Monthly Archives: June 2008

#19 The Shisitor

There\'s a party in his pants
There’s nothing like a good friend.  Especially one that comes over and treats your apartment like a truck stop on the Interstate.  With a harmless “Where’s your bathroom?”, the Shisitor transforms from house guest to porcelain-pounding dump-fest. 

Sure, they brought over a six-pack of Bud Diesel, but their real gift to you is that unmistakable mix of Citrus Air Freshener and baby shit hovering in the air.  Who are they kidding with that?  We all can still smell the shit.  

But that is exactly what they want — to mark their territory. They’ve heard the expression “dump out before you go out”, and frankly, they don’t like it. They wipe their ass with that expression. Some are even so bold as to brag after they desecrate your personal space:

“You may want to give that a minute”,  “Ho Hoo!  That was a loose one!”, or “Do you have a plunger?”

Excuse Me, Where\'s your bathroom?Thus is the creedo of the Shititor.  Treat every place you visit like you were a vagrant at McDonalds.  Hold nothing back.  After all, you are a guest and you should make yourself at home.  Hell, clog a couple toilets while your at it.

You may find it hard to approach the Shisitor, as there’s nothing more awkward than initiating the “I’d appreciate it if you could unload that somewhere else” conversation. It’s just like having the “wrap your pecker in a rubber” talk with your kids — only more upsetting because, unlike your kids, you don’t care about this dude.

The Shisitor will almost always be a guy, typically with an alpha-male complex.  Less frequently, they suffer from IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome).  They will often come to your parties or BBQs under the guise of freindship, hanging out for hours before treating your toilet bowl like Hiroshima.

If this person is truly a good friend, you can seek revenge by going to their apartment and raising the stakes — by Upper Deckering their toilet.  

Who’s the Shistor now?
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Also Known As: The “Shit In Your House” Guy, The Port-O-Pal, That Guy, The Smellers‘ Cousin, The Girl Disperser, The Air Toxicator, The BYOStench Dude

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#18 The Stoplight NoseMiner

Diggin for gold never felt so right
Everyone knows there’s three things you can do at a red light: change the radio, send a text, or curse that slow asshole in front of you for stopping at the yellow. But the Stoplight NoseMiner has a different agenda: find that precious ore of booger, and excavate that sucker out.

When their car comes to a stop, it’s go time.  Like a dog in heat, their fingers will be pumping that nose cavity for all it’s worth.  There’s a snot-child missing somewhere in there. And they won’t stop searching until the rescue mission is over.

Often, the Stoplight NoseMiner will be a male, although females quite frequently can be seen panning for gold.  Almost always, they will be preoccupied, or “have something on their mind”.  This is typically the thought of past mining glories, such as that quarterpound of snotgold they harvested last week at the corner of La Brea and Melrose.

There\'s gold in them hills!Unlike many members of the Idiot Pants Party, the Stoplight NoseMiner is often an unconscious participant.  Many men and women fall victim to their fingers’ curiousity, only realizing their mistake when they have a sticky blob glued to their pointer finger.

But despite it’s publicity, this is a secretive pasttime.  NoseMiners are a shy, wary bunch.  And any Stoplight NoseMiner will tell you, there’s only one thing worse than unconsciously mining, and that’s being caught.  Especially by an attractive member of the opposite sex.  

If you catch a NoseMiner at work, be fully prepared for them to pretend as if they were itching or blowing their nose.  This is “Escape Plan I” and “Escape Plan II”, respectively, in the NoseMiner Handbook.  Under rare circumstances, said Miner will be so overcome with shame that they will punch the gas and run the red light, aka “Escape Plan III”.

You can find the Stoplight NoseMiner in gridlocked traffic, waiting for a friend in their car, or at any intersection in the world.  If you ever see a Stoplight NoseMiner with a nosebleed, it probably means they’ve just had a bad run of red lights.  If you could be so kind, offer them a tissue.
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Also Known As: The RedLight NoseJob, The Booger Baron, City Pickers II: The Legend of Curly’s Gold, The Intersection Inspection, The Snot Searcher

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#17 The Thumb Ring Guy

You think I\'m a dike but I\'m actually Thumb Ring Guy!
The Thumb-Ring Guy is the grown-up version of that white kid in middle school who put beads in his hair. And as an adult, his thumb ornaments show the world that he’s still the most “new age” herb in the spice rack.  

Obviously, Thumb-Ring Guy’s stand out attribute is the thumb ring he so proudly rocks on whichever hand he uses to write his shitty poetry.    In the pseudo-artistic trinket family, the thumb ring is the ignored middle-child — overshadowed by his popular older brother Brown Leather Wrist Band and drowned out by the overt machismo of his younger brother, Chain Wallet.  

Thumb-Ring Guy has a regimented wardrobe of hemp necklaces, beads, and winter skullies (which he only wears inside bars in mid-summer). Think hippie, but without the stench of incense. You should expect the thumb ring to be silver, typically with a floral pattern; though recent acceptance of said male jewelry has created a rise in gold ones. Either way, it’s softer than Michael Douglas dick.

look at all that hempIf it’s the winter and you’re unsure whether your friend or lover is Thumb-Ring Guy due to gloves or mittens, there are very key characteristics that go hand in hand with the jewelry. First, Thumb-Ring Guy is very sensitive and very progressive. He’s a herb, and an outspoken fan of Air America (the radio station, not the 1990 action-comedy starring Mel Gibson & Robert Downey, Jr.).

Thumb-Ring Guy also relates all life experiences to his free spirit, and somehow every conversation you have with him turns into a lecture about preserving Mother Nature. Ironically, he’s scared of Father Time — hence the vast collection of youth-procuring face and body lotions on his dresser. Thumb-Ring Guy will demand his opinions are fact, but at the same time, he’ll easily saunter off into a corner if you mack it to his girlfriend.  

Thumb-Ring Guy can generally be found in vapid social wastelands wisely disguised as intellectual epicenters, specifically the Jack Johnson CD section at Border’s Books & Music. If one is to make contact with Thumb-Ring Guy, the best maneuver is to find a book by the trendiest author at the time and beat him unmercifully with it. I did so just a few months back with Junot Diaz’s The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, and I’ve yet to be apprehended.  

Odds are the fuzz will see the thumb ring, and accuse Guy of fraud; believing the physical assault was a hoax pulled to gain monetary compensation for the purchasing of more thumb rings.

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Known As: The Thumb Ornament, Lord of the Herbs, The Ring Bearer, The New Age of Hand, The “Where Has That Thumb Been?” Guy, The Colon Ring

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#16 The Felly Shirt

Damnit, will you tuck that shit in
You wouldn’t shove two pounds of jello into a one pound mold, would you? Of course not. It wouldn’t fit and shit would spill everywhere. But to the Felly Shirt, this magical act of force-fitting is an everyday accomplishment.

Like a pastry chef stuffing cream into doughnut, they squeeze their guts into the smallest shirts possible.  Sure, they could buy regular clothes that fit them.  But then they wouldn’t have the ability to force unsuspecting passerbys to see their eggplant-shaped midsection. This is crucial to the Felly Shirt; they take pride in giving fat people a bad name. 

You want some fries with that felly?The Felly Shirt follows the “Got it, flaunt it” doctrine, which through a wrongful interpretation by the Felly Shirt Society in 1996, has lead many a man to go blind.

But they don’t care. The Felly Shirt relishes in societies discomfort. They love it. They feed off it. It’s one of the many things they feed off of. In fact, they buy extra tight pants just to make that belly pop out of the bottom of the shirt.

And the Felly Shirt could not be complete without it’s white-trash accessory, The Felly Button Ring. Like a shiny diamond lost in a sea of cellulite, the Felly Button Ring is a bright beacon calling attention to the stomach. This piercing is a dinosauric remnant of a time when their stomach wasn’t so big, jammed in like a piece of shrapnel from an old war.   And there it will stay, right next to a some Goobers and a half-eaten Baby Ruth bar. 

You can find the Felly Shirt anywhere in the world, although it’s presence is highly concentrated in the USA. Most common sightings have been reported at McDonalds, waiting in line for thirds at the Chinese Buffet, and at Baby Gap. If you have the unfortunate luck of being in their path, pick a stationary object and keep your eyes focused on it. Do not stare at them, as the glare from the sweat and Felly Button Ring may leave you blinded.
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Also Known As: The Muffintop, Baby Got Front, Miss Midsection, The Spare Tire, The “What Goes Around, Goes Around” Girl, The Black Sheep Shirt, The Fat Frontiersman

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#15 The Smeller

Is that perfume?  Or dog shit?
Did someone just open a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos or — Oohh, man!  Who invited the Smeller?!

The Smeller is a notorious, shit-stinking beast.  Like a the body of a prostitute, they carry with them an assortment of smells unknown to the clean human palate.  Moth balls, woodchips, taco meat, grandma…you name it.  If it’s a foul stench, the Smeller will absorb it like a sponge and bring it to your nostrils.

A key trait of the Smeller is their ability to not smell themself.  They go about their daily lives in a blind stupor, oblivious — carrying around stink like a monkey.  

bitch, I live in a trash can!Yet, the Smeller is unique in their stankdom.  They won’t look dirty.  And they’re not homeless.  So is it that they just naturally smell like a jock strap?  Or do they simply not wash their clothes?  Did they just roll around in a pile of cow shit?  Or did they actually steal their wardrobe from their grandfather’s attic?

There are a million questions, and unfortunately, no answers. The only real question you can answer is “Who brought the Smeller?”

One things for sure, it wasn’t you. And such is the curse of the Smeller. They will show up unexpectedly, attacking your senses like a rapist. The Smeller is typically a co-worker or, more often, a peripheral acquaintance — a friend of a friend that somehow loves hanging out with you.

If you find yourself in close quarters with the Smeller, don’t panic. Simply look them in the eyes and say “You smell like taint.”   That should be sufficient to scare them away.  If it doesn’t, just start smelling your fingers and pray for the apocalypse.
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Also Known As: Grandma’s Closet, The Living Trashcan, The Stank, Shit’s Creek, Pigpen, Who Invited Stinky?, Ethan’s Surprise, The Shit Whisperer

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#14 The “Let Me Tell You About My Day” Guy

No!  Please don\'t

For some reason, the “Let Me Tell You About My Day” Guy thinks that every aspect of their day is both interesting and conversation-worthy.  Like a pent up volcano, they will spew onto you a wave of personal complaints and useless stories — what their boss said to them, how they flirted with a co-worker, what they had for lunch.  Mundane shit you wouldn’t care about if your own Mother was telling you, let alone this guy.

They will always intitate with “You’ll get a kick out of this”, or “You want to hear something funny?”   But their stories certainly won’t be funny and there’s no “kicks” to be had.

Perhaps the most dangerous trait about the “Let Me Tell You About My Day” Guy is their unpredictability.  You could be hanging out, having a regular conversation, and they unleash.  And that’s it.  They rape away the next thirty minutes of your life.

Sure, you’ll nod and try to make a segway into something else, but they’ll bring it right back to them.  And their day.  It’s like trying to pick up a hot girl with no personality.  Just a lot of “mm hmm’s” and head nodding.  Except there’s no boobs and no potential of sex. 

You can find the “Let Me Tell You About My Day” guy anywhere.  It could be a coworker, a friend, or in the worst of cases, someone you just met.  While this is article is specifically talking about the male succubus, you may also encounter the female version: The “Oy!  Let Me Bitch About What He Said To Me” Girl.  If these two cross paths, there will be a ruthless tornado of timewasting.  Stay clear.
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Also Known As:  Buzz Killington, The Time Waster, The “It’s Me Time” Dude, Time Whore, Complainy McDoodypants, The Neverending Story

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#13 The Sushi Snob

You can eat it, but never enjoy it
There’s nothing like dropping $140 on dinner, only to be told “there’s a better place by my house”.  Much like the raw fish they so fervently protect, the Sushi Snob is a smelly, arrogant vagina that may make you sick to your stomach.

They are an unwanted conosuerre of the dining world, a pompous and brutally-picky purveyor of all things sushi.  You may have thought you were just going out to dinner, but no — you are actually being judged. Every bite of spicy tuna brings with it the guilt and judgement of a Jewish mother.  Sure it tastes good, but it could be so much better.

I\'m a douchebag!The Sushi Snob feeds off of their own self-importance. They need to be the only person in the know. And they won’t be outdone.

First, they’ll ask if you’ve heard of “their” sushi restaurant. Then, they’ll roll their eyes and say “oh, of course you haven’t”. This is key. They will always try to make you feel ignorant and useless. Forget the fact that “their place” is an out-of-the way, hole-in-the-wall spot that no one has ever been to. You’re an uncultured dick for not knowing about it.

Eating with the Sushi Snob is one of the most unpleasant experiences known to man. If they’re not smugly pushing around their sushi with chopsticks, they’re talking about how there’s “too many white people at this place”. It’s very important to them to not eat sushi around Caucasians. It cheapens the experience.

If you are unlucky enough to go with the Sushi Snob to “their” spot, be prepared to answer all of these questions:

“Isn’t this just amazing?!”
“Oh, mmmm! Isn’t this like god wrapped in rice?”
“Wow. How much better is this than that place you took me to?”

You can find the Sushi Snob concentrated in New York City and Los Angeles — the more disposable income, the bigger their snobbery. The Sushi Snob will more than likely be the whitest person you know. If you suspect you friend or coworker is a sushi snob, and they want to go out to eat, suggest another food. Eating sushi with them is like shitting in your laundry basket. You know it’s stupid, so why would you do it?
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Also Known As: Whitey McSnobshi, The Riceroll Nazi, The “You Are What You Eat” Shiteater, The Chopstick C*nt, The Fish Fuhrer, Dining With Satan

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