Hate for Sweet, Sweet Muscle
But if we don't fight to the death, who will defend the merits of a slant-six over those of a straight six?
I hate "Gustang Gus." And yes, I know a Gustang Gus. If you haven't guessed already, Gus drives a Mustang, which he appropriately named the Gustang. The Gustang is a white convertible with zebra-print upholstry and purple dice dangling from the rear-view mirror, much representing the bruised testicles he must experience on a regular basis for his lack of sexual activity. The Gustang has a small engine with attachments to make a lot of noise and exhaust. The Gustang is an automatic, but Gus drives it as if it were a stick shift, shifting fiercely between "Drive" and 1st gear, sometimes throwing it into neutral just for that stick shift-like jolt. Gus is not a man defined by his car, though. Gus has a better fake tan than my real one; he smells as fresh as a recently deodorized couch; he has a beautiful diamond stud in one of his ears. Hair is perfectly gelled, not a stray on his head. His face is smooth as a baby's ass at all times, and his smile is bleached and twinkles in pictures; he makes sure to attend the gym at least five times a week, which isn't difficult since he works there. He does some bicep curls and bench presses, wearing finger-less leather gloves to make sure his
Hollywoodhands don't develop calluses. He is the king of the douchebags, will get into any car or muscle-related argument and fight until the death, whether he is correct or not. He gets more sex than anyone you know, but somehow he hasn't slept with anyone you know. Gus has only porn and money on his mind: porn for sexual satisfaction and money so he can maintain his sex machine image and not have to resort to porn. Gus is a man of irony, hating jocks, pretty boys, and Trans Ams. I feel as if everyone knows a Gus, ruler of Mustangs, most macho metrosexual alive. If you don't know a Gus, you must be Gus.