Author Archives: scottiasillo

#43 The Fantasy Football Fanatic

It's like I'm actually part of the team!

It's almost as real as beating off to porn!

Since when was it socially acceptable for a grown-man to watch football on Sunday with a laptop propped on his thighs? This question is one of the many asked while observing the internet’s latest product, the Fantasy Football Fanatic AKA F3s.

Other questions include, “why would a grown man live out his life vicariously through an offensive line?” Or even worse, “why would an adult let his life be consumed by the stats of a newly acquired placeholder?” These questions are just part of the enigma that are Fantasy Football Fans, a group immensely growing in numbers while ironically, their cocks shrink.

“Irony” is the proper term for this pathetic culture of loserdom. The F3 is a big proponent of all things masculine: reading FHM, doping drinks with GHP, and shopping at GNC. All in all, F3 lives in a fantasy world (obvious by his name). But on Sunday, all that masculinity culminates to a couch cushion in order to perform the least manly thing possible: watch television and let a computer tally up statistics. F3 plops himself on the couch for an arduous day of nothing but potential bragging rights at the water cooler tomorrow. In doing so, he has become the perfect example of the pussification of the American male.

Whereas only 10 years ago, adult males would enter the workplace on Monday morning to trade stories about who’s penis went where over the weekend or about how much property damage they caused — today’s men meet at the water cooler to boast about who traded up for Ricky Waters prior to Sunday afternoon*.

Even more stupendous than their pussification is the event they hold just before their 5-month internet hard-on. I’m referring to the Fantasy Football Draft, which, if some of you aren’t familiar, is the equivalent of the motivational huddle fluffers create the first day of shooting on a gay-porn set.

Spotting an F3 is one of the easiest tasks to master. For one, F3 outfits are as uniform as the referees they’ve come to detest. By sporting their favorite football team’s home jersey or t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, the F3 announces to the general public that A) I’m a huge fan of Eli Manning and B) I’ve abandoned self-confidence and have given up caring about my place in society.

Secondly, all F3s congregate in the same place: their homes. There once was a time where F3s wandered planet Earth like the husky dog in heat. But much like the husky breed, they’ve been neutered, trading in their natural ways for a fat, domesticated life on the couch. Nonetheless, an enticing menu of chicken wings and boobs can get F3s out of the house, but the lack of internet access hinders their social behavior. And while you’re trying to kick it to a pair of slutty Chargers fans, your F3 “Wingman” will be too busy texting his buddy Karl to hit the refresh button, and update him on their fantasy league.

By Scott Glockholder
Also Known As: Tim Couch, Peyton Not-a-Manning, Warren Goon, Warren Sappy, Mean Joe Recliner, Robert DeNiro in The Fan, Season Ticket/Dick Holder



Filed under entertainment, friends, internet, sports

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


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

#34 The High-Angle MySpace Slut

High Angle MySpace Sluts (or HAMS, as they’re referred to by worried mothers, pornographic casting agencies, and anyone else scouring the internet for teenage ingenues) are a slew of females who find the best way to show off their beauty is through a square-inch photo placed in some sort of networking website. I use the term slew in describing this sub-species because, ironically, these girls have been ridden more times than Triple Crown winner Seattle Slew.

This particular photo, no matter how small, possesses one key trait: a self-shot photograph from a high angle, preferably close-up. Research has shown the popularity of this particular angle is due to the false belief that it makes the subject much thinner. But if one was to consult their medical physician or common sense, they’ll quickly learn that fat is fat. You can’t take the bone out of the chicken.

HAMS use the high-angle pose in accordance with two key physical traits, sucking in the cheeks and cocking the head downward (note how it’s only natural for the words “sucking” and “cocking” to exist when describing HAMS). HAMS feel these traits let their audience, mainly 10th grade chemistry teachers, know they are (A) easy and (B) attractive. But mainly easy.

Moons Over My Hammy

Moons Over My Hammy

HAMS have become highly controversial in recent years, with the increases in both teenage pregnancy and the sale of glittery lip gloss being direct results. HAMS have always been hip to inner circles of popular social groups because of their affinity for swallowing anything, be it e-pills or another man’s babies. Such popularity has forced the entertainment business to embrace this sub-sect, with several spokespeople displaying this way of life, mainly Tila Tequila or any contestant associated with all things broadcasted on VH-1.

HAMS can be found at any social function where mind-altering drugs are being handed out, especially low-lit places where their looks are manipulated for the better. These social functions include but aren’t limited to public school janitor closets, BEBE back-to-school sales, and bukkake parties.

If ever approached by HAMS, please understand that the low-lighting has created the illusion of natural beauty. Also, don’t act surprised to see their hair gel has morphed a once cute hairdo into a plastic dreadlock-dental floss texture. Finally, be sure to keep a pack of profolactics on your person and a bottle of Listerine in your car, as it is almost guaranteed that HAMS have the gum disease gingivitis.

By Scott Glockholder
Also Known As: Ballrats, Teenage Wasteland, The Big Easies, Our next guest on today’s show, Millenial Hoes, Who Are You Kidding, Digital Cam Tramp, The Jilted Quicker Picker Upper Mounty, Kid Sister
Related: The Reality Show Contestant, The Fake Friend


Filed under face, friends, internet, prostitute, sex, technology

#29 The Movie Theater Applauder

Wow!  That Brett Ratner did it again!

Wow! That Brett Ratner did it again!

There’s always one person that ruins a great experience. At Faber College it was Dean Wormer, in the 90s it was that parachuting fan man, and since then, it’s been the Movie Theatre Applauder. Where the former two were single, flash-in-the-pan jackasses (on par with Sugar Ray’s Mark McGrath), the Movie Theatre Applauder is omnipresent and everlasting — and he or she hasn’t let up since my first cinema outing in the mid-80s.

Perhaps the most annoying characteristic about the Movie Theatre Applauder is their anonymity. Just like the drunk girl at the party packing the clap, you don’t know who’s going to ruin your experience until after you’ve had your fun. They’re a slick and self-conscious bunch, able to cloak their nimrod habit just as the house lights are turned on.

With their “clap and bounce” strategy, MTA’s slither out the exit well before a crow-hop hard-right from myself or any other person trying to enjoy the sullen end to Requiem For A Dream. Yet, just a few seconds ago they were applauding with pure vigor, as if Darren Aronofsky was going to answer questions in a post-flick seminar.

Unfortunately, that’s not the case. There is no Aronofsky standing at the podium, no producers to give you insight. The only person waiting when those lights come on is the 17-year old usher, who’s lethargy is at its peak because he’s well aware he’ll be picking up my empty box of Raisinets and the five cans of Sparks I left in the back row.

I’m the D-bag applauding after What Happens In Vegas.

I’m the D-bag applauding after What Happens In Vegas.

Although similar to their annoying counterpart,The Black Movie Theater Talker, the Movie Theater Applauder cowers at the prospect of being identified. Even so, we’ve managed to draw a rough sketch: Applauders are more of the New England smug type; the same people who wear turtle necks underneath corduroy sport coats, work on the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle in bed, and indulge in brunch at least 12 times a month.

If one is to ever catch a Movie Theatre Applauder, I recommend they duff him or her out, but hold back on their vindictive assault. One should shackle the applauder and bring him or her to the nearest university, where their blood can be tested to see if they’re genetically predisposed to being a douche bag.

By Scott Glockholder
Also Known As: And The Dipshit Is…, Credits Killer, Clap Your Hands Say Gay, How To Lose An Eye in 10 Seconds, Clappy Gilmore


Filed under douche, entertainment, old people

#26 The Ringtoner Extraordinaire

I can\'t believe we both put that in our mouths!
The Ringtoner Extraordinaire is the kind of girl who finds human beings so simple, so uncomplicated, that she’s confident in summing them up through one digitized pop song. Whether you’re a friend, coworker or family member, your never too valuable to be replaced by a $1.99 download on their LG Chocolate.

The most prevalent flaw with the Ringtoner Extraordinaire is the unoriginality behind their song choices, with nitwit connections including Alicia Keyes’ “In & Out of Love” for a former lover and “We’re Not Gonna Take It” by Twisted Sister whenever her (you guessed it!) sister calls. While the RE sees originality in her song-to-caller choices, the rest of the world sees (and hears) a tone-deaf ardtard.

You’ll also notice the RE’s total inability to pick appropriate or politically correct ringtones. Don’t be surprised to hear “My Neck, My Back (Lick it)” by Khia when her grandfather calls, or “Whoop That Trick” for her Mother. I had the unfortunate experience of witnessing the RE’s senselessness at my own aunt’s funeral, when my cousin’s phone rang out Hall n Oates’ “She’s Gone.” Bravo, you dumb bitch.

Whoop the trickDespite the complexity of her pubescent emotional state, you’ll notice the RE is not a bright bulb. Odds are her song selections are:
a) produced by Timbaland
b) found on Clive Davis’ record label
c) off her favorite album “Now That’s What I Call Music: Vol. Who Gives A Shit!
d) rhyme with Shmelly Shmurtado.

The RE loves to paint with broad strokes. In fact, there is an eerie similarity between the Ringtoner Extraordinaire and sheriffs of the Deep South circa 1960. Both groups have a strong urge to categorize a person into one particular group, disregarding individuality altogether. More than likely, a relative of Ringtoner Extraordinaire has participated in church bombings or, if foreign, apartheid.

Ringtoner Extraordinaires can be found pretty much everywhere in this country — except at Onyx concerts, where after a girl’s ringtone interrupted their performance of “Blac Vagina Finda.” , singer Fredro Starr boot-stomped the girl into a coma. Despite this incident, REs have seen an overwhelming growth in popularity, especially among female teenagers. Currently, owning several ringtones is as popular in middle school as MTV’s The Hills and the fad of trading Parliament Lights for oral sex.

The true dilemma that faces single ringtone owners versus their multiple-ringtone counterparts is the fact that most female REs are quite attractive, hence the complications that arise during conversation between the two post-coitus. Keep in mind that this is only a problem for men, as any female who sweats a male Ringtoner Extraordinaire should understand he’s a homosexual.

By Scott Glockholder
Also Known As: Ringtone Clone, Boner & Toner Lover, Toney Toney Toney, Ring Jobbers, Celly Cell and the Ruin Movies Crew, Love-to-Interrupt Slut, The Girl with the Pearl Necklace and lots of Ringtones, 8th Graders

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Filed under douche, friends, idiot accessories, kids, technology

#24 The Home Plate Waver

If only the ball hit him
The Home Plate Waver is the biggest gip amongst a whole slew of gips commonly referred to as baseball fans. Seen loafing on a plastic chair 4 rows behind the umpire, he demands the TV audience know he’s part of the broadcast — all 4 centimeters of his bulbous head.

Using the patented Frantic Hand Wave and Cell Phone Call™, the Home Plate Waver strives for one goal and one goal alone: talk to someone watching and let them know there’s a slight chance they’re on TV. Jazz hands are frequently used for emphasis.

Yet the hope of being seen quickly turns into desperation. Like a child on a diving board screaming for his mother to watch him jump, he pursues telephone calls to family and friends well into the 8th inning, hoping one person will say, “Yeah, I see your fat ass. It diverted me from witnessing a fantastic full count strikeout by Frank Viola, but I see your fat ass.”

He may be senile, but he\'s still a HPWSure, he’s got great box seats, but what the Waver’s really announcing to the world is his despondent need for attention. Such longing to be noticed ranks right below strippers and just a step above adult-film stars. But where pornstars get paid for blowing somebody, Home Plate Wavers are just blatant cocksmokers, forcing the great debate amongst American scholars as to who is actually the most attention-desperate

Unfortunately, 9 out of 10 HPWs never get discovered. This occurs for two main reasons: one, nobody gives a shit. And two, they simply don’t stand out. A perfect example: wearing an entire navy blue outfit at a Yankee game, with a dark hat that covers the eyes. It’s also hard to recognize someone when they’re stuffing their face full of hot dogs for 7 straight innings.

But negativity aside, the Home Plate Waver does display one positive quality: a resiliency on par with Die Hard’s John McClane. They will never give up on getting noticed. Yet, such stubborn manners force many of the baseball fans sitting directly behind them to scream outlandish sentiments about this pathetic plea for attention, as well as who had sex with HPW’s mother and in what orifice.

The Home Plate Waver can be found all over the USA, ruining MLB games in any city he visits or resides in. Very rarely will the Home Plate Waver stop his trademark shit storm — this usually occurs after a loud-mouth fan throws their shoe at him, or more frequently, when the usher comes by to check tickets and realizes the slob didn’t belong in this section in the first place.

By Scott Glockholder
Also Known As: Wavey Cockett, The Jazz Hands FairyMan, Look-At-Me-Dupree, Waveheart, Jenna Wave-a-son, Weiner Breath, The “If You Wave it, They Will Boo” Guy

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Filed under douche, los angeles, new york city, sports

#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
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


Filed under body, clothes, idiot accessories, work