All right, men. Are we alone?”

Now, when was the last time you picked which concert to see? Ha! Thought so. That’s the trouble with the world today. Us men have let all the traditional male duties – hunting, shooting and deciding whether to see Pearl Jam or Bryan Adams – be slowly usurped by the women, turning us into a nation of concert-impotent males. And that’s always the first sign of, well, you know.

There was a time when us men made all the decisions. We decided where to fish, what to hunt and whether to see Biohazard or Roxy Music. Our fathers used to stalk whales, trap spotted owls and chase down polar bears with helicopters, all the while deciding between Guster and Duran Duran. But that was before Michael Moore, Oprah, and all those other liberals stripped us of our masculinity and reduced us to sniveling wrecks left to mutter; “I don’t know, Honey. Who would you like to see tonight?”

This has got to stop right now.

We’re sending out a message to all the men in the world, a call-to-arms to rise up and retake that which rightfully belongs to us. It’s time for a return to those days when men made all the concert decisions, when we picked the tickets for Hot Action Cop, when we chose the night we’d see Cher and most importantly of all, where we would park for Bruce Cockburn, Aaron Carter and Heart. It’s time for a revolution!

Here’s the skinny: We’re all going to meet down at the local tavern. Then we’re going to march down to the Ticketmaster and buy tickets for all the shows we want to see. Lee Greenwood, Iron Maiden or Diana Krall, you name it, we’re making the decisions. We’re picking the seats. We’re in control. We’re in the driver’s seat and we ain’t asking directions from no one. And it all starts tonight! Are you ready?

Uh, on second thought, better make it tomorrow night. Tonight’s the night the wife goes to her Gilmore Girls fan club meeting, and, well, we promised we’d baby sit.