I am a Retrosexual.

I ran across this on The Net a couppla years ago, don’t remember where, when or who composed it, but it pretty accurately nails me and most all the guys I know who are PBC’s (The newly coined phrase “Pre-Bizzaro Child”, to describe those of us who were raised by responsible parents before The United States turned into Bizzaro-World)…

“After searching for my sexual identity. I finally discovered it and I can no longer keep it in the closet. I am here to openly announce that I am a Retrosexual.

My Retrosexuality is defined by the following Retrosexual code:

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 SHIT. Be it a flat tire, break-in into your home, or a natural disaster, you FUCKING 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 endcap. (possibly 2 endcaps 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 SHIT” portion of The Code.

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.

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.

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.

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 that you be.

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 your’s unless you want us to, and you won’t mess with our’s… period.

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.

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

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

Shamelessly swiped from MoMinuteMan at the Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler