the sissies masquerading as males on television today.
No, a man does not have to end up with Farrah Fawcett to be a man. Nor does he have to wed a Playboy playmate. Then again, to do both certainly does not hurt anybody in the “guy cred” department.
I never spent much time in school, but I taught ladies plenty…
It’s true I hire my body out for pay…hey hey…
I’ve gotten burned over Cheryl Tiegs, blown up for Raquel Welch…
But when I wind up in the hay it’s only hey, hey hey…
I might jump an open drawbridge, or Tarzan from a vine…
’cause I’m the unknown stuntman, that makes Eastwood look so fine…
Most women won’t admit it, but they do privately find flattery in a guy willing to discombobulate himself solely to impress her.
I was 25 when I turned into Colt Seavers. Playing in a softball game at my Summer Camp reunion, I was on first base in a tie game in the bottom half of the ninth inning. The next batter hit a double, and the third base coach gave me the signal to stay at third base.
What he failed to understand was that the girl I adored from age 11 to age 14 was standing behind the third base coach. I was homeward bound as the coach screamed for me to stop. She saw me, and to this day I maintain that her smile told me that I would be rewarded at home base.
I wish she would have communicated that to my buddy playing the outfield. He still has a gun of an arm, and naturally my attempts at beating the throw through osmosis was not communicated to him. The ball got to the catcher before I did, but in the split second I had to react, I remembered the rule that for the out to count, the catcher had to hang onto the ball.
Everybody from my parents to my teachers told me growing up to use my head. So I did. One violent collision later, two bodies were sprawled on the dirt. The ball was near the dugout, and the catcher was not getting it. I looked over, saw her smiling, and for pure theatre, rolled over and banged my fist on home plate.
Everybody laughed, although the catcher, still on the ground next to me yelled, “Get over her. It was 1985. You’ve both moved on.”
Three or four guys helped me up, walked me to her, and yes, I still maintain to this day that she was impressed. Besides, within days I was walking just fine. She and I even took a walk that day. Well I hobbled and she walked, but we spent over an hour together talking.
I was the Fall Guy for 70 minutes. I cannot imagine a guy being that cool for 70 years.
They’ll never make me President, but I’ve got the best First Ladies…
Some days I’ve got ’em as far as the eye can see, hoo wee…
I’ve born and died with Jackie Smith, I crash in the night with Cheryl…
But in the end they never stay with me…
I might fall from a tall building, so Burt Reynold’s don’t get hurt…
I might leap a mighty canyon, so he can kiss and flirt…
While that smooth talker’s kissing my girl, I’m just kissing dirt…
Yes I’m the lonely stuntman, that made a lover out of Burt.
America needs more Fall Guys. Heck, we need more “Guys.” When I say guys, I mean GUYS.
Look at television today. Every sitcom has a superwoman mother, surly kids, and a clown of a father that is another overgrown child that the wife has to tolerate.
I still don’t know how we went from Magnum, P.I. to the (thankfully canceled) Lipstick Jungle.
I blame Phil Donahue, among others. Maybe he likes getting his hide kicked by Marlo Thomas, but I miss the days when being a guy was not a bad thing.
I watch football, eat red meat, and am fine with movies where they gratuitously blow sh*t up. When a guy (he looked like a guy, but I remain unsure to this day) once asked me if I watched (again thankfully long since canceled) Ally McBeal, I had to wipe the look of shock off of my face and explain to him about a program called “Monday Night Football.” Until Ally McBeal can stop a fullback on 4th and goal at the one yard line, I have no reason to pay attention to her.
Sometimes I think radical feminists and their barely male counterparts purposely put abominable anti-alpha male programming on Monday nights. I still have nightmares that “Designing Women” existed.
Sly Stallone, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Bruce Willis are all Republican alpha males. Tom Selleck has voted Republican. Yet this is not just about politics. It is about taking back the male gender from the leftist sensitivity movement that thinks that boys playing with dolls is acceptable. No, it isn’t, although “action figures” should be encouraged.
How many women want their daughters to grow up and act like boys? Virtually none of them. Yet radical feminists want boys to feel that drinking something straight from the bottle and putting it back in the fridge incorrectly makes a man a neanderthal. Is it any wonder that guys that like their shirts untucked are going around the country beating up metrosexuals (if they are not, they should.)?
Real men today consist of Burt Reynolds, Dennis Farina, Lee Majors, and a bunch of beta males. I wish they had medicine to get rid of beta males. Actually, that might be what beta blockers are for. They are like the v-chip for effeminate behavior, in the same way my television came with a v-chip that blocked the Lifetime network.
I don’t negotiate with terrorists, I don’t bow down before dictators, and I don’t pretend to use my body as a live grenade because a girl has attractive brains.
Yeah, that fall in the dirt hurt like heck. Yet like a real man, I got back up.
So to all the guys out there that heed my words, it is better to be discombobulated than emasculated.
“That smooth talker’s kissing my girl, I’m just kissing dirt.”
I got the “my hero” kiss after the collision back in 1997. Now she is married to somebody else.
Hey, even Lee Majors lost the girl, and more than once at that.
Yet at age 70, he is still more of a man than the effeminates half his age that make up television today.
From the “Fall Guy” to “Yes, Dear” in only 20 years.
The male gender may be collapsing on all fronts, but for this one day let’s harken back and celebrate a time when he had power over…anything.
For one day, in 1997, I was the unknown stuntman, that made Majors look so fine.
Happy Birthday Lee Majors. For alpha males everywhere, I salute you sir.
Ok, off to the store to buy stuff for my girlfriend that I really hate talking about.
Alpha male? What a beta joke.
eric aka the Tygrrrr Express
blacktygrrrr@earthlink.net
http://www.tygrrrrexpress.com