It's late Friday. Work is completed. The little bratilla munchkin is at P's. I should be out running 3 miles while cursing about the disk in my ipod getting replaced. But I'm not. I'm on the Tucker Max Message Board reading about what makes a douchbag.
Here are some of my favorites:
Any guy who wears his cell phone/PDA on his belt. We are not impressed by your Treo, you fag. Put it in your pocket.
Anyone who sips their mixed drink through the fucking stirrer(s).
Anyone who wears a bluetooth earpiece at all times.
Guys who refer to their friends as "my bros" or "my crew."
You habitually send food back at a restaurant. I worked with a guy who did this at EVERY meal just to show the server how developed his palate was, “I think there is a little too much tarragon/rosemary/what-ever-the-fuck in this” Asshole.
People that quote Sartre, Neitzsche, Kierkegaard, in daily conversation.
Guys at the gym who talk more than they work out.
Anyone who orders complicated drinks at a coffee house or bar.
Barbed wire tatoos on the bicep.
Double Polo: Popped, locked, ready to suck cock.
The guys at the gym that spend 5 minutes flexing and checking their muscles in the mirror after EVERY SET.
Any man who wears a wife-beater type shirt, or any shirt with no arms, to a bar.
Under-armour as outer wear outside of the gym or off the field.
People that are so anit-cliche about anything popular they become a cliche about being anti-cliche.
Now I can run 3 miles in peace...