Jerks of the Week - Oct. 18, 2010

Jerks of the Week for Oct. 18, 2010


JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 1: Toasts

I complain about a lot of things in my Jerks of the Week entries. However, there are only a handful of things I truly hate. Here are some I can think of off the top of my head:

1. Bums - Anyone who gets rewarded (free lodging, food, and if they're into it, anal cleanings in prison) for committing a crime creeps me out. I say all bums should be deported to a deserted island or Camden so we can all live safely.

2. Artsy-Fartsy New-Age Hippies - The people who think they are hipper and cooler than everyone else because they make crappy art, eat foreign foods and spend all of their money at Starbucks. I discussed this more in my Hatred for Downtown Philadelphia Jerk of the Week entry.

3. One-Way Streets - If you drive down a one-way street and have to get back, are you screwed for life? Call me crazy, but I don't think that's fair. I never understood this concept, and it's why I'll never drive in downtown Philadelphia.

4. Hot Chicks with Lame Boyfriends - There should be some sort of arbiter who goes around and breaks up relationships he deems lame and/or one-sided. I say that arbiter should be me. Everyone would be single! Muhahahaha!

5. The Frosted Flakes in My Cupboard that Taste Like Cardboard - There's nothing more depressing than having a craving for Frosted Flakes and then being disgusted once you taste the sensation of cardboard in your mouth. This just completely ruined my day.

6. Toasts - No, I'm not referring to the toast you eat NOM NOM NOM NOM. I couldn't live with myself if I hated that sort of toast. I'm talking about the toasting that goes on at parties where people say some stuff, clink their glasses together and drink at the same time.

In sharing my hatred for this over the years, I've come to realize that I'm the only person in the world who hates toasting. Seriously, whenever I hear someone starting a toast, I try my hardest to pretend that I'm not hearing it. Unfortunately, some a-hole is always like, "Walt, they're toasting!" So, I have to turn around and pretend that I agree with whatever they're saying. I'll then go "yeah, yeah, yeah" and fake drink. I think I have issues.

Why do I hate toasting? I'm not really sure. I think it might be because growing up, my family and relatives would always have these parties and toast to 20 different things. My sister reminded me, "Remember that time when they toasted to my eyelashes?" I shudder just thinking about it.

Anyway, I was at my sister's birthday party at some fancy shmancy restaurant last Saturday night. I tried to ignore all six toasts that night, but was suckered into four of them. I then got to talking to my buddy Ken, a cop, and Adrienne, the girl who hosted the party where the Longest Game of Beer Pong took place.

Me: If I ever have a wedding, I'm not going to have any toasting. Anyone who toasts will be kicked out!

*** And I'm not getting married anytime soon; I have no strong prospects, which is good, I guess, because gaming random chicks is fun. ***

Ken: You have to have one toast. Get someone funny to do it.

Me: Fine. Only one toast. But it has to be funny.

Ken: So, who's your wife going to be? What if she wants people to toast?

Me: I'm not sure. I'll have to find some sort of fake wife for my fake wedding who doesn't like to toast.

Adrienne: You should get a blowup doll to be your fake wife.

Me: I like where you're going with this. I won't have to dance either because blowup dolls can't dance.

I then got to thinking about what else I wouldn't want at my fake wedding in addition to toasts. I then remembered two other things I hate:

7. Dancing - No dancing at my fake wedding! Well, other people can dance. Not me though. I'll take part in the requisite one slow dance, but that's all I'm going to do.

Again, I talked to Ken and Adrienne about this. Adrienne, by the way, mentioned that she's bringing a hot, single 18-year-old to my Halloween party, which tied into this conversation:

Adrienne: Why do you hate dancing so much?

Me: Dancing is difficult and stupid. You have to move around and stuff, and you have to figure out where to put your feet and your hands. There's too much math and physics involved. Dancing is just too much work. I'd rather just sit around, get drunk and eat stuff on the table. Plus, my back sucks so I have a built-in excuse.

Ken: Your back sucks? What are you, 28?

Me: Yeah. Well, I have back spasms, so it's not literally my back.

Ken: So, is your back going to be OK when you see Adrienne's hot 18-year-old friend at your Halloween party?

Me: Oh yeah! My back will be fine by then.

Unfortunately, this was the end of our discussion. The music got really loud, so I couldn't understand anything. Which brings us to...

8. Loud Music - I like when there's music playing in the background at a bar, club or party, but I can't stand it when it's obnoxiously loud and you can't hear what anyone else is saying. I hate dancing but like to talk, so loud music disrupts my good time.

Here's what happened:

Me: This music's so loud! I don't want loud music at my fake wedding either!

Ken: wgipoj owigh owhg oer bdi 9bg uiw2hosovbndf oburehg ow.

Me: What!? I can't hear you!

Ken: 8gw iw0g9h9wf qn lksdjfnoSIEr rw8gorn fdsln wrh.

Me: What!?!?!

Adrienne: 2 r3 eg0ho ifdnawehg 0ro js;l 9 hfl we-9g nweorh bo.

Me: Did you just say something about oxygen and hemoglobin?

Adrienne: 38h lsejp r lkrgn 43hg fdn hhg4itejhrtg.

Ken: f#hweo hew ighwe9gbiwer bnkjt ehbrwbg ubrei bgnwkr h.

Me: I can't hear you guys! I'm just going to keep pouring vodka into my glass and drinking myself into oblivion!

Sounds like something I'll be doing at my fake wedding.

JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 2: Lilliput

My dad was probably pretty glad that my sister's birthday party was scheduled for last Saturday. Otherwise, he might have had to attend another party hosted by one of his employees.

For some inexplicable reason, my dad employs this strange Russian immigrant everyone calls Lilliput. Here are some funny things about Lilliput:

Lilliput is just a shade over five feet tall. Not that there's anything wrong with short people, but Lilliput is also fat, so his figure could best be described as "very round."

If you could come up with what the stereotypical stalker would look like, it would be Lilliput. His eyes bulge out of his head, and he leers at every woman he sees. I can almost guarantee that he sneaks into random houses, takes pictures of women undressing and hangs the photos on his basement wall.

Despite his ghastly appearance, Lilliput, I believe, is married to two women. Both of these women live in Russia. I was drunk when I heard this story, but from what I remember, one is using him to get into this country, while the other is an ugly old lady he's using for money.

Lilliput is dirt-poor. One of my favorite stories is when Lilliput drove up to New York for whatever reason. He had like $40 with him, but gambled it all away. Unfortunately, he had no gas left in his car, so he couldn't drive back to Philly. He called my dad and told him he had to take a week off because he was stuck in New York. I don't know how he made it back eventually, but he apparently lived in his car for a few days.

Lilliput is a degenerate gambler. You probably could have guessed that already, but here's something my dad told me two days before my sister's party.

My dad was working that Thursday afternoon. He received a call from Lilliput...

Lilliput: Boss, I make birthday party in Russian restaurant Saturday. You come?

Dad: A party on Saturday? You're telling me this just two days in advance?

Lilliput: I find money to make for party in Russian restaurant.

Dad: I can't go because it's my daughter's birthday party. But you found this money by gambling at a casino, right?

Lilliput: Yes! How you know?

An hour later, my dad received a call from Alex, another one of his employees:

Alex: Please, for the love of God, can you tell Lilliput that I'm going to your daughter's birthday party?

Dad: Why, did he just invite you to his party?

Alex: Yes, I don't want to go. I'll do anything to get out of this. I'll work more hours with no overtime. Just please, make up an excuse for me so I don't have to go. There are only going to be five people there, and it's going to be super boring.

Dad: Here's the thing - if I say that I invited you, he'll get upset that I didn't invite him.

Poor Alex. Well, not really. Alex didn't have to go, because an hour after that conversation, Lilliput called my dad again:

Lilliput: Boss, I no make party in Russian restaurant.

Dad: What happened? Did you just gamble all your money away at the casino?

Lilliput: Yes. How you know?

For the same reason I know there are nude photos of random women in Lilliput's basement.

JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 3: Wawa Pirate Man

When I was in college, I used to go out and drink four nights a week. Now, I can't even have four drinks in one night without being extremely hung over the next day.

This was the case last Sunday, the day after my sister's birthday party. I had two glasses of vodka concoctions and two more glasses of disgusting wine (chalk that up as another thing that won't be at my fake wedding), so I was pretty out of it around 10:30, which is when I had to wake up to prepare for football Sunday.

My Sundays are actually pretty hectic. I work straight through from 11 a.m. to around 4 a.m. I eat breakfast, a light snack and dinner as I'm either watching games or typing stuff up for the site. So, I usually go to Wawa to stock up on food before ESPN's Sunday NFL Countdown begins at 11.

*** Note: For those of you who don't live in the Philadelphia-New Jersey region, and don't know what a Wawa is, it's the best place on Earth. It's like a 7-11 and an awesome deli rolled into one. In fact I'm drooling just thinking about all of the awesome sandwiches and hoagies they have there. NOM NOM NOM NOM.

Seriously though, it would be a really tough choice if I had to decide between being locked in a Wawa for a whole night or a room with 10 hot naked chicks. I'd opt for the naked chicks, but I'd ask if I could bring some delicious Wawa food items with me. ***

This particular Wawa is a 10-minute walk from my new house. I went in, and ordered a bacon, egg and cheddar hoagie (NOM NOM NOM NOM again). As I was waiting in line, I noticed two very strange individuals talking to a female Wawa employee.

One of these people was a man in about his 50s. He had silver hair and was wearing an eye patch. He was with this younger girl (anywhere between 16-22). She had brown hair and bangs. Her face was cute, but she was disgustingly skinny.

I overheard the following conversation:

Wawa Pirate Man: Ahoy, landlubbers, I have come to commandeer this Wawa and all of your belongings!

OK, he didn't really say that...

Wawa Pirate Man: I'm looking for Whiskey Tango. Can you point me in the direction of Whiskey Tango? I really need to get to Whiskey Tango.

*** Note: Whiskey Tango is the biggest bar in Northeast Philadelphia where racist bikers like to hang out. I discussed it a couple of weeks ago (click on the link). ***

Hot Wawa Employee: Whiskey Tango is right over there across the street.

Wawa Pirate Man: Whiskey Tango is right there? Across the street? That's Whiskey Tango?

Hot Wawa Employee: Yep, that's Whiskey Tango.

Brunette with Bangs: That's Whiskey Tango, Whiskey Tango, that's Whiskey Tango!?

Hot Wawa Employee: Yeah...

I've never seen two people so excited to learn the location of a bar - especially at 10:30 on a Sunday morning. Maybe they're fans of this site and read that aforementioned Jerks of the Week entry.

Wawa Pirate Man and Brunette with Bangs walked toward the exit, but the newspaper stand caught the former's attention. Wawa Pirate Man stood over the newspapers and began perusing them. What made that weird was the following odd sound he began making: "F-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T, F-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T."

Meanwhile, the Brunette with Bangs just stood there in a complete daze. It's almost as if Wawa Pirate Man drugged her up.

As this was going on, the Wawa Employee got behind me in line because she wanted to buy something herself. She smiled at me, and when Wawa Pirate Man and Brunette with Bangs walked out the door, I turned to her and said, "Weirdos." She laughed.

Wawa Pirate Man, if you're reading this, I want to thank you. Because of your weirdness and the young, drugged-up girl you would later molest, I now have an in with the Wawa employee. I just hope that she doesn't fit No. 4 on the Things I Hate List.