Reading into texting is simply an unavoidable construct of the twenty-first century. However, certain dickless men make it impossible to interpret anything with responses like “Idk” or “Ugh.” Are women so unworth the effort of forming a complete and meaningful sentence? What could you possibly be doing besides masturbating (or, rather, trying to pull at the flap of skin in place of your dick) that could prevent you from taking some time to write a coherent thought?
Distracted by porn.
As a denizen of Williamsburg, you might think you have an edge because of your financial status. You don’t. But what could give you an edge is actually speaking like a human being, and not some sort of Neanderthal automaton. It’s not as though we’re expecting some poetic response, novel in length. But a simple utterance of more than one to two words would really show that you give a shit. And so, if you’re teetering between dicklessness and at least having a nub, work on your texting steez please.
I don’t really know when it became encouraged for people to bring their children to the movie theater, but apparently, it’s a Williamsburg thing. On Tuesdays at Nitehawk, there’s a special showing just for people who want to bring their baby.
A place to annoy other people with your precious baby.
I understand a desire for affordable daycare, but 1) If you’re living in Williamsburg, you can probably spring for a few hours of babysitting and 2) Why subject your child to traumatizing early images like those from Under the Skin? It’s all very questionable and in generally poor taste. If you’re a “man” with a baby, maintain your last vestige of decorum and your baby’s few months of early sanity by not taking them to the movie.
I don’t know about you, but I think Barbra Streisand, a Williamsburg native, is a lot more masculine than most of the men currently inhabiting her turf. The woman dresses in tailored suits, after all, which is always an instantaneous emblem of power/being in total control.
Looking about as masculine as any “male” denizen of Wburg
The men who have overrun Barbra’s sweet Williamsburg of the post-WWII era have shown her no respect. They’ve allowed themselves to atrophy in the face of no struggle. Barbra, on the other hand, grew up fatherless and penniless. And then she had to inhale all manner of secondhand smoke while singing in nightclubs as a teen. That’s why her voice is also generally deeper that a Williamsburg “man’s.”
Barbra once said “I’m so glad I came from Brooklyn–it’s down to earth.” Not anymore, Babs, not anymore. And especially not with all these dickless men running around your town without at least offering the hipster consolation of having seen some of your more esoteric films, like What’s Up, Doc? or The Owl and the Pussycat.
Going on a picnic is already very dubious in the dick department. But adding another couple into the mix only serves to add an extra layer of eunuchness. What self-respecting man really says to himself–on a Sunday of all days–let me get some delicious sundries and cheeses from the Bedford Cheese Shop and take my pretend girlfriend, boyfriend and his pretend girlfriend on a picnic?
Like other 50s pastimes, picnics have an appropriate place in history–that place is not in modern Williamsburg.
Then once you’ve moseyed on down to McCarren Park in your Chubbies, you make an even further spectacle of your dicklessness by spreading out a blanket bombastically with your boyfriend as your pretend girlfriends watch. It’s all just so demeaning. And the use of a cheese knife, well, I needn’t tell you that it’s a strong indicator of dick size. Either use a chef’s knife or none at all.
It’s hard to understand what men like so much about tits. Sure, they’re soft, but they’re also not that big of a deal. You sucked them (hopefully) as a baby. You’ve seen thousands of pairs on TV and in movies. So why is it that when men get hold of a breast, they act like it’s a foreign object? Is it because Williamsburg denizens are so unaccustomed to seeing breasts in the flesh because of their terrible trolling skills (e.g. “Let’s rub our parts together and make new parts.”)?
You’ve seen tits from the beginning.
For those who claim that breasts are “beautiful,” let me take a moment to explain to you that a tit is a simple mound of flesh with an areola attached (if you’re lucky) that looks like it’s staring at you, waiting for you to fuck up. That sounds not that beautiful. So next time you experience the rare opportunity of a woman willingly exposing her titties to you, don’t act a damn fool. Be calm, and at least pretend you’ve seen a pair before.
Just when you’re certain Williamsburg gentrification is totally complete, you’ll see a “man” who looks like he just stepped stepped off a private plane from Los Angeles. Whether he’s a trust fund baby or someone who just came into some money and decided to become a producer, his aesthetic gives him completely away.
Just another night in the new Williamsburg.
You may encounter this person on the street or at a bar with mahogany wood paneling throughout. But make no mistake, you will encounter him at some point during your stint in Williamsburg. If you’re attractive enough, he might even remove his sunglasses and start to chat you up. But if you’re not his cup o’ tea, you’ll never get that extra job you’ve been searching for.
There was once a Sex and the City episode called “Boy, Girl, Boy, Girl.” In it, an artist that Charlotte was showing at her gallery did a photographic exhibit of drag kings. He said, “Gender is an illusion.” In Williamsburg, this is especially accurate. Indeed, the “men” have taken on a more female quality and the “women” a far more masculine one.
While androgyny will always have a certain chic quality, it can make for a very frustrating experience when you’re just trying to troll without putting too much thought into what’s going on in the genital area. To have to question whether or not someone has a penis is truly the epitome of missing a dick. My advice, start wearing a t-shirt that clearly indicates what you’re trying to be: Boy, girl or something in between. It would save us all a lot of unnecessary lust.
For those of you with a purer mind, “men” who don’t eat out does not refer to him going to a restaurant. It refers, of course, to him eating pussy. The “man” who makes excuses not to clearly has a fear of the vagina, the feminine essence and may possibly suffer from gynophobia–the least masculine thing ever.
Women know how to eat pussy–ergo they’re the ones with the real dicks.
Some Williamsburg “men” aren’t averse to it just because they have no idea how to operate the equipment down there, but also because they use the excuse of cleanliness/lack of waxing as a reason for avoiding the act. As any “man” worth his weight in dick will tell you, a full bush with a slight odor should never detract one from licking that pussy.
After all, aren’t women always willing to lick, suck and pull your sorry excuse for a penis? The least you can do is return the courtesy early and often. ‘Cause we all know you ain’t givin’ nobody an orgasm with that nub of yours, so you best use your goddamn mouth for something other than talking about your latest Apple product/how generally amazing you are.
We get it. Adam Driver is the spokes”man” for Williamsburg. As one of the few regular “males” on Girls (though most of the girls on said show are more masculine), it’s only natural he would rise to prominence for his “look.” I suppose that’s why it’s difficult for some to understand that mimicking his style is a classically dickless move.
Driver’s general uniform–a solid color or graphic t-shirt or tank–is not only tired, but utterly uninspired. To wear crew necks and graphic tees and assorted denim is not only egregiously basic, but also says, “I must dress this way to hide that I don’t have a dick.” You’d be better off sporting paisley pants and a velvet blazer. At least it would show some courage. If you really want to take a fashion tip from a man, look to Mick Jagger and Keith Richards in Gimme Shelter.
Writing for VICE is all very impressive when you’re trying to be impressive, but there are some “men” who take it just a little to the extreme. They can’t get through a goddamn sentence without mentioning the latest news piece from the publication–especially if they wrote it.
“I just wrote a fantastic piece for VICE about how masturbating is more intellectual than physical.”
For dickless men, there’s nothing more satisfying than being able to tell a girl that he’s “appeared” in VICE. Apart from living in one of those grotesque condos near the waterfront, it’s about the surest way to get a girl to sleep with you. It’s only afterward that she realizes you’ve merely pitched to VICE that she regrets her decision.