Readers’ Rant: That Guy Part Two

This is obviously Part Two of the reader-generated edition of That Guy. I was surprised at the response to only one post with seven proposed versions of That Guy. I may well be onto something here, in fact I suspect this may well spiral completely out of control. Then again, once I get to Afghanistan it probably won’t matter much, though I’ll try.

As always, my definition of That Guy: A person that just crossed a border, line, or other non-permissive barrier that indicates that they are a douchebag of the highest order, a dabbler in asshattery, fucktarded, likely dress funny, and someone who must be eliminated from the gene pool. Epic, I know.

The Whistler (R.A. Burke from Ralphie’s Portal): The Whistler whistles. Incessantly. Any tune, any time, all the time – an auditory security blanket if you will. He’s in the cubicle next to you, too, providing a twisted kind of XM Radio for free. Just hope you like elevator muzak. In one pitch. On one instrument. Namely, his puckered-up cock socket.

Shittesseur (The Durhee): Just as you get comfortable on that cold seat and are on the verge of backing out a groaner to make God smile, in walks the Shittesseur, who will proceed to malinger and goldbrick in the bathroom in ways only this dim bulb could possibly come up with. Hair, fingernails and probably pubes are combed and trimmed. Odds are good he’s That Guy who brings his own toothbrush to work too. And probably combs those pubes with it too.

Peter Puffer (John Erickson – he still has no blog of his own): Living, mouth-breathing proof that the Peter Principle does in fact work. This underexpert, overpaid organic space heater will be more than happy at faking an informed and qualified answer to whatever you ask. Just ask him. Keep in mind that those sweat rings in his armpits are from the exertion of thought mixing with the effort of making shit up as he goes, and also, he’s probably your boss.

And some more of my own twisted creation, just to round out this post:

The Dragon: This guy exists on a diet of unfiltered Camels, coffee and Funyuns. How do you know this? Because the nasal overload of his gingivitis-laced breath is mitigated only by the evil stench of the hairs in your own nose burning as you inhale the funk rolling up straight from his bowels. Or so it would seem. Not that you can possibly form coherent thoughts when your eyes are watering that heavily.

Perky Pete/Penny: These overly-cheerful fucksticks never fail to irritate no matter what time of day but are most heinously insidious in the morning when you’re merely thankful to be awake or just basically alive. You know instinctively that at some point in their history, these retards used to be (regardless of gender) a hyper-caffienated cheerleader. And now they’re here to make your day super-duper! Fuck.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading these in this two-part series. I’d especially like to thank the named readers who commented with their own creativity. I hope I did their ideas justice.

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31 Responses to “Readers’ Rant: That Guy Part Two”

  1. Don’t forget the idiots who either A. Take credit for someone else’s work or B, blame everyone else for their mistakes. All the while playing the victim and complaining about how hard they work and how many hours they devote to the job!

  2. whiteladyinthehood Says:

    These were great! Too funny.

  3. I still say this should be a semi-regular feature for you. Great stuff.

  4. Reblogged this on Aleihs in Reality Land and commented:
    And so, I just expanded my vocabulary words and definitions again :)) Nice read!

  5. I just expanded my vocabulary and definitions :)) Nicre and quite funny if I may say so myself :))

  6. I think I actually worked with a dragon. Then there was the fascinating guy – the High Gamer. Armed with the pungent reek of alcohol and “alternative smoking materials” (and a bunch of weirdly-shaped dice), a person who actually got SMARTER when drunk and stoned. Honest to God – we’d play D&D back in college on Friday nights, and one night, I refrained from the booze (I can’t smoke – lung problems), and watched the guy go from somebody who couldn’t walk and chew gum at the same time, to a freakin’ Patton clone after a couple six-packs and a few joints. A fellow tanker, too. Coincidence? I think not…. 😉

    • Post-service time, I take it…

      • Sort of. He hadn’t turned in his tank driver’s license, so he could walk onto any army base and drive an M-60 off (or so he told us). He didn’t yet (and as far as I know, never did) have his civilian’s driver’s license.

        • Hmm. A pair of bolt cutters is really all you need to acquire a tank, honestly. I probably just said too much to you.

          • No worries. I actually know where to pick up a variety of vehicles, up through M-60s, and all you need to do is flip a fence – and bring your own battery. I also know where there’s an M-5 Stuart with twin Cadillac V-8s, and an M-8 Greyhound that tops out around 65mph. (Think LAV-25 from WW2.) Heck, I can even find you a Stug III and a Hetzer, as well as a pair of ersatz SdKfz 251s. (Technically OT-810s from Czechoslovakia, but take off the crew compartment roof, and they’re identical.)
            And I know of several B-17s, one B-24, and a few B-25s that only need hot-wiring. But you gotta be a pilot – tankers need not apply. 😉

          • M60’s aren’t bad, but I want an M1.

  7. I whistle, but only when I work and in the shower and while cooking. Oh and driving my big truck and cutting people off.

  8. While I’m certain you deserve it, I didn’t just nominate you for a Versatile Blogger award. You can thank me later.

  9. Thanks for the props Rants. You did the Shittesseur great justice in description 🙂

  10. I have 2 Whistlers in my current assignment – one male & one female! Aren’t I lucky? When one leaves off & I hope to get some peace, the other starts up. To me, whistling is like running your nails down a chalk board, so you can imagine how much I love coming to work!

  11. Fucktard is perhaps my favorite word in the English language and is SO under-utilized! Thanks for using it, and in such high style.

    One more That Guy I submit for your amusement is The Slurper. This jackhole sits in the cubicle next to you and everyday at lunch, regardless if he gets a grilled cheese or a bowl full of noodles, he ingests his food to a cacophony of his own direction. There are the dulcet tones of slurping the food because it’s the only way for it to enter his gaping maw. Then, because his mouth is full and his grey matter requires more oxygen, he breathes in through his phlegm clogged nose, which results in a lovely snot snort. And of course, what digestive orchestra would be complete without the compulsory “Ahhhhhh”, quickly followed by a belch that rivals that of Jabba the Hutt. All performed in the workplace. For your enjoyment. The Slurper.

  12. […] back, and got some great reader commentary that fueled not one but two sequel posts (here, and here). Click them, dammit! They’re funny! Anyway, this post is now the third sequel and fourth […]

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