Tag Archives: new jersey

#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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#3 The Fake Tan

Fake Tan
There is something to be said for that bright thing in the sky that we call the Sun. It gives us life, food, and more importantly, tans. But there is a particular brand of idiot that chooses to ignore that glowing ball of energy, and in it’s place, put a florescent bulb and some spray-on bronzer.

These people are the Fake Tanners. They feel the obsessive need to pay to recreate the effects of the sun in a small, dark room. Their orangish body desperately craves the frequent, multi-weekly appointments at the local “salon”. Only through this constant, oily attention is the Fake Tan able to darken and mature into full-on douchebaggery.

Although they are not entirely nocturnal, you’ll notice the Fake Tan predominantly at Parties and night clubs, as this is their specialty. They have been tanning all day so that they can glow at night, and that’s exactly what they intend to do. Shine. And quite literally too, as their skin will sparkle with the residue of a fresh application of aloe and Neutrogena.

At the heart of the Fake Tan is a burning competitive flame — a toasty driving force that fuels their frequent lotioning and laying. They need to be the tannest person in the room, no matter what the cost. If that means taking a pillow and some s’mores into their tanning bed, they will do it. They’ll camp there. And they won’t come out until their caucasian skin is charred to the core.

Fake TannerOften, the Fake Tan can lead to obsessive over-tanning, or a term that doctors refer to as “Carrotface“. This overdose of tan can lead to mocking and descrimintation from the Fake Tan community. And if coupled with The Blowout, can be deadly. (see picture to the right)

Thus, lies the crux of the Fake Tan — the dangerous balance between “tannest” and “over-tan“. Who can make it seem like they’ve been in the sun the longest without looking like a malnourished rabbit turd? Who can tight rope the line between golden god and orange asshole?

It’s an unfortunate battle, as with the Fake Tan, there is never any winners. They are all losers.
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Also Known As: That Orangish Guy, Danny Tanner, UV4Me, The Human Glowstick, The Fake Black, Spray-On Douche
Related: The Blowout, The Fake Boob, The Fake Friend, The Double-Popped D-Bag

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Filed under douche, freak, guidos, haircuts, new jersey, rich people, tans

#1 The Blowout

too many douchebagsThere is something particularly obnoxious about the Blowout haircut. I’m not sure if it’s the sheer volume of hair gel required, the smugness of the person wearing it, or the potential safety risk of all those greasy spikes, but The Blowout strives to place itself in the upper echelon of douchebaggery.

As far as hair styles go, it is a neck-and-[red]neck rival to the Mullet in both hateability and trashiness. But the Blowout is not a lame duck. It possesses a unique trait unlike any other haircut: the ability to make it’s wearer unneccessarily aggressive and cocky.

In fact, if you see a blowout haircut, be readily prepared to answer one of these questions: “What are you looking at?”, “You wanna fight about it?”, or “Did you bring the Heinekens?”

Blow yourselfIf you live around New Jersey or Long Island, this is certainly not news to you. You’ve seen the Blowout everywhere. In da clubs, at the grocery store, hitting on your girlfriend. It’s almost impossible to escape it’s greasy grips.

If you’re an attractive female, you will be the unrelinquished apple of the Blowout’s eye. Unless you reject their advances; then you will become a skank.

And as you can see above, the Blowout typically travels in packs. Usually with a Heineken mini-keg. Just in case they need to get shitfaced.

They are also known as “Guidos“, “Jerseyites“, or “Gel Junkies” by the masses, and typically go to get their chest waxed in large groups. So that they can hold eachothers hands to fight through the pain. But, as any Blowout will tell you, pain is good. It attracts the skanks.
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Also Known As: The Hedgehog, The Heineken Haircut, Grease Junkies, Yager Bombed Hairdo, Guido Gellin’, The “Dare to Have Gay Hair” Guy
Related: The Fake Tan, The Double-Popped D-Bag, The Pencil Chinstrap

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