10. A Michele Watch
Nothing says pseudo-prestige like a B&T pave cliché. Ladies: make cheap appear even less dignified with this entry-level watch, which signals I don’t have to “go down” on your level for “entry.” Michelle has no idea what time it is. “Watch” for her on my nightstand.
9. Hoop Earrings
Like forestry, any Jack with lumber can count your rings and estimate the age of your cervix. You’ve got the cashier look, but now it’s time to make change. Nothing says sophistication like a 14-karat cock-ring dangling from your lobe. Guys: give an earring the “finger test.” It’d be another “Miracle on the Hudson” if she doesn’t smell like the River. I’m sure the hula-hoop hoochie is used to rough landings, but even Sully would “eject” to you using your “Top Gun.”
In case you haven’t heard, smoking makes a woman’s merchandise as redeemable as a Marlboro Mile at the Mayo Clinic. An indoor oral-affliction addiction is just one more thing you and this city can’t control. Bloomberg should handle you the same way he’s handled parking: by placing an irremovable orange sticker across your face and affixing it to each of your hoop earrings.
7. A Tattoo
According to the USPS, an affixed tramp-stamp prohibits the use of any gent’s “package” labeled “priority.” No respectable guy digs inked indignities. If you have one of these, you’re most likely used to getting the “bulk rate.” Your artwork has no purpose other than to remind a man to practice safe sex. Regardless of the weight of your third-class “box,” the Postmaster General would “return to sender.”
6. Coarse Hair
If I have to go to bed next to happenstance-hair, which feels like a broom, I’ll know exactly where to make my mess. Also, choose a color and stick with it! If your roots are deeper than the Jefferson’s, then I get to tell my mom that I’ve slept with a black chick.
5. Harem Pants
There is nothing attractive about a woman who dresses like Babu Bhatt. Take this “Sein.” Tight is better. This applies everywhere. If the bottom half of your outfit looks like MC Hammer’s, then you “can’t touch this” Hebrew Hammer.
4. Excess Makeup
There is no need to turn a white Ralph Lauren pillowcase into a carbon-copy of your face. I now realize it was a “Maybelline Sunday morning,” not Polo, that turned Ralph gay.
3. Coach Bag
The Snook-look won’t make my book. Just because you’re always “put in the rear” doesn’t mean you have to advertise that you travel “Coach.” Coach flies standby. Congrats, you’ve been labeled “grounded.”
Unless you’re prepaid you shouldn't come prepared. Not only should you not have one on you, but if I’m not being charged, you shouldn’t know how to put one on with your mouth. The thought of you packing a prophylactic is about as comforting as me carrying a box of Tampax. There is just no bloody reason.
1. Red Bull
No one is more deserving of a tongue exorcism than “Halitosis Holly” – high on a 4-pack and standing downwind at the bar. The only reason I’d want Red Bull to give me wings is so I could escape by air from the dragon living in Holly’s mouth. You couldn’t pay me to consume such a filthy little can. Oh, and I wouldn’t drink a Red Bull either.
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The comments stated in this column are Justin Ross Lee's personal opinions and do not represent the opinion of Clubplanet.com or any one of its parent companies.