Cliff here. I’ve spent most of my life hunting wild, and occasionally domesticated animals. Big cats, housecats, rabbit, bear, moose, and any other sort of animal (in my “down time”, I slay ladies). A few years ago, I found myself bored and disillusioned. That is, of course, until I discovered the joy of hunting the world’s most intelligent game animal-man. I would like to ask Les Stroud and Bear Grylls to participate in a series I’d like to call Man vs. Survivorman, then give them both a knife and flint, and see who comes out alive. This is the same cunning competition I’ve held every year with one of my current (now former) rivals. I would call them “friends”, but women have friends. Men only have other men who may threaten their position in the breeding heirarchy of the local females.

The ninth time I hunted a man was in the late summer of 1998. The leaves had not yet begun to turn, but the nights were growing colder. We were allowed to carry in nothing except the clothes on our back, and one comfort item. I chose a ridiculously hot chick. They’re always good for warmth, and can provide a little entertainment when the night gets too long and boring. My rival, who will remain nameless since he lost his name when he lost the hunting expedition, decided on a gun for his “comfort item”. Strike one. I even let him bring a box of bullets. I didn’t even need the warming comfort of my hot chick, since he let his guard down on the first night, so I snuck up on him in the dark and stomped a mudhole in his girly ass, subsequently killing him. Disappointing.

1989 was my first hunt, and was a much better year than the “Nancy of ‘98″ debacle. A bouncer at the Double Deuce (a local bar), to this day he retains the title of my worthiest adversary. With his philosophical view on life, I allowed myself to think that I had finally met my match. With his sterling survival skills, he has earned the right to keep his name, even in death-Patrick Swayze. I do have some irritation with how his constant worry of my whereabouts as well as when I would make my move led him to waste slowly away, but the media perpetuated the story that he had some form of cancer. The former James Dalton beat cancer back in the 70’s, with nothing more than a Native American sweathouse and some Evan Williams whiskey. Mr. Swayze died of a broken neck, years after he accepted my challenge to see who was the better man. The fact that he stayed alive for 20 years is testament to his survival ability. I still win.

Since next year has no clear front runners for an invitation to hunt and be hunted, I would like to share some of my secrets, hoping that someone will provide more of a challenge than in the past few years. Listen up, you little fairies, I’m going to tell you some of the secrets of the manhunt.

1. Never sleep. The night is an ideal time for stalking, sneaking, and general mayhem. Sleeping also leaves you vulnerable to sneak attacks by other men and also by your scorned ladies.  I personally haven’t slept since my competition with Mr. Dalton began those many years ago. Once you condition your body to forget the convenient time waste of sleep, you can pretty much do anything you want. This also allows you to ravage more women than a “normal man”. Enjoy.
2. Read my articles again, and keep up on new editions. These are bits of man wisdom that guys have slowly been losing since we were no longer forced to kill or grow all of our own food. I still do both. Mostly I just grow lions and kill them for meat.  I train them to be as vicious and cunning as possible, then I slaughter them with my hands. It’s my morning workout, and provides me with delicious lion steaks for breakfast.
3. Stop being such a sissy bitch. I know I say this a lot, but look at yourself. You haven’t ever grown a damn beard, you’re “BFFs” with the hottest chick you know (and have never banged her), you wear cheap cologne, and say things like “I wish that was me…”, or “Why can’t I do that?” (not to mention that you say things like “Kiss me, Reggie!”, and “You smell really manly, Frank.” Gross.). Grow a pair of test tickles and live your own damn life, without kissing/entering another man. Ever.
4. Learn the ancient man art of kicking ass, barehanded. Watch some UFC for dick’s sake. If you’ve never been in a fight, go pick one. Watch Fight Club, learn from Tyler Durden, and then go out and beat some random guys’ asses. That’s pretty damn simple. Toughen up, pussy.

I hope you were paying attention today, I’m tired of not having any real competition. My next challenge may be Mr. Norris himself, but I’m still going to need one of you bitches to man up for the next year. Get in shape, and I’ll see you next week.