ZUBAZ FOR SALE: Buy my gnarly meathead pants

For Sale: One Pair of Zubaz adult male XL (the extra large is for my GUNS, bro)

You could already look fly at the gym in these like-new Zubaz, and you too could look like a retarded meathead fuckstick just like me!


Imagine how cool you'll look, walking around with your witch's brew-like energy drink, checking yourself out in the mirror when nobody's looking, or at home wacking off to your ceiling-mounted Kevin Sorbo poster.  Believe me, I've done plenty of the three and it makes me the incredible-looking specimen with traps to die for that I am today.  Anything to mask the fact that my soul is dying.

Some people would want to know why a guy would wear Zubaz, or do steroids.  The answer is simple: to look astonishing to the ladies, faggot!  There's nothing that turns on a woman more having a body that looks like a mattress a bunch of stank homeless perverts had group sex on.  Do you know how many ladies have asked to touch these arms?  Plenty.  Granted, I never had sex with them since my generally poisonous and sexist attitude towards females serves as a deterrent, but scope these fuckin' BICEPS, bro.  You quiver in jealousy and fear, don't you?

So you need to buy these fucking Zubaz.  You too could have the legs of a baggy gay zebra in no time.  Throw in a loose-fitting sweater and Bandana and yer LAUGHING, bro.  You're the magnet and pussy is electrified iron.  You can't lose.  Losers lose.  Look at these arms, dude.  Would a loser own seven Affliction t-shirts and sculpted arms swirled in tribal tattoos?  Thought so.

Seriously man, just BUY 'em!

AND NOW, A WORD FROM THE GUY YOU JUST BUMPED INTO...

"What the FUCK, bro?  You spilled my fucking drink!  No, I don't want you to buy me another!  I want to take you outside and spank your little bottom blue in front of all these fine lookin' bitches." 

You see, I have problems maintaining relationships because of a poor moral upbringing, so I push that out of memory by making fun of gays, yelling at women from cars and define "going out" by doing shots of Canadian Club in my studio apartment picking fights with any guy that looks at me or makes contact with me at the bar.  I'm not getting laid, why not take that simmered rage out on somebody not asking for it?

"Oh, you 'just want to have fun with your buddies?', are you as big of a faggot as you look?  Tweeter, hold my coat.  Ricky, watch my back.  I can't wait for outside.  I'm going to rain dance on this half a pussy right now, rape his corpse and buy rounds for these ladies with his pocket money!"

This is where I hope my buddies pull me away to make me look like I'm not backing down.  Perhaps an alert bouncer may try to make peace.  Anything to make me look like a big, macho man.  My friends are no help.  We feed off each other's pathetic delusions that tough-talking and cheap shots are what get the girls.  We say lude things to them driving by, strike out when we get too loaded, and can't keep girlfriends because of jealousy that's basically pulled out of our asses.  I'm 29 and still have only lived with roommates.  But, whatever.  In the meantime I need to fill my own life-void by making myself look like I'm not to be fucked with:

"I will fucking END you, bro.  I will fucking RUIN you, bro."

I am making this point while tapping you sharply in the chest, because this is simply all I have in life.  My friends will never know that I cry myself to sleep three times a week, chances are they're competing with that number.  The last time I had a one night stand was fourteen months ago, and she made have been passed out but I honestly didn't care that much since action's action.  I have always seriously considered a change in game plans.  However, when you have the opportunity to ruin somebody else's night while your sycophant gecko buddies leap behind you like cheerleaders, you go for it.

"Yeah, walk away pussy.  OWNED.  Don't cry, now.  Just as I thought!"

I am thankful you decided to take the high road.  That fact of the matter is I'm not that tough, but most guys want to avoid fights for some reason.  I've watched Road House 72 times.  Fight Club three times that amount.  I have, however, taken no actual training whatsoever because I'm actually afraid of being hit.   I will NEVER let that secret out. 

I will stand my ground, puff up my chest, and be the biggest Johnny Cheesedick in the whole bar.  Chances of dying alone increase every day, so I push out the thought with cheap cocaine and Grey Goose.   Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to grind girl's ass cheeks on the dance floor without permission.  They will try to move away from me in a non-chalant way and I will not take the hint.