WE HAVE MOVED

We have moved to our new site, which will continue to be under construction. It is functioning enough now, however. So for all your Classy needs, please forward your attention to our new site from now on.


The Classy Gentlemen

Hang in there with us while we work out the kinks.

The Effects of Alcohol

As I lay in bed today for a quick 20 hours, taking intermittent breaks to crawl to the bathroom and puke up the blueberry pancakes I tried to scarf down in a Busch-league attempt to neutralize my hangover, I came to a realization. I am a pussy. Now, finally out of bed after my initial wake-up 14 hours ago, I have the McDonald’s Angus Bacon and Cheese fueled mental capacity to actually put together a coherent thought, not to mention the ability to move more than 3 feet from where I was laying. During my crippled, comatose and cadaverous experience in my bed, however, something came to me. This is the result of that revelation. Without further ado, I present to you:

The Effects of Alcohol Over-Indulgence on Your Friends and Yourself

Everyone reacts differently to different things in life - whether it is stress, drugs, an unfortunate morning wake-up to a person double your weight – and alcohol is no different. After four years of liver-failing collegiate inebriation, I have witnessed the effects of alcohol on people from every walk of life. Through rigorous double-blind studies and tests, I have discovered that even if you take 3 people with the exact same tolerance for alcohol, at the end of the night they will all fall into different hooch-induced categories of crapulence. In this segment, I will attempt to discuss a few of these different divisions. Remember, this list is not exhaustive, but will touch briefly on some of the more well-known members of friend circles.

1. The Night-Puker

The Night-Puker is hard to peg as far as whether or not they are a “good drinker.” Capable of dominating drink after drink like a freshmen sorority girl, one would be hard-pressed to label them as a one beer-queer – if it weren’t for the fact that somewhere during the course of the night they will inevitably be found pulling the trigger behind the bushes of the local pizza place. Not all Night-Pukers are so lucky, however. Occasionally hit by an inability to contain said vomit, the NP has the capability to unleash the technicolor yawn without a moments notice – and often on the bar-top, on the street, or on a passerby.

2. The Hangover Queen

A description I unfortunately have heard quite a few times regarding myself, the Hangover Queen is one whose day-after fag-fest far outweighs whatever epic events occurred the night before. Usually seen writhing in agony on a couch the day after for up to 24 hours and, the HQ’s capabilities include up to an inch shift in either direction and the ability to ask if you can “please get me some food dude, I’m dying.” Regardless of whether or not you get him or her food, whatever may or may not be in his stomach will be expelled into a trashcan within the next 4 minutes.

3. The Bed-Wetter

Notorious for their elegantly-stained khaki pants or cargo shorts, the Bed-Wetter can never make it till dawn without emptying the contents of their bladder. Surprisingly calm for having slept 10 hours in their own urine, the BW usually will be the first to make fun of themselves for their reversion to their days as a 7 year old. Only a problem when they pass out next to someone else, on the couch or on a bed, the situation is minimal compared to those who pass deuces in their sleep.

4. The Rolling Blackout

Somehow always completely blacked out at any event involving alcohol, the RB is nothing if not a liability. Known for their glazed-over eyes and incapacity to walk a straight line, the Rolling Blackout gets their name for their talent to have a single beer and be completely blacked out, yet almost fully functional. While others are face down in the dirt, the toilet or an overweight member of the opposite sex, the RB will continue to drink and pick fights with people twice their size, inevitably resulting in your ass getting beat. Its okay that your RB friend didn’t get punched and you are missing two teeth – you’re friends – and you can laugh about it now.

5. The Pre-Game Savant

One of the last ones I will touch on – the Pre-Game Savant is the opposite of the Rolling Blackout. While the RB continues to operate and enjoy the night in the shell of his body although he has already mentally checked out, the PGS has called it a night before you ever even got out to the bar. Recognized for their excitement for this night for the past few weeks, the PGS never makes it past the pre-game. While everyone else is wrapping it all up and getting ready to head out, the PGS will be unconscious on the couch, unfazed by the Bose speaker system pumping bass out at volumes that make human ears bleed.


-E

GentILLman Introductory Post

The Classy Gentleman's Blog, that’s right just say it to yourself:

The Classy Gentleman's Blog. Sounds good doesn't it? Exactly what I was thinking, too, when I was offered a seat at the round table of Classy Justice. I go under many a moniker, but GenILLman should do. A Gentle, yet ILL man who wishes for all those classy to attain and remain that way by whatever means necessary. Speaking of those means, I will open up with this little anecdote of mine about the means by which one must go to attain “beverage” regardless of one’s financial situation.

In recent months by a chance of fate, a friend of mine won a free happy hour at a reputable drinking establishment in Philadelphia. This is the type of high-class, dress up, collar popped preppy affair which typically is not my scene, but one hour of free drinks were calling and as any gent would do, I answered the sounds of the feasting horn. Now, the scene was what I would call "Mostly" open bar - and offers you the ability to drink endlessly any type of drink so long as it is cheap and likely aged less than 15 days. Sorry, no goose and juice for you, but this situation is your basic buffet of beer, wine, and hard liquor. The best part about this bar besides the hour of drunken madness is the fact that when you arrive, you sign your name and are thrown into a raffle to win another happy hour. What are the chances right?

Well as a classy gentleman would do from time to time, he finds a means to exploit these free drinks and spread them among the classy. Especially during these hard economic times when a man finds the simpler things in life like Beer, Cigarettes, SNUS, Blunts, Liquor, etc. to cost him an arm and a leg. Well, a week after the delicious bucket of free drinks was bestowed upon me, I got a call from a hottie telling me that I had won a free happy hour too. After a week or two of bringing friends to the location, we pretty much have every Thursday and Friday night from 9-11 pm locked up on free drinks and downright debauchery - which goes to show that regardless how broke the classy gentleman finds himself to be, he will always find a drink to help him through.

-A GentILLman

An Age of Change

For those of you who don’t know, The Classy Gentlemen is the brain-child of a collection of men. Men who day in and day out exhaust the bandwidth of countless websites such as ESPN.com, NFL.com and People of Walmart while at work, consequently destroying their employer’s bottom lines - with the sole purpose of getting a few minutes of entertainment. After too long of a time in the “real world,” we realized that the interesting shit we were looking for simply wasn’t always there. When it was there, we exhausted an entire website within a half-hour only to find ourselves waiting for its owner to post something new every three weeks. Beaten, battered, and repeatedly bitched at by our hooker co-worker - despite the fact that we were told that we could listen to the radio at a reasonable volume from nine to eleven - we became fed up.

Thus was born The Classy Gentlemen’s Blog. We were so young – naïve, if you will – during its inception a long, arduous two weeks ago, that we had no idea what was about to happen. We actually enjoyed writing it. Since all the other shit out there was terrible, and we could only realistically read Perez Hilton on the off-chance that he would post another nude photo of some barely legal celebrity who texted her pics to the wrong boyfriend, we kept it up. However, with the recent successes and positive feedback we have received, we have decided to lift double-secret probation from ourselves and register our own domain name. It’s not quite ready yet, but when all is said and done, thegentlemensblog.com will be our new home - complete with a lot more interesting shit - since the most advanced tools we have at our disposal on this site involve the ability to italicize and bold words. Not that we haven’t enjoyed our time on here, but, all good things must come to an end. So we look forward to offending you in the near future, with a lot more pictures, slurs, and skull duggery than ever before. Until then, we will keep the posts rolling as usual.

-E

Shitty Drum Kits

Okay, so here is something all of you can relate to -- my hatred for playing on a shitty drum kit! This is me fucking ranting, because that's the purpose this blog serves to me... to rant about shit I fucking hate... and today, I hate shitty drum kits. Allow me to elaborate...

I have a pretty nice drum kit. It's not top-of-the-line... but, I take care of it. I keep it tuned; cymbals sounding good; drum heads in good condition; etc etc. I use this drum kit all the time. Every show. However, last night, my band had partaken in a classic, amateur-hour battle of the fucking bands. Which, to the non-musicians out there, means -- I'm a promoter, and I want all the money... fuck the bands. The only reason we did it was because the local radio station out here sponsored it, and there was going to be a bunch of people. Unfortunately, they wanted me to use the house drum kit. Over the phone, the promoter made it sound like it was some real nice kit with all kinds of bells and whistles. When I got there, I almost threw up. Literally, I could have take garbage cans and made them sound better. The kick drum head was dinged up, and I said to myself, "I'm going to kick right through that!" Sure enough, the first band that played kicked through it. You know how these pro's fixed it? FUCKING DUCT TAPE. Yeah, what kind of amateur hour bullshit is that! It took everything in my power not to completely blow up the kit during our set. /end rant.

- Sir John

To Catch a Predator: The funniest show on TV

So I just got done watching 6 hours of MSNBC and my stomach hurts from laughing. The culprit for my ab muscles getting tighter and even better looking; the cast, and especially Host Jesus Hanson, of "To Catch a Predator".

To briefly describe to anyone who has not seen the hilarity that is "To catch a predator", it is basically a sting operation for low life losers on the internet trying to rape the innocence out of young boys/girls. While that description does not sound funny (and that kind of shit isn't), the way in which the show is set up is fucking phenomenal.

The reason this show is so god damn funny is that Chris Hanson (the host and innocent savior, aka Jesus to me) makes the interaction between the bumbling, hillbilly idiots, that so often find themselves on this show, extremely awkward and funny. "Why don't you have a seat", and "What made you come here today" are two questions I can no longer hear without immediately doubling over in laughter. If you spend just ten minutes witnessing the ridiculous excuses these weirdos try to give, you will be instantly hooked. I guarantee it. Do yourself a favor. The next time you are surfing the channels on your all too comfortable couch and you see MSNBC running a "To Catch a Predator" marathon, snuggle in tight and get some popcorn.

So when all of you go out this friday night and you are drinking merrily to having sex with women who are of age, raise a glass to the best cockblocker of all time; CHRIS HANSON!!!!!!

-Drexel

Early System Video Games: The Golden Age of Gaming

I’m sure at some point in all of our meaningless existences we have had that friend who refuses to upgrade to a new game console. They are the ones in college playing Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out (before everyone got all up in arms about domestic abuse and the game was simply changed to Punch-Out, which, by the way, is lame as shit – who the fuck is Mr. Dream anyway) and Tecmo Super Bowl on regular Nintendo - or even advancing to GoldenEye on the N64. By the way, all of you who play ‘golden gun only’ are retarded, and I stick by that. Everyone knows the real way to play is one of these three: Power-Weapons, Automatics or Slappers Only. That’s it. Regardless, we have all had these friends and have always questioned their motives. Why won’t they buy the new Xbox/Ps3 Mega-ultra-epic-osity 3000 2k50? Are they hippies, communists? Poor? No ever truly knew, since the stench of bong-water emanating from their apartment at all times kept us from getting too close. Recently I have been thinking, however; perhaps we were the ones wrong all along.

I am not sitting here saying I don’t enjoy the new video game consoles and the mind-fucking 8-trillion p resolution. Quite the contrary. Somewhere along the way, however, we lose what truly makes a good video game. Gone are the days of raping and pillaging 1-pixel players with Bo Jackson on the way to a touchdown; no longer are we hitting that weird skull/rock thing in the middle of the dirt path on California Games and falling off our bike, writing in 1-D agony. Now, we are too busy killing little girls to harvest their life force in order to buy upgrades to our biotic weapons in utopian underwater worlds. I don’t even sniff 1,000 calories in food intake in a day because I am too busy attempting to save the entire human race by harvesting minerals from planets light years away to upgrade my fucking ship’s armor so I can go through the Omega 4 Relay – where no ship has ever returned from, by the way, assholes. Don’t know what I am referring to? Who cares. At this point I hardly know myself, but that isn’t the point. That shit is a lot more complex than falling off a fucking bike. The obvious question, then, is what was lost in the translation?

Somewhere in the Dolby 15.6 digital surround sound and the 17-D viewing-compatible Sony 1800” paper-thin holo-TV, these games are missing something. What it is, I don’t think we will ever know. What I do know, however, is that games such as Space Quest, The Incredible Machine, Escape from Monkey Island, Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out, GoldenEye, California Games, Myst, Riven (the list goes on and on) all have something in common that games today seem to be lacking: a huge, hulking, girthy, swollen mammoth of a nut sack. A nut sack that wasn’t afraid to tea bag you whilst you slept, only to have you awaken from a night terror, sweating and weeping. A nut sack that was no-frills - just pure, hairy, varicose content. A nut sack that stared you down, right in the eyes, contorted and twisted just enough as if to say, “Hey. Wake up. I’m fucking ready to be played.”

-E

Special thanks to Hallie for putting the "tea-bagged-goodness" over digital Tyson's grill; and also anonymous - who called me a "tardcake" in the comments section below - for helping me with the title.

A Guide to Gentlemen Drinks

There comes a time when a man needs to step up his drinks and order something other than beer. But what? Here’s a guide to help you keep it classy at any event.

Mitch Morgan
Ingredients:
1 part Bourbon
1 strip Bacon
Preparation: Serve bourbon neat in a cocktail glass. Garnish with the strip of bacon.
Notes: Simple and classy. The Mitch Morgan is a great anytime cocktail.

Shot of Respect
Ingredients:
1 part Tequila
1 part 151-Proof Rum
1 splash Tabasco Sauce
Preparation: Pour tequila and rum into a shot glass. Top with a splash of Tabasco.
Notes: Serve when in large groups. Whoever declines is a pussy.

Frozen Vomit
Ingredients:
2 parts Gin
1 part Grain Alcohol
1 part Banana Liqueur
2 parts Beef Bouillon
Preparation: Add beef bouillon and liquor to blender. Fill with ice and blend till smooth. Serve in coupette glasses.
Notes: This is a summer only drink. Best served with a side of steak. The Margaritaville Frozen Concoction Maker is the preferred method for blending any frozen drink. Its automatic blend button and separate ice shaving compartment make for perfect consistency, while the detachable catch ensures your drinks never dilute with excess water. I use mine daily.

Waffle
Ingredients:
1 part Vodka
1 part Butterscotch Schnapps
1 part Orange Juice
Preparation: Pour ingredients into a shaker with ice. Strain into a shot glass.
Notes: Drink as breakfast. It really does taste like waffles.

Scalding Regret
Ingredients:
1 part sugar
1 part water
1 part habanero infused grain alcohol
Preparation: Put sugar and water into a saucepan. Bring to a rolling boil. Pour hot sugar water into rocks glass. Drop in habanero liquor, then shoot immediately.
Notes: Mastering this drink is definitive proof of your manliness. Habanero liquor is not found in any stores, you must make it yourself. To make: place about twenty habanero chilis, halved, into an empty fifth. Fill with grain alcohol. Allow liquor to sit for 9-12 months before using.
Disclaimer: If attempt this drink, I am not liable for any damage that will inevitably ensue. The Scalding Regret will burn your throat, scar your lips, mangle your bowels, and disintegrate your colon. Permanent psychological harm and death are also likely.

Gay Pirate Sex
Ingredients:
1 part Apricot Brandy
1 part Sour Apple Pucker Schnapps
1 part dark Rum
1 part Coconut-Flavored Rum
Splash Lemon Juice
Fill with Pineapple Juice
Preparation: Build liquor in a highball glass with ice. Fill with pineapple juice, then top with a splash of lemon juice.
Notes: It takes a real gentleman to order this drink.

FUCK THE POLICE, FUCK THE POLICE, FUCK'EM!

I just got pulled over for doing 60 in a 40. FUUUUUUUCK YOU! It was a young cop who was under the illusion that his dick would grow with this incredible bust. It's a good thing you nabbed me officer, I was just about to go rob a fucking bank and then catch up with Bob Deniro at the meet. Too bad you didn't find the Dank under my seat, fuzz. Also, I was just coming off a bender that Nick Cage in Leaving Las Vegas would have felt needed an intervention. But.................... I digress.

Drinking Diet Soda: About As Useful as the Taco Bell Fresco Diet

A friend of mine once told me that his friend’s mother was Andy Reid’s nutritionist. Since Andy Reid obviously could care less about nutrition - unless nutrition was spelled “Double Philly Cheese Steak With” (that’s with wiz to you non-Philadelphian’s) – I immediately questioned the validity of his statement. What I didn’t question, however, was the follow-up to that statement: Andy Reid drinks a case of diet soda everyday. Whether it was Diet Pepsi or Diet Coke, or whether it was true at all, the simple fact remains that he is a pretty large man. That eats a ton of cheese-steaks. With the absence of any third variable, then, one is forced to accept the fact that drinking diet soda makes you Andy Reid.

What I don’t understand, personally, is why people drink diet soda at all. In my world, it is either regular soda, or no soda at all. Drinking diet soda is basically like drinking non-alcoholic beer; or eating turkey-bacon; or being a vegetarian; all the morning mud-butt but without the delicious taste. If you are going to go so far as to punish your taste-buds with the urine that is diet beverages, you might as well also go to Taco Bell and order from the “Fresco Menu” in order to lose that weight you have been trying to shed for the past few months. This brings me to my next point.

Ordering from the “Fresco Menu” at Taco Bell in order to lose that weight you have been trying to shed for the past few months makes you a fucking moron. If you want to lose weight you run, workout, drink water and eat healthy. Grade D meat does not constitute healthy, it constitutes an animal that was roughly 8 years old when it was killed (or died, knowing the economy these days). If you are using my previous method of logic (Drinking diet soda makes you the head football coach of the Philadelphia Eagles), then, it is safe to assume dog-years and cow-years are equal. That would make the meat you eat from Taco Bell 56 year old flesh. Therefore, not only is eating from the Taco Bell “Fresco Menu” absolutely not “fresco” at all, it would be akin to eating your parents if you are a 25 year old person, on average. You know who also ate their own species flesh? The Carib Tribe of the Lesser Antilles Islands. (Cue non-peer-reviewed, reliable website link: this shits crazy )

Using this flawless logic, then, we here at The Classy Gentlemen have discovered two distinct, axiomatic truths:

1. If you drink diet soda, you are Andy Reid; Head Coach of the NFL’s Philadelphia Eagles, proud father of two heroin addicts in and out of prison, and overweight husband.

2. If you eat from Taco Bell’s “Fresco Menu” to lose weight you are not only a cannibal who takes pleasure in eating your own species; you are most likely fat, and stupid.

-E

It's all around us

If snow was cat, we'd all be getting fucked. Even those with low self-esteem.

This morning when I woke up I could hear colors and see sound.

Which is a nice segue to the question ---> Why in the FUCK do the people that work at Starbucks refer to themselves as "Baristas?!" As far as I can tell, I am not perusing the streets of Rome. Just pour me a big, black (stay me with me homosexuals and jersey chasers) cup of coffee, I'll pay you a bloated amount of money (because I'm too lazy to brew my own --- for like a nickel a cup), and I'll be on my merry way. A Tip Jar? Here's a tip: Steam your broccoli as opposed to boiling. It retains more nutrients. Your welcome.

Stay Cool.

Types of People I Don’t Like

After 22 years of life, I have finally come to the conclusion that there are some people that I just simply do not like. Whether it is because of something they have done to me, something they are known to do or just because I don’t fucking like them, there are more than a few of these types of people. Below I will go over a few of my (least) favorites.

1. Those you just look at and automatically hate

Have you ever just walked into a party, a building or a 1st grade classroom, looked at someone and felt nothing but an irresistible urge to punch them in the face? There is no rhyme or reason for it, but it has affected all of us at one time or another. Whether it is the douche bag with the 4-layered polos and 3-popped collars, the girl screaming “THIS IS MY SONGGGGGG” and flailing her arms about in an attempt at dancing/getting fucked by a whole fraternity, or just some dude who seems to have a real shit-eating grin on his face every time you look his way, nothing would make you happier than to see them curb-stomped in front of 40,000 students at the student center.

Disclaimer: We here at the Classy Gentlemen do not condone violence towards women by males. That is why you always make sure you have a very overweight, scrappy fighter of a female friend that you can have do your bidding. It’s okay to put a contract out for a beat-down on that wench of an ex-girlfriend who cheated on you; you just cannot raise your fist yourself.

2. Those who says “I wish you had told me sooner, I could have helped you out”

The story is always the same. You ordered a book on Amazon.com for your Comm 403 class, set arrive a mere day before your final exam. Lo and behold, you didn’t realize that “standard delivery” would take longer than it took New Orleans to recover from Hurricane Katrina (going on 5 years). So there you are, an hour before your exam, frantically contacting all of your friends to see if anyone has a copy of the book. No dice, grandma. You go into your final, check C for every answer and walk back home feeling fully sodomized with no hope at redemption. After you arrive home you enter the kitchen and begin to cook some dinner when Pete walks in and you two start talking. “Dude, if you had told me sooner, I could have helped you. I use that book as my bong-stand.” Fuck you, Pete.

3. Those whose parents did all their projects and homework throughout elementary school

This is another type of person who is a pure plague to elementary school classrooms everywhere. You all know who he/she is – your teacher assigns a project or competition, and whoever has the best one will have their piece featured at the upcoming art show. When the deadline rolls around, you bring in your sad-excuse for a project that you scrapped together piece by piece whenever you took a break from eating paste. Your spirits are high and no one can bring you down. Enter Andrew Kirchek. Toting a canvas mural about 20 feet wide, he unveils a painting done in the style of Donald Friend depicting one of the battles in the Pacific Theatre in World War 2. You fucking know you didn’t paint that shit, Andrew, and it’s bullshit that you allow this to count Ms. Lomas because you know damn well he didn’t paint it either. No matter, Andrew gets a 110 out of 100 (despite there being no extra credit, his was “just extraordinary) and takes the spot in the art show.

4. Those who whine about anything and everything

These people are the absolute worst. Every hangnail, death of a grandmother, or rainy day is a direct personal tragedy that makes whining and crying about it apparently acceptable. Well the truth is, it isn’t acceptable, and quite frankly, we all have enough shit to deal with ourselves to warrant not wanting to listen to your story about how the “world is out to get you” because you burnt the top of your mouth on your DiGiorno oven-pizza. It’s your own damn fault you didn’t “let cool for 15 minutes” like the box said, and newsflash, no one likes you. Cunt.

5. Those who chew with their mouth open

Honestly, you would think with somewhere along the way to adulthood these people would learn that this is straight unacceptable. I guess in a world where it’s totally cool to have 8 kids and depend on the taxes taken from my paycheck to pay for your welfare, it isn’t surprising in the least, however. As if it wasn’t bad enough to hear your fat lips smack together every time you close them from taking one of those disgusting, heavy, eating-induced breaths, I also now have to worry about mouth-shrapnel making its way into my own dish. It’s a shame some people don’t take advantage of abortion while it’s legal. Learn some fucking manners.

-E

Shoutout to Brett for some help with the ideas.

Manlight Guylight: The Male Version of Twilight

Isabella "Bella" Swan John Albrecht moves from sunny Phoenix, Arizona to rainy Forks, Washington to live with her his father, Charlie , while her his mother, Renée, travels with her new husband, Phil Dwyer, a minor league baseball player. Bella John attracts much attention at herhis new school and is quickly befriended by several students. Much to her dismay his delight, several boys girls compete for shy Bella's attention totally want on his dick.

When Bella John is seated next to Edward Cullen Sarah Michelle Gellar from Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, before that homo Angel took her from me, in class on her his first day of school, Edward Sarah Michelle Gellar seems utterly repulsed by her too fucking turned on by him. He She disappears for a few days, but warms up to Bella John upon his her return; their newfound relationship reaches a climax (literally) when Bella is nearly run over by a fellow classmate's van in the school parking lot John agrees he wants to see her breasts. Seemingly defying the laws of physics, Edward saves her life when he instantaneously appears next to her and stops the van with his bare hands Sarah Michelle Gellar’s breasts are still perfectly perky even at her older age.

Bella John becomes determined to find out how Edward saved her life Sarah Michelle Gellar’s breasts are still so perfect, and constantly pesters him her with questions. After tricking a family friend, Jacob Black Megan Fox, into telling her him the local tribal legends, Bella John concludes that Edward Sarah and his her family are vampires who drink animal blood rather than human totally hot babes from outer-space with one mission: to do him repeatedly. Edward Sarah confesses that he she initially avoided Bella John because the scent of her blood his axe body spray was too desirable to him her. Over time, Edward Sarah and Bella fall in love John have sex probably like a million times.

Their relationship is disturbed when another vampire coven sex-obsessed alien clan sweeps into Forks. James Cameron Diaz, a tracker vampire sex alien who is intrigued by the Cullens' Gellars’ relationship with a human, wants to hunt Bella John for sport sex but eat him afterwords like a praying mantis, kinda. The Cullens Gellar’s attempt to distract the tracker by splitting up Bella John and Edward Sarah Michelle Gellar, and Bella John is sent to hide in a hotel in Phoenix. There, Bella John receives a phone call from James Cameron Diaz, who claims to be holding her his mother captive. When Bella John surrenders herself himself, James Cameron Diaz attacks her totally does him. Before she is killed, Edward, along with the other Cullens, rescues her and defeats James. Once they realize that James has bitten Bella's hand, Edward successfully sucks the venom from her bloodstream and prevents her from becoming a vampire, after which she is brought to a hospital. Upon returning to Forks, Bella and Edward attend their school prom and Bella expresses her desire to become a vampire, but Edward refuses. Then Sarah Michelle Gellar, her entire family of hot alien-babes and Megan Fox join Cameron Diaz and John does all of them for the rest of his life. The End.

-E

Shameless Self-Promotion

Alright ladies (from this point on, I will refer to all men as ladies, as well), some of you may or may not know that I am in this super epic metal band called, Dethlehem. We basically dress like knights and all of our songs are about slaying dragons. I'm dead serious.

We just entered this contest and if we win, we get all kinds of cool shit that will really help us. So, what I need you to do, is go to this address - http://www.metalinsider.net/nolabelneeded/ - and vote for DETHLEHEM. You can vote once a day, per IP address. So, do it up and help a brotha' out.

Also, you can see more pictures and read about us at

http://www.myspace.com/dethlehemmetal

Thanks girls.

- Sir John (drummer of Dethlehem)

The Long Lost Art of Packing a Lunch

Throughout one’s life, there are only a few phases where it is deemed acceptable to pack your own lunch. The first and most obvious is the education phase – which includes all forms of education leading up to college. I don’t know what the hell happens in vo-tech, so we will leave that out – and if you are packing a lunch in college, well, fuck you. The second phase is not really a phase as much as it is a list of small exemptions where it can be overlooked that one is packing their own lunch. This includes anything from a day-trip to the beach to a night camping out in Mother Nature. The third and final phase is the “real world,” which everyday seems to me more and more like a reversion to infancy. By the “real world,” I mean jobs paying under 30k a year (FML) where it is either pack a lunch or spank it to porn every night because you sure as hell aren’t going to be able to take a girl out if you are blasting 10 dollars a day away on lunch everyday. Since I have suddenly found myself needing to supply my own materials for mid-day consumption, I thought it only appropriate to bring “brown bagging it” to the 21st century.

Back in elementary school, your brown-bag options were limited because it was usually your mother packing it for you. Life is not so different now, except instead of my mother limiting my indulgences it is my measly, nearly-below-federal-poverty-guidelines salary. Regardless, one’s lunch in the real world should totally pwn the lunch you used to receive in Round Meadow Elementary. To prepare the proper meal, you must have the proper components.

1. The Drink

The most important ingredients to an epic brown-bag lunch is the drink. You need something that will not only quench your thirst, but something that will give you a flubber (copyright Robin Williams) in your pants while you down its goodness. This leaves only one option. If you don’t know what I am referring to, you probably should knife yourself, but I will tell you anyway. The only drink acceptable in a real world brown-bagged lunch (lets face it, the only drink acceptable in ANY home-made lunch) is the sweet ambrosia that is Hi-C’s Ecto-Cooler. Nothing brings back pre-pubescent memories like the pedophiliac grin of a green, amorphous blob. Since you’re a fucking grown up, you should bag two.

2. The Main Meal

The main meal, the most calorie-packed element of the lunch, is third in importance. You might be thinking, “Ed, you fucking idiot, you skipped the second most important thing,” to which my response is, “Fuck you.” I know I skipped it. I’m going to get to it. Relax. The staple of any brown-bagged lunches’ main meal is the sandwhich. This can be anything from lebanon-baloney and mustard, to turkey and cheese to the classic peanut butter and jelly sandwhich. Whichever you decide on is up to you, however it should be noted that tuna fish is unacceptable. Unless you like smelling like a hooker’s vagina for the next 3 hours, save that shit for home.

3. The Snack Pack

Either you pack a snack pack, or you like dudes. Simple as that.

4. The Bartering Token

The second most important ingredient in the brown-bagged lunch is the bartering token. How many times have you looked over at Brian Morelli’s shit-eating grin as he shoves those elegant, chocolate and caramel covered Twix Bars down his fat throat , only to find yourself throwing a temper-tantrum in the grocery store the next day when your mom won’t buy them for you. I’ll tell you how many times it’s happened to me. Seven. In order to avoid paying way over face-value for that coveted prize in another’s bag and losing half your lunch (most likely the main meal and one of your ecto-cooler’s) you must always have a bartering token. This can be anything from an extra Snack Pack, a dollar for the vending machine or that nudey mag you swiped from under your dad’s mattress. If you don’t think Twix Bars are of equal value to a Brazzer’s Paperback Edition, you’re a faggot.

5. The Vegetable

The last component to a successful home-made lunch is a vegetable. Since you’re a grown-up, you don’t have to eat that shit anymore.

Lunch Complete.

-E

The simple bliss of SNUS

Since this is my first post I will pay homeage to Just some Gentlemen and Clarence for turning me onto one of the most wondrous concoctions ever created; CAMEL SNUS. Yes, many of you do not even know what Snus is. The next time you stroll over to your local eatery or wawa feeling fizzled and bored with life do yourself a favor and glance behind the counter. About waist high in a frozen plastic wonderland lies Snus (to all dip fans this might not be your style). While you are eyefucking the wonderment that is snus, carefully, and with perfect vocabulary ask whomever is standing behind that cash register to grab you the glorious snus. Pay the extremely inexpenisve 3.50 and be on your way out with a chubber in your pants. But wait, what was that? Oh thats right you got the trial version (there is no difference) that is priced at 1.67. Yes, proof that God does exist. You are now ready to try the life changing orgasm that is "being totally snussed".

The first time I encountered Snus was a mere 4 months ago. There I was in a training with Just Some Gentlemen, bored with my life and hating the path that I was on. That was when the epiphany happened. He leaned over and saw the drool forming in the corner of my mouth and saw that it was time he saved me from the feeble existence I had been living in. He opened up the Iron container of glory and asked me if I wanted one. I could barely hear what he had asked me for simultaneously as he opened it a choir of angels began singing. Hearing slightly impaired and blinded by the beautiful doves and shimmering light that basked in my face, I stupidly asked "what's Snus"? He just smirked at my obvious bush league question and said "just try one, you will never be the same again". As I entered the Iron fortress with my index and middle finger I felt a warmth come over my entire body. I was a little nervous and downright scared but i continued and picked up the care package from Mt. Olympus. As I grasped the tiny Snus I had flashbacks to all of the most happy memories of my entire life; the first time I rode a bike, the first time I was laid, disneyworld, my first hard on. It was exhilarating. As I felt this I knew the time was right to take the plunge and place it between my lip and gums. The rollercoaster ride from heaven had begun. There I was riding Steel Force with Jesus and the Angel Gabriel. It was the most fascinating 34 minutes of my life. I completely blacked out of my training, but when I woke up I had received a 100 on my test and got 3 smiley face stickers. It was an experience I knew I needed to have over an over again every day. From that day forward I have lived a life of perfest happiness and can now talk to animals. You do the math.

So for all of you who have not tried Snus or have never heard of it, go out now, no matter what you are doing and get one now. I bid you good day.

So say we all,
Drexel

Posting

I feel it necessary to say in my virgin post how pretentious I think it is to "blog" in the first place. Nobody gives a FUCK about my opinion, nor should they. And I, in return, care even less about yours. In point of fact, everything I write from this moment on will be a glaring contradiction and often hypocritical. But drink it in and piss it out!

Necessity is the most important thing in life... REMEMBER THAT!

Job Productivity

Dear John, Twilight and Others: The End of an Era of Man

Dear John is just the most recent of a string of fictional entertainment released with the lofty goal of ruining every single man's life. As if Twilight didn't cause enough collateral damage, now not only do us men have to be at the beck and call of our female counterpart, but we also have to be a chiseled, bad ass member of the Army Special Forces in order to be considered acceptable. What's that you say? Not a member of one of the most elite military units in the entire world? Not interested in becoming a 21st century indentured servant in order to have sexual intercourse with a female? That's fine, as long as you don't mind dude penis.

A post on theoatmeal.com brought some interesting points to light back when the newest movie of the Twilight saga was released. Throughout all the Twilight books, the author goes to great lengths to leave the main character completely non-descript (I wouldn't know first-hand, like you may have inferred from past posts, I have a penis). As per theoatmeal.com article,

"First off, the author creates a main character which is an empty shell. Her appearance isn't described in detail; that way, any female can slip into it and easily fantasize about being this person."

What everyone failed to notice, however, is this has slowly become the rule as opposed to the exception.

This has never been more evident than by the casting of Amanda Seyfried (Read: L. Ron Hubbard's "Xenu") in "Dear John." If there exists a more extra-terrestrial-looking actress than her, please let me know. The simple fact that the space between her eyes alone could probably get supplies to Haiti faster than air transportation makes it hard to argue against her having fetal alcohol syndrome. But I digress. With the casting of girl who looks just about as average (gross) as most women in the United States, there is an automatic feeling of entitlement amongst all the female viewers. That is, they all feel entitled to have a boyfriend like the fictional "John," played by Channing Tatum. That's bad news for you dudes if you're anything like me, since I know I'm sure as hell not writing a thousand fucking letters to some broad watching Property Virgins and eating kettle corn safely back at home while I'm out in the fucking shit every single day. But that may just be me.

I think it's safe to say that the media - once simply a bane to overweight women who are forced to puke up their lunch in a failed attempt to look like any TV personality - has now begun to do a number on men as well. While giving men the "wrong impression" about women for years (I think it is more than obvious , unfortunately, that not all women are size double zero), the media machine has begun to give women the absolute wrong impression of men. Now, instead of "watching the game with the boys," you should be ringing your girl’s doorbell with flowers in hand "just 'cause." Instead of slaying that epic arch-demon in Bioware's new Dragon Age, you're expected to be braving black ice and traffic accidents to help build a fucking snowman. If you're bunkered down in a sandpit getting shot at by Hadji's in the Persian Gulf, well , you had better be penning a letter to your girl back home, and that letter better fucking have blood on it. If not, well, that's fine. As long as you don't mind dude penis.

-E

New Member

We have brought a new member into The Classy Gentlemen's crew. Expect awesome, absolutely offensive and discriminatory posts to follow soon.

Why College Is Not Like The Real World: Part 1 of a Series

Throughout our young life – whether it is the year or two approaching post-secondary education or the years we are in it – we are constantly reminded by our parents that we better “enjoy it while we can.” College, for them, was “the best years of their life,” and nothing you can see on their anguished faces when they return from a day at work gives an impression otherwise. While we are often told that the real world is quite different than the faux-world college apparently is, true comparisons have hardly been made. We are going to remedy this.

Reason #234
In college, you fuck mad chicks. In the real world, you get mad fucked.

The days of bonging vladi and placing your penis in whatever warm hole you can find never seemed farther out of reach than the first time you found yourself searching for a job. We had been preached to that the only way to secure a good-paying job is to get a degree, but no one could have seen the figurative tea-bagging the economy was going to take upon our graduation. Many people were left living in their parent’s basement, playing World of Warcraft being the closest thing to a paying job they could obtain. The problem with this, however, is that you actually pay to play World of Warcraft, and unfortunately, being a level 76 gnome mage with an apprenticeship in herbalism has no bearing on the real world. Your high-paying position in the land of Azeroth, consequently, only makes you one thing in the real world. Gay.

Reason #235
In college, you can slaughter a pig in your fraternity house and the only repercussion is probation by the Inter-Fraternity Council. In the real world, actions actually have consequences.

Running down the street butt-ass naked, ball-sack flapping in the wind, was a revered act back in the days of college. Apparently, there is something against someone doing that down York Road in Hatboro. I don’t know where everyone got such a stick up their asses, but before the invention of clothes, people did this all the time. Grow the fuck up.

Reason #236
In college, luring young girls back to your room after a night of drinking was the norm. In the real world, you get charged with Section 6310.7 and Section 3122.1 of the Pennsylvania State Penal code.

That’s furnishing nonalcoholic beverages to persons under 21 and statutory sexual assault to you laymen. Back in the heyday of college, it was considered normal and encouraged to lurk around during freshmen orientation, waiting for a group of girls trying to prove themselves to the “in-crowd.” By in-crowd, I mean a group of dudes willing to part with half a handle of Banker’s Club. Then, once you made them leave through your window the next morning, you never had to talk to them again. Now, it’s considered inappropriate to wait outside your local elementary school in your car with a puppy and some candy. Once again, a perfect example of people just being too high-strung.

There are plenty more a comparison to be made, however, that is all the time I have available for today. Check back for further updates. As for me, I’m off to suck the real world’s D.

-E

Fuck the snow, my SUV conquers all.

Wait it was supposed to snow tonight? WEIRD. Good thing I'm not a fucking idiot without four wheel drive. So, I was just cruising the snowy streets, and I just had to get out and take a picture of my SUV raping the snow. Seriously, in the above picture you can totally see how big my SUV's dick is... and he's just making that snow his BITCH.

I'll never understand why people with Cavaliers think that they can climb that 30% grade level hill with their 500 lbs of car, complete with balding tires. Seriously... STAY THE FUCK HOME. Not only are you idiots, but you piss me off when I'm trying to actually go out and get my fuck on. You're slowing me down. I'm getting a custom plow installed on the front of my SUV so I can just scoop you motherfuckers up over my roof.

Also, Genesis is awesome. Just saying...

- Sir John

Doppleganger Month: The New Form of Internet Misrepresentation

With the creation of Facebook, comparisons to the previously most student-used social-networking site, Myspace, were bound to occur. While similarities were present, differences abounded. Not only did you have to (at the time) be a student attending college at the time to become a member on Facebook, but it wasn’t considered “creepy” to meet people on Facebook during its original inception. Over the years, however, Facebook has grown increasingly similar to the sewer-world that is Myspace and its inhabitants. With the recent phenomenon of “Doppleganger Month,” I am convinced that this transformation has reached complete fruition.

As if Facebook wasn’t getting bad enough, people now came up with the bright idea that for 28 days out of the year (so far), it is entirely acceptable to compare yourself to a celebrity you ultimately look nothing like, and usually look 98% worse than. You would be hard pressed to find a guy’s picture comparing himself to Steve Buscemi – instead, he is John Mayer. Women who fall between a 3 and a 5 on the classic 1-10 scale are now Megan Fox, Jessica Alba, Kate Beckinsale and Adriana Lima. Excuse me while I lose myself in my laughter. What’s next, it’s cool to be overweight month? How about for March, everyone posts a picture of a celebrity closest to their actual weight and looks – I think we will all be blown away by how many Mimi Bobeck’s we are friends with.

-E

Sad But True

Debateable

Types of Xbox Live Players

The 12-15 year old

Known more for their racial or ethnic slurs than their prowess in Modern Warfare 2, the 12-15 year old is a strange beast. The discovery of the “n word” is a recent revelation to them, and they want make you well aware of it. They are also sure to tell you about how many times they have slept with your mom, and never fail to leave out all the intricacies of what they discovered while under the sheets with her. Add that to the fact that you are “such a fag” since they know you “blow your brother and friends” and the 12-15 year old can be a nuisance if not pwned properly and repeatedly.


The Shit-Talker

The shit-talker can come in many shapes and forms. The two most common, however, are the “talented” shit-talker, and the “terrible” shit-talker. Let’s start with the first.
The talented shit-talker is usually so skilled, they are bored with simply owning your n00bzerz ass. Instead, they want to make sure you know how much you suck after they sneak up behind you with akimbo rangers and blow you out of your camping spot. The talented shit-talker, while annoying, can usually be tolerated since they back up most of what they say. (Yes, you did rape me)
The terrible shit-talker is usually so bad, they have no other type of defense in-game rather than to curse you out. This is one of the more confusing types of players, since the 12-15 year old can usually be a terrible shit-talker, and vice versa. Having become complacent with the fact that they may be the worst player in the history of Xbox, they are more than happy to simply tell you how you “live in your moms basement,” or “suck your dogs dick.” If you are curious to know why so much Xbox Live Chat involves sucking dicks, so am I.

The Saboteur (aka, feeder)

The saboteur has no reason to play any game online other than to piss other people off. While your team is building up as many resources as they can to destroy the enemies base, he will be working to negate all of your hard work in as little time as possible. Also known as a “feeder,” in games where your goal is to kill the enemy as many times as you can while dying the least, he will repeatedly walk into enemy fire and die to help the other team out. Some more learn-ed folks would refer to this player as the “Aldrich Ames” of xbox live.


The Asshole/Game Ruiner
Not to be confused with the Saboteur, this motherfucker just likes to, simply put, ruin games. Famous for “going for it” on 4th and 5 from their own 18 in Madden - regardless of how many conversions they do or do not make - this sonofabitch will stop at nothing to piss you off. Also known for playing Backstreet Boys at volume 100 while leaving their headset next to the speaker, the Asshole is a feared opponent in almost all circles.


-E

The Job Interview

Today's Job Interview



Interviewer: "What would someone who doesn't like you describe you as, in one word."
Me: ....Pause....
Me: ....Pause....
Interviewer: "What, everybody likes you?"
Me: "No, I just am only thinking of what my ex girlfriends would say, and I don't know if that is really appropriate for this."
Interviewer: "Well, what would they describe you as?"
Me: "........Ass."

-E

This Just In

Looking over the news today, I saw that there is soon to be a "Harry Potter Theme Park." I'll admit, I read the first 4 books when I was in, I don't know, 6th grade. They weren't actually all that bad. That doesn't mean it's okay to make a theme park after it all, however. As per report from the always reliable (read: what the fuck is this website) Veritaserum.com, "the fully immersive, themed land will enable guests to visit some of the most iconic locations found in the books and the films, including the village of Hogsmeade, the mysterious Forbidden Forest, and even Hogwarts castle itself."

This begs the questions 1) What the fuck is Hogsmeade, and 2) who other than a pedophile really wants to get on a roller-coaster based off of the homosexual-innuendo-laden storyline of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's post-coital embrance. I'll tell you who not. Me.

Fuck you Ron Weasley.

-E

What the fuck is up motherfuckers?

It is I, Sir John, Raper of Innocent, coming at you with my first bog post. Like Sir Edward said below, here you will find a collection of the classiest dudes on the Internet and their opinions and thoughts about everything.

Today, I will start you off with a rant on old people in the elevator I was just on. Every fucking day, same time, same place, in the building I am in, there are always the same group of old people that happily talk about being old and not being able to fuck anymore or something. EVERY FUCKING DAY they never know if they need to go up or down on the elevator. So, they always end up wasting fucking 9 seconds of my life when they get on my elevator, realize its going up when they need to go down, and in turn, they make the doors on the elevator stay open longer. I'm serious, why are old people so retarded? Conversely, are all retards just old people living inside a however-old-the-retard-is's body? I am annoyed.

Inaugural Post

Welcome to the ribbon-cutting ceremony of The Classy Gentlemen. The Classy Gentlemen is the brain-child of a few young men - some balding, some slightly overweight, but all just downright classy. For years now we have searched far and wide across the inter-web to find someone - or something - that expressed our views on Modern Warfare 2, women, lean-protein and global disasters (Haiti, Katrina, the prosecution of marital rape). All of these searches have been fruitless. So, we bring to you now a new vision - a new world order, as some might (not) say. Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to The Classy Gentlemen. Unedited, uncut, slightly prejudice and absolutely not "pc."