Two-Fisted Tales

Where did Steve McQueen go?
   Before you get all smarty and tell me he died quite a while back, I know that. I mean in a metaphorical sense, where did Steve McQueen go? A tough guy, who thought with his fists and led with his iron chin. A man's man, who could ride a horse, race a motorcycle, beat up the bad guy and still win the dame at the end of the day. A guy who could do stuff, who knew how to fix a car, or build a house, or take justice into his own two hands and see it delivered. What actor today knows how to do any of that stuff?
   Seriously, look at all the headliners. Pretty boys, who couldn't find their way out of a paper bag if their agent wasn't around to tell them how. They didn't have lives before they became actors, their lives are as actors, so they don't know how to do anything else. If you put them on a deserted island they'd starve to death or die of exposure because they don't know how to take care of themselves. It's just embarrassing, I tell you, having our country's major cultural contribution - films - riding on the mincing posturing of sissy actors. For God's sake, the toughest guys in American films aren't even American, they're Australian putting on a convincing accent. Jeez.
   Hollywood producers, put down your mirrors of cocaine and listen to me. No more emaciated metrosexuals, if you have a man's role, you get a real man to play it. Like in the old days. When Rock Hudson was a movie star.