In Fifty Years We'll All Be Chicks: And Other Complaints from an Angry Middle-Aged White Guy Read Online Free PDF

worse off than I was. But I still, and rightfully so, wanted some revenge on the animal who had hit me with the bat. I knew he was a local guy, and I spent six months trying to find him.
    Cut to New Year’s Eve. I was at a party at my friend Umgad Abuzamzam’s place making out with some chick in a bathroom. There was a violent pounding at the door. It was my buddy Ray. He was hammered and screaming at the top of his lungs, “It’s Ray, get out here.” I said, “Leave me alone.” I was with a chick whose panties were around her ankles. I didn’t have time for Ray. But he insisted, “Get out here, you’ve gotta see this.” So me and the girl got our shit together and opened the door. Ray had Terry, the bat man himself, in a headlock. I can’t imagine what was going through his head. Here it is six months later, Ray’s got him by the neck, and he’s staring at the guy who took on him and four friends, a beer bottle, and a bat, and was asking for more. Ray was offering Terry up to me like a cat when it catches a bird and drags it into the house. As a result of Terry begging for mercy, my lack of killer instinct, and my boner, I told Ray to let him go. So Ray flicked him away like a cigarette butt.
    Then, five years later, I was standing on the street in front of my apartment building waiting for someone who was gonna check out the truck I was selling. I noticed a large moving van being unloaded by a new tenant. I remember thinking, This is a big fucking Mexican guy about to move into my building. I didn’t recognize him. But he recognized me. He said, “I know you, man.” So I asked, “Oh, did you play some Pop Warner football with me or something?” He said, “No, I know you.” I replied, “Well, you don’t look familiar to me. Did you grow up in North Hollywood?” He said, “No, we fought, man.” Then it hit me who he was, the guy I had beat up. For a moment I was scared because I was standing in the street with a buff Mexican guy, and the last time we were in the street together, we were throwing punches. But I quickly realized I was the one who beat him up, and I knew all those guys thought I was a maniac anyway. So sure enough, he just walked into his apartment.
    In 2006 we tracked down Terry and called him on my morning radio show. He’s now a professional pilot. I hope you’re reading this on a plane that he’s flying and just shit your pants.
    Now that’s a fight story.
    You ever see one of those movies from the fifties where every guy is wearing a hat and the same gray suit, and every woman has her hair styled the same way? That was back when we had something called a society. Now we have individuals . The notion seems evolved, but the execution is starting to piss me off. That being said, here’s a list of guys I can’t hang out with.
    WEIRD FACIAL HAIR GUY I don’t mind a guy with a beard. And I love a guy with a mustache. I’m talking about the a-hole who has the Sharpie-thin stripe going ear to ear and over the top of his upper lip. Never have more calories been spent achieving a worse look. Why would somebody cultivate a look that required an extra hour in the mirror each morning? Exactly. It’s because this narcissistic fuck gets to stare at his Jersey Shore ass for an extra hour in the mirror. Is it a coincidence that the more elaborate the facial hair, the bigger the narcissistic dick that’s rocking it? I don’t think so. I shave twice a week, and that’s way too much mirror time for me. These guys start every day with a meticulous sculpting of their mug, which I’m sure is followed by a homoerotic pose-down.
    MY-WIFE’S-MY-BEST-FRIEND GUY I know I sound like a jaded dick, but your wife’s not supposed to be your best friend. She’s not even supposed to be in your Fave Five. When’s the last time you begged your best friend for a blow job? I don’t believe these guys. I think they’re just saying it to score points with their wives and to make the rest of us look like