It'll be a few days before I put up another quality post like you're used to. It'll be worth the wait, though. Bachelor party is done, and full of the funny. Plus, I'll have the honeymoon, and the wedding to go over as well. Be good, and have sex with strangers for money/favors.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Last day blindness
It's my last day here at work. 3.5 years or so, and I'm out this bitch. Kinda sad. Just fingering your butt, I'm stoked as hell. Time to go make some damn money. Get mine, and get back, ya fucks.
Check this shit out. I went a little blind yesterday. Crazy. I was over in the valley showing my replacement where to go to get jobs and shit all day. We head back after a rigorous two hours at The Music Coop in Ashland. On our way back, I decide to take a funky route, which leaded to me having to shit napalm. So we roll up to this li'l rest area, and there's a car parked in front of the four shit-stalls. Now, there's no way to tell which one is occupied, because Oregon doesn't know about the deadbolt that states occupancy on the outside of the door. SSSHHH, don't tell.
Anyways, I take a guess, and head for the far right stall. Buddy, I guessed WRONG. As I open the door, laughing at some comment I had made to my replacement, I slowly panned my head in the direction of the opening door....
...........just in time to see a 65 year old lady, mid-shit with TP in hand, deer-in-headlights-eyes, STANDING TO TRY AND CLOSE THE DOOR. By standing, I mean that drunken, akward crouch you do with your pants around your ankles, trying to reach for the extra TP roll under the sink, which is located just three feet too far away.
"Oh, Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed, backing away in horror.
She kept muttering in excited, nervous tones as the door closed, reaching for the lock. I swear to God, that lady will probably never, EVER, use a bathroom without locking it first. I'm sure my fits of laughter after the blindess subdued did not help her self-esteem any. In fact, I wasn't aware that a '97 Olds could burn rubber like that. Embarrasment is a powerful thing, I guess.
Check this shit out. I went a little blind yesterday. Crazy. I was over in the valley showing my replacement where to go to get jobs and shit all day. We head back after a rigorous two hours at The Music Coop in Ashland. On our way back, I decide to take a funky route, which leaded to me having to shit napalm. So we roll up to this li'l rest area, and there's a car parked in front of the four shit-stalls. Now, there's no way to tell which one is occupied, because Oregon doesn't know about the deadbolt that states occupancy on the outside of the door. SSSHHH, don't tell.
Anyways, I take a guess, and head for the far right stall. Buddy, I guessed WRONG. As I open the door, laughing at some comment I had made to my replacement, I slowly panned my head in the direction of the opening door....
...........just in time to see a 65 year old lady, mid-shit with TP in hand, deer-in-headlights-eyes, STANDING TO TRY AND CLOSE THE DOOR. By standing, I mean that drunken, akward crouch you do with your pants around your ankles, trying to reach for the extra TP roll under the sink, which is located just three feet too far away.
"Oh, Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed, backing away in horror.
She kept muttering in excited, nervous tones as the door closed, reaching for the lock. I swear to God, that lady will probably never, EVER, use a bathroom without locking it first. I'm sure my fits of laughter after the blindess subdued did not help her self-esteem any. In fact, I wasn't aware that a '97 Olds could burn rubber like that. Embarrasment is a powerful thing, I guess.
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Stupid fucking Olympics
I swore when I started this shit that I wasn't going to go off on the Olympics. But, as your luck would have it, I find a lot of time to watch people run for a hunk of tin. Or gold, whatever. I saw some shit on the other night, as I was well into my 8th whiskey, that made me spill my drink with awe and disgust. Well, those who know me, know spilling the drink is just like punching a Catholic Priest, shitting on the pulpit, and jacking off on the Virgin Mary. That shit just AIN'T COOL.
Race-walking. That's what I saw. Fucking RACE-walking. It looks like a bunch of fucking soccer moms that all have the massive squirts trying to get to the toilet first. It's a fucking pathetic display of athletic prowess. Yeah, so they do this silly diareaha walk for 20k. Big deal. If I had to take a crap that bad, and was on national TV, I'd walk 40k. Whoopity shit. Who fucking decided this was Olympic worthy? There's already some stupid nancy-pansy bullshit events like fucking badmitton and water polo. Did the ninny's from Queer Eye get in the Olympic Chariman's pants? Cuz...yeah....the games aren't gay enough already.
Now, I'm not gay or anything, but I think Unicorns totallly kick ass. So do gymnastics. Seriously. That Paul Hamm guy may sound like fucking oompa-loompa, but he's got crazy flippingtwistingbalancing skills. Plus, he's gota twin brother that flips and shit too. I bet they get mad pussy all day long. Unless the stroke each other's nether regions instead. That'd be a fucking shame. Anyway, he's cooler than this Dolph-Lundgren fucking look-a-like that was on last night. He did some cutesy little prance 'n' dance, and the score was too low. So he pouts like a shit stained retard, and the crowd gets into it. Too many fucking gyros or some shit, and the crowd is pissed. Like a nazi watching Seinfeld kinda pissed. The judges ended up pussing out and giving him a few more points. Dolph lundgren still lost. I think. I was pretty drunk by that point and was having a hard time telling muscular germans and russians and persians apart.
To wrap things up without any pacing or style, here ya go.
Race-walking. That's what I saw. Fucking RACE-walking. It looks like a bunch of fucking soccer moms that all have the massive squirts trying to get to the toilet first. It's a fucking pathetic display of athletic prowess. Yeah, so they do this silly diareaha walk for 20k. Big deal. If I had to take a crap that bad, and was on national TV, I'd walk 40k. Whoopity shit. Who fucking decided this was Olympic worthy? There's already some stupid nancy-pansy bullshit events like fucking badmitton and water polo. Did the ninny's from Queer Eye get in the Olympic Chariman's pants? Cuz...yeah....the games aren't gay enough already.
Now, I'm not gay or anything, but I think Unicorns totallly kick ass. So do gymnastics. Seriously. That Paul Hamm guy may sound like fucking oompa-loompa, but he's got crazy flippingtwistingbalancing skills. Plus, he's gota twin brother that flips and shit too. I bet they get mad pussy all day long. Unless the stroke each other's nether regions instead. That'd be a fucking shame. Anyway, he's cooler than this Dolph-Lundgren fucking look-a-like that was on last night. He did some cutesy little prance 'n' dance, and the score was too low. So he pouts like a shit stained retard, and the crowd gets into it. Too many fucking gyros or some shit, and the crowd is pissed. Like a nazi watching Seinfeld kinda pissed. The judges ended up pussing out and giving him a few more points. Dolph lundgren still lost. I think. I was pretty drunk by that point and was having a hard time telling muscular germans and russians and persians apart.
To wrap things up without any pacing or style, here ya go.
Saturday, August 21, 2004
A little something for the hi and mighty...
Alright, gotta talk about this guy for a minute. Balls. Huge, brass, incredible balls on this guy. I mean, shit, that's a fucking feat right there. It's not like he did that shit whilst at a high school swimmeet or some shit. that's the damn OLYMPICS, CHUMP. I've never been to golden palace, but I'm damn sure thinking about checking it out. I bet he got his fucking ass beat down in the backroom though. Hope his paycheck was fucking fat.
People, my prayers have been answered. This is an idea of such awesomeness, it comes close to tying with giant piles of lesbians eating yogurt, and slapping old people until they cry. If this shit ever catches on in the states, I'm probably going to quit my new, high-paying job, and do that for a living. My only hope is that midgets get the job. It should be mandated that only midgets qualify to be a scooter-man. We could call them scooter-pooters. They'd have their own civilization based somewhere in the foothills of the Sierra Mountains. Yeah, but then that would fuck my chances of getting the job. So fuck the little crotch sniffers.
Quick note. Baker, your very own prayers have been answered as well.
Holy crap. This is the kinda prank that would piss me off soooo bad. Hahahaha, he rubs his face in 'em.
People, my prayers have been answered. This is an idea of such awesomeness, it comes close to tying with giant piles of lesbians eating yogurt, and slapping old people until they cry. If this shit ever catches on in the states, I'm probably going to quit my new, high-paying job, and do that for a living. My only hope is that midgets get the job. It should be mandated that only midgets qualify to be a scooter-man. We could call them scooter-pooters. They'd have their own civilization based somewhere in the foothills of the Sierra Mountains. Yeah, but then that would fuck my chances of getting the job. So fuck the little crotch sniffers.
Quick note. Baker, your very own prayers have been answered as well.
Holy crap. This is the kinda prank that would piss me off soooo bad. Hahahaha, he rubs his face in 'em.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Last Night...
...I got drunk. No surprise there. But where I got drunk is a surprise. A bar. That's right kiddies, the ball and chain let me go out. Big mistake.
So I get back from work last night late, around 6:30 or so. On my way home, I pick up FatBastard and a bottle of booze. I get cleaned up, and we warm up; by sharing a 1/5 of my favorite whiskey, Monarch Reserve. With that under our belts, we head to the bar.
Arriving at the bar, FatBastard felt the need to tell me that he was drunk already. This is not good. This means I have to babysit and play pretend in order to procure more beverages from the already suspicious bartender. I saunter off to the bar and get us a couple glasses of miracle. FatBastard begins to show interest in the shuffleboard table, so I explain how the game is played. He is confused, but agrees to a match. Not long into our fun, two large-breasted (read:kryptonite) women approach us.
"Hey, whatcha doin'?" the nicer looking one says.
"Building a rocket," I reply, carefully studying her boobs.
"What?" she says, totally fucking lost.
"Playing shuffleboard. You got game?" (I am so urban it's scary)
So the two of them make introductions and we start playing. It seems that we cannot come to an agreement on the rules of the game. LeadBitch starts talking all of these bullshit rules, like I was trying to pass a bill in congress. SecondBitch is retarded, playing with the wax on the board.
After a few minutes (literally) I am bored and disgusted with the two of them. They start making comments like, "Gee, I'm thirsty." I knew it. They were fucking drink-hounds. Out to scavenge free drinks. I quickly tell them I'll be right back. I proceed to buy drinks for me, and FatBastard. And only us. This does not please the scavengers. LeadBitch goes to get drinks, and SecondBitch follows. They do not return.
I find which direction is east and begin to give thanks in prayer.
I then start kicking FatBastard's ass in every single game we play. I almost felt bad for him. Shuffleboard, Foosball, Ping-Pong, Pool. The kid has no bar talent. After that merciless beating, I go ahead and buy him a drink. I notice that the Bitches are sitting at the bar. They smile and wave, appearantly not remembering that they abandoned a game of shuffleboard, a hell-worthy sin in my book. (all that math for nothing) I walk past them with my drinks in hand.
"Hey, where are our drinks?" LeadBitch asks coyly.
"In the bottle; waiting to be poured and paid for, " I reply.
She doesn't like this response, though I can tell she was still trying to process what I meant by that. It's all good though, because a true hottie sitting next to her caught the brief exchange and laughs out loud. I give her a wink, and go back to the games.
Folks, let's do some quick addition here. K?
750ml of whiskey
/
2 dudes
=
happily buzzed
+
14 screwdrivers (that I recall)
/
2 happily buzzed dudes
=
1 happily drunk dude > 1 FatBastard puking...in a bank...ATM.
So he's herfing all over the place, apologizing profusely for being such a pussy, (Which is a good thing, since I would have called him that all night had he not) when I finally convince him we should go back inside, seeing how I left the bartender (read:bestfriend) a large tip, ensuring strong drinks all night.
I walk back in, and give the old nod 'n' wink to my bartender, and she quickly runs over.
"Back for more, eh?" She asks.
"Yes, two blackouts, please," and she quickly rounds up the two strongest drinks on earth.
(Pint glass, filled with 3 kinds of vodka, 151, tequila, triple sec, and a TINY splash of red bull on top)
People, this is one drink that has earned it's title. Forget the "Adios MotherFucker", or the "Irish Car Bomb". This drink delivers. Because after three (I distinctly remember 3) sips, my night ended.
Fade to black...
____________________________________________________________________
...ended as far as my conscience is concerned. I guess my night was not over. I awoke this morning at 9:30am, already late for work, and still drunk as fuck. I stumble through my shower/shave routine, trying to put the pieces together. I dress, kiss my girl (who wasn't nice at all...foreshadowing?) and head to work. I'm driving drunk...in the morning...great. I arrive at work, and empty my pockets. Receipts from the bar, good. I can tell I tipped well. 50% well. No wonder those drinks were so stout. I then scan the cell phone call log. At 12:53am, I called this number: 1574127631275. Gee, I wonder why it didn't go through?
I shamefully called my lady a little later, to ask how much of an ass I was the night before. A big one. A big, shiny, sweaty, hairy, totally-asstastic Ass. I need ideas for making the situation right. Flowers ARE NOT ENOUGH.
She proceeds to tell me that she called, saying that she couldn't pick me up, since our son had just fallen asleep. I go off on her, saying that I'll just fucking walk home, blah blah blah. So she drives down to the bar, waits outside, and some dude walks up to her and asks who she is. He then comes into the bar, and I go up to her window and yell at her, saying how embarassed I am and that she'll never understand. We get home, and I refuse to go in the house. She begs. She yells. I scream some comments that offend her greatly. I finally come in, fall on the couch, and pass-out.
She is the most wonderfull woman in the entire world, and she keeps me sane. Seriously, post some ideas on what would make things right with her again.
Oh, and here's the obligatory link.
So I get back from work last night late, around 6:30 or so. On my way home, I pick up FatBastard and a bottle of booze. I get cleaned up, and we warm up; by sharing a 1/5 of my favorite whiskey, Monarch Reserve. With that under our belts, we head to the bar.
Arriving at the bar, FatBastard felt the need to tell me that he was drunk already. This is not good. This means I have to babysit and play pretend in order to procure more beverages from the already suspicious bartender. I saunter off to the bar and get us a couple glasses of miracle. FatBastard begins to show interest in the shuffleboard table, so I explain how the game is played. He is confused, but agrees to a match. Not long into our fun, two large-breasted (read:kryptonite) women approach us.
"Hey, whatcha doin'?" the nicer looking one says.
"Building a rocket," I reply, carefully studying her boobs.
"What?" she says, totally fucking lost.
"Playing shuffleboard. You got game?" (I am so urban it's scary)
So the two of them make introductions and we start playing. It seems that we cannot come to an agreement on the rules of the game. LeadBitch starts talking all of these bullshit rules, like I was trying to pass a bill in congress. SecondBitch is retarded, playing with the wax on the board.
After a few minutes (literally) I am bored and disgusted with the two of them. They start making comments like, "Gee, I'm thirsty." I knew it. They were fucking drink-hounds. Out to scavenge free drinks. I quickly tell them I'll be right back. I proceed to buy drinks for me, and FatBastard. And only us. This does not please the scavengers. LeadBitch goes to get drinks, and SecondBitch follows. They do not return.
I find which direction is east and begin to give thanks in prayer.
I then start kicking FatBastard's ass in every single game we play. I almost felt bad for him. Shuffleboard, Foosball, Ping-Pong, Pool. The kid has no bar talent. After that merciless beating, I go ahead and buy him a drink. I notice that the Bitches are sitting at the bar. They smile and wave, appearantly not remembering that they abandoned a game of shuffleboard, a hell-worthy sin in my book. (all that math for nothing) I walk past them with my drinks in hand.
"Hey, where are our drinks?" LeadBitch asks coyly.
"In the bottle; waiting to be poured and paid for, " I reply.
She doesn't like this response, though I can tell she was still trying to process what I meant by that. It's all good though, because a true hottie sitting next to her caught the brief exchange and laughs out loud. I give her a wink, and go back to the games.
Folks, let's do some quick addition here. K?
750ml of whiskey
/
2 dudes
=
happily buzzed
+
14 screwdrivers (that I recall)
/
2 happily buzzed dudes
=
1 happily drunk dude > 1 FatBastard puking...in a bank...ATM.
So he's herfing all over the place, apologizing profusely for being such a pussy, (Which is a good thing, since I would have called him that all night had he not) when I finally convince him we should go back inside, seeing how I left the bartender (read:bestfriend) a large tip, ensuring strong drinks all night.
I walk back in, and give the old nod 'n' wink to my bartender, and she quickly runs over.
"Back for more, eh?" She asks.
"Yes, two blackouts, please," and she quickly rounds up the two strongest drinks on earth.
(Pint glass, filled with 3 kinds of vodka, 151, tequila, triple sec, and a TINY splash of red bull on top)
People, this is one drink that has earned it's title. Forget the "Adios MotherFucker", or the "Irish Car Bomb". This drink delivers. Because after three (I distinctly remember 3) sips, my night ended.
Fade to black...
____________________________________________________________________
...ended as far as my conscience is concerned. I guess my night was not over. I awoke this morning at 9:30am, already late for work, and still drunk as fuck. I stumble through my shower/shave routine, trying to put the pieces together. I dress, kiss my girl (who wasn't nice at all...foreshadowing?) and head to work. I'm driving drunk...in the morning...great. I arrive at work, and empty my pockets. Receipts from the bar, good. I can tell I tipped well. 50% well. No wonder those drinks were so stout. I then scan the cell phone call log. At 12:53am, I called this number: 1574127631275. Gee, I wonder why it didn't go through?
I shamefully called my lady a little later, to ask how much of an ass I was the night before. A big one. A big, shiny, sweaty, hairy, totally-asstastic Ass. I need ideas for making the situation right. Flowers ARE NOT ENOUGH.
She proceeds to tell me that she called, saying that she couldn't pick me up, since our son had just fallen asleep. I go off on her, saying that I'll just fucking walk home, blah blah blah. So she drives down to the bar, waits outside, and some dude walks up to her and asks who she is. He then comes into the bar, and I go up to her window and yell at her, saying how embarassed I am and that she'll never understand. We get home, and I refuse to go in the house. She begs. She yells. I scream some comments that offend her greatly. I finally come in, fall on the couch, and pass-out.
She is the most wonderfull woman in the entire world, and she keeps me sane. Seriously, post some ideas on what would make things right with her again.
Oh, and here's the obligatory link.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Old Lady's playing dress-up.
Please click this. Take a look around on there. Now tell me, "What the fuck?!" This is officially the weirdest damn thing I've seen. They didn't even award them like, Ms. Vermont. They're all Ms. Respective Nursing Home/Nazi death camp. Sure, it's nice that they get a good feeling before realizing that the beauty in the pictures is standing on their oxygen hose, but I'd rather be pumped so full of narcotics, I spend my last days watching re-runs of Air Wolf. But that's just me.
Here's a fantastic prank to pull on someone close to you. I'd recommend doing it during the cold (read: icy) season. God bless Labatt Blue, you cheap shit, you.
This was something unexpected. As I watched it, I became more and more aroused. I believe there is many underlying messages in Sesame St., and these guys just happen to pick up on that shit. I'm not going to rant on the played out homosexuality on that show, because it's been done before. But it's gay. Really, really, really gay.
Seeing the preview for the new Exorcist movie made me remember when I met Linda Blair a couple of years ago at an Indian Casino (feather, not the dot). She was fugly as uck, but pretty normal beyond that. I kept asking her to say my favorite quote from the movie, "Your mother sucks cocks in hell!!" (awesome website *snicker*) But alas, she would not. So I did. Repeatedly. Enough for everyone in the casino to have their fill. Some people are so fucking touchy.
So I got the keys to my new digs in Cali. It's quaint, which is city-speak for small. There's a impossible-to-remove red stain in the living room. Seeing how so many old people live there, me thinks that Gerda tried to walk out onto the patio, was attacked by a colony of lethargic ants, and in her "hurry" to run away, tripped on Pookie, her prized Labradoodle, and her head met the tile landing with a dull thud. Either that, or somebody spilled Kool-Aid. I'm a bit of a dramatic.
But there's a pool there, which is great. I love swimming in other people's urine. Especially old people urine, which is strong enough to strip paint off car doors. I know from experience. The bullshit deal with the pool is that it's fucking closed by Sept. 15. Pussy ass californians think they can't swim well into the winter months. Trust me people, it's warm enough. Maybe they just don't like swimming in urine. Soft.
I also had to get a physical done for the new job. Now I've had physicals before, but this was a fuck-a-roo. I had an appointment for 12 noon, which means 'have a seat and we'll be with you when everyone else who didn't have an appointment is done'. I hate that. Oh, this shit was tight. Here was my vision test, which I wanted to pass without my glasses so I wouldn't be forced to wear them all the time:
"Please read line 7"
"ZPXEFDO"
"Please cover your right eye and read line 7."
"ZPXEFDO"
"Good, now cover your left eye and read line 7."
"Uh, ZPXEFDO"
"Very good. All done"
Seriously, like I couldn't possibly memorize the fucking order? Wow, the cali system is fucking iron-clad, for sure. I shoulda missed one to throw them off. But I'm pretty sure I could have whipped out some binoculars and read the copyright at the bottom of the page, and they wouldn't have known.
Then comes the part all men love. The berry-fondling. I was hoping for a young, supple nurse with nice ass and a big dick. I mean tits, big huge tits, yeah. I'm gonna go watch football now. Anyways, my 250 lb 3rd grade teacher doppelganger walks in, fulfilling yet another fantasy. We small talk, exchange glances and shy away. She tests my reflexes, and I nearly kick her leg. Instead, it lightly brushes her thigh, and she blushes. She tells me to lay on my back. AWWW shit, here we go. She lifts up my ass-bearing smock.
"I Love Daddy!" She exclaims.
"Oh yeah?" I reply.
"Your boxers, those are cute." Shocked back to reality, I remember I'm wearing GAP boxers embossed with I [heart] daddy. There goes my only chance at fucking a Gunt (gut+cunt). Oh well, she didn't finger my balls anyway. Hernia tests are done by touching and pressing your stomache. Either that, or she smelled the li'l toot I let loose while lying down on my back, and decided to travel no farther.
On an ending note, I think this guy probably would have been better off had he not chosen a career in the public spotlight.
Here's a fantastic prank to pull on someone close to you. I'd recommend doing it during the cold (read: icy) season. God bless Labatt Blue, you cheap shit, you.
This was something unexpected. As I watched it, I became more and more aroused. I believe there is many underlying messages in Sesame St., and these guys just happen to pick up on that shit. I'm not going to rant on the played out homosexuality on that show, because it's been done before. But it's gay. Really, really, really gay.
Seeing the preview for the new Exorcist movie made me remember when I met Linda Blair a couple of years ago at an Indian Casino (feather, not the dot). She was fugly as uck, but pretty normal beyond that. I kept asking her to say my favorite quote from the movie, "Your mother sucks cocks in hell!!" (awesome website *snicker*) But alas, she would not. So I did. Repeatedly. Enough for everyone in the casino to have their fill. Some people are so fucking touchy.
So I got the keys to my new digs in Cali. It's quaint, which is city-speak for small. There's a impossible-to-remove red stain in the living room. Seeing how so many old people live there, me thinks that Gerda tried to walk out onto the patio, was attacked by a colony of lethargic ants, and in her "hurry" to run away, tripped on Pookie, her prized Labradoodle, and her head met the tile landing with a dull thud. Either that, or somebody spilled Kool-Aid. I'm a bit of a dramatic.
But there's a pool there, which is great. I love swimming in other people's urine. Especially old people urine, which is strong enough to strip paint off car doors. I know from experience. The bullshit deal with the pool is that it's fucking closed by Sept. 15. Pussy ass californians think they can't swim well into the winter months. Trust me people, it's warm enough. Maybe they just don't like swimming in urine. Soft.
I also had to get a physical done for the new job. Now I've had physicals before, but this was a fuck-a-roo. I had an appointment for 12 noon, which means 'have a seat and we'll be with you when everyone else who didn't have an appointment is done'. I hate that. Oh, this shit was tight. Here was my vision test, which I wanted to pass without my glasses so I wouldn't be forced to wear them all the time:
"Please read line 7"
"ZPXEFDO"
"Please cover your right eye and read line 7."
"ZPXEFDO"
"Good, now cover your left eye and read line 7."
"Uh, ZPXEFDO"
"Very good. All done"
Seriously, like I couldn't possibly memorize the fucking order? Wow, the cali system is fucking iron-clad, for sure. I shoulda missed one to throw them off. But I'm pretty sure I could have whipped out some binoculars and read the copyright at the bottom of the page, and they wouldn't have known.
Then comes the part all men love. The berry-fondling. I was hoping for a young, supple nurse with nice ass and a big dick. I mean tits, big huge tits, yeah. I'm gonna go watch football now. Anyways, my 250 lb 3rd grade teacher doppelganger walks in, fulfilling yet another fantasy. We small talk, exchange glances and shy away. She tests my reflexes, and I nearly kick her leg. Instead, it lightly brushes her thigh, and she blushes. She tells me to lay on my back. AWWW shit, here we go. She lifts up my ass-bearing smock.
"I Love Daddy!" She exclaims.
"Oh yeah?" I reply.
"Your boxers, those are cute." Shocked back to reality, I remember I'm wearing GAP boxers embossed with I [heart] daddy. There goes my only chance at fucking a Gunt (gut+cunt). Oh well, she didn't finger my balls anyway. Hernia tests are done by touching and pressing your stomache. Either that, or she smelled the li'l toot I let loose while lying down on my back, and decided to travel no farther.
On an ending note, I think this guy probably would have been better off had he not chosen a career in the public spotlight.
Saturday, August 14, 2004
Thank you very little
As a token of my appreciation, here is some Family Guy clips to brighten your day. Can't wait for the new season of that shit to get here. TV will finally be back to normal.
So, I've already picked out my bride. But I started thinking that the rest of you useless bastards I call friends and aquaintences might wanna jump on this shit. People I haven't seen in years are sending money and shit, and stuff and more shit. That's not even counting the honeymoon. We're going skydiving, deep-sea fishing, and I'm gonna put it in her butt again. Shit, if this keeps up, I'm gettin married every other year or so. Fuckin' Jackpot. Here's a bride for those of you who aren't picky. Mental, but OK looking.
I was wandering through pornland today, and came across this. (no nudity, but your mom would either finger herself, or shake her head in disspointment at you for looking) Thought it was interesting what turns some guys on. Though it's hard to think of anything funnier than some snooty bitch trying to maintain her fucking cool while reaching up her asshole to pull her Gucci swimsuit out.
Well, even though I don't partake anymore, I know that a couple of you out there probably need to sharpen up their skills. Baaaaaaaakeeeeeeerrrrrrr.
Holy SHIT!! I have a new mission in life. I am going to build one of these.
Fucking right man.
Fucking right.
So, I've already picked out my bride. But I started thinking that the rest of you useless bastards I call friends and aquaintences might wanna jump on this shit. People I haven't seen in years are sending money and shit, and stuff and more shit. That's not even counting the honeymoon. We're going skydiving, deep-sea fishing, and I'm gonna put it in her butt again. Shit, if this keeps up, I'm gettin married every other year or so. Fuckin' Jackpot. Here's a bride for those of you who aren't picky. Mental, but OK looking.
I was wandering through pornland today, and came across this. (no nudity, but your mom would either finger herself, or shake her head in disspointment at you for looking) Thought it was interesting what turns some guys on. Though it's hard to think of anything funnier than some snooty bitch trying to maintain her fucking cool while reaching up her asshole to pull her Gucci swimsuit out.
Well, even though I don't partake anymore, I know that a couple of you out there probably need to sharpen up their skills. Baaaaaaaakeeeeeeerrrrrrr.
Holy SHIT!! I have a new mission in life. I am going to build one of these.
|
| "From the perspective of your favourite couch, the world at times seems remarkably like one huge-ass television screen." - Marshall McLuhan |
Fucking right.
Friday, August 13, 2004
Cumin' on the Weekend
What better way to spend the weekend than laughing at rice? Seriously, I have no idea what goes through these kids' minds. It's pretty damn retarded. Click over to Beer and Rap and read all about Serg's frusteration with the issue. He's better at the whole anger thing than I am.
Here are some random thoughts:
-Today is International Left Handers day.
-Paris Hilton is not hot.
-They all look the same to me.
-Man, I've had the shits bad for the past three days. I'll be doodley-fuckin' around, then suddenly grab my gut and head for the hole. It's like pissing warm Dr. Pepper out of my ass. Not pretty.
-Last night I drove a motorcycle drunk. Friends, there are few things in this world that can be as frightening as this. Then again, it was also the most fun I've had in quite some time.
Ok, here's the reason why women shouldn't drive, work, or think. Damn.
Here are some random thoughts:
-Today is International Left Handers day.
-Paris Hilton is not hot.
-They all look the same to me.
-Man, I've had the shits bad for the past three days. I'll be doodley-fuckin' around, then suddenly grab my gut and head for the hole. It's like pissing warm Dr. Pepper out of my ass. Not pretty.
-Last night I drove a motorcycle drunk. Friends, there are few things in this world that can be as frightening as this. Then again, it was also the most fun I've had in quite some time.
Ok, here's the reason why women shouldn't drive, work, or think. Damn.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Is there anything cooler?
When you think of cool, I mean, mega-crap-your-pants kinda cool, does anything beat the idea of Transformers Breakdancing? That shit's hype as fuck.
Damn, this automated bitch on the phone is so nice. "Please continue to hold..." She's just so damn reassuring that someone will be with me shortly. I hate being on hold. They always trick you by cutting of the Muzak for a second, making you think that someone is going to help you, only to bring on an automated voice stroking your fucking ego. Know what? Get fucked. Just gimme sweet, sweet silence.
Q:What did the bow-legged Doe have to say?
A:That's the last time I do that for ten bucks again.
You ever wonder how much automated voice bitches get paid? Think about it. If you have AT&T wireless, and QWEST for your home phone, as do I, then you'll notice it's the same hussie on both services. I could be dead asleep, and have that voice whisper, "Thumb your ass", and I'd do it, because I always do what the nice lady says. It gives me that warm, fuzzy feeling, not unlike drinking a wine-cooler and watching "Sleepless in Seattle". Know what I mean?
Fag.
Damn, this automated bitch on the phone is so nice. "Please continue to hold..." She's just so damn reassuring that someone will be with me shortly. I hate being on hold. They always trick you by cutting of the Muzak for a second, making you think that someone is going to help you, only to bring on an automated voice stroking your fucking ego. Know what? Get fucked. Just gimme sweet, sweet silence.
Q:What did the bow-legged Doe have to say?
A:That's the last time I do that for ten bucks again.
You ever wonder how much automated voice bitches get paid? Think about it. If you have AT&T wireless, and QWEST for your home phone, as do I, then you'll notice it's the same hussie on both services. I could be dead asleep, and have that voice whisper, "Thumb your ass", and I'd do it, because I always do what the nice lady says. It gives me that warm, fuzzy feeling, not unlike drinking a wine-cooler and watching "Sleepless in Seattle". Know what I mean?
Fag.
Saturday, August 07, 2004
Dear Stupid-Stereo-Internet-Buying Ass
Seriously. Just shut the fuck up. Stop your blathering. If I tell you something, it's the truth. So just shut the fuck up. Thank you.
I hate you,
SpecialK
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I went and saw "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle" last night. I spent the whole time alternating between giggling, and beating my face with my boot. Jeezus, I've never experienced a more retarded film. There were a few moments of brilliance, but put enough monkeys in a room with typewriters for an infinite amount of time, and they'll write Shakespeare.
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Why is it that women gobble up diamonds like fucking Hungry, Hungry, Hippos? They think that you get the engagement ring, then more diamonds with the wedding band, then more diamonds at the one year anniversery, another at 5 year increments. Look bitch, if I did that shit, you couldn't hold up your fucking hand to gimme a beer. And that shit ain't cool.
I hate you,
SpecialK
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I went and saw "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle" last night. I spent the whole time alternating between giggling, and beating my face with my boot. Jeezus, I've never experienced a more retarded film. There were a few moments of brilliance, but put enough monkeys in a room with typewriters for an infinite amount of time, and they'll write Shakespeare.
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Why is it that women gobble up diamonds like fucking Hungry, Hungry, Hippos? They think that you get the engagement ring, then more diamonds with the wedding band, then more diamonds at the one year anniversery, another at 5 year increments. Look bitch, if I did that shit, you couldn't hold up your fucking hand to gimme a beer. And that shit ain't cool.
Friday, August 06, 2004
Sushi for breakfast
Is not a good idea. No matter how appealing a california roll is at 8am, don't do it. You really shouldn't eat sushi at all, if it's purchased at a supermarket. Those who know, know.
To all ya'll who work in retail---You ever have those travelling saleskids that go from store to store with a dufflebag full of broken shit, trying to sell it so that their boss' will let their family out of the shipping container en route to Bangkok. They've all got the same Ron Popeil sales pitch, where the deal keeps getting better and better as they ramble on.
Well, this kid comes in the other day, shaking like a leaf. He stumbles through the front door and drops his dufflebag. He stammers through his opening line, "H-H-Hi! H-How are you today?"
Big fucking smile crosses my face, "What useless crap are you slingin' today?"
"Oh, hehe. Yeah. Um...Well, check this out. It's a S-S-S-Super Soaker. They sell for $20 in the stores," he replies.
"The package say's H2O 5000, and there's spare parts floating in the bag," I said.
"W-W-Well, how does 2 for $10 sound?"
"What else you packing?"
He continues to show me his other goods. It's a package of shit from Tactical Gear. A watch, Torch-Lighter w/ built in compass. (Because I only light my cigarettes when facing due north) And it also comes with an L.E.D. flashlight. How much for all this you ask? $10. That's right, $10.
So he continues, "Do you have any kids?"
I point behind him towards our front showroom, which is accessible through a sliding glass door. On the other side, is my 3 year old son, face mashed against the glass, complete with ear-to-ear kool-aid moustache, dirty face, and Elmo overalls.
"Take it up with the big man," I say, gesturing for my son to come out.
My boy makes hasty decisions.
Easiest sale that kid ever made.
So now I have a watch straight out of a box of Corn Flakes, a Flashlight that doesn't work, and a lighter that my fiance nearly burnt her eyebrows off with. Oh yeah, and two squirt guns that drip more water than shoot. ('Cuz they were TWO for TEN!)
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Ever come across that guy who JUST DOESN'T GET IT? What is it with these fucks? They ask a question (Do you do repairs?) and you answer it (No). But that's never enough. Do you repair VCR's? No. We don't do repairs.
Then there's that 15-30 second pause, and they'll ask the same question slightly modified again. This gets frustrating. Extremely frustrating. Then they have to get as much information from you as possible as to who could help them. Asking my ass to write down the number on a piece of paper. As if the 4 phone books published by various companies at their house couldn't possibly contain the same information. Retards.
To all ya'll who work in retail---You ever have those travelling saleskids that go from store to store with a dufflebag full of broken shit, trying to sell it so that their boss' will let their family out of the shipping container en route to Bangkok. They've all got the same Ron Popeil sales pitch, where the deal keeps getting better and better as they ramble on.
Well, this kid comes in the other day, shaking like a leaf. He stumbles through the front door and drops his dufflebag. He stammers through his opening line, "H-H-Hi! H-How are you today?"
Big fucking smile crosses my face, "What useless crap are you slingin' today?"
"Oh, hehe. Yeah. Um...Well, check this out. It's a S-S-S-Super Soaker. They sell for $20 in the stores," he replies.
"The package say's H2O 5000, and there's spare parts floating in the bag," I said.
"W-W-Well, how does 2 for $10 sound?"
"What else you packing?"
He continues to show me his other goods. It's a package of shit from Tactical Gear. A watch, Torch-Lighter w/ built in compass. (Because I only light my cigarettes when facing due north) And it also comes with an L.E.D. flashlight. How much for all this you ask? $10. That's right, $10.
So he continues, "Do you have any kids?"
I point behind him towards our front showroom, which is accessible through a sliding glass door. On the other side, is my 3 year old son, face mashed against the glass, complete with ear-to-ear kool-aid moustache, dirty face, and Elmo overalls.
"Take it up with the big man," I say, gesturing for my son to come out.
My boy makes hasty decisions.
Easiest sale that kid ever made.
So now I have a watch straight out of a box of Corn Flakes, a Flashlight that doesn't work, and a lighter that my fiance nearly burnt her eyebrows off with. Oh yeah, and two squirt guns that drip more water than shoot. ('Cuz they were TWO for TEN!)
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Ever come across that guy who JUST DOESN'T GET IT? What is it with these fucks? They ask a question (Do you do repairs?) and you answer it (No). But that's never enough. Do you repair VCR's? No. We don't do repairs.
Then there's that 15-30 second pause, and they'll ask the same question slightly modified again. This gets frustrating. Extremely frustrating. Then they have to get as much information from you as possible as to who could help them. Asking my ass to write down the number on a piece of paper. As if the 4 phone books published by various companies at their house couldn't possibly contain the same information. Retards.
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