This was written pre-Holiday Hiatus. As much as you miss my cunning wit and analyses of This Means War, I won’t be throwing these bones out over Christmas. There’s only one Santa Claus in this world and I’m not him. I’m probably sitting on a couch with my ten best friends looking fresh to DEATH with a shit-ton of holiday hair-gel dispersed throughout my perfect holiday combover. Really short on confidence this Christmas, if you can’t tell.
Gather ‘round kids, ‘cause I’m about to learn you something. But first, I need a couple favors from you. A humble request, if you will. Get off your uppity, manly high-horse and listen to me with open ears and an open heart. Don’t hit me up with a “You’re so gay, man.” I don’t play that shit. Don’t come on my website and disrespect me while I’m trying to enlighten the fuck out of you.
If you’re a single dude, you need to be on Pinterest. Your mind just exploded.
"Are you kidding, man?! That shit is for the birds! Oh my god, why don’t you and J. Alexander get a room! Gross!”
Take off your Pussy Patrol shirt, swallow your damn pride, and go fuck yourself. You think you’re too cool for Pinterest, but I got a newsflash for you — you’re about to get a one-way ticket to the freak fest of a lifetime, my friends.
Before Giselle, do you think Tom Brady sat at home cupping his balls and watching Always Sunny re-runs? No. Dude was living in the film room at Foxoboro analyzing why he couldn’t complete a fuckin’ screen pass against a 4-3 defense when the linebackers weren’t blitzing (#Sports, NBD). Constantly improving.
Meanwhile, when he went home at night, I’m like 99% sure that ole Tommy had a secret Pinterest account under the nickname Maury Ballstein where he was scoping buffalo-chicken dip recipes and how to perfectly string Christmas lights on his porch for his middle-of-the-summer get-togethers that Drake rapped about in "Dreams Money Can Buy".
Pinterest is the game-tape of the female existence. This is some introspective into the dumb shit that girls love. We’re talkin’ photos of Gosling with love quotes watermarked over them. Fuckin’ infinity scarves on Etsy. Sushi for children made out of bananas, peanut butter, and Rice Krispies. Photos of oversized knit coats with the caption of, “On Fridays, we wear pink.” Cilantro lime avocado chicken that is “#sosimple, #sohealthy.” Motherfucking FISHTAIL BRAIDS. You gotta get in tune with this shit. You need to know what this shit is. This is the type of next-level knowledge that gives your single ass the upper-hand.
But lets be clear about something - Pinterest ain’t all Apple Cider Margaritas and Bernedoodles (Bernese Mountain Dog / Poodle mix that are hypoallergenic and don’t shed! OMG!!!). You’re going to see some scary shit like pinboards titled “I do.” and “For the kids.” Those type of boards scream, “I’m single and DESPERATE” or “My boyfriend is fucked if he doesn’t propose to me like yesterday.” Sweep this under the rug and act like it doesn’t exist.
And also, I’m not asking you to pin shit you like. You don’t have to actively fucking pin. Shit, you don’t have to pin at all. Be an innocent bystander. A silent observer. Sit behind that one-way glass like you’re doing a Mad Men-esque case-study on female life. You don’t see me pinning my Chubbies-filled wardrobe and favorite cocktail recipes. Nappenin’.
The internet has given you the opportunity to score chicks in ways your grandpa didn’t have. And even though your grandpa would probably spit out his coffee if he knew you were on Pinterest (if he even knew what the fuck Pinterest is), it’s evident that he’s already found a babe of his dreams (your grandma) or else you wouldn’t fucking be here.
So, for 10 minutes a day, log onto Babe Study (which is what I’m calling Pinterest for now on) and do your reconnaissance to expand your mind. Then, if you feel like this somehow made you less of a man and shrunk your balls, toss in a Band of Brothers DVD and go chop some wood while drinking some Bud Diesels. You’ve earned it.