In recent conversation it has come to my attention that many people are confused as to what constitutes being a "Fanook"? Now, I pretty much refer to everybody as fanooks, but I suddenly realized most people couldn't spot this piece of garbage if he personally showed you the oxidized green ring around his neck from the 12 carat gold-foil necklace that was placed around his neck at birth.
As defined by the Italian Urban Dictionary: Fanook, is a half a fag (not typically referring to sexual orientation, but rather for his endorsement of swishy behavior)
Otherwise commonly known by "Douche Bag"
Spotting fanooks is really one of the least challenging propositions I can think of, mostly because if you stand around long enough, they will introduce themselves to you (like it or not) by yelling something obnoxious or stuttering the word "dude" 7 or 8 times within 11 seconds. But in case you have poor night vision, I will compile a short check list for you to print out and put into your pocket to help ensure that both you and your significant others can avoid being victimized by the fanook in the room.
The fanook doesn’t believe that his loud obnoxious overcompensation is enough to yield the attention he requires. Therefore, the fanook will often resort to cheap tricks; loud colors always work well in accordance with loud mouths (and for a fanook, this is no different), shinny objects hanging from either the neck, wrist or ears, rings with zero meaning (another words, not wedding bands or class rings), greasy schlepped hair or spiked with more grease than a tractor axel, last but not least – the scent of a rotting compost bag trapped inside a Talibani taxi cab.
This unbeatable combination of garbage is what often separates the fanook from the rest of the morons in the room. While it is possible for a fanook to wear just one of these identifiable pieces of “Wannabe-hardass” flair, it is most common to see them in their natural trashball grease-monkey habitat which is to say wearing all of the above.
That fucking smirk:
I don’t know what it is about these guys, whether they are long lost brothers of Dave Wannstedt or they are trying to pick a piece of meat out of their molars with their tongue but it looks absolutely ridiculous. They all sit on the stool looking dumb as shit or leaning against a wall as if the wall was set there just for them, looking at everyone with this fucking grin that is trying to say “Yo, you know what, I know more-den you, bro” but the look, grin and scent is saying “Yo bro, I can’t read too fuckin’ good.”. There is just something about that smirk that brings the worst out in me. So if for some reason you are unable to spot the fanook from his goofy outfit, this annoying smirk of ignorance should tip you in the right direction.
The shoes, my God the shoes:
This is where the fanook separates himself from the pack. Shoes to a fanook are like pumps to a woman, vital. Fanook has 3 shoes he will wear (it can vary from region to region but I am out of “Fanook Central” aka Chicago, so for Midwesterners it goes as follows; Summer time fanook has the purest white ankle high shoes, these things are so stupid looking that I sometimes will try to step on them when I go by just to make me feel better about the whole thing. Special occasion fanook has obscenely gaudy sneakers, gold, purple or my favorite “colors of Roma” traditionally untied or loosely tied rendering them useless as gym shoes. Then we have the all seasons fanook special, the long narrow Italian leather show with the wide rear sole. Often these shoes are without laces and come in a slip on variety and they look ridiculous. There isn’t an outfit in the world that would require these abominations of leather sole protection.
So from Summer days to Winter nights you will always spot the fanook as he prances around the bar or his 2 bedroom flat with a porch that overshadows the house.
Is that Michael J. Fox or is that a greasy fanook?
There is just this weird shimmy or shoulder manipulation that is in perpetual motion. It seemingly never ends, they just keep jiving to the trance music emulating from within their heads. It’s like you just finished a 12 round staring contest with Muhammad Ali, you just cannot stop gyrating. Only this is as a result not of spinning, but of being a fanook in a social setting.
The combo of words and expressions:
There is something about that limited vernacular that is used; “Yo dude”, “Hey Bro”, “Watda fuck”, etc. combined with that slack jawed open mouth expression that is left after the phrase is uttered for the 20th time. As if he is leaving the lips fixed in case he needs to speak up fast but forgets how to actually formulate the language within his mouth. As a result 90% of what he says is inaudible, and to be honest, that is the only good thing about a fanook, half the nonsense that comes out of him cannot be understood anyways.
Naturally, this is all followed up by a weasel-like laugh that just sounds too stupid to be human.
The V8 doesn’t necessarily make you an athlete?
These buffoons honestly think because they keep in decent shape and “pump a little iron” that they are athletes, and furthermore, they think purchasing a 3-6 year old V8 will further prove they are descendants of Joe DiMaggio (you know, cause they are all fucking Yankee fans). They go out onto a court or field and start trying trick moves and shit, then stop and go toss their shirt over the T top of the old I-ROC, followed by flipping the straight billed ball cap back words and checking themselves out in the halfway sun-baked rearview mirror. Then they trot their skinny-prick legs over to the field of play and promptly get humiliated, laid out and laughed at – too which they begin a grocers list of excuses for their inability to catch anything other than syphilis.
Oh that is some manufactured bravado you’ve got there Pisan:
That overcompensation works its way directly from the clothing to the personality. They are all itchy trigger fingers (not because they want to or can back it up) but because they saw Scarface. They know it’s cool to be tough, so they are tough now (despite the fact we all know they would get their ass handed to them by any LPGA golfer of German decent). They all have the cross on them somewhere but all live about as unholy of lives as is feasible within the limited skill-set that has been bequeathed to them. This bravado seems to be the toughest one for people to sniff out, perhaps it is the fear of the chance he is actually as tough as the shirt he is wearing says he is. But it has been my experience the louder the fanook the more pathetically inept he is with all things concerning personal defense.
Let’s all go pick out a fanook:
With this little fanook checklist, it is hard to excuse why anyone would willingly or unknowingly conjugate with fanooks. The Idiot's Guide to Spotting Fanooks dispels any reasonable explination for why a douche bag (non-Italian fanook) could have anyone other than themselves to converse with or God forbid date. Unfortunately, the fact is many females still find these guys attractive, inexplicably. Additionally, many guys find themselves intimidated by such primal beings.
For my part, I am just trying to help clear the misconception behind all the fanooks that are getting away with this sad and desperate act. Next time you ladies head out "to da the club" to dance in your trance, take the fanook checklist and notice just how many fanooks there are leaning on the walls, chewing on toothpicks and unlit cigarettes. As for the men, don’t allow yourselves to be intimidated by these jadrools. Ogle right through his papier-mâché bravado, because it's just a defense mechanism to protect a scared inadequate boy hiding in the chest pocket of his "Affliction" shirt.