We all had "Mom is tired of your shit" night, yes? It was also called Sloppy Joe Night. That weekly or monthly event when she plopped a pound of ground beef into a pan and poured some sauce on it, stirred it up and threw a bag of Mrs. Baird's buns at your face and made herself an old-fashioned. No? Just me? Man, I miss being a kid. Not because I didn't have bills, debt or a crunchy sound in my knee; I miss it mostly because Sloppy Joe Night was a thing. And it was a magnificent hour of totally acceptable greaseface and the 7-year-old version of a total gut bomb. And Family Matters was still on. And Crystal Pepsi was just around the corner. And Jessie Spano was still a feminist and hadn't become a stripper yet. It was a simpler time.
Recently, I heard (hearing being the critical, operative sensory ability in this case) a commercial for Manwich. It's probably been on for months, but I'm a little behind on well... everything. (Michael Jackson died!?) Much to my girlish delight, my ears detected the narrator of all the dreams that I neglect to mention to the boyfriend: Mr. Ron Swanson.
Also known as Nick Offerman, but probably just to his parents.
Mr. Mustache has lent his velvety man pipes of gold to Hunt's, hawking their famous line of Manwich sloppy Joe sauce, which now comes in "bold" and "thick and chunky," by the way. Some people have doubted it's really him, but I know that rugged timbre anywhere. Or maybe someone out there does a sweet Ron Swanson impression. Either way, can we discuss how perfect this it? Never have I been witness to a more perfect harmony between product and spokesman. His manliness is unparalleled and serves as the perfect complement to a product that starts at your face and ends up in your socks. Not to mention it starts with the word MAN. Not even the Dos Equis Most Interesting Man in the World is man enough to sell Manwich. Nick Offerman is a man among men ... at least in the Pawnee Parks and Recreation offices. Let's review a few pieces of empirical evidence that support Nick Offerman's role as the manliest man in the world.
Here are some words from his very mustached face:
Poise: Sting like a bee. Do not float like a butterfly. That's ridiculous.
Cultivating a manly musk puts your opponents on notice.
An ideal night out is stepping onto my porch area and grilling up a thick slab of something's flesh.
Body grooming: Only women shave beneath the neck.
Facial hair: Full, thick and square.
Fishing relaxes me. It's like yoga, except I still get to kill something.
Crying: Acceptable at funerals and the Grand Canyon.
Skim milk: Avoid it.
When I eat, it's the food that is scared.
Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Don't teach a man to fish ... and feed yourself. He's a grown man. And fishing's not that hard.
I'd go to a banquet in honor of those Somali pirates if they served bacon-wrapped shrimp.
Nothing like a Somali pirate banquet to remind you of the sweet bird of youth. Excellent choice in spokesmanship, Hunt's. Now, go forth and steal Whataburger's spicy ketchup recipe and bottle it.
