Fifty years have passed since the death of Ernest Hemingway, history’s ultimate man, and young males today—obsessed with Facebook, Twitter, and Nintendo—know nothing about his legendary brand of rugged, alcoholic masculinity. They cannot skin a fish, dominate a battlefield, or transform majestic creatures of the Southern Hemisphere into piano keyboards.

It was not always this way. We can undo this descent into vegan emasculation. All we need is a teacher, a savior. Not a messiah, but a mansiah. All we need is Papa.

With chapters such as “For Whom the Beer Flows,” “Death in the Afternoon… Lunch is Served,” “A Farewell to Smooth Arms, Backs, Faces, Taints, etc.,” and “The Old Man and the See You in Hell,” former Esquire editor Marty Beckerman demonstrates how modern eunuchs—brainwashed by PETA and Alcoholics Anonymous—can realize their full potential as drunken, unshaven, meat-devouring, wife-divorcing, gloriously self-destructive manimals.

The Heming Way is a difficult path, and not for the weak, but truth is manlier than fiction.

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