I don’t wear a mask to protect you. Why not? Because screw you. I do it because me.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s great that everyone wears a mask now. Why? Smiling. I don’t have to look at all the goddamn smiling anymore. Before, I couldn’t walk down my own street without everybody smiling for no reason. Some old lady wants to get on the bus ahead of me. Fine, whatever. Then what does she do? Smiles at me. Screw you, grandma, just get on the goddamn bus and let’s go.
I’d go to a restaurant. I’d order a meal. What do they do? That’s right, they goddamn smile at me. Screw you, Trainee, just hand over my Whopper and fries then go screw off and find a mask.
Masks are good. Firemen wear masks. Awesome masks. Big goddamn masks for running into burning buildings to save puppies. I was going to be a fireman once — they begged me to join when they saw my bod — then something else came up. You’re not a fireman either, so just shut up.
One big reason I wear a mask is the ladies. They get one good look at this chiseled façade and the panties just drop to the floor. For an irresistible chunk of gent like me it’s best to cover up with a mask so I can get on with my goddamn business without getting constantly mobbed. Even a professional pussy wrangler can only take so much. It’s always been like that for me, so go screw your ugly self with a frozen broomstick.
I wear a mask because it’s badass. Badass dudes wear masks. Like those badass cowboys rustlin’ cattle and ridin’ into town with masks on and the womenfolk run off and hide in a cellar. Okay, they’re bandanas but same goddamn idea. Then they burst into a saloon and uncork whiskey bottles with their teeth and drink the whole goddamn thing. They take their masks off for that. Then they put them straight back on again and go rob a bank and shoot everybody because screw them.
Then there’s The Mask. You seen that? With Jim Carrey? It’s pretty goddamn out there. You don’t think so? Then go screw a goat.
I’d wear a mask on my Harley, if I had a Harley. And I wear a mask every time I stand near some bro’s Hog. Because I could take that Fat Boy out to Highway 50 and ride that ribbon of freedom into the wide Nevada sunset every goddamn day. No helmet, just a mask to keep the goddamn June bugs out of my teeth.
I wear a mask because I’m a man. A real man. As a real man, I smoke cigars. Big goddamn real cigars. After I spark up a stogie first thing in the morning, I put on a mask to keep that musky, real man aroma circulating all goddamn day. By 10:30 a.m. I’ve inhaled and exhaled so much oxygen-depleted personal man-stink that I start hallucinating like a technicolor lava lamp. I bet you want a slice of that heaven. But no, screw you.
Goalies wear masks. No, not soccer goalies, you goddamn Euro-pansy. I’m talking NHL.
Mostly I wear a mask all goddamn day to show my solidarity with the brave women and men who serve our great nation. Notice I said women first to prove I’m not a sexist. When you look at all the wars we won — Vietnam, Korea, that Gulf War country, and goddamn World War Two — one thing totally stands out. Masks. Our soldiers wear masks in trenches, masks on fighter jets, masks in tanks, masks jumping out of choppers, masks in the jungle and masks in the desert. Nothing says USA! USA! USA! real loud three times in a row quite like wearing a mask.
Because wearing a mask is wearing freedom. It’s goddamn America right there on your face.
Especially a mask with a stylish camouflage pattern or a patriotic Stars & Stripes motif, available in a range of convenient sizes.
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Or go screw yourself, goddamn commie.
Paul Ruta is an old ad guy who lives in Hong Kong. He wrote a children’s book under the pen name Andy Spearman, published by Penguin Random House. He has talked baseball with Vidal Sassoon and has won a trophy for throwing a Frisbee very far. http://www.paulthomasruta.com