This is for the real blokes out there to pass on to all the blokes who now days think it is cool to be a metro. Bring back our masculinity - stop being a bunch of pussies who have far too much gel in their hair and smell and look like chicks.
Something to ponder over a skinny decaf frapachino:
Please allow me to vent. I have had it. I've taken all I can stand and I can't stand any 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, transsexual, metrosexual, non-sexual; blue, green, and purple-sexual...
Real men of the world, stand up, scratch your arse, burp, and yell "ENOUGH!" I hereby announce the start of a new offensive in the culture Wars, the Retrosexual movement."
The Code:
A Retrosexual man, no matter what the women insists, PAYS FOR THE DATE.
A Retrosexual DEALS with IT, be it a flat tyre, 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. If you are still having sex, you are a God.
A Retrosexual does not use more hair or skin products than a woman. Women have several supermarket aisles of stuff. Retrosexuals need deodorant and shaving gear - that's it!! No hair gel / wax! Zip, zilch, nyet, none - ever!
A Retrosexual does not dress like a homeboy with baggy pants that look like he's shat himself, or with a gay chain from pocket to pocket. If wearing a hat, wear it correctly - not on the side like a faggot. Blokes and necklaces (unless you are an Australian fast bowler) are out!
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 does not let neighbours screw up rooms in his house on national TV.
A Retrosexual should not give up excessive amounts of manliness for women. Some is inevitable, but major reinvention of yourself will only lead to you becoming a handbag carrying 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 BBQ accident, favourite sports team being moved to a different city, favourite dog expiring, etc. You are NOT allowed to see a shrink because Daddy didn't pay you enough attention. 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. This does not include males who have had cosmetic surgery.
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 are.
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 fire one off in the direction of those people or things that just need a little "wakin' up".
Crying. There are very few reasons 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 or cats do NOT count as pets in this case), loss of a major body part, or loss of major body part on your Holden ute.
When a Retrosexual is on a crowded bus and or a commuter train, and a pregnant woman, heck, 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 rude pricks" look on his face.
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 or in a serious healthy relationship - i. e., hunting, boxing, shot putting, shooting, cigars, car maintenance and drinking piss with the boys.
A Retrosexual knows how to sharpen his own knives and kitchen utensils.
A Retrosexual man can chop down a tree and make it land where he wants. Wherever it lands is where he bloody well wanted it to land. Except on his ute--that would happen because of a "force of nature", and then the retrosexual man's options are to Cry, or to DEAL with IT, or do both.
A Retrosexual will give up his seat on a bus to not only any women but any elderly person.
A Retrosexual man doesn't need a contract -- a handshake is good enough.
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!
Spread the word!

A rugby player goes to the doctor and says, 'I've got this sex problem, doc. You've got to help me.'
'Well' says the quack, 'tell me about your average day.'
'Well it all starts in the middle of the night. My girlfriend always wakes me up at about 3am and again at about 5am for nookie. Later, after a quick breakfast we can spend a couple of hours making love before I go to work!'
'I see' says the doc.
'No, hang on' he says, 'you see, when I get on the train to work I meet this girl every day, we get a compartment to ourselves and have sex all the way there.'
'Oh... now I see,' says the quack.
'No you don't' he says, 'When I get to work my secretary really fancies me and I have to give her one in the storeroom.'
'Oh.... now I think I get it' says the quack.
No, no, no' he says, 'When I go to lunch I meet this waitress I'm very fond of, and we nip out the back for a quickie.'
'Now I understand,' says the extremely patient doctor.
'No, hang on' he says, 'When I get back to work in the afternoon my boss - who is a very demanding lady I might add - has to have me take her over her desk or she says she'll give me the sack!'
'Ahh....' says the doctor, 'now I see.'
'No, there's more' he says, almost in tears. 'When I get home my missus is so pleased to see me she gives me a blow job before dinner and then we have rampant sex afterwards!'
By now, the exasperated doctor is beginning to lose his cool, 'So just what exactly is your problem?!'
'Well...' he says, 'it hurts when I wank.'

A rugby back and a rugby forward were sitting next to each other on an airplane. The forward leans over to the back and asks if he wants to play a fun game. The back just wants to sleep so he politely declines, turns away and tries to sleep. The forward persists and explains that it's a real easy game. He explains, 'I ask a question and if you don't know the answer you pay me $5. Then you ask a question and if I don't know the answer I'll pay you $5.' Again the back politely declines and tries to sleep.
The forward, now somewhat agitated, says, 'O.K., if you don't know the answer you pay me $5 and if I don't know the answer I pay you $50!' Now, that got the back's attention, so he agrees to the game. The forward asks the first question, 'What's the distance from the earth to the moon?'. The back doesn't say a word and just hands the forward $5.
Now, its the back's turn. He asks the forward, 'What goes up a hill with three legs and comes down on four?' The forward looks at him with a puzzled look, takes out his laptop computer, looks through all his references and after about an hour wakes the back and hands the back $50. The back politely takes the $50 turns away and tries to return to sleep.
The forward, a little miffed, asks, 'Well what's the answer to the question?'
Without a word, the back reaches into his wallet, hands $5 to the forward, turns away and returns to sleep.
​

A rugby referee died and went to heaven. Stopped by St Peter at the gates he was told that only brave people who had performed heroic deeds and had the courage of their convictions could enter. If the ref could describe a situation in his life where he had shown these characteristics, he would be allowed in.
'Well,' said the ref, 'I was referee-ing a game between Northern Transvaal and Natal at Loftus Versveld. Northerns were 2 points ahead, 1 minute to go. The Natal wing made a break, passed inside to his lock. The lock was driven on by his forwards, passed out to the flanker who ducked blind and went over in the corner. However, the flanker dropped the ball before he could ground it, and as Natal were clearly the better side all game, I ruled that he had dropped the ball down, not forward, and awarded the try.'
'OK, that was fairly brave of you, but I will have to check it in the book.' says Peter, and disappears to look it up. When he comes back he says 'Sorry, there is no record of this. Can you help me to trace it? When did all this happen?'
The ref looked at his watch and replied 'about 45 seconds ago.'