THAT GUY – WHO SETS THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT BAR TOO HIGH

Well, alright then. I’ve been doing this bit on WZLX for over 4 years now, and I’ve got plenty of them, but considering I’ve been seeing more ripoffs of it, I thought I might as well stake my claim.|

Listen to it here: WZLX Karlson & McKenzie’s Podcast Page. Originally aired DECEMBER 7th, 2009 on 100.7 WZLX Boston’s Classic Rock : The “Karlson & McKenzie” Morning Show. download it here:

There are many more here.

THAT GUY – WHO SETS THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT BAR TOO HIGH

Well hey there, pussbuckets. So the girlfriend came back from her vacation on Saturday night, so my last night of freedom and pseudo-single life had its last hurrah on Friday, and I was going out with a couple of college buddies she doesn’t like, instead of doing the responsible thing like cleaning the Kevin’s ass-sized mountain of dirty dishes I’d accumulated in the sink, or going out and buying her a Christmas gift, or at least attempt to look for one, because as of right now, I’m more clueless than Pete looking at a sushi menu. But let’s face it, stupid and ill-advised is how I roll, and I might as well be consistent, just like Karlson’s risk to suffer major coronary failure.

Well, while I was out with my buddies, who are all saddled, *cough cough* I mean blessed, with live-in girlfriends as well, the struggle of buying Christmas gifts came up, as we all had no idea what the hell we were going to get them. Well, except one guy. He’d already spent 4 figures on a tiffany bracelet for his girl, and after we each did our spit take with our Sams, we realized we were sitting next to That Guy. That Guy who sets the bar too high when buying his lady a Christmas gift.
What the hell do you think you’re doing, Daddy Warbucks? You realize you just condemned the rest of us to relationship hell with your careless and reckless actions, don’t you? When you’re gift-shopping for the little lady, you have to remember: Like Pete’s digestive system, there’s a delicate equilibrium that must not be upset, or else things are going to start to stink an awful lot like baked farts.

First off, you can’t go blowing the rest of us out of the water by buying your ball and chain a freaking ball and chain from tiffany’s, because we’re whether we like it or not, we gentlemen are all in competition with each other, and 1.3 seconds after your girl unwraps that crime against your gender you got her, she’s going to be on the phone with my girlfriend, his girlfriend, every girlfriend on facebook. They’re worse gossipers than Kevin’s sewing circle. Yeah, they can crochet one hell of a doily, but they’re major export is the girl version of smack talk.

Once they get done comparing notes, the rest of us look like cheap jerks, because you had to go and give Zales and Jared reason to keep making terrible commercials. We need to stick together tighter than Kevin’s t-shirts to his man-boobs after he sweats thru it rummaging thru his fridge for the last Ring Ding.

If we all keep the gift giving expenditures underneath the gross national product of Guam, none of us get in trouble, and none of us have to explain why Janie’s boyfriend is so much more attentive than us. “Did you hear what Janie got for Christmas, her boyfriend is such a good guy, he really cares about her….” Translation: I’m a selfish tightwad d***stain who ain’t getting laid until you make with the overpriced jewelry or a Lexus with a bow on it.

Thanks a lot, pal. Why don’t you go ahead and work my jiggleybits through a nutcracker, it would be slightly less painful and holi-dangerous, jack-ass. You do understand that you’re going to have to top this next year, right? Oh yeah, the gifts have to keep ramping up, year after year, just like Kevin’s anti-cholesterol medications.

The key is to keep expectations low, just like we do here with this whirling f***show we call a radio program. And now you plan on throwing the whole system out of whack like Pete’s hip if he attempted to run the hurdles in a Panda bear suit.

So how bout you run that little box with the wrist wrapper mortgage payment inside it back to where it came, and not blow up the rest of our spots, otherwise I’ll take it, it’s little bow, and the receipt and cram it up your cramhole.    

THAT GUY: WHO WANTS TO BANG A STRIPPER

Well, alright then. I’ve been doing this bit on WZLX for over 4 years now, and I’ve got plenty of them, but considering I’ve been seeing more ripoffs of it, I thought I might as well stake my claim.

Listen to it here: WZLX Karlson & McKenzie’s Podcast Page. Originally aired DECEMBER 7th, 2009 on 100.7 WZLX Boston’s Classic Rock : The “Karlson & McKenzie” Morning Show. download it here: There are many more here.  

That Guy – Who wants to date a stripper

Well hey there, poop-pies. So the girlfriend is on vacation with her family, which means little ol Big Head is all by his lonesome for a whole week, and in my first 36 hours alone, I’ve managed to wreck my car, cut myself washing dishes, and break my dryer. When you include all of that with the fact that I’m subsisting on meals consisting of nothing but cheese-its and leftover chili, you can pretty much gather that I’m not exactly cut out for living la vida solo. I’m all out of sorts, I’m even making hacky Ricky Martin references. But the cherry on my bad-luck weekend was the bright idea to head out to the strip club with a couple of my buddies on Saturday night, to celebrate my somewhat singledom in stupendously stupid fashion.

Well, we had barely been there 10 minutes and I was still waiting on my nine dollar beer, when one of my buddies comes back from a lap dance with a grin on his face and a story to tell. Apparently, he thought he’d made a connection, and had invited the girl back to our place after she got off work. That’s when I started laughing, and realized I was hanging out with that guy. That guy who wants to bang (and possibly date) a stripper.

Man, and I thought Kevin was gullible for falling for the bacon and milkshake diet. Every moron in the midst of a “Sahara in the summer”-like dry spell can talk themselves into shooting for the STD stars like this, but what they forget is that strippers are only looking to help you drain your wallet, dumpcake. They’ll tell you anything to wring a couple more singles from you to help pay to remove that tattoo of their deadbeat baby’s daddy name on their left butt cheek. You might think you’ve got a shot at bagging Apashia or Samora or Tiffani with a lazy “I”, but they’re leading you on like Tiger did to mistress #34 thru #45.

…And dude, SHE’S A STRIPPER! Why you’d like to tap that is more mind-boggling than Kevin’s cholesterol level. You want to bring home a dancer with daddy issues, a drug habit that would kill a mule, and more little bastards running around than a frat house during pledge week. Oh, and there’s that tasty little morsel of a fact that she spends four hours a day spread-eagled so far I can see her soul from here just so she can catch up on back child support?  

Plus, Strippers are like one tall long-island iced tea of venereal disease, you might as well go and hump a rusty chain link fence. The only thing worse than dating a stripper is dating anyone from the cast of that awful Jersey Shore show on MTV. But here you are, convinced you are going to get this little lady with the caked on body glitter covering her cesearean scars to hang with your sorry suckered ass. She’s taking advantage of you like the Norfolk Girl Scout troop does to Kevin every year around cookie time.

 I’ve got a better shot at winning the marathon, or Pete of winning the US Open, or Kevin beating Heather at arm-wrestling or losing to her in a cleavage contest. you have no chance of ever seeing this girl naked anywhere but upside down on a pole surrounded by other skeevy mouth-breathing morons just like you. This is a whopper of a bad decision, like Belichick going for it on 4^th down again or riding a saucer sled down a quarry in Quincy.

Let it go, Romeo, you’re better off without getting your hopes up or your white-blood cell count down. Otherwise, I’ll take that obviously fake number written with purple lipstick on a stripclub napkin and cram it up your cramhole. Do me a favor, don’t be that guy.

THAT GUY – PISSES IN PUBLIC

Well, alright then. I’ve been doing this bit on WZLX for over 4 years now, and I’ve got plenty of them, but considering I’ve been seeing more ripoffs of it, I thought I might as well stake my claim.

Listen to it here: WZLX Karlson & McKenzie’s Podcast Page. Originally aired NOVEMBER 16th, 2009 on 100.7 WZLX Boston’s Classic Rock : The “Karlson & McKenzie” Morning Show. Dowload it here:

There are many more here.

 

THAT GUY – PEES IN PUBLIC

That Guy –Pees in Public

Well hey there, snotbubbles. So I was at a house party over the weekend with a couple of buddies, and the dude who was throwing the shindig had this really nice ground floor apartment, with a big old backyard off the back. We, however, were positioned next to the fridge, (closer access to the beer after all)  and were having a bunch of drunken fun when things got “Kevin-dancing to ABBA in the studio when he thinks no one is watching” weird.

We were inside putting down beers like Kevin puts away microwaved dingdongs when we heard screams and cursing coming from the yard. People started running inside like they were being chased by something terrifying and terrible, like a football movie starring Sandra Bullock or the Jay Leno show.

Turns out, while there were a ton of drunk people out back filling their gullets with some natty ice, there was one really drunk guy on the Roofdeck above who was emptying his bladder. Yep, we had a douchnozzle pull an R Kelly, and coincidently, our that guy for this week. That Guy who just loves to pee in public.

After everybody got done puking and beating the crap out of Pissypants McGoo, I realized how many of these choadstains walk among us. We all know a chumpwad who won’t wait in the lines for a port-a-potty at the pats game or while tailgating at a concert down at the tweeter center parking lot, so he just walks behind the closest SUV and unleashes the crying dragon.

This dumpcake will whip it out and water the lilies at his grandmother’s funeral if he feels the slightest need to tinkle. He considers public restrooms more useless and unhelpful than Lawrence Maroney. In the pool; in the back alley on the way back from the bar; and apparently, off a roofdeck onto a bunch of unsuspecting fellow partygoers.

This polesmoker will pull out his pudstick and piddle a puddle of pee before Pete can praise his putter. Look, champ, I know what’s it like to have slammed a sixer in 60 minutes and I know that makes you need to race like a pisshorse, but the world is not your urinal, you’ve got to at least make an attempt to find a toilet. You can’t be walking about whipping it out and whizzing away like you were the pats pissing away timeouts last night.

 This poodlehumper shows less enthusiasm for finding a proper place for his waste than The Colts’ coach shows human emotion or communication. I don’t care if you pee silver coins and naked pictures of that hot redhead from Mad Men, we’ve had working indoor plumbing for ages now, it’s about time you put it to good use. So before you shower me in the same way ESPN will be spurting Peyton Manning love this week, why don’t you holster your trouser-snake or put a cork in it until you can find a bathroom.

Otherwise, I’ll kick you in the nethers so hard, you’ll only be able to do that sitting down from now on. Oh, and cram it up your cramhole yourself, because there ain’t no way I’m touching your dangly bits. Do me a favor, don’t be that guy.

 

THAT GUY – COCKMONGER WITH THE WAXED EYEBROWS

Well, alright then. I’ve been doing this bit on WZLX for over 2 years now, and I’ve got plenty of them, but considering I’ve been seeing more ripoffs of it, I thought I might as well stake my claim.

Listen to it here: WZLX Karlson & McKenzie’s Podcast Page.  Originally aired July 27th, 2009 on 100.7 WZLX Boston’s Classic Rock : The “Karlson & McKenzie” Morning Show. Dowload it here:

There are many more here.

Well hey there, you giant scoops of poop. So the girlfriend was at her friends bachelorette party on Saturday night, which meant I had my first night free in ages while she was knee deep in sex toys, mojitos and male-stripper wang. So I was determined to make the most of it, like Kevin does with that extension cord he uses as a belt. I went out with a couple of buddies looking to tie a few on down at the L Street Tavern, but before we could even lace em up, we found our favorite booth taken up by one sole jackass, and not just any jackass, by that guy. That Guy with the waxed eyebrows.

Oh hey there, I didn’t realize we stumbled into the finals of the Mr. Douchachusetts pageant. This cupcake was sitting down at our favorite table, presumably saving it while waiting for his metrosexual popped collared pinkpolo-ed pumpkin colored posse to pull up to the curb in their Vespa scooters fresh from the tanning salon. I honestly think they musta been lost, we were miles from any manscaping spas or places that stock date rape drugs and body glitter, I mean it’s Southie, you’re not going to find a bar with a single strobe light, let alone a place that pumps really loud and terrible house music.

Even with that not withstanding, thanks again for the grammar tip of the day calendar mom, I still can’t understand why dudes do this. Look, I’m a hairy dude, I’ve got feet like a hobbit for pete’s sake, it’s always good to trim the hedges, especially in the summer, But for the love of all that’s good and holy, leave your face alone, especially if you insist on growing out the federline-chinstrap beard. I don’t care if you look like groundskeeper willie or have a unibrow like Andre the Giant, there’s no reason to take candle drippingsyou’re your forehead duster.

You could be a Geico caveman, you can’t rip off your eyebrows so you look like Cruella DeVille, If I didn’t know better, I’d say you painted those puppies on with a sharpie. It looked like this taintcake fell face first into a pile of flypaper or lost a fight with a weedwhacker, and the only thing that would make you happy would be if a shirtless Seacrest rode in on a Shetland pony, but even that wouldn’t be able to wipe the permament look of surprise from your face, because he thought it would be the best thing ever to pay a sadistic little asian lady to make him look like Ricky Martin.

Yeah, it can be a bitch if you’ve got a brow like Abe Vigoda or Andy Rooney, where a strong gust of wind can blow you into the next county, but just trim those suckers up, kid, it’s easier than getting Kevin to do stuff for you, just offer to pay him handsomely in Burker King Onion Rings. No offense, but the whole gotti-brother blowout look is best left in the human wasteland known as south Jersey, but if you insist on swishing it up to this level (for the record: this is slightly above “Richard Marx and George Michael slap-fighting over the last can of Tab” and slightly below “eight dudes ***ing nine dudes.”), do it outside of my favorite booth in my favorite bar. Otherwise, I’ll take your body groomer, your buy 9 mani-pedis, get the tenth free discount card, and itty bitty tiny comb and cram it up your cramhole. Do me a favor, don’t be that guy.

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That Guy™

GREAT GOOGLEY MOOGLEY: DOWN GOES DENVER…DOWN GOES DENVER!!!

…when you claim to be a super forecaster after Week 3 …this is the shame you get!! Sorry Braden, looks like we will have to wait til next year for a perfect Broncos season.