Apartment Living 101: Loud Music

Music is a beautiful thing. But not at 4 in the morning.

Unless you own your own place, that is. Then wail away, Hendrix.

But if your humble abode is attached to other abodes of humbleness, you should know better than to rock Madonna's latest single after bar time.

You should. But since you don't, let us lay it on ya:

DO:
Play your music...and play it out loud!

DO NOT:
Play music (recording OR instruments!) at high decibels and inappropriate times.

We're not going to spell it out any further here. This one you can figure out. Weekends are generally cool and understandable, but 3 a.m. on a weekend night is still not kosher as christmas you jag-off.

So the next time you come stumbling from the bar, go straight to your bathroom medicine cabinet and open it. There you will find the note you wrote yourself saying:

Check the time.
If after midnight,
No drunken renditions of
Johnny Cash on the
Un-tuned guitar!

While you're in there, grab two Ibuprofen (you'll thank us tomorrow) and then head over to your Guitar Hero instead.

Douchebag-tastics!

It's Friday so we wanted to send a little shout-out to the guy you will see everywhere; the quintessential chode who continues to provide fodder for humorists everywhere:

The Douchebag.

Bobby Quick related a first-person close call earlier this week and due to that post and other repeated references to various instances of douchebaggery, reader-fan RexManningDay and even the good folk over at The Phat Phree provided the following to help us commemorate the infamy of The Chaach and his economy-sized bag of douche...

No account on this subject would be complete without an excerpt from the original, most eloquently- and hilariously-written accounts of Le Douche: Look At My Striped Shirt!

Look at my button down striped shirt! Fucking look at it! This shirt means one thing! I'm coming home with some pussy tonight! That's right! It's been a long week at the office and it's time to blow off a little steam! I am a Junior Vice President! I have business cards that say "Junior Vice President" on them! They're glossy and magnificent! Here! Have one! Take it!

My boys are coming out with me tonight! They all have striped shirts too!

I figure we'll kick off the night with some Golden Tee! I am going to smack the shit out of that little white ball! It's going to be so fucking loud! I'll bet I can drive that pretend golf ball 600 fucking yards tonight! I'm that fucking pumped!I can almost taste those Jager Bombs right now! I fucking love Red Bull! I put it on my God damned cereal! I'm crushing one right now!

I'm thinking about buying a boat this year!I'm gonna fight someone tonight! I pray to God someone makes eye contact with me! I will beat his ass! And God help him if he gets any blood on my striped shirt! If he does, I'll scrub it out with his dick and some bleach! I mean it!

I'm gonna grind on girls asses tonight! You heard me! When I see a group of girls dancing in a circle, I will select the most attractive one and dry hump her until it hurts! I will rub my cock against her so that she can feel my throbbing hard on!

I will valet tonight!

I will treat the valet with contempt and make sure that he knows that I am superior to him in life! I will tell him to "Take it easy on the brakes, Champ"!

See the full, original material at: ThePhatPhree.com

RexManningDay had this to contribute, which rings true in far too many ways:



So when you're out tonight after having worked for the weekend, pay you no mind to the popped-collars, pom-aded-to-hell hairspikes, conch-shell necklaces, man-bracelets (macelets?) and general douchebagarino-osity surrounding you. Just snap a quick cell phone photo, send it in to us (or to HotChicksWithDouchebags.com) and enjoy the show.

Oh, and a word of advice: if after copious amounts of drinks you somehow find yourself at John Barleycorn or Estelle's...run like hell!

Happy Friday,
~Chucklyn

Top 5 Reasons to Buy Lunch (not bring it to the office)

Top Five Reasons to Purchase Lunch Anew Each Day:
(rather than bringing it and storing it in the nasty communal fridge)

1. That mystery meat sandwich in the back of the office fridge crept closer to your yogurt since you last looked...30 seconds ago.

2. Someone keeps stealing the best item in all of the packed lunches. Pretttttty sure it's Joel in accounts receivable, but alas - no proof. Even checked fingers for Hostess Cupcake remnants and cubicle trash can for Twinkie wrappers...no dice.

3. That smell. Dear God, that smell!
Who's job is it to clean the office refrigerator? Oh yeah...nobody's.

4. Tired of rearranging the 56 items all over again just so a leftover muffaletta will fit.

5. Not having to put your effing name on everything!

*Photo courtesy of PassiveAgressiveNotes.com

Men's Bathroom Etiquette

Some uber-creative-types literally illustrated the finer points of Men's Bathroom Etiquette using some Sims characters to act it out and it's hilarious - enjoy!

It's Hawaiian Shirt Day in the Urb-Et offices...which means, of course, Tequila!!
If you cannot see the video, here's the full link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzO1mCAVyMw

Bobby Quick: Where the pussy at?

Dear "Bros" that are at bars I tend to frequent,

First off...I'd like to crap in yer brew. When I was going out to have a cigarette and you asked me so elegantly "hey....where's the pussy at?" that was disrespectful and rude to my female peeps (yeah mother fucker...I said peeps).

Then, to make stupid stupider you said "is it upstairs?" And at that point I actually looked up the stairs.

IT WASN'T UP THERE.

I felt like that dog - you know when you go to throw the ball but you don't actually throw the ball but he runs after it anyway...

But most of all I'm pissed that you caught me off guard cuz I was drunk. When I heard that, I was like "yeah...where the fuck is the pussy at?" And that drunken barbaric response really got me thinking...

In retrospect, there were so many things I could have said to your inquiry pertaining to "the pussy" and "where it was at" such as:

"in my pants, bitch"
"oh shit thats right I left it in the car...be right back"
"usually below the belly button...i'm sure you'll find it"
"super-glued to the back of your balls"

...but I digress.

I guess what i'm trying to say is you're a douchebag and I would appreciate you not talking to me or anyone I've ever known but if you do...don't.


In closing I would to thank you for letting us bask in your amazing tan and super-pom-aided hair. Thank you for your mad crazy awesome designer button up striped shirts that are so tight that guess what...boop!...turkey's done ya dick.

Most of all thank you for making the male gender look so god damn awesome.

Drop it like it's hott,

~Bobby Quick

Hitting On Women 101: Commuters

It embarasses the editors of this site to even have to mention this. But for those of you without a clue, here's one for free:

Women display outward body language signals when they do not wish to be bothered during their commute.

Since it is obvious that these signals are not universally known, allow us to spell it the hell out for you with a few examples:

• Zoning out to headphones
• Reading a book / magazine
• Talking / Texting on a cell phone

...especially if she goes back to the headphones, reading materials, phone after spurning your lame-o advances.

The general guidelines here are simple...

DO:

Toss that swell-looking dame a line. Preferably not a funny-but-largely-unsuccessful one like "are your pants made of mirrors? ...cuz I can see myself in them." If you toss a line and she catches it, proceed with conversation.

DO NOT:

Proceed without acknowledgment. If you attempt contact and are denied, leave her alone!

Don't be That Guy who continues hitting on her when she's rolling her eyes, looking away, keeping the headphones on, or concentrating on that book/magazine/iPod/cell phone/back of hand rather than meeting your creep-tastic gaze.

Get a clue, leave her be and head home to grab that Striped Shirt before heading out to Estelle's.

Cute dog...poo.

We're gonna sound like parents here, but this is important: Animals are people too.

Why the random declaration?

Because we don't think many of you fuggers quite realize what you're getting into when you decide to adopt a dog. And if you're the kind of jerkass who can't even pick up the feces your little designer pup produces, then PLEASE, for the love of all things good and whole do not reproduce!

That said, pick up the damned poo your dog makes. That's it. There's no clever or kitchy aspect to this. Just do it!

If your dog poops, pick it up. We don't care if it's on the grass, near a tree, on the curb, near a car or right out on the open on the effing sidewalk!

DO:

Walk your dog (and often). And be extra patient with your pets if you happen to leave them alone at home for an extended period of time and they make a doodie in the house. Because remember: that's YOUR fault!

DO NOT:

Let your dog crap on the sidewalk and then leave it there. Period.

It's disgusting, selfish, lazy and downright wrong. We hope we catch someone doing this so we can get it on tape and get your sorry ass face on-camera to post for all the world to see.

Because there's no excuse for it!

If you adopt a pet, you're adopting all of the things that go with it: care, love, joy and yes even the pain-in-the-ass redundant daily upkeep chores like picking up its crap!