The Massive Toolbox

Something Just Isn't Right

Have you ever met someone that strangely reminded you of someone else? Are you a firm believer in the saying "history always repeats itself"? Well, I for one am able to answer "yes" to each question. Now, I've never actually met the 80's heartthrob himself, Corey Feldman, however I have it on my own good authority that he bares striking similarities to a much more preserved, less burnt out version of (drum roll, por favor):

Aha! It's almost too good to be true. Keyword here: Almost. The lesson of the day is that Tools have been around for decades, possibly even centuries (though I'm pretty sure a little twit I'll call Napoleon would like to think otherwise). But, as Andy Dick said in Old School, "That's neither here, nor there". Now, ok. Comparing Corey Feldman to Ryan Seacrest is kind of like saying that Jessica Simpson's new shoe line is just as good as Christian Louboutin's (which, if you ask me, is completely true because yet again Jessica "The Ho" Simpson has managed to put her sticky little fingers in another f-ing business enterprise simply by stealing others' ideas.) Just because they look alike, does in no way mean that they are alike. Looks can be incredibly deceiving if we have learned anything from Corey Feldman (and his apparent passion for nasal exercises back in the day) and Ryan Seacrest's obvious fear of being outed as a gay man (that little rendez-vous with Teri Hatcher? Yeah, not buying it.) Well, the point of all of this is that Ryan Seacrest is the reinvented Corey Feldman Tool...an extremely rare breed occuring in only twenty year increments.

This Week's Questions

Dear Coach Gary,

Lately I've been having some problems. The thing is, I'm usually a big hit with the women-folk. I'm pretty ripped, I flex my muscles every chance I get, and I even make sure to do a courtesy flush whenever I take a dump at Barnes and Noble (that's where I work). Whenever I meet a girl, I use one of my really good pick-up lines that are guaranteed to work. Like the other day, when I was restocking the New Age section, I ran into this redheaded hottie and asked her if she was from Tennessee (cause, you know, she "was the only ten I see" heh-heh-heh). She looked at me like I was about to hit or her something and then walked away. What gives?

-Utterly Confused

Dear Utterly,

I know exactly what you're goin' through, my man. Maybe if you had been wearing a wife beater she would've taken you up on your offer. Nah, I think you should've asked her if it hurt when she fell from heaven. That would've made her start making out with you the second those words came out of your mouth. Or maybe she was a lesbian. Yeah, that's it. She was a lesbian. Just keep livin' the dream, man, just keep on rockin'. By the way, are raisins still good for constipation?

Love ya,

Coach G

Dear Coach Gary,

I've got this huge F-150 on rims. Shouldn't that be enough to get some?

-Pissed Off in Pittsburgh

Dear P.O.P,

I used to think the same way. Hell, I was drivin' around in a '78 VW Van for the past sixteen years and couldn't even get the fat chick working at Shipley's Donuts to give me the look-over. Them chicks don't know what they're missin' out on, man, they just don't know. If the car isn't doing the trick, then you probably aren't wearing enough cologne. Trust me, you'll get results.

-Coach G.

Dear Coach Gary,

I'm incredibly good at Dance Dance Revolution. Seriously, you should see my moves. They are epic. Problem is, people don't take me seriously and I think it might be because I can't get this one move down when I advance to the fourth level. Should I give up my dream of becoming the reigning champ at DDR or just settle for college?

-Crazy Feet

Dear Crazy,

I gotta say, I see a lot of myself in you. Young, ambitious, cultured - hell, man, we're the ultimate package. I say reach for the stars. It's not everyday someone has the chance to really go far in life, ya know? Just keep practicing that move. I think that you should practice it whenever you can and especially practice it at the mall or in the movie theater parking lot. You can do this and I'll get to say I knew ya when.

Peace and love,

Coach Gary

Dear Coach Gary,

I like to wear my sunglasses inside and some people call me a "prick" and an "arrogant SOB" behind my back when they think I can't hear them (but, I really can). And, you know, it hurts. I can't help it that most people are beneath me and don't deserve to be in my direct line of vision. Can't I just tell them to screw off or give them the finger?

-The Aviator

Dear Aviator,

Hell yeah, man. I feel your pain. Do you wear your sunglasses at night too? That'd be real sweet. It'd be like that one song from back in the day. You know that song? Anyways, if people can't understand that they're in the presence of a God then that's their problem - not yours. Just keep workin' your magic, man. Oh, one more thing. If you're wearin' your sunglasses inside you definitely need to get your eyebrows waxed every other week, otherwise you'll just look like a fool. I mean, who wears sunglasses without manicured eyebrows?! Wusses that's who. Now go make Coach Gary proud.

-Coach Gary

Dear Coach Gary,

My daughter has been getting on my case lately. She claims that I act like "a real creep" whenever she holds cheerleading practice in our backyard. Since when is videotaping my daughter and her friends creepy?! Isn't this America?

-Techno Lover

Dear TL,

Your daughter is just going through a phase, don't worry. By the way, is she 18? She have any single friends that are 18?

-Coach Gary

Dear Ryan...With Love

Dearest Ry Ry,

I'm not really sure what it is about this picture that causes me to become even more obsessed with you than I already am. At first I thought that maybe it was the way your lowlights brought out the bronzed glow on your Mystic Tanned face, but I soon realized that wasn't it when I noticed that your forehead wasn't botoxed nearly enough. My second guess was maybe it was your pervy smile you've got stretched from ear to ear, but again, I knew that couldn't possibly be it when I glanced at that deliberate 5 'o' clock shadow south of your (exfoliated and glossed?) lips.

After staring at this lovely photo for about four hours (well, only ten seconds, but it sure felt much longer than that) it hit me. It's the hair. Oh, that glorious, gelled-to-perfection hair. Well, that and the fact that your dressed up as an astronaut.

Kiss kiss,

Your #1 Fan!

The Condescending-Intellectual Tool

Based on our current living situation as well as the types of Tools we generally see on our own college campus, we don't run into this Tool as much as we would like to. If you have been trying to suppress the urge to have a little face time with The Condescending-Intellectual Tool, suppress it no more. All that is required of you is that you remain extremely alert at UC Berkeley, Stanford, NYU, Columbia, Harvard, and Yale (this includes nearby taverns, bookstores, libraries, etc.).

**We precede this description by informing you that if you haven't had a chance to bask in this Tool's arrogant and cavalier presence, then we sincerely pity you because this Tool is truly awe-inspiring and one that provides hours of hilarious entertainment. If, on the other hand, you have experienced the wrath of said Tool, then our hats are off to you for putting up with his snobby, egotistical, and smart ass comments.**

The Condescending-Intellectual Tool will spend countless hours on Google, desperately searching for random facts about Tolstoy, Poe, and Chekhov. (Umm, P.S. Who the f even likes Chekhov?!) This particular breed is fanatical about quoting infamous historians, authors, and artists, so quoting someone as common as Dickens is clearly out of the question (God forbid). This Tool thrives on the "abstract" and gets immensely ecstatic over forcing you to believe that his IQ far outsizes the width of JLo's ass (or the combined circumference of Columbus' three ships if you're talking to a particularly severe paradigm of The Condescending-Intellectual Tool). Generally, these Tools are Philosophy or Art History majors, but have been known to extend into the depths of Theology, English, and/or Modern Languages. They maintain their versatile personas by donning argyle sweaters throughout the warmer months and juxtapose their sophisticated demeanors by wearing Converse sneakers, in the hopes of removing themselves from any particular stereotype.

Never one to be pigeonholed, he enjoys spouting out facts about the most random shit that has ever graced this earth. In essence, this Tool's sole goal in life is to make you feel like the dumbest and lowliest individual that he has ever encountered. Haven't you ever noticed that this breed of Tool only listens to jazz that has no coherent sound to it other than random instrumental clashing? This is a direct result of his desire to ooze patronizing and disdainful facial expressions administered towards you. This Tool enjoys spending his Saturdays donning a black beret, listening to "Learn French" on tape, and eating baguette sandwiches. True, he has done his research in performing the art of superciliousness, and that's gotta be worth something, but don't give him too much cred. He is still a Tool and, let's be honest, a Tool is a Tool.

Our advice? Snatch those f-ing black rimmed glasses (there's absoluley no prescription in those lenses) off of his pretentious face and calmly tell him he resembles a young Pauly Shore.

Steve Sanders, Where Have You Gone?

Ok, so we were born in 1986 and therefore didn't get a chance to truly appreciate Beverly Hills 90210 during its glory years (and during our prepubescent era, natch) but thanks to the recent development of cable TV, we are now, thankfully, able to indulge our inextinguishable flame for this show on a regular - if not daily - basis. As a result of our fervent obsession, we've naturally stumbled across a few goldmines (or, Tools, to be more precise). Two words: Steve Sanders.

Steve Sanders (aka Ian Ziering) is the epitome of a Tool, which is precisely why we love - wait, envy! - him. That tow-headed receding hairline, the discernable penchant for crotch-hugging jeans and hightop tennis shoes...my lord, it's certainly a struggle not to jump up and start licking the television uncontrollably whenever Steve "The Tool" Sanders makes an appearance. Poor Steve...no one would ever take him seriously. Whether it was him losing yet another gal to the affable Brandon Walsh, getting caught in an uncomfortable situation between his KEG frat brothers and his father, or being the reason that Kelly Taylor got caught in that nasty fire during the rave he held...well the point is, the guy just can't ever catch a break.

Now we know what you're thinking - you're thinking, wait! - technically Steve didn't have it all so bad. He's rich, he takes Kelly's V-card, and he ends up "happily" married as a result of impregnating Janet (hey now! Do we smell a Creeper-Father Tool in the midst?). But, no, let's not jump to conclusions. We must remind ourselves that this is Steve Sanders we are talking about. The same Steve who spreads vicious rumors about Kelly which eventually cast a slutbagho reputation over her, the same Steve who gets himself in a "date rapist" situation (again, Creeper-Father!), and the exact same Steve who dates Clare (annoying snob with way too much cartilage dangling off the end of her witch-like nose).

Yes, Steve is a Tool through and through. There really isn't any evidence that would suggest otherwise, plus the fact wasn't it Steve who single-handedly managed to get himself involved in a date rape situation (nevermind the fact that the crazy ho backed down and eventually tried to commit suicide)?! Rapist tendencies aside, Steve never quite understood that though he lived in the 90's, it wasn't necessarily imperative that he draw attention to that fact. Kind of looking like a cross between an albino cat and David Lee Roth, Sir Sanders is a personal favorite of ours, despite the fact that he always has a doltish grin plastered across his face. Maybe Steve's Toolish demeanor stems from his girlish and whiney voice. You know that voice all too well; the eloquent way he manages to make a stutter resemble that of a screeching armadillo mixed with a small dollop of a preteen singing gratingly along to Backstreet Boys' Greatest Hits.

As long as we keep getting our routine doses of Beverly Hills 90210 episodes of yesteryear, Steve Sanders will continue to send our hearts aflutter and our jaws to the floor.

The Creeper-Father Tool

You've seen this Tool...and you've seen him a lot. It appears that this breed of Tool is growing at an alarming rate. Our only hypothesis at why this breed continues to double in population each year is because of certain fixtures in the media, such as Bob Saget, Jude Law, and the most obvious, "Papa" Joe Simpson. We're not entirely sure who allowed these individuals to procreate and "spread their seed" (as the saying goes...) but the fact remains that they did and not only do their own offspring have to deal with their fathers' creeper and molestor-like tendencies, but they also have to protect their friends and acquaintances from them as well.

Let us a paint a little picture for you: You've been training pretty hard for the upcoming track meet with your high school's track team. Each day, after practice ends, you sit on the grass to stretch out your muscles. Recently, you've begun to notice that Mr. (insert common last name here) has taken a liking to watching you do your daily stretches from the comfort of his minivan while he waits for his daughter, who is also a member of the track team. Keep in mind that you and this girl have never been friends, yet on the day of the track meet said father is inviting you to come over and "hang out". Don't believe us? Read on.

You know you have encountered this species when you notice that your best friend's father glazes over your body a few seconds too long, and makes awkward comments about how you have "matured into such a beautiful and curvaceous young woman...you should really come over more." This particular Tool is generally a Stay-At-Home dad and/or car salesman (or, in severe cases, a minister at your local church). Those that are of this breed were actually born with the Creeper-Father DNA; our observations have shown that while one can strive for and hope to someday be part of the collective group of Creeper-Fathers, one has a much better chance of suddenly developing gills. The Creeper-Father Tool feels that because life has dealt him such a shitty card, it gives him the right to exude absolute creeper/rapist vibes to the utmost degree.

*If you are in college, or have been within the past few years, take a look around at the next frat party. You are amongst royalty; Creeper-Father Tool royalty, that is...

Matthew McConaughey: Round 2

Never one to pass up an opportunity to shine and sparkle in the omnipresent eyes of his public, Matthew McConaughey has clearly proven to us why he remains to be such a well known, envied, and beloved "star":

As you can clearly see, Mr. McConaughey has truly gone above and beyond our prior expectations of him (see: below). And, to you, we say bravo, Matthew. Bravo. Not only did you exceed your personal record of constantly resembling a pedofile-turned-Sunday-school-teacher, but you somehow manage to look as though you just did five lines of crack cocaine with Ms. Houston herself and then took turns braiding tendrils in each others' hair. Our only question for you is, why an orange bandana? Why not blue? Or green? Or even periwinkle (as so many of your kind are fanatical about)?

Ah, blast! We lied. We have so many more questions for you, Matty! (Is it alright if we call you that - Matty?) Truth be told, V-Dawg and myself are going absolutely crazy wondering how we will ever manage to find other men, besides yourself of course, that are as adamant about hygiene and sobriety as you clearly are.

Mr. McConaughey, our only piece of advice for you is that if you continue to go outside looking like this, you will be desired and most likely ravaged by anyone who has the opportune chance of crossing paths with you. Bravo, soldier. Brav-f-ing-O.

Matthew McConaughey

Riddle me this...Matthew McConaughey circa Dazed and Confused or Matthew McConaughey circa, well, now? Obviously, the man is not like a fine wine; opting to not get better with age, as they say. Don't get me wrong, he's a good looking guy, but looks can only take you so far, as we have learned from previous Tools and their predecessors. Let's all just take a few moments to sit back and reflect upon Matthew McConaughey as an individual and not so much as a Tool (hard, we know). I will never forget the first time I saw Dazed and Confused. It is, quite possibly, one of the greatest films ever made if only because of the fact that Mr. McConaughey channels a child molester date rapist à la Charlie Sheen, but channels it in such a way that makes Charlie Sheen seem more dignified and honorable than Mother Theresa herself. It was for this very reason that I forced my partner, V-Dawg, to view this fabulous movie immediately. She was shocked, appalled, and even - dare I say it? - smitten with the level of Creeptitude that little 'ol Matthew had managed to reach. We tried to remind ourselves that it was only a movie, and he was only playing a character, but to no avail. Take a look at Exhibit A:

Now, we're not exactly Bill Gates, but it doesn't require the largest amount of mental capacity to recognize a hallway lurker when we see one. Please note the firm grasp he has around the neck of his (roofie-filled?) beer. This is one man who allows nothing, and we mean nothing, to come between him and his alcoholic beverages. Not only this, but he reeks - reeks! - of narcissism. "I'm wicked." ?!?! "I'm SEXY." !!!! "I'm heaven." ?!?!?!? Um, Matthew, here's a word of advice for ya: Don't say "I'm (insert pretentious and egotistical adjective here)" when you are wearing a (pleather?) jacket WITH THE COLLAR POPPED and a shirt unbuttoned so low that it exposes your clearly celebrated chest hair that you went to great lengths to groom and cultivate for an occasion such as this. Also, we're not so sure that you should be greasing your hair back like that. You know, because Jerry Curls went out of style around the time of the stirrup pants and the emergence of Richard Simmons? Just do yourself a favor and take that beer bottle and use it to knock yourself unconcious (instead of getting the Hair and Make-Up Girl drunk, as you had originally planned).

Now, take a gander at Exhibit B:

Oh. Dear. God. Is this some sort of a sick joke?! Is he actually posing with a TOOL in this picture? Oh, the horror. The absolute and utter horror. Again, it is evident that his *sparse* wad of chest hair has, yet again, managed to make a cameo. Matthew seems to be quite fond of exuding a look that says: "I-shop-for-leather-thongs-when-I'm-not-out-following-unsuspecting-women". Look accomplished, Matt!

The Awkward Relative Tool

The odds are pretty good that you have one of these fine, fine specimens in your family. True, you may think your family has remained immune to this particular breed of Tool, but coincidentally if you are unable to come up with at least one Awkward Relative Tool somewhere in your family tree, the chances are significantly higher that you probably DO have a huge one just oozing with creepiness, unemployment, and the uncanny ability to somehow relate every story told at family gatherings back to the "good old days" of "gettin' lucky in his Shaggin' Wagon" and "being a big hit with the ladies."

They always say that for every normal child produced, there is one that was dealt the shit card of unwanted DNA, a pea-sized brain, and a boorishness quite similar to the likes of Napoleon Dynamite's Uncle Rico and Stephen Baldwin. And, really, when you think about it, life's gotta be pretty bleak for Tools of this status. I mean, they rarely get invited to holiday shindigs at your grandparent's house, can't seem to grasp the concept of growing up and getting a job, and have yet to outgrow the tendency to mooch off of everyone they come into contact with. If you ever have the deplorable opportunity (hmm..do we smell an oxymoron?) to engage in conversation with The Awkward Relative Tool, there are a few things you need to know.

1. Do not - we repeat, DO NOT - include the words "foot" or ball" in any sort of form or fashion. God help you if you mistakenly do and consequently be subjected to a three hour lecture on the origin of "the pigskin".
2. I should hope this goes without saying, but absolutely under no circumstances are you to bring any of your female friends around during the off chance that The Awkward Relative Tool is paying your family his annual visit. The Awkward Relative Tool is a big fan of the "barely legal crowd" considering that he has been swimming around in a pool of denial - so to speak - for the past twenty years. He. Thinks. He. Is. Still. Eighteen. Years. Old. Code Red! Code Red! Code Red!
3. Try to avoid looking at his receding hair line for too long. Afterall, Tools have (some) feelings too.
4. If you are forced into an unwanted display of affection (i.e. a hug) with The Awkward Relative Tool, it's best if you stand completely still upon which you should retreat to the nearest restroom and sterilize yourself thoroughly.
5. Please be subtle with your laughter when The Awkward Relative Tool hits your dad up, again, for some "cashflow".

Ryan Cabrera

Ok, so initially I too was speechless upon seeing this overwhelming photo. My first inclination was to remove every single light bulb in my home, or anything that even resembled a light bulb...until it dawned on me: that's exactly what a Tool wants you to do; fall victim to his brawny, overly-calculated ploy at being forced to pay him any amount of attention. "No!" I yelled at myself, "Stay away from the light!" (No pun intended.)

After regaining a modicum of my strength back post eyeful-shot of Mr. Cabrera, his (purple?) light bulb, and that f-ing hair, it became apparent that it was not only my duty to share my sordid tale with you all, but my prerogative. Eventually I reached the conclusion that his ADD was in overdrive on this particular day and he was in one of his I'm-going-to-ham-it-up-for-my-press-by-pretending-this-light-bulb-is-a-hat-tehehehe moods. Well, Ryan, my response to this kind of thinking would be to inform you of a little word I like to call wit, something that you are definitely lacking but more than make up for with your unmistakable addiction to hair gel and L'Oreal Feria Hair Color kits. I would also like to inform you that Thomas Edison has been doing backflips in his grave for the past hour due to the shame, embarassment, and humiliation you have caused him as a result of your "clever" and "comical" mimicry of what a light bulb symoblizes to you.

Oh, and one more thing, Ryan. Periwinkle didn't work for your pimp, Pa Joe, and it most certainly does not work for you either. Poor form, soldier. Poor form.