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The Myth of the ‘Average Guy,’ Lame-Ass Monsters and the Men Who Monogram

I hate to be brief, but I’m still struggling with Stormy Daniels telling the world that our president has a dick that looks like Toad from Super Mario Bros., and so I’ve given my brain the rest of the day off to process that information.

The good news—if you can call it that—is that we’ve collectively decided that tomorrow we’re devoting the entire day to cover this breaking news story.

So don’t miss that—it’s sure to be at least above average, which is more than I can say for the president’s sexual prowess, if Ms. Daniels is to be believed.

Until then, here’s everything we covered on MEL today…

Must Read

Brett Kavanaugh Proves The ‘Average Guy’ Can Be the Most Dangerous Kind of Guy
“Average,” “unremarkable,” “bland,” “square.” These are the words that were first used to describe Donald Trump’s Supreme Court nominee back in July. But now that this lame-o carpool dad has been accused of sexual assault, those same words are being used to defend him—because how can a regular, All-American guy have done something so sinister? READ MORE

A Safe Space

Say what you will about Reddit, but r/SuicideWatch is a light in the darkness. That’s because the subreddit is a place where people struggling with suicidal thoughts can go to find compassion, support and solidarity. And it’s been particularly helpful for struggling men—men who have been taught their whole lives to be the strong, silent type, ashamed to ask for help, and three times more likely than women to kill themselves.

Bring Back Custom Ringtones

If Apple had anything other than worms-for-brains they’d stop adding useless features like 3D Touch (really, Apple? GFY) and give the people what they really want: Replacement ringtones for “Marimbas.”

Ashwin Rodrigues explains what befell the custom ringtone biz, why it’s time we brought them back and how letting our phones serve as a small extension of our personalities is a good thing.

Earth to Keto

Yo, Keto dudes and dudettes: I know you’re watching the weight just slough right off with your low-carb, high-fat, high-protein diets, but if there’s one universal truth, it’s “everything in moderation.” What I mean is, cutting carbs down to almost nothing is just as bad as eating too many carbs. Here’s why.

Landlord’s Gonna Landlord

All landlords are generally terrible—they have the audacity to ask you for thousands of dollars each month, they never fix things in a timely fashion and it’s like a rule that they all have to be creeps. But some landlords are clearly worse than others, and when you’re looking for a place to live, it’s good to be able to tell the difference.

So how does the average renter sniff out the typical pain-in-the-ass landlord from the living nightmare? Allow us to help you figure it out.

Lame-Ass Monsters, Ranked

Bad news, movie fans: The eponymous baddie in the recently released Predator movie is lame AF. Dude’s got dreads, for christssakes. General rule of thumb: Your “scary” monster cannot look like some third-rate Rastafarian if you want it to be taken seriously, I don’t care how many shoulder cannons or cloaking devices it carries.

But is the Predator the lamest movie monster ever? Let’s compare it to all the other lame monsters throughout movie history, and see who comes out lamer.

F***k All These Places Where You Can’t Swear: A List

Cursing is a goddamned civil liberty, and I fuckin’ love it. So if you tell me it’s shit-cunt-illegal to swear in these locations, it makes me dick-cock-angry:

  • Myrtle Beach, South Carolina (Who wants to go here anyways?)
  • Oklahoma (Flyover state.)
  • From a car in Rockville, Maryland (Wat.)
  • Virginia (Birthplace of the Confederacy—‘nuff said.)
  • Raritan, New Jersey (Never heard of it.)
  • Middleborough, Massachusetts (Sounds rich, and white.)
  • Mississippi (Selma)
  • On a mini-golf course in Long Beach, California (You know what? I’m not even mad. I’m impressed.)

Here’s a longer explanation as to why all these places have outlawed cursing.

Men and Their Monograms

I don’t know anyone outside of Middleborough, Massachusetts (see above) who monogram their clothes. Seems like something only narcissists do. Wait. What’s that? We have photographic evidence of a large adult son who monograms? Let’s see it!

Is that… boob sweat? Yuck. Anyways, C. Brian Smith spent the last couple days speaking with WASPs, style experts, historical novelists and Emily Post’s great-great grandson to get a sense of the rules of the road for emblazoning one’s initials on their belongings.