It seems that not even the Greek gods, or goddess could live up to my standards. I don’t see how though, they’re not that high. Seriously, I don’t expect much; just more than the bare-maximum a person can offer. The bare-maximum is really not as much as it sounds. I don’t demand a lot from others, because I don’t demand a lot out of myself; then again, asking for a little in my world is like asking for the Arc of the Covenant in Indian Jones’. You’ll see that my expectations are feasible on paper, but what makes them unreachable is the fact that once you think you’ve made it to the desired level of excellence, I raise the bar; therefore, one can never truly reach perfection.
To gain my respect, aim for my first level of standards:
THE MALE STANDARD
-Flat bills and high, and tall black socks topped with scraggly, white-trash-looking facial hair is not stylish—clean up, dick nuts.
-No matter how tough you think you are, don’t try to prove it; no one cares, especially not me…but, especially no one.
-Must be able to both drink, and maintain composure.
-Must not drink light beer, it’s for pussies.
-Although a pale complexion is sickly looking, avoid purposeful tanning: it’s bad for you, and will give you a douchie glow.
-When you go to the gym, leave your cutoff at home. Everyone knows you have muscles, so we don’t need your dripping arm pit sweat for you to show the side of your pecs.
-If you decide to stop taking care of yourself and develop a beer gut/flabby midsection, because your smoking hot girlfriend loves you and always will, then please do us all a favor: dump her, she’s out of your league. Save us the wonder of how you pulled it off; at the same time, you’ll be saving your health.
THE FEMALE STANDARD
-First and foremost, must be shorter than me: I have a stature complex, all right?!
-Gentlemen prefer blondes, but I prefer brunettes.
-To be eligible for me, you must weigh less than me at all times: say I were to develop pneumonia/muscular dystrophy/anorexic-bulimia and lose 40 lbs…you better start cutting weight.
-Must be willing to hold a well-paying, steady job to support me in pursuit of my dream; which is sitting on the couch, having someone write this damn blog for me.
-Able to type 90 WPM (Mavis Beacon, of course).
-Able to cook like Mom and Grandmas, but not better.
-Must be a cheap date, the Mrs. MacGyver of fun.
-Must laugh at every joke I ever make, unless it’s not funny–which I’ll be using to test you, the lucky lady.
-Love me even when I’m old, unable to control my bowels, and wrinkly; kidding, that’s just gross, I’d expect a girl ditch me as fast as I would her.
-Take care of yourself, and your properties–especially mine.
-Be polite (especially to me).
-Be considerate (especially to me).
-Avoid 1-Upping; actually, do the opposite: 1-Down.
-Don’t talk just to hear yourself speak.
-Don’t text and drive, it’s dangerous.
-All together, strive to be a better person.
Not that hard, Dr. Jones. I’ve said it before, and will again: I understand not everyone is perfect, because not everyone is me. Even if you think I’m a haughty ass hole for openly discussing my standards, you have to admit that you hold some (if not more) certain expectations out of people, as well; the difference being, I have the prerogative to set the bars…okay, maybe not, but at least I set them! Without me making certain guidelines to live by, who will? Society? Please, that’s the problem in the first place. All I want to do is make this world a better place. Is it asking too much asking for too much? With my demands on the constant rise, it will soon be hard even for me to keep up with them. This is why Dan Ray Sucks, and if you find it hard being a better person, by my standards, then you suck, too.
Tips to suck less:
-Leave a comment.
-fb/tweet/just tell your friends, friends’ friends, random bums, etc.
-Finally, raise your standards, you might be better because of it.