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Monday, November 21, 2005

20 Things Every Assclown Must Do Before He Dies

You've seen all the lists of things to do before you die. Ride a gondola in Venice, helicopter over the Grand Canyon, smoke pot in Amsterdam, see Paris from atop the Eiffel Tower. Check, check, check, check.

But that's for regular people. If striving to live the life of an assclown, one must complete this checklist to have people remember, "Now that guy was a fucking idiot."

20. Cheat on a significant other. Weak, in every sense of the word. You know what they say. It ain't how you act when people are looking.

19. Fail to look someone in the eyes when you shake hands. Pleased to not really meet you. I always pay attention to this.

18. Brag about drinking for free when you tipped the bartender $30. Free is $0. $30 is not. Just say you get good service and end it.

17. Spread your lazy ass all over the Barnes & Noble aisles. I don't know when it became socially acceptable to turn bookstores into libraries for sloths, but that's where we're at. Here I am trying to peruse the shelves for books I'm gonna buy online for 60% less, and I have to step over a number of assclowns spread all over the floor like a hotel room full of passed-out spring-breakers. And they've got five books to their side, so you know they don't have plans for the next several hours.

16. Smoke a cigar in a bar. We don't have this problem in New York anymore, but it used to take me about five seconds from spark up to "What the fuck is that stench?" A full half hour of selfishness. And you know these guys don't smoke cigars at home. Only when they can try to look cool in front of people whose environment they're ruining.

15. When ninth in line at a store, run toward just-opened nearby register. When assisting busy coworkers, some cashiers say, "Next person in line, please." Some don't, because they rely on human decency. Thanks, assclowns, who interpret the omission as meaning "free for all, barbarians."

14. Whistle at women from a construction site. According to the Elias Sports Bureau, the number of times a woman has stopped to chat with a whistling predator who's smoking a cig and eating a baloney sandwich on his 10:30 a.m. break is 0-for-5,000,000.

13. Continuously pepper crowded areas with nasty farts. Look, we've all been there. Ya gotta take a shit, right? And ya don't wanna do it here, right? Well, go the fuck home, will ya?

12. Sing with your eyes closed during karaoke. You're missing the point of the activity. Badly.

11. Wait on hold for 45 minutes to talk to a sports radio host. In 1986, I waited maybe a half-hour on 770 WABC to ask a host whether he thought Don Mattingly would win his second MVP award. (He said Kirby Puckett, but whatever). Anyway, I was 13. Thirteen! Grown men should not be doing this.

10. Put five minutes of thought into a tattoo. Ever met a bunch of grandmas with tats over their asses? Well, stick around another 40 years. I don't think military vets regret having their troop details inked forever onto their person. But that Tweety Bird ya got on your hip? We'll see. I've enjoyed the show Inked, because it juxtaposes professionals who treat tattoos as art with drunken assclowns who make rash decisions. Respect to the creative types who embrace the culture.

9. Complain incessantly about how someone misplayed his blackjack hand. Everyone gets irked by the guy at third base who hits on 13 against a 5 and ends up fucking everyone who was holding their breath for a bust. A few rolled eyes is understandable, especially if he doesn't offer a mea culpa. But the guy who whines about it forever, without taking into account that the player changed every hand that came after it — meaning he could have helped others in the long run — is equally ignorant as the bad bettor. Plus, if everyone always went by the chart, instead of invoking a feeling of luck, blackjack would be way more boring.

8. Share your 120 unedited party photos on Shutterfly. Here's one of me, James, Jessica, Steve and Allison. And here's one of Allison, me, Jessica, Steve and James. And here's on of Steve, Jessica, James, Allison and me. Jesus Christ, stick to the highlights, otherwise I'm gonna miss the good stuff that's buried somewhere among 15 shots that all look the same. Oh, and it's OK to delete the blurry ones. Really.

7. Brag about getting into a bar fight. Write on a piece of paper under what threats you would risk being cut with glass, breaking a hand or being jailed for the night, over simply walking away and assuring 100% safety. Then tell me how many bar fights you've heard of that qualified. Oh, and think about how many times you've seen two sober guys fight. The shit just ain't worth it.

6. Crank your SUV's souped-up stereo with the windows open. You think these guys pump the bass like that on the highway? Of course not. It's for attention, not for function. So I say, give 'em attention. Next time you're crossing the street in front of said assclown, stop and dance a jig for as long as the stoplight will allow. Then point and laugh ... a lot.

5. Take an extra ticket to a big event when you don't really give a crap. Hey, Melissa, I'm so glad you wanted to come to this Yankees-Mets game. So which New York team do you root for? "Oh, I'm not really into baseball." What?!?! There's a million people watching at home who would kill to be here.

4. Nonchalantly flick a corporate card on a bar. It's not the use of corporate cards I despise. It's that move where the guys dip into their pocket, position the card between their index and middle fingers and then toss the card at the bartender like they're the Sultan of Brunei.

3. Change lanes constantly in steady traffic. Recklessness is defined as taking unnecessary risks. Now you tell me how gaining seven car lengths over a half-hour period could be considered necessary.

2. Upon hearing House of Pain's Jump Around, actually jump around. Hell yeah, all my boyz be in the house! Don't forget to bump into bar patrons who actually go out more than once a week.

1. Wear a No. 69 jersey in a rec league. Bill Simmons wrote a piece on the 20 worst baseball fans that pretty much nails all the gripes I have with assclowns pervading stadiums nationwide. The No. 69 jersey at softball games takes the cheesecake in the sports arena. So played, so tacky. And let me add the fools at football tailgates who throw 40-yard passes while holding a beer, allowing the ball the bounce off their free hand and into your car.

Category: Deep Thoughts | Permalink | Post a Comment (6)


Comments: 20 Things Every Assclown Must Do Before He Dies

I am so with you on all of these but one.

I hate guys that smoke cigars. How can a guy think he is cool with a big, brown, smelly phallic looking thing sticking out of his mouth? I DESPISE people that blast their horrid music in their car. I do however, don't hold anything against cheaters. I am of the "if you can't be with the one you love, then love the one you're with" theory.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving, PK :)

Posted by Cass at November 21, 2005 8:26 AM

I think #5 is the ass hat for the assclown. As for #13, there is nothing as satisfying as laying a huge silent-but-deadly one in a crowded, morning-rush-hour subway car. Watching your stench progress the length of the car as you see the faces of the millions turn from studied nonchalance to complete disgust is the underground equivalent of the sports stadium wave.

Posted by Larry at November 21, 2005 10:20 AM

nice post....

you forgot all the concert-going assclown antics. dancing like an idiot. singing along. talking loud. cell phone abuse. standing when everybody else is sitting. going to the bathroom/bar/where ever every 5 minutes. etc...

steve

Posted by hello at November 21, 2005 10:28 AM

Depends on the concert, I guess. I usually go to rock shows, so dancing and singing don't bother me. Except...

The second time I saw Mary Chapin Carpenter at MSG, this pig from the sticks (no way that hair was local) about two rows back sang every word (loudly).

She got glares from several people and yapped to no one in particular. "Fuck 'em. I paid my money. Ain't my fault they don't know the words."

Well, we did know the words. Also knew no one paid to hear us sing them.

Another time, I had a bad seat for a KISS concert at MSG. Smoe lady behind me asked me to sit down. Again, a KISS concert at MSG in their hometown of New York. I couldn't think of a more inapproriate time to be seated.

Posted by Paul Katcher at November 21, 2005 10:56 AM

In 1995, I went to see Mind Science of the Mind, a sort of indie supergroup that featured Shudder to Think's Nathan Larson and Helium's Mary Timony. I was completely stoked when I discovered that Jeff Buckley was playing bass that night. There was this utter fuckwad in the crowd that kept screaming "Free Bird!!!" at the top of his lungs and lurching drunkenly about the room, slam-dancing into everyone like he was at a GWAR show. The band got so pissed that they stopped playing twice and Jeff Buckley screamed back for this twat to "shut the fuck up." Really - Jeff Buckley screamed "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! Thanks for ruining it for everyone, douche.

Incidentally, Jeff was dead less than two months later. Happy now?

Posted by Cabinderada at November 22, 2005 1:51 PM

Paul,

I think you should add "Watch your team lose at home to the Bucknell Bison" to that list...

4-1 v.s. top 20 teams in the past year - watch out Duke!

Posted by gmac17 at November 22, 2005 9:19 PM
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