Love In This Club

I am convinced there are two types of people in New York City. Those that go places and those that know places. Butang is always up on his shit. He knows what restaurant to go to, what club just opened, or something fun to do on Avenue A. In short, he knows places. I have no fucking idea about any of that sort of stuff, so when he (or anyone else) says we’re going somewhere I go. In short, I go places.

            Both of these types of people have advantages and disadvantages. A “knower” has the ability to steer plans around their social agenda as well as knowingly avoiding places they do not like. A “goer” doesn’t have to waste time being up on things, and they don’t have to worry about making plans for the evening. While “knowers” and “goers” may disagree at points, each person is vital to the other’s social survival. Knowers need goers to go, and goers need knowers to know.

            In New York City, social survival is really what it’s all about. Because of the nature of the scene, it is often whom you are with and where you are that determines your social worth. For example, if I told you I was at Bar Harbor with some kids from Vanderbilt, you’d think I was tooling it up with a bunch of white shoe wearing rich kids. If I told you I was at Urge with some friends, you’d know I had come out of the closet and was a full-fledged homosexual. But if I told you I was at Happy Ending with my boys, you would be incredibly confused. Am I in Chinatown getting a man-chowder inducing massage or am I out at a bar?

The correct answer lies somewhere in-between and that brings me to the point of this article. Club names in New York are out of control. It’s one thing to be trendy and chic, its quite another when that chic becomes intentionally misleading. I have picked out some prime examples of this foolishness for your enjoyment.

 

·       Fat Baby: “I went to Fat Baby last night and it was awesome.” “Did you say Fat Baby?” It doesn’t matter how good of a time you ever have at Fat Baby, people won’t listen past “Fat Baby”. Try saying, out loud: “My favorite club in New York City is Fat Baby”. You smiled right? You can’t even take yourself seriously when you say it. There is no way Fat Baby is ever going to be taken seriously, it sounds like someone's talking shit at a briss......no schlomo.

·       Kiss and Fly: The first time I heard this name, I thought it was the strip club next to Laguardia. You know the one where they give you $3 lap dances during takeoffs and landings? The rumbling makes it extra sexy time! Since then I have found out that it’s a dance club in the Meat Packing District. That makes for a whole new definition. People are basically high on cocaine (flying) and making out all over the place (kissing). It doesn’t sound like a bad time, just not what I’m looking for at this point in my life. Cocaine is one hell of a drug.

·       Naked Lunch: I was stunned when I showed up in my birthday suit at 1pm and was turned away. What the fuck? I know its exclusive and all, but they didn’t need to embarrass me like that.

·       Trailer Park: I was really excited when this club opened. I was picturing hardcore rappers free styling and coming up in the game. Methed out women and alcoholic dudes in plaid shirts. However, when I walked in it was immediately evident that they didn’t even try to make it like 8 Mile. Poor form. 

·       Burp Castle: I drank like three bottles of Schweppes Club Soda before I commenced my session at this darling establishment. I got in there, started belching my face off, and they sent a bouncer over to tell me to shut up. I informed him I felt slighted because it wasn’t a castle fit for the King of Burps. He told me to go fuck myself.

·       The Four Faced Liar: Or as I like to call it “Two Face Liar Squared”, I always keep my wits about me when I’m hanging out here. Any place that has a dishonest name probably has some dishonest creatures running around. Sure enough, while I was there I saw OJ Simpson. It’s whack that he lied about assaulting that dude in Vegas, makes you wonder if he ever did anything else fucked up.

·       Café Wha?: I think the proprietor of said establishment had a string of other clubs. Maybe like twenty of them, and when it came time to name this one he was working on like three things at the same time. Some dipshit assistant asks him: “What do you want to name that new club?” At that point he was ordering lunch and says into the phone: “I want Café…” then he turns to the assistant and goes “wha?” There you have it, pretty stupid rationale, but whatever. Personally I like the French Canadian take: Café Roy. 

·       Fresh Salt: I knew a guy who insisted on being a dick at restaurants. He used to ask waitresses for extra scallions. Other times he would have waiters go find out what types of milk they had. After the poor guy came back, he’d ask for Root Beer. Quite possibly his funniest line used to be when he asked for salt because: “I hear this place has the freshest salt in the world! People come here for the salt, right?” Sometimes I like to wonder how much excrement he’s eaten in his lifetime as a result. Gallons.

 

I really don’t like clubs I prefer bars. Their names are so much less confusing and so much more realistic. That’s why you can catch me at The Hairy Monk; it’s a religious experience, but less Joel Osteen and more Carolingian Renaissance. That’s perfection, I’m Theodore Jones, and this is The Gumption.

We got some SUPER DINGLE BERRIES coming at your face tomorrow! Duck!

Roger Federer Is Confused

"That's great but who’s Monique?”

 

Special thanks to Detective John Kimble, feel free to insert your own caption in the comments section.

It's Not Easy Being Green

I’ve realized that soda makes me quite bloated. While cans are never a problem, I’ve surmised that the four extra ounces of carbonation in a 20 oz Diet Pepsi are the culprit. Out of respect for my coworkers, I’ve decided against turning every afternoon into Teddy’s Anus plays Don Giovanni. Although the arias are fantastic, the stench is enough to make one throw tomatoes.

As with all things nutritional, I posed the dilemma to my brother. He is a health nut, but not in the same (kooky deep-end) way my mom is. “Dude do you know how much sugar is in soda? That crap is horrible for you.” While agreeing with him, I ask him for a suggestion. I tell him I require something sweet to compliment my lunch. Nantucket Nectars? “Almost as much sugar.” Snapple? “Dude come on that shit is terrible for you too. Why not green tea?” While unenthused, I decided to follow his lead and the transition begins.

Three weeks in, I no longer sit at my desk feeling like a hot air balloon releasing ballast. While the physical results have been good, the taste of green tea leaves a lot to be desired. Honestly, it tastes like water with a sharp hint of indifference. I mean seriously, is there anyone out there who likes the taste of green tea? Everybody drinks it because its “healthy”, and I cannot stand that rationale. For something to be deemed “healthy” it needs to pass my “bullshit test”. A co-worker was kind enough to send me such evidence on green tea’s behalf, so today, green tea, is your judgment day.

 

1. It is used to treat multiple sclerosis. While I appreciate this benefit, I don’t have multiple sclerosis, so for me it is utterly meaningless.  –1 Green Tea
2. It is used for treatment and prevention of cancer. Again, you’re not pulling any heartstrings on the treatment angle here Green Tea. However, the prevention of cancer is worth the listless taste. +1 Green Tea
3. It is used to stop Alzheimer's and Parkinson's diseases. Whoa!!!!!! Get out of here!!!!! It stops both? That’s awesome! Too bad I don’t have either. –1 Green Tea
4. It is used to raise the metabolism and increase fat oxidation. Sounds good. +1 Green Tea
5. It reduces the risk of heart diseases and heart attacks by reducing the risk of trombosis. I use all tools at my disposal when evaluating things, and in my tool kit is spell check. Trombosis is not a real word; therefore it is not a real condition. –1 Green Tea
6. It reduces the risk of esophageal cancer. I was ready to give this a plus one, but then I realized that this falls under the umbrella of #2! Outrageous! Trying to sneak one by me? –1 Green Tea
7. Drinking green tea inhibits the growth of certain cancer cells, reduces the level of cholesterol in blood, improves the ratio of good cholesterol to bad cholesterol. If this was Law and Order the judge would say: “You’re going in circles counselor, do you have a point or are you just trying to play games?” At this point, Green Tea would respond: Shrug. +.5 Green Tea
8. It is used to treat rheumatoid arthritis and cardiovascular diseases I’m in, except for the fact that I don’t have either. –1 Green Tea
9. It is used to treat impaired immune function. I get sick a bunch so I assume I have an impaired immune function. Thank you for repairing it. +1 Green Tea 
10. Some researches show that, drinking green tea regularly may help prevent tooth decay by killing the bacteria which causes the dental plaque. Dental work is such a pain in the ass, just ask Paul Wall. +1 Green Tea

All told Green Tea put up a ghastly -.5 on its bullshit exam. What does that mean? Positive scores mean that the product is descent for you, a zero means it is body neutral, and a negative number means that it’s bullshit. So there you have it Green Tea is complete bullshit, but I’ll keep drinking it because I don’t want to create a shitstorm. Literally.  I’m Teddy Jones and this is The Gumption.

Something To Hide

Ladies it’s become increasingly evident that you have something to hide. I’m not sure if you’re getting dumber or I’m getting way smarter, but somewhere in between lays an increasingly evident truth. You’re not good at masking (what you consider) your physical flaws. I’m going to do this delicately, so as not to make you incredibly upset. Here goes nothing….

· Big Sunglasses: Thank you Mary Kate and Ashley! Probably my least favorite look of all, it is a simple optical illusion. The brain automatically puts the most attractive set of eyes and cheeks on said female. The funnier thing is usually the more surface area covered by the glasses, the more ugly the reality. Yeah I just called you out, but only because you’ve made me feel stupid. After talking to you for twenty minutes, you shed the shades, and I come to realize you’re a 6 and not a 9. To be honest, you’re wasting both of our time here. You can only hide ugly for so long. If you’re interested in me, ditch the over grown fruit fly look and roll with something a bit more subtle.

· The Shawl: I’ll say it, I fucking love a girl with a big butt. I don’t give a crap you can keep the waifs. Give me a woman that looks like a woman, not one with a butt that looks like it could belong to a mad emo dude. I just don’t get why girls with curves insist on hiding them with these big baggy tank tops and scarves. If you got some wide hips and some nice boobies, please don’t try and mask them to look like a waif. God made you the way you are for a reason; there are plenty of dudes like me who prefer that. Hollywood wants you to be embarrassed so you buy trendy clothes, but I love you the way you are. Please, please, please, don’t disappoint me this summer! I know you’re having some trouble feeling good about yourself, don’t let the anorexic girls make you upset. Its way more fun to be you then it is to be them.

· Bushes: And I am not referring to the one’s in Crawford, Texas. In case you haven’t realized the 70s are over, and if you’re still sporting an Afro like Dr. J, you are out of touch. I’m not expecting a marble counter top, but for goodness sakes is a mowed lawn too much to ask? I keep up my end of the bargain, please meet me in the middle. Not only will it increase the amount I am willing to do with you, it will also take out the mystery. That is not an area of the body that you want me to be wondering about. Other than punching me in the face, that’s the best way to chase me away. Picking up what I’m putting down?

I hate to do it as much as you hate to hear it. But ten dudes who just read that opened up their phones to text me about how spot on it was. Ah, the truth really does set you free. I’m Teddy Jones, and I fulfill my function right here at The Gumption.

The Contest

Below, the gauntlet has been laid down. We are now accepting submissions for the "Official Sneakers of The Gumption Boys Contest" (OSTGB for short). Anyone is allowed to enter, just submit screen shots to us @ TheGumptionBoys@gmail.com . Creative names are encouraged. We will cease taking submissions on February 28th, and at that time Butang and I will select the 4 finalists. Each of the finalists will be featured in a post along side an interview with the designer. It will then be exclusively up to you, The Gumption faithful, to choose the winner by popular vote. 

We've chosen the Kobe IVs because we thought they were quite stylish, you can click on the link below to get started. Good luck! We'll be back at high noon with your day's social commentary. I'm Teddy Jones and what blog has it's own shoe? Oh I know, THE GUMPTION.

Check out the
Zoom Kobe IV iD Basketball Shoe
I designed at NIKEiD.com

Shut The Fuck Up!

            Some people who read this blog love when I write about Bananas and Birthdays. This post is not for you, so avert your eyes if you were planning to see something cheery to end your week. I am mad, and not just a little mad, incensed. It all starts right here and I advise that you read that so we can both be on the same anger level.

           

Are you with me? Good, let’s get started!

 

1. FUCK YOU NEW YORK TIMES: Question numero uno to ask yourself when writing: Is the subject matter worth it? If I were the author of this article, my pre-writing process would have gone as follows: “Whiney girls who start a blog because their rich boyfriends are being mean and broke. Nope not news, the economy sucks for everyone.” That’s it! Boom! Over! Nothing to see here! I’d rather spend my time and effort on something worthwhile. Instead, New York Times, you say: “Perfect let’s feature these putrid semen snatchers, promote their blog, and empathize with their plight.” Maybe if the article was written in a sarcastic tone I would have understood, but the fact that we are supposed to be empathizing with these women disgusts me. I don’t care if your rich boyfriend can’t buy you bottles anymore, really I don’t. I am the only employed member of my family, my parents have lost all of their money in the market, and my brother is graduating into the worst job market in decades. These ugly (and god that one in the picture is hideous) sluts can’t go out to a $200 dinner and I’m supposed to be upset? Welcome to the real world, get used to it, and shut the fuck up.
2. WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND: I’m talking to the guys here and girls I’m sorry if I offend you, but I think you’ll realize in the end I am speaking the truth. Remember those girls at the club who were only hanging out with the guys at the tables? Maybe you were even friends with one of them. They were hot and sexy, but once you got in the club they didn’t want anything to do with you. They wanted to talk to the older guys who had the money. The girls didn’t even really like those guys and the dudes weren’t even really talking to them. But they kept hanging on for the free booze and the hopes that they’d bag themselves a wealthy one. Those are the girls featured in this article. The ones who would rather fuck someone that they don’t really care about just at the prospect of getting a Louis bag. I don’t blame them for wanting to make their lives Sex and The City, but DON’T GET UPSET ABOUT IT NOW. If you marry (or date) for money, and the money done run shawt, what you got left? A whole lot of nothing. Love someone for who they are on the inside; I thought this was the first rule you learned as a kid. My favorite is the whiney mistress; “oh the guy I’m fucking can’t afford to take me anywhere anymore.” Seriously?
3. THESE ARE THE ASSHOLES THAT DID IT: Ok, reality check, the very men they are dating are the same people that got us into this mess! Please don’t forget that! The greed that these hoes are helping to drive is what drove this economy into a recession. “I need my new Cadillac, that new beach house, a fleet of maids and drivers, college for all seven of our children (even the two that aren’t his), etc”. I’m being hard on the women; the fact that these dudes measure their dicks by paychecks is also a contributing factor. Being a trader could be one of the least macho jobs I can think of. You want alpha male? How about a firefighter, a general in the army, a shark wrangler, a surgeon, fuck it a construction foreman. “Oh oh oh, I work with numbers, wear a suit and tie, and make millions of dollars, how macho is that?” Nah man, macho is Nate Robinson, not the guy in the front row watching him. Anyone could do what you do; they’re just not afforded the same education and the same opportunity. Ever meet someone who works as a trader for Goldman Sachs? Tell me they’re macho with a straight face, go ahead, oh wait….you can’t.
4. “THE PARTY’S OVER”: Size Playa said that to me and I hope he knows I wasn’t referring to him in the last passage. He also said the following about working in finance in New York: “We are running towards the bullets, eventually one is going to get you.” Kid is spot on. So the fact that these girls are complaining is not news, it’s just a fact of life in NYC. These maleficent vulvas are just one small part of the game that is crashing down. In case I haven’t made it clear, I don’t feel for them. I feel for the working shlub who watched them squander his life savings, I feel for the security guard who doesn’t have a job because his building got cleared out, I feel for the African American single mother of three who got laid off because her company didn’t need the overhead. I feel bad for them, I don’t feel bad for you, and I don’t feel bad for me. Its time to end this fucking pity party, and figure out what the next step is. Take your support group and build a house for habitat for humanity, raise some money for aids research, fuck it go nuts and work in a soup kitchen for a day. However, whatever you do please do not ever complain again, you have no right. Especially over drinks at the Grammercy Park Hotel. I know people who could eat for a week off of what you are paying for your gimlet. Grow a meaningful sense of the world around you or go fuck yourself.

 

The funniest Dingle Berries yet will be coming up at 2. We didn't want to leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Sorry I had to get this off my chest. Much love from me, Teddy Jones here at The Gumption. 

An Open Letter to the CEO of Waffle House

Dear Sir or Madame, 

The amount that I would give for an All-Star from your fine establishment would frighten most. Those delectable fried eggs (over hard….no homo), golden hash browns, toast of the same color, three wondrous strips of bacon, a fresh cup of staunch coffee, and….oh wait the most beautiful waffle in gods creation? Yes please! And Sir/Madame you are seriously only accepting five dollars and ninety-nine cents for such a mid-morning feast? You are too kind, too kind indeed, but in a way Sir/Madame you are also quite cruel.

You see my reality in New York City is one of mediocre diner after mediocre diner and overpriced brunch after overpriced brunch. I wander the streets of New York City like Moses wandered the desert; only I am looking for signs of breakfast vitality. There are no signs Sir/Madame, there are no signs. Every Sunday brings new promise only to be followed by new defeat.

Unfortunately I do not have a solution to this crisis Sir/Madame, only you do. It seems you have scattered your darling little yellow breakfast shacks all across the southeast. You have “Houses” everywhere from Mobile to Lexington, Little Rock to Savannah. Even one in the great state of Pennsylvania! (Narberth Nightmare!) 

Not one that colors outside the lines, I have as per your suggestion, called 1-877-9-WAFFLE. There is no teleprompt that will answer my question, there is no representative that takes me seriously, and quite honestly I am at my wits end. I will be frank with you Sir/Madame: Who’s titty do I have to twist to get a Waffle House put in New York City? I did not want to take it this far, but I am not above black mail.

            I know for a fact that the opening verse from Flo Rida’s “Low” is all about an awful case of diarrhea contracted from your Daytona Beach location. “Shawty had Apple Bottom jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club was looking at her, she hit the floor, next thing you know, shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low” You and I know the only reason anyone would ever get that low was because they were dookying in their pants. Not to mention the entire club was watching, can you say punitive damages? The stench of lawsuit is a bit potent. Ready to play ball yet?

            I hope you understand Sir/Madame that I am a reasonable man with reasonable goals and aspirations. There must be enough foot traffic in this city to sustain a Waffle House, I see zillions of fast food places. Space wise I have seen WaHo’s slightly larger than a closet; surely there is a Manhattan storefront of similar size. Plus the IQ level you generally employ from is more plentiful here than even in the South! Sir/Madame what is it about the greatest city in the world that you do not find alluring?

            I will be patiently awaiting your response right here at The Gumption. Please do not delay, every day that goes by is another day my arteries are not completely swollen shut.

 

Regards,

 

Theodore Jones

The Gumption Boys

PS Friday is sure to have many bells that jingle, friends that mingle, and berries that dingle.