Tim Allen: Don't Stand Too Close to a Naked Man

After four or five hours, these women got, bored with Flexy's guys and they started pointing at me. I said, "Nah." They said. "Yeah." I said, "Nah." What they wanted involved dancing and looking foolish. Dancing is not a male thing. Dancing for must men is just killing time. "Can we go home now? Let's go, ah. . make love, or something."

But these women wouldn't back down. So 1 started rolling my hips, kind of getting into it. (Hey, I was flattered!) Eventually I got $96 tucked into my pants. Then, suddenly, a group of ladies pulled me off the stage and ripped off my watch. They ripped down the entire front of my pants. They pulled my suit coat, down behind my back, immobilizing my arms. I've seen the mob do this in movies. Then an older woman-close to my mom's age-started yelling: "I've got his quarters! I've got his quarters!"

"Ma'am, once again"-by now my voice was a high-pitched squeak-"these are not quarters you're grabbing." She paid no attention. Somehow I freed my arms and I elbowed this woman so hard that she crashed backward into a chair.

She had to let go. She fell down and crumpled in a heap. I didn't realize I'd hit her that hard. I was shocked. I felt miserable-until she somehow got back up, took a slug of some brown liquor, and said, "You're not getting rid of me that easy, sonny boy"'

These days women want what they want. And why not, especially if they'll take an elbow to the head and get right up again to get it. Women can complain all day long that men have all the power. I know a grandmother in Michigan who could show them a thing or two.

In fact, there are many dynamics in the world. But none is more important to me than the drive to procreate. Let me paraphrase Lynn Margulis and Dorion Sagan, from Microcosmos, their book about bacteria: There's no greater dynamism in life than life itself. The odds of life's existing are rare, but once it starts it's very difficult to stop. And we are part of that dynamic process of life: cells dividing and finding new ways to beat the odds. The whole universe, allegedly, is black and cold and nothing. Ninety‑nine percent of the universe is an unknown quantity. And only a minute part of the one percent that's left is life. As far as we know, we're the only thing alive. There's no proof and no indication otherwise. Earth might contain the only life in creation. We might be far more important and far more of an experiment than we think.

Whatever the case, men and women fight and struggle way too much on their path to figuring out the truth. They are compelled to become unified and have a baby. Sorry, we weren't created to have sex just for a good time. The reason it's a good time is to get us to reproduce in spite of all the hassles encountered along the way. (Then we can have a good time, okay?) We just end up piling on all sorts of metaphysical attitudes and sociological theories, trying to explain why two species so unlike each other-and who often so dislike each other-absolutely have to get together. Ultimately, it's like eating; you can't help it. That's why the majority of the population is attracted to the opposite sex.

Some societies separate the men and women. The reason is that men get along better with men, and women get along better with women. But after being in prison, I know that we can't do that forever because it turns men-I can only speak for men-into very violent creatures. Without women around, we become very violent and very sad, and very uninspired and very one‑sided.

It's called watching too much sports on TV.

My philosophy is that most of what I've done in life is because of women-and even more so because of my name. I got clued into the realities early. It's my half of the imperative of existence. I had to find a woman and reproduce. I'm not the only person ever to say this: Camille Paglia says this; Dr. Joyce Brothers says this; even Warren Beatty eventually did this.

As a kid, you can be so happy. Then you discover women and you're so unhappy. Then happy and unhappy and happy. These differences, this rhythm, underlies everything I ever wanted to say about being a man, and about being molded by my reflection in women's eyes.

As Tim Dick I just got to think about it more than most, because it all starts "down there."

Wow. . I think I need a woman right now!

Honey? I have something to show you.

And get a couple bucks from the cookie jar. I feel like dancing.

Little boys are animals. They're indestructible creatures made of sticks and stones and ball bearings. Their mission is clear: push the boundaries wherever possible. Keep in mind that teenage girls and raging hormones aren't yet in the picture.

Ah. . ignorance is truly bliss.

- -

I grew up on Marion Street in Denver, Colorado. I was born in 1953. Fascinating, isn't it? (Well, at my age it's important to test my memory whenever I can.) I hung out in this great neighborhood gang. great neighborhood gang. Remember? You were in one. When our group of guys assembled, we were like little apes in a circle-minus the body hair. We had our own hierarchy, like in Lord of the Flies -only nicer. All the different personality types were there. It's funny how we still seem to be those same people as adults. Think about it.

In any group, a couple of kids always vie for leadership. One's bigger, the other smarter; both qualify. Barry Phillips and I both had leadership qualities, even though he was a year older.

In my big brother Steve's group, Barry's older brother, John, called the shots. I don't know if he was smarter, but he was a giant, so everyone was afraid of him-and that somehow made him appear smarter. John, and Barry's other big brother, Howard, liked to torture people. (At that age they called it teasing: "I was just teasing the cat/little brother/grandma.") As you may have guessed, the older Phillips boys are now in politics. Anyway, they used to beat up on Barry all the time. They called it "roughhousing," which is like men calling lying "bullshitting." Barry wasted no words. He called it "pain." Then Howard would point his finger at me and ask, "Hey, Dick, you want part of this, too?" And I'd say, "No, you big jerk, but maybe you'd like a Hertz donut."

Apparently Howard rarely heard my clever comebacks, partly owing to my mumbling them under my breath and running at full speed in the opposite direction. Or maybe the big fat idiot was just deaf. (Just kidding, Senator!)

When you grow up, size still matters among men, only now the size of your bank account determines who's the leader. It also helps if you're smart. And physical presence is still important. This means that a big, rich, smart guy is your worst nightmare. The big, rich, stupid guy, as a rule, inherits a car dealership. And, incidentally, if any guys from either of these categories are reading this book right now, please disregard the previous sentences. It's just a theory.

In the group there's also the kid who's so crazy he'll do anything. Steal candy? What brand? Drink sewer water? Gimme a glass. He lived outside the rules and you never knew what to expect. This kid was respected and feared.

Today, he's dead.

One kid's funny, another is good at sports, another rides his bike real well. And there's always the guy you can manipulate. That was Dennis. I was cruel to him then, but I'm nice to him now. Of all my friends, we're the ones who still stay in touch because, okay, controlling him is a thrill I just can't give up. All right, all right. He's used to it. His parents pushed him around his whole childhood, and now so does his wife.

And, of course, there's the kid you're always trying to ditch. It's an unwritten law of childhood that works all over the world. And the best part about it? The kid always comes back to the group. And you welcome him-so you can ditch him later.