Two or three weeks ago, while walking through the mall, I passed by a clutch of young fellows — late teens, probably. As we passed, one of these fellows tagged elbows with me. Having felt the bump, I turned to him and said, “Oops. Sorry.” He, his turn, said, “Yea? Fuck-off, Pops”. Within seconds, he and his chums were lost in the crowd so I was unable to give that unfortunate fellow some good advice. If you, dear reader, are a teenager, you should read on.
There are two kinds of teen: Nose-pickers and everybody else. If you are a nose-picker, you are stuck on the bottom, my friend. Now by nose-picker I mean not only the booger-eater leaning on a lamp-post who does eat them, but the kind of young man who would. “Nose-picker” is an attitude and mindset that screams: “I was raised in a barn; I have no social graces. My aspirations are low to non-existent. I’m so willfully ignorant that if you asked me who was the first POTS, I couldn’t tell you. And I don’t care.”
Dissing strangers in a public place — as you did me — is stupid. If it turned out I was the president of the company in which you were employed, you’d be employed no longer. If I witnessed your oafish behavior and recalled it when next we met, whatever it was you wanted me to do for you, that want would go unmet.
Never let your pants ride down to the crack line. I shouldn’t have to explain why displaying your ass-crack is a very bad idea.
By the same token, avoid baggy, wide-legged pants. When you sit splay-legged (the only sitting posture you seem to know), people can see up those damned things and witness your junk. Besides, those pants make your legs look spindly.
Wash daily. And don’t forget those privates!
Avoid sluttish women. You know the kind I mean: Their faces are painted up like the Whore of Babylon. The clothes are suggestive, their language coarse. They scream and holler in the mall. Should you bed such a woman, there’s a wonderful chance she’ll get pregnant. Birth control is one of the last things on their minds. In fact, such a woman probably wants to get pregnant as she and the kid will get a free ride off of you for eighteen years, maybe more.
Never trust to condoms. The danger is not so much they’ll pop, but that your lady will retrieve it from the trashcan, turn it inside out, and smear your semen in her cunney. Result? A child. And a DNA test will prove to the judge the kid is indeed yours, so hello child support. Before discarding a used condom, put in some Drain-o, mix it up real good, then toss it in the trash.
Unless you have a panting desire to become a father, get a vasectomy. You will remain child-free for as long as you please. If — when — you do want a kid, your vasectomy can be reversed. In the meantime, you can nail all the babes you wish with total impunity.
A truism you should keep in mind: “A man will get the best woman he can afford”. While you and I measure women on the roundness of their rumps, the sizes of their chests, the turn of their legs and other such delights, women tend to measure men on the thickness of their wallets. With women, it’s “Show me the money” and little else. Ask yourself: Who’s going to the hot chick? The pizza-face in the BMW? Or the stud-muffin in the clapped-out Chevie?
Ditch the baseball caps. Even if you wear them with the beak forward, they look bad. Also bad is wearing a baseball cap pulled so low it covers your eyebrows, that’s a no-no too. You should know from whence came this whole baseball cap idea: In the `70s, there was a short-lived TV series in which some exotic SAWT-like sniper, the better to draw a bead on some miscreant’s head, would turn his baseball cap backwards so it wouldn’t interfere with his telescopic sight. I noticed a sudden boom in backwards baseball caps after the series started. Just think: You are aping a fictional character in a dumb TV series. Ah, fashion.
While out in public, no do-rags or hair nets.
If you wear glasses, may sure the lenses are always clean.
Unless you need a pick up truck for work, drive a car.
Don’t comport yourself as a greaser, even if you own a Harley. While the look may impress the guys in the bar, it screams “nose-picker” to the men for whom you’d like to work and the women you’d like to date.
Do not, under any circumstances, get a tattoo — even on your privates. Seeing a tattoo, people say to themselves “Nose-picker alert. Nose-picker alert”. There goes your love-life, job prospects and other highly desirable aspects of life.
Unless you are old and going bald anyway, do not shave your head.
Good teeth are a must. Yellowed, blacked and carious teeth, especially with green rinds at the gum line, are not acceptable.
And for Christ’s sake, pull those goddamned hunks of metal out of your face! “Piercings” as you like to call them, are not simply the accouterments of a nose-picker, but of an uncivilized brute fresh from the jungle. You may as well put a bone through your nose and file your teeth to points. However, if you are pursuing a career in the arts, a small stud placed judiciously in an out-of-the way location is OK.
Being a nose-picker will not attract the smartly dressed young lady headed for Vassar. It will, however, attract the woman headed for a career flipping burgers at Mickey D’s (see Sluttish Woman, above).
If you smoke, quit. Nothing says nose-picker quite like a young man leaning against a wall with a cigarette sticking out of his puss. If you think smoking is cool, think again. However, a pipe can be OK. A stogie too. However, they can look like affectations, so watch out.
Booze has screwed up a lot more people than weed — or anything else, for that matter. Use it in moderation, if at all. If you doubt me, attend an AA meeting and listen to some of the shit.
Jail and prison are not cool either. Anyone who thinks they are is a hopeless nose-picker. Once again, look at the men for whom you might like to work and check out their criminal records. See how many days they’ve spent in the pokey.
And finally this: Never ever blow your nose at the dinner table and inspect the hankie. Excuse yourself, go to the bathroom and blow your nose there.