Dos & Don'ts

This is the truth: two LES officers busted some chief and confiscated his DOs & DON'Ts book. Then they noticed a cop from their precinct was made fun in it of for

dressing like he played bass in Crazy Town

. The book became an NYPD hit (except for the Crazy Town cop, who is getting sick of being called that). Now everyone from the 7th precinct drives around with the book laughing their heads off and throwing pieces of shit in jail. Does it get anymore "DO" than that?

PS: Please fry Rudy Fleming.

What's better than fighting? Eh? No lawyers or "public apologies" or sending someone to prison (essentially ruining the guy's life) just for hurting your feelings. If you have a problem you go talk to the guy. If it gets physical, it gets physical. Everything gets evened up right then and there. Like Ghandi should have said, "An eye for an eye teaches the world not to fuck with people's eyes."   While nerds are fanatically drawing basketball-titted

Tomb Raider

bitches in CGI and gay designers are sketching 11-year-old boys and calling them "female" the rest of us are beating off to floppy brunettes dressed in ridiculously out of date circus clothes and drenched in imperfections.

Come to think of it, fuck fashionable, expensive shit. We want tacky crap from Chinatown. You can keep your anorexic Parisians in swishy Prada wear. We want meaty Blasians in corny diva wear.   How's this for disrespect? Their incredibly overweight, 7 ft. tall mother raises them and does what she can with no father and these little fucking ingrates parade around town in her maternity wear like she was some kind of stupid fat person that should be made fun of. The poor woman is left at home, nude in bed and crying to the ceiling, "Where did I go wrong, lawd?"

[Fuck you, I like it—Ed.]

OK, he may look like an anthropomorphized erection but check out the schnozz. That thing has been broken about a thousand times. And a tattoo of a slut being encircled by shitting penises covered in STDs? If this guy's an erection then stick it on me. I'm going to get laid.   "Slappy Tits" here busted her ass all week and now she is here to party. Sure, getting laid wouldn't be horrible. That's what she's got the leather and lace for. But if you look at the shoes and her lack of concern where things end up, you realize that tonight is about the dance floor and dancing the living shit out of yourself.

Look at this dude, all alone doing his little shirky dance. He doesn't give a shit if you think he's weird and he's not here to make any new friends. He's just here to dance around in his pile of homemade clothes and do some new dances he invented. Shy is the new in-your-face.   Holy shit could this ball of rice be any more put together? From the embroidered jean jacket right down to the perfectly coordinated fuck me boots, she's so flawless she's basically a logo.

This goes out to the true eccentrics. Not some douche that refuses to buy a CD player or a cell phone—we're talking about an old Italian immigrant who can't resist a few good hauls off her favorite pipe. She could give so little of a shit what her husband thinks she's basically giving a negative shit which is like putting a vacum cleaner to his ass and killing him.   Last month we gave old ladies shit for dressing like adolescent whores, but there's nothing wrong with them picking up some 22s and shooting the shit out of a rival hillbilly's home. Women and guns are always good. Even when they're dying.

Prepare to die with your boots on, fuckface. What is that anyways? "I'm a shitkicking badass that won't hesitate to stomp you to the ground like the tiny little bitch that you are HOWEVER my knees need to breathe and if it's hot out I'm going to have to bust out the shorts while I order my burrito, sorry."   It's weird to step out of the inner sanctum of the

New York Post

and face the fact that the rest of the world sees the Iraq war as an episode of

Happy Days

where bin Laden is The Fonz. They all wear t-shirts like this and mill around Tunisia making Valentine's jokes

Okay, lads, whoa. This is getting a little out of control. We don't want you to have to sneak into after-hours bars with lesbians as your fake dates the way you did in the 50s, but public handjobs? Can we swing the pendulum back a tiny bit please? Even the head of Act Up! is like, "Um, we may want to try to pull the dicks out of our mouths for a second and say something other than ‘Got any poppers?""   Back in the anti-metrosexual 70s the world was so

Saturday Night Fever

meets

Welcome Back Kotter

that "looking cool" basically meant acting like a greasy, overweight rapist who was obsessed with himself. Guy, that was THIRTY years ago.

Diversity and the global village and blah blah blah is nice and everything, but have you ever been to Russia? This is what you'd be like if you went there. Your odd pint of Guinness is nothing compared to their endless rivers of vodka. Similarly, these guys are not adjusting that well from a sip of rice wine to 15 Alabama Slammas. Booze is the hardest part of assimilation and these niggas just don't got the enzymes.   Combine that with this Western feminist compulsion to party just as hard as the big boys and you have someone that is both passed out AND puking and pissing herself.

What the fuck is this cacophony? A "girls kick butt" wifebeater in the center of a broomball pre-pubescent slut winter wonderland. I wonder if these middle American virgins that come to Vegas know that they look like an 11-year-old drag queen told them what to wear.   Remember that wigger phase where you wore oversized pajamas and thought you were blowing the world's mind by dating a black chick? Imagine you got frozen in that phase forever and didn't realize it until you were basically a Grandwigger? Fuck would I ever laugh at you.

Montreal's war on English has been so successful that you have these secluded "Jouers" (players) that have no idea what "TOUCH IT, Available, SEX, BITCH, SEXY ASS SLUT, Slut, STAY SINGLE. BAD ASS MOTHERFUCKER, SEX" means (that's literally a transcription of the back).   "I know you're looking at my tits and wondering if they're silicone free. Well, they are!" Way to embrace the lamest part of my brain and advertise it back to me. Why don't you just get a shirt that says, "You might beat off about hate-fucking me later if you're feeling lazy and can't think of anything better."

Dude, did you not hear Chris Rock talk about "the old guy at the club?" Is staring at the asses of girls you'll never get really worth a 48-hour hangover? You've had three decades to indulge yourself. It's time to go invent things and pass bills and save the Western world and stuff.   Despite what the earth goddesses want you to believe, menstruating is not really a sexy time. Your body just spent 28 days making a house for a baby to move into. Nobody moved in so it has to dismantle the whole thing (walls and all) and have the refuse seep out of your vagina. It's not making us barf or anything but it's not exactly a "flash the gash" moment either.