Category Archives: guidos

#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

#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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#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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#40 The Sticker-on-Hat Guy


Nothing says “fresh” like a circular hologram sticker. And for the Sticker-on-Hat Guy, this is life. It’s his “Born On” date. And even the thought of removing that sticker causes a salty discharge from his tear duct.

The most important thing to know about the Hat Sticker Guy is this: the thing on his head is not just a hat, it’s a shrine. Like comic book nerds collecting first prints, or a cokehead trying to spread out his last 8-ball, the keyword is preservation. They need to keep that hat as new and untouched as the day they bought [or stole] it. So help them god.

That means the brim needs to be perfectly straight. The sticker needs to remain as it was on display — shiny, unblemished, and visible. And they when they wear the hat, it must barely even touch their head. Preferably, it will be hovering, cocked off to the side, and backwards.

Obviously, the next normal question is “why?” I mean, would you keep an XL sticker on your new pair of jeans or the wrapper on your condom? The answer, I imagine, is no. And why buy a hat if you’re going to be concerned about it’s safety and wellbeing? Why not just have a child instead?

But for the Sticker-On-Hat Guy, reason is not important. They don’t do it because they like it, they do it because they think other people will think it’s cool. They are your run-of-the-mill posers and copycats — the same people that bought Parachute Pants when MC Hammer hit it big.

Boyz 2 HatWhile the SOH is gaining large ground in the white, wigger community, it’s important to note that this style was introduced a long time ago by African Americans. Perhaps it’s first visible variance can be seen on the hat of Mike Bivins in Boyz II Men’s cross-platform hit “Motown Philly“.

It’s no sticker, but his signature “clothespin and price tag” look trail-blazed the way for all kinds of on-hat accessories.

Like baggy pants and rap music, this is one of the latest trends that white people have stolen from the black community and made douchey. Those largely responsible are the uber-white, New Jersey-style posers that rock a flat-brimmed Yankees or Mets hat.

If you know a Sticker-on-Hat Guy, there’s two ways to handle the situation: 1) Silently remove the sticker when they go to gel their hair into a blowout, or preferably, 2) Take his pristine hat and return it to the store for a full refund. Then use the money to buy yourself a 12 pack of Bud Diesel and #1 combo at Chick-Fil-A.
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Also Known As: The Hat Sticker Whore, On-Display Douchery, Dr. Seuss, It’s Cool To Keep The Tags On, Sticker Stanley, The White Bread Hat, Poppa Cap

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#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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#21 The Double-Popped D-Bag

Nice look guys.  And nice armband
As if one popped collar wasn’t enough.

The Double-Popped D-Bag is a unique brand of uber-collegiate prepster, tredding that vague line between Frat Guy and Gay Guy. Sure, call them gay and they’ll beat you up with their gang of Pastel Poloites — but go to the Mall later and you’ll see them giggling and tickling each other, arms full, at Lacoste’s Semi-Annual Sale.

To simply call the Double-Popped D-Bag a “douchebag” would be shortchanging them. They are douchebags with arrogance, affluence, and an unjustified sense of confidence. You can equate the DPDB to their vegetable counterpart: the onion. Peel away all those layers of Polos, and you’re left with is a stinky herb that girls don’t like.

Theres a popped collar for every finger up his ass.They are followers by nature, as clearly, any normal person wouldn’t wake up and put two polos over one another. But their friend does it, so they do it. Yeah, it’s dumb. But give the D-Bag a choice between decision-making and a rock of cocaine, and they’ll choose the Booger Sugar every time.

The Double-Popped D-Bag’s mentality and lifestyle depends solely on three things: Cape Codders, polos, and their Father’s money. Without the latter, they couldn’t have the first two. It’s a delicate cycle — Much like “the Circle of Life” in the Lion King, except instead of Simba, it’s Steve. And he’s a prick.

You can find the Double-Popped D-Bag shopping at your local White Person Mall, bar hopping in packs of four, or fisting eachother in the basement of their Frat House. They are concentrated in and around the Long Island/New Jersey area, with certain followings scattered throughout Southern Greek Life. On special occasions, such as the Annual D-Bag Ball, they will intermingle with The Blowout, The Pencil Chinstrap, and if they’re smooth, The Fake Boob.

If you see a DPDB at a party, tell them their polo’s unbuttoned. While they’re searching for which Polo, duff them out, pop your collar, and mack it to their girlfriend. Now that, my friend, is called justice.
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Also Known As: Two Polos Don’t Make a Right, The Layered Lacoste Guy, The Stay-Popped Marshmallow Man, Twice the Douche, The Polo Express, The American Nesting Doll

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#7 The Pencil Chinstrap

the thin line between facial hair and gaycial hair.

The Pencil Chinstrap is the thin line between facial hair and gaycial hair. It’s beard meets Etch-A-Sketch. A matte frame around a meaty face.

You see, the regular chinstrap is not enough. It’s way too thick and not nearly as abrasive. For people like Pencil Chinstraps, that facial hair needs to be chiseled down. Into a barely visible, dainty line.

After all, this is not facial hair we’re talking about. This is art. Linear, mathematical douchebag art. While other men are out drinking beer, the Chinstrapper will spend hours measuring, and remeasuring. Use of a protractor is essential.

more chinsIt must be right angles at the jaw line. The sideburn area must be polished clean. The line must be as thin as possible. If they could get it down to one hair follicle in diameter, they would. In fact, they have a bunch of Guidos in a lab working on that science as we speak.

The Pencil Chinstrap will often be combined with The Blowout, The Fake Tan, and steroid use. Headbands and straight-brimmed hats are optional. Depending on how close you get to New Jersey or Long Island, combinations may become more and more extreme.

In rare instances, you may see a makeshift Pencil Chinstrap drawn on with an Eyeliner Pencil. This may occur when a Pencil Chinstrapper commits “the cardinal sin” — or for the layman, when they screw up in the shaving process, and break the line. In such situations, the burning desire for a thin line of facial hair may cause a man to act irrationally, and use makeup.

The Pencil Chinstrap is the final frontier for the meathead. They’ve conquered muscles, skanks, tight shirts…and now beards.
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Also Known As: The Man’s Eyeliner, The Thin Chin Wrap, Guido Gold, The Mason/Douchebag Line, Thin Tin Tin, The Redneck U
Related: The Blowout, The Fake Tan, The Double-Popped D-Bag

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