That Oblivious Casanova Guy

Congratulations, Mr. Oblivious Casanova Guy. While most of the shit-sucking wastes of life featured on this site do nothing but make me wanna curbstomp infants, you actually manage to make me laugh and entertain me. No one's quite sure how you ever got the idea, but at some point in your life you decided that you were (insert deity)'s gift to women. And despite the astronomical number of girls you manage to take home(zero), you've never swayed in this opinion of yourself. I'd suggest taking a step back and looking at yourself, but you'd probably become enamored and start masturbating to your visage.

The Casanova isn't a difficult guy to spot. Just scan your surrounding area for the hottest group of girls, and within moments he'll be slinking up to them, ready to work some of that foolproof charm he's got. Do you know how it feels when you're extremely exhausted and dehydrated, and just want to drink something cold? So you pour yourself a cold glass of milk because it's the only thing in the fridge. And first there's that moment of refreshment, the look of relief on your face as you feel your body being recharged. But a split second later, you realize that the milk's gone bad and your expression contorts so much it looks like something out of the Kama Sutra. That is what happens to a woman when she realizes that this sad sack is talking to her. She'd already noticed his presence in the bar/restaurant/etc, because like men, women scout an area when they enter. Within 3 seconds of walking into a room, everyone has been given a mental rank and rating, and the Casanova's wasn't anything to write home about. But when she sees him moving in her direction, and realizes that he is actually going to attempt to hit on her? You can't fake that kind of distress. I'm fully convinced that OJ Simpson could pull up in a white Bronco offering a ride, and she'd take it in a heartbeat just to get away from this delusional creep.

How's this all play out in his mind? "Maybe I came on too strong...must've intimidated her with these rugged looks." Yea, I'm sure that the sight of your 5 ft 3 in frame and meticulously combed jewfro drove her so far up the wall she had to leave before she creamed herself right then and there. It definitely didn't have anything to do with the Bud Light in your hand(a sure sign of a fucking moron) or the half bottle of cologne that you willingly bathe yourself in on a daily basis. No, these chicks just couldn't keep their composure around such a stallion.But hey, that won't dissuade you. Nope, you'll just spin that visor around and head to the next flock, trying a much smoother approach that's guaranteed to work. Wait, did I say smooth? I meant to say you'd use some crappy pickup line like "It must've hurt when you fell from heaven" and then assume that their silence means they're in awe of your poetic mastery. I don't know if there's anyone in existence that has an attempt-to-failure ratio like you. But in truth sir, I salute you. Because fine folks like yourself make me look God-like in comparison. You keep on popping that collar; the world loves you, they just don't know it yet.

That Trendy Costume Guy

Ya wanna know how I got this Redsox Calendar?

And it is time for another installment of arguments against Darwinism, otherwise called That Guy. This week's that guy is one I am sure we are all familiar with and have had to suffer through over this wonderful weekend. I am talking about that trendy costume guy. From Neo to Jack Sparrow to the Joker, we can't escape that hoard of movie watching fanboys who want to be just like their big screen idols, to an infinitely shittier degree.

First and foremost that guy, you are not the Joker. Despite being a great role, Heath Ledger doomed us all by playing a psychopath dressed in clown makeup with a very easily copied voice. Therefore we already have droves of idiots who want to be this caked on sorry excuse of a costume. At least when Pirates of the Carribean was out, Jack Sparrow had a voice that was somewhat challenging to copy and thus no one walked around like they were in a drunken stupor, at least purposefully.

Halloween is a time for creativity. At the very least, be someone boring, something that's been done, something that takes more than "Hmm, that looks cool and everyone knows who that is and has a backstory, I'll be that." The worst part is though, despite being a costume of sheer laziness and uncreativity, that guy thinks he is being completely original and awesome. Maybe you and the forty seven other Jokers parading around the street. Great minds do think alike. Well, so do lemmings. Why don't you all go run off a cliff on a pile of syringes filled with AIDS. Then tell me where you got those scars and that abnormally low T-cell count.
That guy is incredibly frustrating because he is not a guy in costume, he is the character who shows up to your party, except he drinks your booze and tries to recite every single line from the movie in every possible context.

The Joker was particularly bad this Halloween. Everywhere I looked it looked like some sort of emo scenester clown college convention. All of them trying to out-Joker the other. Here's a tip that guy, if you want to be the most authentic, best joker of them all; take 4 bottles of sleeping pills and call me in the morning. HOOOHOOOHAHAHAHEEHEEHEEHEE

That Music Store Exhibitionist Guy

Ah yes, my triumphant return with a real entry on time. But wait, you didn't come here for my personal goings-on did you? No. In fact, none of you probably even care about who this is, so back to our irregularly scheduled hate speak. Today I am going to show you that guy who I'm sure any of you who have gone in a music store to buy an instrument, peruse accessories or stare at expensive things you will never own no matter how many extra shifts you pick up at your menial dead-end job frequent; that music store exhibitionist guy.

Who is this guy? Simple. That music store exhibitionist guy is the person who spends hours at the store playing his fingers off on a guitar, showing off on bass or pretending to be a rock star surrounded by his unpurchased amps, for sale signs and other consumers. That guy plays his heart out, and to his merit, tends to actually have some talent. Be it an impressive solo on a guitar, great rhythmic improvisation on bass or impressive beats on drums, that guy piques the attention of all who walk by and sometimes even amasses a small audience to listen to his 'impromptu' performance. But dear reader, do not fall for his ploy, for once you give him the attention that he craves, you are caught in his web.

That guy never plays for himself. No. He plays for others. Every spare moment he has is spent prostrating himself within this wall of instruments, hooked up to an amp, day in day out, hoping to grab a passerbys attention. Unlike a street performer, he does not do it for money, that guy does it for the sheer attention of it. Who knew talent could be offset by such a level of douche.

Along with his strutting around like a rooster, he talks like he is an expert in this field. Despite having technical and musical prowess, he comes off like a cocky Mr. Miyagi. "No no no, you have to play it like this, using an augmented 7th variation on a 3-6-5 progression." Oh, I'm sorry that guy, I can't hear you over the price tag on your guitar and the buckets of shit coming out of your mouth. Just because you have talent in a music store does not give you free reign over the idiot who can't tell the difference between a humbucker and pickguard. Why don't you actually buy your own instrument and practice not being a douche, since apparently you took all your time practicing on not being a douche to play guitar.

Burn in hell that guy. I hope it rains in the store so you get electrocuted and your family has to pay for all the equipment your scorching body ruined and didn't pay for so your grandmother has to be taken off life support and she spends eternity kicking your ass.

That Bandwagon Sports Fan Guy

What's that up in the sky? It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's a sports team suddenly rising from the realm of mediocrity into the national spotlight!

Welcome once again to the blog that never ends, blah blah blah, witty introduction. Today we will take a look at one of the longest tenured guys, the bandwagon sports fan. Unlike the other wastes of life we've profiled on this website, the bandwagon sports fan is very easy to identify in public. Regardless of what city or state you live in, he can usually be found wearing the apparel of whatever team is currently sitting atop their league(currently Tampa Bay Rays, Boston Celtics, Tennessee Titans), or whatever team has a tendency to have a huge regular season, only to fail in the playoffs when it counts(Dallas Cowboys, New York Yankees, Los Angeles Lakers).

As opposed to true sports fans, who will stick with their chosen team through the best(3 Super Bowls in 4 years) and the worst(The Drew Bledsoe years), the bandwagon sports fan exists solely to root for whoever is most likely to finish their season as the champion. Said team will usually feature a polarizing star player that is hated by the media for his arrogance, but at the same time respected for his skill(see Owens, Terrell and Bryant, Kobe). The bandwagon fan will claim that player x is merely misunderstood by all of the media, and his ego and uncaring attitude towards his teammates merely represents his desire to motivate said teammates to win. But of course when player x loses, the blame rest solely on his teammates for not providing him with enough support. I mean, it's absurd to think that one man can carry an entire franchise on his back without a slight modicum of help.

For the most part, a bandwagon sports fan is financially successful, because it takes quite a lot of money to repeatedly buy new sports jerseys every season for whoever is the "it" player or team. For the NBA, it's been the Bulls, Lakers, Celtics, Cavaliers, Nuggets, and Spurs. In the MLB, the throne has always belonged to the Yankees, with the Red Sox, Cubs, White Sox, and now the Rays bringing up the rear. And in the NFL, it's frequently been Cowboy country, with some of the bandwagoners siding with the Colts and my beloved Patriots(go root for someone else, you assfucks). The only criteria to lure them in is an affinity for regular season dominance, during which the bandwagon fan will indulge in an insane amount of trash talk. Of course, when the playoffs roll around and their team meets with a first round exit at the hands of the team that barely stole a wild card spot, they'll disappear and hibernate for the offseason, before reemerging with a new jersey and a new team to root for. It's like a snake shedding its skin, but only if its dignity came off along with it.

Sports fans recognize that bandwagon fans are the worst fans in existence. If they latch on to a team you like, their stupidity and arrogance is usually enough to turn every other fanbase against you(see Patriots, 2007). If they latch on to a team you're indifferent to, they'll barely break a sweat making you hate said team with every inch of your being. And just like a hurricane, once the damage has been done and their team of choice is now public enemy #1, they'll quickly move on to the next successful fanbase while leaving yours in shambles. It's not even known if they're actual sports fans and know the Xs from the Os, or just want to wear a cool jersey. But regardless of their beginnings, few can argue with the fact that they must be exterminated as soon as possible, before there are no pure teams left to cheer for.

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.