I started my first fire in a trash bin when I was ten years old. It seemed harmless enough; flicking lit matches into the apartment complex refuse center. By the time the blaze whipped itself up to a full-blown "arson incident" I was several blocks away, watching (with saucer-like eyes) the thick, oily smoke circle skyward. The fire trucks came and extinguished the flames, and I got into a lot of trouble for it, but it still didn't sway me from further dabbling in the realm of flammable research. Guys just love fire. There are a lot of stupid things that guys just plain love and there appears to be no reasonable explanation for this.

Beer. I like beer, and all of my friends like beer. We like good beer. None of that wizz-in-a-can stuff that you get in the liquor department at the drugstore. I'm talking about Double Chocolate Stouts and finely crafted ales - beer that tastes so good, it makes you weep when you drink it.

Magnum P.I., The A-Team, CHiPS, and other assorted weak television shows. Nothing would make men happier than a cable station devoted exclusively to "Magnum P.I." Simple enough - all we have to do is flip to the channel and we're watching "Higgy-baby" yell at Magnum for all sorts of misdeeds and "house privileges." Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week - MAGNUM. Pure heaven. I would take a week off of work for this. Shows like "The A-Team" and "CHiPS" have actually reduced friends of mine to stuttering fools who have been tardy to important events because they wanted to watch the feeble story to the end. These shows have power that should be exploited.

Cars. Speaking of power, nothing can temporarily paralyze a man's ability to act normally quite like a 1965 Shelby Cobra or a Ferrari Daytona. Men will expend oodles of energy and brainpower talking about quarter-mile times, suspension and other ridiculous car facts. In car defense, any four-wheeled vehicle that can go from 0 - 100 mph and back to 0 in ten seconds (as Car and Driver reported on the Cobra) deserves some recognition. They are not automobiles to men; they are driving machines.

Motorcycles. The rush to the senses and the nervous thrill of doing 130 mph on the freeway is not lost to me. At that speed, the world appears to be rushing by in a manner that is usually reserved for IMAX movies or gritty hallucinations. These machines are crafted purely for the testosterone producers of the species.

Fried Pork Rinds. The thought of eating the skin of another animal is revolting, but if you slice that pink stuff off in thin strips, fry it in vegetable oil and sprinkle it with spices, it becomes a meal, and a cheap one at that. Interesting.

"Fighting" Sports. I attended the "Tough Man" competition here in Phoenix several years ago. Watching two men throttle each other with intent to harm seemed like a good idea for some reason. I think the aforementioned "beer" was involved. After one of the fights, the loser (a man who had been worked over quite grotesquely by his opponent) made his way from the ring to the audience and slumped down into a seat behind me with his girlfriend. He was very angry. She tried to console him, but he wasn't in the mood to talk. She got up and left and he just sat there, bleeding and sweating and breathing heavy. I hesitated to talk to him, because I thought he might have heard me yell, "Whip his (something or other)!" when he was fighting. I was rooting for the other guy.

When I mentioned the content of this article to a friend of mine, he told me about something he read that explained the high combustibility of pool chlorine tablets dropped into a certain substance (substance name removed for liability purposes). Apparently, a chemical reaction occurs that creates a 40-foot column of flame. Since I'm a guy, I think I'll head down to the pool supply place to look around.