The designer himself...a cliffhanger.
You may need to keep a keen wit about you to spot Cliffhanger, but he’s definitely out there. He’s just hitting that point of transitioning from his late 30s to early 40s, and as such is experiencing a bit of an identity crisis. He is married with a couple of young kids, and therefore is expected to act and dress a certain way, but he’s not ready to accept the imminent Tommy Bahama shirts and deck shoes just yet. Cliffhanger is desperately trying to cling onto every last fiber of his youth, and does so by sneaking in the occasional Ed Hardy t-shirt, or cranking up the latest rap hits in his SUV and glancing around awkwardly to make sure no one is giving him the ‘tard face. In a conversation he rarely waits more than a minute before making a forced remark to let you know he’s still high up in the hipness ranks, such as, “Did you see Beyonce at the VMAs? Man…what I wouldn’t do to that ass.” He may be balding and showing a little salt ‘n pepper, but he can still pop bottles with the best of ’em.
You’ll sometimes see him and his old law school buddies huddled in a booth at an upscale sports bar sipping micro brews and noshing on mini Kobe burgers. This after-work retreat is their time to unwind and grumble about married life, reminiscing about the good ole days when they were 30 pounds lighter and knee deep in collegiate vajayjay. Despite the depressing nature of such thoughts, Cliffhanger and his friends take solace in the fact that they’re all still young on the inside, right? Right??
When he’s not tinkering with his mental time machine or getting hair surgery, Cliffhanger can be seen strolling through the neighborhood with his kids and beloved wife, Cliffdiver. Notorious for delving into the whorish depths of the Nordstrom teens department to find her clothing, Cliffdiver also enjoys keeping one toe firmly planted in her youth and a thong strap firmly wedged in her butt crack. A tight pair of Rock & Republic’s and playful Juicy t-shirt comprise her standard outfit, accentuated by a bulls-eye tattoo on the lower back. Forever 21 my ass – Forever 42.
Frequently heard saying: “No honey you can’t have a Popsicle…oh this song’s tight!”
Last seen: Hitting on the 16-year-old cashier at Walgreens.
Salad - the most delicious meal on Earth.
Arch-nemesis of restaurants and normal people everywhere, Calorie Nazi is the queen bee of picky eaters. She won’t touch a pizza with a 50-foot pole, nor will she be seen in the same room as many foods normal people perceive to be reasonably healthy, such as cereal, pasta, or rice. Without fail, Calorie Nazi manages to make an appearance at every large group dinner, and makes her presence known quickly. She can be seen examining the menu with the wincing concentration of a surgeon about to remove a testicle. Knowing the ingredients of a dish is not enough for Calorie Nazi. No no. She also must know the source of each ingredient, exactly how the dish is prepared, and what other dishes will be cooked within 4 square feet that could make hers fattening by proximity. Calorie Nazi makes everyone at the table want to jab a fork in their eye.
To add fuel to the fire, Calorie Nazi is lactose intolerant and deathly allergic to nuts and wheat. Of course she doesn’t have any clear evidence of this, but she’s been avoiding dairy and carbs for so long that she assumes her finely-tuned body can no longer process such lowly foods. After outlining her allergies and maximum daily caloric intake to the waiter, the two work together to select a meal that’s right for her. Once that’s done, Calorie Nazi makes a dozen or so special requests and substitutions, rendering her final selection more like rabbit food than the description on the menu. More often than not the chef ends up having to stop making everyone else’s dinner to come to the table for clarification of Calorie Nazi’s bizarre demands. She takes this as an opportunity to educate him on the world’s best cooking oil she found at an independent gourmet food shop in some far-away land and how he should seriously consider importing it for use in his restaurant. After throwing up in his mouth the chef nods and returns to the kitchen.
Not surprisingly, Calorie Nazi is also obsessed with physical fitness. When she’s not causing restaurant employees to have heart palpitations, she spends most of her time at a fitness center where she works as either a personal trainer or a yoga instructor, if not both. She has one of those slightly-too-masculine physiques with wide shoulders, defined biceps, and calves shaped like a bone-in Christmas ham. Naturally, though, Calorie Nazi thinks she looks smoking hot and likes showing off her rock hard figure. She does so by running in just a sports bra, and by performing her cheeky party trick of cracking walnuts between her butt cheeks.
Frequently heard saying: “Eww, do you have any idea how much sugar is in that fruit salad?”
Last seen: Doing lunges while exiting your local vegan/organic/gluten-free market.
Cube Monkey's Lair
Hiding within the confines of a 6′ by 6′ three-walled box, Cube Monkey is a rather elusive character. The occasional rustling of papers or squeaky fart are the only major signs of his existence. Due to the incompetence of upper management, Cube Monkey and dozens of his friends were hired even though there is only enough work for about three people. As a result, he is forced to find ways to kill about 7 of the 8 hours he spends at the office each day. Cube Monkey is clearly a real asset to your organization.
Cube Monkey starts his day by reading each new e-mail about three times, grabbing some coffee from the break room, and crunching a few numbers in Excel. Around 10 o’clock he hits panic mode – there are 7 more hours until he gets to leave and he’s got bugger all left to do. Naturally, then, his favorite pastime is web-surfing. He enjoys reading comedic blogs and constantly has to stop himself mid-chuckle to avoid revealing his worthlessness. He has a keen ear and is always listening out for the pitter-patter of passing feet, at which point he quickly clicks back to that Excel spreadsheet and punches in some meaningless numbers. I saw the YouTube screen you dipshit.
Cube Monkey is sometimes forced to migrate from his cubicle to the conference room for important meetings. Here he is notorious for adding as much value as a dry dildo, and spends most of the time fiddling with the knobs on his chair. He is also a big fan of the 20-minute bathroom break, where he thinks he is safe from detection. What Cube Monkey doesn’t realize is that, with his pants now around his ankles, the photo ID tag clipped to his belt is dangling in plain view below the stall door. You can hear him tapping away on his iPhone as he thumbs through Facebook status updates while pretending to drop a deuce. Another dead giveaway is when, upon returning to his desk, you see him trying to zoom into a document by “pinching out” his computer screen. Busted.
Frequently heard saying: (To Boss) “Yep, I’ve been working on the Drudge Report…I mean Status Report…all morning.”
Last seen: Picking his wedgie in the elevator.
I think this pretty much says it all.
Preacher to the masses, Mr. Morality can be seen day and night expressing his views on a busy street corner in your city. He is typically dressed up in a retro suit and tie combination that he’s owned since his teens, and bellows his message through a duct-taped PA system. Whether he’s promoting the teachings of Jesus Christ, warning of governmental conspiracy, or advocating the use of jimmy caps to avoid catching “the Hiv”, he is guaranteed to have an informational cardboard sign that looks like a 3rd grader made it. The only exception to this rule is if he and his cohorts are protesting abortion, in which case there will be at least a dozen huge, professionally-printed banners revealing every detail of a discarded fetus. Having just upchucked the Chipotle you ate for lunch, this is the only time you actually want to punch Mr. Morality right in the balls.
There are a couple of key questions people often wonder about Mr. Morality. The first is: Is he sane or a bit cuckoo? On one hand you’d think someone would have to be all there to be able to communicate so clearly and passionately about a subject. On the other hand, one must also be nuts to do so every single day in front of a passing audience that would rather hear Roseanne Barr repeatedly sing “I’m a Little Teapot”. The whole thing’s somewhat of a mystery, but do not under any circumstance stop Mr. Morality’s sermon to perform your own sanity checks or you’ll receive the evil eye and be showered with heathen fireballs from God.
The second question you may ponder is: How does Mr. Morality make money if he’s preaching all day without a collection plate? Simple. He makes millions filming motivational healing seminars that air at 3 in the morning. You’ve seen them – he enthusiastically spits jibberish at the paralytic before him who then passes out and miraculously wakes up doing an Irish jig. The fact that he’s filthy rich yet still spending his days on the streets with us common folk is further proof that he’s a few pumps short of a pregnancy.
Frequently heard saying: “Put down the Playboy, pick up a Bible!”
Last seen: Polishing his microphone on the subway.
"Hi I'm from Amsterdam."
By far the trendiest guy in your city is Euro Slick. He struts around town in his futuristic white Puma sneakers, thigh-hugging G-Star jeans, form-fitting soccer jersey that clings perfectly to the bicep, and smokey aviator sunglasses. He sports a textbook faux-hawk and possibly a delicately coifed rat tail that has somehow over the past year become both acceptable and attractive to women. Even after playing soccer for a full 90 minutes his hair remains perfectly in place thanks to the expensive imported pomade he fingers through it each day. Euro Slick was born overseas and spent at least 3 days there before coming to the States – just long enough to secure his place in life as a superior stylish foreigner.
Euro Slick is very passionate about his “homeland”. Everything is better in Europe – the food, the wine, the women, the architecture, the way of life. Despite having lived his entire life stateside, if an American sporting team is playing a European team, even if it’s not his “home country’s” team, he will root for the Euros every time. He will defend and argue in favor of his beloved continent to the grave. Yet the minute you ask him why, if Europe’s so great, is he still living in America, his mouth remarkably ceases to function. He will mumble a few grunts then retreat to his apartment to eat gelato and lose himself in DJ Tiesto’s latest mix.
Euro Slick likes to hang out at quirky French bistros and sophisticated beer houses where he sips $10 Belgian brews such as Delirium Tremens. When the evening calls for something a little more upbeat, he slips into his D+G shirt and Ferragamo loafers before heading to a new, secretive lounge. He is by no means wealthy but he splurges on 2 or 3 top designer pieces to wear whenever he really wants to impress the ladies. He can be seen wearing these exact articles in 97% of the pictures on his Facebook page.
Frequently heard saying: “I can’t wait for the next World Cup. I’m going.”
Last seen: Buying Ferrari cologne at Saks Fifth Avenue.
The obligatory gourmet cupcake.
Proud Sarah is a young college graduate who now has about five years of work experience under her belt. A self-proclaimed star at one of the nation’s largest corporations, she has successfully been able to work her way up the ladder into a higher salary bracket and a more spacious cubicle. As her name suggests, she is extremely proud of what she has accomplished thus far in her career, and views every conversation as an opportunity to make people aware of her excellence. No matter the setting or subject matter, Proud Sarah promptly steers the discussion toward matters of vocation by asking what you do for a living. This is a trap. As soon as you’ve uttered your fifth word she’ll cut you off and tell you all about her accolades in the field of accounting, finance, or pharmaceutical sales. Proud Sarah does not have many friends.
To pat herself on the back some more, Proud Sarah enjoys going for elaborate spa treatments and grabbing a cheeky treat from the latest gourmet cupcake shop. She also likes telling everyone about the brand new high-rise condo she just bought in, according to her, what is destined to become the city’s coolest neighborhood. It has hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, 36″ maple cabinets, AND a fully functioning fireplace!! To kick it up a notch, Proud Sarah furnishes the place with a white suede couch, fluffy white rug, posters of vintage French advertisements, and hundreds of candles and soap products with an obscure scent such as cucumber melon. Never has anyone else on the planet ever turned to either a cucumber or a melon for olfactory relief.
As picture perfect as her professional life may be, the same cannot be said when it comes to love. It is completely incomprehensible to Proud Sarah why she cannot get a boyfriend, or even any sort of romantic encounter that extends beyond the first date. After all, she’s classy, sassy, and twice as successful as all the guys she dates. What’s not to love? She can often be heard expressing her frustration to a fellow Proud Sarah at Starbucks while slurping down a Venti Caramel Frappuccino. To console herself after such an emotional outpour, Proud Sarah returns home to catch up on TiVo’d episodes of Oprah.
Frequently heard saying: “So how big is your expense account?”
Last seen: Drinking martinis with the girls while arguing over who is most like each Sex and the City character.
The Urban Caucasian Mother (“UCM”) can be seen taking over sidewalks in affluent urban communities all across this great nation. She is typically in her early to mid-thirties and, as such, is starting to panic about the onslaught of old age. To counteract the inevitable jiggly arms and tank ass, UCM marches around her neighborhood all day with an SUV-sized stroller that gets in everybody’s way. She absolutely must accessorize with a recyclable to-go cup of soy chai tea from the quirky new neighborhood tea house, a small, yappy dog, and a husband carrying around their other child in a baby backpack. The result is essentially a traveling circus sideshow whose only goal is to bastardize the neighborhood and make everyone else’s day a little less convenient.
A poster child for Lululemon Athletica, UCM likes to wear cutting-edge athletic apparel as she is known to periodically pause her neighborhood tour to strike an impressive yoga pose. Only the most stretchable and breathable fabrics known to man, available in the hippest color palette, enable her to properly do this. This clothing also helps her to a) jog on the spot while waiting for the crosswalk light to turn green and b) properly direct other pedestrians out of her way.
UCM and her husband very much enjoy eating brunch on the outdoor patio of a trendy local cafe. Not wanting to deprive the children of the same pleasant experience, UCM politely but firmly asks the server to remove the adjacent table to make room for her stroller. The fact that this prevents one of the seven waiting parties from sitting down to enjoy their brunch is of little importance. Actually, she’s probably doing them a favor because no one enjoys sitting by the shrieking infant who’s continually spitting out her brioche french toast. UCM rolls her eyes at hubbie’s selection of fatty bacon and sausage as she nibbles on her egg-white arugula omelette with seasonal fruit salad.
After brunch the happy family likes to stop by the dog park to let Bailey sniff some strange tail, then heads home so UCM can continue working on her baby scrapbooking project that all of her friends are anxiously waiting to see.
Frequently heard saying: “Did you hear about the new organic baby food shop opening next to L’Occitane?”
Last seen: Struggling to get her stroller through the door of the doggy bakery.