Diary of a Wolfeman

Here’s an interesting read posted most recently by her Cosmicness. The author is one Frizzen Sparks, the post in question is his definition of a Retrosexual. It’s been awhile since I’ve voiced anything other than anti-Microsoft opinions, so we’ll take a look at this.

Now, I agree with most of it, but I think his sarcasm may have got the better of him :) Read on for the rest…

The Code

A Retrosexual, no matter what the women insists, PAYS FOR THE GODDAMN DATE.

A Retrosexual opens doors for a lady. Even for the ones that fit that term only because they are female.

Opening doors is a long-standing habit of mine, but when it comes to paying the bill, I say them that asked the other out should pay. In long-standing relationships, this often turns into us taking turns at the register.

A Retrosexual DEALS with shit. Be it a flat tire, break-in into your home, or a natural disaster, you FUCKING DEAL WITH IT.

Spot-on! Nothing irritates me like a whiner who won’t get off their ass and do something about it. If you’re making an effort, whine all ya like, but if you aren’t, well, shut the fuck up.

A Retrosexual not only eats red meat, he often kills it himself.

Okay, anyone who’s ever spent any time around me at all knows I’m all about the red meat. As a friend of mine once put it, “I didn’t claw my way to the top of the food chain to eat vegetables.” Let’s relax a bit and say “knows how to kill and butcher it himself” though. I’m awfully fond of steak, but butchering a cow is a helluva lot of work, and I really don’t have the freezer space.

A Retrosexual doesn’t worry about living to be 90. It’s not how long you live, but how well. If you’re 90 years old and still smoking cigars and drinking, I salute you.

A Retrosexual does not use more hair or skin products than a woman. Women have several supermarket aisles of stuff. Retrosexuals need an endcap (possibly 2 endcaps if you include shaving goods.)

Yup and yup.

A Retrosexual does not dress in clothes from Hot Topic when he’s 30 years old.

Hey, they have some cool t-shirts in there…

A Retrosexual should know how to properly kill stuff (or people) if need be. This falls under the “dealing with shit” portion of The Code.

This really goes for anybody. My daughter will, before she begins dating, have a solid understanding of how to defend herself both with and without weapons.

A Retrosexual watches no TV show with “Queer” in the title.

A Retrosexual does not let neighbors fuck up rooms in his house on national TV.

A Retrosexual should not give up excessive amounts of manliness for poontang. Some is inevitable, but major re-invention of yourself will only lead to you becoming a froo-froo little puss, and in the long run, she ain’t worth it.

Can I get a Hell yeah?!

A Retrosexual is allowed to seek professional help for major mental stress such as drug/alcohol addiction, death of your entire family in a freak treechipper accident, favorite sports team being moved to a different city etc. You are NOT allowed to see a shrink because Daddy didn’t pay you enough attention. Daddy was busy DEALING WITH SHIT. When you fucked up, he DEALT with you. Buck up pussy.

He specifically mentions ‘professional help’ here folks. He’s not saying bottle it up, he’s saying talk it over with your buddies at the bar or something. Wander on down to Callahan’s and pitch one into the fireplace.

A Retrosexual will have at least one outfit in his wardrobe designed to conceal himself from prey.

A Retrosexual knows how to tie a fucking windsor knot when wearing a tie.

A Retrosexual does not strip naked, get into a sweat lodge, and bang on drums to bond with other guys. That shit is gay.
However dressing in kilts, banging on drums around a campfire, and drinking heavily is just fine.

Thankfully, I hunt at night, so my 90%-black wardrobe does me just fine. Funny clothes, drums and heavy drinking are a tradition in my household :)

A Retrosexual should have at least one good wound he can brag about getting.

A Retrosexual knows how to use a basic set of tools. If you can’t hammer a damn nail, or drill a straight hole, practice in secret until you can or be rightfully ridiculed for the wuss you be.

These two often go together.

A Retrosexual’s asshole is an exit ramp on the road of life. Ladies, contrary to what Cosmo says, spontaneously sticking a finger back there is a good way to be launched off the bed (or if Hooters hotwings have been recently consumed, lose a finger). Make you a deal, we won’t mess with yours unless you want us to, and you won’t mess with ours period.

Um, yeah.

A Retrosexual will buy feminine hygine products if he has to, but only under protest. This falls under unpleasant things you have to fucking DEAL with. Get some Hagen-Daas while your at it.

Or, you could look at it as potential bragging rights. “That’s right, gentlemen, I am purchasing Tampax, because I have a woman. I am not single like you, and actually have a decent chance of getting some!” Make sure the Hagen-Daas is chocolate.

A Retrosexual gives a lady his seat on the bus/subway/etc.

Some feminist nazi actually flamed the author for recomending this particular courtesy.

A Retrosexual does not order an apple martini at the bar. A Martini has fucking gin and vermouth in it dammit. And maybe an olive. In fact, why not just get a beer and a shot of scotch??

The point of this one is not to be a sheep. Drink what you like, not what’s trendy.

A Retrosexual knows that owning a gun is not a sign that you are riddled with fear, or are trying to make up for a small penis. Massage and cunnilingus skills are the way to make up for a small penis, guns are fucking TOOLS and are often essential to DEAL with shit. Plus it’s just damnned fun to shoot.

I got such a laugh a while back from someone who posted somewhere “I wish all you gun-toting maniacs would all move someplace else and form your own country!” To which someone responded, “That’s funny, I thought we did.”

There are a number of reasons that I personally do not own a gun, the foremost of which is that it keeps me from blowing away some of the absolutely brainless fucking twits out there breathing MY oxygen that I have to deal with on an almost daily basis. I will, however, defend my right to own one until the day I die. Anyone who wants to remove my right to keep and bear arms needs to take a serious look at the crime rates in Australia for the past couple of years. They banned all guns there a while back, and their crime rates have skyrocketed, since now only the outlaws have guns. Not my idea of fun. (They’re banning swords now, too.)

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 21st, 2004 at 1:42 am and is filed under Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.