(NOT intended to mock that girlie thread)
This is mostly for men, I think.
Tell me simple things to do to restore your illusions of control over your world.
Find an old RPG/battle simulator computer game you mastered long ago; “Power use” the game for 20 hours straight.
Change the oil AND spark plugs in the car (Double effect if it’s the wife’s car, double THAT effect if you do it in under 30 minutes or do a CV axle in under an hour)
Prepare an meat for dinner.
‘Romantic’ success with the opposite sex.
Move something heavy for someone that can’t move it.
Build a fire.
Go hunting or even shooting.
Watch a good boxing match ( or smilar human or animal blood sport ).
Do some household repairs that involve welding.
Take your 4WD someplace actually off-road & get it all muddy.
Get stuck. Get un-stuck.
Clean your rifle(s).
Teach a boy a skill his Mom doesn’t have. Could be something as basic as changing a light switch.
Not only prepare an (sic) meat for dinner, but prepare ONLY meat for dinner, then take the largest portion.
Poker “wit’ da boys”. And beer.
Take a can of WD-40 and spritz everything that may possible be squeaking, or giving you some resistance when using it. (Double points if you do this at someone else’s place. Triple points if you do this at a store)
Yesterday I barbequed three whole cut up brined chickens and a pound of hot dogs on a charcoal/mesquite grill. I started the fire with just a match and newspaper and no lighter fluid, although using gasoline briefly crossed my mind.
I made a man’s salad. About four pounds in a big ass metal bowl, with nine vegetables. My choices for dressing were Caesar’s Salad (named for an emperor), poppyseed (a mild opiate derivative) and Ranch. (evoking cowboys.) No “lite” versions. That shit’s for sissies.
I cooked for three hours, hauled the whole thing across town in backed up traffic on I-285, way out to Norcross, up two floors to my cousin’s condo and fed my family of nine.
I didn’t take the largest portion of meat: I wasn’t that hungry. I just growled with disapproval whenever anyone else even tried to look at the chicken breasts. I took 'em home for leftovers and ate one at two a.m.
When my eight year old nephew started rubbing my belly at the dinner table (lately my nephew thinks its funny to rub my belly) I took him outside and dangled his smartass over the second floor balcony by the ankle.
Manly.
Constructive:
Go for a good long walk on the trail near my home.
Clean up some of my straight-guy mess.
Watch a war, crime or adventure movie from before the 1950s, when popular images of masculinity weren’t so damn obnoxious.
Sing. Sing a song. Sing out loud. Sing out strong.
Prepare an meat. Porterhouse is your friend, especially if over 16 oz.
Not-so-constructive:
Yell at others or myself.
Break stuff.
Go to a discount suit outlet and obsessively try on clothing.
Buy a fifth of Gordon’s Gin and a sack of lemons. Get hammered. Stay up half the night surfing the web reading about What It Means To Be A Man. Go to bed with no clue. Alone. Always alone…sigh
Conquer and pillage Europe
Bring 10000 head of cattle into Abilene
Solve your partner’s murder and avenge him
Have sex with a stewardess during a flight
Grow a beard.
Waste no opportunity to mention it or stroke it thoughtfully in public. I’m still talking about the beard here, people.
This is very small and simple, but my husband once told me that he feels manly when he opens a jar lid after I’ve struggled with it and asked for his help. This happens often, since I am a feeble little thing.
“Virile things” … hmmm…
Offer to be an umbrella holder
Virtually anything involving a hammer.
Actually, Caesar’s Salad was named for the restaurateur Caesar Cardini, not the titular emperor of Rome. Poor, or perhaps lucky, Caez’…the moniker gets thrown on a lot of things that had nothing to do with the Roman Empire.
Stranger
Well, that’s out. 
‘If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. If you still don’t succeed, give up. There’s no sense being a damned fool about it!’
Went shooting the other day. 
SOP around here. 
Wear a kilt. Nothing shows a man at his most virile as when he wears a kilt.
Shave your head. Nothing says man like a head that looks like a penis, preferably with a good fat bull neck.
You mean it’s not named after the famous Roman emperor, Julius Salad?
I’m getting close to this. My hair is getting long. I’ve been eying the electric shaver. I think the next time I get a haircut I’ll get a #4 on top and a #2 on the sides, and then spike up the nubs. I’ll look like a Nazi, but I won’t need another haircut for six months.
Build a computer from parts you have laying around your house.
Work on your car or a friend’s.
When you go shooting, don’t use anything beneath a shotgun.
Build a treehouse/fort for the neighborhood kids.
Sleep with all the women in the trailer park.
Comb my chest hairs. Then flex in the mirror for an hour or two.
Go to Blockbuster rent every copy of Thelma & Louise, Divine whatever of the Ya-ya Sisterhood, Beaches, Bridges of Madison County, and any other sappy women’s movie. Then burn them.
Apologize to your girlfriend for not being emotional available, have sex with her, then go out with the boys.
Scratching you balls in the 10-items or less line. (does 15 cans of spaghetti-o’s, 10 cans of spam, and 4 gallons of chocolate milk count as three items?)
Hmf. This no longer seems manly.
Their obvious bad qualities aside, Nazis were about as purely masculine as any culture in world history. Tribal ritual, regimentation, brutality, cool airplanes and tanks, and black leather…how much more manly can you get?