That's an odd sig line for the sparkling husband primitive. He knows how to share a bathroom with a cat, and how to complain about things he can't begin to understand, but that's it. He knows nothing about being a man.
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Ah, he's half the man he was before his heart episode and subsequent exile to the cat-box room. Back in the day he used to write rousing diatribes about wanting to go all "Smash-mouth" in the street on the dirty Repiglicans. It was all bullshit and a poor attempt to become the modern Marat of the Left, of course. Perhaps they changed whatever meds were behind his old bellicose self after the heart thing.
