Daily SAll-Star: The New Jersey Guido

These Daily SAll-Stars are starting to get bizarrely abstract, but I don't give a fuck. Today's entry is an entire army of worthy entrants whose soldiers are virtually indistinguishable from one another. This is the army of New Jersey's finest 16-to-32-year-old insecure orange men. This is the army of spray-tan and tweezed eyebrows. This is the army of white velvet tracksuits and Jägerbombs. This is the army of frost-tipped Guile hair and steroid abuse. This is the Army of Guido.

Now, Guidos hold an immensely poor reputation with the non-Guido community for their ant-like conformity and occasional bouts of blinding arrogance. But let's slow down on the antagonism. Why can't we suppress our anger and look into the soul of the Guido? For there we will discover that Guidos are truly the archangels of 21st century America. Watching over us, protecting us, guiding us...to Passaic.

(In Great Britain there is an army of young ruffians known as "Chavs." Some have tried to make the claim that Chavs are to London as Guidos are to New York, but I must fuckin' protest, skank. Guidos are an essential ingredient to East Coast nightlife. Sure, they may be pushy and over-cologned, but their very existence is social in nature. Chavs are merely antisocial pricks swathed in Burberry.)

You might be wondering why I'm defending the Guidos. I'll tell you, but only as long as this information never leaves this website.

I am a closet Guido.

There. I said it. It's out in the open. And here's the proof.

I don't see most of you on a daily basis. Your mental image of me is pretty straightforward and in accordance with whatever etiquette was necessary for our last public gathering. But since you don't see me that often, you don't know that I do in fact Corleone my hair from time to time (Ben, Chris, and Greg have seen it in this mode), although I must admit I would never self-apply The Guile. Sometimes on Saturday nights I pretend I'm from New York and I get in fights with San Francisco kids. Then I bust out my spectacular Guido dance moves.

It all began when I was fourteen and my loving sister decided that my nickname should be "Guido." I was unsure of its impact beyond the obvious Italian gentleman connection and I decided to pursue the matter further. Much to poor Elizabeth's woe, I discovered that there were other Guidos just like me and they were AWESOME.

The only thing that disappoints me about the standard modern Guido is his dismissal of the Italian language. I feel like I am the only one carrying the torch of la lingua bella. Che cosa è accaduto alla gente italiana che parla la loro propria lingua?

However, this is a minor flaw in the otherwise impenetrable armor of Guidohood. Join me and the Guido Army and we can transform this world together. We can take this planet from its presently diseased, broken, depressed state and make it pure. Make it whole. Make it New Jersey.