Six Guys Every Man Needs in His Posse
As we grown older and have become what can only loosely be described as an “adult” the realization that our priorities regarding friendship have changed sets in. Sure when you were growing up it was always nice to be friends with the kid with the big forehead and the Joe Flacco uni-brow because he would fork over his pudding pops at lunch (they are as delicious as you described Bill Cosby.) Now we live in the real world; with real hopes, real dreams and real life problems. Some of us have come to the realization that this sucks. Yet what doesn’t suck is when you surround yourself with the A-Team of close friends that can not only help you survive, when life comes at you fast (so true All State insurance guy so true,) but can actually make life that much more enjoyable. These are the select few that you should court, hold close and get crunk with.
In no uncertain terms, Vinny Chase rocks it with the ladies. Guys wanna be him, ladies want him to be in them and some dudes also in fact want to be in him. The last point aside Vince is the Ultimate Ladies Man, we should all aspire to have him in our posse or at the very least in his; I mean Jesus, Turtle was banging Meadow Soprano for Christ’s sake.
So if you are like us here at Gunaxin you went to high school with Colin Ferrel and get more parties, free blow and scattered ass thrown at you than Corey Haim and Corey Feldman circa 1988.
If you are also like us then you totally lied about that last sentence and get as much ass as Corey Haim and Corey Feldman circa 2010.
Ok so we don’t know Colin Ferrel, but we know a dude like him. This is the guy that gets the invite to all the new club openings, parties with top end talent and always has the hookup when taking that spur of the moment midnight trip to Sin City. Sure you may need to inflate this guys ego every now and again, possibly jump on the grenade from time to time and have to find memorable and new ways to escape from shady situations; but when you show up to work the following morning and the rest of the office is fighting a case of the Monday’s they will be shocked and amazed at your stories of glorious good fortune and debauchery all told in your newly acquired Vegas Voice.
For those few uneducated bastards unfamiliar with the Hollywood version of Scrooge McDuck via the Godfather II, let us drop some knowledge on you. This is the scrawny, “who the fuck invited this guy to the party” buddy that all the big time Mafioso had as their silent partner. Vito, Michael and Fredo were all badass to the extreme in their own right (ok maybe not Fredo, he’s more the pudding pop kid), but they wouldn’t have been anything without somebody laundering their money, investing it wisely and keeping them out of jail. Essentially he’s the antithesis of the Elliot Ness’s of this world. Hyman, as the only great Hollywood character named after a very specific region of the female anatomy, has in his own words made the American Mob “bigger than US Steel,” now that sir takes stugots, or as Hyman would say beytsim. Reportedly being worth over $300 million, yet keeping all the other mob bosses off your ass takes talent. Hyman helped the Corleone family get their start during Prohibition, essentially helping them print money in a little business venture known as Las Vegas and keeping them on the up and up with the IRS by laundering their money throughout many vast entities including the island nation of Cuba. Ultimately he gets a little too greedy and gets gunned down for his efforts. Still his talents as the money man for the mob elite kept him on the right side of a lot of ruthless men for years and out of the IRS’s cross hairs.
So do you still wonder how all those Mafia empires stayed running so smoothly for so long during the 20’s all the way up to the early 80’s? You ever wonder how they can tuck away millions if not billions of slices of cheddar and not have the tax man on their case? You ever wonder how they only got caught when driving gold plated Mercedes and having fucking jewels for teeth, yet they were still dealing on the streets for years before that? Well they all had a guy, his first name might not have been Hyman but his last name probably ended in some variation of “Stein.”
They always had a guy that knew the ins and outs of tax law. And we’re not talking about some guy that knows a guy whose brother wrote off trips to the titty bar and it’ll totally work for you too. We’re talking about the dude that every year writes off the most insane shit in taxes and essentially gets paid by the Federal government to do it, and if he’s in your posse, he’ll do it for you too. That sweet fucking monkey on the endangered species list you smuggled in from Thailand? Write off. The rental fee’s on that Lamborghini that you leased to impress that chick at your 10 year high school reunion that’s now got a fat ass, but still really deserved that hate fuck? Write off. The burial fees for the endangered species monkey that had fucking typhoid fever and ended up infecting and killing your two elderly neighbors….. Write off? Fuck yes write off! The point is now that you’re in the real world Uncle Sam’s cock in your ass is no longer still a fictional entity like the Easter Bunny, or “hot” lesbians. Yes you may have turned into your dad, bitching about “the man” the same time every year around April; hopelessly lost and banking your son’s future collegiate dreams on the grace of the tax man (by the way fuck you dad,) but no longer. This guy makes the man work for you. He smooth talks him, he loop holes him he loves him. By circumventing the man you become the man, again Dad fuck you.
Good old Garth, long stringy blonde hair, Lisa Loebe style glasses a complexion only fit for the dark winters of Siberia. Sure he cracked a joke every now and again and probably invented the “Schwing” maneuver we all religiously perfected until we were 14, but that’s not why Garth is in the posse. Garth single handedly from his Apple 2 computer (pre internet era mind you) took control of a local TV station video feed, manually overrode advance US spy satellites, GPS tracked a limo in downtown Chicago and rerouted a video feed directly into said limo, with no more than fancy finger typing and large amounts of Aquanet (to keep his hair out of his eyes) all for the benefit of his buddies girlfriend, which while getting her back totally eliminates any chance of “accidental” morning wood touching.
Scenario: You were talking to your old hipster buddies from high school and they were going on and on how mind blowing their new fave site 4chan is. Waiting until your lunch break like a good worker drone you start surfing to catch up to your old buddies coolness level not wanting to be left out of the joke over the next soy chai mocha latte. As you peruse the site you click on the animated gif tab, hmmm I wonder what this does. No sooner is your computer highjacked by images that can only be described as a furry Navi anal explosion do you realize you’ve locked up not only your own workstation but caused the company wide server to crash due to the mass overload of underage tentacle porn you’ve injected straight into its virgin brain. As you clearly see you’ve exceeded the server’s underage tentacle porn capacity, the IT manager calls it a day and everyone gets to go home early. He’s called the Geek squad and, “they’ll be there bright and early to get to the bottom of this disaster,” he squeakily announced over the PA system. “Whoever is held responsible will not only lose their job, but be liable for the monetary loss to the business and go to jail.”
“Shit, balls…” is all that manages to escape from your mumbling lips. You’re fucked, double fuck even…. Sure you may have hated your job but one day you thought you could proudly march out of there and tell everyone to suck your dick-cheese-burger now it may actually be the day they lead you out in handcuffs. But at this point in the article, you realize we here at Gunaxin know a guy. Actually we don’t know a guy. We’ve written and edited this article (yes the entire staff) from a minimum security federal jail cell, nervously glancing over at the salad we will have to collectively toss in roughly 32 minutes after “light outs”, goddamn we wish we knew a guy. Because if we did, we’d have come back at midnight, badge into the building, wipe any trace that the underage tentacle porn came from our computer, copy said porn onto a CD for private viewing later, delete our midnight B & E from the Digital Video Recorder tied to the camera system, remove our successful badging entry into the building from the access control system and disappear into the night with our own personal Hugh Jackman from Swordfish (minus the rugged beard and snug fitting jeans) by our side.
In this star studded flick only one character stands out above all the rest. Yes we all know who that is, the black dude from Star Wars. But there were other important characters in the movie as well, one of them is the aforementioned Mr. Wolfe. When two low level thugs accidentally rearrange 84% percent of a perfectly good brain and skull into a fine mist throughout their traveling vehicle, they realize they are for lack of a better word fucked. And I’m not talking about some sort of 4th date pity fuck, I’m talking about Catherine the Great with 3 Budweiser Clydesdales fucked. After this very graphic description of fornication where can these two unlucky gentleman turn?
Wolfe in mere minutes if not seconds even, travels expeditiously to their location, devises a plan, pays off the witness, teach them the delicate art of cleaning up chunks of skull and brain matter, finds a location for the disposal of the accident scene and sends his awestruck accomplices off to dinner.
We all know that every guy needs someone in their lives that’ll help them move. Having to move from one place to the next is clearly the reason for the fall of every great civilization known to man. (Citation Needed) Having a few buddies’ laying around that’ll put in the time one afternoon for 2 shots of schnapps, a large pizza and the thinly veiled promise of seeing pictures of your girlfriend naked is certainly helpful in life.
The rarer find is a friend that upon telling him you fucked that 8 finger midget in Vegas and tied the knot will on a moments notice help plan and carry out a mission to move all the shit out of your house between the hours of midnight and 4 a.m. to an undisclosed location before your girlfriend gets done working the graveyard shift at the dollar store. This cunning plan of stealth, deception and general lack of morality can only be carried out by a person so loyal yet dubious in nature that in the few times in your life drastic action like this are required are well worth the endless trips to bail their ass out of County and the hindrance of being black listed by every drinking establishment in the tri-state area. All this to avoid being castrated by her over-bearing father that is pissed that his daughter, after funding your Call of Duty heroics for 3 years by working the late shift explaining to people the pricing structure at the dollar store, you’d run off and marry a diminutive 8 fingered “dancer” with two kids and what can only be described as vaginal droopiness? Yeah it’s worth it.
According to Lawrence all the solutions to life’s problems can be solved in just two words. Ron Livingstone hates his job, “Fuckin A.” He thinks his girlfriend is cheating on him, “Fuckin A.” He is going to federal fuck me in the ass prison for embezzling from his employer, that’s also pretty much a “Fuckin A” scenario. Life can be simple only if lived by means of a personal credo. Sure old Ron knows whatever problem he has he’s going to be getting the same advice from the dude that would go on to be Drew Carey’s best friend. But he’s found comfort in this, sure it’d get annoying on a day to day basis, yet when those significant moments in Ron’s life come lurking through and he hears this simple yet thorough advice it just makes sense. Ron comes through unscathed in his journey, gets the girl, avoids federal prison and decides to spend the rest of his life living in the same way as his gloriously mustachioed neighbor.
You’ve been down on your luck before, we all have. We here at Gunaxin discovered the greatest cure for it in college, its called beer and ecstasy and sprinkle in a little Angel Dust, and poof you are literally too retarded to blink let alone worry that your girlfriend is now blowing the dude one room above yours that literally fucks all night.
Seriously my God they need to put up a crossing signal due to the massive amount of girls that have taken the walk of shame from his room. Jesus does that dude even go to class; you can’t even put a picture of your Grandma up on the wall without it crashing down on your head at 11:45 when he’s auditioning half the dance squad on his cock. It’s not only that it’s…..um sorry.
As we was saying we’ve learned to drink our tears away in college, which is roughly 90% of the valuable knowledge ascertained during that time, the other 10% has more to do with not shitting the bed during finals week, but that’s another article. As every successful drunk knows the key to drinking those tears away is a good friend. Not just any friend will do, this guy pretty much has a shittier life than you every second of every day. Your bad days are never even remotely close to this guys good days. I mean the guy discussed in the opener with the Joe Flacco uni-brow talks shit about this guy, to his face.
After even just a few drinks with this poor fellow, you start to realize a few things. 1. Sure your life isn’t as bad as some peoples. 2. When the going gets tough your real friends show up to make you feel worthwhile again. 3. You’ve gotta get the hell outta here before this sad bastard starts getting his failure stink on you. Man now you realize why it’s been like 5 months since he and you have grabbed a drink and “caught up.” Hmm better wait till he goes to the pisser, that way you don’t have to see another grown man cry today.
It was bad enough having to tell your Grandpa in the men’s bathroom of the Waffle House this morning that you wouldn’t be helping him get off the toilet. Which is ironic because Grandpa and the Drinking Buddy both fall for the same trick every time; hmm maybe you should have this guy be on Grandpa Duty for the next family brunch; kill two birds with one stone, now there’s a thought.
Frank Martin the name may not wring a bell and really doesn’t matter a whole lot anyway this is essentially every character in every movie Jason Statham has ever play and you know what, he does it well. Lets see the list of qualifications.
Smuggle illegal immigrants across entire urban areas. Check – Transporter 1
Driving boats, mini coopers and armored cars with extreme proficiency whilst in the midst of stealing gold bullion from your former partner. Check – The Italian Job
Racing through a prison complex will armed with vehicle mounted machine guns and flame throwers. Check – Death Race
Driving bare assed on a crotch rocket all hopped up on uppers through New York City. Check – Crank
Complete mid air vehicular rotation to remove a bomb from the underside of your vehicle. Check –Transporter 2
As we’ve already listed every conceivable requirement for having a dude that’ll drive you from point A to point B in a hurry, you’ve probably gotten the point by now. In all aspects of all the characters listed above you’ve seen a significant amount of vehicular badassery all accomplished with a smug one liner, an eternal 5 o’clock shadow and a menacing look.
Drunk, high or getting road head from epileptic conjoined twins with braces; this is the guy that you want in the driver seat at all times. Gotta make that cannonball run to the 7-11 two counties over for your girlfriends Plan B prescription which expires at midnight tonight? Uh oh bars kicked you out 5 minutes early, whose gonna take that 4 minute 30 second drive to the liquor store before they close? Totally crapped your pants while standing at the altar and need to get a fresh set from the local Wal-Mart? If you answered “Everyone at Gunaxin is a dirty, disgusting, filthy pants crapper,” to any of these questions then you sir are correct!
And admit it, wouldn’t you love to be us too? I mean look at O.J. he basically had the worst wheel man of all time and still ended up staying out of prison. Well bad example I guess. So by following that same logic, you too can be a blight on society, lurking in the underworld known as real life and never abide by speed limits or consequences as long as you make sure to pick up your very own wheel man.