Hall of Fame
Wear cargo pants, an Ed Hardy tee and grow out your sideburns until you can't really tell if it's very long hair or a disorder that should be documented on TLC.
The downside is you'll look like Jon Gosselin, but on the plus you'll be without women for years!!!
Did you know girls can't actually poop? We never #2, ever.
So let it rip, pun intended, and loudly! Scare the shit out of us, even though it's a physical impossibility.
All of the emotional attachment you were saving for us? Direct it toward Chris Brown, you're new fictional BFF.
Memorize the words to a dozen or so of his songs, then serenade us with them, one after the other. Form an unhealthy need to Google image photos of Chris Breezy.
If all else fails, ask us to read your secret fan fiction blog that has some not so subtle gay undertones.
Yes, we want someone who can't get enough of us, but even ladies know when to say when.
(i.e. When you threaten our father, have sex with our BFF, finger bang us on a roller coaster, and carve our name into your chest.)
No further explanation required.
It doesn't necessarily have to be "YOLO" (You Only Live Once), other douchey options at your disposal are "Artisan," "Swag," and any arrows or symbols that point towards your dick.
It's 2012, guys.
Your shrine to Cartman will terrify not just the ladies, but pretty much everyone including your parents and the author of this post.
Let's cut the bullshit: we all know the words. That doesn't mean you have to like them.
Unless you're trying to ditch some chick and need an easy out, then you fucking love those lyrics.