What Kind of Asshole Are You?

Like nearly 7 million strap-hangers in Gotham, I ride the subway. Often. To and from work when I work where I work in Manhattan on workdays. Now, I’ve always had a hard time riding the subway—it’s small, it’s crowded, it’s dirty, it smells, it’s usually off, or slow, or the F is following the A/C route when that is NOWHERE NEAR WHERE THE F TRAIN FUCKING GOES.

crowded subway

And so, every day becomes a new battle on the Moving Toilet. Especially of late—last week alone I saw some guy clipping his fingernails and another old dude sucking down a bowl of sloppy Chinese noodles on the rush-hour ride home. Assholes!

And then, I have a Deepak Chopra moment. Maybe all these assholes who I think are assholes think I’m an asshole. Or some such bullshit. The bottom line is everybody can be an asshole, even I, your lowly author of this lowly blog. The question is: What kind of asshole are you?

Take this superfun, fantasic, happy-hour quiz to find out!

1. You’re having a public meltdown. Which tactic are you most likely to take?
a. Put your arms in the air and start screaming, “You’re limiting me! You’re limiting me!”
b. Wave a machete around on a rooftop.
c. Drive over several publicists and socialists waiting outside a Hamptons’ hotspot.
d. You wreck your luxury SUV in your own front yard.

2. What’s your go-to weekend outfit?
a. Skinny jeans, flannel shirt, beard—all unwashed.
b. A Dolce & Gabbana shirt, coke mirror.
c. A matching pink velour track suit.
d. Golf clothes.

3. What kind of money most appeals to you?
a. Old money. Goddammit, your parents owe you.
b. New Money. Goddammit, you earned it your way and you will still get it your way.
c. Gold-digger money. You sucked plenty of 60-year-old man balls and you’re not afraid to show it.
d. Endorsement money. If someone, somewhere isn’t pitching you on you, you ain’t having it.

4. You’re partying tonight! Where ya going?
a. Brooklyn/Portland/Austin/Your Mom’s Basement
b. Somewhere in a red booth, in a VIP room, behind velvet curtains with my own personal porn stars, strippers, bottle service and a kilo.
c. Some horrible Bobby Flay venture that just opened in a suburban strip mall.
d. Somewhere in a red booth, in a VIP room, behind velvet curtains with my own personal porn stars, strippers, bottle service and my cell phones to load up with their numbers and inappropriate texts.

5. What do you drive?
a. A rebuilt vintage Schwinn roadbike that I rebuilt from parts I purchased on Craiglist.
b. I don’t. People, trolls, drive me. Then they go home to their ugly troll wives in their little houses.
c. A Mercedes with personalized license plates. Or a Land Rover if I have to pick up my brats from soccer practice.
d. An SUV with a dinged-up Carfax report.

6. It’s time to get away—where you going?
a. I refuse to fly because I don’t want to increase my carbon footprint and feed the oil companies (This is what I tell people. I really only make $18K a year and can’t afford it).
b. The Bahamas. With my ex-wife, porn star and nanny.
c. Scottsdale, Ariz.
d. Scottsdale, Ariz.

7. You’ve been caught fucking up big time. Who do you blame?
a. My ex-girlfriend.
b. My ex-wife.
c. My ex-husband.
d. My parents.

8. How do you deal with your asshole-dom when you deal with it?
a. I listen to butt-rock ironically and play ping-pong dead-seriously.
b. I overshare. Everywhere. All over the Internets.
c. Drink huge glasses of white wine and head to Barney’s.
d. Golf. Usually internationally.

9. What kind of pet do you own?
a. A ferret because I am deep and unconventional.
b. I killed all my pets.
c. A teeny-tiny chia-pet of a dog—come on!
d. Pets are dirty and require daily exchanges of emotion.

10. Are you on ‘Glee’?
a. Yes
b. No

Mostly A’s: You, my friend, are a dirty, dirty hipster, one of the lowliest creatures plaguing cities where the literacy rate hovers around 80 percent and all your friends take shifts at the local Food Co-Op. You probably have herpes, which you gladly spread around because condoms are “so ’80s,” you tend bar for your buddy from time to time to make cash when you’re not working on your “art,” and you have 10-minute discussions with your friends about maintaining and grooming your beard even though you haven’t changed your underwear in three days.

hipsters

I want to kill myself just looking at these two.

Mostly B’s: I think you know where you’re headed here.

charlie sheen

'But seriously, Major League 3 is in the works.'

Mostly C’s: You’ve had fake boobs since you were old enough to drive, your first husband left you with two kids and $2 million, and you are currently designing a line of handbags. Congratulations, you are a Real Housewife of the OC!

real housewives of the OC

'Calories, calories, calories, vagina!'

Mostly D’s: Elin is getting a shit-ton of your money!

tiger woods

'One gun show we won't be attending.'

“Glee”: If you answered yes, you wasted your time taking the quiz. You are, indeed, an asshole.

glee

Assholes!

The Royal Wedding…Or the Most Boring Fucking Nuptials of All Time

I hate weddings. I really do. When someone asks me if I’ve ever been to a fun one, I have to sit there, take pause and dive into the inner depths of my freeloading, crappy-dress-wearing soul to find out if I’ve ever actually had a good time at one.

The answer is sort of. Once. And it wasn’t even a friend’s wedding. I was a guest at an ex’s friend’s wedding. I got to wear a slutty dress and dance to BTO and drink way too much Taste of the Rockies. But, hey, it got me a free weekend at a golf resort in Boulder, Colo., all expenses paid.

That said, I’ve spent way too much time and money attending and participating in other people’s declarations of lifetime love. Look, I love love just as much as anybody else—probably more—but I despise grandiose displays of usually really tacky shit and eating bad mass-produced catered food and listening to a some local DJ spin the classic-rock hits from 1978 while middle-aged sad people who hate their lives ass-grab on the dancefloor.

So, yeah, I hate weddings.

It’s two months out, and I’m already sick and tired of hearing about this so-called Royal Wedding or, as I like to call it, The Most Boring Fucking Nuptials of All Time. I don’t think two more boring white people could find one another if you attended an all-the-ribs-you-can-eat singles mixer at a Chili’s in West Des Moines (sorry, Iowa, but I had to go there).

This pretty much says it all.

Scratch that statement. I think I could find more interesting people at an all-you-can-eat singles mixer at a Chili’s in West Des Moines.

So, here’s a few reasons why Little Mr. Prince William and Waity Katie Middleton’s wedding will suck:

1. Fergie’s not invited. No, not that Black-Eyed Pea bitch. The redhead. Look, Royal Family, she’s the most interesting thing you got going—affairs! Divorce! Selling information to undercover reporters! And, apparently, the only one who can fess up when she’s fucked up, per her subsequent appearance on Oprah where, according to the Telegraph, she admitted that she had been drinking and said that she was “in the gutter at that moment.” Now that is who you want giving a toast to remember.

2. Also according to the Telegraph (British newspapers, so newsy), a whole hodgepodge of Middle Eastern royalty is going to be attending:

The King of Saudi Arabia, The King of Jordan, the Crown Prince of Abu Dhabi, the Sultan of Oman and the Sultan of Brunei are also said to be on the list at the personal invitation of the Queen.

The news dismayed Republic, the anti-monarchy pressure group. Campaign manager Graham Smith said: ‘It beggars belief that the Queen saw fit to invite the King of Bahrain just days after his troops opened fire on pro-democracy protesters. This sends a very strong signal that the British royal family’s number one priority is other royals, even if they are dictators, despots and thugs.’

Is anyone else tired of money-grubbing assholes who live off the backs and blood of Common People hanging out together? So am I. So am I.

3. Waity Katie, you waited eight fucking years for this douche to propose. Eight Fucking Years. I’m absolutely certain that every single acquaintance you have has had to hold back every ounce of their being in order not to smack you solidly across the face if you even start to stammer a sentence about your relationship with this dude. A wedding will probably just be sheer and utter hell for them. I am totally on the Millionaire Matchmaker Patti Stanger’s page on this one, “A man knows if he wants to marry you within six months to a year.” So, whilst you’re popping out Royal Babies and dealing with postpartum depression, don’t be too surprised if William’s going out with his buddy Kanye and David Beckham to soccer games and night clubs and hip-hop VIP booths sponsored by expensive champagnes. Dude’s just not that into you.

4. Oh, and William. You’re not off the hook either. Everyone knows Harry’s the hot one.

Princes! Courtesy of Reuters!

5. Speaking of David Beckham. The Beckhams are your lead celebs? Really? I mean I know they’re huge in England, but that’s like scoring a Gossip Girl cast member over here.

Does anyone else find them as intolerable as I do?

6. Also, does anyone else out there really want to see a pair of blow-up dolls designed just like the Beckhams?

point and...

match

7. Is Elton John gonna rewrite “Candle in the Wind” fucking again?

8. Also, William, methinks you were getting all kinds of pressure, u-hum, like your dad, to get married around the 30-year mark. It would’ve been more awesome if you could’ve told your Grandma to, as Jay-Z says, “kiss your whole asshole” and forget it. You like the hip-hop, don’t ya?

9. Mmm…what else makes this so boring? The fact that you’ll dominant U.S. tabloids, such as this People article, with such useless factoids like, “As for the parties, Queen Elizabeth will kick things off with a post-ceremony wedding breakfast of champagne and canapés for 600. At 7 p.m. Prince Charles will host a dinner dance for which Kate – and some 300 guests – will change into evening gowns.” This is going to take valuable print and web space away from what I really want to hear about, including which Jersey Shore character is entering rehab and how Justin Bieber’s new haircut is setting him loose on a sexual feeding frenzy the likes of which the world hasn’t experienced since Charlie Sheen checked into a Vegas casino.

Bieber Fever! You can't fight the feeling!

10. And the No. 10 reason this wedding will suck? According to our friends up north at the National Post, Prince Harry’s planned a delightful “stag do” filled with water sports, barbecue and bar crawling for his older bro. I’m sorry, is this a royal bachelor party, or an episode of Eastbound & Down?

Quite possibly, the greatest show of all time. Also way more fun than Royal Wedding.

According to TV, being part of a couple sucks.

You know, a lot of folks sit and whine and wonder about how much better life would be if they were coupled up—you know antiquing! Brunching! Lying on a blanket in the park, making out! Yippers. It’s enough to drive any sane-minded person to sign up for a three-day trial account on eHarmony.

Well, fuck that. Watching TV today, I realized something with the onslaught of commercials, TV shows, etc., that all—each and every one!—explore the drudgeries of coupledom. Grab your KY His and Hers, kids. Like a late-night rendezvous with Charlie Sheen, this ain’t gonna go down easy.

Reasons why being a Couple Might Suck:

1. You know each other’s bowel schedules. Seriously. This is just way too close for comfort. I don’t give a fuck if you’re constipated, have diarrhea or need to a jack your colon up with some of that Jamie Lee Curtis-peddled probiotic shit, stat, I need not know about it. Just light a fucking match.

2. You, the Little Woman, get stuck doing Everything. I swear if I see more Swiffer, Mr. Clean or Febreze commercial where the chicks are sitting around and practically orgasming off a new product while their husbands are probably off playing golf, I’m gonna fucking puke.

3. P.S. Golf is fucking bullshit.

4. Need to trick your dipshit family into eating decent food, i.e. vegetables, with sugar-packed, disgusting spaghetti sauce? Is that your biggest thrill all day? Get yerself to a dildo store pronto, Prego lady.

5. You’re a man. You know how to handle situations, like driving your vintage muscle car that you bought during your midlife crisis of ’93 when your pubes started to go gray. Thank god there’s a boner pill that’s as unique as you.

6. Are you a superhot woman married to a disgusting pig of a husband (i.e. Jim Belushi, that fat fuck from “King of Queens,”) like every CBS/ABC sitcom made between 1992 and now? Too fucking bad, lady. That’s the way of the world. Now get under those covers and get ready to play Dutch Oven: The Return!

7. Did your partner make some frozen Barilla bullshit from a bag instead of taking you out to dinner? Haha. Ain’t so fucking great is it?

8. Does your wife get made at you when you bring a barbecue sandwich home and eat it and stain her dining-room tablecloth? Maybe, my friend, you need to find your balls.

9. Do you like your warm Betty Crocker brownie mix from the microwave more than sex? Yep, your life might suck a little.

10. The new Snuggies are here! The new Snuggies are here! Do you both own one?