We've all had the less than optimal run-in with 'that guy' at the party. You're mingling, being your charming self and then BOOM, all the sudden you're backed into a corner getting the life sucked out of you by the dude who everyone else had the good sense to avoid.
Behold, the makings of "that guy":
Introduces himself by where he works.
Brings a six pack of PBR. Drinks the Stella Artois you brought.
Lays across the whole couch so no one else can sit.
Always finds a way to turn any conversation to himself, usually by using the phrase, "Yeah, totally — one time I..."
Tells you to "Google me."
Asks where the "real food" is when he sees your tray of mini quiches.
You like Lorde. He was listening to her "before she got big."
Asks you to guess his age.
Shows you his fraternity tattoo.
Unplugs your iPod from the speakers, inserts his own, insisting you're in for a real treat.
Finishes every sentence with "man/dude/bro."
Is freaked out when you mention you went to public school.
Picks up the guitar in corner and starts playing.
Gets a phone call about another party, leaves.
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