Help me

After last weekend when I woke up early with a hangover and had a bagel for breakfast, I thought I was a sissy for eating a bagel.
A bagel seems like something a wuss would eat. I grew up with toast, the breakfast of tough guys who didn’t have the time to fry up some bacon and grill up some eggs.
Now I’m hooked on bagels and cream cheese. Even worse, I bought some flavored cream cheese. Pansy strawberry flavored. Is it ever good.
Every morning, I pop my bagel into the toaster and run out the door. I drive to work taking bites only when I know no one else is looking. I haven’t quite admitted to my addiction with the breakfast delight.
I’m starting to wonder what kind of affect this will have on my masculinity.
I was at the bar on Friday and ordered a beer like usual: a cool kokanee.
It didn’t taste the same. It was as refreshing as usual. I was wanting some sort of juice drink. I was craving a vodka cooler.
I didn’t get one. I was with people. They didn’t need to know that I was transforming into a weakling, an even bigger nancy than I already was.
I’m scared to head to a strip club. I’ll probably wonder what kind of material her costume is made out of instead of whether her boobs are real.I’ll ask her where she got her shoes instead of tossing loonies at her nipples.
Before you know it I'll be watching the View and wishing I could get pregnant. I'll hope for the confidence and good looks of Tyra Banks. I'm starting to get dizzy. I might faint. Deep breath.
I still think there’s hope though. I’m going to go home and watch Rambo I, II and III. Hopefully the blood and gore, the guns and muscles will set me back on the right path.