Unfuckable Friday

All this talk of ugly people over the past few days has left us with a bad taste. Banana. Blech!

I’m glad we’ve established that ugly people have lives too, and potentially even problems, so let us move on once again to the attractive. We at Vomitola have bagged and tagged our share of the handsome over the years, and we have decided that there are two main attractive male archetypes.

After one particularly lackluster showing back in the 90s, we coined the term “Hoobjoob.”

The sensitivity! The hair! The aimlessness! Ah yes, the Hoobjoob is the bane of the modern woman’s existence. So promising at first, these specimens inevitably disappoint via complete lack of follow through. Maybe you somehow managed to bed one of them, probably by tripping and falling on him. Then the nightmare begins: the rambling texts and gchats and lame Facebook comments, the inability to make actual plans, despite copious amounts of flinchy but ongoing attention. What is this? We start to wonder, is it me? Could I be less than desirable in some way? Why is he not interested in banging, but interested enough to keep pestering me?

A trusty girlfriend can easily provide the answer: “Ah, you’ve got a Hoobjoob on your hands!” And then you can blithely change this person’s name in your phone and never speak of him again. There is no other solution.

If you give us a genius grant, maybe we can actually ascertain the reasons for Hoobjoobery in the modern male. Is it toxic exposure to hair products? A particularly damaging episode of “Full House” viewed in childhood? You thought you were getting John Stamos, but beneath the hair lurks all the social skills of Dave Coulier!

Anyway, we can’t be actually arsed to do this research unless you give us enough money and a dissection kit. If you’ve been Hoobjoobed, move on, guilt free. It’s not you, it’s Hoobjoob.

Coming soon: Part II: The Steele.

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