Finding out if you're straight?

There's a very easy way of finding out if you're really straight, or if you're a closet-case (metrosexual, as they call it these days).
Though controlling it can be impossible; this test will come on it's own accord, whenever it wants to come.

At some point in a man's life, there will be a moment were he has to go to the toilet to take care of some serious business.
Well, this happens a lot of times, but this particular case will be what seperates the men from the metrosexuals.
See, this time around, the guy will squat down on the porcelain throne, thinking it's time to take a dump, as it has been many times before.
But then, things take a nasty turn.
Suddenly, he realizes that this dump is slowing down...
It will slow down right after part of it is hanging out, and then it'll just stop dead in it's tracks.
Being a guy, he'll think about just squeezing it off, and renewing the effort to take a dump the way God intended dumps to be taken.
But then it becomes clear that this particular dump is harder than anything that's supposed to pass the sphincster, regardless which direction.
No matter how he tries, it won't be squeezed off.
In fact, it starts to fight back...
It will glide out just a fraction more, before getting lodged again, this time having a wider part of itself stuck in the cornhole.
THIS, people, is what the test is about.
Will you be a guy about it and try to get rid of it as best as you can?
Or will you just sit there, crying like a catholic schoolgirl at the annual tentacle rape hentai convention?

I tried to get rid of that damn fucker, every time it happened to me.
Sure, it hurt... and on at least two of those occasions I spent up to 45 minutes on the toilet, screaming like I was being impaled by a big, black, genetically-engineered-to-put-the-fear-of-God-into-anything-that-moves, arroused stallion.
Trust me, I have proven my straightness more than was needed, more than I wanted, that way.
When the thought crosses your mind to just reach down and grab that mean fucker with your hands, and pulling it out even if it drags along your inner workings, that's what makes you a man.
Actually doing it, makes you an imbecil... because with your inner workings gone, you'll never have to worry about taking a dump again; you'll be dead.
Realizing that it won't come out nicely, and then trying to somehow suck it in again, makes you a metrosexual.
Having your mascara run because you're cryin like a little bitch, makes you a metrosexual.
Unless you're a woman, of course, because then there's nothing being tested; then you'd just be having a bad day.

So, guys, eat whatever the hell you can find, that might cause such a test to occur.
It's about time we found out which of us re metrosexuals.

* This does not apply to Italians.
With all the make-up and stuff they put in their hair, I'd say it's safe to assume that they are well beyond the limits of metrosexualness.
Seriously, I've seen drag-queens with less pharmaceuticals plastered on them.
Italians are about as manly as George W. Bush is a mensa-member.

Wolf's First Wisdom

Here's my first little wisdom:
In life, a cancerian meets many obstacles.
And often, he'll get screwed over from every side.
But it isn't all bad, just remember that every cloud has a silver lining.

Cloud:
You're going to prison, and your cellmate is the biggest, nastiest, toughest, meanest S.O.B. you've ever encountered.
Silver lining:
On your first night in prison (and during just about every time you shower) you find out that someone loves you.
(Even if not in a way you'd actually like.)

Cloud:
History hates you, so much that you'll never become famous.
Silver lining:
Sure, you won't get a chance to share your big discovery with anyone, but they can't change the fact that you're the first person to have discovered a new kind of fist-sized, highly intelligent, sentient, flesh-eating bacteria that reproduces like snails do, only at about 1000 times as fast.

Cloud:
During life, you never managed to gather a large following of fans.
Silver lining:
You will have billions of people celebrating on one special day - your funeral.

Those are some little wisdoms to cheer up the average cancerian.