Granted, it’s much simpler to date a girl without a personality. You don’t have to try to find things to talk about other than what’s on TV and you can always feel confident that you’ll be dressed better than her. No muss, no fuss. However, this easy way out, so to speak, shows a strong sign of dicklessness.
If you’re missing a dick, this could be the girl for you.
Though bland women aren’t without their perks (for instance, they probably have perfectly symmetrical tits), to become seriously involved with one proves utterly unchallenging to your brain and your wang. All they want to do is whatever you want to do, permitted they can eat a salad at some point during the course of your activities. This tends to be the dream of many Williamsburg men, who just want time for their “art.” But if you want to take the first step toward growing your dick back, try going for a more complicated woman the next time around (even if the level of complexity starts at her not living in Williamsburg).
Dressing like your grandma is real cute and all when you’re six (and a girl), but it’s time to stop by the time you’ve reached your twenties. Oversized lens frames and ugly sweaters just aren’t the way, and can only be fashionably worn by a grandma. Try as you might, you are not your grandma–though your missing dick may ultimately result in a vagina as saggy as hers.
So take off those horn-rimmed glasses, those ill-fiiting pants and that hideous sweatshirt. It’s time to dress yourself like the big “boy” you are.
Reading has seen a resurgence in popularity, what with the novelty of bookstores like Spoonbill and Sugartown showcased on the Williamsburg/Greenpoint monstrosity Girls (you’re missing a dick if you’ve seen it). That being said, many men think it’s okay to 1) Simply read a book that’s not literary but “how to” oriented and 2) That reading a book on how to do something is actually going to teach you how to do it.
Ancient hipster reading.
At Missing a Dick, we believe it’s important for men to understand that you should be reading real literature and that if you genuinely want to learn a trade, like blacksmithing, you should just fucking do it–hands on, balls out (’cause Christ knows you ain’t got a dick). A book cannot help you unless it’s a story about Vikings or eighteenth century courtiers.
To describe one’s establishment as an “upscale clam shack” should automatically seem dubious to any real man. Therefore, men who eat at Extra Fancy are all too quick to admit that they’re somewhat deficient in the groin area. One willing to pay twenty dollars for fish and chips is obviously more than willing to trade their dick for presumed “status.”
Nineteen dollar mussels.
The very fact that Extra Fancy exists is telling of Williamsburg’s continued identity crisis in wanting to remain “hip” but also still appeal to bourgeois gentlemen (I use the term “gentlemen” loosely) willing to plunk down the cash for seafood, along with their scrotum. And so, if you ever catch yourself eating at Extra Fancy, ask yourself: Is it worth it for the “catch of the day” (either a blonde wispy type or the food itself) to sacrifice the last smidgen of your vas deferens?
While OKCupid is pretty embarrassing (as we’ve discussed before), it can’t compare to the utter shame I feel for men who freely use How About We and propose gay (in the purest sense of the word) date ideas like going to Berry Park and listening to some bull shit DJ. It’s a very unabashed form of wanton behavior that also showcases how banal your interests are.
And while women should be equally as ashamed to partake of this service, it is somewhat expected for them to be on this level of desperation considering the unfathomable female to male ratio in New York. Because men in Williamsburg are undercover lazy, How About We (based in nearby Dumbo) is a way for them to prove how smart, attentive and considerate they are. But really, it’s just a more elaborate way to procure some vagina for the night.
So I know Facebook is, like, over or whatever, but it’s still a large organ of communication and perception. Men, being mostly unaware of where they are or what they’re doing for the majority of the time, have trouble noting the value and importance of this tool. For instance, if someone sends you a message on Facebook, you respond to it. If someone posts something on your wall, you “like” it. Even if you really don’t. In Wburg, where everyone is just so beyond such quaint forms of social media that are still heavily favored in the Midwest and South, a lack of Facebook etiquette shows not only a form of dicklessness, but also the missing a brain issue (which includes the total oblivion of 21st century social cues). And anyway, just because Mark Zuckerberg probably doesn’t have a dick and lives in Williamsburg, doesn’t mean you should use his creation improperly.
In Williamsburg, the newest generation of babies/children are immune to most stimuli that might be alarming to a baby/child in, say, Kansas. Case in point is how often “men” and their “live-in partners” feel compelled to bring their offspring into the low-life setting of a bar. As someone who goes to bars often, I can attest to being a low-life surrounded among low-lives. For a baby to be in this environment–especially a male baby–for prolonged periods of time foretells a decidedly dickless future (or whorish one if said baby is a female). And so, a word to the wise, become an alcoholic in the privacy of your own home.
OKCupid as a concept is already rather comical, though somewhat understandable for a generation of lazies who can’t be bothered with a real encounter. But when men actually use OKCupid in the hope of piecing together a “genuine” relationship, well, it’s just quite sad. To think that the girl you’re going out with is doing so for anything other than a free dinner is not just naive, but perhaps a sign that you’re a dullard. Although Williamsburg is getting to the point where it’s so edgeless that eHarmony is probably to become the more frequently used dating website than OKCupid, it’s important for dickless men to know that they’re being taken advantage of for their pockets. So just get a pocket pussy instead.
I’m not quite sure how Oak came to be in existence. For all I know, someone could have found a tarp lying on the sidewalk and decided to sell it in at their store, and then just ran with the theme from there. What I do know is, the lack of definement or construction of Oak garments absolutely screams, “I’m missing a dick!” I don’t understand men willing to pay a hundred dollars for a sweatshirt when they could just as easily put the funds toward a penis implant.
In Williamsburg, knowing the latest, most important bar or restaurant is paramount to your status as a human being. That’s why “men” like to refer religiously to Yelp for counsel on how to approach their existence. If something has less than four stars, fuck it, they’re not going.
To live and die by Yelp is one of the classic signs of being dickless. Is it really that difficult to choose a place to go based on your own impressions and opinions? Evidently, when you’re a denizen of Wburg. With quotes like “Almost never had a bad bite to eat here! I would caution, though, that the Black Bean Soup is pretty watery and bland,” it’s not only horrifying to note “men” who use Yelp’s overt missing of a dick, but also that one of their biggest problems in life is watery soup. Quelle fucking tragedy.