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Look at This F-ing Guy #54
Who Sucks at Gifts
Gift giving is a high-pressure situation inside a pressure cooker in the middle of a dying star; there’s pressure, is what I’m saying. There are a thousand ways to go wrong and only a few ways to go right. What is a guy to do? Well, follow our poppyc**k guide to gift giving and you’re bound to sidestep a pitfall or two, and keep yourself out of the doghouse for at least one more major holiday. I assure you, we are here to help despite what you might have heard.
Rule one: Nothing domestic
Christmas is not a time to go with household items for the lady in your life. Guys, just stay out of these aisles. No brooms, mops, vacuums, pots, pans, cleaning supplies, or frankly anything to do with the chores around the house. Don’t think that your wife would like a new vacuum, she may want one, but not from Santa. Do not get her anything that may say she needs better equipment to do a better job “around the house.” As a guy, you might love a new power tool, hedge clippers, or that riding lawn mower you’ve had your eye on. You know, the one with a cup holder and XM radio, but this street only goes one way. Your wife does not need a gift that reminds her that the women’s lib movement is still in motion.
Rule Two: No gift cards, no cash
This should go without says, but giving a gift card is like giving someone an errand to run with handicapped money. Cash is even worse.
“Honey, you’re just so hard to shop for, I figured I’d let you get whatever you wanted.” Gee, thanks you thoughtless asshole. You haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said all year, have you? You seriously could not tell I wanted a new dress, blouse, scarf, slippers, boots, heels, perfume, jewelry, or any of the other 1,000 things I said I wished I could buy all year on a daily basis. Someone just dropped the ball…on his foot, which was somehow also lodged in his mouth on a head that was squarely shoved up his own ass. (Side note: if anyone can draw that visual, I’ll give you a prize. I don’t think it’s possible. Maybe Escher could have done it?)
Also, don’t you dare…ever…give your girlfriend or wife those stupid couple coupons. Really, you’re going to give her a booklet of sexy coupons for a massage, a day off from housework, a sexy candlelit dinner, and a foot rub? That’s not a thing. That’s not a REAL thing. Sure, you might have given a coupon or two to your mom saying you’d take out the trash or wash the dishes or something, but you were ten and it was barely cute then. Those are things you should be giving her at her beck and call. Seriously. She is slumming around with your unkempt ass and you’ve got the audacity to give her only one foot rub coupon? She lets you fuck her…enough said, man.
Now this is not to say that gift cards don’t have their place. You are not a beauty care professional, so a gift card for a trip to a day spa, or a mani/pedi combo, or a gift certificate to a high-end salon isn’t a bad way to go. These are golden gift cards that work two-fold. First off, she gets pampered and treated like an Elizabethan queen, something every woman deserves. Secondly, you get her out of the house! If you can get her to take the visit during the playoffs then this was a present for you and the guys as much as for her. Merry Christmas, you savvy boyfriend. It’s a two-fer!
Rule Three: No exercise equipment
Don’t do it! I know this should be a simple idea, but if your girl doesn’t attack the gym each week, doesn’t already run every week, do Yoga, or doesn’t have an exercise routine, then dropping a treadmill in her lap is parallel to saying, “You’re fat. Use this. Thanks.” Ask a guy who’s done this, if you can find one. They don’t often live to tell the tale. Staring in to the eyes of a woman who was just told she needs to lose 20-lbs. is not unlike locking eyes with gaping maw of the Kraken…it has only once ended well, and you don’t have a Pegasus, so you’re basically fucked.
Again, you might like some weights, maybe a universal machine, or the P90X dvds so you can blow out your pecs, but she does not need to be told that she has let herself slip this year with a piece of equipment you bought off an infomercial at 3 am while you masturbated to hot porn chicks as she slept next to you. Just…no.
Rule Four: Watch the box
For all of you out there that like screwing with people and packing small presents in gigantic boxes full of peanuts, paper, and other trash…stop it. This is just a path to disappointment if a woman thinks she is getting a big, ornate, and expensive gift only to go digging through rubbish to find an iPod Nano… “haha, gotcha!” Haha, you’re never getting any. Nice job.
While we are on wrapping, never put anything in a box from a more expensive item. The roller coaster of emotion you just put your girlfriend on will end in a giant drop…for you. Ooooh, a shoebox for outrageously expensive heels!? Oh, what’s inside!? Oh, it’s a new sweater and scarf from Target…Epic gifting fail.
Just be careful when putting things in boxes…otherwise you won’t be putting anything in a box for the rest of the calendar year.
Rule Five: Don’t go global
Okay, I am betting very few of you would think this way, but hear me out. Christmas is not the time for galactic our international moves for you, your girl, or any of your friends. It might be done with a great sense of charity, caring, and thought, but it is just kinda lame. For Christmas, you do not adopt a starving child for 39 cents a day, name a star after someone, or save a tree in the rainforest for someone.
You don’t save a seal from clubbing, don’t sponsor a highway cleaning project, adopt a half-mile of stream, or make any kind of beach clean-up donation in someone’s name for Christmas.
“Everyone, I would like to give you these. They are pledge cards in your name. On each of your behalf, I have volunteered one hour of my time to clean up the abandoned lot two blocks from here so the YMCA can build a community garden.” OK, great, where’s my gift? I know you feel better having figured out a way to make us all feel smaller while making your community service hours from that Thanksgiving DUI shorten your shopping list, but what did you really get me?
I love the idea, and as a surprise out of the blue, for Arbor Day, Earth Day, or on Valentine’s Day, then I am all for naming a crater on the moon “BrittanyandWesforever”, but on Christmas Day she doesn’t need to be reminded that there is an Ethiopian getting fat off what should have been “new Coach purse” money.
Even if this is just a thing you do for everyone in your family along with other gifts, all they are going to do is read the card informing them that they are now the proud owners of a Brazilian sapling, smile, “awwww,” and then set their sights to ripping the shit out of the next unsuspecting box too slow to escape their reach. It’s Christmas, after all, baby seals don’t even celebrate the holidays, so…save it for Earth Day.
So, there are just a few guiding principles that might keep you guys out of trouble. At the very least we gave you a few laughs between fevered trips to the mall. I hope all your bruises heal and all your class action lawsuits against department stores for the abuse you took on Black Friday will end in a fat settlement out of court. Drink spiked nog, wear ugly Christmas sweaters, and try to blot out that thing you did with Gina at last year’s Christmas party. It’s the holidays, and we here at Project: Poppyc**k just want to say that we are already over the Christmas music, sick of those fucking Lexus commercials where people buy each other cars, and can’t wait to turn our sights on drunken nights with people we actually want to see come January. Ahhhh, happy fucking holidays.
Look at This F-ing Guy #21
Who got tribal tattoos
In the nineties these became a fad, and an embarrassing one at that. The late nineties and the early 2000’s saw a rash of awful self-expression. The mark can be seen with a snicker on men now in their late twenties and early thirties. It is something to behold when a man who now wears a suit to work and supports a family of four, and every day is reminded that he has made some bad decisions in his time; wearing them like a scarlet letter from his Cancun Spring Break past. One could blame the tattoo artists themselves, for not seeing the better thing to do than to just do the work, but to do the thinking for their customer and to refuse service to what I am guessing was an oft times intoxicated clientele. I for one can’t blame them, stupid green money spends just as well as smart green money.
I doubt this is a tradition in your lineage, pal.
Now not all tribal tattoos are inappropriate or even meaningless. Historically the tattoos of tribes were done to signify manhood, or the birth of a child, a great harvest, a hunter’s conquest, and many other reasons. Great respect and time was taken in the tattoo process and great ceremony surrounded the tattooing. Tribesmen today still get these marks in respect for the past and some traditions still run strong in traditional tribes in Africa, South America, and other places. You didn’t kill a lion to feed the village, Chet, so this isn’t what I am talking about.
I am talking about the Irishman with the barbwire or the Samoan traditional tattoo armbands. I am talking about the tribeless white man stealing what were once great traditions because they “look fuckin’ badass” or “really make my biceps pop.” What tribe are you in, I forget? Oh, yes, the highly respected Whitewashed Tribe of the Southern California Valley peoples. You come from a long line of the silver-spooned peoples that think they need some black ink arm work done to make you look ‘hotter’ on the beach. You looked stupid then with your frosted tips and visor. And though you got to see a live taping of Jerry Springer in Cancun for MTV Spring Break, one thing has stuck with you besides that pesky case of Herpes…that damned armband tattoo. Enjoy your minivan, you “badass” regional production manager.
Look at This F-ing Guy #17
Who plays an April’s Fools Day joke
When I was a kid we loved playing practical jokes. From the classic snakes in a can and trick gum to whoopy cushions and fart bombs, we had a lot of fun screwing with one another. One classic practical joke was back in middle school. A friend mine and I conspired with the assistant principal to draft a fake letter of transfer for a gym teacher of ours. Sure enough he was called out of class to receive his notice of immediate transfer, and upon his return was sweating bullets and stuttering like an idiot. I guess it was a bonus that he had literally just settled in at the beginning of the school year with wife and kids. It was a classic “gotcha” moment, the look on his face.
But this was when I was a kid, and that kind of thing isn’t funny anymore. We are all adults, and if you think it is funny with the whoopy cushions and trick gum that stains your mouth blue for 48 hours, well you’re an asshole, because this is an office, and now I look like I just blew Papa Smurf for a meeting with the shareholders. I will go ahead and murder you now.
April Fool’s Day is the worst nightmare for friends of a prankster. It is the one day where they get to run carte blanche on the jokes and gags. They get to run elaborate schemes on your wife. With a spare key you lent them they go in to your closet and smear lipstick on the collar of a shirt in the laundry and plant a pair of crotchless panties in your suit pocket. They get on your computer and fill it with fake e-mails to and from your imaginary mistress. They spray perfume your wife doesn’t own on your boxer briefs and maybe if they are crazy enough they plant a dildo under the passenger seat of the family minivan. Then they wait… When you get home all hell breaks loose when your wife is doing the laundry and getting the dry cleaning ready to take out. The kids found the dildo and now your wife is furious that you’re having an affair, throwing panties in your face…
Your buddy is outside in his car, just laughing and imagining all the weird and awkward moments and decides it is time to go in and drop an epic “april fools” on the both of you. He knocks and lets himself in to the sound of very loud yelling in the bedroom upstairs and the kids, Sarah and Michael, crying in the living room. As your practical joking pal closes the door quietly behind him, stifling his giggles, he starts to realize things are off when a suitcase is thrown from the second floor in to the foyer. As he looks up from the front door he watches all his friend’s clothes get tossed as well, along with a purple dildo that begins to vibrate on impact with the wood floor. Tear-filled screaming echoes as you come down the stairs and are collecting your things. Your buddy didn’t know it, but you were IN FACT having an affair, and the joke became all too real when you accidentally admitted it when the planted signs were found.
“What are you doing here, Bill!?” You exclaim when you finally notice him.
“What…What’s goin’ on, Tim?” Bill asks sheepishly.
“I’m getting kicked out of my house! What does it look like!? This is not a good time, Bill!”
“I just came over ‘cause I wanted to tell you guys something, um…” Tim just stares a moment waiting with a face like ‘fuckin’ spit it out, Bill. “Um, I wanted to say…’April Fools?’” Tim realizes what has happened and in a blind rage clocks Bill with the business end of a suitcase. The last thought through Bill’s head before total blackout was, “Hmmm, I knew I should have gone with the dead hooker crime scene gag.”
Look at This F-ing Guy #13
who takes forever to order at a fast food joint
I always seem to get stuck behind the guy that is orderin
g for the phantom 5,000 people in the office or the guy who for the life of him has no idea what he wants. The choice of what to order for lunch becomes a race against the clock knowing full well that the line forming behind him is slowly giving him cancer by osmosis and the power of thought with the time he is taking. This guy is looking at the menu like he’s never even seen a fucking McDonald’s. The whole menu is new and exciting. He’s never seen any of these strange mc-creations before and is going to have to choose very carefully; it’s not like it all tastes the same.
What is worse than the indecision and the asinine questions he may have the audacity to ask, is the sound of him thinking. “Uuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmm. Uuuuuuuh. IIIIIII’mmmmmm goooonnnnnnnaaaaaa haaaaavvvvvvve, uhhhhhhhh…” I don’t need the sound effects. Do you think that if you make noise you will make up your mind any faster, or that I am going to be any less irritated? “Retarded” is no more tolerable in half-speed playback. “Well, he’s making some sounds now, so this must signify some progress.” Not buyin’ it, pal. This is not your first time in McDonald’s or Burger King, order the shame sandwich and eat in a dark corner of the room like the rest of us. What is worse is the Chinese food joint, or the Mexican restaurant. You know you don’t like Kung Pao Chicken, so order the damn Mu Shu and get out of my way. Mexican food is the same three ingredients mixed and matched to infinity, just order something, because no matter what you order you’ll be regretting it an hour later in the board room as your colon turns on you like a Libyan foreign national.
Look at This F-ing Guy #10
Who fake tans
There are hundreds of thousands of you out there. Valley girls, Guidos, Jersey
Housewives, and all manner of the vainly misguided that think they look better with a skin tone just this side of Oompa Loompa. To achieve this Wonka workforce color you subject yourself to the bed and the booth on a weekly basis.
There are those that go before a tropical vacation to build a “base,” but we’re not talking about those trying to avoid the burn, I’m talking about those of you that think the sun isn’t enough. The sun is 109 times the size of planet Earth and burns at about 27 million degrees…this isn’t enough for you!? Oh, you live in North Dakota and want a healthy, almond glow? Well, then enjoy looking like a fucking alien traversing the icy tundra. It is not natural to be that color in that environment; You’re now the pink elephant in the room and can be picked out of a crowd like a neon moron.
What is even worse than the Tundra Tan is the SoCal Orange Slice. You live in California, where good weather is practically manufactured (if we actually still made anything in this country) and you insist on heading in to a dark room to lay in the equivalent of a toaster oven achieving a Thanksgiving Turkey skin color. Go outside!
The weirdest trend I have seen in the spray tan. There is nothing more natural looking than a lunch break chemical bath. You go in to a room nearly naked and are shellacked head to toe like you’re coming out of a level four quarantine. Treating your body like a Buick seems like a slightly odd way to spend your money, unless you actually want you skin to react under black lights like you were raped by a Mango Tango Crayon.
