Sunday, May 2, 2010

Life as a middle child

In an attempt to fire up the troops (and to interact with actual people) I sent this email to my bro and sister about our upcoming date with destiny (and to further prove Im not a unibomber shut-in) I'd be pathetic and publish it to the web for cheap laughs. Go fuck yourselves. you know you were thinking it, I had to say it. Alright- ENOUGH IS ENOUGH read on



Simone,

As you’re probably aware, you’re graduation is coming up. (Id be more
amused if you weren’t but anyway) That being said, it appears we will,
in fact be joining in the festivities. And by “joining in the
festivities” I really mean coming to get wasted. There’s no better
way to celebrate (see also: mourn, irish wake) the move to the real
world then by getting absolutely annihilated drunk. Seeing as we will
be in a 10 mile radius of Frat Brah u.s.a. (aka a college campus of
any size or status) we will be required to partay as such:
1. 8 foot table (or just a long surface; one of ur monster bros isn’t
opposed to breaking a door off the hinges if failure to comply)
2. 20 Solo cups
3. Ping pong balls (I think ya know where I’m going with this one!)
4. The best (as surveyed by you of course) local brewing company
-side note= best must take into account: taste/price/bang for the buck
(so most beer for cheapest price)
5. Where the college coeds go to the bar at (a place where I can
wear my v-neck, order a JAEGA BOMB and drunkenly hit on 19 year olds
is preferred but not mandatory)
6. the name of the best (in walking distance) late night food place..i
didnt get this size by eating just 3 meals a day after all
- unless of course you would like to join me in the dui club! (any
takers? no? *crickets chirp*) dammit, worth a shot

Oh yeah, get use to me “accidently” calling you “bro”…sis doesn’t
quite have as great a ring to it, after all and well..its part of my
lexicon. The goal for the night: forget how much the real world truly
sucks by partying it up undergrad style! Bonus points will be rewarded
if: we run into any cousin/relative. Those bonus points will be
doubled if said relative joins us (with all lost if its Danny the
mountain man who hasn’t interacted with women other than his mother
and sister in the five fuckin years hes spent as a college junior) and
tripled if they are Dan the father (like what I did there with the
biblical reference) and or mother. Also…Well I’ve probably
overwhelmed you for now, Ill give ya some time, take all this in, and
prepare to have the best (and or possibly worst)time you won’t fully
remember. That is all..(15 days, 5 hours, 22 seconds and counting)

p.s. do you still have those "vases" that were "left by the previous
renters"?(*nudge wink*)

Saturday, May 1, 2010

mooooo

It’s been one of those days where you’re so hungover, its all you can think about. And by that I mean, I’ve been dragging ass all fuckin day. I’ve had a difficult time maintaining anything that resembles a conversation I’ve been that hungover. My eyes are the sunken in, “looks like he drank a 30 pack” look to em, while I wreak of death. My legs are sore from drinking. I have the shakes. (Note to self: I may be an alcoholic) But somehow I made it to the bank, while badly needing a nap, before noon today. The poor teller who had to help me set up a savings account (im such a stud)..shes this little old lady (and that means 55ish) who’s far too happy to get someone to set up a savings account (THERES NO COMMISSION! QUIT BEING NICE TO ME BITCH!) I stroll in with 10 minutes left before they close to set up this saving account, and begin to fidget and look around (think poster boy for ADD) as if I’m about to rob the place. The poor lady begins to go into detail about how there washing the carpets after I leave, to which I mumble
Me: oh that’s what all these Mexicans are doing
Teller: yep, that’s what these nice men are working on
Me: groan
As I sit and day dream about holding the bank up and begin my search for a worthwhile Bonnie to my Clyde (its all 50+ women, nope *sigh*) I decide to pay attention to what the teller is saying. Blah blah bank blah, I look down and close my eyes. Must have been minutes that passed cause she had stopped talking when I finally looked back up and the poor lady was too scared to ask me to sign the paper work. She was sitting there for what had to have been fuckin minutes while I rested my eyes. Lady, don’t creepily stare at me tell me to sign the damn papers! I don’t have ESP! (that you know of) Got out of there without taking any fire from the security guard as I grabbed the loot/ no stares from the Mexicans as I walked out with my new check book I decided I’d go to Jimmy Johns. No I’m not gonna describe how awesome my sandwich was, and Im not going to bore you with the details of me eating a footlong (No homo) but as I walk in I notice 3 full blown heffers (fatties) walking towards me. And by walk, I mean they were rolling, and using what would resemble their legs (if they still had or could see them) to stabilize the rolling. This little shit is taking off in front of them, full bore. I mean the kid is sprinting, he’s “got running from the cops speed” (thank you, Gus Johnson) and these heffers begin to yell at him to stop. I wanted to interrupt and be like “if you fat fucks ran once in a while you could see your feet! Don’t yell at your offspring, he’s lucky he’s not selling advertising on the blimp that is his stomach! You better encourage him to run, hell even if he runs into traffic, the fucker is still burning calories. That’s more than these three heffers following him could say, weezing and grazing as they mooed their way to the car. Christ, I bet the shocks on that car are crying for help. Ugh, fooooooddddd

“this girl was fat. I hit her with my car. She asked me, “why didn’t you go around me?” I told her, “I didn’t have enough gas.” I mean fat. She was standing alone. A cop told her to break it up. She stepped on a scale, a card came out. It said One at a time.”- Rodney Dangerfield, It’s not easy bein’ me