Tag Archives: Tucker Max

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?

Stuart Cobb: The Biggest Idiot I Know (At Least for Today)

21 Jan

I attended high school with the author of  a horrendously written “article” that is circulating the internet as an example of  the worst in college male misogynistic tendencies.  Stuart Cobb, a fool who lives up to the idiocy of being named  Stuart and born after 1954, wrote an entry for his recurring column (“Fancy That”) titled: “Seven women you meet at DU.”  I should preface my ribbing of Stuart’s awful work with the interesting coincidence that only two weeks before this piece found its way on one of my favorite blogs, Jezebel, that I had the displeasure of encountering Cobb at a friend’s house.

As a discussion emerged, we somehow landed on the topic of debutante balls. Stuart is an admitted guzzler of all things imbued with alcohol, and a womanizer who claims that he now has a girlfriend. I pity that poor girl, if she exists. I questioned Mr. Cobb on whether debutante balls are necessary in today’s world. His response: “I don’t know. You get free alcohol.”  I further pressed Cobb on how the female candidates are chosen for our area’s debutante balls.  Response: ‘Well, you know, they all come from families that have contributed a lot to the community. Mostly the Fine Arts Center.”  This was a terrible answer.  Multi-million dollar donations sustain the Fine Arts Center, and if these families wish to contribute to something worthwhile, perhaps they should look to give money to the homeless shelters around town and somehow contribute to the elimination of the growing tent cities that pepper the streets surrounding said Fine Arts Center. I made a final suggestion to Stuart: “Perhaps they should give their money to battered women.” Stuart’s response: “Whatever. I like the free booze and watching girls pass out when their dresses are too tight.”

That is a portrait of Stuart Cobb, the same author of an “opinion” piece entitled “Seven women you meet at DU.”  Stuart, without giving him any credit, made a shortlist of  stereotypes of college women. It is not the wording of Stuart’s “writing” that is offensive; it is the simple audacity that the author of such bullshit could believe that he is being completely original, when this is done over and over again (See: Tucker Max). Stuart Cobb is a completely self-assured dipshit. He knows that he’s a jerk, and he just doesn’t care.

On Saturday, The Clarion published a completely u letter of apology from Stuart.  This can only be a last-ditch effort for Stuart to somehow salvage a writing career from the damage he has caused – perhaps Stu will compile the auto sale listings for a third-tier paper in the midwest.  In this letter, Stuart claims that his plan all along was to write a similar list of the “Seven men you meet at DU.” I do not believe this for a damn milli-vanilli second. Stuart has a history of misogynistic writing under his belt – a trend that began when he wrote for the Cheyenne Mountain High School Chieftain.  Why would a young man so full of himself even dare to claim such an asinine intention? Stuart is glib and ignorant of the impact that words can have.

Only two days ago, Stuart issued another letter of apology that contained a resignation from his post as an opinion columnist for The Clarion.  Stuart is a senior.  He’s already had over three years to fill the student newspaper with his trash writing.  It hardly matters that he will no longer write during his last semester at DU.  It does matter, however, if Stuart miraculously stumbles upon a position at a legitimate journalistic source. Editors of the free world – do not hire Stuart Cobb. Not only is his writing sub par, but he will also offend women and men alike. There is one winner in this situation: Tucker Max has found a new bro.