Friday, June 28, 2013

This Is Why You Suck

A few days ago a dear friend of mine had a celebration on behalf of another candle being added to the birthday cake she blows out every year.  In between Olive Garden dinners, bags of chocolate, and a cheesy Wal-Mart card making jokes about her booty, I think it was an overall success for her turning the ripe old age of…

Wait, what am I doing?  That’s one of the cardinal rules of womanhood.  NEVER reveal her age. 

For full effect, download “Der Bluten Kat” by Umphrey’s McGee and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. 

As the birthday evening was winding down there was a knock on her apartment door, and in walked a man who could be classified as, well, let’s see, what category would I put him in, a friendboy? Yeah, I think that would work.  A guy who is more than just a friend to her, but also not someone who is worthy of a changed relationship status.  Come on, we’ve all had a few of those in our lives, haven’t we?

As he waltzed in hours after all the birthday events had ended, to wish her congratulations and join the now almost dead festivities, he said he had a sweet present for her.  The Ted Mosby inside me expected something like an overly stuffed bouquet of red roses, or an authentically signed novel by her favorite author, or a cooler full of her favorite brand of ice cream driven all the way from Texas.  But instead, he gave her the cheapest rip-off gift any pinhead friendboy could think of, a handmade coupon book. 

Cue the roar of groans and headslaps from the audience.

What is this, Mother's Day, 1991? Come on man, you're killing me! For those of you who are unfamiliar with this cheap excuse of a present, the coupon book is essentially a beggar’s way of giving a gift.  It’s a few sheets of paper decorated with acts of service as well as some of the quirks that defines one’s relationship all sketched out in crayon, and I daresay every one of us has handed out one of these things before, right along with a polyester tie and a hand-stitched batch of oven mitts.

And then we all turned seven, and stopped being useless pieces of crap to our parents. 

For the record, I would like to issue yet another formal apology to the female gender on behalf of muttonhead schmucks like this who feel a few stapled pieces of construction paper with their handwriting on it constitutes a legitimate present for you.  Actions like these are what help me understand why so many of you ladies out there settle for the “projects” that litter the dating world every single day.  If a girl ever gave me one of these, there’s no question I would begin to consider batting for the other team.

Coupon Book Project: “Can’t you see, this one says ‘Good for one 15-minute back massage’.  I would hold on to that one.”

My Dear Friend: (forced laughter) “Oh thank you.  That is so sweet.”

Coupon Book Project: “And if you’re lucky, there is more where that came from. If you know what I mean.”

Cue perverted night stalker’s laughter from his end, and a whole slew of eyes being rolled from everyone else's.  This is just wrong.  Insensitive, disgraceful, and flat out cruel to anyone who has this forced upon them, especially my dear friend who had to sit through ten minutes of this joke. Gifts like this cue Ryan Reynolds’ character talking to himself in the flick “Just Friends” and stating as the camera zooms out, “You’re not worthy of a penis.”

To the coupon book buffoon in the room next to me, neither are you.

What do you think?


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