Posts Tagged ‘girls’

I love subways. Put two native New Yorkers in an enclosed space, virtually take away their cell phones, and interesting shit happens. That’s why i love the subway. Something about looking out at the Lower Manhattan skyline and the Brooklyn bridge through grimy, scratched-up windows of a rickety subway car on a hot summers day has tempers and perhaps hormones flying.

Trust me on that last one.

A few weeks ago, while coming back from work, which is no longer in DUMBO, I walk onto a train car and sit down next to…a cute girl. No I wasn’t creeping; it was the only empty seat. Or one of the last 50 empty seats.

Whatever.

Some dude walks up to me, leans over and softly whispers in my ear “Can you help me out, perhaps spare 50 cents?” Now THAT’S creepy. I didn’t give him the money.

Needless to say, she overheard and thus began our conversation about NY, homeless people and jobs. Subject of nationality came up, I asked her if she was black, and she said no, she’s white, and Jewish. I should’ve known. Anyway we’re talking about whatever two people talk about on a subway, which is usually meaningless banter, except by now she knows my background; the average white guy doesn’t know names of girls seminaries in Israel unless he’s been there, done that.

Been there. Done that. Get it?

Nah I kid, the worst (best?) that I did in Israel was get drunk with friends. And without. And not much more. Long story, wrong forum.

Back to this girl. I’m talking to her, and I’m staring at her. Now I can’t figure out why, I mean I know she’s cute, but I’m looking at her because something about her is familiar. [insert creep horror movie soundtrack here]

She gets a text from Jonathan. Ya I saw her screen. How else would I know? It was at that moment that I looked at her, and almost in what seemed to me slow motion, I said you’re dating Jonathan So-and-so! [Inner wheels in my brain screech to a halt. That’s my dudes girl here. Whoa. Backtrack, reboot. Whoops?]

Silence.

“Your name is Leona, or Leora…Kaplan”

“Yes, my names Leora Kaplan!”

“Ya, your boyfriend, who’s a friend of mine, (whom I only met twice in my life…) has your face as his profile picture.”

Now I’m really not the Facebook stalker type. I don’t recognize people before I meet them. That’s some Inception shit right there.

(Although I just yesterday recognized someone I’d seen briefly, by putting her first name and the person who mentioned her first name together with memories of a certain Racheli who’d been dating an English friend of mine two years ago…maybe I have a knack for names. I should be a private investigator.)

But hey, it’s NYC. It’s the subway.

We spent the next 10 stops marveling over how in a city of 9 million people, I bump into the one person that I don’t know, and recognize.

Oh, and both of you, “Leora and Jonathan”, next time you come to my neighborhood I’ll get a few friends together and we’ll all reminisce about the old times. Whatever old times you want.

“Stand clear of the closing doors please. The next stop is 34th Street.”

Encounters 3, 4 and 5 will be combined into one post. Stay tuned later this week.

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There was once a blog. That blogger released too much sensitive info of girls he fucked, so he shut it down. Luckily it was all copied beforehand, so we can all read his writings of genius here at solomonreborn.wordpress.com

This post expresses everything wrong, and by default kinda awesome, about American girls. One of the best posts I have ever read. I included the comments. be sure to read comment #3.

Drive Thru Boyfriends

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Dalrock

Fall 2010 by Solomon II

“Welcome to McFling’s.  My name is Solomon II.  May I take your order?”

“Uh, yes.  I’ll have the three months of meaningless sex from the Boyfriend Lite menu, add extra self respect.  Hold the judgment and consequences please.

“I’m sorry; we’re all out of self respect.  Would you like to add a side of rationalization for only $1 more?”

“Yeah.  That’s fine.  Super size it please.”

“Thank you.  Please pull up to the window for your total.”

There she is driving down the road of life at her own pace.  She’s young, independent, beautiful and has all the time in the world.  When she’s horny, she swings into the closest drive thru and places her order.  She does the same thing when she’s sad, lonely, happy, up, down, in, out, excited, needy, afraid, strong, weak, depressed, moody, joyful, exhilarated, stressed, etc. Any and every reason is valid because she’s being “true to herself”. Every three months on average she swings into McFling’s and orders up the best looking or most exciting thing on the menu (because she’s sooo selective).  There’s also a couple of late night snack runs thrown in there for good measure, but not as many as some other girls, so you have no right to judge her.  She’s young and her metabolism is firing on all cylinders, so now is the time for her to gorge herself with no consequences.

At the age of 27, she starts to notice that her steady diet of junk food relationships isn’t as satisfying as it once was.  Sure the bright lights, flashy signs, fast service and cheap satisfaction made for great fun, but now she’s starving for wholesome affection and beginning to show signs of emotional malnutrition.  There has to be something better out there.  Something more substantive.

All of a sudden she decides to make a change.  No more drive thru boyfriends.  Certainly everyone understands that her junk food relationship binge wasn’t her fault since it’s the bulk of what society offers.  It’s our culture.  These greasy high calorie drive thru boyfriend establishments are on every corner, advertised on every channel, glamorized in the media, and no one really told her how bad they could be for her health.  It’s society’s fault.  It’s the franchise’s fault. All the girls she knows are doing it, so how could she possibly be expected to know any better?

So now she wants steak, and by God she’s convinced that she deserves it from a five star restaurant.

She takes a shower hoping the stench of her decade long habit of frequenting McFling’s won’t be as noticeable.  She may not know how to act properly at the new fancy steakhouse she’s going to try tonight, but it’s ok.  Men always give her a pass on her behavior since she’s beautiful and an easy lay adventurous.

When she’s all done getting ready and is confident that she can look and act like the type of girl who has been eating healthy all along, she heads out for the best steakhouse in town.  Why not the best?  She deserves it, and her friend Michelle ate there last week (and she’s totally not even pretty).

With all the undeserved self confidence in the world and an advanced case of juvenile egocentrism, she pulls into the parking lot of the steakhouse.  She notices there are dozens of people standing in line.  She doesn’t understand.  The stupid bitch at the hostess desk asked her if she had a reservation.  A reservation?!  How rude!  She has a vagina and that’s always been sufficient before, so what gives?  It seems the steakhouse is completely booked for months.

Now she’s pissed off.  How could the upscale steakhouse refuse to seat her?  So what if she showed up right at prime dinner time (27 years old o’clock) and demanded the best seat in the house.  She deserves it.  She’s waited so long for it… well, not really, but in theory anyway.  She always knew the steakhouse was there, she just never took the time to plan ahead for reservations.  It’s not her fault.

As she drives away, she realizes she has another problem.  She’s still hungry.  She pulls in to yet another McFling’s, this time disgusted to be there.  But she’s changed, so she decides to try something different.

“Welcome to McFling’s.  My name is Solomon II.  May I take your order?”

“Uh, yes.  I’ll have the steak please.”

“We don’t serve steak.  Show me your tits.”

“I’m not like that anymore.  Steak please.”

“I can offer you the three months of meaningless sex from the Boyfriend Lite menu, and pretend to hold the judgment and consequences if you’d like.”

“Steak please.”

“Bitch, would you like me to serve you the three months of meaningless sex from the Boyfriend Lite menu, pretend to hold the judgment and consequences, and just *tell you* it’s steak?”

“Steak please.”

“Fine.  Please pull up to the first window.  I’ll have your total and a treat for your hamster.”

This cycle continues until she turns 30 and realizes that she’ll never get in to the steakhouse.  She’s waited much too long to make reservations, so she settles for a Beta male who takes her to Chili’s on 2 for 1 night in his minivan.  Hey, it’s not the steakhouse she deserves, but it’s better than that asshole Solomon II at the drive thru boyfriend joint.  At least Chili’s has real silverware.

That night she stumbles upon a blog with a post entitled “Drive Thru Boyfriends” and gets righteously annoyed.  That’s not her at all.  That was never her intention.  She’s different, special, and unique.  What gives the author the right to assume that he knows her or can determine what she’s been through in her AMAZING life?  He doesn’t know her story.  He doesn’t know her heart.  He can’t judge her actions based on what other girls do simply because she did the same things and ended up in the same situation they did.  He can’t tell her what kind of person she is, or what her fate will be.  She’s different than the rest.  She’s strong, independent and wise beyond her years.

In her rage she hits the road again, confused by what has happened to her and angry that she didn’t get what she deserved out of life.  With her Beta boyfriend wondering where the hell she is, she drives past the steakhouse which is closed for the night.  Blinded by fury and driven by emotion, she decides to make yet another change.  A real and meaningful change this time.  This time she’ll get it right and enjoy what she deserves for being an amazing woman.  Her rationalization hamster helps out with navigation and leads her to a brand new place.  Somewhere she’s never been.  This is it!  This is what she needs.  This time she’s confident she’ll get what she deserves.

And she does.

“Welcome to McFling’s.  My name is Solomon II.  May I take your order?”

“Steak, please…”

Suggested Reading: Commitment as a Form of Female Investment by Dalrock.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

About Solomon II
As iron sharpeneth iron, so one man sharpeneth another. Proverbs 27:17

One blogger likes this post.
Dalrock

16 Responses to Drive Thru Boyfriends

  1.  Penguin says:

    The last couple of posts are great. You’re on fire!

  2.  HappilyMarriedButJustGotLucky says:

    Agree with Penguin. Quite creative and enjoyable!

  3.  Days of Broken Arrows says:

    …and then one day she turned 42. And she realized few people wanted to serve her McBurgers anymore. The steak had never really come her way, but McBurgers always came easy. Now even that was hard to come by. So she went driving into the night until it became morning.

    Sunday morning.

    That’s when she found the mega-church, or the McChurch. She also found McJesus in the McPastor’s McSermons which weren’t really from scripture, but a McReading of the scripture to appeal to the McPeople who filled the McChurch. The Dr. Phil platitudes of the McPreacher allowed her to feel self-righteous and pass judgment on everyone else. Sure, she might have screwed anything that walked, but now she was a McVirgin. Surely, she was a cut above those sinners who didn’t find the McWord, wasn’t she?

    Male attention had ceased, but it came around again when she began posting McPlatitudes on her Facebook page. Things like “If God brings you to it, then God will get you through it.” Now guys were practically high five-ing her online, since that was what they thought they were supposed to do, knowing nothing better in their empty American McLives of football’n’McJesus. And she began responding to people with “God loves you!” Instead of a simple “Bye!” or “Hello!” That got attention. Her breasts were sagging, but her HolyMcSpirit was high. It also made it easier to block out the cries she heard of all the McBabies she never did have (or the ones that wound up washed in pieces in the McDoctor’s drain).

    Like all TRUE stories, this one has a moral.

    Women who use sex in their twenties to get power and fulfillment use religion in their forties when the sex well runs dry. Of course, it’s all McPower — not the real thing, but a low-budget simulation.

  4.  Solomon II says:

    @Days: Beautifully done, and so true. As the son of a Baptist Minister, I can confirm 100%. Church is the last refuge of many a whore. That’s why I laugh when men say they want to go to church to meet a good girl.

    @ Penguin and Happily: Thanks! I really appreciate your feedback.

  5.  finndistan says:

    That was one of the best ways the concept has been written about.

    Btw,

    It is not just wanting to eat steak at a restaurant, it is also wanting the restaurant to pay them for eating the steak; and even pay for the open tabs of the past McFlings.

    And due all the additives (i.e. sodium glutamate, sweeteners, preservatives…) , the taste buds are almost dead, so the steak will never taste like a pumped um McFling with cream on top.

  6.  Solomon II says:

    @finndistan: It’s amazing how this analogy could go on and on forever and still hold true.

  7. Pingback: Commitment as a form of female investment. | Dalrock
  8.  Thag Jones says:

    He can’t judge her actions based on what other girls do simply because she did the same things and ended up in the same situation they did.

    I lol’d. That’s a good one!

  9.  dalrock says:

    “We don’t serve steak. Show me your tits.”

    One of the funniest things I’ve read in a long, long time!

    Thanks for your link back and putting me on your blogroll! I’ve added you to mine as well not so much out of reciprocation, but because I want to be able to read your latest posts easily. I’ve only read your most recent four posts, but I’m hooked.

    One question though, who is Darlock? :)

    [Damn it. Give me a sec.]

  10. Pingback: Linkage is Good for You: You Know What the Pattern Is Edition
  11.  Bronckin’ Buckeye says:

    Is this the customer you’re talking about?

    http://40daysandengaged.tumblr.com/

    It’s a must read.

    “Flirting with the laws of attraction. As single (and choosy) girls ——— and —– have decided to put their beliefs in the Law of Attraction to the test to attract the men of their dreams…. We will be wearing engagement rings for 40 days to send signals to the universe that we have found what we are looking for. By doing this we are hoping that in response to those signals we are sending out we will actually receive what we are looking for.
    We will be following some rules through this experiment.
    1. The ring must be worn during every public outting
    2. If a possible “love interest” questions the ring and asks if we are engaged we must answer “Yes, to myself.”
    3. No dating (or similar extra curricular activities) during the 40 day period.
    4. We must go “out” and socialize at least once per weekend
    *Rules are subject to change at our discretion*”

    [S2 Says: Christ, man. Women are fucking delusional. I should quit picking on them and start a foundation or something.]

  12.  Squared says:

    Hey Solomon, just found your blog earlier today. I’ve gone back in your archives and have read about a dozen of your posts already, and I find myself short of superlatives. Absolutely brilliant stuff all around. You definitely have what it takes to become the new king of this part of the blogosphere.

    I’ll be checking this one regularly, keep it up!

  13.  Steve says:

    Funny shit bro.

We’re raising $ for the show I’m on , Coversity. Any help would be appreciated. http://www.indiegogo.com/Coversity-the-Series

Came across this on a blog. I couldn’t agree more.

A Proposal: Let’s Stop Making ‘Wedding’ One of Life’s Key Check Marks.

by Joy Engel on April 27, 2011

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you that I’m officially interested in the Royal Wedding.

I tried to keep the cynicism alive, I really did. But it’s hard to be anti-Royal Wedding while also being friends with Chiara and communicating daily with a colleague in London. And once I realized that being interested in the Royal Wedding essentially means day drinking and talking about fancy hats (two of my favorite pastimes), I was all on board.

Like all short-lived obsessions, I’ve thrown myself into this. I watched the Lifetime movie, I read some articles about their history and crowned myself an expert on Wills and Kate. I think they’re nice. I think they actually love each other. I think she has glorious hair. And that’s a lot for me to think about a couple I will never actually meet. Let’s have some more champagne.

My wedding enthusiasm is (more…)

Generations have changed. It’s true. There’s a lot to complain about the way we young folk are, yet at the same time I’m celebrating. Yes we are far more decadent than my granpda’s peers probably were. But in essence we just have have different quirks. Let me illustrate with one quick thought:

When my grandpa was a kid he had a practice of giving a girl a wedding ring and then having children. At my age I much prefer to see if the baby is as awesome as I am, and only then give her a wedding ring, sort of as a thank you gift.

Now who’s the one with the quirks now?

Here’s an article I ran into in today’s edition of the NYtimes…eerily similar to the idea of paying the Shadchan 2k for matchmaking…


I was in the cafe at Borders last month when a homeless man asked to sit next to me. He cast several glances my way before offering me two sandwiches from his plastic Conway bag. If I hadn’t already had dinner plans, I might have taken him up on his tuna fish.

After an exhausting decade of dating in New York, I was grateful for any offer that came my way. My once lofty list of must-haves had been whittled down to: “clean; ability to hold conversation a plus.” Once I realized the man was hitting on me (either that, or he thought I was also homeless, which, being between apartments, I technically was), I, too, sized him up. He had a good frame under the layers of coats, and after a shave, a shower and some laundered clothes, he could pass for a handsomer Quentin Tarantino. (more…)

This is in response to another blogger who claimed her sister going on a diet would ruin the economy. This is my response.

Dear Pegoleg,

You recently wrote a post explaining how if your sister goes on a diet, she’ll be ruining the economy. I think she’ll be ruining alot more than that. Here’s why:

You see, if your girls like sister doesn’t diet, she’ll remain fat. And then guys like myself, who like to go out and have a good time, will be less likely to do so this year because there won’t be any beautiful women for us. And that would make for a bunch of very grumpy men walking around.

Grumpy men who’d have no choice but to resort to porn. Now I understand those porn stars clearly had some major daddy issues, but if not for a bunch of men sitting and watching those girls getting nailed, girls with daddy issues would’ve been okay doing what girls with messed up daddys had to do for years…which in all likelyhood probably meant being a hooker, but that’s besides the point. At least they’d be fornicating in private without the latest in HD video capturing every moan. But no, we have to make sure that in our enlightened western society of 2010 we make sure that there will always be an audience waiting for that hot oh-so-skinny chic to be nailed in public. As long as the economy will be safe, because your sister sacrificed her looks for, all’s well.

But in truth it really won’t matter either way, because that fat girl’s self esteem will all but dissapear, and then she’ll either be desperate and get with someone fat and bald, or become anorexic and depressed, showing the same symptoms as the girl with daddy issues. And, well you know what will come next…

With much love,

Kissmeimshomer

Birthdays. For years, birthdays would evoke memories of family gatherings, birthday cakes, and presents, along with cards sent from distant relatives. As we entered into the technological era, the party venue has evolved into something of an entirely different nature.

People today seem to feel an obligation to write on the Facebook Wall of the person whose birthday it is. And people expect it.

Gone are the birthday cards, cakes, and warm family parties. In its place is a long line of people well wishing against a now-familiar blue backdrop we spend most of our life on. Many times this place can become drama-filled, cold and unwelcoming. Especially on your birthday.

I always like observing the different wishes people send over Facebook and have divided them into 3 categories:

1. The Friend.

Typically someone who knows the person well. Comfortable in their relationship, not trying to prove anything. Simply wishing a happy birthday.

A typical example would be:

“Happy birthday!! Many many more!”

2. Best Friend. Typically someone who spends all their time with the person, shares alot of jokes with them.

A typical example would be:

Girl2Girl: OMG HAPPY BDAY GIRLY! ur finnaaaaaaaally 18!!!!! my yummy bearlovegirl is growing uppppp! cya tonite mwaa!!!

Guy2Guy: yo duuuuuude wtf man we gotta party. btw its sikkkk ur finally 21 we gonna partyyyyyy!

I left out the Girl2Guy and Guy2Girl, just because.

3. The Acquaintance.

Someone who sees the person from time to time. Likely wants to be polite or just not fall off the radar. They may like to prove their social status by showing using the birthday wish to show that they’re acquainted. A certain level of awkwardness is to be expected.

A few examples would be:

“happy bday”

That translates into the guy who is an acquaintance but is just saying happy birthday. Nothing more.

“Happy b-day :)”

This is the acquaintance who feels to awkward just giving a plain “happy bday” so ads a smiley. Likely it’s a girl2guy or guy2girl comment.

“happppy bdaaaayyyyy!!

This is the acquaintance who feels the need to prove to himself, the world and whoever else he feels is listening that him and the birthday-wish recipient are tight!

4. Facebook Friend Only

This person doesn’t care about the recipient of his wishes at all. He is friends with them because they bumped into each other once, they have mutual friends and so one friended the other, or he simply wanted to see that guy’s friends list. (no I don’t friend people to see their friends list. Ever.)

A typical example would be:

“Hey happy b-day whens the party????”

or

“awesome ur 21 now we can party” – followed by a text “so wheren’s the party dude”

In reality I feel that Facebook is becoming a warmer place than it had been, as more an more of our lives become integrated with Facebook.

But this one card says it best:

Reposted from In My Humble Jewish Opinion, a dead or sleeping blog.

Charedim try to “dance at all parties” by making sex completely taboo, yet fearing it looms around every corner.

This past week’s Chinuch Roundtable in the Yated made me kind of upset.
The question came from a parent who has two teenaged daughters and an 8-year-old son. They live near a frum drug rehab center. The residents there are in their 20s, have gone off the derech, many come from rabbinical households or yichus, and are “hungry for a home. “

She asks whether she should worry about the influence that these kids will have on her children.
“I would like to know your feelings regarding exposing children to these types of boys and their sometimes off-color comments.” In other words, do the benefits of such a mitzvah outweigh the risks?

In my opinion, she answered her own question when she ended her letter with the following, in parenthesis for some odd reason, “In the last few years, some of these boys have become Shomer Shabbos. One went to Eretz Yisrael and one even married a frum girl.”

The rabbis on the panel were faced with a tough question. Many of them wrote that they asked their own rabbonim to get their thoughts on the matter.

What surprised me was the number of rabbis who chose to focus on the males in their 20’s in the presence of teenaged girls. It’s not about the drugs. It’s not about the off-color comments. It’s not about the 8-year-old getting funny ideas in his head. No. It’s about the chance that one of these guys would hit on the teenagers.

Notice that the writer didn’t mention anything of that nature happening over the past few years. I think these guys know that if they were to do anything inappropriate, they wouldn’t be allowed back there. Thus, had they attempted to hit on the daughters, the writer would no longer have this question.

Clearly, these young men value these meals, and are grateful to be invited to a warm, welcoming frum home, and they are willing do what it takes to maintain a good rapport with this family.

I have a lot of respect for this family for giving these guys something that they perhaps lacked throughout their teen years. A warm, welcoming home. We don’t know for sure, but I’d venture to say that this family had a share in the other young men’s successes.

The rabbis go so far as to say even if these guys were bachurim in a yeshiva, they don’t belong in a home with teenaged daughters.

This attitude only allows me to conclude one thing. These rabbonim seem to think that every man is a horny animal and every woman is a sex object.

I have a brother 3 1/2 years my senior. Does that mean he should never have any friends over? Do these rabbis think that we’ll be playing footsie under the table since he’s a guy and I’m a girl?! Is every guy that horny?

A healthy ta’avas nashim is necessary for the functioning of any male in society.
In other words, yes, men want to have sex. That is how Hashem created them.

Nonetheless, this doesn’t mean that every guy is a sack of raging hormones, and every girl is a sex object. There is more to both sexes than, well, sex.

One rav wrote, “Even if these bochurim were the best bochurim in Lakewood, they should never be invited to a home that has older daughters.” (If “older” is 19+ and they are seeking a learning guy — well, G-d forbid a shidduch come out of this and prevent the two of them from experiencing the sometimes painful shidduch system! That would be just tragic, wouldn’t it — Sorry, I digressed. Couldn’t help it.)

Clearly, the other very important issue at hand, which I believe is what the letter-writer was really asking, is whether these guys who “fell into the wrong crowd” and throw in an off-color comment once in a while, put the children at risk. That is for another day, perhaps.

My thoughts:

She’s a little bit all over the place but what I want to point out are the issue of frum people- not all of them- focusing on things for the stigma associated with it rather than the actual problem.

The other thing is about the shidduch system- why indeed are they so afraid of young people meeting in a healthy environment?

As for guys being a raging sack of hormones- we definitely are, but that doesn’t mean every girl is a sex object. That’s almost as much up to the way the girl puts out, as it is up to the way the guy treats a girl.

The last point is more a comment on the way the post, or the question in the newspaper was written. And I quote from the blog’s author “In other words, do the benefits of such a mitzvah outweigh the risks?”  It makes people with issues into cases. Now, perhaps being on drugs warrants being termed a “case” but something tells me their being called a case arose from their not being religious, not the fact that they may have been crackheads.

Now I think I’m all over the place too. Oh well.

"Hem Rotzim V'anu Ro'im". Too funny not to put in here even though it's completely irrelevant.

While I’m on the topic of the evils of drinking I figured I’d make a list of different scenarios in which different people have a drink…or two…or ten.

1. Yeshiva Guy Headline Whore:

Age: 10-19

Favorite Activity: smoking and talking about the time Yanky’s older brother beat up a goy. Oh, and he also likes to brag about how long it takes his Yeshiva to get through an amud gemara.

Drink of Choice: alcohol. Doesn’t matter what type, he barely knows a beer from a kettel one with 3 limes.

Time of Drinking: Purim and by his brother Yerucham’s siyum. He finished gantz seder nashim! (can’t blame him- must’ve gotten sick of cows goring fat pregnant chics, figured he’d get into some steamy girl stories. With Rabbi’s students getting off under their Rabbi’s bed watching him fuck his wife. Nasty. But I’ll parody the different gemara stuff another post.

Most likely to be wearing: The younger guys: Nike sneakers, dark dockers and a polo- maybe ralph Lauren, more likely Tommy or maybe even Hollister for the realll cool guys.

Older guys: white shirt, tzitzis, black pants and huge yarmulka. hat and jacket goes without saying. Or maybe not, if he’s a hocker.

Motive: Bragging rights. Heck, maybe he’ll get into the Yated for landing himself in the hospital.

2. Oiveid Hashem:

Age: 14-40

Favorite activity: The fact that your even asking vos ich hub leeb tzu tun, is mamesh a geferlecheh chillul hashem! The only thing vos a yeshiva man want, the most important zach i deh velt vus mir ken tun, iz tzu lernen der eibeshters heiligeh heligeh torah ayayayy…

Drink of Choice: wine or schnapps.

Time of Drinking: Purim is the only time a year that ah mentch is shayach to reach the kedusha oof Yom Kippur! And even better vibalt it’s durch simcha! Nichnas yayin yatzah soid! Ah! Moiiiiredig! Chayav inish livisoomay bipoorayah ad diloh yada! And the Mitzvah is only with wine…

Also noch davening shabbos morning at the kiddush, a shot or two of bourbon never hurt anyone…

Most likely to be wearing: wrinkled white shirt, black shiny dress pants and mismatched black jacket. Dusty used-to-be-black but turned grey brimmed down hat. Shoes scuffed and ugly.

Motive: Ah mentch darf nisht hubben ah ta’am far deenin der eibeshter.

3. Dude in Israel for Shana Alef or Bet:

Age:17-20

Favorite activity: Depending on which Yeshiva he went to (also for another post) either going to Zolly’s and getting blowjobs in the bathroom or fucking the shit out of the yeshivish looking sem girl in his dorm room. But they’ll always be sure not to get caught…might ruin the chics shidduch chances. Ha- that slut will be wearing short shorts and tank tops within 6 weeks of getting back from Israel.

Drink of Choice: Hooka. Oh, its not a drink? Well some pot in the hooka mixed with some vodka redbull ain’t too bad a deal.

Time of Drinking: best is straight out of bed, after you manage to push her off you and realize you have a pounding headache and no memories of how or when you ordered pizza. And why it’s moldy is another question, for another time. And best thing for a hangover as they say is more beer. Can’t hurt, that’ for sure. Usually warm beer from a half drunk can which probably was last touched by the lips of the girl you just climbed out from under. And shes also the cause of all that goddam itching. Good luck brotha!

Most likely to be wearing:

Option 1: Baggy khakhis, rumpled t-shirt, naots.

Option 2: Jeans, untucked american eagle shirt, naots.

Option 3: Black pants, used to be starched untucked white shirt and crocs, probably dark in color. Or maybe bright orange. Depends- on what? I dunno.

Motive: survival, buddy, survival.

4. Post Israel Barely Religious Dude

I like ti call these guys Frum But Not Religious. They don’t keep anything but still go places for shabbos and eat at mainly kosher establishments even tho they’ll be using their cell phones on shabbos and have bacon egg and cheese on the way to Atlantic City if they somehow missed stopping at Dunkin on 18th.

Age: 20-24

Favorite Activity: Titties. And don’t tell me that’s not an activity. Better than Christmas!

This guy drinks alot:

Time of drinking, drink of choice and motive: A. House party, flat beer from a keg and jack and coke, getting with the drunk slut. Read drunk slut in the plural form. As in when I talk  to 300 ppl at once and say “you”. And btw who the fuck said there has to be a motive??

B. Club, Vodka cranberry orange juice, getting with- well anything that moves and has boobs. Cuz most guys end up paying through the roof for those drinks, unless they have a hookup ( I know I do, many actually :p) so they must be desperate at that point. Like my friend said- fat chics are great for one thing- giving great blowjobs, well cuz they know how to eat!

C. Hooka bar: don’t get me started.

Most likely to be wearing: Fitted t or nice shirt. Jeans, brown pointy shoes with dragon designs on the front.

5. Post Party Day Ex Yeshiva Rebel:

Age: 25-30

Favorite Activity: Making money. Loads of money. And then some.

Time of Drinking: After work on random nights at high end hotel bars where they play soft music and in the movies some hooker always sits down and with the look of a shrewd business woman, softly whispers something in his ear while her hand…I’m getting carried away, dammit.

Drink of Choice: Scotch on the rocks. Something golden in a nice glass should do the trick.

Motive: so much stress can only be relieved one way…

Most likely to be wearing: Armani suit, shirt and dress shoes. And if he used to be satmar….he probably still has his bluetooth in…