Hammer Pants Comeback

This the-'80s-were-awesome retro bullshit has gone far enough.

Mullets, leg warmers and mall hair are perfectly rad to 15-year-old kids trying to look like their parents when they were in high school fucking other people and snorting meth when it was still called crank.These kids are also fucking retards, but they're not really hurting anybody.

But lately there's been a resurgence of the low-crotch drawers, genie jeans – otherwise known as Hammer Pants.

This is in no way OK.

Really. Why would these things make a comeback? Is it that the I-just-shit-my-pants-and-have-crap-smeared-asscheeks look is just so fucking sexy? Are thighs that rub together and create a bloody, painful rash near the genitals suddenly an indispensable fashion statement?

If you're helping to bring this trend back you deserve both. Stop now.

Unless you're hiding a midget in your pants to warm your crotch (which would be really fucking awesome) there is no earthly reason to be wearing these.

Look. Even Hammer, the shitburger who started this in the first place, has moved on. He's still a douchebag, but at least he's a douchebag in normal pants.

But you? A douchebag who also wears hammer pants? The death penalty still exists for people like you.

Country music

Is it even necessary to point out how vapid and soul sucking country music is? This isn't referring to the likes of Johnny Cash of course. Despite his re-found, wormfood-induced popularity he is still a Bad Ass.

No. This is about the Kenny Chesneys, Toby Keiths, and Rascall Flatts of the world. I'm not anti-queer in the least, but the pure gayness of Kenny, Toby and their cowboy friends offends me. Not because they are gay (which they most certainly are), but because they sell their macho, hairy chested, leather daddy act as all-American wholesome manliness to homophobic housewives and the drunken, impotent men who beat them. These flag-waving, Ford-driving shit fer brains would choke on their chicken nuggets if they knew their real American heroes engaged in regular bouts of slap-and-tickle with eachother backstage at the CMA.

And all this might even be OK if only the "music" weren't, well, what it is... Whatever it is.

And to be fair, these urban fairies are only following the lead of others who came before them to prove that Wal-Mart shoppers everywhere love queer cowboys and are willing to shell out the cash to listen to them — all the while secretly wishing they could beat them up and fuck them. Not necessarily in that order.

Consider this example from 1985:This Village People get-up and Yee-haw ode to the American workin' man earned these monkey dicks their 17th number one hit — three more than Johnny Cash had in his lifetime.

Nuff said?
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Elf Shoes for grown fucking men

"Why am I such a misfit?"

It's your shoes asswipe.

Really? You paid actual money for these to complete your work-at-the-mall-in-green-tights-in-December persona? You could have taped a hand-scrawled "I am a douche bag" sign on your back and achieved the same result.

When you're out tonight sipping an Appletini and toasting your manliness with skittle vodka shots, realize that the laughter you hear is directed at you.

You are not Fonzie. You are not even a drop of sweat on Fonzie's pubic hair. Lose the pointy shoes and slip back into your work loafers. At least the tassels prove you're a corporate douche who gets a paycheck. These prove only that you're a fucktard even in your spare time - because that's who you really are.