Tag Archives: Manwhores

Fake Accents and the Women Who (Don’t) Love Them

2 Aug

Can you tell me what country's flag this is? Oh wait. No, you can't.

This weekend I went to my favorite bar only to be hit on by an idiot who decided to pretend to be Scottish. I was trying to tell one of my male friends how common it is for men to try to pretend to be something they are not in order to impress a girl. Faking an accent, certain personality traits, and perhaps even lying about where one has spent time is all very common when young men try to pick up on girls. The real issue with men faking exotic foreign accents is not whether they can pull it off, but rather more about how women actually fall for such nonsense.

The stereotype that no woman can resist a foreign accent truly bothers me. If this were true, I’m sure a lot of women would move to Europe or Australia (the Australian accent is the most irresistible accent, as both Russell Crowe and The Outback Steakhouse have taught us) for the express purpose of finding a man with an accent. When women fall for such superficial bullshit, they automatically set themselves up for disappointment. Just because a guy has a British accent does not mean he could be any less of a jerk than an American guy. Accents do not serve as a cover for being a true asshole.

In my particular case, a young man approached me, telling me that he thought I was beautiful. I thought he sounded funny from the beginning – he immediately followed his compliment with a declaration that he was from Scotland. Um, okay. No, you’re not. There were several reasons for me to doubt what he was saying – first, he was wearing a Von Dutch hat. The Von Dutch hat is not only the mark of a douchebag, but it also signifies someone who knows very little about fashion, which many Europeans actually care about. He also kept going on and on about some military regiment he was in and that he had come here to train American soldiers to rescue others from bad weather situations in the mountains. What mountains in Scotland could he have possibly trained on for such nonsense? I ended up Googling “mountains in Scotland” and found out that the highest peaks of the Highlands are no more than 4,000 feet. How could that possibly compare to a Colorado fourteener? Another lie. Then I tried to play detective.

“So what’s the capital of Scotland?”

Blank stare from Mr. Von Dutch.

I went to college, I know the capital of Scotland is Edinburgh. That should be easy enough for someone who claims to be Scottish, but, no answer.

Then he made a fatal mistake. I don’t remember what I asked him, but his answer was “Aye.” What Scottish dialect uses “aye” as a substitute for yes? The answer is none of them, unless all Scottish people are pirates.

I finally asked this moron if he had either  a passport or visa to show me. He said he had neither of those with him. I made my point a little more clear: “This is a bar. They had to have checked your ID at the door. Can I see the ID that you showed them?”

The young, stupid boy pulled his wallet from his back pocket and opened it, revealing a standard US military ID. He tries to pull it out of his wallet ever-so-slowly. And what could be underneath this military ID but a motherfucking TENNESSEE driver’s license!?! I caught him lying and told him,”Look I know you’re faking an accent and I think it’s really lame.” A look of embarrassment and shame washed over his face and he trudged away.

I couldn’t help but point out the stupidity of this kid. He chose the wrong woman to try his horrible Scottish accent on. I once met James McAvoy at the American Eagle Outfitters I worked at in New York, for godsakes. I know a Scot when I see one. (But mostly when I hear one.) The sad part is that there was most likely a woman on whom his pathetic Scottish-Southern accent worked. And he probably got laid. That was a sad night for America.

How to Spot A Manwhore In Da Club (Go Shawty…)

8 May

Typical t-shirt worn by a manwhore.

 

In recent months, I’ve spent most of my leisure time doing what the kids call “getting tore up from the floor up.” I go out a few nights a week to drink, dance, and generally have a good time. I’m a bit surprised at the frequency of my clubbing – I think I only went out a handful of nights when I was in college (shocking!) and spent the majority of my weekends in a basement computer lab or in the library. College was a time of discipline and focus for me, and I think now that I still have yet to enter the “real world,” I’m simply getting all of my pent-up partying out of my system while being much more social.       

One of the few unfortunate things about nightclubs is the lack of savory people. Sure, you’ll meet a nice guy or two, but chances are that “nice guys” are not often found on the dance floor (where I spend most of my club time), where overtly suggestive dance moves are often the norm. This is why it is often imperative to go out with at least one other friend, who will act as a physical buffer for unwanted dance advances made by creepers. Of course, you could always dance by yourself, but people will probably take a video if you with their phone while you’re in the throes of “Red, Red Wine.” (Yes, they still play that song at clubs.) 70% of the time I am completely turned off  by the guys who try to dance with me – I do not go to clubs to meet men. I go to clubs to drink, dance, and perhaps meet new people. I highly doubt that the man I am destined to be with will be standing in the corner by the DJ booth while checking me out with a Colt 45 in hand.       

However, once in a while I’ll see someone I want to talk to. There is one guy I had had my eye on for a minute. We’ll call him Douchebag Jiggalo, to keep him anonymous. Douchebag Jiggalo is my exact physical type – blonde, blue eyes, tall, athletic physique, nice smile. He’s a bartender at a place I frequent, which should have been red flag #1. Apparently I’m the last girl in the world who was unaware that the only reason any man would bartend at a nightclub was to score vag. As my friend Angie said, “You can see it on him. When he’s pouring drinks he’s thinking of pussy.” Basically, Douchebag Jiggalo is the poor man’s Brian Flanagan, but without a Jordan to marry at the end of the movie.       

As it turns out, Douchebag Jiggalo is a manwhore. One of his friends revealed that any involvement with him comes with nothing more than barrels of tears and general bad life experiences. I’ll pass, but not without doing a service to my club-going sisterhood.       

The manwhore is not a unique being. He is plentiful, he is a shapeshifter. Here are some signs of the manwhore:       

1. Wears gaudy, expensive t-shirts in the Ed Hardy or MMA variety.       

Ed Hardy t-shirts, in addition to MMA-related apparel (See: Tapout) are the first indicator of douchebag-manwhore status. Only an idiot would think that a ridiculous t-shirt with an excessively large skull and rhinestones would ever be cool. Also, most men are not even capable of being MMA fighters. But you can pretend to be like one with your sideways Tapout hat.       

2. Either comes to a club in a group of four of more, or alone with his “wingman”.       

They travel in only two modes: swarm or couple.       

3. Reads Tucker Max or pretends to have read Tucker Max.       

If you don’t know who Tucker Max is, I’ll give you permission to Google him just this once. Now forget that you know he exists.       

4. His favorite movie is Wedding Crashers, The Hangover, Old School, or another masterpiece of the bromance genre.       

The bromance dominated the first decade of the 2000s. Expect your manwhore to count Vince Vaughn among his heroes. He’ll also likely talk about an “epic” trip to Vegas he’s planning.       

5. He only listens to two different kinds of music: shitty hip-hop (of the Plies and Gucci Mane persuasion) or Dave Mathews Band.       

The manwhore loves terrible rap music. He probably has the Gucci Mane song “Wasted” as his ringtone. If he plays guitar, he probably only knows one song – “Crash into Me” is guaranteed to get him laid.       

6. He favors light beer, but when light beer is unavailable, he drinks Vodka-Cranberries and pounds Jagerbombs.       

The manwhore is a bit of an amateur when it comes to drinking, and light beer is his best friend. When he’s feeling adventurous, a Vodka-Cranberry is the way to go.       

Those are all the signs I can think of for now. Do any readers out there have any I can add?