Tuesday, October 21, 2008

speaking of halloween(ies)...

Does anyone else find it absurd that this over-accessorized jagbag has his own television show about picking up ladiez?

This chump, who calls himself "Mystery" (I seriously cannot make this sh*t up), is the very definition of a "don't." He's also the definition of an asshat. In fact, I think that's a rarely seen actual asshat perched over Mystery's ever-so-douchingly manicured soul-patch and overly guy-lined eyes. And, don't get me started on the lady's locket, the binoculars and the (what is that, chenille?) boa floating below -- and I can't emphasize the wrongness of this enough -- his ever-so-douchingly manicured soul-patch and overly guy-lined eyes. I don't get it.

Don't get me wrong, most girls like a dude who knows how to properly accessorize. Maybe that involves a scarf (not a boa), a hat (not Pam Anderson-inspired) and even some jewelry (not a junior high school girl's locket), but I can tell you that it never -- I mean never -- involves a soul-patch or poor makeup application skills. I solved the Mystery -- he's the Hamburglar.

But behind the exterior that indicates Mystery's both blind and retarded (and quite possibly a thief of delicious hamburgers), he's developed an apparently effective method to pick up drunk skanks in bars, which makes up the premise of Mystery's show, The Pick Up Artist.

Currently airing on VH1, the channel where all brain cells go to die (which is probably why it's so addictive), the show takes a bunch of meek, female-fearing nerds, turns them into mini-Mysterys (-ies?) and then tests them each week to see who can pick up the most drunk skanks in some douchey club in Arizona. It really is reality teevee at it's best.

The most retardulous part of the show, though, is when these would-be manwhores get schooled skooled in Mystery's "lessons," which are based on going up to groups of drunk skanks ("sets" in douche-speak) and lying. That is, they're taught to make up some sort of story or a fake pressing question (i.e. "I need to know, would you ever date a guy named Herman?" -- I swear to you that is an actual line from the show) to capture a skank's booze-laden attention. If these "pick-up artists" are really advanced they can then pretend to have a form of mild Tourette's and approach drunk skanks using such winning lines as, "I like pickle juice." (Again, I wish could make this sh*t up.)

But behind all the idiotic accessorizing and incredibly ridiculous pick-up lines (You like pickle juice? Really? Do you also like drinks thrown in your face, creeper?), are a couple of nuggets of good advice -- be confident, be funny and be cool. Too bad Mystery and his jagbag hangers-on, including a dude who calls himself "Matador" (I seriously long to make this sh*t up...), also advise these jagbag proteges to hide any newfound confidence under the exterior of being a Grade A douche. I suppose, however, if the advice wasn't clad in ridiculous clothing, it wouldn't make for a good VH1 reality show.

Which brings me to DC. At least Mystery is interesting. Interesting to laugh at, that is. A subsection of DC men, however, fail to inspire even that. There's an overwhelming group of dudes in DC who make up the dullest subsection of men in America, nay, the world, in my not-so-humble opinion. And that wouldn't be so bad if they didn't so often combine their devastating dullness with an overwhelming penchant for popped collars, pleated khakis and orthopedic shoes. It's a situation more pathetic than some of the "befores" that plead for Mystery's expertise.

SIDEBAR: Except for a kid named Bryan Ly, the wannabe womanizer on The Pick Up Artist who is anything but pathetic. This kid has the best one-liners in the history of ever. In the last episode when talking about the other contestants, he describes them as "family" before using the non-sensical, yet somehow suitable simile: "They're like a hair on my butt." Why does this guy need Mystery's help again?

Anybutthair, the bottomline (Yes! Scene points for "butt" wordplay!) is that, while the DC dating scene largely bores me, I'm probably a bit underqualified to dissect it, as I in no way will ever even try to begin to understand the mating rituals that occur between two government employees in love. I imagine all the sweet nothings would probably be reduced to a confusing set of acronyms, though: "You had me at ILYPK,* Herman."

And so, from my proverbial soapbox Hatorade crate (Yes! Scene points for late-'9os reference!), I will rub in the last metaphorical dollop of Boudreaux's Butt Paste, my very own flawless pick-up method (how do I not have my own show?!), into this post by embedding a scene from The Pick Up Artist below -- a scene in which Bryan's infatuation with Mystery's "medallion necklace" leads him to make a keen observation. Enjoy!

*Can you guess what the acronym stands for? It's actually quite easy -- smokin' balls easy.


Greg Szeto said...

oh. my. god. hahahahah.

"I solved the Mystery -- he's the Hamburglar."

this made me die. i just revived myself to let you know.

Lemmonex said...

I am currently thinking of ways I can incorporate "smoking balls" in to my lexicon.

I actually think if Mystery shaved and ditched the liner--though I shamefully admit the liner doesn't bother me that much--and maybe got a new wardrobe...he wouldn't be so bad.

Boomhauer said...

As much as he is a dingleberry of the highest order, there are some nuggets of truth in his douchiness:

1) Most guys have to make an asshole out of themselves a lot before they really get the confidence to talk to a woman, hence the feather boa and the retro bush-style hat. Consider the participants modern-day flagellants, except that we don't get to indulge in the pleasure of seeing them whipped.

2) You should put a modicum of effort and innovation into how you dress, if only to make sure that you don't look like every other douche trying to recreate the Thomas Crowne Affair, except instead of looking like something out of a René Magritte paiting, they all are wearing siezure-inducing vertically striped shirts.

I'm probably a bit underqualified to dissect it, as I in no way will ever even try to begin to understand the mating rituals that occur between two government employees in love

The mating rituals of government employees are crosses between a Vulcan Pon-Far and pandas mating.

nate said...

Ever think this guy was just really bored one day and decided this would be a good way to get laid? I mean, once you're on TV, it's pretty much a given. I have a feeling that his real name is Herman and he lived with his parents until 3 years ago, when a moment of divine intervention caused him to realize that the easiest way to pick up women was to get on TV and say how good he is at picking up women.

And may VH1 (and my ex-wife) burn in Hell for the shear volume of hours I have had to spend in front their mind-shreddingly painful "programming".

Jack said...

Note to self: get rid of shirts with popped collars, pleated khakis and all three pairs of orthopedic shoes...



Marissa said...

greg s.--

I did a side-by-side comparison and the resemblance is uncanny. Except the Hamburglar doesn't have a soul-patch.


I agree with you. Much like the Hamburglar, Mystery is not inherently a bad-looking guy. He is smokin' balls, after all.


I just Googled Vulan Pon-Far. I think now it's only a matter of time before I get fired. Eh. No regrets.


So you're saying that you didn't watch "I Love Money?"


Shirts only have popped collars if you let them. The orthopedic shoes, though, really? Are we talking legitimate Rockports? And three pairs? Yegads!

Scotus said...

"Why does this guy need Mystery's help again?"

He doesn't. But mainly because between A) Never having kissed a girl, B) Saying it was "love at first sight" when he met Mystery, and C) His fascination with smoking balls, it's pretty clear that it's not women that Brian needs help meeting.

Matt said...

I can't believe it took you so long to hang this shit out to dry (sorry, but my ability to asterisk-censor is gone).
I'd seriously thought this Mystery guy was last years' news. I mean, really... wasn't he supposed to have rolled out of bed and got his neck-charm-locket caught and suffocated in his own, sad bachelor pad? For serious? But, you're telling me that cold-farter is still around? Jeebus!

Well, thanks (I guess?) for allerting me to his continued jag-bag'ad-ness. Gives me something to be wary of.

Marissa said...


Correction. His fascination with Mystery's penchant for ball smoking.


I didn't blog it so much to mock Mystery as I did to discuss my infatuation with Bryan. He's comic gold. Expect more of him. That's not a threat. That's a promise! And you're welcome.

Anonymous said...

Some days I'd like to describe myself as "smoking balls". It really is the best way to classify me sometimes minus the douchebaggery clothing style.

Keep up the good work. While sometimes it seems your blog has hit it's own recession when it comes to good stories, that story was long, and I loved every minute of it. Cynics rejoice.

Yours Truly,
Your Buddy.

PS. I like your pickle juice, too.

Anonymous said...

Ah! Damn it, it's ILYPK, not ILYPJ :( I suck. I'm out.

Yours Truly,
Your Buddy.

Righteous (re)Style said...

I'm just trying to figure out what "smoking balls" actually means . . . "hot as balls", i.e., good looking? I can understand that, as balls do get hot (as I have been told), but do they actually ever "smoke"? Maybe that's the Mystery.

This show needs to come to DC. My god.