Are you looking to carry yourself like a modern gentleman? Does your demeanor turn people off? Is it because you were raised by aardvarks? I see you nodding your head yes.
I’m here to help, because I too was raised by aardvarks. I too know the difficulties of entering a room as a modern gentleman when your entire being screams, “I am a sub-Saharan pig-like animal!”
To be a gentleman, first get yourself a tailored suit. Don’t picture how it will look as you scavenge for ants– that’s not you anymore. You glide debonairly down banisters. You do not have four legs ideal for digging burrows with multiple entrances; you have two legs that float across dance floors. (Note: embrace dancing even though it feels counter to survival.) I know, there was a time you could dig the hell out of a burrow– fourteen, fifteen entrances, sometimes more. Bitch-ass hyenas were left scratching their dumb mullets as you darted into entrance #9 behind the peyote cactus. You were one badass capital-double-A AARDVARK. Man I feel you. That was me in a nutshell. Trotting through the Sahara like my feces didn’t put predators on my trail. You know what though? Forget all of it. Ant Season is over. You are a man, and the time has come to dig a burrow in a man’s world. Just make sure you do it wearing cufflinks.
Second, your fingernails and toenails should always be clean and manicured. “Ridiculous!” you’re thinking, “that people would expect this of me after a day of cracking through crusty termite mounds,” right? But wait, why would you be doing that? You’re a man. STOP EATING TERMITES. If you have some in your mouth now, spit them discretely into a napkin (the one in your lap!), excuse yourself from the table and flush them down the nearest toilet. It’s not what a gentleman eats. He eats foie gras and croissants– anything requiring a slight French accent. Sure, there was a time female aardvarks got all gooey when you showed them your filthy, chipped nails. You’d be like, “Yeah, I probably foraged 50,000 termites today. Got some back at my burrow.” And she’d be all, “I should really wait for my friends...” And you’d be like, “Suit yourself, I’ll just mate with someone else--” And she’d be all, “Wait! Where’s your burrow?” Score. Next thing you know, she’s staring at fifteen strategically dug entrances all leading to one tricked-out, sub-Saharan mammalian cave. Those were the days.
You may be wondering if I’m for real. “Does this guy seriously think my interest in becoming a gentleman stems from my aardvarkian past?” Fuck you, this is not a joke. When I was a young boy on safari in Botswana, my parents were mauled my lions after attempting to hug them, and aardvarks took me in. They prepared me for a life of eating ants and digging burrows with multiple entrances, and I thank them for it. But then, years later, after poachers discovered me napping in an empty ant nest (excavated by yours truly), I was poached and sold back to my real grandparents in San Diego. I had to retrain myself to behave like a man, i.e. not run for my life in a zigzag fashion every time the neighbor’s goddam pug, Saffron, came into our yard. I would have to repeat it to myself: “He is not a predator. He is Saffron the pug.”
It was a hard road. Kids in the neighborhood would call me Arnold “anteater” Goldblatt. I am not a goddam anteater! YES aardvarks eat ants. YES they have long, beautiful noses built to jam down anthills, but they’re nowhere close to being related to anteaters. Anteaters are of the suborder Vermilingua while aardvarks are of the order Tubulidentata. It’s like if you called an armadillo an elephant shrew. Exactly– duh.
So after years of ridicule, I decided to make sure no one ever mistook me for a sub-Saharan pig-like animal again. I decided to become more than just Arnold Goldblatt, the kid down the street who ate a SHITLOAD of ants. I became a gentleman, and now I want to give back to the young men who face the same problem. I want them to know it gets better. Better than a volcano of tasty fire ants scattering helplessly from your sticky snakelike tongue. Fire ants are not all that. They think they’re hot shit, but I’ll suck up two thousand of those little pussies in one snort without feeling a single sting. Punk-ass fire ants. Not that I would ever…anyway, where was I?
As a gentleman you should always wear a classy watch. Never be caught checking the time on your cellphone or by the angle of a soldier-anthill’s shadow.
Finally, and most importantly, to be a gentleman, you must behave as one, e.g. say please and thank you, don’t curse, don’t poop on the floor of an Olive Garden (been there), etc. When a woman enters the room, do not feel threatened and run for the nearest burrow– stand up. When meeting another gentleman, do not flip onto your back and lash out with all fours– shake his hand firmly. When the check comes, do not snort and bellow– reach for it.
That’s it. Follow these rules and I guarantee, when you look into the mirror, even though the thing staring back at you may still seem strange and grotesque, he will be a gentleman.
Oh and remove your hat indoors.