An explosion may be defined as a loud noise
accompanied by the sudden going away of
things from the places where they were before.

Ok folks, I have had it. I've taken all I can stand and I can't stand no more. Every time my TV is on, 
all that can be seen is effeminate men prancing about, redecorating houses and talking about foreign
concepts like "style" and "feng shui." Heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, trans-sexual, metrosexual,
 non-sexual; blue, green, and purple-sexual.

Bogus definitions have taken over the urban and suburban world!

Real men of the world, stand up, scratch your butt, belch, and yell "ENOUGH!"

I hereby announce the start of a new offensive in the culture wars, the Retrosexual movement.

The RetroSexual Code:

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

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

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

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

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

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 end cap(possibly 2 end caps if you include shaving goods.)

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

A Retrosexual should know how to properly kill stuff (or people) if need be.
This falls under the "Dealing with IT" portion of The Code.

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

A Retrosexual should not give up excessive amounts of manliness for women.
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 isn't worth it.

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 tree chipper accident, favorite sports team being moved to a different city,
or favorite bird dog expiring, etc. You are NOT allowed to see a shrink because Daddy didn't pay you enough
 attention to you. Daddy was busy DEALING WITH IT. When you screwed up, he DEALT with you.

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

A Retrosexual knows how to tie a Windsor knot when wearing a tie -- and ONLY a Windsor knot.

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 nail, or drill a straight hole,
practice in secret until you can -- or be rightfully ridiculed for the wuss you be.

A Retrosexual knows that owning a gun is not a sign that your are riddled with fear, guns are TOOLS and are
often essential to DEAL WITH IT. Plus it's just plain fun to shoot.

Crying. There are very few reason that a Retrosexual may cry, and none of them have to do with TV commercials,
movies, or soap operas. Sports teams are sometimes a reason to cry, but the preferred method of release is
swearing or throwing the remote control. Some reasons a Retrosexual can cry include (but are not limited to)
death of a loved one death of a pet (fish do NOT count as pets in this case) loss of a major body part.

A Retrosexual man's favorite movie isn't "Maid in Manhattan" (unless that refers to some foxy French maid sitting
in a huge tub of brandy or whiskey), or "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood." Acceptable ones may include
any of the Dirty Harry or Nameless Drifter movies (Clint in his better days), Rambo I or II, the Dirty Dozen,
The Godfather trilogy, Scarface, The Road Warrior, The Die Hard series, Caddyshack, Rocky I, II, or III,
Full Metal Jacket, any James Bond Movie, Raging Bull, Bullitt, any Bruce Lee movie, Apocalypse Now,
Goodfellas, Reservoir Dogs, Fight Club,etc .

When a Retrosexual is on a crowded bus and or a commuter train, and a pregnant woman, hell, any woman gets on,
that Retrosexual stands up and offers his seat to that woman, then looks around at the other so-called men still in their
seats with a disgusted "you punks" look on his face.

A Retrosexual knows how to say the Pledge properly, and with the correct emphasis and pronunciation.
He also knows the words to "The Star Spangled Banner."

A Retrosexual will have hobbies and habits his wife and mother do not understand, but that are essential to his manliness,
in that they offset the acceptable manliness decline he suffers when married/engaged in a serious healthy relationship -- i.e.,
 hunting, boxing, shot putting, shooting, cigars, car maintenance.

A Retrosexual knows how to sharpen his own knives and kitchen utensils.

A Retrosexual man can drive in snow (hell, a blizzard) without sliding all over or driving under 20 mph, without anxiety, and
without high-centering his ride on a plow berm.

A Retrosexual man can chop down a tree and make it land where he wants. Wherever it lands is where he damn well wanted it to land.

A Retrosexual will give up his seat on a bus to not only any women but any elderly person or person in military dress (except
officers above 2nd Lt (Ensign for you sailors ;-)). NOTE: The person in military dress may turn down the offer but the
Retrosexual man will ALWAYS make the offer to them and thank them for serving their country.

A Retrosexual man doesn't need a contract -- a handshake is good enough. He will always stand by his word even if circumstances
change or the other person deceived him.

A Retrosexual man doesn't immediately look to sue someone when he does something stupid and hurts himself.
We understand that sometimes in the process of doing things we get hurt and we just DEAL WITH IT.

A Retrosexual does not wear aftershave. Perfume is for girls.

A Retrosexual eats meat and potatoes. Period. Vegetables are corn and if cooked correctly, carrots. Everything else is rabbit food.
 Dessert consists of pie and cake. Period.

A Retrosexual greets every boy who is remotely interested in his daughter with his rifle in his hand, preferably with his hand gun in his belt.

A Retrosexual will be on death's door before he goes to the doctor. However, when the Wife has a minor sniffle, he nags constantly
 for her to GO TO THE DOCTOR.

A Retrosexual does not want to hear about hot flashes, periods, or mammograms. The whole idea gives him the heebie jeebies.

A Retrosexual wears T-shirts with a V neck because the crew neck sort chafe his neck hair.

A Retrosexual explains the concept of Clean Dirt to his wife who has just spent twelve hours scrubbing the house down and is fussing
 because he didnt blow the wood chips off before coming in to the house.

A Retrosexual does not drink bottled water. He does, however, admire the guy who thought up bottling something you can get
from the tap for free and selling it to wussy folks.

A Retrosexual does not exercise. That is for wussy folks who don't WORK.

A Retrosexual, if left alone with a 9 month old infant, will feed it kippered sardines, hard boiled eggs, soda crackers and olives
and then wonder why the kid has a belly ache all night, not to mention really nasty diapers.

A Retrosexual will make snotty comments about gay folks and then go down and help the gay neighbor on the next farm fix his
lawnmower in 90 degree heat and share a beer with him afterward. He then will go back and try to cheer him up after the gay
 neighbor's lover moved out on him. Retrosexual's are not all bad.

A Retrosexual drives a pick up that is blue, green or red (or black or white;). Any other color is for wussy, girly guys.
He would, however, not complain if someone dropped off a Jag in British Racing Green because Jags are sexy.

A Retrosexual asks for either an arc welder or a air compresser for Father's Day.

A Retrosexual sees architecture as Really Big Building Projects using Really Big Power Tools.

In Wisconsin, a Retrosexual is a Packer Fan. Anyone who likes Da Bears or worse, Da Vikings are wussy.
They do not wear Packer colors or anything with the Packer logo on it, however. That is for wussy guys.

Finally, a Retrosexual leaves all that macho crap outside the bedroom. There they turn into sensitive guys.
However, they will NEVER admit it and will turn the conversation to wood chippers, trucks or power tools if the subject comes up.

(Also see: Redneck guy)


Todays Joke Of The Day!
Pope John Paul dies of old age and finds himself at the Gates of Heaven at 0300. He knocks on the gate and a very sleepy-eyed watchman
opens the gate and asks, "Wadda ya want?"
"I'm the recently deceased Pope and have done 63 years of Godly work and thought I should check in here."
The watchman checks his clipboard and says, "I ain't got no orders for you here, just bring your stuff and we'll sort this all out in the morning."
They go to an old World War II-style barracks, third floor, open bay. All the bottom racks are taken and all empty lockers have no doors.
The Pope stows his gear under a rack and climbs into an upper bunk.
The next morning he awakens to sounds of cheering and clapping. He gets up and goes to a window and sees a flashy Jaguar convertible
 parading down the clouds from the golden headquarters building. The cloudwalks are lined with saints and angels cheering and tossing confetti.
In the back seat sits a an Army Sergeant Major, a cigar in his mouth, a bottle of booze in one hand, his arm around a voluptuous blonde angel.
This disturbs the Pope and he runs downstairs to the Master-At-Arms shack and says, "Hey, what gives? You put me, the Pope, with 63 years
of Godly deeds in an open bay barracks while this Sergeant Major, who must have committed every sin known and unknown to man is staying
in a mansion on the hill and getting a hero's welcome. How can that be?"
The Master-At-Arms calmly looks up and says, "We get a Pope up here every 20 or 30 years, but we've never had a Sergeant Major before!"