"I've got one bullet and it's got your email address on it... Don't make me hit Send." - Assy McGee

Editors Note: The following entry is considerably longer than the average PWS post. I assure you, however, that it is well worth the read. I know this because I laughed uncontrollably while plagiarizing most of it from the Assy McGee Wikipedia Page.

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In what is perhaps the most egregious conduct to yet appear on People Who Suck, the show Assy McGee was cancelled in 2008 after only 20 episodes, no doubt at the behest of some sleazy, greased-up studio-bastard who I would imagine looks something like Clarke Griswold’s neighbor in “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.”

Assy McGee was an animated sitcom featuring police detective Assy McGee, a parody of tough-guy cops, who is literally a walking pair of buttocks. The show revolved around the antics of Assy McGee, an ultra-violent and emotionally disturbed police detective who just happens to have no upper torso, head, or arms. With the help of his partner Sanchez (often against the wishes of his superior officers), Assy patrols the streets of Exeter, New Hampshire.

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Horribly violent and clinically depressed, Assy is a parody of the 1970s/1980s movie cops as seen in such films as Dirty HarryLethal Weapon and Cobra: trigger-happy, tough, at times hopelessly depressed, and in conflict with his fellow officers as often as he is in conflict with crime. Assy has a slurred style of speech similar to Sylvester Stallone, though it is far more muffled, possibly due to his anatomy or inebriation (or both). Sometimes, when out of breath, or even just peeved, Assy will flatulate.

Assy has stated that he is of Cuban descent. His Cuban heritage is backed up in the episode, “Conviction” when a childhood picture of Assy with a Cuban hat is shown in the background. We learn in the episode “Hands Up” that Assy served in Vietnam, when a war flashback causes him to accidentally fire a bullet from an AK-47 into the abdomen of a World War II veteran.

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It is unclear whether Assy possesses genitalia, though it is strongly implied on a few occasions. He has been shown walking in profile with no visible genital protrusion or covering, but he requested a “happy ending” from a masseuse in the episodes “The Flirty Black Man”, and “Murder By The Docks”. He is also perfectly capable of urinating in the canonical fashion. It should also be noted that in the first episode, “Murder By the Docks” Assy requested a handjob at a massage parlor as Sanchez was attacked by ninjas. In the episode “Vowel Play,” it is implied that Assy has undersized genitals when he indicates that he can only give a school sex education teacher “four and half inches.”

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In addition to his police duties, Assy owns a used car, hot tub, and driveway repair dealership off “Exit 19” in Exeter. He claims to have all the new Scion xBs in stock, as well as having a true price guarantee and an unwillingness to give cars to people without credit (“Bad credit? No credit? Sorry, that’s your problem, asshole!”) His slogan for the business is “Don’t make me run your ass over!” Ads for Assy’s Scion/Used Car dealership began to appear in Season 2 of the show and are the result of an exclusive sponsored placement of the Scion product. (Note to self: Buy a Scion when next in the market for a new car. For they are clearly a forward-thinking company).

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In addition to Assy, the show boasts an impressive supporting cast that includes:

Detective Don Sanchez – Assy’s partner and a version of the good cop stereotype. He has a wife and three children, including a son named Rudolpho, and often finds himself playing (unsuccessfully) the voice of reason to Assy. Sanchez bears a strong physical and vocal resemblance to Latino actor Luis Guzmán. Sanchez’s wife, Brenda, wants a divorce from him. It was revealed in the episode “Bikes for Bombs” that Rudolpho may not be his son. It was further revealed that Assy had sex with Brenda on their honeymoon and she gave him an STD (“Every day I take a leak, I’m sorry,” Assy says). In two episodes of season two (“Johnny Arson” and “Squirrels”) it’s implied that Sanchez is a pyromaniac, having set a fire in one and standing staring at a fire in the latter episode.

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Greg “The Chief” – almost always referred to as “The Chief” (who bears a resemblance to Al Pacino), is the chief of the Exeter police department. He often argues with Assy over cases, yet is mesmerized when Assy is able to solve a case. In several episodes, the chief demands that Assy “hand over his badge and his gun in the morning” although this never seems to take place (besides the first episode which concludes with him giving back Assy’s badge and firearm). Despite this, the chief seems to show a grudging respect for Assy. The chief frequently appears to have private explicit sexual conversations in which he offers advice of various kinds to the party on the other end of the phone such as “Just drop ya load in her dumper.” He also has had an affair with Brenda, Sanchez’ wife, which is probably on-going. He abruptly ends these when someone enters his office. He also has tattoos all over his upper body and is physically fit.

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Officer DiLorenzo – a heavy-set, thick-headed, light-skinned police officer for the Exeter police department. DiLorenzo often teases Assy and doubts his actions. He seems to be a rather hated person in the Exeter police department. Assy is known to refer to him as “DiRetardo” much to DiLorenzo’s chagrin. Despite this, he seems to be a hard worker during appropriate times. In the episode, “Pharmassy”, DiLorenzo’s improv as a pizza guy prevents the Mayor of Exeter from getting shot; however, the end result gets DiLorenzo gunned down instead.

Glen – (1975 – May 11, 2008) was the bartender for Bill W’s, the bar that Assy often patrons in the show. Glen once bailed Assy out of prison, despite being the person responsible for putting him in there in the first place. He also made Assy walk home from the prison afterwards. In the episode, “Irish Wake,” Glen was tragically murdered by an Irish bookie after failing to pay up loans for losing wagers, although he was replaced with a different bartender soon after.

“The Father” – (a priest) is the nameless religious figure from whom Assy often seeks spiritual healing and guidance. He is usually found sitting at the bar in Bill W’s.

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But of course, like so many other shows that I have loved and lost (e.g. Get a Life and The Winner), Assy McGee’s nuanced ingenuity was not recognized or embraced by John and Jane Q. Viewer. So, although much too young to die, Assy McGee was taken from us far too soon, a la the virginal but sagewise Thomas J. in My Girl.

So to whoever it was that had their finger on the button the day Assy McGee got stripped of his badge and his gun once and for all, to you I say shame on you… shame on you.

But alas, Assy McGee’s legend lives on through the Adult Swim website (here) where you can watch lots of funny clips, as well as find the Assy McGee soundboard (depicted below and found here) – note the titles of the various clips of Assy’s flatulence, listed in the left and middle columns. Outstanding.


26. Packs of Unruly Teens


No rest for the adolescent – the weekly Sock Hop at the “You Suck” Club is NOT an 18+ affair!


Well, you know you’ve officially become an old curmudgeon when the pack of unruly teens you used to think was the “cool crowd” suddenly appears to be nothing more than a menacing batch of bastards and whippersnappers. That’s not to say that they pose you any sort of physical threat – I mean, based on personal experience, I would say that the average male twenty-something can safely engage 7 to 10 high school seniors in a given street fight and usually emerge victorious. (Note: 7 to 10 seniors is the approximate equivalent of 11 to 16 freshmen).

But I digress.

Instead, it’s more just the general “ah, Christ!” feeling you get when you see the pubescent posse prancing towards you on the street, or in the mall, or wherever. Because you know that when the time comes for your paths to actually cross, the probability of your experiencing some sort of intrusion is high. Such intrusions may include the following:

  • Some sort of playful male-on-female affront that causes the female affrontee to shriek and take a swipe at the kid, who in his reckless attempt to evade her either cuts right in front of you or runs directly into you.
  • Some sort of arbitrary and embarrassingly unfunny statement lobbed at you in passing by the kid who’s trying too hard to get laughs because showcasing his quirky zaniness is his way of competing with the more stoic, better looking alphas of the group. (E.g. “You’re wearing a tie!” or “Hurry up, you’re late!”)
  • Some sort of more aggressive, personalized insult from the straight troublemaker kid who will probably be in jail by the time he’s 30.

Note: In this third scenario, you have the upper hand. With only limited life experience, even the most foul high school kid has a relatively low capacity for creativity and shock value. So even though his buds will be laughing like hyenas at what they believe to be some real cutting edge shit, his lame jab will seem, to you, relatively amateurish. Thus, the key here is to go way over the top and bury him with a real shock-and-awe comeback. Like something so crass/mean/out of character/below the belt that you would deny ever having said it if later questioned. Not only will this immediately slap the shit-eating grin off his face, but it will also win you the favor of his friends who will disloyally begin pointing and laughing at him instead of you.

Such unpleasant encounters usually only occur, however, when the particular pack of approaching teens is comprised of those considered to be the “in crowd” at their local high school. Cause after all, what is “cooler” in high school than acting like a complete horse’s ass?

Of course, there’s always the possibility that the pack of teens you see ominously gathering on the horizon is not unruly, and will in fact turn out to be a respectful group of upstanding gents and lasses.

Or better yet, maybe it’ll just be a pack of geeks that are too busy comparing Quidditch stats and casting spells on each other to bother you.  In that scenario, simply start chanting “NERDS! NERDS! NERDS!” as they pass.

You’d be surprised how many people join in!


Calm down, Chief. This ain't my first rodeo.

This often comes up in situations involving strippers, casinos, luxury boxes, fancy restaurants perhaps – you know, places and situations where having had prior experience connotes an inherent coolness. Places where people, if they know you’ve been there before, will think ‘Wow, he’s been here before. I bet he comes here a lot! His life must be so cool!’

So inevitably, the guy who fancies himself as the seasoned veteran wants everyone to know that he is no novice when it comes to such coolness. And what better way to convey experience to all present than to publicly tell someone else that how they’re behaving is not what he and the other “regulars” have come to expect of their co-clientele. He thinks, ‘Hey, if I tell Freddy First-Timer that what he’s doing is “not cool,” then everyone will think that I know what’s cool… And then I’LL be cool!’

And you’ll notice that the knowledge-drop on Freddy First-Timer never occurs in private conversation. It’s always said within earshot of the stripper, or the blackjack dealer, or the hot chicks who just rolled up, or whoever else the guy is really talking to. And it might not even be Freddy First-Timer he’s schooling. It might be Corey-Co-Regular, an equally cool dude with just as much experience as him. It doesn’t really matter because the kid’s probably not doing anything inappropriate in the first place.

All that matters is that the people this jerk wants to impress are getting the message that he’s here, he’s cool, and he KNOWS what’s up.

Cause hey, this place is cool. And he’s been here before. In fact, I bet he does this type of thing all the time… Man, he’s cool.

24. Drama Kings

Drama King - the antithesis of all things McConaughey

Urban Dictionary defines “Drama King” as:
1. a male drama queen;
2. any male that makes a big deal over a nonissue;
3. any male that never shuts up and always has to be the center of attention.
(For my part, I would add to the definition “any male who spreads, seeks out, or is otherwise titillated by gossip.”)

I will venture to assume that everyone now reading this knows, or at some point has encountered a Drama Queen.

That is to say, the girl who, whenever she goes out, drinks so heavily that she becomes a liability and whimperingly demands the assistance of her friends. The girl who is incapable of making a good decision in her relationships with men and frequently requires you to pick up the tear-soaked pieces of her shattered heart. The girl who people generally rolls their eyes at, save the one or two “besties” who are softhearted enough to deal with her and make excuses for her when she loses it around new people.

But while we, as a society, expect to occasionally encounter a Drama Queen, there is far less tolerance for her male counterpart, the always-unwelcome Drama King.

By contrast, the Drama King’s unsavory behavior is generally less extreme and outrageous than that of the Drama Queen. Ironically though, this makes the Drama King a more menacing pest. For while the female herd will typically write the Drama Queen off as a caricature and ween away from her via passive-aggresive ostracizing, the Drama King’s Drama-Kingery is usually an ancillary quality, the undesirability of which is not enough to outweigh the history and interests shared by him and his bros. Consequently, exposure to his lameness is unavoidable.

Such lameness differs depending on the genus of Drama King, of which there are three:

1. The Malicious Busy-Body: The Malicious Busy Body regularly engages you to find out “what’s going on” within your group of friends only to then relay whatever you disclose to various third parties. On the flip-side, he is often the first to alert you and seek reaction when sensationalistic news or rumors surface about one of your shared acquaintances. Moreover, not satisfied with the mere reporting of drama, he also attempts to create it as he habitually attempts to disturb the collective peace of mind by senselessly eliciting arguments, competitions, or general ill will between others within the group.

2. The Cell-Phone Friend: The CPF interprets minor communication oversights (e.g. failure to reply to a text or voicemail) as a reflection on the value you place on his friendship. Furthermore, he measures the strength of your friendship by the frequency with which you see each other. Thus, to Cell Phone Friend, the viability of a given friendship is akin to that of a cell phone – dead unless frequently charged. Naturally, this creates the burdensome need to consistently reassure him that you are, in fact, still friends, even though shit in your life might sometimes get a little too busy for face-time.

3. The Self Inserter: The Self Inserter insatiably craves life-drama and can often be found engaging in a sappy, but intensely serious conversation about dramatic life-issues. For the Self Inserter constantly seeks to position himself as a central player in whatever drama is then unfolding in the lives of those around him. Consequently, whether it is his own major life-drama that’s being hashed out, or someone else’s, the Self Inserter is always right in the thick of it. And though his counsel is usually as unwelcome as his involvement, he is always gonna be “there for you” as a mediator, advisor, peacemaker, or shoulder-to-lean-on.

But alas, whatever brand of butt-headery your particular Drama King brings to the table, my advice to him is the same:

Stop trying to make life so sad and serious. Stop creating and thriving off of disharmony and confrontation. Just be cool, man. Just take it easy. Chill out.

Just be like McConaughey.


Matthew McConaughey: the Anti-Drama King



The two guys on the left typify the jerkoff stare you get if you accidentally attempt to order a drink from a Barback.


In most major American cities, aspiring male bartenders must ascend through the ranks of Doorman and Barback before they earn their cocktail-slinging stripes.

The Doorman job is simple: Stand around, act cool, talk to chicks, and occasionally tussle with a drunken slob. Yep, walking the Doorman-beat is pretty sweet. As is being a Bartender, obviously.

But in between these two rungs on the corporate ladder is the position of Barback: a subservient, overworked booze-mule and de facto second class citizen behind the bar. And while the lonely, sweat-caked Barbacks haul the heavy cases of beer and booze that will ultimately be served to the babes who go home with the Bartenders, they grow increasingly bitter over the fact that nobody has a reason or a desire to talk to them. So they vent this frustration the best way bitter people in subservient positions know how: passive-aggressive d-baggery.

Enter Me: the jovial, well-intentioned customer. I approach the bar, and seeing a team of similarly dressed employees, I grab the attention of the nearest one, smile, and politely state my drink order. And yet, despite my respectful tone and demeanor, he stares at me awkwardly like a jerkoff, looks the other way, and ignores me.

And for a brief second, I’m confused by the snub, so I continue to observe him. ‘Oh,’ it suddenly occurs to me. ‘He’s just the Barback. Oh well. I was hoping to order from the chesty blonde one anyway.’ But once the lightbulb moment wears off, it occurs to me what a knob-job that Barback was.

Sorry I hit such a sore spot when I presumed you were a Bartender. But I mean, you saw me. You heard me. You’re all wearing the same damned black button-up back there. And you’re stupid faux-hawk hairdo makes you SEEM like you’re a hip bartender type and that you know what’s going on. And you get it. You know that you look like a Bartender because people make this mistake all the time.

So don’t be a passive-aggressive turd about it and stare at me like I’m a dumb-ass for not understanding “how things work” at a bar. Just acknowledge my existence by either correcting me or simply pointing at one of the real bartenders.

Or better yet, shove a Miller Lite up your ass and get the HELL out!



You cheating BITCH!!!







Side Note: the guy in the middle definitely smells foul play and isn’t quite sure how to handle it.



Credit to Doug Toomer



21. Brett Favre

“I’ll always be true to you, Mary…unless Jenn Sterger replies to my dinky-pics.”

Beyond his refusal to retire, his proclivity for choking up whenever the cameras are rolling, and his creepy attempt to woo Jenn Sterger with pictures of his winky, it was the most recent episode of his serial narcissism that really pushed me over the edge.

On the Wednesday before his October 31st game against the Patriots, Favre went out of his way to host an utterly self-glorifying press conference held for no other purpose than to let everyone know just how heroic it would be for him to start the game on Sunday, in light of his recent ankle injury – an injury that most quarterbacks in the league would very likely play with, according to a top NFL orthopedist.  (See Peter King’s article).

Somebody hand me my vomit-bag:

“I think I can point to different times in my career where I came back and played with whatever injury and was able to play well enough to help us win or give us a chance to win…I broke my thumb… first game back was against Minnesota here in the Dome…[T]o this day it’s hard for me to imagine, a thrower who has a broken thumb on that hand would be able to function at a high level.”

“I’ve always had a knack for healing, I think, quicker than maybe most people. Mentally I know, because I am going back in history, I have been able to play with different types of injuries that most people probably wouldn’t have attempted.”

“I think God has blessed me with an ability, not that it doesn’t hurt, but to overcome it and mentally set it aside and focus on what I’m doing… My mental state has always been after an injury to give it a try. It would be easy to say, ‘Just can’t do it.’ Once again, so many great things I have accomplished after injuries. Maybe not necessarily next week, but the whole year is basically to be willing to take it on. It’s not that it doesn’t hurt. I can’t say that this would hurt you more than it hurts me. I don’t know that. It would appear that way just based on what I have been able to overcome.”
(See full transcript here)

Additionally, as it has been bothering me for years now, I would be remiss if I failed to point out the way Favre celebrates almost every touchdown as if he just threw the game-winner in the championship game at the end of a Disney movie (adequately exemplified in the video below). I can imagine his thought process is something to the effect of “Hey everybody! Look at how each touchdown fills me with such boyish excitement. I’m like like a little kid runnin’ around out there, just doin’ what he loves. Isn’t it endearing? Isn’t it? LOOK AT ME!”



In fact, often when observing Favre’s behavior, I feel as if I’m watching somebody actively campaigning to one day have his life memorialized in a Hollywood movie. He seems to have a way of rallying the media only to then deliver a sappy performance that sets him up for some sort of forced heroics. The above-discussed press conference would be a good example of this behavior.
Another example would be the uber-lame story wherein this preseason, three of his teammates flew via helicopter to the retired Favre’s home in Mississippi to convince him to return for one more go at the gold. Had Favre led the Vikings to Super Bowl glory this season, we would inevitably be barfing our way through that lame scene three quarters into the Brett Favre bio-pic one day.
Sadly for him though, his “heroic” return to football has yielded only a Vikings season now in the toilet, injuries to his ankle and jaw, and a wannabe-adulterer scandal that peppered the internet with pictures of his ding-a-ling.
Great football player. But what a schmuck.

"Tell me I'm still good at football, Doc. And use the Jenn Sterger voice."

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