Of Twats and Men

First things first, I cottoned onto the idea that half of you had ages ago and that was the idea that Google Chrome is vastly superior to Mozilla Firefox and Internet Explorer as a general rule; the whole thing runs smoother than it used to back in the day when loading up your Facebook profile was as painful a process as shoving your own fist up your arse until you’ve punched yourself in the spleen. I like Google Chrome and it’s aesthetic niceties in regards to fully customisable colour schemes and backgrounds for new tabs but my favourite thing besides faster loading screens is that ‘In-Private Browsing’ is called going incognito, such a funny thought. You aren’t secretly jerking it in a history-free window of the internet but are in fact a mysterious super spy stealthily slipping out a sly one without leaving a single bit of evidence. Ironically, believe it or not, I haven’t actually done that yet.

Anyway, getting onto the main topic for discussion today, this is a funny rant for a change because I feel it makes a change of pace from hearing me discuss my life at length like the scene kid began monologuing aloud instead of to his wrist. I find there is a lot to rant about, but at length it’s about choosing a topic that won’t wear thin by three lines ago so today I’m tackling the difference between swagger and class. Yup, I’m going all snooty on your ass again, looking down my nose at people who wear their hats backwards and walk like a gorilla with the shits otherwise known as the majority of teenagers. You probably know the difference but let’s be honest – The funny rants don’t teach you anything new but rather remind you why you agree/disagree with me on certain matters and make you laugh/sharpen your pitchfork to find me and stab me forty thousand times (Delete as appropriate my dear friend/tosser)

Now let’s cut the crap and skip to the basic definitions of the two groupings shall we? ‘Class’ is used to describe men who walk with an upright spine and a near regal dignity to their every movement as if constantly being observed – like one often is when out in public. ‘Class’ is most notably attached to mods and gangsters (Note – Gangsters are the ones with the fedoras, machine guns and big cigars, not idiots who hold pistols sideways and refer to everything with a pulse as a bitch) and generally is seen as an aspiration for a man to be considered as being classy or distinguished. I like to think that of the two I fit here, with my fashion sense of trench coats, parade shoes and full black suits but then I don’t walk around feeling like I have to make a show of myself or lose face because when I leave the house, I leave the house either dressing for comfort or dressing in what makes me feel good about myself. I’m not ashamed to admit I tingle a little each time I put on a long black coat and leather gloves because I feel like something bigger and more. ‘Class’, by default, is said to be for men, men of presence and character who realise there is a difference between what you think is cool and what is actually cool so it’s seen as a rank above ‘Swagger’ and rightly so in my opinion, which ultimately is the basis for this blog. ‘Class’ is what puts Frank Sinatra fifteen leagues higher up than One Direction or the like, as well as genuine musical talent before the age of digital fix-ups and an imbalance of ability beside eye-candy level.

‘Swagger’, by absolute contrast, is the way of walking and talking used by the mindless drones of mainstream pop culture to appear masculine and intimidating, as if telling the world that you’re ten times tougher than a shark with a buzz-saw in it’s mouth instead of teeth. However, walking with a lunge befitting a man who’s spine resembles a limp noodle and your hand buried in the front of your pants only tells the world two facts about you:

1. You can locate your penis

2. You are as intelligent as a pile of bricks

Seriously, I never understood the gangsta hard boy custom of clutching your crotch like Michael Jackson coated his hand in glue. Are you afraid it will fall off? Fascinated by the texture of pubic hair? Chronically masturbating as you walk? ‘Swagger’ involves moving with the natural sway of the human form and then exaggerating it with every step and is associated with chavs and chinos. Why do bad things start with ‘Ch’ lately? Chavs, chinos, chocolate, Adolf Chit… Ok, fuck that, that was an uphill battle with my feet tied to a rolling log. ‘Swagger’ is what serves as the biggest visual indicator someone is as arrogant as myself but nowhere near as witty or well-delivered. I may be an angry and in-your-face kinda guy but I go about it with long and elaborate rants that you can read at your own leisure or just ignore but someone like Swagger McNobrain blurts in your face like someone fitted a pump action system to a man with explosive diarrhoea.  ‘Swagger’ is sadly, the best thing to be in possession of if you’re 13, going on 5 and still think that if you clutch it tight enough, girls will touch your pee-pee for you. ‘Swagger’ is what we see Justin Bieber aim for, with minimal success and trousers so low he might as well use the space between his arse and the seat of his pants as a storage compartment. ‘Swagger’ can also be in numerical measurements, according to those in possession of it, and is measured out by random selection of numbers bigger than 3. I’m not sure if it relates to how many fashionable branded items you possess or rather how many bullets should be used in your execution when I come to rule over the universe… eventually.

I personally follow the popular opinion that if you pride yourself on your swagger, you’re still a boy with his hand in his pants and his brain in his arse but that a composed gentleman should aspire to conduct himself with class. You tell the world a lot about yourself in the way you hold yourself so make it count. If you walk around with the composure of a drunken chimp, expect to be mistaken for one on occasion. I’ll now carry on walking with my shoulders back ,head high, and a snobbish look to my features because I’m arrogant and the whole world knows it… or should do by now, the number of times I make a point of telling it.


3 thoughts on “Of Twats and Men

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