Sometimes, when “men” can’t make up their fucking mind, they pull the wishy washy card. This, dear readers, is no good. If we wanted something that waffled, we would go to fucking IHOP. Decisiveness is key, even if it makes you come across as an insensitive asshole.
The confident “man” would have said, “I fucking hate missingadick.com and I never want to see these posts again.”
If you’re going to be a dick, it usually tends to be a means of compensating for having a petite one. But if you must do it, just fucking be one–no apologies, no vacillation. Plus, a lot of women are attracted to that sort of thing. And, lucky for you, a female need to fortify low self-esteem runs rampant in Williamsburg.
Every year in Williamsburg, we are given the gift of SummerScreen. It’s a time when hipsters and cinephiles (usually one and the same) are able to delight in their geekdom without getting shit about it from other people. It’s also intended for the casual film viewer who’s also looking for an excuse to eat, drink and troll without judgment. Any “man” should understand that choosing the right film to attend is key to his trolling success.
A breakdown of this summer’s schedule
Let’s use this summer’s schedule as an example. If you went to Back to the Future and Zoolander, but decided to skip Cry-Baby or plan to pass up Heathers this Thursday, you are missing a dick in the trolling department (in addition to many other departments, I’m sure). If you decide to go to The Big Lebowski, well, have fun at the sausage fest, you’ve lost your two primary opportunities for heterosexual sex. You may get one final chance at redemption depending on what the audience pick is. If it turns out to be Mean Girls, you’re odds for getting laid just increased tenfold.
It’s generally evident that “men” who live in Williamsburg have money, be it theirs or their parents’. What this usually means is that they’ve relied on a steady cash flow as about 95% of their personality makeup. So how does the dickless man remedy/overcompensate for being totally vanilla soft serve? By dating outside of his race.
A white man’s ticket out of Dullsville
I’m not saying that a man can’t genuinely be attracted to a woman from a disparate background, but I’m saying that the attraction is typically 75% based on novelty. Williamsburg provides the perfect outlet for a rich white man to find an ethnic woman (this especially includes Europeans and Brazilians), as the exotic types tend to be the only ones you see dancing at Output or Bembe. However, the only “man” who has pulled off the interracial dating thing with class is David Bowie. He obviously doesn’t live in Williamsburg.
If you’re still reading and relying on Pitchfork for musical inspiration, you might be missing a dick. To harbor the delusion that the writers of Pitchfork can offer you a unique and esoteric playlist to impress people (specifically women) with is a strong indication of a penis the size of a chickpea.
“Listen to this song I ‘found’ gurl, you’ll like it.”
I mean, this shit’s been around since 1995 and it’s based out of Chicago. What about this screams “masculinity” or “finger on the pulse” to you? If you want to find out about new music, you should probably move out of Williamsburg, because, to loosely quote Shania, “That playlist don’t impress no one much, and we all know you created it by the date and genre of Pitchfork’s reviews.”
There’s something to be said for a “man” who doesn’t put a premium on aesthetics. I don’t see it as a lack of discernment so much as a lack of vanity and self-inflated ego. Because, honestly, who the fuck do you think you are to deserve someone of a manic pixie dream girl caliber? You’re probably a toad yourself.
Most men be like “hot bitch or nothing”
With this in mind, it seems a bit absurd to deny whatever’s left of your dick the healthy and essential practice of releasing semen. It’s really your own fault if you rely solely on masturbation as a primary form of discharge. I get that you live in Williamsburg and you were expecting every prospect thrown your way to be attractive, but instead you’ve found that only the people who work at Dunkin’ Donuts and Tasti D-Lite are interested in you. So what? You should just go for it. Just ignore that bubbly mole or deflated breast. If you close your eyes, you can picture anything, even living in a deluxe condo.
With Williamsburg being the new Times Square and therefore the epicenter of foreigners in Brooklyn, you’ll see quite a lot of Italians running around in addition to Frenchies and Turks. This being said, there are also a lot of Jersey types who make their way over to this area in order to troll some of the more L.A.-esque clubs. Between this type of what I call “Olive Garden Italian” and the second and third generation types who seem to have lost their true sense of the old country, there’s a lot of “men” round these parts relying on their so-called “Italian-ness” as a source of charisma.
The Giglio Feast statue in Williamsburg, a beacon for false Italians
While I myself am easily tempted by offerings of “salami,” food can only go so far in terms of cultivating a complete personality. Eventually, you’re going to have to drop the fake accent and admit that you’re not from Italy and find a different shtick. I recommend one involving an Italian car over Italian food. A man with a car is, after all, primo in Brooklyn.
There are many “men” who feel that the so-called promise of Williamsburg, with its “dive bars” (e.g. Lucky Dog and Skinny Dennis), boutique hotels (Wythe and whatever that monstrosity nearby is going to be called), Eurodance clubs (Verboten) and faux bougie pizza (Fornino), is enough to impress a woman. It is not. If you want to get your prized pussy, you’re going to need to put in a lot more work than simply taking her to Williamsburg and expecting the locale to speak for itself.
At least Aladdin had a fucking magical carpet to show her the shit on
You are not Aladdin and this is not Arabia.You’re probably John from Ohio. So just embrace that fact and stop tyring to pass Wburg off as the epicenter of chic. And certainly don’t try to pass Bushwick off as chic either. Obviously, what I’m suggesting is flying her in a private plane to an exotic city if you truly want to secure lifelong wonderment and gratitude. ‘Cause a Styrofoam to-go cup from the Turkey’s Nest ain’t gonna cut it.