Category Archives: friends

#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

#59 The Laptop Pooper

The Laptop Pooper:  Taking Multitasking Too Far

The Laptop Pooper: Taking Multitasking Too Far

It’s a sad day for technology when that 30 Megahurtz processor is working double duty to rapidly refresh “WWTDD“, while simultaneously attempting to stream the latest “Akon” song, all while you’re taking a sizable BM. But to the Laptop Pooper, this is a twice daily routine. Sometimes three, if today was Bran Flake Tuesday.

A more modern, recent addition to the Idiot Pants Party, the Laptop Pooper has streaked their way onto the scene within the last four years, breaking new ground with the invention of WiFi. These wireless technologies have given the LP virtual free reign, and upon their porcelain throne, they intend to be entertained.

For the Laptop Pooper, there is no line to cross — no line between what’s acceptable computer behavior and what’s just weird. Taking a shit with their computer propped precariously on top of their thighs — mere inches away from defecation — does not raise any red flags. They like that heat on their thighs, they need it.

Laptop LoggerLaptop Poopers tend to be younger males with excessive free time at work — worker bees who thusly experience a numbing exposure to the internet and various FAIL blogs. They tend to rely on these virtual sources to pass all waking moments of free time. And that 10-15 minutes in the Power Dome is no different.

Don’t even try to give them something “printed” to read, that shit is for old people. The laptop is king. “The Laptop Pooper Creed”, translated from Latin, states it quite plainly: It’s thine laptop, and they shalt poop if they want to. Sure, their motto is a rip off of Lesley Gore’s iconic song, but who the fuck is that?

Yet, perhaps the most disturbing aspect of LP’s habits is what’s know by scientists as “Fecal Fallout”, or unseen residue from said bathroom experiences that are unbeknownst to fellow computer users. This is quite similar to a nuclear reaction. That laptop you borrow to look up Google Maps may have been in the shitter only moments ago, and now your fingers will smell like chocolate.

If you’re confused, that’s a good thing. I personally follow the philosophy that if you’re not bringing it in there to whack off, then give it a rest. But be warned, it’s difficult to spot a Laptop Pooper unless you are close friends and/or roommates with them, as this tends to be a very personal pasttime.
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Also Known As: Partners in Porcelain, Poo Crew, The Computer Crapper, Dr. Doody, Crapping With My CPU, The Laptop Logger

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Filed under college, entertainment, friends, idiot accessories, internet, stink, wtf?

#58 The Middle-Finger Photo F***

Facebook!

Facebook!


The Middle-Finger Photo Fuck (guy or girl) is a recent phenomenon in the age of the worldwide web. In essence, MFPF revolves around a simple gesture from a simple person. Their purpose? To show off their eminence, mainly as a mindless human void, through a photograph pose consisting of a middle finger directed toward the lens. They are an entity of American culture hell bent on displaying their 10th grade angst and rebellious attitude. But it’s understandable; it’s tough out there when you’re only given 43-minutes for lunch.

“Yo, Joey!  Fuck you, Joey!”

“Yo, Joey! Fuck you, Joey!”

Even if it’s just a friendly pic, the MFPF feels the need to claim their territory, and they do so via “menacing” finger-threat. The perfect part of this non-verbal assualt is it’s relative easiness to impose on strangers, no matter how fast or slow their bandwidth is. All it requires is a simple camera, a middle finger from either hand, and if they’re experienced, an arching of the neck backward so as to puff out the chest. That’s it. Follow those steps, and you’ve got what physiologists call the body language of a “major league prick”. The mentality behind this pose lies in a massive insecurity on par with the likes of carrying a concealed weapon while visiting an amusement park or having tribal band tattoos.

You might at first feel inclined to give Middle Finger Guy the benefit of the doubt. Hey, maybe he’s having a bad day or something, right? Sure, maybe. But know this: you give them a finger, and they’ll take 10. And all your hair gel.

MFPFs come in all ages, races, genders, and religions, but nonetheless they should be treated like second-class citizens. They are always behind in the times, hence why they emulate the actions of a white rapper with bleached blonde hair from 6 years ago. Despite their tardiness with trends, middle-finger folk are found in both ass-backwards states and pretentious, smarmy states, not because they live there but because their profiles float all over cyberspace.

MFPFs love to display their gruff attitude to all those living in virtual reality. This way, they get to tell everyone, from your nosey next-door neighbor to the clueless Indonesian field peasant with 25 minutes of community internet time, “Hey, you can’t fuck with me. I don’t even know you, but now you know ME, motherf***er.”

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Known As: Slim Shitty, The Middle Finger Child Syndrome, Fuck You Jobu, Handyman, Tough and Gruff at 15, Bird Flipper Whipper Snapper, Study Hall Brawler

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#56 The Drunk Girl Horror Show

She just needs someone to talk to.

She just needs someone to talk to.

Wow, this chick’s kinda hot. She says she’s Jill’s best friend from college…huh, I wonder why I’ve never met her before? Damn, she’s chugging that vodka like a champ!! Wait, she keeps giving me that firey-eyed look…What the hell is that? Maybe she likes me?? Maybe I’m gonna score!!!

And thats when you realize that you’ve unwittingly just been invited to the Drunk Girl Horror Show. Cancel any plans you had, and tuck those horny dreams away for the night, because all you’re getting is an earful of shitty stories, and a face-full of tears.

Have a few drinks with her, and you’ll soon find out everything. Everything. Stuff you didn’t want to know, and stuff you shouldn’t know. Keep an ear out for her endless stories about her ex-boyfriend, her terrible fight with anorexia, and if you’re lucky, you might even get the “I was raped” roller-coaster ride. Oh, you just wanted to have a chill night? Well, fuck that — you’re getting a rape story, and you better fucking be there to support her.

Drunk Girl Horror 2Forget the fact that you don’t even know her. She’s all yours tonight. In fact, be ready to be her shoulder to cry on, as well as the shoulder to put her miserable weight on all night. Be warned, after midnight, she surrenders the use of her legs, and will need to be carried around. And if you’re lucky, she’ll cap the night off with a fresh vomit on your couch. It’s a lot of fun, especially since you just met her four hours ago.

You can find the Drunk Girl Horror Show at any bar, club, or place where alcohol is served without a psychiatric test. However, you should be particularly wary of the “friend of a friend”. If you’ve never met her before, there’s probably a good reason why. Other girls can’t stand DGHS either, and will typically only hang out with them when the Horror Show is particularly needy and “just wants a girls night”. This is a horrible situation to be involved in.

But there are warning signs. Typically, the DGHS will begins with stories of her Ex-Boyfriend or will chug massive quantities of alcohol in disproportionate time. If you say, “Wow, how did she drink all that??”, get out as quickly as you can. The show has already begun…
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Also Known As: Beer Tears, The Drunk Succubus, I Thought You Said “Ape”, Close Talker, Buzz Killington, I’ll Never Drink Again

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#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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#53 The Rick Roller

Look, it was funny at one point.  But this is re-goddamn-diculous.

Look, it was funny at one point. But this is re-goddamn-diculous.

Nothing is less cool than an internet fad. Especially when it’s an internet fad that my Grandma thinks is lame. Yet, for the Rick Roller, this little web “trick” is fresh comic gold. I mean, can you believe it?!! When they click on the link it goes to a silly song!!

It’s not that the Rick Roller means to be annoying. It’s more that they have no idea; this whole “rick roll” thing is a hilarious joke they just heard about yesterday in an AOL chatroom. They’re blatantly unaware that the rest of the world has moved on, and that even Rick Astley himself put out a statement, “anyone that rick rolls after January 1, 2009 is officially a f**king dipshit. Get over it already.

But unfortunately for Rick, these dipshits won’t be slowing their roll. According to a new study put out by the Zizmor Institute, RR’s suffer from what scientists call “trend retardation”, in that they are severely handicapped in their ability to comprehend and utilize current fads. This is perfectly exemplified by their continued use of Kazaa for music downloads and their persistent care for their Tomagotchi virtual pet. They also enjoy paying for internet pornography.

Rick RollerThis is typically why the Rick Roller is not invited to partys, as they have a habit of bringing a compact disc with “Never Gonna Give You Up” on all 14 tracks. That, and the fact they love Ashton Kutcher. This is largely because they believe trucker hats to be currently very “trendy” [they’re not], and equate a successful rick roll to being Punk’d.

You will find the Rick Roller operating on either an Acer or Gateway computer running Windows 95 or possibly Linux. If you have the unfortunate luck of living near a Rick Roller, you may frequently hear a weird, high-pitched noise every few hours. Don’t be scared — this is the sound of their modem dialing into their AOL account, or possibly the sound of them crasturbating (crying and masturbating simultaneously) to a full size Rick Astley cardboard cutout.
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Also Known As: Slow, The Trend Killer, Rickets, The Astley Asshole, Never Gonna Give It Up, The Linking Loser, Dick Roll

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#50 The Conspiracy Theorist

ConspiracyTheoristFresh off a bong rip and the latest installment of “Zeitgeist”, the Conspiracy Theorist is there to let you know that this society we live in is not quite a “society” at all. It’s all a huge lie propagated by corporations and evil governments worldwide.

Did you know that Big Business controls our government? And that our government LIES to us? Do you know how happy our society would be if we bandished the monetary system, and in it’s place, set up a system of equality and shared goods?

Yeah, no shit. I’d also be a lot happier if the ATM tickled my balls when I withdrew money, but it doesn’t. And I’d like a happy ending every time I buy a loaf of bread, but that doesn’t happen either. (Believe me, I keep my hopes high.)

But all this “reality”, “real world” nonsense is not important. To the Conspiracy Theorist, it’s all about just that — theory. Hypothetical fantasy lands where money is abolished and people live in harmony. There’s no fighting and no 9/11, because everyone shares and does their part. And the best part is, it rains gumdrops here!

ConspiracyTheoryKey traits of the Conspiracy Theorist are: medium-to-long hair, usually unkempt; a beard or mustache of some variety — again, unkempt; bags under their eyes due to hours spent scouring the internet for “clues”; ugly sweaters and/or turtlenecks; and a weakness for the sticky icky. They like organic food, as it lacks “government poison”, and enjoy anywhere between 2-4 cups of coffee a day. Black. Just like the heart of George Bush.

Yet, the one thing the CT loves more than anything else is talking. Much like the “Let Me Tell You About My Day Guy”, you could be in the middle of a normal conversation and let’s say you mention “movies” or “money” — BLAM! — say goodbye to your next two hours. Your in for a world of CT BS.

You can find the Conspiracy Theorist concentrated in deep, woodsy areas, or on the “outskirts” of major cities. They’ll most likely be high and watching “Loose Change”, “Zeitgiest”, “Zietgiest II”, or the Mel Gibson/Julia Roberts starrer “Conspiracy Theory”. If you find yourself stuck in a conversation with a CT, tell them you’re in law school, training to become a Politician. They’ll assume you’re part of “the program”, and shut up faster than a whore at a cock party.
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Also Known As: The Useless Debater, Lie-Loving Larry, The 9/11 Fanster, They’re After Me, Theo Theory, Ballsack Face, Gullible’s Travels

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