Monthly Archives: July 2009

#65 The Meathead With The Small Dog

Sometimes my Master and I play <em>Hide In The Colon!</em>

Sometimes he let's me play Hide In The Hot Dog!

We’ve all seen the swoll meathead out in public, usually devouring a high protein lunch, peppering his egg white omelet with several grunts and elbows propped awkwardly on the table. If his veiny-arm lumps weren’t enough to scare your kids, he’s now raised the ante — he’s purchased a rat and put a dog collar on it. Ahhh yeah…The Meathead with the Small Dog. His name says it all: a muscular goon with a quaint canine pet, usually in the form of a chihuahua, dachshund, or Yorkshire terrier. Either way, it’s a POS dog associated with stupid spoiled whores and Coach bags.

This walking hard-on’s entire life revolves around 3 daily chores: whey protein shakes, a 3-hour gym visit (plus 1 hour for looking at himself in the mirror), and walking his miniature dog. Where he finds the time to blow other men is a mystery to me.

BigGuySmallDogWhen purchasing a pet dog, most grown men follow the simple “Rule of Dog Kindness”: if you can kill your dog by accidentally stepping on it, then you don’t buy that dog. In other words, if you come home drunk at 3am and your stumbling to hit the light switch, maybe you mistakenly step on your dog’s paw — if your dog would die from such injuries, save the poor animals life. Don’t buy it. Don’t be a dick. Look at the size of your foot, if it’s bigger than your dogs head, this is a bad equation. Plus, that dog looks gay.

But alas, this is not a relevant factor with the Chiwawa-Meathead. He works out at the gym, defining his abs and glutes, right before strolling down the street with his puny pure bred (Editor’s Note: his dog’s probably named Ab or Glute). Both his workout regiment and his attention to his house pet are a tad bit on the aggressive side, and it should be noted there’s nothing more freakish than watching a 5’3” steroid in spandex shorts French kiss his Yorky at a sidewalk café.

Perhaps most intriguing, however, is that with all that buldging muscle and manly-manness asserted by the Meathead, he is virtually unaware of the latent homosexuality associated with his two favorite activities: lifting weights and feeding his Mr. Kittles a piece of his crepe. The act of being around a bunch of sweaty dudes, all groaning and moaning within the confines of heavy steel and cables, correlates well with sitting on a suede ottoman and letting Mr. Kittles lick your lips; both are the standard opening scenes to a mid-90s gay porno flick. And for all you germaphobes out there, sure Mr. Kittles just licked his hairy anus before licking Meathead, but in all fairness, Meathead has definitely tasted a hairy anus in the past. This is not a strange new world to Meathead. This is Friday nights at The Abbey.

Meathead and Small Dog can be found anywhere there are outdoor activities, weights, and lots and lots of hand jobs (mainly Los Angeles, Miami, and San Francisco). It’s not hard to spot this guy, even if he happens to be driving. Just look for the VW Beetle with the “I love my pets…and my pecks” bumper sticker.

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Know As: Turner and Mook, Black Rob’s Small Dog, Butt-Pirate and the Beast, Bitch and Bitches, Hot Dog and Donut Puncher, Paris Hilton, The Salad Tossers, BALCO & Alpo, Both Receivers of Doggy-Style Sex
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Filed under animals, annoying people, beach, body, guidos, gym, idiot accessories

#64 The Karaoke Superstar

I've never wished for AutoTune.  Except for right now.

I've never wished for AutoTune. Except for right now.

As the saying goes: there’s one in every party. There’s always one person or group intent on ruining a good time. In the past, I’ve seen it in the form of police at a house party, or police at a wedding, or police at a soccer riot, or police at the bar. But at karaoke bars, it’s never police. It’s the Karaoke Superstar– that one person who looks at the beer-stained machine and microphone in the back of the bar as their window of opportunity to get discovered by a record executive.

And why wouldn’t they? It’s common knowledge that all music industry moguls spend their Tuesday nights outside their mansions, in the back booth of a sketchy Irish pub drinking $3 tall boys of Naddy Ice. The Karaoke Superstar truly believes this and uses it as a mantra for what he or she will do on Tuesday night for the rest of his or her life (for the sake of misogyny, let’s use “she” from now on).

Karaoke Superstar is the embodiment of the insecurity associated with the female gender, specifically middle school girls and all aspiring actresses. She believes that by using the esteemed principles of her grade school voice coach, she can impress that one person at Sonny McLean’s Publick Drinking House who has “contacts” to the music biz. While other folks are throwing back pints and belting out their favorite Elvis Presley or Three Dog Night song, Karaoke Superstar is sticking solely to what fits in her range, specifically LeAnn Rimes’ “Can’t Fight the Moonlight.”

For a moment like thisThe Superstar comits their acts of “kareokicide” under the dodgy pretense that she’s a good singer. And maybe she actually is alright. But instead of cutting her chops at a local live venue or at the “Dress Like Susan Boyle Night” in the Rec Center, she finds the Tuesday bar crowd less critical and easier to appease, which isn’t hard considering most of the male bar attendees looking at her imagine the microphone as their penis.

In fact, it’s quite common for K.S. to undergo a minor sexual encounter with a bar fly after he tells her he once worked in the same office as Russell Simmons, a half-truth, in that he mopped the floor 2 hours before Russell walked on it in Fat Farm sneakers. These sexual encounters can become a deadly game for Karaoke Superstar, as she’s bound to have a sore throat or oral herpes for a few weeks, both malaises causing major damage to her social life and her karaoke career (both one in the same).

If you come across Karaoke Superstar, be sure to not buy her a drink and not compliment her until she tries to sing something by Queen. There’s no way she’ll reach Freddie Mercury’s pitch, and it will be fun to see her get down on herself. It’s during this point of low self-esteem you’ll be able to go down on her. Even if she’s not into the whole cunnilingus thing, you’ll sleep nicely knowing she’s probably going to binge and purge tonight due to her un-Mercury-esque rendition of “Fat Bottom Girls”.

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Known As: Fiona Crapple, American Idle, Amateur Hour, Stage Fright, Karaoke Dookie, Karaoke vs. Bukkake: The Showdown, Microphone Fiend, the Middle Child, Chris Snornell

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Filed under annoying people, awful, chicks, entertainment, friends, music