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Love, lust, like—it really doesn't matter. We are men, and we hunger for the same thing: a connection, a score, a win. Some are short and sweet; others are tough and bitter. Either way, we walk the long road home, collecting many stories, but not enough advice, or friends, to dispel the myths, or dilute the boundaries, of the "game." We wake up, maybe decades later, telling someone younger the ways of things—with a grin that impresses, but really conceals a wish we knew then what we do now. Sure we have wives, or girlfriends, or boyfriends—or husbands. All told, there's a bastard in all of us, but managing the vice of manhood is the goal we offer, the manifesto we push.