Nobody fucks with the Wolf.

A long time ago I was called "Big_Bad_Wolf".
I was one of the two original ones.
The two of us had a gentleman's agreement about usage of the name on IRC.
Everything went well, there was no confusion, both of us used the name and everybody knew it was in use by both of us.
But after a few years our original IRC network (not "our" as in property, but we hung out there) shut down rather unexpectedly, driving entire communities apart.
We lost track of eachother, and I ended up roaming many, many networks in search of lost friends that remained lost.
On those many networks, it turned out every assclown with a desire to act bad-ass was claiming the name Big_Bad_Wolf.
So, the name too became lost.
I spent some time going by other, inferior names, until I figured "Blackblood" fitted me well.
Unfortunately, after going by that name for a while, it turned out someone else already went by that name in other places that I visited too, and he had a legit claim to it - Not only did he get it first, it also fitted him.
After that I used "Blackblood73", and another variation, but it just didn't do enough to distinguish between us, so I went looking for another name again.
Several inferior and some even down right ridiculous names were tried, until I decided to simply go for "Biggest_Baddest_Wolf".
A variation on my original name, with an added notion of how I was - and am - the biggest and baddest, the only remaining original, the Alpha male of Big_Bad_Wolves.
And it was a good choice.
It fit me like handlotion fits a hand.
I was me again, there were no misunderstandings (well, a few from wanna-be copycats but they were soon sorted out and dealt with) and the Wolf was back in his forest.
And after a long time, the fakers started to lose interest in "Big_Bad_Wolf" long enough for me to reclaim that name at least on one network.
Surprisingly, the new group of friends that had grown around the Wolf had always considered that name as mine.
The wisdom in this story:
Fakers can be takers, but in the end they lose it all again.
And only the original will always be the same.

To the ladies...

This little wisdom goes out to the ladies, but I've also got something for the other party which gets mentioned in this article.

Ladies, we know that not all guys are decent, and even the decent ones sometimes end up hurting.
It makes you feel crappy, which is a natural reaction, and as such a perfectly valid one.
However, here's the point I want to make:
Ladies, don't feel like shit over a guy.
The bad guys, they aren't worth feeling like shit over.
They're sleezebags, you can get better, and you should get better.
The good guys, it's okay to feel bad over them for a short while but not too long.
A good guy will not want you to feel like shit over him, a good guy will not have too much trouble to face the fact that you might have to move on to a better guy.
Besides, even a good guy is not worth feeling bad over for too long.
No man is worth feeling bad over for too long, trust me, I should know, I've been a man for 32 years and several months now.
33 years and some months, if we include the time I spent in the womb...

Now, this one goes out to the crappy guys, the wanna-be's, the ones who give men a bad name:
Stop whatever fucking games you're playing, come clean, and make a choice.
You can't have your cake and eat it, if that cake has feelings.
Start showing some sincerity, some sincere respect, to the ones you're bullshitting.
It will be much more rewarding in the end.
If a lying sack of shit gets lucky all the time, just think how lucky you'd be getting if you were a decent guy.

And here's one for the good guys:
Yes, life sucks...
And yes, we will probably be the guys who die alone, with nobody knowing.
But goddamnit, I'll gnaw off my own balls before giving up on being a decent guy, I've fought too hard, too long to keep it up, giving up now would be betrayal to myself - and I'm sure that it would be the same for other good guys.
Besides, I have a deep-rooted hatred towards lying shitbags... if I became one myself, I'd have to face that part of me which remains good... and nobody wants to face a pissed-off Biggest_Baddest_Wolf!
So, keep up the good stuff, and you won't end up with me tearing you a new hole.

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.