ARMANI EXCHANGE

Sometimes, it's better to say it with haiku:

Those jeans are so tight
Chet, did you grab the roofies?
Time to crush some tail

Douchebag Factory
Let's start using that instead
Or Steakheads 'R Us

Piss off you loser
The exchange is a lifestyle
Let's bounce, Destiny

GLASS COFFEE MUGS

Coffee is awesome and a great friend to all of us, but something ain't quite right about having to look at it. It's like seeing your grandpa with his shirt off or grandma with her wig off. It just gives you the willies. That fourth wall is there for a reason, people.

WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHERS WHO MAKE YOU JUMP IN THE AIR

Fabricated spontaneous joy makes me want to punch a side of raw beef Rocky-style until my fists are swollen like grapefruits. The wedding party leap is perhaps the most egregious example of this. Although, I will give it to the first cat who did it. I'm sure it set the wedding photography industry ablaze. But c'mon. I'm trying to lay the groundwork with Charlene, the marginally attractive funtime gal in the peach chiffon. Don't make me act like a goof. It's undignified. Plus, I don't need my flask popping out and upsetting the bride on her most magical of days.

WACKY BATHROOM SIGNAGE

After six tall Coors Lights and two rounds of jalapeno poppers the last thing I need to deal with is this ridiculous bit of tomfoolery. I grace this suburban shitpalace with my presence and this is the thanks I get? By forcing me jump through hoops like I'm like I'm some sort of circus freak that, uhhh, has to jump through hoops? Listen here Curtis, assistant night manager of Pistolero's Cantina, if I walk in the ladies room and see some stuff I can't come back from, that's your ass. Plus, that could lead to jail time on my end. Play it straight with the bathroom signs. No tricks. I have to drive a car home and it's not cool to have this added confusion wreaking havoc on my fragile state.

BOLO TIES

If you ever see a bolo tie chances are you're getting screwed over by a Native American private investigator who swore he'd track down those pictures and make it all disappear. You see, the main problem with bolo ties is they are stupid. The Center for White Trashy Stuff reports that 96% of bolo ties incorporate some sort of turquoise situation. As we all know, turquoise is a gateway stone to getting burritoed in the sleeper compartment of some dude named Dusty's 18-wheeler.

LINKEDIN UPDATES

I'm not even sure why I signed up. I just got the sinking suspicion that if I didn't I'd dissolve into a cavernous ether of professional nothingness, leaving me awash in a deep and lasting loneliness. No matter how much I'd try to scratch and claw my way out I'd be permanently stuck in of the oily muck of human desperation. My futile attempts at career connections would disintegrate into an ashy pile as my wretched and rotten soul would be set adrift in a sadness so intense all it could do is curl up in a ball and pray for a return to the womb. Merry Christmas.

FUDGE

If you say you like fudge, I say you also like lying. My Great Aunt Joan loves fudge. She's also a psycho who smells like formaldehyde and feet. What is fudge? Not chocolate, not cake, not mousse. It melts a mere three seconds after you remove it from those shitbag tins and wax paper. And the only place to "score" this annoyance is at a phony strip-mall Swiss chalet which also peddles candy apples and all sorts of other weird shit you don't want. Actually, I've never had fudge, but I bet all that stuff is true. Even the word chaps my rawhide. Stare at it for five seconds: Fudge. Such a fat little weasel. Sludge, grudge, pudge, fudge! What really makes me want to ride my bike into a steaming hot tub of toxic goo is when people use it instead of the word fuck. Just say fuck you fuck.