What kind of guy am I? I’ll tell you.
I tip 20% without question.
I grill my vegetables and douse them in ketchup every time.
I drive the babysitter home and ignore every word she says.
I will let you shave my back for a nickel and then stiff you on the payment.
I apply a feminist critique to everything I read, especially cereal boxes.
I make a mean batch of banana pancakes without needing a special occasion.
I separate my recyclables.
I would shoot a baby seal in the face if it threatened to shoot me first.
I sew my own repairs on all of my clohtes.
I am not correcting that typo, ever.
I enjoy meteorologists with appropriately punny names, like Gail Sandstorm or Steve Iceslick.
I walk to the dry cleaner’s to save on gas.
I likes me the boobies.
I throw every game of Trivial Pursuit I play to make my opponents feel good.
I think Marky Mark should cut a new album.
I host dinner parties with my worst enemies and flirt with their wives.
I never drink gin on Sundays.
I own three hamsters.
I put spare change in parking meters I’m not even using.
That’s the kind of guy I am, mofo.
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