Talking only to hear yourself talk, while still in your office attire at 8pm, you stand in the corner of our favorite bar with your “golfing buddies” and say things like:

“Well, at least you’re not like my brother-in-law, selling T-shirts and your ‘art’ on the Internet.”

“Yeah, I know it’s a brew pub, but you’re shooting yourself in the ass if you’re not serving Coors Light.”

“How can I have any woman I want? Dude, I drive the new Camaro.”

“… So we went to Olive Garden, of course.”

“Dude, just wave a $100 bill. Bartenders and bitches will flock like a bag of oranges.”

We hate you even more for the fact that none of these quotes are fictional.

Words and (sometimes) lies,

FRS

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