Hey there, I'm That Guy. Maybe you don't remember me. That's OK. I remember you.
I'm That Guy who went to your Korean bible group even though I'm not Asian, ate a box of free pizza, and then used the Book of Revelations as a napkin.
I'm That Guy who snuck onto your roommate's computer, wrote an e-mail to his girlfriend calling her sorority the largest slut-store since Planned Parenthood printed two for one coupons, and then removed the keyboard letters I-M-S-O-R-Y. Let me know how that turns out for him by the way.
I'm That Guy who took your sister's birth control pills, sold them on eBay, and then replaced them with supplements of Human Growth Hormone. Don't give me that look. At least she'll have a kid who's fuckin' tall. In twenty years, she'll have front row tickets to the NBA Finals. You think she'll sell me one? No? Selfish bitch.
I'm That Guy who put your name on my psych test, cheated, handed it in first, and then got you expelled so I could sit next to that blonde girl who I'm like 70 percent sure is a cheerleader.
Dude, I'm That Guy who started that facebook group called I Slept With Your Mom, and then everybody joined it because they thought it was funny. But I actually had slept with your mom and didn't know how else to tell you (and your 23 closest friends). She says to call her by the way.
I'm That Guy your girl spilled beer on at that party at that house. When she went to mop it up with a Kleenex, her hand grazed my crotch. When we cross paths on campus, I shoot her a sort of half-smile that suggests we know each other. But then I quickly avert my eyes so she doesn't think I'm some lunatic who looked her up online and put her home phone number in his palm pilot just in case one day he might be married to her and need it.
I'm That Guy who put a roofie in your friend's drink, but then forgot which drink was hers, drank it, woke up on her floor the next morning, ate all her Fruit Loops, and left.
Oh yeah, I'm also That Guy who called the cops that night and broke up your party. Actually, that's not entirely true, but Halloween's only once a year and I just had to get my money's worth for this cop costume. You understand. Oh, and a word of advice for next time, most cops don't only arrest the hot chicks.
I'm That Guy who had sex in the next room so loud you felt like a blind guy in a threesome. You knocked on the wall with the broomstick end of your Swiffer, but I had trouble hearing you over the sounds of me banging a girl who I'm like 70 percent sure is a cheerleader.
I'm That Guy who doesn't care if you can remember my name or pick me out in a crowd, because chances are that's going to help me when I steal your white board marker or your dog or that pot you've been growing out on your windowsill for the past six weeks. Did you ever think of throwing some Miracle Grow into that soil? Who taught you horticulture? You couldn't grow shit in an asshole factory.
So anyhow, that's me. I'm That Guy. And I don't regret it one bit.