The Style Guys are back and this time they’re talking about your family.  Christmas is one of only two times during the year when you’re forced to deal this band of losers, and that’s putting it nicely. Check out what America’s harshest critics, The Style Guys, think of your lame relatives.

Your Mom

Streeter: Your mom is so nice.  I can tell by all the smile lines jutting out from the corners of her eyes like so many highways bisecting a landscape of leathery soil.  When she’s not complaining about hot flashes, she’s keeping herself busy by dulling the pain of her wasted life with discreetly consumed snifters of booze.  She stinks of bourbon and her sallow eyes reveal a lifetime of resentment, frustration and depression.  Like a supreme court judge she hands down opinions on everyone from your dad’s side of the family while ignoring the fact that her own brother is doing 5-10 for aggravated assault.  To be fair though, sometimes a tire iron to the skull is the only way to resolve a problem. 

Amir: How the hell did you spend more than five minutes inside of this bitch? Honestly. I don’t think I can handle an hour listening to this mouthy broad run her yapper about coupons and her “television stories.” You mean to tell me you spent a full nine months hearing her muffled dumb-ass ignorant pseudo-English? I don’t care if it was through twenty layers of uterus and 40 pounds of fat, even her muffled voice is enough to drive grown men to tears— I can’t imagine what it did to pre-born infants. No wonder she had three miscarriages before you were born. Those babies were probably killing themselves because they couldn’t take it anymore. Though I can’t blame them, I’d also prefer drowning in a toilet bowl to putting up with the constant cacophony that is her horribly discordant and painful voice. Dumb bitch.

Your Dad



Streeter: When God created man, he used your dad for a template.  Stylish clad in skidmarked tighty whiteys and nestled snuggly in a recliner from which he barely ever moves, your father is a true example of human achievement.  From his lofty perch as night shift manager of the local Wendy’s, he lords over an army of be-pimpled teens who bow to his every command.  At home, his wife is so terrified of his notorious rages, she lacks the courage to wake him even when he falls asleep at the dinner table.  Not allowing his family to get in the way of his ruthless economic climb, he shrugs his family duties to pull down an impressive 5 figures annually.  A role model?  Ney!  THE role model. 

Amir: How can you trust the guy that willingly fucks your mom? Have you seen that bitch? I wouldn’t bang her with Sigmund Freud’s dick. Your dad is everything you hope you WON’T be when you grow up: Old. Don’t even talk to him. He makes me sick.




Your Sister


Streeter: Awww, your little sister is all grown up!  She turned out to be such a lovely young woman.  A lovely young woman with a proclivity for ass play and a penchant posting beave shots on her MySpace page.  It must be tough not being able to join the conversation when all your friends are raving about her luscious cans, what with you two being related and all.  She’s the definition of classy, and if you don’t believe me just read about it on the ass of the tiny shorts she wears every where.  Yes, from her name so beautifully written in her earrings to her 32 year-old boyfriend, your sister has truly grown into an amazing woman. 

Amir: Hi little whore — did you get lost? The street is actually back around behind you if you’re looking to peddle your poon for some drug money. Oh! You’re actually part of this family? Wow, if your parents weren’t such borderline retards they’d be extremely disappointed in you. What happened to you as a kid? You used to like to jump rope. Now you like to—will you stop unbuckling my belt you two bit slut? I’m not gonna let you S my D for twenty bucks. Here’s a fiver, just give me a handy and get outta here. But I get to spit on your back when you’re done. And you have to smile throughout if you wanna get the money. You ugly bitch.


Your Uncle

Streeter:  What would Christmas be without your uncle drunkenly shouting anti-Semitic slurs at your neighbors from the bathroom window while he’s taking a dump?  It wouldn’t be Christmas at your house, that’s what!  Joe, Jack, Jerry, it doesn’t matter what his given name is, the whole family just calls him Asshole.  He makes your dad look like the CEO of a Fortune 500 company because his landscaping business “aint gettin’ a lot of business this time of year.’  Not content to just talk to your family members, he feels he must scream at them and point out all the reasons why they are responsible for his pathetic life.  Your Mom? “DIDN’T GIVE ME NO MONEY WHENS I WAS STARTIN’ MY BUSINESS!”  Your dad?  “ALWAYS NEVER NOT HAD NO FAITH IN ME!”  You?  “LOOK LIKE A FAGGOT!”  To be fair, those jeans are a little feminine. 

Amir: Hi! The only reason you have a “family” is because your sister is attractive enough to get married. That doesn’t mean anybody loves you. Maybe if you were charismatic enough to find a wife you could have your children of your own some day. Unfortunately its been years since you’ve even been on a date, and you look weird. There is no way you could convince anybody to kiss you, let alone bare your children. Congrats grad, your life is over and you have absolutely nothing to show for it. Merry fucking Christmas, Jew.

Your Grandparents

Streeter: Ding Dong!  Is that the cold hand of death at the door?  Nope, it’s just GranGran and PopPop here to fill your holiday with clogged toilets and rightwing fear!  Like the first snowfall of the season, your grandparents bring illness and cold with them everywhere they go.  When they’re not jacking up the temperature in the house to 102, they can be found quietly rifling through your belongings looking for drugs, porn and all the other things Bill O’Reilly told them you abuse.  Once they’ve finished judging you, they’ll be sure to let you know all the ways in which they were better than you when they were young.  Then, for the grand finale, PopPop stops up the downstairs toilet and blames on the “Goddamned shitty plumbing in the wreck of a house.  In my day, the toilets could flush anything in them, including your first uncle!”  Way to kill the vibe, Grandpa. 

Amir: Just give me the envelope filled with money and die already. Please. You smell like… well… like my Grandparents. God you guys are so useless. I hope I’m never that old, ever. Not even in a million years.






Your Cousin

Streeter:  He’s gay and he’s not fooling anyone anymore.  Roommate my ass. 








Amir: Just go home, dude. You’re not even a blood relative. We just call your dad “Uncle” because it makes him feel better. He’s not even related to anybody. That is a pretty sweet belt though…