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Dos & Don'ts

Could you have more shit hanging off your purse, please? No, I'm serious.

Could you have more shit hanging off your purse, please? No, I’m serious (you’re in the DOs). Having a ton of shit on your face or on some crazy hat is a distracting pain in the ass but when you’re dressed in some plain old Joe’s Jeans and a shirt your purse is a removable reminder that you could go bananas if you wanted—you’re just not that worried about it.

Got a goiter? Me too. Don’t sit at home feeling sorry for yourself. Get out there and use it to criticize America’s aggressive foreign policy. When people gasp in horror it creates a vacuum that you can then use to sneak information in. This guy’s just taking that premise and multiplying it by 1,000,000,000, 000,000,000,000,000, 000,000,000,000,000, 000,000,000,000,000, 000,000,000,000.   When you walk around in fur you are usually wearing about 40 dead animals. That’s for pussies. Walk around in WWII spats and you’re wearing an accessory that 60 million people died wearing. Beat that!

Annons

Why is everyone so worried about Muslim kids coming to our schools and touching everybody? Sure they have rags on their heads and say “alak bak marak alak lak” but check out the sunglasses and the funny T-shirt. If these guys are so anti-American why do they chug Pepsi like it’s Allah’s tears and read

Rolling Stone

like it’s the Koran? Huh? Lay off!   Of course the ones that hate them kind of look cool too. It’s like Sharp skins vs. Nazi skins. They both look great because they’re both really heavily into a thing.

Am I the only one getting hard thinking about this hairy little bitch? Look at those shoes! Can you imagine those next to your ears as you just plowed into her tiny little cat vagina? You could be grabbing her perfectly round pink tits (they protrude out of the fur kind of like a gorilla chest) and she’d be batting her eyelashes and puckering her lips like the dirty little slut that she is. What a tease!

Speaking of cute alerts: Hello!

I overheard the girl on the left go, “I love pink too,” and then the old lady goes, “It suits us old people,” and then the girl goes, “No, it looks good on all women.” And I liked it so much I thought to myself, “It’s official: I’m a fag.”   If you are a scary badass that murders people for a living it’s smart to juxtapose it with something soft and kind. Spanish and black gangsters like to use prints of gigantic Warner Bros. characters on maternity wear, but us white guys have to resort to some queer phrase like “Nervously Curious” heat-sealed onto a woman’s workout shirt.

Annons

Compare that stupid hat nerd couple in the DON’Ts with these treasures. They’re like an 80s office party with less stupid glasses and more great records.

I don’t care if she dresses him, by the way. That’s not being whipped. That’s called “having sex with your stylist.”   Or these two people. Could our ads work any less on them, please? They’re like the previous two because they both… wait a minute. THESE ARE THE SAME PEOPLE. We were sent this couple on two separate occasions by two separate photographers. This is a first. I don’t know what’s blowing me away more: the fact that we have photographers everywhere or the fact that these guys look perfect every time they go out.

Did this guy not get the memo? We already banned that thing where you let your bushy hair grow long and then hold it back with some kind of headband or hair thing. It’s especially hard to take on white dudes. Now, wiggers with “Cheddar” on their shirts throwing up gang signs… dude, you are about to come full circle and become amazing.   Who gave nerds credit cards? Jesus Christ. What happened to the glasses days where they dressed like IBM employees and basically shit their pants if you asked them for a light? Now their penchant for investment-broker rockabilly swing and Cyndi Lauper Scottish sluts is thrust up into our shit like a computer virus. It’s going to be really weird giving a 35-year-old a wedgie but they leave us no choice.

Annons

We thought it would be kind of funny if we put a pair of sunglasses on a piece of dog shit and put it in the DON’Ts but as we were taking the picture it went “dudleloodelloop” and magically grew into a fucking person! We were like, “What the fuck!?” and this life-size shit guy just goes, “What’s up?”   Hey Batfag, where were you when Siegfried and Roy were having their faces bitten off? Or when Gianni Versace got killed by that hustler? What were you doing, battling AIDS? Don’t take on a title if you can’t handle the responsibility it entails. No matter how totally fucking amazing it looks.

Fuck you, bitch. A simple “No” would suffice. In the old days when you kicked it to a girl on the train she would be flattered but politely decline. She recognized that being hit on means we think you’re pretty. Now they do this. WTF?

It’s pretty bad getting your tips frosted but holy shit, dude. Have some shame. This chief was sitting outside of a women’s hair salon casually having a smoke and waiting for his L’Oreal Super Blondissima to take. Why don’t you grab a six-pack and get a pedi while you’re at it?   These kids are so cliché with the “Jack Daniels and Chucks” shtick they look like they bought rock ‘n’ roll costumes from the drugstore for Halloween. I asked them if they got any cool candy this year and they said it was going bad because nobody got their costumes. “We’re supposed to be Israelis trying to get laid in L.A.”

Annons

It’s great when guys dance in sport sandals because you get to see exactly how their feet contort with each particular step. It’s like having x-ray vision. Right as you’re taking that in you notice the steel bracelets and ultra-positive attitude and next thing you know your whole body feels like it’s covered in itching powder.   There’s “Girls Gone Wild” and then there’s “Girls Doing What Guys Would Do if They Could Be Girls for an Hour Gone Wild.” It’s like, “Hey you guys check out my new tits ha ha ha” and “Hey look at me. I’m eating out Todd and he’s a chick. Aaah ha ha.” When they get back to normal the “girl” in the background is going to be really uncomfortable with how much fun “she” had.

The problem with a tattoo that says both “fuck you” and “kiss my ass” is that, in order to give the fuck-you finger an ass, you have to turn it around—pointing inward. Which then makes it “kiss my ass” and “I can go fuck myself” at the same time.   Um, if you have an ass the size of a baby’s cunt you might not want to base your entire outfit on it.

    My gang walked up to this guy and we were all laughing and going, “Well well, what do we have here? Huh, Mr. Pajama Capes?” and then my boy Rico pulled a switchblade on him and got all up in his face and said, “We talking to you, boyee” and then WOOOMF he leaped out of his seat with a staff and it was all BANG! POW! WHAM! and he was knocking our weapons into the air and tripping us up, making us accidentally punch each other and then he just swooshed out the subway doors and into the night, leaving us all on the floor of the train groaning and holding our heads and saying shit like, “Whoa… what happened?”