Have you been called a tool before, but were unsure whether your detractor was just jealous of your sikk style or highlighting traits about you that you failed to pick up because of your feeble introspective ability? Well, it’s your lucky fucking day, for I’ve arrived to tell you, the reader, whether or not you’re an unsociably aggressive buffoon that people regularly mock.

You might be wondering: “B-b-but Aleph, what qualifies you to judge who’s a tool and who’s not”? Well, there’s no way for you to evaluate my legitimacy to judge you, so just shut your mouth and have a little faith. Just be content to know that a sizable fraction of my my outside-time is spent in one of two places:

1. The gym
2. Y-Bar

Both locales are tool colonies, so they’re a subspecies of human that I’ve grown quite familiar with. I’m also of Mediterranean background, which is where the Art of Toolery was first invented back in 1543 by Toolicus Curliceps.

Toolicus Curliceps: progenitor of modern toolery

Anyway, enough about me. This post is about you after all, so let’s begin:


This is the definitive criteria that will determine whether or not you’re a total assclown:

1. Your biceps are bigger than your head: roughly 80% of the time you spend in the gym is dedicated to building your biceps. You do this “for the bitches, bro” and your arms look like birthday balloons while the remainder of your vestige resembles one of Joseph Kony’s child soldiers. Congratulations, you’ve reached the genetic potential of one of the most functionally useless muscle groups in your body.

2. You think your minimum-wage job is cool: this mostly applies to bouncers, interns, and other manner of wage-slaves. Somebody’s made you dress in a costume and is paying you scraps to do mundane tasks for hours on end. You think being associated with a place other people like means that you’re liked by extension, but you’re nothing more than a minor cog in a massive moneymaking machine. If your workplace were N’Sync, you wouldn’t even be Lance Bass. You’re not a special butterfly, you’re the dictionary definition of an expendable, organic…well, tool.

3. You believe your mediocre sexual exploits are “epic”: you got lucky one night and actually made out with a girl who didn’t resemble a burnt wildebeest. Your accomplishment is the stuff of legends and you drone on for days about how you’d have fucked her if only she wasn’t on her period, or some other bullshit excuse girls give that you still bought wholesale.

“Sup baby gurl”

4. You look like shit: you wear plaid, have stupid tattoos, and your jeans don’t fit. You leave the house on Thursdays with a wrinkled V-neck shirt and offensively stupid hat and tell people not to confuse you with The Situation from Jersey Shore. Yes, I’ve actually seen somebody do that.

5. It takes you more than 4 years to finish undergrad: your transcript has so many F’s on it that it looks like it’s about to scream “fuck.”

6. You think your unproductive lifestyle is “hardcore”: you’re 22 years old, still smoke weed on a daily basis, and watch Netflix all day. In your mind, this carefree, spontaneous existence that you buoy with your parents’ hard-earned money is the pinnacle of machismo when, in reality, you’re nothing more than a manchild.

The Tool Intensity Scale:

After reading the tool test, count how many of the numbered points describe you and apply them to the scale below to figure out your Tool Score:
1-2: Tool
2-4: Big fucking tool
4-5: People audibly laugh when they see you
6: Autistic

Getting a one-night-stand in Kalamazoo

Every 4-6 weeks, a random encounter with a female I don’t know escalates into sex. It’s important to note that what I mean by “one-night-stand” isn’t the hit’n’quit you do on your ex-girlfriend’s best friend, your buddy’s sister, or anybody else you know on a meaningfully personal level prior to insertion of boner into fishpocket–it’s a total stranger, and you will probably spend the next three weeks worrying about whether or not you contracted herpes.

There’s been a lot of variance in the scenarios that led me to instafucks. One was Asian, one took about 20 minutes between the time words were exchanged and sex was had, and another told me she never wanted to see me again in her life. However, they all had a few things in common so I’ll list them for your convenience:

“Never wanna see me again? A’ight.” 

1. Drunk: in all instances, I was teetering between consciousness and blackout drunk. Thanks to some kink in my genetics, however, I don’t get whiskeydick. While a lot of people at this point are drowsy from alcohol’s depressive effects and physically uncoordinated, I am one of those people who responds to excessive alcohol consumption with unbridled aggression in conjunction with the malfunction of all my social filters.

2. Cockblockers diffused early: potential cockblockers were eliminated from the interaction between an ephemeral fuckbuddy and myself fairly quickly. Cockblockers were too drunk, horny, or stupid to realize what was going on and failed to fulfill their natural imperative to make other people miserable.

3. She was really horny: obviously.

4. She didn’t care if a condom was used: girls these days seem to think that birth control doubles as an STD blocker.

5. Thursday: all of my random fucks were had on Thursday. Don’t underestimate the first night of the weekend. Every girl who wants to get fucked gets picked off early and doesn’t go out Friday and Saturday because she’s already maxed out her SlutCard.

Wrong day of the week, sweety

I’m not going to say that it’s in your best interest to get blackout drunk all the time because the odds are against you in the pursuit for anonymous pussy. You might end up emptying your bank account, provoking physical altercations with other sexually frustrated dudes, or destroying property. There is a certain amount of luck involved. Kalamazoo isn’t a very big town so the chances you’ll find somebody ready to slut it out with a stranger is low.

Also, expect to fuck girls in the 6-7 range in terms of attractiveness. 8-9’s are surrounded by legions of dudes trying to fuck them. You need to swoop in on a girl who’s under the radar early on in the night while the more aggressive dudes are trying their hand at fucking the five or six hottest girls at Y-bar (and undermining one another completely in the process). If you’re wondering about the rest of the attractiveness spectrum, 10’s don’t exist and 1-5’s don’t deserve mention.


Expect to be interrupted by a couple Scavenger Steves while in the process of transitioning the party to a more private location. The moment these types of guys see a girl exhibiting sexual interest in anything or anybody, they instinctively swoop in like starved hyenas. As I laid out before, the key to diffusing this type of cockblocker is to ignore their advance and allow them to crash and burn under the weight of their own desperation. Fortunately, guys who don’t get laid have a hard time hiding it in their body language, and 99% of Scavenger Steves don’t get laid.

I hope this helps. I know this has essentially been a primer for guys so, to my female audience, I apologize. If you’re looking for a one night stand, just make sure you have a pulse and no obvious physical deformities.