“You look fabulous! Who are you wearing?”

“Well, the top is Calvin. I just love Calvin. The sunglasses are brand new Marc Jacobs. The capris I picked up at Dolce and the boots from Prada. They’re gorgeous and I just had to have them. This bag, of course, is Louis. Oh, and this is a scarf I found at a flea Market while vacating in Paris.

“The pretentiousness? That I was born with.”

Related: From Jezebel.

Contempty says: If you think that the initials on your sunglasses or purse somehow make you a better person, you are sadly mistaken. In fact (and this is going to come as a huge surprise to you), your dependence on designer fashion labels is like a giant neon sign pointing out all your insecurities and self-esteem issues. Everyone can see your pre-teen chubbiness written all over that oversized Louis Vitton purse. And that cute guy who rejected you in high school because you found out he said your nose was too big… yeah, we know about him and how your D&G sunglasses help you to forget that it ever happened, like some kind of designer lobotomy. And clear as day, we can all see your desire to be the center of attention despite the fact that you have no personality or any other qualities that would otherwise make you stand out in a crowd. So the next time you want to show off that expensive new designer piece of shit you’ll be paying interest on for the next four years, remember: we know who you really are.

For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, check in with Fashion Label Whore’s close friend Designer Bag Girl.

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Dude, this rooftop bar is tha-shiiit! It’s such a nice night out. Oh, what’s that a whiskey sour? Yeah that’s going to give you a hangover. I would’ve gone with something with a clear liquor—not as many toxins.

Such a nice night out. Man, 9/11, what was that shit about? I remember I saw the towers fall. That shit was crazy. Man, could it be any nicer out? Twin towers, saw that shit from a rooftop not too much unlike this one. Oooh looks like you got a stain there. Again, should’ve gone with something lighter than that whiskey.

This is fun. Who do you know here? Oh you went to college with that girl? Nice, nice. Yeah college was a blast, right? I remember smokin’ bomb kush back in the day and just getting fucked up! Speaking of bomb, what’s with all of these kids killing each other in college now? Fucked up shit, man. Back in my day kids would never just go in and shoot other kids with guns, I mean maybe a fist fight, BAM BAM, but never would get guns involved. All of that senseless bloodshed, man, really makes you think. PAR-TAY!

For more recreational dick holes, click here.
While you’re there, enjoy a flick with the Movie Theater Dick.

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Wow! Another friend request from a random guy! I know I have 1,952,318 friends, but I have a feeling this guy is the one. He clearly asked to be my friend because of my personality and not the bikini picture where I’m sucking on a Popsicle and you can see part of my nipple.

When I was younger I wasn’t very popular. The kids all called me Fatty Flatty Pig Snout. Of course that’s all changed since the stomach staples, fake boobs and nose job.

For some reason most girls don’t want to be friends with me, but that’s probably cause they’re jealous bitches. LOL!!! Whatev! All I know is 1,952,318 horny guidos can’t be wrong!

Hobbies/Diseases: Modeling, singing, herpes, cutting, carpel tunnel syndrome, dancing, shopping and TMJ disorder.

For more pop culture jerks, click here.
While you’re there, ghost ride the whip with some Hyphy Culture enthusiasts.

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I’m just gonna put this right out there for ya: I’m a M.I.L.F. I see the way my daughter’s boyfriends look at me. Yep, still got it.

I’ve managed to go from being the whore in high school to a respectable single parent holding down a job and a mortgage. Sure I play it straight from 9 to 5, but the second I get home or go to the supermarket or pick Ashli up from school, I like to unleash my sexy side. All it takes is rummaging for a few minutes in her drawers to find out what’s “in.” And if she can pull it off, so can I because I made her. The only difference between Ashli’s 17-year-old, perky, flawless body and my stretch marks, razor burn, bleached mustache and tree trunk legs is one word: experience.

One day, her best years will be behind her and she’ll wake up and realize that not even total whores can compete anymore. That’s when you gotta up the ante and emulate your daughter in order to glean an iota of self-esteem.

Personal Motto: You don’t know me! I look goooood!

Hobbies: Creating Myspace pages and adding my daughter’s friends as my friends, hot flashes, using household appliances in ways they weren’t intended to be used, trying to book myself on daytime talk shows, sending semi-nude photos to school administrators

If this lady creeps you out, also check out White Chicks and Gang Signs.
There’s plenty more public behavior nightmares here.

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Yeah, I’ll answer my cell phone while I’m in a movie theater. Come on, man, that’s clichéd. Talking on the phone is the standard sign that you’re a movie theater dick. I’ve done it and I’m proud of that. I’m special and no one’s going to tell me to be quiet.

But see I’ll also kick your seat. I’ll put my knee up on the back of it and bounce my legs up and down. Then I’ll quickly remove them and slam into my seatback with no regard for the shins of the unlucky customer behind me.

I’ll text message for long stretches with the sound on or I’ll just talk throughout the movie picking apart every plot hole.

I’ll leave my blue tooth in my ear with the bright green light flashing every two seconds because I embrace technology and want to show it off to the world.

I do these things and you’re not going to do anything about it. Go ahead and tell on me with your little tattletale wireless remote device, that won’t stop me. I’m impervious to insults and I’ll tell you to just move your seat if you have a problem with me. I’ll fight for my right to be rude to the bitter end. So deal with it: you’re missing the movie.

For more people who make you want to lock yourself in your house and never go out again, click here.
While you’re there, buy the Hot Head at Bars a Zima.

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When Entertainment Tonight, Extra!, or Access Hollywood need a go-to celebrity ass kisser, I’m the one they call. I’m an expert on all things pop culture. Why do we need experts to cover things that anyone with a television and half a brain can figure out on their own? That’s the beauty of it. Most people have the TV, but not the brain.

So I’m needed to breakdown the complicated prime time television line up. Who on Grey’s is fucking whom and whatnot. I can list all of the gaudy, overly expensive cars and jewelry any given star has purchased in the last year, because they’re better than you. I’m a journalist who answers the tough questions like “Who’s cooler: The Killers or Bloc Party,” and finds out how exactly JT is planning on bringing SexyBack.

Interests: VH1, Billy Bush, cool people

More on Access Hollywood here

For more pop culture jerks, click here.
While you’re there, put on some sandals and your most broken in Abercrombie baseball cap and meet up with the Dave Matthews Band Fan.

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I hate smoking, smokers, and smoke. If you smoke around me I will give you a dirty look and perhaps a snarky comment or fake cough. Smoking is gross and you’re gross for smoking. I don’t smoke and you shouldn’t either and if you can’t make that choice for yourself I will do it for you. I have the moral high ground.

Now that we fought the good fight to ban smoking from those dens of sin, bars, it’s time to take our fight to the streets. I want public outdoor smokers banned. Just look at them, all smug with their cigarettes and sunglasses and laughter. Look at them not caring what I think, not concerned with the fact that I don’t smoke.

We need to raise cigarette prices and taxes. So what that smoking is more prevalent in lower income areas. I went to Vassar. I know what’s good for these people.

If you’re a friend of mine who dares to “smoke socially,” I will take the cigarette out of your mouth and break it. I will give you a lecture of cigarette’s ills. I don’t care if you’re drunk and having fun and only do it once in a while. Not my concern. I don’t care if I kill your buzz. Better than killing yourself. You will thank me.

Interests: Banning smoking, Gilmore Girls, The View, Political Correctness, Vassar Soccer, Galas, Dad’s Yacht

For more everyday assholes, click here.
Then jump over to the Public Behavior tab to check out the Rude Smoker.

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All right, self, it’s almost 6 o’clock. Don’t panic. Just act natural…

But we’re socially awkward!!

Shut up! I said don’t panic! We will find something to do tonight if it kills us. As long as we don’t have to go home to the wife and kids everything will be fine.

Why don’t we have a mistress? We’re a VP for Christ’s sake. Ted is an assistant VP and even he’s got one.

There’s no use crying about it now. We’re on a mission. Look, there’s a group of young go-getters. Let’s see what they’re up to. Just be cool. Act like you’re one of them, as if you couldn’t ruin their entire careers on a whim.

“Hey, fellas, where we goin’ tonight?”

Good job, self. The “fellas” said we’re here for a good time and “goin” was just casual enough.

“I sure could go for a beer. Maybe even a titty bar to end the night. What’s the plan?”

Careful, we’re sounding desperate. Titty bar was too much.

“Any of you see the big game last night? I can’t believe that idiot coach!”

Bail out! Bail out! They’re onto you! Look at them trying not to laugh. They want to laugh at us! We’re a vice president, dammit! We could squash them each like a bug! Time to reassert our authority.

“Feingold, if I’m not mistaken you have a cost report due on my desk first thing in the morning. I suggest each of you start learning to pull all nighters or you won’t last very long here. Consider that free advice.”

Well done, self. Well done.

Click here to off your boss!

For more office jerks, click here.
While you’re there, check out Creepy, Lurking Office Creep.

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You all know me. I come in many different flavors. Sometimes I just don’t look where I’m going and bump right into you. Other times I’ll be talking on my cell phone and cross the street in the middle of traffic forcing you to jam on your breaks. You may have even seen me standing on the left side of the escalator blocking you from walking up. I likes to takes my time.

One of my favorite tricks is crossing the street right before the light turns green and then making all the cars wait for me to finish my leisurely stroll. Whenever you see me, rest assured that I don’t give a shit about inconveniencing you and I will not learn my lesson. I’ll be pulling the same shit tomorrow and the day after that. See you soon, fuckers!

Contempty says: a) Doesn’t Look Where He/She’s Going – You are walking with such reckless disregard that if I realized you were blind, I’d still have to shove my foot up your ass. b) Talking on Cell Phone instead of paying attention to traffic – Hey, sweety, shut the fuck up. Before cell phones, did you feel the need to talk incessantly wherever you went? If you did, then you’re one of those crazy homeless people, a New Yorker or both. Relearn what it’s like to be silent and think your own thoughts instead of having your ditsy ass girlfriend telling you what to think all the damn time. She doesn’t know shit, but you treat her opinion like gospel. What gives? c) Crosses street slowly just as the light turns green so all the cars have to wait – This is just balls. The least you could do is that pretend jog thing people do to make it look like they’re TRYING to hurry. The one where they swing their arms back and forth, but don’t actually change the speed of their gait. You don’t even give enough of a shit to do that. No amount of honking my horn will ever express how deeply I wish your dad had erectile dysfunction so you’d never been born. d) Stands on the left side of the escalator – Lazy assholes and gimps to the right, please. Those of us who actually have somewhere to go would like to get there today. e) Stops short in the middle of the sidewalk – Are you serious? I don’t think you know how close you just came to getting anally penetrated by me. MOVE! f) Slow walkers – If you feel like taking a leisurely stroll, do it on your own time, not rush hour. Stay to the right or better yet, never ever leave your house. And get a new haircut. That bob ain’t workin’ for you. g) Zig zag walkers who block the whole sidewalk – I really hope you’re drunk and numb because I’m about to tackle you. h) Person who walks down the subway stairs when everyone is walking up -Dude, you’re not making that train. Why force 300 people into a single file line so you can get to the platform faster and wait.

For more people who make commuting a nightmare, click here.
While you’re there, hitch a ride with the Bad Driver.

Blow off some steam and become a Pedestrian Killer:

http://crazymonkeygames.com/Pedestrian-Killer.html

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Macs are so intuitive. Who cares that the mouse sucks and only has one button because “right clicking” is soooo PC. Did I mention Macs are really intuitive?

Macs are the best computer for photography, graphic design, and video. Any true artist owns a Mac. And by “true artist” I obviously mean the type of artist who has enough parental and trust fund support to afford a $3000 dollar computer, plus that sweet-ass apartment in the Lower East Side.

Macs are also super intuitive, but I have to come clean, I don’t know what intuitive means. I think it means “any idiot can use it,” but I’m not sure. Intuitive.

Interests: Pointing out people’s flaws, gadgets, coffee

For more pop-culture parasites, click here.
While you’re there, give the Star Wars Fan a wedgie.

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Roll down the window and put your hands on the steering wheel, ma’am. Do you know how fast you were going? Well, I’ll tell you. 70 miles per hour, five miles over the legal limit on this highway. Kindly put your bosoms away because they’re no use to you here.

Didja not see the signs? Is that your excuse for putting countless lives at risk on this deserted highway at 1 am? Let me tell you a little story about another person who wanted to put lives at risk.

Once upon a time there was a kid who got beat up at school a lot. When he’d come home, his mom liked to put her cigarettes out on his arms. After barely graduating high school, he became a cop so he could finally direct his pent up anger by walking around arrogantly and flaunting his skewed version of authority.

Do you know who that person was? That’s right. It was me: Officer Douchebag. And every time some lady like you speeds by my radar, it’s like another cigarette burn in my arm. Now I get to dish out my own brand of justice. Are you Latina or light skinned African American by any chance? No? Just tan? That’s fine. Just asking.

At this point I’m going to go back to my car and run your plates. It only takes about 30 seconds to do, but I’ll make you sweat for 10 minutes or so. I’m actually jerking off back here, but my boner has nothing to do with you. Oh no. It’s the power.

I know that the worst I can do to you is give you a ticket, which you’ll probably find a way to get out of anyway. So the least I can do to feel satisfied is make you late for wherever you’re headed. I may even force you to do a sobriety test even though there is no evidence whatsoever that you’d been drinking. Your embarrassment and aggravation are all the reward I need.

On your way home, enjoy thinking about how your taxes pay for the continuation of my unhealthy obsession with power. Now you have a good day, ma’am.

One way to get out of a speeding ticket (Not recommended).

Know your rights when dealing with the Asshole Cop.

For more people that make commuting more annoying, click here.
While you’re there, flip the bird to Cuts You Off Then Drives Insanely Slow.

*Contemptster.com has the utmost respect for police officers. Every occupation has a few assholes, though, and the police are certainly no exception.

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Hey, handsome. It was dead in here until you showed up. You want a lap dance? I know how to make you feel gooood. No? What’s wrong? You don’t like me? (Pouty face) Are you secretly thinking my pouty face somehow makes me look uglier? I understand. In a room full of below average naked gyrating women, I look like the deformed cousin none of them wants to be seen with.

What if I show you my tube sock-like breasts? Still nothing? Is it because I forgot to shave my back today? Maybe it’s the spider veins on my legs. Oh wait, those are actual spiders. Or perhaps it was the fact that when I was dancing on the main stage you could smell my cooch from inside the men’s room…

Well if you want me, honey, you know where to find me: Crying in the fetal position next to the dumpster out back.

Contempty Says: Here’s the facts, fellas. Ugly strippers work harder. Close your eyes and think happy thoughts.

For more obnoxious people you encounter when hitting the town, click here.
While you’re there, check out the Party Buzzkill.

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Greetings. I am Baby. Do I make you uncomfortable? Your face does not amuse me. No, I would rather not make a scene and begin crying. Your silly noises seem a little trite, wouldn’t you say? Ah, yes, look away. I’ve decided to start a staring contest. Yes, that pleases Baby. Commence staring contest. Take my unflinching eyes as a sign of my victory. Don’t avert your gaze to my mother. Do I make you uncomfortable? I will begin blinking again. The staring contest is in the books and Baby has made you look foolish. Your backpack is open, and your shoes are untied. Ha! Baby will begin celebratory blinking.

Contempty says: If anyone other than a baby stares at length at someone for no reason that person would surely hear an angry reproach such as “what’s the big idea?” or “hey fucker, why don’t you go steal my wife’s fucking eyeballs and look through them so you can know what it’s like to stare at me when I’m fucking you.” No one says that to a baby. They just let them stare with judging, emotionless eyes. “Does it know I’m sneaking glances at its incredibly small feet? Does it know I’m looking at its mother’s swelled boobies? Does it know all of my insecurities?” Yes, yes and Biggie-Sized YES! What do you want? Do you want me to stop looking? I will, but every time I turn back to you you’re shooting me some sort of naïve stink eye that makes me want to hug you and exploit your gigantic head’s soft spot all at the same time.

www.myspace.com/creepy_staring_baby

For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, check in with the Person Who Says “I’m All Thumbs.”

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God forbid I ever suffer severe bodily injury, no matter where I am in the world, fly me to Seattle Grace Hospital. If I need a leg amputated I want it performed by beautiful doctors with nicknames! Seriously, do you know what I love more than this sexy dramedy? Nothing. Not even ice cream.

Sandra Oh-my-god, does it get any better?! And I can’t believe McSteamy stole Addison from McDreamy, but Dr. Sloan is a plastic surgeon and hot so who can blame Addison for cheating?? How come all the doctors I know are old, bald Jewish guys who tuck their pants into their socks? Sigh…

E.R.’s too serious and Scrubs is not serious enough. If Goldilocks had to choose, she’d watch Grey’s. Mmm, just right. Yeah, Mmm, as in McDreamy. Of course, Patrick Dempsey is a fox, but I’ve liked him since Loverboy. I have him as my computer’s wallpaper! I also own a 365 Pose-a-Day calendar of him, a McDreamy white noise machine, and all of his fan books, including McMayor Mastery: How McDreamy Usurped McCheese. Sometimes when I’m driving I like to close my eyes and imagine getting into an accident and when I wake up I’m on a surgical table being McFelt up and having McIntercourse with him.

Oh, and I’m also totally getting into the Grey’s tribute band, Code Black. They’re mainly a Rush cover band, but they totally project Grey’s episodes during shows in a super fun way!

For more pop culture annoyances, click here.
While you’re there, check out the American Idol Fan.

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Go ahead… tear open the envelope… take out the card… And… BOOOO!!!

Oh god look at us posing on that Christmas card like two snot-covered gargoyles. Remember us? Your third cousin’s kids? The twins? That’s right we’re back. And we’ve somehow gotten uglier since last year’s card, the one where we’re dressed as elves pretending to steal gifts off Santa’s sleigh. Classic.

This year things are a little different. We know all about Santa and frankly we’re pissed off. So as you can see in the photo, we’re sitting in front of a Christmas tree predicated on a stack of lies, stone-faced and still snot-covered. Our identical faces never grew into our noses like you all hoped. So it looks like we’re stuck with them until we’re old enough to ask “Santa” for cosmetic surgery.

Go ahead and hang the card up behind the others on your fridge to shield your holiday guests from our horrific, disproportioned visages. Try to enjoy this one while you can. Soon we’ll be going through puberty and those cards will look like crime scene photos compared to the one in your hand.

Happy holidays from the Twins! See you at the next funeral!

For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, check out the Jeopardy Watcher Who Shouts Out the Answers.

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Submitted by Crazy Carl Himself

I don’t understand why you still live in this house with your mother and I even though you are 24. When I was your age, I was living on my own…
(In a day-glo painted VW van with 11 other college dropouts.)

And had already moved out of my parents’ place…
(Because I was following the Grateful Dead around the country, and indiscriminately boning hot hippie protest broads unprotected. Every girl you bang off Myspace might be your half-sister.)

And living out in the real world, being an adult…
(An adult who did more acid than the audience of a midnight showing of “2001: A Space Odyssey” in 1968, and battling demons and talking snakes in this said real world.)

And supporting myself financially…
(By selling drugs, and shoplifting from every store I went into.)

Your mother had also moved out of her parents house at age 17…
(Because she ran away with a 29-year-old ultra militant Black Panther, giving your grandfather a heart attack.)

And was completely self-sufficient as well…
(If you don’t count hitchhiking or having to huff a few dongs here and there to get from place to place, or to have a place to stay.)

I know you’re in debt…
(From college, because me and your mother blew your college fund when we ran up huge credit card bills in the late 80’s. Did you know a Camcorder cost like $1,000 back then?)

But you need to work harder to get yourself out of it…
(I know you already work 50 hours a week, but have you considered a second job?)

One day you will want to buy a house…
(Speaking of which… You want to buy this house? It only cost your mother and I $40,000 in 1977, and we’ll sell it to you today for the discounted price of $650,000.)

And have a family…
(Of no good rotten slacker children like yourself and a reformed whore/former feminist like your mother for a wife.)

And settle down…
(Like we did after you were conceived in a heroin fueled haze at an Allman Brothers concert.)

And be a law-abiding, successful member of society, like your mother and I…
(If you don’t count the insider stock trading tips we receive and use to pad our retirement account, and the bogus charitable contributions we claim at income tax time. Oh, and by the way, your mother and I haven’t had sex in 11 years. I’m about two weeks away from being interviewed by Chris Hanson on “To Catch a Predator.”)

You seem to need structure in your life, you should join the Army and go off to Iraq…
(Unlike me, who hacked my pinky off to avoid a bullshit war.)

Anyways, I’m glad we had this chat. Now get off this computer and go out there and get a second job.
(And leave me alone to find Jimmy Buffett tickets and porn on the internet.)

For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, get an earful from the Unsolicited Advice Giver.
For more of Crazy Carl Himself’s musings, click here.
Email the man at CrazyCarlHimself@gmail.com

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Yo, yo, yo! Where my dogs? Just got pimped the fuck out at Marc Ekko, kid. I’ll line that up with my Fubu, gear, knowm sayn’? Gettin’ chingy this weekend, dog. I gots my grills, full platinum and ice rockin’ those shits. We gonna be popin’ Cristal and the Goose will be flowin’ like my rhymes do when I gets a phat beat.

Sucks though, Sunday I gots to head up to Westchester for family dinner with my pops and my moms. Probably be getting the usual “Blain, where’s your direction in life?” or some shits. My brother just made another milly on an IPO and shit and moms thinks it’s time for me to “take things seriously.” I hate my home. My true home is DA CLUB, yo.

Interests: Slang, The Dirty South, Paul Wall (My Hero), Eminem before he sold out, Grey Goose, Grillz, wearing my Yankee cap “just so”

For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, check out the Pseudo Punk.

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If the three walls of my office cubicle could talk they wouldn’t say a word. They’d SING! You see my collection of knick knacks, doodads, and wacky conversation starters makes Pee Wee’s Playhouse look like an exercise in minimalism.

My collection of Family Circus comics cut from the newspaper tells my coworkers that I know how to read and can operate scissors. I don’t usually “get” the comics, but I just love cutting things.

The Mardi Gras beads tell you that I have a wild side. How did I get them? Wouldn’t you like to know!? I actually bought them at the party store to hang in my cube.

The collage of my vacation pictures tells you that I’m well traveled and invites people to inquire as to where I’ve visited. However, I’d rather not talk about the awkward casual sex I had with various locals on my many trips or the resulting venereal diseases I brought back as souvenirs.

I also have more motivational posters per square inch than anyone else in my department, which indicates that I’m a hard worker with a love for Grand Canyon sunsets and kittens dangling from branches. What’s not to love about an animal in peril? Hang in there, Pussy!

I recently saw some coworkers with action figures posed in their cubes. Not one to be left behind the trends, I ordered a complete set of Star Wars figures off of Ebay. It cost me $2500, but it pays for itself in the amount of young males who flock to my desk to talk about the adventures of Lou Skywalker and Darth Vapor. Live long and prosper, fellas!

For more office idiots, click here.
While you’re there, share a meal with the Co-Worker Who Eats Your Food in the Fridge.

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Some women like to sleep their way to the top to achieve career success. Not me. I’m not nearly smart enough to figure out who could help me advance in my job. I’m merely content to be known as the office slut.

Don’t believe me? Todd from accounting fingered me during a staff meeting and I got a stiff meating in the kitchen from Jim in HR. I jerked off Kenny from the mail room in the men’s room and got an Eiffel Tower from Lamar the janitor and David in Sales behind the dumpster in the parking lot. And just last week I let Stuart the intern give me a Dirty Sanchez during a sexual harassment seminar. Yeah. I’m that slutty.

Hobbies: Shopping for inappropriate work clothes and smudge proof lip gloss, wearing short skirts with no underwear and walking very slowly up the stairs, blacking out at office holiday parties and waking up in the middle of a gangbang

For more office losers, click here.
While you’re there, shoot some rubber bands at the Office Funny Guy.

What is Contemptster.com all about, you ask? Click here for our handy FAQ section.

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Where to start? I love music. It deeply touches my soul, but if more than ten people like a certain band, they can have them. Arcade Fire, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Bloc Party, Arctic Monkeys… I liked them before you. Now when I hear those bands I cringe while looking at the Middle American, Wall-Mart dressing, nothings who listen to them.

Currently I’m onto this little Brooklyn banjo, harpsichord, synthesizer group. They play acid pop you can dance to. Not that you’d understand their sound. I have 15 bootlegs of their shows. You can have them because I don’t like them anymore. I just decided. I shouldn’t have told you about them, but that’s my burden. The coolness that I possess places a bull’s eye on my back and every 20-something succubus wants to steal my essence.

I don’t work, wash my hair, care about world issues, smile, shop at chain stores, wear sleeves, or concern myself with you.

I do party, dance, snort cocaine, love getting my picture taken, have a trust fund, possess unbelievable fashion sense, stare you up and down when you walk into a bar I hang out in, laugh at you afterwards, dabble with meth, get tattooed, understand irony, and listen to the kick-assiest bands that you can’t understand.

Interests: Good hair cuts, music, Sparks, cocaine, Williamsburg, Don Hills, The Cobrasnake, Paper magazine, McCaren Park Pool

For more everyday assholes, click here.
While you’re there, check out Poseur.

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Everyone has a creepy co-worker. At Contemptster World Headquarters it’s Dan. You may recognize him from the photo in Creepy, Lurking Office Creep. Adding Dan and his creepy stare to any situation automatically makes that situation seem somehow dirty. Go ahead, add the words “…while Dan watches” to the end of any sentence and you’ll see what we mean. In this segment, we hope to prove that Dan’s creepiness needn’t be confined to the office. He can sully any scenario under the sun just by his sheer presence alone.

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Click the pics to see all of Dan’s creepy adventures!

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Not sure why Yahoo! is reporting this:

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Everyone has a creepy co-worker. At Contemptster World Headquarters it’s Dan. You may recognize him from the photo in Creepy, Lurking Office Creep. Adding Dan and his creepy stare to any situation automatically makes that situation seem somehow dirty. Go ahead, add the words “…while Dan watches” to the end of any sentence and you’ll see what we mean. In this segment, we hope to prove that Dan’screepiness needn’t be confined to the office. He can sully any scenario under the sun just by his sheer presence alone.

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Click the pics to see all of Dan’s creepy adventures!

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The contenders for this week are Winter versus Summer. Which season brings the extreme worse than Mountain Dew and deserves to be cast off this planet?

Watch the videos and cast your vote below. Don’t forget to check back to see the results. Thanks for voting!

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Click here to see the current passenger list.

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This ad was in the bathroom of a bar I stumbled into at some point last Saturday afternoon (after fleeing the G Train AKA crime scene). I don’t know what it’s for, and I don’t get it, but I thought it was funny.

“Kind of an awkward question, friend, but yes. Yes, I have enormously huge balls.”

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Can you think of a caption for this picture of the comedy stylings of Bill Clinton? Add your caption in the comment section below.

By the way, this took place at Coretta Scott King’s funeral a couple years ago. That’s right. This hilarious moment of presidential hijinx took place at a Martin Luther King, Jr.’s wife’s FUNERAL.

Click here for our full list of caption-able pics.

Send us your funniest, weirdest, most random pics for Caption This! Email contemptster@gmail.com!

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This week we’re having fun with cups! Would you rather claim to be a beer pong champ or a cup stacking champ? One’s a favorite of bored drunks, the other seems so pointless that its internet phenomenon status was inevitable.

Watch the videos and choose wisely. Don’t forget to check back to see the results. Thanks for voting!

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Here’s one of the more disturbing images in a weekend filled with disturbing images. This could very well be blood. Decide for yourself. Seriously, what happened here? Did Danny Glover’s character from Witness make an appearance on the G Train?

Note the lame attempt of dropping one napkin on the bloody streak.

Oh, I, nor anyone else on the train called the authorities. Hey someone else must have done that already, right? Right? No, no it was paint, just paint. At least that’s what I’m forcing myself to believe. Just to be safe, steer clear the ol’ G train for a while.

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Hey, you! Open your bag right now! I need to check it for stolen items! I don’t care what you have to say to me because I’m not listening. I’m running on a mixture of pure concentrated adrenaline and total confusion. I barely graduated middle school and always dreamed of becoming a police officer, but I wasn’t accepted because I’m mildly retarded. All I know is that I’m in charge and my rejection issues are now your problem.

Contempty says:There are security guards just doing their jobs and then there are the socially inept dickhead security guards who exist only to bully people around without consequence. These are the people who turn everyday situations into complicated ordeals simply because they don’t like your face. Truly the cream of society’s crop. We’re onto you, Security Guard Dickhead. We know that when you’re not wearing your polyester suit, you’ve got zero power in your personal life. We also know about the chronic masturbation.

For more everyday assholes, click here!
While you’re there, check out the Destination Wedding Couple.

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