Monthly Archives: September 2008

#40 The Sticker-on-Hat Guy


Nothing says “fresh” like a circular hologram sticker. And for the Sticker-on-Hat Guy, this is life. It’s his “Born On” date. And even the thought of removing that sticker causes a salty discharge from his tear duct.

The most important thing to know about the Hat Sticker Guy is this: the thing on his head is not just a hat, it’s a shrine. Like comic book nerds collecting first prints, or a cokehead trying to spread out his last 8-ball, the keyword is preservation. They need to keep that hat as new and untouched as the day they bought [or stole] it. So help them god.

That means the brim needs to be perfectly straight. The sticker needs to remain as it was on display — shiny, unblemished, and visible. And they when they wear the hat, it must barely even touch their head. Preferably, it will be hovering, cocked off to the side, and backwards.

Obviously, the next normal question is “why?” I mean, would you keep an XL sticker on your new pair of jeans or the wrapper on your condom? The answer, I imagine, is no. And why buy a hat if you’re going to be concerned about it’s safety and wellbeing? Why not just have a child instead?

But for the Sticker-On-Hat Guy, reason is not important. They don’t do it because they like it, they do it because they think other people will think it’s cool. They are your run-of-the-mill posers and copycats — the same people that bought Parachute Pants when MC Hammer hit it big.

Boyz 2 HatWhile the SOH is gaining large ground in the white, wigger community, it’s important to note that this style was introduced a long time ago by African Americans. Perhaps it’s first visible variance can be seen on the hat of Mike Bivins in Boyz II Men’s cross-platform hit “Motown Philly“.

It’s no sticker, but his signature “clothespin and price tag” look trail-blazed the way for all kinds of on-hat accessories.

Like baggy pants and rap music, this is one of the latest trends that white people have stolen from the black community and made douchey. Those largely responsible are the uber-white, New Jersey-style posers that rock a flat-brimmed Yankees or Mets hat.

If you know a Sticker-on-Hat Guy, there’s two ways to handle the situation: 1) Silently remove the sticker when they go to gel their hair into a blowout, or preferably, 2) Take his pristine hat and return it to the store for a full refund. Then use the money to buy yourself a 12 pack of Bud Diesel and #1 combo at Chick-Fil-A.
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Also Known As: The Hat Sticker Whore, On-Display Douchery, Dr. Seuss, It’s Cool To Keep The Tags On, Sticker Stanley, The White Bread Hat, Poppa Cap

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#39 The Airplane Talker

You remind me of my grandson.

You remind me of my grandson, Rusty!

Your flight was supposed to leave at 1pm. Delay, beer, delay, kiosk sandwich, diahhreah. It’s now 10:30 at night, and you finally sit down in your crammed, cubicle of a seat. You look to your left and see a bright-eyed, white-haired lady. She’s got a smile that’s says “I’ve been waiting for you”, and as you try to close your eyes, she breaks the silence with:

“Oh dear, I can never sleep on planes!”

And that’s when you clench your fist, and wish for the first time that you were addicted to pain killers. Because you’ve just been seated next to the hell-on-earth of air transportation, the demon of travel: The Airplane Talker.

For the next five hours, she will blab on about her dog, her son, her medication. “Oh thank God my dog Muffy is not a shedder. The Doctor said that’s important, you know.” She’ll let you know how she doesn’t understand all this skateboarding and MTV nonesense. She’ll talk about her family, her friends, and how she remembers the days when airplane food was as good as Mom’s lasagna.

At about three hours in, she’ll really start to open up. “…And that’s when I learned I had diabetes. If it wasn’t for Frank giving me those daily suppositories, I wouldn’t be sitting next to you today.” Damn you, Frank! How could you stand her stories?

Shut the fuck up!This is the point where you start zoning out, eyes focusing on the Emergency Exit. “If I just pull it open and push her out, no one will realize…” If it were only that simple. Such is the crux of the Airplane Talker. There is no escape, no where to run. You can try to shut your eyes, try to sleep, but as soon as you flutter those eyes, there’s a story about World War II waiting for you.

You’ll probably be tempted to drop a bunch of Nyquil into her ginger ale when she goes to the bathroom for the eighth time. Do it. This is your only chance for peace.

Mostly due to over-congestion and less frequent flights, the prevalence of the Airplane Talker has increased to epic proportions in recent years. Every random seating assignment runs the serious risk of being placed next to one of these ear-bleeding assholes. It’s important to note, that while I’ve specifically described a female, the Airplane Talker knows no race or sex. Just like their cousin, the Public Transportation Amigo, it could be anyone.

Your best bet to combat Airplane Talkers is to come prepared. On every flight, bring a bottle of Ambien, a horse tranquilizer, and a ball gag. This should give you ample choices as to shutting them the fuck up. Worst case, you’ll at least have a fun flight.
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Also Known As: Chatty Kathy, The Perpetual Plane Ride, Shut the Fuck Up McGruff, The Living Seinide, The Neverending Story II, Air Bud

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Filed under awful, IdiotPantsParty, old people, parents, travel

#38 The CGI Fanatical Animation Grown-up

I <em>totally</em> connect with this movie!

Holy Kenobi! I totally connect with this movie!

You’d think that with the overwhelming popularity of the UFC, and the continuing casting callbacks Nicolas Cage receives, American males would be bursting with masculinity. Sadly, that’s not the case, and we’re stuck with a specific sub-culture of American male 20-somethings: The Computer Generated Image Fanatical Animation Grown-up, or simply, the CGI FAG. This group consists of young adults with a penchant for slip-on shoes, shorts in the winter, and using the phrase “draining the lizard” in regards to urination.

CGI FAGs are a pathetic group: grown men whose nostalgia for childhood ekes out through viewing Disney Pixar flicks in the theatre (and also wearing Nintendo-themed t-shirts). The key characteristic behind CGI FAGs isn’t that they frequent the theatre but that they do so without a date. It’s understandable that men would watch a cartoon movie just for a chance at sex. After all, it’s a known fact that men will lower themselves to standards not too far from panhandling, just for a chance to have a protuberance touch something warm and moist.

But with CGI FAGs there’s only one goal: to enjoy the bright colors and wacky sounds a bunch of Asian computer technicians smoothly fused together for 90 minutes. And by no means is that worth 12 dollars on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

I destroy movies, but empower F.A.G.s!

George Lucas: I destroy movies, but inspire F.A.G.s!

A key element to this pathetic group is the self-awareness they possess. CGI FAGs are just like the guy who owns the album Justified; he relishes in his folly but doesn’t do a thing to correct the error. They realize what they’re doing is a major let down to their gender, a gender so noble and admirable that it’s synonymous with Genghis Khan, Ernest Hemingway, and the lead singer of late-90s alt-rock band Semisonic (rumor has it he hosts lavish coke parties somewhere in Minneapolis, hence it’s never “Closing Time”).

When viewing a line of CGI FAGs at the nearest movie theatre, one will see a line of white faces. Not since Duran Duran’s 1984 Seven and The Ragged Tiger Tour has there been as long a line consisting of nothing but soft, effeminate white guys. It’s imperative that one realizes CGI FAGs are almost always white, with the occasional Philippino peppered in the crowd. But since American white guys invaded the Philippines at the end of the 19th century, it’s safe to place blame at Honkey’s doorstep.

CGI FAGs can be found in any popular American city with multiplexes, but have a heavy foundation in the Southern California area, due to Los Angeles being the epicenter of filmmaking and the state of California’s legalization of medicinal marijuana. If coming across a CGI FAG, feel free to run their pockets, as they will probably have a decent amount of raspberry Kush and will clearly be too thundabaked to fight back. Plus, they’ll be focused on seeing Wall-E for the fifth time, and will not have sufficient energy to do anything but buy a jumbo tub of buttered popcorn, and of course, tickle their balls.

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Known As: The Animated Movie Adult (AMA), Toys R’ Us Kid, Finding Emo, Virgin and a Movie, The Rated G Grown-Up

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Filed under entertainment, friends, kids, los angeles, movies, parents, technology

#37 The Political Buzzkill

Having a good time?  Let's talk Politics!

Having a good time? Let's talk Politics!

While everyone at the party is getting drunk and having a good time, the Political Buzzkill has only one objective in mind: find that buzz and kill it.

There are two unspoken rules in the world of drinking: Don’t pass out with your shoes on, and Don’t talk about politics. The rules are simple. They’re here to keep order. The shoe rule establishes “writing on” criteria and the politics rule is there to keep out belligerent arguing in a jovial atmosphere.

But that’s what the Political Buzzkill feeds off of. Arguing their views at the expense of others. “Who are you voting for?”, “Gosh. Hilary was SO much more qualified.” “I don’t know about you, but I can’t take four more years!”

They are the quintessential annoying drunk. They don’t understand that drinking is about fun and escapism, or that people don’t like them. Like an Abortion Doctor speaking at a Pro-Life convention, they seek out arguements and insist on fighting them. They’re divisive. They don’t bring up politics to discuss it, they bring it up to tell you what’s “right”.

A minute ago, we were all having a good time together. But with the help of the PB, the room is now miraculously divided into Red, Blue, and Mexicans. It’s like Moses parting the Red Wine Sea, only no one’s having any fun.

“Did you hear what Palin said? Oh my god, she is so unqualified!” No, I didn’t. I was macking it to this hot chick until you rolled over here. And now my game is dead because she thinks I’m friends with your ultra-liberal ass.

You can find the Political Buzzkill at any party, bar, or social gathering. Much like their cousin the Carlos Mencia, they are part of the Succubus Family, and feed off of harshing people’s mellow. They may appear to be normal and even-keeled — they may even party like it’s Spring Break. But when they open their mouth, make sure you have an extra sock to stuff into it.

As we get closer and closer to the November election, the prevalence of the PB will increase to epic-ly shitty proportions. You may want to just lock yourself in your home with a bottle of Jack. If you are so bold to venture out, carry an extra pair of cotton socks. Just in case they bring their Fiancee.
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Also Known As: Assholes, Drunky McRepublican, The Political Talker, Palin’s Proverbs, Buzz Killington, Jehova’s Witnesses Meets Whiskey, The Political Party Party, Annoying Drunks

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#36 The Sweater Over Shoulders Herb

I'm sitting on a rubber fist!

I'm sitting on a rubber fist!

In the world of rich yacht-dwelling dipshits, their is one pastel pole-jockey that reigns supreme. This is the Sweater Over Shoulders Herb (or SOSH, for those that’d like to call them it to their face). It takes a bold man to drape a pink sweater over his shoulder like a 1970s country club grandmother. But the SOSH is a bold bunch. So bold, in fact, they often play all-male Twister nude with a bag of Chex Mix Bold Party Blend.

You may be confused at first. Is there a draft in the room? Maybe he’s got a birthmark on his neck he’s ashamed of? Maybe his shoulders are prone to frostbite?

But I assure you, there’s no birthmark, and there’s no draft (well, except for the one that keeps blowing douchebags onto Long Island). There’s just a goober with no fashion sense and a penchant for soft tones.

The sweater is a decoration. Like stripes on an General’s uniform, the SOSH displays his arrogance and wealth by shoulder-sweaters. Just as a rich housewife wears a pearl necklace, the SOSH will adorn themselves with a knitted honor. Polos, business suits, pajamas — as long as there’s a shoulder, the SOSH will hang a sweater on it. In rare instances, you may see three or four sweaters stacked on top of a SOSH’s shoulders. This is known as Accelerated Sweater Syndrome, or abbreviated, being an ASS.

You can find the SOSH in and around the Hamptons, Greenwich, and other areas with old money and no minorities. The will most likely be drinking a Wine Spritzer, feigning heterosexuality, and talking about their new BMW 3 Series convertible: “So I told the Dealership: ‘You want my business, you get me a light pink coupe.'”

When you see a Sweater Over Shoulders Herb, you’re first reaction should be to fake a smile and give the SOSH a huge “nice sweater” thumbs up. In a few minutes, bring your conversation closer to the SOSH, take a lighter out, and subtly light his sweater on fire. This is called “Hot Sweater”. Stand back a few paces, give him that huge thumbs up, and say “Hot Sweater, man!”
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Also Known As: The Sisterhood of the Traveling Shoulder Sweaters 3, Country Club Cowboys, The Long Island Birthmark, Herbalicious, Pish Posh SOSH, The Red Badge of Gayness

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