It’s only natural that gentlemen — having accrued knowledge and wisdom far beyond their years — be in charge of instructing our nation’s impressionable youth. Gentlemen, however, often have aspirations that the limited realm of academia can’t possibly satisfy, and thus they abandon their true calling in favor of pastures only the barroom, the married woman’s bedroom and, consequently, the courtroom can provide. In their absence, children everywhere are sadly left to waste away under improper tutelage, until, one fateful day, a pioneering gentleman puts his foot down, saying, “enough with politicians and their blatant disregard for academic funding, it’s time I remove these white gloves and take matters into my own hands!” Immediately skipping out on his bar tab, the gentleman will come running back to the academy of his youth like some caped-crusader, eager to mold its fresh-faced children in his own luminous image. Fear not, for as long as there is a gentleman leading the class and tending the blackboard, our nation’s future remains secured!
ClassClown: slow day on the chain today? SchoolMaster: yeah man SchoolMaster: did you hear Chase* was exonerated of his DUI charges? ClassClown: hahaha how? SchoolMaster: officer never filed the deposition, and since it was over 90 days it gets thrown out ClassClown: hahahaha this country is ridiculous SchoolMaster: no fine or charges or anything ClassClown: god bless america SchoolMaster: he said he felt like he was R Kelly ClassClown: hahaha SchoolMaster: the funny thing is he forgot to tell the principal of the school that he’d be missing class for court SchoolMaster: because he was so hungover from pissing himself this weekend ClassClown: haha oh my god he is a disaster SchoolMaster: so his classes had no substitutes to teach his 7th and 8th grade ClassClown: this story keeps getting better SchoolMaster: yeah after saturday night when i got my shirt torn open he went back to Jones’* to sleep SchoolMaster: woke up with his pants hanging in the shower and his phone broken from peeing himself SchoolMaster: had to go coach his 7th and 8th grade hoops team and was still hammered SchoolMaster: so he puked in the girls bathroom so none of the boys on his team would see him ClassClown: haha he is the worst SchoolMaster: he said he still has not had one truly happy day his whole life ClassClown: hahahaha
After running the annual gauntlet of social obligations, not to mention adhering to a strict regimen of liver-testing drinking engagements, you’d think that a gentleman might take the final eve of the year off, choosing to avoid the masses by holing up in his palatial apartment and toasting his many success stories with a quiet nightcap. For the ever-thirsty gentleman, however, this is no option, no option indeed! Instead he thoroughly lubricates himself with the most delicious of canned beers his refrigerator has to offer (remember: a gentleman will not be swindled by some astronomical open bar Ponzi Scheme), suits up in his most stylish threads and ambles out into the cold night in search of a satisfactory party over which to preside. But, dear readers, just because spirits remain high as the year stumbles toward its glorious finale, with everyone poised to proverbially belly flop into a sea of drunken buffoonery, does not mean the gentleman can let his guard down. Rather, he must remain on high alert, for there are jealous souls and pretenders to the throne lurking the city streets; men who would seek to thwart the gentleman’s efforts of conducting himself in the most gentlemanly manner possible.
OhNiner: you spend NYE in the city? NewYearsLurker: yeah OhNiner: how was it? NewYearsLurker: i went full retard NewYearsLurker: overdrank myself, got water poured on me from a fire escape and got a ticket for public urination OhNiner: HA! what happened? NewYearsLurker: i tried to be smart and avoid paying the $200 cover for the stupid open bar party that Shelia and co were at NewYearsLurker: so instead I drank at home and planned to arrive thoroughly lubricated NewYearsLurker: that backfired because without anyone to peg my drinking pace to, I ended up drinking too much too fast NewYearsLurker: suddenly 2 six packs of tall boys were gone (more…)
There are few things a gentleman enjoys more in life than drinking, exclusivity and ridiculous facial plumage. Combine those three and you’ve got a sure fire winner. That’s why we tip our top hats to Britain’s Handlebar (Moustache) Club. Established in 1947 as an excuse for various gentlemen to wet their whistles and expand their physical being with glorious moustaches befitting Prussian Princes, THMC still meets monthly in London’s Windsor Castle pub, where dedicated members can be found filling their rotund bellies with ale, devilishly twisting their elegantly sculpted hirsute appendages and of course strutting like a bunch of gentlemen peacocks. On that note, we’re throwing out our straight razors and packing our bags. See all you lads in London soon…
As he indulges in each and every vice that tickles his cultivated fancy, it’s crucial that a freewheeling gent maintains the semblance of an upstanding citizen. Were it not for his adherence to a strict regimen of primping, cleanliness and household organization, a gentleman — following an eve of Perfect Manhattans, Columbian exports and pay-by-the-hour hotel rooms — couldn’t possibly look himself in the mirror the next day, let alone take to the streets, kiss babies and run for Mayor. Remember, before he wrecks someone else’s household in the course of an all night bender, a gentleman must first assure that his own house is in order.
OnTheFence: yeah i’m coming back tonight. OnTheFence: WOOOOOOO SpicAndSpanMan: sweet! OnTheFence: not sure if i will be up for a drink as we are probably getting in late SpicAndSpanMan: true OnTheFence: but keep dis posted if you go to gpt SpicAndSpanMan: will do SpicAndSpanMan: i definitely need to go home and clean my place tonight before i get into any trouble SpicAndSpanMan: i’ve been putting it off since i got back in town OnTheFence: good idea. OnTheFence: the calm before the storm SpicAndSpanMan: can’t face dirty room when cracked out OnTheFence: def not. that is just asking for a WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE breakdown SpicAndSpanMan: you know it SpicAndSpanMan: i can stay out for 24 hours, do tons of drugs and sleep with married women and if my bed is made and my room is clean, i feel like a winner OnTheFence: totally, we plan our benders now OnTheFence: i am cool with a bender if it’s on the calendar SpicAndSpanMan: if that’s not growing up then i don’t know what is.
We recently received a comment that truly warmed out spirits. Of course all comments – positive or negative – are appreciated, because we know they come from gentlemen (well, most of the time), and that our little site is stirring up debate in barrooms from Timbuktu to Portland, Maine, or Portland, Oregon for that matter. But this comment stood out because, though valid, epic and utterly flattering, it lacks one simple truth. It reads as follows:
“The driven snow. The roaring rivers. The majestic peaks of the Andes. The magnetic magic of common metals. The stinging rain. All these things we are granted by Mother Nature. The Foggy Monocle, kind sirs, was built by MAN!”
– Breph Phephlin
First off, thank you for the kind words, Mr. Breph Phelphlin. However, we feel the need to address your final point. The Foggy Monocle was not built by man (that generic and faceless entity); rather, and more specifically, it was built by YOU and all the commenters, submitters, readers and gentlemen like you who refuse to accept the seriousness of life; men and women who would rather go about their days drinking, carrying-on and amassing glorious and self-effacing tales of hilarity and all around good times. Unlike many popular blogs today, sites dedicated to Internet-specific humor and content, school girl gossip and general snarkiness, we started The Foggy Monocle in the hopes of creating a repository of hysterical and debaucherous stories; tales that – though told over IM and email – originated in the real world, and whose glorious protagonists were real, hilarious people. Thanks to all of you, our faithful readers, submitters and fellow gentlemen, we’ve achieved that goal, and for that we tip our top hats to you. 2008 has been one hell of a classy year, and we can only hope 2009 follows suit. We’ll be taking a short break from posting until the New Year, but we hope that during this Holiday season you all continue to rage against the dying of the light, spike your eggnog, amass more tales and spread The Foggy Monocle word to your friends and family. Remember, in trying times such as these, we need gentlemen and gentleladies more than ever.
So stealth-like and charming are his methods of seduction, that oftentimes a gentleman stumbles into the loving embrace of a stunned female without her fully knowing what happened. Sensible enough not look a gift horse in the mouth (or call the authorities), said female will resign herself to enjoying this beautiful bauble for the time being, indulging her sexual whims with a man obviously trained in the art of casual romance. And yet suddenly, the female’s affection for her part-time lover grows deeper and her attraction more animalistic, leaving her at a loss as she sits breathless in a state of post-coitus exhaustion. Of course the gentleman understands the transformation taking place within his dumbfounded partner’s heart, and — not one to take the modest route – he quickly and bombastically boasts (citing stats, measurements, skills and various fortunes) in order to explain why she’s fallen under his intoxicating spell.
McLovinstein: you can’t get enough of me huh? FutureJAP: guilty McLovinstein: ( . Y . ) ~~~<===8 FutureJAP: haha those are my titties? FutureJAP: you are quite the ar-tist McLovinstein: i know FutureJAP: i knew that “Invisible City” painting you did was GAY FutureJAP: more like “Invisible Gay City” McLovinstein: you ok over there? FutureJAP: not really McLovinstein: don’t hate me because i’m awesome and can paint like your dreams FutureJAP: im delirious from withdrawal McLovinstein: from Penis the Menace? FutureJAP: that…and your dumb ass FutureJAP: ur bulbous ass to be exact FutureJAP: I cant help it Jew. You put ur Jew spell on me McLovinstein: i do that to bitches, it’s a gift FutureJAP: what’s happening to me? FutureJAP: i must be hormonal right now FutureJAP: gonna get the red devil at the end of next week (more…)
Once imbued with the glorious spirit of Christmas, a gentleman’s generosity knows no bounds. Like Scrooge born anew or the Grinch and his swelling heart, a gentleman with last-minute shopping on the agenda will summon super human strength, braving harsh weather conditions, monocle-shattering prices and even the snootiness of wretched fashion boutique employees to purchase that special Christmas trinket for his lady friend. Once inside the hallowed halls of a department store or outlet (preferably the latter), a gentleman’s gift shopping techniques are truly a clinic in efficiency. Forgoing the usual theatrics of simulating public sex on mannequins, stealing pantyhose to satisfy his kinky lingerie fetish and drunkenly passing out on “for-display-only” furniture, a gentleman plucks highly coveted items like a love-sick suitor plucking leaves from a Christmas poinsettia, then slaps down the plastic and purchases the whole kit and caboodle with the jolly flare of St. Nick himself.
SantasLillHelper: late for work eh? St.Dick: took the morning off to go Christmas shopping SantasLillHelper: how was that? St.Dick: complete disaster St.Dick: found nothing for Allison St.Dick: made an ass out of myself fumbling around in front of cute store girls in soho SantasLillHelper: i can just picture you… St.Dick: plus it’s like 19 degrees out and i forgot gloves, froze my ass off St.Dick: and i had to lug two bags around cause i’m leaving straight from the office to fly to cleveland tonight, so i had to schlep those all the way down west broadway St.Dick: ugghhh SantasLillHelper: so what are you gonna do about allison’s gifts? St.Dick: christ, i don’t know. i guess she’ll have to wait till i thaw out. St.Dick: but to add embarrassment to the whole ordeal, i was caring around a 36-pack of condoms in my backpack St.Dick: i’d bought them this morning for our anniversary/new year’s trip to costa rica SantasLillHelper: good call, you can’t trust third world rubbers St.Dick: and like the magnetic strip on them or whatever kept setting off store alarms SantasLillHelper: haha, please tell me they were magnums St.Dick: no, they weren’t. and they weren’t ribbed for her pleasure nor did they have a vibrating ring SantasLillHelper: hahaha St.Dick: just run of the mill jimmies. but i still had to open my bag and show them to shop girls in every store to prove i wasn’t stealing merchandise SantasLillHelper: that’s awesome. What stores? get any numbers? St.Dick: byboe, flying a, polo, michael kors, the fucking apple store SantasLillHelper: hahaha, at least they know you bring romance into the xmas equation
Like most red blooded men, a gentleman shares a special bond with his hunting dog. When he doesn’t spend weekends in the bar, occupied with the drinking duties of a multi-day bender, a gentleman likes to get out of dodge and head for the hills. Firing up his sporty British racing coup, a gentleman and his K9 amigo bomb out of the city and toward his country estate, where they’ll enjoy a weekend of vigorous hunting ensemble. With scent on his snout and perhaps a little booze on his tongue (courtesy of the gentleman no less), the pooch will track down fox holes, duck fences so that the duo may poach their neighbor’s property and fetch birds the gentleman gracefully plucked from the sky with his 12-gauge. By day’s end, the two will celebrate the great hunt with many a drink and perhaps a wondrous slumber in the crisp linens of a local hotel. In the event that the gentleman’s pooch is unwelcome in one of the post hunt celebratory spots, be it at the local watering hole or the nearby hotel, the crafty and resourceful gentleman will go to great lengths to ensure his four-legged friend be treated to identical luxuries. While some might argue that such extreme measures are unnecessary, it’s important to remember that a gentleman’s dog is not some filthy mongrel, nor should it be treated as such.
Gentlemen are truly awe-inspiring creatures. Boundless in their ability to delight, dazzle and drink with the upmost dignity, it’s not uncommon for a fully inebriated gentleman to commandeer a social engagement and swiftly transform it into a one-man show of witty wordplay, slapstick humor and feats of athletic prowess. Even if the gentleman pushes the envelope too far, dangerously teetering on the precipice of violence and vulgarity, he’ll always have the class, good-sense and respect for his fellow partygoers to smoothly segue into tamer and more tasteful territory. For this revelers will remain grateful and fully charmed, arising the following morning with a broad smile when remembering the wondrous evening they passed with their sophisticated friend, the consummate gentleman.
Instigator: My clothes were covered in mud when I woke up. AbusedFriend: I know… Instigator: and my ankle is killing me. AbusedFriend: yeah? AbusedFriend: well my entire face is sore asshole AbusedFriend: and my cheek is purple Instigator: What the fuck happened? All I remember is wet mulch. AbusedFriend: You swung me around hitting my face into a street sign, you stole bottles of wine from someones house, peed on someones house AbusedFriend: You threw empty wine bottles in the road, raced me and lost, nearly made me lose a shoe, told a girl to have the guy she was walking with to stick his dick in her Instigator: Oh baby. The sign. I’m really sorry. I remember now and I feel terrible. You know I was just horsing around. AbusedFriend: I do, it’s cool, looked worse than it is, but my face has a purple hue Instigator: maybe you’re just saturated with red wine? AbusedFriend: who knows. But you were crazy and un-civil, sir. Instigator: UNRESTRAINED! At least I didn’t break the manference sausage accord and couch down with some squat broad. AbusedFriend: Good call on that
‘Tis the season for ho ho hos, jolly sleigh and mustache rides, and endless supplies of spiked delicious eggnog at extravagant Christmas galas, to which the gentleman will attend with zeal. In the grand spirit of giving and receiving, a gentleman will give all his holiday gusto and cheer to the gathering, and in return will receive a most gentlemanly adventure, possibly tied to a confusing blackout and stinging hangover. Throughout it all he’ll give thanks and remembrance to the baby Jesus who died on this day, Christmas, over 100 years ago in order to give gentlemen across the world the freedom to celebrate in the most massive and reckless of ways.
PartyPooper: how was chad’s christmas thing? HolidayMan: the first part was good HolidayMan: up until 1am at least HolidayMan: then things got ugly PartyPooper: why? HolidayMan: everyone got blacked out drunk PartyPooper: not suprising HolidayMan: drinking eggnog and rum, and then just whiskey PartyPooper: yikes HolidayMan: megan passed out HolidayMan: i guess josh groped and tried to make out with sarah in the elevator in front of her doctor boyfriend PartyPooper: hahahaha HolidayMan: he also broke a champagne flute in the bathroom, and tried to blame chad HolidayMan: amanda fell on the curb going to some dude’s house, and she showed up bleeding profusely from her chin HolidayMan: no cuts on her hands, so she must have gone straight down PartyPooper: hahahahaha HolidayMan: linda puked in the kitchen PartyPooper: wow HoldayMan: and then outside in the cab PartyPooper: ugly HolidayMan: yeah PartyPooper: any fights? HolidayMan: none that i am aware of PartyPooper: that’s good HolidayMan: overall, good times HolidayMan: everyne seemed to be in the holiday spirit of things PartyPooper: sorry i missed it
