NEWSLETTER  



DOS & DON'TS












What’s with all the shuttlecocks walking around this summer? All these assholes squeezed into a tight T-shirt and gigantic cargo shorts look like bells or upside-down tulips or something. Get some clothes that fit you, Bobby Handmedowns.





What do we have to do to get rid of this guy? First we nail him in his studio and get $40,000. Then we get him after the awards show in Vegas. Next thing you know he’s got two new box sets out and he’s hanging at the Puerto Rican Day parade giving us the finger. What is this guy, hip-hop venereal warts?

We always start with the shoes. Why waste your time on Eva Mendes or Alicia Keys if they’re rocking Tevas or those stupid fucking platform flip-flops? So we started with her 80s new wave boots and leopard-print dress but then, as we climbed up the mountain, we were hit with a drunken Andy Dick in a cheap wig being choked by a ridiculous kid’s belt. Thanks a lot, liar boots.

Goddamnit. I’m so sick of seeing people bring their computers to the bar I feel like having a temper tantrum every time I see them. Lady, you don’t have internet here so the only things you could be working on are: poetry, very loose fiction, and photoshopping your dog onto a 1950s hot rod. All those things are fucking gay, and you should be doing them at home. Literally fuck off.

Having a nice bod as you leave your twenties is a great thing and we don’t want to prevent you from enjoying that but the teeny-bopper raver sex-bunny thing doesn’t really go with wrinkles. Can’t you have glasses on and be telling your beautiful children things like why it’s hard to breathe on high mountains? Geez.

See what we’re saying about sluts? I mean, it’s kind of fun—that night—in the bathroom—with a bump—but after a while you’re like, “I don’t want to eat candy bars for dinner and watch TV all day. I feel sick. I want to have a shower and go exercise or something.” Go check the Italian stylist from the DOs and you’ll see what I’m talking about.

You know a DON’T is a keeper when all you have to do is describe it in a bar and people are all, “No way. Are you fucking kidding me?” Well, here it is, folks. Live. I like how this crazy bitch (Can she read? What is she, Japanese?) threw a copyright symbol in there just in case you also wanted rapists to follow you everywhere and lunge at your ass.

Speaking of clueless nips, what the fuck kind of music is this homo into? Super-high-energy Happy Hardcore remixes of “Redemption Song?” Can you imagine how hard you’d hit the floor if he was just givin ’er on the dance floor like a maniac in a trance? You’d get so much Laugh Therapy you’d be immune to cancer.

When women are on their honeymoon there’s this thing where they literally get their brains fucked out and they stumble around in funny socks and a dirty, oversize T-shirt with their hair in a weird bobby-pin thing. Looks cute then, but when your 56 year-old divorced mom does it and throws some Romanian-piano-teacher shoes into the mix you’re like, “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew.”

Hey guy who made windows for his pierced nipples, is there a sad and perverted ad you won’t reply to on craigslist? When we took this picture this fucking loser kept asking us if we’d like to see all the jewelry he stuck in his dick. We tried to explain that we’d rather watch a homeless man take a shit but he was too horny to hear us.

Can you imagine how incensed Ricky would become if Bubbles got ahold of this? “Hello, Richard, are you ready for the dinner party? Oh yes, that’s right. You already had dinner. You ate fish sticks on your car. How quaint.”

Ricky would rip the doll’s head off and then say, “Sorry, Bubbles, I had to do it. It was Youth in Asia.”

*Inside joke for Canadians

And we thought we already hated tiny knapsacks enough when they were leather and early-childhood-education students wore them to picnics with stupid people. Now jocks are taking even smaller ones and wrestling their way inside. All we need now is for Rumsfeld to get one made of baby seals and the triangle will be complete.

Oh, for a time when street harpists would shave off their bangs, tattoo two-foot-long jabberwocks on their arms, and carry only a smidgen of Scottish shoe-maker accessories. Way back in, um, eighteen sixty-never. This woman obviously wants everyone behind her to turn away making that "rwaccch" dry-heaving sound. Is she a diet plan? I dare you to take a bite out of your sandwich while looking at that thing. It's worse than Iraq.

Fucking heroin guys again! Laying around like wet socks set out to dry. Go home, you lazy, lying, boring, constipated, money-borrowing, over-equipped raver. It's not even fun to laugh at you anymore. He may be going for a male-model-drag-racing-guy thing, but he looks more like a Brazilian (with a level of vanity you could only get from having Down's Syndrome) who got dressed up for a Japanese comic convention.

It's weird enough that every black woman in America spends thousands of dollars making her hair more Caucasian. Now they're using rope? What are you, a cheap doll that Christians buy for their kids to explain what "ugly" means? These are what the virgins look like when terrorists kill you and then go to heaven. Thanks, but no thanks. Imagine if you blew yourself up and then had to fuck this. You'd be like, "Are you kidding me?" And Allah would be all, "What the fuck do I know? I'm a fag."

Remember when we talked about women with those blond stripes in their hair and said normal people are doing so much shit to themselves they're becoming punk? Well, guess what? Now we've got these shitty white guys turning their massive slop of hair into fucking cone spikes. WTF? They've got piercings and tons of tattoos.... Back in the 70s all you had to do was wear your pajamas outside to be punk, now you have to have a 40-foot mohawk and rape the queen of England in the ass.

When Dizzee came out with Boy in Da Corner we didn't know he was talking about that guy who rolled up in the club like he owned the place, did two shots of Courvoisier, and went crying into the bathroom to barf like a little baby. Nothing against fags, but when your entire colon comes toppling out of your ass every time you take a shit, you might want to take it easy on the butt fucking.

A lot of Mexicans are just really lazy, and when you give them money all they do is spend it on booze. If you really cared about this guy you'd give him a job washing your toilets or giving you and your friends a massage. On the off chance that this guy isn't kidding, we thought it would be smart to put him in here and show you what it looks like when someone breaks 11 simple rules (answers below).

Tucking your shirt in, wearing a gay little bracelet, choker made of coral (two separate violations), more than two buttons undone, sideburns, wrap-around sunglasses at night (that's two more), a mullet, and a plaid headband (shit, two more again).