My New Obsession: Guidos!

I was blissfully unaware of the guido until I watched a "Growing Up Gotti" marathon while recovering from surgery and a tad hopped up on Vicodin. I remember thinking that, surely, these asshats aren't real. I was wrong. "Growing Up Gotti" is a reality show,and this clip pretty much sums up their embarrassing existance:



To quote Paddington, I've never wanted to bite someone's face as much as I've wanted to bite the fake-tanned cheeks of the guido. However, as much as I'm disgusted, I am completely fascinated. Living in Arkansas, I've never been exposed to such douchebaggery since guidos are indiginous to Long Island, Staten Island, New Jersey, and the surrounding areas. But just living in these areas does not make one a guido. "Guido" is mostly a state of mind and a lifestyle. A useless, retarded, shallow lifestyle.

So what is a guido? Many are Italian-Americans seemingly born into this, but some of these morons actually choose to look like this. Like this guy:



One can observe the guido in a strip mall tanning salon soaking up cancer rays until their skin has the same orange hue as Jessica Simpson or Lindsey Lohan,


...lovely...


meticulousy grooming their eyebrows,



making sure their hair spikes form a 90 degree angle with the head,
,

pretending to be in "The Sopranos",



and "floodin' da club" (jesus, I hate these douches)



in which the guido heads to the bar where he will order up a "sex on the beach" or a "long island iced tea" which he will use to wash down the tablet of ecstasy that he smuggled into the club. Once settled in, they will congregate in roving packs, a primitive ritual not unlike that of various species of primates. Then, the guido often removes his shirt to exhibit the rippling muscles and excessively tanned skin that the guidette finds irresistible. Guidos have also been known to smuggle bottles of baby oil into clubs and will apply it liberally to each other in the hopes of enhancing their muscularity.



Their love for hair gel,



tank tops,



sweat bands,



techno music, and shitty dancing




know no bounds. Where is Armagheddon when you need it?