Today we salute you, Mr. Constant Collar Putter Upper. You, bedecked in popped collar, teach us that we no longer have to live with a cold back of the neck. Sure, your pink alligator polo may look feminine to some, but not the seventeen other frat guys wearing the same thing at the bar. Where others may see thoughtless fashion conformity, you preach a higher gospel. You preach of a world where it is okay for a man to go tanning. You ask, "Why can't we wear makeup, and use shampoo with lavender essence?" So crack open a fresh bottle of candy cologne, Mr. Abercrombie (or is it Fitch?), because we all know, when we really need a piece of gum, you might have one...in your man purse.

A true player has money. A true player has ice in the chain. A true player has a brain. A true player doesn’t talk shit.

All guys are the same so don’t be the stupid one screaming, “Mine is different!”

All the guys that walk by and start screaming, “Yo!!!” I just look at them like, “Haha, no!”

Baby, you were my first but damn, you were the worst.

Boys are like rollercoasters. They’re either the thrill of your life or they make you throw up.

Boys feel me when I pass. I say keep it real or kiss my ass.

Boys like you are overrated.

Boys want nothing from girls but ass and drama. What are they gonna do when girls give it up and they’re the baby’s dad? Do you think they’ll stick around? If you want respect from these boys, sorry – it won’t be found.

Could you hear me with that big ego surrounding you?

Don’t flatter yourself. I was looking at your friend.

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