Category Archives: beach

#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

#55 The Shell Necklace Sally

Who knew sea shells could be so darn cool!!!

Who knew sea shells could be so darn cool!!!

The Shell Necklace is the male equivalent to the “pearl necklace”. And I don’t mean the shiny kind that comes from an oyster. I mean the kind that comes from a man’s weiner. And if you’re a male wearing a puka shell necklace, then you might as well go cover yourself in splooge, because that’s the message you’re giving off.

First originating in Polynesian islands as a traditional cultural garb, the shell necklace has since been adopted by yuppie white males as a tight-fitting fashion accessory. Said Polynesian tribesman are currently rolling over in their graves.

The Shell Necklace Sally is a douchebag in the most literal sense. They embody all typical douchebag traits, but then magnify this by, as Emril says, “kicking it up a notch“. Frosted tips, tight-fitting t-shirts flared with writing and graphics, thumb rings, ankle braclets, a fake surfer intonation — you name it. If it’s douchey and faggy, the Shell Necklace Sally will soak it up like a coral sponge.

Shell Necklace SallypantsThe next obvious question is “why?“. To answer this fully takes research and lab tests well beyond the reach of Idiot Pants Party. But I will offer this simple answer: the soft white tones of the shell and the firm fit around his slender neck reminds the Shell Necklace Sally of his very own deep, rich, whiteness. It is a metaphor for being a Caucasian — of taking someone’s heritage and making it worse, making it crackified.

You can find the Shell Necklace Sally at any and every tourist gift shop near major beach areas, as well as at yuppie megastores like Abercrombie and Fitch or American Eagle. Teens and youths are more susceptible to shell necklaces, as their life experiences have not yet told them how fucking lame these necklaces are.

There may be a disproportionate ratio of Shell Necklace Sallys (and/or Puka Shell Nancys) near Spring Break destinations, as this tight white choker is a clear message that there are some fratty d-bags ready to do a case race. They will be shirtless, rowdy, and most likely in packs of 5 (as this is the maximum capacity you can jam into a Jeep Wrangler). If you see a SNS drinking on the beach, you should enhance their Spring Break experience by reporting them to your nearest Police authority. They will be undoubtably underage and will enjoy the fresh pearl necklace that Prisoner Pedro gives them in their holding cell.
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Also Known As: Puka Paul, The Luau Loser, The Shell Necklace Nancy, Gay For Pay, I Like White, The Caucasian Choker

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#45 The Weightroom Screamer

So you know it's good.

So you know it's good

What’s more eXtreme than lifting weights, sweating, and screaming at the same time?  If you said “nothing”, give yourself a pat on the pecks.

The Weightroom Screamer is the most intense, meaty, and vocal of all gym-going men.  Every set offers them not just the ability to push their muscles to the limit, but also a chance to show the world they have the vocal pipes of a castrati.  

And screaming bloody murder is not something they take lightly.  Most of the time, you’ll notice they utilize the “grunt-scream”, which is a hybrid noise ranging somewhere between an ejaculating bull and a dying dog.  This is chump change to them.  It’s filler. 

But the REAL scream — the one that makes everyone stare and uneasy — this is what the Weightroom Screamer lives for.  Max Weight. And they refuse to do alone.  They will undoubtably ask you for a spot, grab that weight in their greasy hands, and scream into your face like a drunk girl doing karaoke.  

Can I get a spot please?

Can I get a spot please?

Yet, it’s not all for nothing.  Their mindless screams function much like a bird’s mating call.   The shrill and uncomfortable vocals are merely a signal — letting all the ladies in the room know that he’s the strongest man in the room, and yes, he’s ovulating.

Fresh off of a gallon of Vanilla Whey Protein Shakes and a shot of “5 Hour Energy”, the WRS is ready — at any moment – to have a bench press competition, ask you “what the f**ck are YOU looking at?”, or to straight-up punch you in the face.   If you’re a female, spotting a WRS before they scream is not difficult — they’re the only one in the gym more interested in staring at their own ass over yours.

You can find the WRS at any location where free weights are found. If you live near a beach, you may find an increased ratio of WRS, as their screams hope to attract a hot bittie walking by the ocean. They feed off of lifting wrought iron, and if they even see a BoFlex or any of this other mechanical bullshit, they’re liable to scream in anger and throw a temper tantrum.
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Also Known As:  The Meathead Scream, The Weight Room Diva, Whey Warriors, That Dude At The Gym That Won’t Shut The Fuck Up, Braveheart

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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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Filed under awful, beach, clothes, douche, idiot accessories, long island, parents, rich people

#35 The Guido

I'm a douche bag!
Nothing says strong like a gallon of LA Looks X-Treme Hold Hair Gel loaded onto the scalp of an Italian twentysomething. Sure, the bottle says it will hold that hair in place for six hours, but…will it also be able to withstand fist fights, sea water, skank juice, and Busch Lite?

Such is the everyday battle of the Guido. Will the hair gel hold? Did I pout my lips out enough in that picture? Does this tramp have herpes?

Yet, in the family tree of skeevy, greasy-haired douchebags, the Guido is the Godfather. They are the patriarchal head of East-Coast shitbricks; with popular sects including, but not limited to: The Blowout, The Fake Tan, The Double-Popped D-Bag, The Pencil Chinstrap, and The Meathead.

Yet, while all these sub-sects can be used and utalized individually, the Guido is the sack of sorrys that holds them all. They not only embody all of these traits, but add to it a sense of VD-filled pride and unadulterated support. It’s blind nationalism, and their nation is the New Jersey Shore.

Their main objective: live each day as if it was Spring Break on Muscle Island. They do not aspire for marriage or love, but rather one-night stands and donkeypunches. And while they want money to buy new Polos and pink-striped shirts, they often lack the incentive to stay employed. Many will work as Bouncers or bartenders, since this suits their busy schedule of drinking and lifting weights.

Still confused? This piece, entitled Guido Beach should fill in any gaps of the Guido portrait:

The Guido will be predominantly of the Italian decent, possibly on steroids, and definitely be a douchebag. As a full-blooded Italian man myself, they invoke a self-loathing that would rival a German Jew. Yet, they’re not alone in this world. Their female counterpart, the Gino, will happily oggle their muscles, pound down Heinekens, and slob on some knobs like corn on the cob. Just like Mom taught ’em.

If you see a Guido, point down the road and yell, “Hey! Is that Vin Diesel?!”. When they turn to look, kick them in the nuts. This is unfortunately the only hope we have of stopping them from reproducing.
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Also Known As: The Defining Douchebag, Meat Warriors, Gigli, The Jersey Junkies, Italian Cancer, Shore Whores

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#33 The T-Shirt In The Water Guy


“Man, it’s hot today! So I decided to head to the beach for a refreshing dip in the water with all of my clothes on. I just love to soak my body in the cool waters of the Pacific. Let the ocean fill my Jenco jeans, and the the cold waters wash over my Mickey Mouse Shirt. This is heaven, and I’m glad I’m dressed to impress.”

The above passage was an excerpt from “Wet Cotton XXL: The Diary of a T-Shirt In the Water Guy“. The publication, which has sold hundreds of copies worldwide, is hailed as the unofficial bible for all things water-resistant.

But despite being waterlogged, the T-Shirt in the Water Guy is not a weak link. They are determined beasts, ready to break conformity, and forge their own rules. Because with the T-Shirt Guy, it’s not just a “dip”, it’s a day. For the next 5 hours, his shirt will be soaked to the core. Sand will stick to every orafice like stink on a monkey.

That brief swim will cause chaffed nipples and thighs, wet car seats, and draw stares of disapproval. But it’s worth it. Because they just did their laundry AND went swimming at the same time. What did you accomplish at the beach?

Just taking a dip before my 5PM Meeting

Just taking a dip before my 5PM Meeting

They are the daredevils and bad-asses of the swimming world. They pee in their clothes (in the water), and scoff at the rule about waiting an hour after you eat to swim. In fact, many eat while they swim.

It’s largely understood that the T-Shirt in the Water Guy’s desire to stay clothed comes from a deep-seeded place. Many tend to be larger individuals; some may be embarrassed by their moobs (man boobs). However, in many countries, the notion of swimming fully clothed is a normal one. Here, the T-Shirt in the Water Guy reigns supreme.

You can find the T-Shirt in the Water Guy at your local beach, floating around in the pool, or showering at home fully-clothed. Now while certain members may cross over, it’s important to note that for the most part, T-Shirt Water Guys are NOT part of the “never nude” camp. You may also notice that Hippies really enjoy swimming while dressed.

If you see a T-Shirt in the Water Guy, I recommend you give them a high five, or slap their ass good-sportsmanship-like. It’s important to encourage their behavior. Otherwise, they’ll just stay at home and spray the hose on themselves.

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