The Poop: The pray for Kevin Ware poop. It’s 9:37 in the morning, you went HAM on Taco Bell the night before, and you’re sitting lifelessly on the toilet like Michael Irving after that pass across the middle. There’s no hope at the end of the tunnel. Your legs feel like TV static, and your ass is sorer than Tori Black’s walking offset. A terrible, terrible feeling.
Losing The Vape You Just Bought: You just tapped your card to spend more money than you’ve spent on food intake the last three days for an XXL 2,000 puff device that is worth the long-term effects that we will hear about in 2040. You’re sitting in bed, finally comfortable about to get weird on YouTube, and you can’t find it. Despite the fact that it’s bigger than your manhood in freezing temperatures, the damn thing was able to go full Kevin Mccalister on you. You can’t afford a new one, and your friends are all tired of dishing out rips. Rest in peace, soldier.
When the last leg of a parlay doesn’t hit: I don’t bet parlays for the money; I bet them for the bragging rights as most guys do. You just need Butler to pull through and beat Xavier, and then you have an extra $450 to your name, and they can’t do it. Much like Brandon Roy, greatness and a whole lot of money were in your grasp, but you lost it.
Getting Exposed: Maybe it’s when your YouTube is hooked up to your house’s SmartTV, maybe it’s when your friend asks to change the song on Spotify, or maybe it’s because you knew what a Dyson Air Wrap was when your friend’s girlfriend was talking about it. Why the fuck is Ribs by Lorde your fourth most played song of 2021? DUDE, I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, LEAVE ME ALONE. Why were you YouTubing Jojo Siwa’s net worth? Because I’m curious FUCK OFF. Every single guy has a mix on Spotify that they want to bring to the grave. A mix so chock-full of 2011 Kesha and Taylor Swift that if it got into the wrong hands, GroupMe would look like Pearl Harbor.
Getting Told What Your Ex Is Up To: Yo, your ex just dropped a pic in Cabo and woah. What is this, the fucking Giver, bro? I don’t want to know what she’s up to. There’s a reason I don’t follow her—some things a man just doesn’t want to know.
Looking Unintentionally Racist: Maybe you’re eating sushi, and your boomer Grandpa is producing a Japanese impression in front of the hot twenty-four-year-old hostess. Maybe you chucked up a few Morgan Wallen songs on your story the day shit went down, and a bunch of she/hers are swiping up calling you problematic. For me, it’s my dog, who only barks at black people despite the fact she’s a black lab, essentially making her the Candance Owens of dogs. Do you understand what kind of inconvenience that is? Every time a black dude goes down to pet her, she acts like an MK Ultra victim, he’s weirded out, and all the white women surrounding the situation feel the need to be offended for him.
