What makes a man, Sup Forums?

what makes a man, Sup Forums?

a dick?

Is it the way, he fights every day.

No its prob'ly the tittiiiies.

peen + balls

A miserable little pile of secrets.

if I've been on hormones for a year and can't get erections anymore, am I still a man?

serious replies only pls

dick and balls. Also being proud of farts.

Benis makes a male.

Benis + willingness to sacrifice self for your family = A Man

what makes a man pole

Responsebility

yes you are still a man with a limpdick.

sucks to be you. Are you looking forward to dilate?

spbp

a male brain

...

>what makes a man?
Is it the woman in his arms, just cause she has big titties? Or is it the way he fights every day? No it's probably the titties...

Its the power in his hands

The number of his children that he supports.

but enough talk… Have at you!

you are forever a man, it's in your chromosomes and nothing will change it, man up faggot.

A miserable pile of secrets

That and a pair of testicles.

Hard times.

You must be as swift as a coursing river with the force of a great typhoon, all the strength of a raging fire; mysterious as the dark side of the moon.

born with a dick n balls

A miserable pile of secrets

fpbp

BE A MAN!

It might be something I shouldn't say, but oh well. I'm a racist, always have been. Some races are inherently superior to other races, it's just science. To be honest, some races shouldn't even exist and are totally worthless. When's the last time someone chose to watch NASCAR over Formula 1? Never happens. It's the truth folks.

BLOOD BLOOD BRIGHT RED BLOOD

Manners?

Penis

>If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!