Just as the “man” who trolls for drunk women on Halloween or tries to have sex with vulnerable relatives on Thanksgiving, so too, does the “man” who DJs on New Year’s Eve have an ulterior motive. Rather than it being about his “art,” DJing on New Year’s Eve signifies a strong desire to have sex with multiple bitches in one evening.
Average flier for a “man” DJing on New Year’s Eve
“Men” who DJ in Williamsburg at places like, say, Output
or Verboten, are of a particularly strong strain of dicklessness as it is quite obvious they are unable to get as easily laid with their playlist on any other night of the year due to the fact that women are at least somewhat sober enough during non-holiday events to gauge that what they’re playing is shit. But alas, how else is a Williamsburg DJ supposed to have a happy new year if he doesn’t “work” on December 31st?
While it is faintly admirable to try to make Williamsburg seem even remotely hood again (as it once was in the early 90s), there is obviously no hope of ever being able to do so, what with J. Crew and Urban Outfitters being part of the neighborhood now. Even so, this is exactly what London Rene, the “boy”friend of Mob Wives star Natalie Guercio, attempted to achieve by getting stabbed in the face with a box cutter at Output on Wythe and N. 12th.
Worst of all, and adding to the dicklessness, Rene was taken to Woodhull Hospital
in the wake of the injury. It is perhaps one of the most undignified combinations with regard to a dickless Williamsburg occurrence to date. After all, it’s bad enough for a “man” to go somewhere like Output in the first place, but to get stabbed in addition (especially considering the relatively tame environs), well, it’s rather effete, isn’t it?
There’s a fine line between being so daftly macho that one can’t decorate and so annoyingly dainty and effete that one is too good at decorating. The in-between point of these two, however, generally tends to be a dickless “man” who half-asses his Christmas decorating attempts to the point of Marv-ing the situation with his doltish movements.
Clueless about Christmas decorating
Is it really so difficult for a “man” to be able to decorate without a woman’s assistance while still falling faintly into the heterosexual category? Apparently so. Because every Christmas, the sound of “men” being electrocuted by Christmas lights or screams from stabbing themselves in the eye with various pine needles can be heard all along the East River.
Being that Williamsburg is one of the primary douche bag hubs of New York City, it’s no shock that the “men” who flock there are willing to flaunt their dicklessness by waiting as long as two hours in order to sit in a cramped, grease-scented space and stuff their faces with a fried chicken box.
Is this beige grab bag really worth the wait?
It’s hard to say why “men” are so willing to relinquish their dick by waiting to eat at Pies ‘n’ Thighs. Is it to impress their one-night stand from the previous evening or is it to soak up the residual alcohol still in their system? One can never be certain. But all I know is, there’s a Checkers nearby that gives you way more bang for your buck and
has the greasy food scene on lockdown. And that’s how you impress a lady.
I don’t know where “men” got it into their heads that they were a wealth of valuable knowledge, just waiting to be imparted to you, but it’s been something that’s been going on in since the dawn of human speech. While the grunts have become more coherent, they haven’t become any more useful.
Sheila Heti, one of the many authorial patron saints of Williamsburg, said it best in her book, How Should A Person Be?: “He was just another man who wanted to teach me something.” Perhaps “men” need a gentle reminder that, shocking as it may be, the female brain is indeed capable of making informed decisions without unsolicited male input. So unless asked, keep your opinions (and your nub dick) to yourself.
In addition to Williamsburg being the hub of dickless “men,” it is also the hub of dickless European “men” (is there any other kind of European “man,” really?), particularly British ones. Like the riddle of the Sphinx, no one can quite decipher how these “men” have enough money to live in waterfront condos–perhaps it’s purely by virtue of being British.
What the average British “man” looks like when you turn around to see them after hearing their alluring accent
In any case, there’s nothing worse than when a British “man” announces himself vocally without first inducting his face into your view. Because then, even if his aesthetic is porcine or lizard-like (which it invariably will be), you won’t be falsely seduced into a certain idea of how he will look when you turn around only to find that his visage has broken your heart as quickly as his accent made it swell.
Working at the Apple Store in any part of New York City already seriously calls into question one’s manhood, but to do it on Bedford Avenue is to willingly cede all traces of your dick. The strategic location of the store not only embeds the coffin of old Williamsburg deeper into the ground, but also infers you’re willing to subject yourself to retarded milfs who are never going to let you sleep with them.
A mock-up of the future Apple Store at 247 Bedford Avenue
Not only will you see stroller upon stroller attached to various Williamsburg women who will merely ask question after question until finally using their husband’s credit card to buy a new iPad, but you’ll also suffer from the blue balls of never penetrating their memories or their vaginas. Spare some of your dick by instead seeking employment at the nearby Bagelsmith. ‘Cause the drunk women who roll up in there are far more likely to give you the time of day.