That Staring Guy

Deep in the brush of the Urban Jungle lies the illusive, yet altogether infuriating creature, that staring guy. Who is that guy you may ask? Who is this creature to earn my venomous post this week? Well, he is a very clever trickster indeed and when you notice him, you hope some horrible tragic malady to befall you and the 50 other people around you just to make sure this miserable creature is bathed in cleansing agony and death.

That staring guy is the one who out of the corner of your eye stares at you. Perhaps you are reading a paper, zoning out and watching the sidewalk or wall, walking somewhere, some means of activity in which your attention is not to your surroundings and then out of the corner of your eye, peripheral vision or such, you catch it. Two beady eyes staring holes through you. Of course you want to see the creature attached to these ocular spheres of annoyance, however as you look up and your eyes meet for a few slivers of a second, he darts his eyes away like a frightened squirrel in the middle of a group of children.

No matter how many times you look up, to confirm him staring, he quickly looks away. You look up, he looks to the side. You look to the side, he looks away. It's like some idiotic site gag on a bad cartoon show. Anytime you catch him in the act, he merely averts his gaze and acts like he is innocent. This game of idiotic cat and mouse happens until you reach where you're going or end up leaving.

Listen that guy, I am not some six year old at an ice cream truck, so stop looking at me as such. It's just eerie. You are the reason why there are blind people in the world, because you abuse your right to vision. If I had my way I would pour bleach into your contact solution and pour enough salt in your eyes to make beef jerky. At which point, I hope flies will lay eggs in your eyes so maggots will writhe from your useless and perpetually irritating ocular cavities. Fuck you that guy, fuck you.

Center of Attention Guy

Every group of friends has certain roles that must be filled. There's the voice of reason, that usually talks you out of the extremely stupid decisions. There's the daredevil, who uses alcohol as an elixir of life and convinces himself that he can do anything, five times better than anyone else. And then there's the Center of Attention Guy, a guy as devoted to the spotlight as Paris Hilton is devoted to dick.

It doesn't matter what the situation or location is, Center of Attention Guy is under strict orders from his overinflated ego that he must live up to his name, and be the first and last thought to cross the minds of everyone present. This is a man that wouldn't hesitate to give you oxygen, but only because he doesn't believe that there is any air present in space where you(along with the rest of the world) revolve around him. Whether he's making up stories, or speaking of genuine experiences, it's simply unacceptable that anyone else have anything of interest to say.

What's that? You're going mountain climbing this weekend? Well that's no longer important, because Center of Attention guy once climbed Mt. Everest. By himself. And then pulled down 30 orphans that were stranded at the top. You're meeting your favorite football player? CoA guy not only went to college with Tom Brady, but they regularly hang out, and Brady actually asks him for tips on improving his spiral. You single-handedly redirected a meteor that was going to end all life on Earth? CoA guy's done it twice, the second time while nursing two broken legs from the time he wrestled 5 grizzly bears and rescued a dozen nuns.

From the snobby to the absurd, Center of Attention guy will do whatever it takes to ensure that only what he says matters, no matter who it means undermining, or how many blatant lies it means spouting. Whether you believe it or not, it'll be in your mind, and that means that he's done his job. He's hijacked your brain and is using it for his own narcissistic means, pleasuring himself in front of the mirror to the idea of his clones, inhabiting the depths of all your minds. Don't give him this power. He tries to stretch the truth, stretch it even farther. Anything he says, don't hesitate in any way to overrule him.

...or, you could just backhand the guy. Whatever works.

That Perpetual Bar Guy

We here at that guy are filled with hate for our fellow guys, however we do not always feel seething torturous hate. Sometimes we see that guy and are filled with sadness and pity, and want to decapitate him not out of spite but out of mercy. This is the tale of one of someone who should be euthanized for his own good. This is the tale, of that perpetual bar guy.

That perpetual bar guy is a fixture at every bar you go to, always by himself, always looking morose into his drink or staring blankly at some distant wall, the television or something with hollow, blank eyes. He rhtymically drinks from his glass, ordering round after round, never talking to anyone or even acknowledging the presence of anyone around him. The only time that he ever stops this lovely dance of drink and stare is when he decides to go to the bathroom to relieve himself. Upon returning, he mechanically returns to his stool and continues his bicep workout with an ever decreasing glass giving off more ennui than a goth club at night during an eclipse after their parents told them that it was time to go home.

That guy is a miserable alcoholic bastard, but even more so than most miserable alcoholic bastards. Most self pitying alcoholics tend to buy the cheapest of the cheap booze and drink it in the dank solitude of their hovels. Their misery is contained therein, insulating the rest of the populous from their radiation of misery. The only person ever to be exposed to this lethal dose of depression tends to be the delivery boy who comes by and provides sustenance for this sad creature. But as a whole, they are sequestered away from the rest of us.

That guy however breaks free from his fetters and radiates buzzkill radiation all around him. You feel pity towards him. Suddenly, all eyes furtively go to his direction. There are hushed tones and whispers speculating to his origin, as to why he is there, drinking alone by himself, unmoving. Suddenly, this drinking sedentary piece of shit becomes the star of the bar. Everyone watches him, fascinated by his alcoholic, liver damaging ritual, to the point where others start to join in. We have been infected with the sadness, morose quality of his being. We are now all that guy, to a small degree. And yet, still unmoving, still unfazed, still oblivious, continues to drink hypnotically. He is sadder as he craves us, craves to share his misery in his quiet yet overwhelming way until we are all downing our drinks out of utility rather than socialization.

Therefore that guy must be stopped. He must be fed a mixture of arcenic, Drano, bleach, gasoline, anthrax and Moxy cola. He must be put out of his misery because if it does not stop, it will be like that person you slept with and never told anyone. It will spread, and soon, everyone will have it.

That Crusader Guy

(Don LaFontaine voice over)

In a world...with normal people...where casual, ordinary conversations are the norm...one man had something to say...an agenda...a crusade!

Welcome once again to this corner of the internet, where we dissect the douchebags that have become a part of all our daily lives, and teach you how to deal with them for once and for all. Our guest of honor today is That Crusader Guy. AKA, the one person we all know that always has a cause. Whether it's standing up for the western Kentucky Luchador Cockroach, or demanding that circus clowns be allowed to have polygamous relationships, the Crusader will always have something to fight for, and no matter how disinterested you might seem, will devote more time recruiting others into the fold than they do actually fighting for said cause.

The most difficult thing about a Crusader is that they're sometimes impossible to detect until it's too late. Everyone has different interests and hobbies, and as a result, anyone is capable of latching onto any cause. Now, I'm not attacking people that choose to be active in whatever they're passionate about. I would expect that if you truly care about something, you'll make your voice heard if it's necessary. No, I'm talking about the person that latches onto any and all causes, just for the sake of being "active in the world". Long story short, protesting and being an activist makes them cool. They'll be as equally opposed to Starbucks as they are meat and the lack of sandals for the homeless.

Usually, by the time a crusader has been identified, there is no option for escape and you'll be forced to listen to their speil about how x is being unfairly held down by y and that we're the only ones that can change that. You could be sitting around discussing a movie you recently watched, and the Crusader will make it a point to inform you that 10 years ago the director posed in a picture with someone that once bought a Nike wristband, which means that said movie is supporting sweatshops. Before you even have a chance to react and comment on the level of absurdity in the statement you just heard, and endless sea of pamphlets are being tossed at you, along with 5 different protests planned for the next month at 5 locations with no real link to each other or the nonexistent problem.

And of course, if you make the mistake of stating that said problem doesn't really concern you, the Crusader will look at you as if you just devoured their infant child right before their very eyes. Not beliving in a cause they rant to you about basically means that not only do you support it, but on weekends you probably fly overseas just to use cattle prods on those children so they can make those sneakers even faster. You're a monster, and the only way they know how to respond to you is...by leaving more pamphlets. Everywhere. On your desk, snuck into your coat pocket, under your windshield wiper. Clearly the problem is that you don't know the truth, so it must be force-fed to you until you have seen the error of your ways. Or until you finally snap and return every single one of those pamphlets to the Crusader...rectally of course.

The worst thing about the Crusader is that they can never truly be stopped. It's like cutting the head off of a hydra, two more will grow in its place. The best a person can do is either lie like a madman, to the point where they believe you're supporting the cause in your own private way, or go in the opposite direction and do everything in your power to make them hate you and leave you alone(which would really be much better). But whatever path you decide to take, do it quickly, before you find yourself at a singalong in a tie-dye shirt.

Those Human Wall Guys

So based on previous posts, you could probably guess that I'm not a person that possesses a great deal of patience, and you would be right. I'm not some maniac that always flies off the handle at every little incident, but there are certain things that will never fail to send me into a near-murderous rage, and the Human Wall is one of them. The Human Wall is basically what happens when you have a group of people walking down the sidewalk, who decide that it would be a brilliant idea to walk side-by-side, and completely obstruct the path of anyone else that wants to move in either direction. The most common perpetrators are teenage girls (who walk this way so that they can discuss such important topics as their new shade of lipstick) and the elderly (who knows what their reasons are for anything), but they're far from the only ones guilty.

No matter how many people give them dirty looks while walking in the street to pass them, they remain completely oblivious to the fact that the only thing their mindless chit-chat will accomplish is turning a legion of pedestrians behind them into a blood-hungry mob. You would probably have a better chance of getting past the Minnesota Vikings defensive line than actually breaking through this whiny, high-pitched blockade.

The absolute worst thing is the speed. If they were at least moving at a normal pace, it wouldn’t pose as much of a problem, because you could just follow behind and then make a turn when necessary. But no, whenever these groups get together, it’s as if all of their gravitational pulls tug at each other and slow the entire mass down to about 1mph. They're the pedestrian equivalent of the 95 year old man driving his Oldsmobile, squinting through his inch-thick spectacles (to old people, they're always spectacles, not glasses) barely peeking over his steering wheel, and using all of the force in his arthritis-riddled leg to push down on the gas pedal and burn rubber at an amazing 23mph on the fucking highway…only to later realize he’s no longer on the highway, and is seconds away from crashing through a donut shop.

The time has come for us to stand up against these traitorous bastards, attempting to deny us of the right to walk on the sidewalk freely. No more will we be slowed to a snail’s pace! No more will we be forced to use the street to pass and risk bodily harm or worse. From this day forth, if you see a Human Wall, feel free to drop your shoulder, charge right through them, and let em know who the fuck you are:

Express Ride to Drunkville Guy

Someone's throwing a party, whether it's a close acquaintance or a friend of a friend of a friend. Regardless of who it is, it's a party, and there will be booze and women and fun times to be had. So you meet up with a friend or two and head over there to partake in the festivities. But within 5 minutes of walking through the doorway and saying hi to everyone there, you turn to see your friend has already chugged a beer and is hard at work on his second. Ladies and gentlemen, this man is on an express ride to drunkville.

Everyone has that friend. Whoever it was that passed on the laws of manhood decided it was a good idea to tell him to get as drunk as possible, as quickly as possible. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not some sort of anti-liquor nazi, demanding that everyone stick to Zimas and Mike's Hard Lemonades with a side of castration. It's a well known fact that I like to get drunk and there are countless embarrassing stories that prove this. But the fact is that there's a time and a place to get completely fucked up, and that's the only time it should happen.

Let's say there's about 10-15 of you meeting up to watch football, either college or pro. You're basically in it for the long haul, as games usually run from 1pm to about 11pm, and that's with no overtime. Now, if Drunkville Guy immediately starts throwing back everything with a warning label for pregnant women, he's gonna find himself cradling the toilet bowl and heaving up those nachos(or pine-sol) he ate.

Normally, if someone is making an ass of themselves, then they're on their own. You take photos, crack jokes, then carry on about your business. But if said person came to the party with you, then you two are linked. To anyone there that doesn't know you, you will be known as "the guy that brought the drunk asshole". And if you were planning on talking to any women or getting some numbers? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's not gonna happen. It's like having a good wingman. You know that there might be times when he needs to drink to take one for the team, but he still knows that control is key. If he's not sober and coherent enough to keep up his end of the bargain, then neither of you will be making some lucky woman swear off drinking the next morning. You'd probably make less of a negative impression if you took a shit in the host's fish tank.

While it's unfair that you should be held responsible for the actions of others, the sad truth of it is that those are the rules. Women travel in packs, and trying to pull one away is like taking a grizzly cub from its mother. They'll do and say anything to keep that one girl from going off with you, and having Drunky McBoozenstein on his knees proposing to a bar stool is just the ammunition they need. Teach the lesser ones amongst you, because you both will benefit from a well executed gameplan. Not that there aren't times where drinking yourself into oblivion is the right call to make.

That indecisive fast food guy

Ah yes, another guy who I'm sure all of us are familiar with. I'm sure in our moments of weakness, hunger, self loathing, boredom or other motivation to dine at one of the many wonderful fast food restaurants. They're not hard to find, they dot our landscape like monoliths of diabetes and obesity, promising supreme value over caloric intake. In these troubling times of economic instability, it is nice to know that we can all retreat into our fast food hovel of choice and satiate that masochistic desire to swallow a deep fried something, covered in other greasy somethings all topped off with a sauce biologically designed to clog our arteries. But we all have our favorite sandwiches be it the triple bypass burger, the McFried special or a Jr. Lardo soft serve shake. Either way, we all know what we want. Even further still, we know what all of the items are on that colorful, greasy menu. They're all variations on the same basic thing, simple yes? That is why that guy's existence boggles my mind.

That guy is the one who stands in line in front of you. He does not let us experienced artery cloggers walk past him, he holds his position firmly, staring up at the vertical menu, studying it with all the intricacies of a lost and priceless manuscript. He stands there, unmoving, mesmerized by the combos, enticed by the wonderful looking cyclopean mounds of meat and rendered animal fats, immobile. No one shall pass him, no one must receive their ambrosia before he sups on the delicious flavors served on his wax paper in its magnificent paper bag presentation.

Listen that guy, you have clearly been in this place before. You and your several chins look like a row of giant slugs hanging upside down from a big sack of fat. And judging by his slight gravitational pull, that guy is most certainly familiar if not eerily intimate with the foods at this wonderful establishment. Yet despite his corpulence and being the embodiment of every single "Yo mamma so fat..." joke, he still can't make up his mind.

The time it should take one to decide as to what unhealthy dessicated disgusting dirty delicacies should be half a second. By the time you walk in those doors and that horrid scent of fried souls hits you, you should already know what you want (and already salivating in line). You don't saunter in to a fast food place and read the menu like A Tale of Two Cities. There are no best or worst of times. There is a fucking burger and fries. Pick one and let the rest of us get on with our descent into diabetic obesity. This is not a fancy restaurant, there is no maitre'd, no table cloths, hell there isn't a bathroom half the time. The menu is not hard illegible and you don't even have to be literate. Just point to your mountain of calories and get on with it.

That guy slows me down and should die a horrible painful death involving the deep fat fryer and his genitals. Every second he takes to choose between the ultra mega deluxe combo platter or the chicken mcdiahrrea is another second that makes me reconsider my actions. He is the person who wants to skydive but is too scared to jump himself. Perhaps next time he should bring with him a starving Ethiopian child so they can order in tandem. Make up your mind that guy, before I supersize the foot that I am going to plant in the fold on your backside that I think is your ass.