The Worst of MySpace*

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Why do all guys from the Midwest look like Chuck to me (thanks Joe)? Why the little sexually frustrated moustache? I thought that was only for cops.

Why the shirtless angel wings photo? Secretly gay, throwing up a sign?

Why do these dudes always have ass and t*ts all over their page? (Cuz that’s wut sum good red-bludded ‘Mericans like!)

Why are people so proud of being dumb?

Books: does it got pictures lol

Did you know there’s a woman on your Top 8 posing in front of a fake NYC backdrop for her Glamour Shot?

Did you know that all those hotties that you talk to in the “yahoo chat ohio room 2 at nite lol” are not really women?

Tell me Chuck, have you ever been in a Turkish prison …?

Analysis

I’ll give someone $10 to sneak on to “yahoo chat ohio room 2 at nite lol” and chat with this oompa loompa: chuckwilliams00. Make it funny to win bonus beer and other fabulous prizes.

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Design-wise, there’s nothing too horribly atrocious about Sexy Lexy’s page. It’s slightly lacking in subtlety and any modern standards of taste, but I can actually read it; it’s acceptable.

I really could not get past those photos, though. Sweet pink burning Jesus, that is one ugly dude!

Aye caramba! Den Haag, indeed!

Look, Diana was England’s rose. You are England’s corpse flower.

I’m from a pretty liberal part of the world (Saudi Arabia) and hey, you know, to each their own. It’s all good in the gay/lesbian/transgender hood (but especially the lesbian hood). And fine, you’ve got weird habits? That’s cool; so do I.

In fact, I like to stay up real late at night surfing the Interwebs with a bottle of absinthe, looking for people missing a whole heap of design gene — which is about 90% of you, judging by the pile of broken monitors next to my desk.

Just as long as your Satanic, America-hating tranny meat paws stay away from my tender virgin starfish, we won’t have problems.

And don’t get me wrong, because trannies are great for fun and profit: we cruise this one particular street in town to check out hot Latin tranny hookers when the bars close. That’s the “fun” part, right, but when we see them walking hand-in-hand with a john (the “profit” part), it sorta changes to this nausea that compels us to go eat some sh*t at the Jack in the Box down the street. Somehow that makes it all better.

I guess miserable stomachs love company.

Analysis

Yowza!

Hey, have a happy tranny Friday everyone!

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I think today’s Worst has gotten some publicity elsewhere on the Internets, but I’m lazy and I’ll post pretty much anything, especially body-hairless, label whoring prepubescent posers, like SMooTHFeLLaS® Joey Blue Eyes!

Tony Soprano hates you

First, this little b*tch is NOT 18. Sadly, his profile is set to private now so you don’t get the joy of viewing the photos of the peach fuzz he’s sculpted into the “thin beard” look. I don’t know what that’s called, but it sucks. You can just make out his lip gloss, though.

Lip gloss!

You also don’t get the benefit of hearing the kind of terrible trance music that makes you want to bomb Germany (again) for ever inventing the sh*t.

Kid, you’re lucky Tony Soprano seems to have a soft spot for alternative lifestyles. Otherwise, I’m sure he would slap your pouty, glistening little boy-chops right off your face and into a big-ass pot of spaghetti.

And then feed it to his paisanos.

Not real Italians.

Hookahs not goombas

To really get the full experience, you need to check out Joey Blue Eyes’ doofus friends, Giuliano Gorgeous and Terenzino Stunning, all pouty-lipped label whores as well. You know, I’m not so sure they’re even Italian. In fact, they look distinctly Middle Eastern, especially in this photo of the three of them.

Plus, I’ve been to Italy, man. Italians are hot and sexy, and they don’t dress like wannabe pimps or aspiring track stars. They dress like they’re in a goddamn Armani fashion show 24/7. And none - and I mean none - of them would ever, ever, ever sport that jacked-looking thin beard. It reminds me of those ugly-ass women that shave off their eyebrows and then draw them back in all thin and nasty.

In Itay, you could be burnt alive at the stake in front of a crowd of drunken, reveling peasants for that. The Italians do not f*ck around when it comes to fashion.

Real, everyday Italians. I am not kidding. (nymag.com)

Even the cops are sexy as hell in Italy. I swear to Jeebus, mass-murderers stop cold and let cops arrest them because it would simply be a fashion disaster if the cops got their clothes dirty.

Florida: The Joke State

I especially enjoy the fact that these guys are all from Florida, but fronting like they know anything about New York. I’d love to see one of these butt monkeys walk around in the Bronx sporting that look.

Okay, I’ve never been to the Bronx, either, but I’ve read Bonfire of the Vanities, and that must give me at least +1 over Tweedle Akhmed, Tweedle Muhammad and Pouty, Jr.

Analysis

I guess I can give these guys some props for having the audacity to try to be so sweet. But, man, shave those pubes off your face. Stop wearing lip gloss, headbands and track suits. No more label whoring, especially for your background image.

And come out of the closet about your real ethnic background, all of you. Don’t be ashamed that you’re related to The Terrorists™. There’s nothing wrong with that, except that hating America is in your blood and all your phone and electronic communications will be monitored by George W. Bush himself.

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[STFU. I’ve been on a two-week booze binge.]

I’ve been neglecting an important genre of bad profiles on MySpace, mostly because I don’t know how to handle them. I’m talking about just plain ricockulous profiles.

These are usually characterized by an intentional shock and awe campaign against those perfectly innocent aqueous-humor-filled spheres in your head: your eyeballs.

In most cases, someone who deliberately tries to ruin my eyes gets their name posted at the top level on my List of People to Kill. But I can cut these guys a break because I have a deep erotic love for satire and parody (maybe you noticed).

Thus, I give you Mr. Papageorgio.

I’ve seen that kooky biker guy around the Internets for a few years, but to take his freaky-sock-wearing ass and weave it into a background image is a work of horrific beauty and genius.

I have a special affinity for the rockin’ Journey song, too: it was playing as the “Get the f*ck out” music at a bar the other night as I made out with a 49-year-old divorcee reliving the wild youth she never had.

Now, Don’t Stop Believin’ will forever take me back to that moment, with that sweet cougar in my arms, her fuzzy little moustache against mine, breaking our long kiss only so she could mouth “Everybody wants a thrill” before diving back at my engorged tonsils.

Oooh. Who else is horny?

Analysis

Asian people are funny.

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[First, I just want to compliment some of you for being complete suckers and falling for my April Fool’s prank. Worst is not shutting down (at least not yet) and my name isn’t Mick. I’m not a washed-up hair-rocker-looking dude, I don’t wear a medallion (except on Vegas trips), and I’m especially not apologizing to anyone.

And yes, I still hate you and your terrible design skills.]

Speaking of terrible design skills, lookie here what we got ourselves today: Cowboy (thanks Mrs. Gary Busey). Yeehaw!

But not just any cowboy. Noooo, boy! We got us a fanatical Jesus cowboy, complete with enough flashing Jesus trinkets to buy the better part of a continent from some stupid indigenous heathens!

When trying too hard to not be gay, is gay

So, I don’t know if this page is some kind of ham-handed overreaction to Brokeback Mountain, or what. But it’s so overdone and ridiculous and … fabulous that, in a way, it’s come full circle and now really looks, well, gay. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

Yeah, that’ll show them crazy queers! A flashing pink bling Jesus marquee! It’ll be like garlic to a vampire!

I mean, look at that background image: it’s the Eiffel Tower at night, for chrissakes. Paris? The City of Liiiiiiiiii-ights? Fabulous!

Please enjoy this weird photo
of Cowboy’s wife with her
boob hanging out about
30 years ago.

And God, wouldn’t the French sh*t a buttery little croissant if they saw what Cowboy has done here, juxtaposing the likes of Reno, Nevada on top of their beloved capital? It wouldn’t surprise me if they mobilized their Jerry Lewis clone army against us.

Look mom! It’s raining Jesus!

Everyone sure does love a good Jesus storm, don’t they?

Boy, the Jesus is really coming down in buckets! Hope the basement doesn’t flood with Jesus! I love the sound of Jesus pattering on the roof at night; puts me right to sleep.

Yeah, the stupid raining things - smileys or <3 or Jesus or what-f*cking-ever - have got to go. It looks stupid and it was cool for a day back in 1997, so listen up you little 90’s-born turds:

It’s played out.

Back when you were first discovering you had a pee-pee, the rest of us were trying out this inane page decoration and discovering that it sucked. Not only is it cheezier than an episode of Blossom, it also has the effect of rendering some links useless in the Firefox browser, which the majority of us sane people have switched to by now.

I don’t know what Cowboy’s excuse is, but any more of that Jesus rain and there’s going to be a flash-Jesus-flood down the damn Champs-Elysées. And you know what that means: there might actually be a few minutes in Paris where there isn’t dog sh*t all over the sidewalks!

Ba-dum-dum! Thanks, I’ll be here all night.

Conclusions and Suggestions

Might be trying a little too hard with the Jesus thing. I hate the French, though, so keep that image in the background.

Learn how to edit: pick your one favorite Jesus bling and only use that. No more raining anything. More photos of your wife from back in the day. It’s weird, but I find it strangely … erotic.

Like Prince.