The Return of Flannelman

If slander is defaming one’s name out loud, and libel is defaming one’s name in print, then what do you call defaming one’s name via marketing-inspired reality show?

I call it my life.

Last spring, Kelly Liggett and Peter Kunkel opened my eyes to the scary fact that through a re-imaging ad campaign, I have magically become a dead ringer for the Brawny Man. Or more likely, he has become a dead ringer for me. Now there are some differences, of course. I don’t always stand with my hands on my hips, and I left the Flannel Revolution somewhere in the grunge rock explosion of the 1990s. But for the most part, I’ll accept the likeliness. (especially since the ladies love us both.)

Now since this new campaign’s inception, we’ve been able to co-exist peacefully. Occasionally we’d cross paths in the paper product aisle of my local supermarket, but he always kept on smiling and I always kept on buying. A series of commercials came out shortly thereafter with an actor portraying Brawny Man, and he looked nothing like the guy, (and by virtue of the transitive property, nothing like me, either.) But I let it slide – after all, I was in grad school and I had larger evils to fight (Nightpaver, for one.) But now, the ad wizards have gone too far.

I give you Brawny Academy.

Since the site hasn’t fully launched yet, I’ll fill you in on some of the details. The blokes at Brawny have provided an avenue for frazzled housewives to enforce corrective domestic measures on layabout husbands. A new reality show (podcast or network, I don’t know) called Brawny Academy is being released to show actual husbands doing actual things that wives would like them to do, and the Brawny Man is at the helm to make sure they do it.

No, not me. The imposter-looking guy.

As we view the trailer, the hapless husband brigade are trained in the following:

• Hatchet Throwing
• Pig Wrangling
• Female Obstacle Course (complete with plowing through a Brawny wall)
• Tricycle Jousting
• Ballroom Dancing
  

And for no reason whatsoever, they burn a recliner. Bunch of savages.

Now I can’t say I’m an expert in the aforementioned fields that my lookalike has deemed crucial to proficiency in general husbandry. I’ve never seen a need to throw a hatchet at a target, but I’ve got an outside-in cutter with the Frisbee that can hit a target as tiny as Christina Toms. And I’ve no need for pigs – our apartment complex has a crushing pet rent fee that I’ve never been willing to fork out for a dog, much less swine.

Obstacle courses are no match for me – hell, I’m obs-tacular. And every time I visit the supermarket I would just die for the chance to run full speed through a wall of paper towels. As for the other feats of husbandry, I really don’t see how they apply to every day life. Where’s the “Time to Make the Coffee” challenge? What about the “Get the Oil Changed” competition? The Mighty Balcony Box Toss?

Nowhere to be seen.