I know this is probably redundant, because dismissing you is so obvious it hurts, but OH, for the love of GOD, you fixed gear bicycle riders in the city. You’re so tough…defiantly helmet-free, death wish in your pocket, NO FEAR. Playing chicken with cab drivers, flipping off anyone and everyone who dares get in your way, sneering through your Ray-Bans at the pathetic city bike with the handbrakes (psshhh, so ’98) stopping next to you at the signal (when you can be bothered to obey traffic signals, that is).

I want you to know a couple things:

1) You might think a lack of manual brakes on your bike makes you a badass, but it really makes you a fucking retard.

2) Fixies are fast, no doubt about that. They’re fast because they were built for bike racing. In a velodrome. WHERE THERE ARE NO HILLS. OR CARS.

3) Yeah, cars. You hate them because they are always cutting you off, taking up your space on the road, threatening your life. It is a constant battle. But the simple, unavoidable truth is this: If ever the day comes where your face meets the grill of my ’67 Nova, YOU LOSE. Meditate on this fact the next time you hop on your bike after a few too many beers at the bar.

4) Helmets are like, a million times cooler than permanent brain damage.

As much as I would like to see the world rid of your cute little matching hats and nauseating sense of entitlement, I think that the next logical step is going to be fixed gear bicycles on the fucking freeway. What could be more YES WE CAN than allowing bikes everywhere cars can go?

And don’t talk to me about how “practical” your bike is in the city. You sound like an idiot. How’s this for practical: My bike has a basket, a bell, ten gears (so I can ride up those pesky hills you keep having to walk your fixie up), brakes, a super comfy huge seat and a fucking COFFEE MUG holder.

Anyway, could you maybe, just for a second, stop acting like you own the road? I swear if you slam your skinny fist on the hood of my car as you pass, one more time, I will sideswipe you into a goddam Hummer and not lose a moment’s sleep over it. I’m not out to get you, fixed gear riders in the city. I just think you are dumb. You have been dismissed.

Click here to view the embedded video.

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They are called many things around the world; Arse Antlers, Slag Tags and CA license plates, but they’ll always be the tramp stamp to me, a real road map to sadness. This isn’t a post about woman sexually objectifying themselves, or anything like that, men get these too. It’s a post about how joyously embarrassing this trend is, and how I can’t wait to see these in the nursing home.

I’m not anti tattoo, I’m anti tattoo placement.  When its the only tattoo you have, its alarmingly sad.

Lower back tattoos might look great when you’re 18, “hey look at my ass”, but at 60 you’ll be advertising the back of your knees.

Yesterday at the gym I spotted a guy going to the pool with a lower tramp stamp tattoo. From a far it looked like Dolphins, I admittedly got giddy at this shitty idea. But then, when I got a closer look it was the Sistine Chapel’s Michelangelo David and God’s hands. While this tattoo alone is not a bad one, the placement created a whole new context which was hilarious. I wish I got a photo, but taking pictures in the mens locker room is never a good idea.

I know people think they are works of art for their partner to gander at while violently fucking their ass.  But, lets explore some other ideas.  It could be a nice target for a midget to punch you in.

A great place to keep bible verses for quick reference.

A good accessory to show off at Bats Day at disneyland.

But I do love a tramp stamp on a young girl. It really sends  a sophisticated  message don’t you think?

You can get these at Toys R Us if you’re interested.

Tramp stamps are a victim of popular culture which is always changing, sure everyone took out their lip and eyebrow rings but now your left with a cum ridden landing pad for life. Get tattoos, get them all over, spred them out, just don’t get one and put it above your bum. See you at Shady Pines retirement home, I can’t wait to change your diaper!!

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I really hope I can stop this before it starts. Please don’t try this at home. Life is about being fuckable, and this isn’t fuckable. Please stop. It’s not even sorta funny. Chest Mustache, You have been dismissed.

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I want to repeatedly stab myself in the eyes every time I see a girl
wearing one of these. If you’ve been within 50 miles of Vegas (where
this summer we counted 83 sightings of this crime against fashion in
ONE 24 hour period, often with packs of Jennys and Barbies all wearing
the exact same one just in different colors), perused a People
magazine or driven down Sunset around midnight on any given weekend
this winter, no matter if it’s 40 degrees out, you have seen some
idiot face freezing her bitty ass off in one of these pieces of crap.

What I want to know is if these douchebags understand that while they
are parading around with their labiaplastied lips dangling in the
breeze, they are wearing a LIE. A lie fabricated by some obese pimply
“fashion major” asshole who probably jerks off to girls gone wild, who
decided if he put a band of fabric about 4 inches wide on the bottom,
and the word “Dress” on the tag, these dumb bitches would believe they
were actually spending their dad’s $196 on a dress, instead of a
fucking SHIRT, you assholes! And yes we all know you’re not wearing
any underwear, another “fashion trend” I would like to see buried with
Britney Spears’ career.

So. You tweenies and milfs making weekly trips to your coke dealer
wearing “The Dress”, please for the love of god stay away from me and
my beer. You have been fucking dismissed.

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Earlier today I saw a guy wearing red track suit pants, a cowboy hat, and purple Crocs. I literally felt like my head was going to explode. I may not be the gal with the greatest fashion sense (hell, I dress in full on fluffy gothic lolita most of the time), but I at least know that wearing shoes made of melted down plastic that make your feet smell like complete ass after a few wears is a fashion faux pas.

I never imagined it possible for a shoe to suck this bad– expensive, poor quality, and downright fucking ugly. They also have Crocs Butter to restore your plastic minnie mouse slippers to their full glory. You might as well just use astroglide, it’ll probably come in handy when you’re jacking off to the Real Housewives of Orange County since no one will take you home wearing those stupid shoes.

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hurts so good

(note: this was originally titled “Small, Sad Pussy: you have been DISMISSED”)

I know you love me. You tell me all the fuckin’ time. I know, you know.

WE KNOW.

When I’m love/hate-fucking you to the ends of the Earth, something strange happens: you CRY.

“You OK?”

“Don’t stop, Daddy. Don’t stopppp!”

This makes Daddy feel WEIRD. It’s not insensitivity. Rape? Abuse?

Are you thinking about the ASPCA commercial with Sarah McLachlan?

OR

“I think I hit your dog..with my SWORD..”

THE TEARS COME..Is my fist a magic wand?

A magic carpet taking you straight to your deepest, most painful memories? Is this a “good hurt”?

I’m weirded out. And I’m projecting. Crying during sex: you have been DISMISSED.

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gym douche

No! You’re dripping sweat through your weird microfiber super-hero style ‘workout gear’. You make really awful guttural groaning noises when you ‘rip on your delts’. And; EVERY OTHER MACHINE IS AVAILABLE!

Seriously, go drip somewhere else! Why do you want to use MY machine? Why do you want to get in MY ‘zone’?

As it is, you take up way too much of my visual landscape. I don’t know who is more distracted by your biceps, me, or your reflection. In either case you are clearly showcasing them for our enjoyment. Or so you think.

Here’s what we’re both thinking:

“Um, where’s his neck?”

“Ew. Veins.”

“Oooh, shit he makes ugly faces.”

“Is he really listening to ‘Snap’?”

While you’ve been sitting on that machine for the past 10 minutes doing nothing but staring at your triceps, the rest of us are just trying to keep fat at arms length. Oh, I’m sure you’re sore from the 6 sets by 20 reps of wood chops you just did, but all the flexing and repressed hero worship is really exhausting to watch.

You are like a black hole of ego. The closer you get to your reflection the deeper into the void you go.

It’s true… You look good. Kinda. Muscle development is certainly an achievement. The 2 + hours a day, 4 – 6 times-a-week commitment it takes to look the way you do requires the kind of focus and discipline that many of us wish we had. But this does not make us a) jealous b) envious or c) attracted to you. Yet you parade around the gym with your junk wobbling back and forth in your nylon shorts as if this was the case.

My question is; why muscles? Why not split the difference and do some brain crunches. Nevermind. You can’t see the results with that kind of exercise.

I guess I just wish you could see is the results of your self-sexual tension on those around you. You make us uncomfortable.

But I don’t blame you. You’re not alone. You’re in your element.

Shit, let’s take care of your friends too. The rest of the gym-goers that make a trip to 24 hour fitness seem like a descent into Dante’s Inferno.

Yoga Lady with Giant Camel-toe…

Lethargic 70 year old Plastic Surgery Lady with AM/FM Headset…

Cardio Obsessed Stationary Machine Guy…

Tabloid Readin’ Treadmill Walkin’ Slut…

Lecherous 50’something Gay Cruiser…

Back-hair Tank-top Guy…

And, last but certainly not least… Gym Douche; You have been dismissed!

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I just learned of these mexi generational trend hounds called Borkencyde yesterday. While at first I must admit, I was ready to slap their presents immediately straight out of my face, but then, I was so entranced by how off the rails this was I had to investigate further, which of course confused me more. 

Its no secret that Meat Hat fears the youth of today. But, something has to be said about this mismatch of suburban blight that has actually made something of a mexican hot topic toxic avenger Monster. They are the Toxie of hipster culture, they put it all in a blender, fucked it, went to the mall, bought some shoes, and cut an album. They were able to use all the tends  they’ve learned over the past 15 years, and funneled it all into one big pop toilet.

They got SUV’s, fuck yeah?

They got HeadBands, FUCK YEAH!,

They got acne, (which I think is amazing), Fuck Yeah!

Sorta sound like Limp Bizkit, and Ratatat, and lil wayne. Who knew?

They got a closeted Dirtbag on the digital voice modulator, like most hip hop these days, FUCK yeah!

They name brands, FUCK why?

They choke a bitch, a bitch who is probably their moms best friends daughter who wants to get into modeling, But now she’s been choked on your coke whore music video, FUck yeah!

They got the Senesetive break down, Fuck yeah!

They got tattoos at 15, they got American Apparel v necks, they got hair from Orange County CA Circa 1999. not so fuck yeah, more like fuck ehh!!!

They even use Screamo as a dance beat, which is probably what entranced me to begin with.

But the one thing that Iove most about this, is, they let the closeted Accutane acne kid rule this video, while sweeping the fugly dudes under the suburban rug. Way to treat your fellow dirtbag bros.

If the end of the world is coming in 2012, we might as well fuck it and party till the end. The new youth is a party youth, they will kick holes in your 401ks, they’ll touch your daughters and grab a cinnabon at the mall. Its best not try to educate the youth, they’ll end up just fine in Quartzite AZ.

So while I want to dismiss, I can’t make up my mind, everything I talked about points to a dismissal, but its just so off the mexi charts I can’t. One thing is for sure, their fans have to work at KFC.

How do you feel about Brokencyde?

Take a futher look at their myspace page before you decide.

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1. UFFIE: You have been dismissed, now clean up that spot on the couch. I watched this video and felt nothing. All I could...

When I see things like this, it makes me cry.  You just know she’s lost a son or daughter in the war and in her effort to fill that now missing void, she’s turned to eating cake and ‘beautifying’ Pipsy.  And now it become her life.

Please leave your dog alone.

It’s bad enough he has to live his life as a poodle.  It doesn’t matter what kind of half shell you shave into him, he’s still God’s retard dog.  Too awkward to act normal, always jumping wildly to where you’re not really quite sure how to pet it, so you avoid touching the fucker all together.  Or they’re too damn shy to make eye contact at all.  Which make me judge the ice cream eating owner and what she does on lonely cold nights.

How do you think he feels when playing cards with his poodle buddies?
“We know we all look like crap coming outt a the doggie womb, but William you take the cake.”
And forget getting laid.  No ways he’s getting any action dressed as a komodo dragon.

Lady, if you’re looking for something to fill that void, why not collect stickers.  Or dabble in a little bit of meth and give hand jobs behind trash cans, like most of middle america.  At least you’d fit in a little better.  I’d even accept rollerblading 10 hours a day in venice trying to sell love incense for peace.  I don’t want your incense, but please keep your dog out of it.

Crazy dog groomer, you have been dismissed.

More abuse here.

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I went to a show a few weeks ago, and the newest big thing out of Silverlake was playing. They sort of one-upped the old band trick of having a hot girl play keyboards, by having two hot girls play keyboards. Both of these broads were wearing little tiny leather headbands. They looked like LARPERS from a Never Ending Story specific universe.

When I went to find photos on the internets about headbands, I found this piece of copy which really states the argument for dismissal better than I ever could:

“Wearing headbands is the easiest way to obtain a hippie chic. Many celebs from Elle Machperson to Mischa Barton, Ashley Simpson and Nicole Richie were seen wearing this instant style piece. You can team up the headband with a pair of wide leg jeans and bohemian tunic or kaftan. Another way to look the ultimate glam hippy is pairing the headband with a flowy maxi dress.”

Flowy and maxi are not two words I would ever put together unless I was talking about cunt gravy, which only happens on Easter Sunday. But I digress, the point is, Fuck You and your stupid headband. You have been dismissed.

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