You drink Ed Hardy beer

Although we don’t normally do this, we would like to supplement our previous post on wearing Ed Hardy.  Now you can not only look like a douche bag, you can also drink and get drunk like one too.  You can now drink Ed Hardy brand beer.

In a shrewd business move made in an effort to expand the brand of choice for those that try too hard, Ed Hardy has partnered with a little known Mexican brewer to bring Ed Hardy Light Beer and Ed Hardy Premium Beer to the masses.  Adorned with the likes of a tiger and flaming skull with a dagger through it, the bottles appear to be geared towards those who are fans of the “lifestyle brand.”

For those readers that will inevitably say something along the lines of don’t knock it until you try it, here’s a review from our recent tasting of the beers.

Aroma:  Smells of desperation, hair gel, and Axe body spray with subtle hints of day old stripper sweat and Jägerbombs.

Appearance:  Pours a radiant shade of silver bedazzle and glitter that inexplicably turns an unnatural shade of brown or orange in the vein of fake tanners.  At first glance you think drinking it makes you look like you are partying like a rockstar; however, you just end up looking like Jon Gosselin.

Flavor:  Tastes like Red Bull and vodka mixed a strain of hepatitis only found in girls that would hang out with THESE guys.

Palate:  A bitter and sobering finish when you realize you just paid for and drank an Ed Hardy beer.

Overall:  Fail.

You are the type of restaurant customer who has their food spit in

We all know who he is once he walks into a restaurant.  Depending on if you’re in the restaurant industry, your spidey-sense may start tingling the moment he decides to dine in your establishment.  He is the restaurant customer who will have his food spit in during the course of the evening.

Pre-meal:  After calling a few days in advance and making reservations for a party to ten, he swaggers into the restaurant an hour and a half late with only one other dining guest.  It appears his bottle of Drakkar Noir spilled all over him as he was getting ready for the evening because the host could smell him coming and it was so bad that they were considering calling the local haz-mat team to check out the mysterious yet foul odor.  He proceeds to get upset that his table has been given away after it has been held for an hour.  Although he was told over the phone that he wouldn’t be seated until his entire party was present, he gets defensive and agitated that he and his guest can’t be seated right away.  After his tantrum passes, he is begrudgingly led to his table.  However, after about two minutes he gives his server the proverbial finger and tells them that the remaining eight guests won’t be showing up and it is just two for dinner tonight.  Have fun taking apart eight place settings and removing two tables because he will be watching the server like a hawk and making asinine comments about how unprepared the restaurant is.

At the table:  Once the table is broken down, he proceeds to get on his phone.  Not only is he on his phone and Bluetooth the entire time the server is taking orders, he makes sure to talk loud enough that everyone knows the results from his most recent std test and that because they came back negative, he will be out partying it up later with his club promoter pals.  Graciously, he pauses in his phone conversation just long enough to order an entrée that is not on the menu.  In addition, he unilaterally decides to make substitutions to his sides and appetizers.  While the food is being prepared, he proceeds to order round after round of shots getting him and his dinner companion considerably drunk.  After hitting on his server and the bartender bringing the shots, he begins to sloppily make out with his dinner guest and gets into it so much that it reminds him of the beginning of his favorite food related movie, Julie does Julia.  At least it could be worse, he could have brought his damn wiener kids who don’t behave, have no semblance of manners, and are barely coordinated enough to get 10% of the food they throw at their faces in their mouths.

Post-meal:  Although he finished his meal nearly an hour ago, he is still at his table keeping his server there after their shift was scheduled to end.  When he is finally ready to go, he snaps at the server and repeatedly makes check signs in the air until he catches their attention.  Once he gets the check, the issue of the tip comes to the forefront.  He has to decide how and how much, if any, he would like to tip.  When he walked in and was seated, he placed twenty dollars in ones on the table and told his server that this would be their tip and every time they make a mistake he will take a dollar away.  Although he took away quite a few dollars for nitpicky things he made sure to point out to the server, he is toying with cleaning out his parking money stash and tipping in all change.  Like the Grinch who suddenly grew a heart, he fights the urge to not tip and leaves a whopping 11% gratuity on the check.  And as he signs his credit card receipt, he steals the server’s last pen to boot.

After being such as classy and agreeable restaurant patron, he wonders why that little voice in the back of his head says to check all his food for spit prior to eating it every time he goes out.

You tell your wife that yes, those jeans do make your butt look fat

Come on now.  Really?  I mean really?  Haven’t you been forced to watch enough humorless romantic comedies with Katherine Heigl or vapid t.v. sitcoms to know what you’re suppose to say in this situation?  Couldn’t you pull out that second Twix Bar and stuff it into your mouth to stall until you came up with a better answer?  Have Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts, Sandra Bullock, Drew Barrymore, and Renée Zellweger taught you anything?  Apparently not, because you just told your wife that yes, those jeans do make her butt look fat.

How to answer a question like that is the first thing you are ingrained with when you enter into a relationship or get married.  When you are handed your man card, you also get a complimentary copy of the “Man-ual”.  If you took the time to glance through the table of contents, you would have known you could have skipped straight to Chapter Seven which is titled “How to Answer Questions you are bound to be asked.”  In addition to informing you that you should never say the first answer that pops into your head, you are also given pointers and stock answers for other common questions such as “What are you thinking?”, “Am I as attractive as the day we met?”, “Don’t you want to help out more around the house?”, “Am I prettier than her?”, “Did you just check her out?”, “Did you just say something?”, and “Do you think I should get a boob job?”  All you had to do was memorize a few simple fill-in-the-bank stock responses and you would have been money.  But no, of course you didn’t want to take the time to memorize a few key cya phrases.  Are you crazy – you look great in anything.  If anything, those jeans are slimming.  Where’d you go {insert her name here} – a super model just walked in.  If you can memorize all the lines to Caddyshack or the lyrics to White Snake’s “Here I Go Again”, then you can certainly remember a few key lines to help avoid a sex embargo that will last longer than it takes for Hugh Grant to bulk up, undandify himself, and take over Christian Bale’s role in the Batman franchise.

You just can’t function without your Starbucks

His “addiction” began back in his high school days.  He was a member of his school’s drama troupe which consisted of the kids who considered themselves the “artistic but tortured souls.”  While sitting around discussing Chaucer and Nietzsche with Jeff, the “cool teacher” who let his students call him by his first name, he was first introduced to the black gold.  Later while in college, he joined the university’s poetry e-zine which met in the catacombs of the local indie coffee shop.  While discussing what rhymes with “brooding” and how to fit it nicely into iambic pentameter, he sipped espresso shots from his own personal demitasse cup which he carried around in his messenger bag.  Fast-forward ten years and he had his hopes and dreams crushed.  After graduating and having his unpaid internship with McSweeney’s fall through, he finally listened to his parents and went to grad school.  After toiling on and off for nearly six years getting a masters in philosophy and ancient languages, he eventually graduated and got a 9-5 working in a cubicle as a nameless and faceless drone with a multinational corporation (i.e. everything he has every stood against).

He can’t face his past anymore.  He makes a promise to himself that he will embrace the darkside and his new station in life.  He gets rid of his fixed gear bicycle and buys a hybrid.  He moves out of his downtown loft that he shared with six roommates to a townhouse in a newly gentrified up and coming neighborhood.  He no longer shops at Whole Foods because they support local farmers and growers; he shops there because that is what yuppies and soccer moms are supposed to do.  He donates his entire wardrobe to the local goodwill and buys page seven through thirteen of the JCrew catalogue.  And then we get to his obsession with coffee.  After having his spirit broken, he can’t face going back to the neighborhood hipster fair trade and feminist bookstore coffeehouses of his youth.  He goes to Starbucks.

Frappuccinos, lattes, americanos, cappuccinos, and macchiatos – it doesn’t matter.  Just like white people, he loves his coffee and especially everything Starbucks related.  He’s got all the latest Starbucks products: a home brewing machine, a bean grinder, five types of Starbucks coffee, and matching travel mugs.  He’s the customer that walks in the store and says things like “If I don’t get my cup of Starbucks this morning, I think I’ll have a serious case of the Mondays”, “Happy Humpday”, and “TGIF”.  Rather than use iTunes for purchasing his music, his musical preferences are governed by whatever artists are featured next to the Starbucks register.  If he’s swamped with work, he likes to take his laptop there and set up shop in his favorite nook.  He goes in there so often that the baristas are able to begin his usual drink when they see him walking in the door. Additionally, with all the customization, they need to get a head start on his grande, non-fat, 6 1/3 pump sugar free vanilla, 2 1/4 pump peppermint, no whip, 137° mocha topped with a dusting of cinnamon.

You shart yourself

He was in a crowded department store when the dreaded stomach issues initially arose.  First, his stomach began to inexplicably tighten.  He felt what he thought was gas pressure begin to build inside him.  He soon realized that this was no mere stomach twinge; he was about to have an onslaught of uncontrollable flatulence.  He knew time was of the essence and that he needed to get to the bathroom before he had an “accident”.  He quietly and quickly excused himself as he made a break for the bathroom doing the easily identifiable clenched butt shuffle.  He saw a sign for the restroom; however, it happened to be on the other side of the store.  As he made his way through ladies shoes and the fragrance departments, the pressure was so immense that he just had to relieve it a little bit.  He thought he could control his “shutter speed” and would be able to make it to the bathroom just in time.  Boy was he wrong…

Rather than merely having a “turtle poke his head out of the shell”, he sharted himself.  For our readers who are unfamiliar with the math, here’s the basic equation:

Shart = (Shit + Fart) – Clean Pants – Dignity

Quite often, he will shart by mistake.  He miscalculates the ratio of his ethnic food intake with that of his proximity and ability to actually make it to the nearest restroom.  He may believe that he is merely passing wind that is not backed with the force of a dirty tsunami.  Or he may have just failed to read the ingredient label and had one too many chips that contained Olestra.  Very rarely does sharting occur on purpose; it seems to only occur in guy farting contests where no one emerges as a winner.

Like with the “prairie dog who won’t go back in its hole”, the question arises as to what he should do next.  Depending on how confident he is with his acting ability around guests or his fellow coworkers, he may say “Screw it, I can play it off and cover it up through the day.  I’ll wipe later.”  The more likely situation will involve him discretely making his way to the bathroom to survey the damage.  He may try to wipe off the evidence, rinse with soap and water, and go about his day like nothing ever happened.  He may try to MacGyver it and salvage makeshift underwear from the remnants.  He potentially may run to the nearest department store to replace his soiled clothes.  Or he may try the commando option which is a popular choice when faced with his predicament.  He will almost certainly need to be careful with this option because now he doesn’t have the underwear buffer between a concealed incident and a repeat performance cementing his status as the office sharter.

Photo of the Day

Spiderman, Spiderman, Does whatever a spider can. Spins a web, any size, Catches thieves just like flies. Look out! Here comes the Spiderman.

Is he strong? Listen bud – He’s got radioactive blood. Can he swing from a thread? Take a look overhead. Hey there! There goes the Spiderman.

In the chill of the night, At the scene of the crime, Like a streak of light, He arrives just in time!

Spiderman, Spiderman, Friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Wealth and fame, he’s ignored – Action is his reward. To him, Life is a great big bang-up – Wherever there’s a hang-up, You’ll find the Spiderman!

You are addicted to Facebook

He just got a new smartphone (most likely with some type of Bluetooth accessory).  No, his job doesn’t require him to be accessible at all times.  And no, he isn’t an important business man conducting important business.  He merely wants to be able to access the internet and his Facebook account at all times of the day.

He has a closed profile because he believes that it adds a heir of mystery and intrigue to him.  However, he fails to take into account that, no, we don’t care that he only shares certain information with everyone.  We’re also quite certain that his profile information is not interesting enough for anyone to want to add him as a friend in the first place.

However, if you do somehow make the cut and have your friend request accepted, be prepared for the barrage of pokes, friend suggestions, and group, cause, and quiz links.  Enjoy getting daily words of wisdom such as “Thought of the day: I know you can be ‘overwhelmed’ and ‘underwhelmed’.  But can you just be ‘whelmed’?”  That is about as profound as his previous post – “thinks ambition is a poor excuse for not having enough sense to be lazy.”

If he hasn’t already realized, we don’t need minute by minute updates of his mundane life.  It’s 11am and you’re hungry.  Okay.  It’s 11:17am and you can’t stop thinking about lunch.  Sure.  It’s 11:29am and you’re thinking about a grilled cheese with tomato soup.  Although that does sound good, does this really affect me and my day?  It’s 11:43am and you just got home with lunch making accouterment – bread, cheese, and some Campbell’s.  This is just getting ridiculous now.  It’s 11:56am and you gave up and ordered a pizza.  Great, I just wasted an hour following your lunch odyssey, you made me hungry for grilled cheese and tomato soup, and now you’re saying you ordered a damn pizza!?!

And who can forget his wonderfully clever posts on your wall such as this:

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Although he fancies himself as a Facebook Gangster, he should begin to prepare himself to have only his parents left as his Facebook friends.

You are a Twilight fanatic

A casual fan he is not.  It must be ingrained somewhere in his DNA that he cannot merely pick up a copy of the latest “it” book or hit movie without losing his mind.  He disregards his daily life with abandon as he throws himself head first into fictional worlds and tales of suspense and tween romance.  On that faithful day back in October 2005 when Twilight was first released, he finally found something to replace his obsession with all things Harry Potter.

Authored by Stephenie Meyer, the Twilight series – including the books Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn - have been translated into at least 38 different languages and sold 70 million copies worldwide.  Additionally, the movie based on the first novel in the series grossed approximately $383,520,177 in worldwide box office receipt.  Not that any of this matters to him though.

He follows People, Star, and US Weekly religiously just to get his latest fix of Robert Pattinson, Kristen Stewart, and Taylor Lautner.  OMG, he can’t believe that they go to Starbucks just like the rest of us.  He says it’s bananas that they walk in and out of buildings and down the street like regular people.

He likes to ask if you saw the latest Twilight related post on PerezHilton.com.  He is fascinated that the buff one was walking around without a shirt on somewhere and he can’t believe that the two dating were reportedly seen out in public together.  Plus, he hasn’t yet decided which side to take in the epic debate: Team Edward or Team Jacob.

If you’ve checked your inbox anytime lately, you already know that he wants to tell you about the latest Facebook quiz he took – he really thought he was an Edward Cullen but it turns out he was a Jacob Black all along.

Don’t worry if you think all he does is follow tabloids and internet blogs regarding Twilight.  He’s pretty busy planning the 2010 TwiCon Conventions and writing his latest installment of fan fiction so at least he’s got that going for him.

Photo of the Day

The camel toe has left the building.  Thank you, thank you very much.

You date That Girl

You almost feel sorry for him.  You almost pity him for what he has to deal with.  You almost wish you could take him aside, ask “what are you thinking”, and shake some sense into him.  Almost, but not really.  He has brought this all upon himself.  He has to be aware of the comments, staring, and dirty looks that ensue when he brings her to a social function.  He knows what everyone is thinking and says about her behind their backs.  His girlfriend is not-so-affectionately referred to as That Girl.

So how exactly did he get trapped into being with That Girl?  Although it’s a long and undoubtedly convoluted story, here’s the short version.  One of his mutual friends brought her to a party as his date awhile ago.  After being with the friend for a few weeks, she began to make the rounds in the group hoping that she would become someone’s girlfriend.  Even though he should have known better especially after hearing the details of her sexual promiscuity and neurotic personality from his friends, he ended up taking his turn dating her.

That was his first mistake because everything has gone downhill since then.  Wherever they go, she has to draw attention to herself and usually not in a good way.  She likes to make an entrance wearing barely there clothing that definitely doesn’t cover up her muffin top or tramp stamp tattoo.  Like most guidettes, she looks like a hot mess as she tries to pull off an all Ed Hardy or Juicy Couture outfit with tranny inspired make-up.

Her appearance aside, she is oblivious to the fact that she makes an ass of herself whenever they go out and she embarrasses everyone around her.  Wherever she is, drama, tears, and bipolar behavior is sure to follow.  She walks into the place like she owns it and everyone should know who she is.  She orders copious amounts of alcohol throughout the course of the evening resulting in her becoming a sloppy drunk.  She sings along to every song that is played and acts as though the club DJ is her own personal iPod (we get it; you like Katy Perry, LMFAO, and Cobra Starship).  When “her jam” comes on, she gets up on a table or the bar and dances ala Coyote Ugly sans the talent or coordination.  And make sure to warn everyone in the club if he talks to any other girls or, conversely, they talk to him.  She goes from zero to Jerry Springer levels of crazy assuming that the girl is trying to steal him away from her or that he is already sleeping with her.  If this happens, hopefully he is prepared to become acquainted with club security and the film crew for Cops.