Embrace your inner-snob with fake-breasted enthusiasm

You’re a snob. At least about something. We all are, to be fair about it. And it’s okay. Snob away, you stuck up son of a bitch. Being a snob means you’ve drawn the line, even if that line lacks substance and relevance. Don’t like Pontiacs? Fair enough. Prefer a cabernet over a merlot? Free country, pal. Are you a KILOmeter man or a kill-OM-eter man? Some people have a passionate preference.

I once got into a ridiculous argument with a good friend about the pronunciation of “Porshe.” I preferred the more blue-collar, single-syllable version, while my friend insisted on tacking the “uh” at the end. I told him he sound pretentious. He said I sound like a redneck idiot. Were levelheaded women not in attendance, the debate might have developed into fisticuffs.

My friend in question is a Pronunciation Snob. He’s also a Surround Sound Snob, a Pasta Snob, and a mild Computer Snob. On these topics, he has constructed his own thrown and crowned himself king. Opinions from others are unsolicited offerings from uneducated serfs.

Everybody is a snob about something. I have friends who are Fake Breast Snobs. They view silicon breasts in the same light as anal warts and Ricky Martin. They claim to be able to spot a fake breast from as high as the space shuttle, and insist that to handle one is like touching plutonium. Morons, I say. The Angry Czeck is an enthusiastic supporter of fake breasts. Furthermore, I wish I had a couple just to screw onto the dashboard of my car, you know, so I’d have something to do during traffic jams. Were it socially acceptable, I’d replace my own flabby chest with a set of fake breasts just to keep me perpetually amused. The Angry Czeck is no Fake Breast Snob.

Nice choice, Ms. Lohan. Two very nice choices.

You’re already acquainted with my fascinating views on Barbecue Snobs, but have you ever met a Macintosh Snob? They’re they guys who drone endlessly about the altruistic virtues of Apple computers, citing its simplistic operating system as proof that Steve Jobs is George Fucking Washington. Macintosh Snobs wage a seething, one-sided war against the remainder of the computing world, who have no idea why Macintosh Snobs are so stuck up. My brother (let’s call him “Marcia”) made a good observation. Marcia said that Apple computers are to Macintosh Snobs what the Civil War is to Southerners. In the South, people are nuts for the Civil War. They debate on alternate universe outcomes. They praise the Confederacy’s superior gamesmanship. The lament on opportunities squandered. Meanwhile, modern Northerner’s can barely tell you what year the Civil War was fought. Many have a vague notion that Nazi’s were involved. See, they don’t care. Neither do people computing on a Dell. Computers aren’t a culture. They’re a tool. PC-based people are just happy their equipment turns on in the morning.

“While you’re waiting for Mac compatible software,
sucker, I’m banging supermodels!”

My wife is an American Car Snob. My brother is a Movie Snob. I have a pal who suffers from a unique form of snobbery, the Beatle Snob. With little prompting, he’ll corner you for half-an-hour with a much practiced argument for why The Beatles are better than any band in the world. First of all, you’re not making much of a leap when you say “I like the Beatles.” That’s like saying you enjoy sex or you like breathing. How about making a case for Electric Light Orchestra? Or Christopher Cross? Don’t tell me how terrific the While Album is. Try defending 4 from Foreigner. Then you’ll have the Angry Czeck’s respect.

The Angry Czeck is a big snob, too. My balls are big enough to allow such self-effacing admissions. I’m pretty snobby about movies and books. I’m also a vocal Backwards Parking Snob. Really, what the fuck do people think when they’re wasting the Angry Czeck’s time parking backwards in spaces? Do they believe the arduous effort parking backwards will be rewarded with a zippy getaway later in the day? Or are you so conceited that you must force the entire parking lot to sit and watch you clumsily park your SUV so crooked in its space that nobody can park next to you? Quit fucking around, you colossal assholes, and fucking park!

The Beer Snob bugs me sometimes, too (though not as much as Wine Snobs). I mean, the Angry Czeck is not above ordering an overly expensive brew on occasion, but the Beer Snob is totally incapable of buying a six-pack of beer that costs less than $10. The Beer Snob is anchored with all sorts of Byzantine reasoning. American beer is swill. I like to TASTE my beer. Pilsners are for girls. Shit, just shutup and drink your beer, man! I swear, Beer Snobs will defend a homebrew even if it tastes like a Honda tire. (Then again, have you ever been to one of those bars that feature 5000 beers on taps only to find a couple guys sipping on Coors Lite? What better way to provoke a wordless punch in the face from a disgusted Robert Mitchum?)

Christ, will you just drink it already?

The topics for snobbery are almost endless. Some are more volatile than others. Ever besmirch a College Sports Snob? Before you do, remember it’s useful to know how to escape a headlock. My favorite is the College Sports Snob who didn’t even attend the college they would gladly donate all their bone marrow to. Here’s a revelation: COLLEGE ATHLETES DON’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS ABOUT YOU OR YOUR FAMILY. It’s difficult to accept, but true.

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5 responses to “Embrace your inner-snob with fake-breasted enthusiasm

  1. You know what YOU are Angry Man? A nipple snob. Preferrabley mine. Why don’t you touch me the way you used to?

  2. Thanks for making my own personal hell known as “Monday Morning” just a tad more bearable.

  3. You are sooooo billable, aren’t you?

  4. Over the course of their first three, late-’70s albums, Foreigner had firmly established themselves (along with Journey and Styx) as one of the top AOR (that’s Album Oriented Rock for the less informed) bands of the era. But the band was still looking for that grand slam of a record which would push them to the very top of the heap. 1981’s 4 would be that album. In producer Robert John “Mutt” Lang — fresh off his massive success with AC/DC’s Back in Black — guitarist and all-around mastermind Mick Jones found both the catalyst to achieve this and his perfect musical soul mate. Lang’s legendary obsessive attention to detail and Jones’ highly disciplined guitar heroics (which he never allowed to get in the way of a great song) resulted in a collaboration of unprecedented, sparkling efficiency where not a single note is wasted. “Nightlife” is only the first in a series (“Woman in Black,” “Don’t Let Go,” the ’50s-tinged “Luanne”) of energetic, nearly flawless melodic rockers; and with “Juke Box Hero,” the band somehow managed to create both a mainstream hit single and a highly unique-sounding track, alternating heavy metal guitar riffing, chorused vocals, and one of the ultimate “wanna be a rock star” lyrics. As for the mandatory power ballad, the band also reached unparalleled heights with “Waiting for a Girl Like You.” One of the decade’s most successful cross-genre tearjerkers, it has since become a staple of soft rock radio and completely eclipsed the album’s other very lovely ballad, “Girl on the Moon,” in the process. And last but not least, the surprisingly funky “Urgent” proved to be one of the band’s most memorable and uncharacteristic smash hits thanks to Junior Walker’s signature saxophone solo. Through it all, vocalist Lou Gramm does his part, delivering a dazzling performance which confirmed his status as one of the finest voices of his generation. Three years later, Foreigner would achieve even greater success on a pop level with the uneven Agent Provocateur, but by then Jones and Gramm were locked in an escalating war of egos which would soon lead to the band’s demise. All things considered, 4 remains Foreigner’s career peak but is nowhere near as good as the white album!

  5. …Wow, John Lennon, I thought you were dead.In other words, shut up and stay that way-If your music is good, I’ll listen to it, but I don’t need some jerkoff stuffing his opinion-His personal preference-Down my throat.Really, Czeck? I never would have guessed you were a fake breast kinda guy.

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