Category Archives: body

#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

#62 The Flatso

I think she knows the Muffin Man.

I think she knows the Muffin Man.

The Flatso is a rarity in the female gender — a concave specimen swimming in a gelatinous pool of convexity. Truly, Flatsos are a unique bunch, combining the 2 core qualities deemed most unattractive by superficial males: little-to-zero breast surface and a rotund body. Where as most chubby chicks are granted their one golden asset (bulbous titty balls), the Flatso is unfortunately denied such an amenity.

It is worth pausing to clarify: this is not a reference simply to small breasts; these are awesome. It is instead a specific niche who’ve chosen to let themselves grow wild. Still confused? Follow this simple “Rule of Plumb”: If the gut protrudes farther out than the breasts, then those ain’t breasts. That’s Flatso territory. And a man could accomplish the same feat (and many, many men have).

In turn, this lack of boobage forces the Flatso to evolve a very sour, unfriendly attitude towards everyone. How bad an attitude you ask? Ironically, their attitude is equivalent to that of the snobby modeling hoes that most men admire and get chubbies for. Nature is one ironically cruel motherfucker, ain’t it?

Pregnant Man or Flatso?  The world may never know.

Pregnant Man or Flatso? The world may never know.

Similar to the moon, the Fatso can be seen from far away, usually gravitating towards the nearest corndog stand or Carls Jr. They may also be seen standing in line for a nightclub, or later, sitting outside of said nightclub with their shoes off.

Their most visible characteristics would be their infamous belly and A-cups, with the former sticking out much farther than the latter. Typically, an underlining quality of alcoholism may also be present. Her constant consumption of beer coincides with her Yodels appetite, but more importantly, serves as a primitive tool — a modern-day arrowhead — used to spear down potential male mates. If there’s alcohol present, odds are an inebriated soul might get stuck in her gravitational pull, and indulge. The booze also serves as an invisible lube, making it easier for her to straddle herself on top of victim # 5’s penis.

Flatsos are located all over the USA, with a heavy populace (pun intended) in the Midwest, especially Wal-Mart parking lots and Ponderosa buffet lines. If one is to meet a Flatso, try to remain sober throughout your experience with them. If one chooses to drink, it’s recommended that you aim for heenan. You wouldn’t want to leave a night with a Flatso empty handed. Well, on second thought, that’s probably impossible.

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Known As: Lady Lumps, Flattop, The Grand Manyon, DJ Belly Bell, The Gutman, Hefty Flat Bag, Flatbed Dump Truck, Jezabelly, Dick Van Flatton, Flat-Broke-n-Busted, The Drew Carey Chestbump

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Filed under body, boobs, chicks, food, slow

#57 The Non-Tribal Tribesmen

African Tribal Lady, meet White Male From Milwaukee

Keta from the Anlo-Ewe Tribe, meet Mike From Milwaukee


There was once a time where you had to take a safari to a remote village in Africa to view what is known by anthropologists as “distending discs”, or in simple Americana: “that shit that you put in your skin to make it stretched out”.

But thanks to the popularity of anti-depressants, skateboarding culture, and Chris Angel, we now have the pleasure of seeing these Non-Tribal Tribesman right on our city block. That dude with an ear gauge the size of a fist in both of his ear lobes sure is cool! And check out the chick with metal staples in her cheeks!! Bring that sexy back, sista!

Extra napkin ring

Extra napkin ring

These “Inverse Earings” have become quite the rage, despite the fact that they make the hole in your ear bigger and bigger, as opposed to say, staying the same and hanging pretty things off of it. Forget the fact that in 10 years, your earlobes might look like a sleeve of a wizard. Much like the Fake Boob, it’s all about the now. And how!

And I’m all for it. Many people have made jokes about having sex with a person’s ear. To the Tribesman, this is a plausible reality. That gauging hole in their ear is yet another orifice to call your own. Make it yours. Need an extra napkin ring? Done. Just borrow their ear-ring, and return it after your done.

It is important to point out that despite their name, the Tribesmen can be both male and female. And also even those hermy-looking peeps that fit somewhere between. Regardless of gender, many of them have noted that the children’s song “Do Your Ears Hang Low” was a super-cool song when they were kids.

The Non-Tribal Tribesman can be found in anywhere, although large populations have sprung up in the Los Angeles, San Diego, and New York City areas. Contrary to their African precursors, the Tribesman is more likely to be found in a densely populated area. As this allows them to find more Tribesman, with whom they play “Who can make their hole the biggest?” The person that looses has to eat the ookie cookie.
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Also Known As: Poppa Piercing, Ear Vagina, Dumbo, The Ear Plug Fug, Earrings 2.0, The Foot Fist Way, Windsock Willy

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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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Filed under beach, body, friends, guidos, gym, sports

#44 The Chinese Symbol Tattoo

Round Eye

What They Think It Means: True Love. What It Actually Means: Stupid Round Eye

The Chinese Symbol Tattoo is the quintessential go-to tattoo of the 21st century. It’s immediately deep, incredibly profound. Not because you read somewhere that it means “honor”, but because everyone of your friends doesn’t understand what it means.

For the Chinese Symbol Tattoo (CST), that little doodle on their arm is proof that they are, in fact, better and smarter than you. They’re intellectual, world-class people. And just because they don’t understand something, doesn’t mean that they won’t get a tattoo of it. Because they will. They’ll get a whole freakin’ row of tattoos.

And really…what’s cooler than branding yourself with something that — five beers ago — meant absolutely nothing to you. Don’t you see how insightful it is? It’s like embracing other cultures, without the hassle of actually learning or doing anything.

Now, it’s important to note that this article is specifically talking about Caucasians, not Asians — the hamburger-eating Round Eyes that entrust Cleedus down at Lucky Tattoo to ink them up in Mandarin. These are the same people that think Outback Steakhouse is a good place to experience Australia, and order Dominos when they feel like eating Italian.

While they are in the same family as the Barbed-Wire Arm Tattoo and the Tattoo Freak, the CST is by far the most powerful of the needle-based junkies. They’ve tapped into that rare fringe market — male and female twenty-somethings that want a cool tattoo, but don’t have anything in mind. So they settle for one that means something to someone else.

So then, why do it? The answer is simple. The CST loves the fact that you have to ask them what it means. It practically pays for itself in ego stroking!

And really, what’s cooler than a permanent reminder that you don’t speak Chinese? If you happen to come across a Chinese Symbol tattoo (which you undoubtably will), give them a little scare. Tell them you speak Mandarin, and that their tattoo actually means “a whale’s vagina”.
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Also Known As: Lost in Translation, The Chinese Star, It Means “Douche”, The Cultural Tat, Bing Bing Herro Prease, The Poo Poo Platter

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Filed under body, friends, idiot accessories, IdiotPantsParty, tattoo, trendy

#41 The Metrosexual

We're 51% straight!

We're 51% straight!

If it’s cool to be gay, than this guy is balls-deep in an ass. And if being gay is uncool, than this guy is still balls deep, but he’ll be blasting the latest Akon mashup and feigning heterosexuality. This is the confused dichotomy of the Metrosexual — dress like a gay person to score chicks.

The Metrosexual is the Clark Kent of the gay world, able to walk on the straight side then run into a telephone booth and come out with a feather boa. They want to be gay so badly that they’re willing to put on the full costume and shake their tailfeather. But if you’re a gay guy, don’t you even LOOK at them. Because they’ll make you a knuckle sandwich with extra man-meat.

It’s ironic, however, that while the Metrosexual embraces gay fashion and stylings, they are perhaps the most “homophobic” people on earth. Notice the quotation marks I put around that word. It’s common knowledge that many such metrosexuals will outwardly hate, but on the inside, be as gay as Clay Aiken. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

If there’s a 2-for-1 deal on waxing, they’ll get their chest and their taint waxed. If there’s a sale at Barney’s, they’ll be waiting outside the door with a $5000 credit limit. And if there’s a new trendy club, they’ll be there with greased hair and a collared shirt.

The Metrosexual lives a fabulous life, with a peppering of douchiness mixed in. So how do you tell a metro from a gay person? It’s a tough distinction, and one I don’t really care about making.

What’s particularly interesting is that while the Metrosexual philosophy is aimed at pleasing women, they are often the butt of the joke on both sides of the fence. Straight men dislike Metros, Gay men dislike Metros, and most women scoff at Metros. So that pretty much means that only Metrosexuals like other Metrosexuals. Again, man on man.

You can largely find Metrosexuals concentrated in New York City and areas of Long Island/New Jersey. They love clubbing, rap music where the vocals are robotized, and being inside another man (not in a gay way). Hobbies include: Frosting their tips, buying stripped shirts, Madonna (especially her new stuff), scarves, and reading GQ, both online and in print.
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Also Known As: Metro, Gay For Play, The Bare-Chested Stripped-Shirt Guy, The Confused Clubber, Ball Street, The Fabulous Homophobe

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Filed under body, clothes, douche, friends, guidos, idiot accessories, long island, new jersey, new york city, rich people

#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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Filed under beach, body, clothes, idiot accessories, tans