The Five Flavors of Motherfucker

Indulge your synesthesia. We’re categorizing the most unpalatable people.

An industrial-size salty motherfucker

Salty Motherfuckers
Let me take you back to the diving board at your local swimming pool. You’d jump, swim to the ladder or the edge, climb out, and then get in line, jump, swim, climb, repeat. There’d be a pretty regular line that formed. But then once, you’d do the sweetest cannonbellywatermelopener dive known to mankind — maybe you’d take a little longer getting out of the water, or you’d stop to bask in compliments from your mom. This is when the Motherfucker would strike. You’d just be getting out of the water when out of the corner of your eye you’d see the kid that jumped in after you swimming to the edge with the urgency of the Space Race, yanking himself out of the water, and powerwalking (or even running, the bastard!) with one greedy eye on YOUR SPOT in line, and the other greedy eye checking back to see if you were gonna try and polite-fight him for it.

As if that weren’t bad enough, if he stole your spot, he’d get on the board and spend ten minutes debating what kind of jump to do with his friends (who were probably hanging on the lane line), while inside you’re screaming, “Accept that any way you flip is going to end up as a belly flop, before I come up there and push you off!” At Northwestern, you can identify these bitchwaffles pulling the same maneuver in the stir-fry or hot cookie bar line. This is why they are Salty Motherfuckers: pouring salt onto a wound is not really dangerous in the long term, but it’s pretty damn agonizing at the time. It makes you want to throw that aforementioned metaphorical salt back into their beady eyes, because it is as harmlessly obnoxious as the Salty Motherfucker.

Even her hair-tests came back positive for motherfucker

Savory Motherfuckers
Hey, remember when Oprah Winfrey had a hissy fit because a closed store wouldn’t reopen for her? Remember when Oprah Winfrey took credit for giving away shit that wasn’t hers? Remember when Oprah Winfrey existed? Yeah. Believe it or not, there are people so pampered that they will throw a tantrum when the Pier1 cashier can’t cater to their every whim by returning an item without a receipt or after 90 days. These are the snarky suburban moms who turn PTA meetings into Attack of the Martyrs Episode III because Little Johnny Do-No-Wrong has excessive allergies, and therefore clearly nobody’s parents should be allowed to bring in homemade birthday cakes. Note to readers: if you are someone who complains about the preparation of truffle shrooms at five-star restaurants or demands compensation for the terrible injuries caused by eating subpar lobster, please put yourself down, because you are irreparably broken and probably in constant pain from your delicate sensitivities. I’d suggest that we make astronomically high maintenance a crime, but then we’d have to arrest them and listen to them complain that their cell wasn’t padded enough.

Proceed with caution, as it can be very difficult to discern the difference between motherfuckers and simple guidos

Sour Motherfuckers
They’re assholes and they know it. Anyone who is inexplicably, selfishly, mercilessly malicious should have both their tongues and their genitals removed without anesthesia. Humans have hearts. If you suck as a human being, you do not deserve to contribute to the gene pool for fear that your children will grow up to be the kind of Motherfucker that does terrible things to people without even having to rationalize them. Examples of Sour Motherfucking include using someone who cares about you, sabotaging someone’s lab, lying about an STD, ruining others’ reputations, and touching children where they should not be touched. To be clear: Tucker Max’s shocking shenanigans usually fall under the category of harmlessly unpleasant Salty Motherfucker. The despicable bitch that somehow wound up in your sorority who ran for Recruitment Chair so she could put the freshmen down is a Sour Motherfucker. It’s all about the motives.

Ross Packingham's image of the perfect woman

Sweet Motherfuckers
These are the breed of superhumans whose perfection we will never attain and therefore must criticize. They are effortlessly attractive, intelligent, accomplished, athletic, stylish, polished, and well-spoken. They do not trip over their words. They do not trip over anything. They are the parents who jog with strollers containing the adorably well-trained future polite society of Icelandic Snow Owl benefits. And you know they’re probably good in bed. Arguably the worst Motherfucker, these cuntmuffins won’t even give you the decency of visibly fucking you over so you can hate them. If you express your certainty that there is something “off” about them (the possibility that they are actually a robot), you will almost certainly be met with shock from the believers in the tenured reputation of the android, who will shun you as either insane or jealous. Sweet Motherfuckers are more like aspartame than sugar: fake, carcinogenic, and typically lacking in caloric content. Breathe, fellow fuckups of the world: at least we’re more idiosyncratic.

This Evanston Councilman hasn't smiled in over 17 years

Bitter Motherfuckers
The Evanston City Council says one of their most frequently asked questions is: “What’s up your ass?” Since they cannot diagnose it themselves, Sherman Avenue will: They are Bitter Motherfuckers, the species of Motherfucker so filled with regret that the only thing left for them to do is to ensure that everyone else ends up unhappier than Edward Scissorhands trying to masturbate; that is to say, as unhappy as they are. But it’s not limited to the former premed/prelaw students who resent that their focus and initiative (translation: staunch denial of their own humanity) during their college days allowed them a very comfortable life in WASP’s nests. Other Bitter Motherfuckers include Denny’s waiters, certain unsuccessful starving artists, and (understandably) anyone working in retail on Black Friday. The best way to deal with these Motherfuckers is to maintain high levels of happiness in spite of their best efforts. Yes, it’s hard to do when they’re busy removing kids’ rights to trick-or-treat, cohabitate like sardines, or party like it’s Y2K. But there is no better revenge than the confidence of knowing you have a hopeful future and a pleasant present. Schadenfreude, bitches.

Ask not what heinousness can do for you. Ask what you can do for your heinousness.

Hate a Random Country: São Tomé and Príncipe

NASCAR hasn't quite caught on here yet

It is widely understood that island nations are the gingers of the international community. Under that model, the pitiful African state known as São Tomé and Príncipe is the global equivalent of Molly Weasley. Boasting a population slightly smaller than that of Boise, São Tomé and Príncipe, (henceforth to be referred to as STP, so I don’t have to type all of those goddamn accents) is a volcanic island chain off the coast of the prosperous, stable nation of Gabon. The country is technically a “Democratic Republic,” but it’s safe to presume that whoever told them they were a democratic republic is the same person who told Dr. Dre he was a doctor. However, since the atrophied remainder of my moral fiber prevents me from scrutinizing a country for its legitimate poverty and instability, I’ll just stick with my tried-and-true routine of scrutinizing a country for its culture and heritage.

Even a high James Franco could design a better flag than this.

We’ll start with the national flag. The predominant colors on the flag are yellow, green, and red; a ground-breakingly creative move on the part of STP. The only other West African countries with those colors are Ghana, Togo, Benin, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, Mali, Senegal, Cameroon, and Burkina Faso. And you thought those nights of drunken Sporcle wouldn’t amount to anything. To add to the cliché color scheme of the flag, note that the flag displays a whopping two stars. First of all, since everyone’s thinking it: by default, the United States is 25 times better than this lamentable excuse for a country. Really, though, two stars? In the context of constellations, two stars can get you the left half of a belt or about one-third of a fucking spoon. In the context of kindergarten, the kids who wound up twenty years later with meth labs in their basement had no trouble getting a pair of stars on a spelling test. Even the hardly-picturesque Chicago night sky shines with more than two stars. Skeptics may conjure up horseshit excuses like “They represent the two islands that make up the nation,” but at the end of the day, the two stars are about as pathetic as Oprah Winfrey standing next to Pippa Middleton.

It's kind of tough when your soccer pitch is a fucking sandlot

As if the national banner didn’t shed enough light on the nation’s inherent rancidness, a little Wikipedia page called “São Tomé and Príncipe national football team”offers some more material. One fascinating table on this page revealed STP’s World Cup record; the words “Did Not Qualify” appeared so many times, you’d think Rosie O’Donnell was trying to run in the Boston Marathon. On several occasions, they even failed to qualify for the African Nations’ Cup – essentially, they got a rejection letter from a community college. Even more laughable are STP’s record games; in 1976, STP suffered an 11-0 loss at the hands of The Congo. That’s almost as bad as losing a night game to Purdue. On the bright side, there are two games tied for STP’s biggest win: the 2-0 decimation of Equatorial Guinea in 1999 and the 2-0 rout of Sierra Leone in 2000. However, after the magnificent 1999-2000 season, the glory days of two goals in one game became nothing but a fond memory amidst a sea of pimp-slaps from various Western African republics. STP’s next match is against the Republic of the Congo (yet another rival yellow-green-red flagged country) in November 2011 – who knows? Perhaps they’ll break a national record and win by more than 2 goals. But more likely, they’ll be curb-stomped into submission by the country that inspired “Heart of Darkness.”

This country is almost as disappointing as The Matrix Revolutions

It goes without saying that STP is a steaming cocksicle of a nation. Yes, it’s tropical and shit, but so is Brazil, and we all know how atrocious that place is. Any nation that prides itself on the number of stars that Ebert and Roeper would instinctively give a movie with Keanu Reeves, has never won a soccer game by three or more goals, and is located on a fucking island can count of being devoid of my adoration. So join the ranks, São Tomé and Príncipe – Uruguay, New Zealand, and dozens of other horrendous countries will welcome your unabashed taintitude with open arms.