Send your thoughts to mailbag@theballerlifestyle.com, and we’ll answer them here.

The public shaming candidates continue to roll in. If you appear on this list, take a long hard look in the mirror. If you like what you see, keep in mind that everyone who knows you is currently fantasizing about your demise.

Thanks for all that submitted. Here are the best of the batch.

Ish in Memphis proposes the shaming of “Clips Nails in Public Guy”:

…needs to publicly shamed because that’s obviously abhorrent, sociopathic behavior. I have nothing else to say about that except to say that society has every right to flog Clips Nails in Public Guy right in his cod sack…

Ed: After bringing them home from the store, nail clippers should spend the rest of their days in about a four-foot radius inside a bathroom. Nobody, not even people in your household, should ever be subjected to that vile ritual. If you notice you’re developing a bit of a coke nail outside the home, duck out to a hidden area and bite that fucking nail. It’s not the world’s problem that this practice is unsanitary. And fuck anyone who needs to be told this information.

Brian: For me it’s the sound. That distinct noise that signals you are in close proximity to a degenerate of the highest order, the public nail clipper. Obviously this behavior is completely unacceptable, but the fact that it isn’t criminal (yet) is really an indictment of our society as a whole. The public nail clipper is a vile and disgusting wretch, but it’s what you don’t know about this guy that’s even worse. Because if he’s willing to do that in full view of the world, there’s simply no telling what other forms of degeneracy he’s capable of. This guy’s DNA needs to be in a database and lucky for us he’s leaving little bits of it in the park for the authorities to collect.

 

Mark the Nomad offers “Brings a cooler of protein to work guy”:

This guy may only be indicative to my work, but I’ve got a guy at my job who brings a cooler of protein with him to work every day. He’s got a real strict regiment and he’s got to eat his fish/grilled chicken concoctions at 10am 1pm and 3:30 daily. He generally scorches the break room with fish mid day essentially ruining everyone else’s lunch. Despite him being a full time teacher, he still wears skintight Under Armor polos and will probably fuck a student in the next sixth months.

Ed: Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mark. You’ve given us all a lot to think about. Despite this being one man, these are really two issues. The simple one is the skin-tight Under Armor polos.   By wearing those (and to a TEACHING job!), he’s essentially wearing the shame sign around his neck at all times. If you’re a guy, there’s no need for skin tight clothing ever, but certainly, not at work. If you’re trying to get the attention of a coworker, just show up. As long as you don’t wear a potato sack to work he or she will notice. Tight clothing is really your way of telling the world that your parents didn’t say they loved you enough as a kid.

But way bigger issue is the guy thinking it’s alright to bring pungent foods to work. We all have these coworkers and it’s time to take a stand. Eat something neutral like a salad or sandwich and the world smiles with you. But, if your fad dieting requires you to eat fish and chicken concoctions that stink up the break room or nearby cubicles, then you take that garbage and shame-eat it in your car or behind a dumpster. Nobody cares that you’ve chosen a life of body sculpting in an effort to overcompensate for your dogshit personality, Tad.

Brian: I’m not mad at this guy. I don’t really need to hear about how many grams of protein he’s throwing down every three hours, and I definitely don’t want any information on his “program” or “training routine,” but there’s nothing wrong with maintaining a clean, healthy diet. Full disclosure: I might be this guy. My lunch often consists of whatever I had for dinner the night before, and at least a couple days a week that’s fish and veggies. I respect this guy’s right to blow up the break room kitchen with some salmon and broccoli, because I do the same thing at my office. I would argue that the odor from some delicious reheated halibut isn’t nearly as foul smelling as that frozen pile of preservatives disguised with a clever marketing name (Lean Cuisine, Smart Ones, etc.) that Brenda from HR throws into the microwave every day at noon. And let’s face it even the most naïve coed with acute body dysmorphia isn’t dumb enough to sex a guy in skintight Under Armor.

 

Spice Rack is angry about two elevator guys. The first is “Hustles to hit ‘UP’ button as the doors are closing guy”:

…causes everyone on that elevator to twiddle their goddamn thumbs for another 30 seconds because he’s so worried about his Corner Bakery soup getting too cold before he gets back to his desk.  How about you eat a bowl of dicks instead of your soup, That Guy.

Ed: This guy is a typical “my life is more important than yours” guy. If he’s holding a cooler full of transplant organs, by all means let the man get on that elevator. But, if he’s holding lunch or just his shitty smug look, the people in the elevator should be allowed to kick him in the chest and make him wait for the next one.

Brian: I blame Mr. Otis for this. Once the doors start to close, the up and down buttons should be immediately disabled. If you have a boner to get into a full elevator it should be up to the elevator’s occupants to approve your passage. Sure you can yell “HOLD THE DOOR” or “LITTLE HELP,” but you should be at the mercy of the Czar of the Door. If he (or she) deems you worthy of a lift, he’ll throw out the arm to stop that door from slamming closed on your dreams of reaching the 8^th floor in time to see that new receptionist leaving in her yoga clothes. And assuming the Czar shows you a bit of mercy, protocol states that you be effusively thankful “hey man, reaaaally appreciate it, thank you” or else he should be allowed to throw you down the elevator shaft somewhere around floor number six.

 

SpiceRack also serves up “Way too nice and helpful in the elevator guy”:

You know him.  He’s the one who’s already in the elevator car and spots you heading towards the elevator bank from 500 feet away.  Inevitably, he makes a big show for holding the door open for you.  Now you have to half-jog to the elevator, sloshing hot coffee onto your hands – and usually down the front of your shirt – in the process.  And then on top of it all you have to act uber-grateful and thank That Nice (?) Guy for saving you five seconds of time when in reality all he’s doing is garnering you $5.50 in extra dry cleaning bills.

Ed: There are two explanations for his behavior. Either way, this guy is a fucking monster. If we’re being optimistic, he is completely oblivious to the fact that he is annoying everyone around him. He doesn’t realize that he made you unnecessarily rush. He doesn’t realize that the people in the elevator aren’t interested in waiting. He essentially has shit for brains. It’s a wonder he was able to figure out how to get to the building in the first place.

The second explanation is that this guy just prides himself on being known as “the good guy.” Real good guys do good guy things like actually help people. Fake good guys do things like hold elevator doors. The only reason he did it is so he can go home and write about it in his journal. “Dear Diary, today I helped someone in need…” Congratulations, fuck face. Everyone hates you.

Brian: This is the same dickhead who holds the door for you at Starbucks, but then quietly seethes when you don’t wave him ahead of you in line. This jerk fancies himself a hero, but really he’s all about himself. He’s got his chest puffed up like he’s brokered an Israel/Palestine peace accord because he held a door open for someone. I typically leisurely walk toward the elevator and right before I get in I pretend to take a phone call and walk away so his lame gesture goes for naught.

 

Doug Doran presents “Guy who walks up to bar and asks for Drink Menu”:

Really?  You are at a bar and have to look at a menu to pick your poison?  Beer or whisky work just fine for me, and maybe a little red wine to mix in.

Ed: Have some dignity, man. Unless you’re an alien who recently inhabited the body of a human, you know damn well what you’re ordering at a bar. I’m 99 percent beer. For some reason, I prefer to drink my brown liquor at home – alone – but that might be a story for my therapist. But even if you like Sex on the Beach or Mai Tais, you knew that years before approaching the bar.   If you’re considering some unique, specialty cocktail that is only made at this bar, chances are you’re at an Applebee’s. It’s probably best you order three fingers of Liquid Drano and end this charade of a life.

A close cousin of this guy is the “asks for a sample spoon at ice cream places guy.”

Brian: I refuse to acknowledge that this guy actually exists, because I’ve only ever seen chicks ask for a drink menu.

 

Finally, Becky (yes, a woman) complains about “The Batwing-Avoiding Commuter Guy”:

The guy who stretches his knees out across more than his own seat on a bus or train – usually causing a female to have to stand, or be squashed in next to him. I don’t care that you have sweaty testicles. What you don’t have is manners and common courtesy.

Ed: First of all, if you’re a real man you don’t sit while a woman stands. I’m not proposing we go back to the throw-jacket-over-a-puddle-Sir-Walter-Raleigh days. But, fuck, be a man. If it’s too hard for you to stand, it’s time to reassess whether or not you should be allowed to leave the house.

As for the bat wings, just powder after the shower. That usually does the trick. If that fails, just adjust the yam sack through the pocket. You can’t keep those legs spread forever, chief.

Brian: Being blessed to have spent all of my life in the sunny clime of beautiful Southern California where we aren’t burdened with cattle car mass transit situations, I’m having a hard time picturing this animal. Is he sitting forward with one knee lying akimbo on the neighboring seat? Or is he (egads!) turned sideways with both of his legs on the adjacent sitting place? I guess it doesn’t matter, because fuuuuuck this guy. I feel like this is an easy shaming though. Eye contact, combined with a shoulder shrug and palms to the sky is the universally recognized symbol for “how about you get your leg off of the seat, dickhead?” The question is: do you want to sit next to a guy that’s chosen public transport as the ideal location to ventilate his bota bag?

 

 

 

 

 

Send stuff to mailbag@theballerlifestyle.com and we’ll answer you here.

 

 

 

On the subject of public shaming, Wes The Fat Kid writes:

I need a ruling on who is the worst guy.  Is it “doesn’t need gas but parks at the gas pump to get something from the mini-mart” guy or “leaves his shopping cart in the middle of the parking lot” guy?

I think both deserve to be castrated with a cheese grater and forever branded with a “I have no dick, but I am one” tattoo, but I don’t know which is worse.

Also, unrelated, but “Sent from my iPhone” guy sucks.

Ed:  Excellent points, Wes.  We’ve all had our low moments in life.  Shopping at a mini-mart is certainly one of them.  If you’re buying more windshield wiper fluid, fine.  But if you’re going in the mini-mart to buy a bag of Doritos or an overpriced bottle of Gatorade’s evil cousin, Powerade, you are going down a troubled path.  The quick answer is to say nobody should be shopping at a mini-mart.  But, if you can’t resist the urge to get a premium package of lung darts or a bag of Famous Amos cookies, for god’s sake, park in the designated spots away from the pumps.  Of course, that will lead to the ire of the guys trying to fill up their tires.

“Leaves his shopping cart in the middle of the parking lot” guy is a next-level kind of asshole.  Unlike the pathetic sap shopping at mini-marts, this guy knowingly inconveniences others for no reason at all.  Much like people who litter, shopping cart-abandoners assume there’s someone else lower on the food chain to take care of their mess.  They have empty, joyless lives and, more likely than not, have micropenises.  They daydream about being royalty with serfs at their disposal.  To that, I say go be an actor at Medieval Times, fuckface.

Finally, the first thing every iPhone user should do is take the “Sent from my iPhone” disclaimer off their emails.  The world doesn’t need to know who is using an iPhone.  The world needs to know who isn’t using an iPhone.  If you see “Sent from my Droid/Google Phone/Blackberry/etc.” proceed with extreme caution.  These people are dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.

Brian: This is easy, it’s “leaves cart in the middle of the parking lot” guy. There is simply no worse feeling than seeing a prime position in the Costco lot between some tatted-up bro’s F-150 and a zaftig housewife’s Honda Odyssey, only to swing wide, crank the wheel and have to suddenly stomp the brake because some cunt (British usage) didn’t care enough about humanity to waddle his (or her) fat ass over to the cart corral after filling the family truckster with enough sodium and high fructose corn syrup to instantly stop a fully mature African elephant’s heart. And don’t give me that “it gives the cart kid something to do.” Those are the words the lazy and disgusting. Since when are you so worried about the job security of some zit-faced dork that didn’t have enough sense to get a gig that included tips and shot at sexing a morally-compromised hostess? I’m sure the manager couldn’t think of anything else for little Tommy to work on, and is incredible thankful that your wanker (British usage) parents raised a wanker kid (you). Put your goddamned cart back and let’s all pretend that we’re not one infant’s sneeze away from a butterfly effect resulting in full-blown anarchy.

As to mini mart guy, he’s an asshole but his life is garbage anyway. The only reason he pulls into the gas island is because he’s too filled with shame to have anyone know he’s actually there to grab a tall can of Bud Light and a handful of scratchers. With any luck he’ll be dead by the time he’s 50.

I’ve made it perfectly clear that I don’t associate with non-iPhone users, so I would agree that there should be some way to determine who’s NOT using an iPhone, but alas everyone who doesn’t use an iPhone quickly remedies that by telling you how much better their phone that’s bigger than my laptop is. For all the shit that Apple enthusiasts take, anti-Apple zealots are 10,000 times as douchey. Yes, I know your phone has a better camera. I’m aware that your keyboard is more intuitive. But you know what your phone is lacking? AN APPLE LOGO. Not to mention that Moses carried smaller tablets down the mountain. The thing is that while my iPhone doesn’t have the automatic email reply signature, if you handed me a $50,000 bill and my phone and told me I had an hour to remove that text again, I’m pretty sure that you’d be walking away laughing with your money 60 minutes later. People with the “Sent from my iPhone” sig aren’t bad guys, they’re just too clueless to sort it out. They’re basically your dad.

 

Still not content with Brian’s insistence that he uses a gym bag, theball7 writes:

…it’s hard to believe that a guy who seems more like the type, who when he says he hits the “Gym” at least once or twice a day, is actually referring to Jimmy Dean Sausages, you just don’t expect him to have made a financial investment in fitness based luggage…but that’s a John bag, not a Gym bag.

Ed:  People who give their accessories first names should be avoided at all costs.  One moment, you’re naming your bag John.  The next, you’re spending your evenings at a smoky pool hall with your personalized stick, Christine, sipping light beer with overweight guys in rayon clothing.

Brian: Bigger indicator of eventually becoming a serial killer: murdering small animals as a child or owning your own pool cue?

Finally, ChrisM215 wants a battle breakdown:

Who wins in a fight:  the current 100 U.S. Senators or the Utah Jazz?

Ed:  As with any fight, we need to set-up some ground rules.  I’m working under the assumption that no weapons are allowed.  I’m also working under the assumption that the coaching staff is not allowed.  That makes this a 100-on-15 fight, which means ten players are responsible for defeating seven senators by themselves.  The other five are tasked with only six senators to dispatch.

The senate’s primary problem is that a quarter of them are at least septuagenarians.  Seventy-seven year-old war hero John McCain will have to captain this group.  Certainly their first order of business is to eliminate the smallest members of the Jazz.  John Lucas, Trey Burke, Diante Garrett, and Ian Clark all are sub-190 pounders.  Surely, the Arizona senator can devise a strategy to subdue those threats with the abundance of neckties the senators are already wearing.

The next target would have to be foreign-born, big men Enes Kanter and Rudy Gobert.  A handful of politicians would have to distract the 6’11” Kanter long enough while others use eyeglass shards as some sort of shiv on his achilles.  If WWII has taught us anything, it’s that once the Frenchman Gobert sees one of his contemporaries go down, he’ll roll over and assist the enemy in their efforts.

Next, the senate will have to size up 6’8” 268-pounder Derrick Favors…ah, let’s be honest.  Despite their 25-57 record, the Jazz would annihilate the opposition in this fight.  The real challenge will be just how long it would take them to administer the beat-down.  I’m thinking about two and a half minutes.

Brian: All 100 senators? I feel like Barbara Boxer CA (D) and Diane Feinstein CA (D) could waste the Jazz fighting side-by-side each armed with only a soda can in a tube sock. For me to wager on the Jazz in any kind of competitive situation they’d need to first acquire a couple players I’d heard of, and based on Ed’s response to this question, they don’t currently have any of those.

Now if we were allowed to change the parameters and build a legacy team All-Madden style, I’ll take Jerry Sloan and his giant hands, riding Mark Eaton like a tauntaun vs. the toughest 100 senators you can find.

 

This is where we answer your emails. Send us one: Mailbag@TheBallerLifestyle.com.

Here we go.

noreply@douchenozzle.com writes:

“Gym bag”. Good one, because nobody has had a gym bag since 1954, I get it. Good one. Might have been a bit too smart for your “sports” podcast fans, but I say, well done.

Ed:  Well, douchenozzle (or can I call you Mr. Nozzle?), thank you?  Your comment was a compliment, right?  But, more importantly, please expand on that gym bag comment.  Are you opposed to gym bags?  Are you strongly in favor of people of working out in work clothes?  How well do your Van Heusen and Dockers hold up on the treadmill?  I know it sounds presumptuous but douchenozzle just doesn’t seem like a Facconable kind of guy.

Or, maybe I’m looking at this all wrong.  Maybe your issue is just with gym bags as a means to transport clothing and toiletries.  Are you more of a hobo bindle kind of guy?  Your soonest response would be greatly appreciated.

Brian: Not sure what the origins of this email are, but I have, and will continue to embrace the use of gym bag. I work out on my lunch break and it gives me a place to put my sweaty gear when I’m done, but more importantly it’s a good place to keep the various creams and powders that my ass and balls seem to require more and more often as I continue my rapid advance toward the grave. My question to you: why the fundamental opposition to workout-related clothing carryalls?

 

Chris offers the following worst Final Four guys:

1. Tweets Way Too Much Guy: Thinks his every thought is super funny and/or interesting and therefore, postworthy. Says good morning and goodnight on Twitter.

2. Can’t Park his Big Truck Guy: Always happens in the most crowded parking lots. (Costco, Target) An absolute prick because he gets out, sees his shitty parking job, and LEAVES IT! Fuck him.

3. Super Fan at Sporting Events Guy: Uses profanity around children, thinks the players can hear him, and is always trying to get a “chant” going.

4. Drinking Game Guy: Never drinks more than you but calls you a pussy because you refuse to play.

Quick P.S. – Can you ask Ed if he enjoys Bruce Springsteen? I’ve never heard someone from the Tri-state area say ‘No’.

Ed:  These are an intriguing four, Chris.  All are awful but there is a clear-cut pecking order of these clowns.

1. Drinking Game Guy – Drinking games are always terrible.  They actually prevent you from imbibing at a reasonable pace.  Instead of taking a drink, I have to wait for a couple of dimwits to come up with a super-clever “I never” scenario?  No drinking games.  Not now.  Not ever.

2. Super Fan – The overzealous sports fan behavior is a full-on epidemic.  For some absurd reason, morons everywhere seem to think people show up at games to watch other fans.  Just look at the reigning Super Bowl champions.  Seahawk fans brag about themselves and even wear #12 jerseys to honor…themselves!

Not unlike hecklers at comedy shows, scores of mouth-breathers are under the impression they are the life of the party.  Maybe mom told them they were special one too many times as a kid but people think they are adding value wherever they go.  Here’s a quick tip – if you think you’re the life of the party, you are most definitely not.  Just cheer or applaud when the situation calls for it.  Beyond that, shut your cake hole.  The fans don’t care to hear your thoughts on the refs or coaching strategy.  The athletes don’t want or need your approval.  In the words of ex-Phillies first baseman Von Hayes, “They can do whatever they want.  I’ll still be eating steak every night.”

3.  Can’t Park His Big Truck Guy – This guy is a colossal asshole but, at the same time, can easily be discouraged.  Public shaming is a powerful tool.  A simple “I park like an asshole” written in dust on the back fender or a note on the windshield can work wonders.  If it’s an especially egregious parking job, there’s usually a stick and some dog feces nearby.  Poorly-parked vehicle handles are begging for a little shit-smearing.

4.  Guy Who Tweets Too Much – Yes, terrible but there is a very easy solution.  Unfollow him.  There’s nothing funnier than a guy wishing goodnight to zero followers.

As for your Bruce Springsteen question, the answer is yes but not an overly enthusiastic yes.  Aside from the songs from Philadelphia and The Wrestler, I can’t think of any Bruce song in the past 30 years.  I won’t turn it off if he comes up on the music shuffle but rarely seek him out.

What puts Bruce in impossible-to-dislike territory, though, is the fact that he was a King-size candy bar guy on Halloween.  Bruce lives in the town next to where I grew up.  Every year, we made the voyage to the corner of Bellvue and Ridge.  Every year, it was a King-sized candy bar.  Boss.

Brian: This is a great Final Four, but I have a bit of a disagreement on Ed’s ranking.

Sure, drinking game guy is horrid and useless but he’s also easily avoidable. Go ahead and pound six ounces of lukewarm Bud Light seasoned with microscopic bits of the fecal matter and psoriasis flakes from the fingers of some tool that’s dedicated his life to getting really good at tossing a ping pong ball into a red Solo cup, I’ll be over here sipping an nicely chilled IPA like a fucking adult blissfully unaware of you and the rest of your minor league imbibing team.

The real winner* (*loser) here is super fan. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: there’s nothing stupider than liking things. If you want to sport a cap or a t-shirt to the ball game, go ahead. But if you’re stepping it up with a jersey, replica helmet, or god forbid, some sort of homemade signage, you are an embarrassment to your family and a likely threat to society. Everyone hates you, especially your kids. You have a hole in your soul that you’re trying to fill with sporting events (and cheeseburgers usually). Stop trying to get people to do the wave. Stop making your wife pretend to like your team (and you, I’m guessing). And most importantly, stop being within a two-mile radius of me. Super fan super sucks.

As to Bruce, I’m not really a fan but I will say this: He’s a slight, 64-year-old man with a pronounced underbite who’s swollen with pride about being from New Jersey, and yet somehow any one of our wives and girlfriends would bang him in a heartbeat. He is most definitely the Boss.

 

Wayne writes:

My brother-in-law grew up singing and dancing. He’s gay and works for Disney Cruise lines.   

Ed:  The only thing less appealing than getting the inevitable dysentery on a cruise would be to get it while Goofy and Donald mascots lurk in the background.

Brian: I’m glad your brother-in-law is living his (and every other gay man’s) dream.

 

Wayne also offers this Final Four of “Bitches”:

1. Fat bitch always complaining about being hot even though it’s always freezing in the office.

2. Stupid cat/dog lady that starts a convo about her pet and continues to do so even though I’m ignoring her.

3. Bitch that smokes every 30 mins and smells like she hot boxed it in her car with the windows up and she has Graves’ disease and smoking makes it worse. I want to poke her eyes back in her face with my pen!

4. The TGIF bitch! Be happy u got job u lazy fuck!!

Ed:  Sounds like somebody need to empty out the snorkel.  It’s dangerous to go too long without a release.

Brian: Easy Wayne-O, you’re giving me a “laughs heartily while watching Entourage” vibe with this list [shivers].

 

Anonymous writes:

Thank you people who admit to attending Kanye West concerts, I was looking to trim down my list of relevant opinions.

Ed: Let he who is willing to show his entire music library cast the first stone.

Brian: I hate it when people act like they have the best taste in music, when everyone knows that I have the best taste in music.

Brian and Ed talk awkward parental interactions, drive-by toe sucking and @FanceeSauce joins the guys for FanceePop.

 

Brian and Ed talk NCAA Tournament, annoying sitcom kids and Malaysian jetliner theories. Plus, the guys are joined by FanceeSauce to discuss Lindsay Lohan’s sex list. Get some.

 

A special two-part episode featuring a Bachelor roundtable with special correspondent Cate McManus (@FanceeSauce) and sports radio icon Jason Stewart (@JasonStewart), and Ed slanders Beckner as a consumer of Star Wars fanfic.