Posts Tagged ‘beer’

Adults used to ask me what my favorite subject in school was. I would say “Recess!” with a big smile on my face. This was cute until I was in college and it was my advisor asking me this question. But really, what was better than recess? You could play football with a soccer ball because they didn’t allow footballs, you could watch a kid get pushed off a slide then see a helicopter lift him off to the hospital, and you could break your own leg imitating the American Gladiators. My favorite thing about recess through all of the horrors was finding something new. The best place to do it, the baseball backstop.



(I don’t think my elementary school playground had nearly this much grass. Must have been salted over during war)


The baseball backstop was located as far away from authority as possible. I don’t remember when I started hanging out there a lot during recess. Sometime around when I realized I was too slow for things like hop scotch or sitting on the swings. Luckily my friends enjoyed hanging out there too. If we knew what drugs were we would have been doing them. But we didn’t know what drugs were. We’d have to make do with talking to the dog that lived on the other side of the fence. Someone named him “Doggy” and it stuck. It was simple enough to remember. Doggy’s probably long dead now. I like to think he still haunts the playground and occasionally eats a kid.


One game we’d play back there was called “Bench Wars.” At least that’s what I call it now. It involved standing on the tiny wooden, splinters poking out like Vietcong bamboo spikes, bench alongside the field. If you sat on the bench it could fit maybe 5 asses. Easily a safety hazard. The most memorable game of Bench Wars took place when I helped my friend Rob (I’m just going to name you from now on so you become some sort of underground legend here) win by hitting him. His opponent, our friend Matt, was twice his size. I knew Rob would lose due to the size difference and his incredible ability to never win a thing in his life. To this day he’s kept it up. I couldn’t be more ashamed. Anyway, my hitting Matt got him disqualified. That meant that Rob won. We paraded around the baseball field chanting “Rob is the Champion” to the tune of “We are the Champions.” This got Matt very angry. He started to whine saying it wasn’t fair. We had cheated. Matt calmed down then showed us how he could take kicks to the nuts without feeling any pain. I bet he’s gotten a few free drinks out of that.



(Matt is a multiple winner on America’s Funniest Home Videos. Golf club to the nads version 781-9783 was him)


One of the strangest things I have ever seen was the inside of a mouse. I was at my babysitter’s and a kid cut a dead mouse open with a stick. Even stranger than that was when I was at the backstop and saw the insides of an animal all sprawled out. Organs were everywhere. One of my nerdy friends said that a cat cut open a rabbit and put them there. I am still shocked how he could have come up with such a logical statement about dead animal parts on the grass while I was standing there thinking it was food. Being curious and hoping to impress girls by being as sadistic as possible, I picked up a large rock and dropped it on what was either the heart or stomach. I was hoping for a huge explosion. Instead it kind of fizzled out the way an air mattress is properly deflated. I would have to live another day to show girls that I could destroy things with rocks.


My favorite find ever at the backstop was a beer can. Like every fifth grader would do, I picked it up. I knew this would make me popular, at least for the day. I decided that I wanted to see something explode. Not having access to dynamite or large rocks above rabbit stomachs, I started to shake the beer can. Stealing the idea from the April Fool’s episode of The Simpsons, I would cause a massive beer can explosion. I shook and shook and wondered what the aides on duty thought I was doing. Finally time came. I opened the beer can slightly then tossed it up into the air. I made a run for it to clear ground zero of the explosion. The beer can hit the ground and shot beer out all over the place. It was epic. If you were a grasshopper, it would have been like it was raining Budweiser. Since were merely boys, it was just kind of cool. My hands smelt like beer and I cleaned them out in a puddle of water. This made them smell really bad, but at least I didn’t smell like beer. A classmate came up to me and said “that was cool.” Finally I was popular for a moment.



(The Holy Grail of backstop finds. I don’t think it was a Pabst either. Teenagers in my town were not quite sophisticated for a beer which has earned the right to call itself Blue Ribbon worthy)


The last time I went to the backstop was around 3 years ago. I was bored one night so Rob and I went there. I had heard that an Indian kid we went to school with went there a few months earlier and peed on the slide. I did no peeing. Instead we joined in on one last lap around the baseball field chanting about how he was the champion. I drove him back to the Retarded Person Daycare he lives at. He thanked me and I told the doctor to kill him afterwards. I know wherever he is (probably reading this) he’s wondering why I killed him off and made him retarded. Needed a closer, that’s why.

I have a belly button. Only one. That’s the average amount. From listening in on other people’s conversations, the belly button happens when the umbilical cord is cut off after birth. It is not a place to store thumb tacks. Do not do that.

There are two different kinds of belly buttons. There’s the innie and the outtie. Normal people have innies. I am normal. Freaks of nature have outties. I could never imagine living a life with an outtie belly button. It’s like having a tiny penis coming out of your stomach. Or a misplaced finger. I’d feel the need to poke people with it. Strangers would come up to me and ask in which direction a certain street is. I would turn my torso and point with my outtie. I know I’d at least at one time use a clothes hanger on it. Maybe with a shirt attached. I haven’t thought about it enough. I would hate to have an outtie belly button and then have it break off. That has to be a weird feeling. Having an outtie all your life then losing it during a stunt. It’s probably a good thing that my belly button is concave and not protruding. I only have to worry about a bug or small mammal burrowing in there.

There are lots of things you can do with belly buttons. You can pierce your own belly button. These used to be popular in my middle and high school. Now everybody gained some weight. The belly button piercing popped out of their skin like a wine cork. I haven’t seen a girl with a belly button piercing in forever. I also don’t hang around criminals much. Usually a girl with a belly button piercing also has a record. And I’m not talking about the kind where they ate the most amount of cheese in under a minute. I mean the kind where police officers keep a manila folder with your name on it.

Another belly button activity is doing shots out of it. This is a good reason to have an innie. You can’t do a shot out of an outtie. What you do is you fill up a slutty girl’s belly button with your favorite liquor. Then you drink it out. It’s that simple. Be careful not to swallow any lint. It can be toxic. Almost as toxic as the personality of the girls who let strangers do this to them. I have never done a shot out of a belly button nor have I had someone do a shot out of mine. I prefer a glass for my beverages. I drink quickly and would have to keep refilling the belly button. It also seems messy. I don’t like spilling drinks. If you’re the kind of person who enjoys creating anarchy with your liquor then go for it. Drink your morning coffee out of a chick’s belly button. I think I just gave myself an idea for tomorrow.

The most famous belly button of all time belongs to the Pillsbury Dough Boy. For centuries he’s been poked in the stomach by fingers. He lets out a “Hmm Hmmm” laugh. We all know it. It’s a laugh that sounds like a person bound and gagged trying to scream for help. That’s probably where they got the sound effect from on the foley stage. They tied up a man, put duct tape over his mouth, and punched him in the stomach. The Pillsbury Dough Boy’s token laugh was really the sounds of agony.

When I was younger, I would always find sand in my belly button. Even when I hadn’t gone to the beach. I think I was just a dirty boy. It probably was dead skin, not sand. I find it so fascinating how overlooked belly buttons are in modern society. We don’t pay nearly enough attention to them. I’m sure in some culture belly buttons are a private part. Their pornography consists of images of stomachs. The deeper and wider the belly button, the sexier the person. It has to be possible. There are tribes out there who find women with gigantic plates in their lips sexy. Being turned on by a belly button isn’t all that weird.

Red Cups

Posted: November 5, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

If Jesus had been born in the 1980s, the Holy Grail would be a red cup. Indiana Jones would team up with his father in order to find this red cup. They’d be able to find it much easier too. I don’t think plastic can decompose very well in landfills. The movie would have been 12 minutes. Thank Jesus’s dad that he wasn’t born during the height of Madonna.

Sometimes I’ll buy red cups. They’re big, clumsy, and not very attractive. Most of the people who I see using red cups are big, clumsy, and not very attractive. When they wear red shirts, it looks like a giant red cup holding another smaller red cup. Sort of like a mother holding an infant. It’s cute. And that’s why even though girls holding red cups are annoying, I can still tolerate them due to the fact they remind me of a mama kangaroo with its Joey.

When I use red cups, they’re mostly for milk. I drink a lot of milk. I’ll never get prostate cancer. That’s not that great of a strategy. I’m going to have to get a finger up my butt at some point. Mine as well have prostate cancer if that’s going to happen. I should probably stop drinking so much milk. Drinking milk to help prevent prostate cancer and still getting a finger up your butt is kind of gay. The other people I see with red cups use them for alcohol. I’m not sure why a red cup is necessary for an alcoholic beverage. It’s all too cloak and dagger for me. I like to know what the person standing next to me wearing sunglasses inside is drinking. At least, I want to know the color. I could always hover over the glass, but what if they’re taller than me? Or if they hold their arm up really high like girls do to signify “I’m having fun.” Men never raise their arms when they have fun. Unless they’re going in for a high-five. Then it’s worth it!

I remember once being at a party. It doesn’t matter how long ago or how much of a sausage fest it was. You don’t need to know those facts. What you do need to know, is that one of the whore-make-up-wearing girls there complained that instead of red cups, we had blue cups. This rubbed her the wrong way. Blue must not show up well in pictures that are placed online that will get her fired.

First thing, first. Thanks to everyone who checks my blog. I have already beaten last month’s totals with 11 days to spare. That is, unless you all decide to stop checking it out and one of you reverses time and decides to do something else instead of reading what I have to say. I don’t think any of my reader’s have any special skill set other than the best them they can be. But really, I appreciate you stopping by and taking time out of your probably boring lives. My life is boring too, that’s why I read your blogs. I have authority to make fun of you.

As a tribute to my readers, frequent commenters, the occasional people who stop in to like a post then disappear until they like another post a month later, I will be randomly linking one of your posts into each of my upcoming posts until I get too lazy to do anything else. This is me giving back and to make up for kicking that cancer kid. Just because you’re hairless doesn’t mean I buy your story buddy! When I do post your links, I hope you get many views, new subscribers, and plenty of hot chicks or dudes, depending on your preference, knocking down your door to grab you in sexual ways. I’ll be as subtle as possible with them too. When you see it, imagine me screaming awkwardly at the top of my lungs.

Onto Business:

I have never been in a bar fight. I’ve never really been in a real fight either. Only shoving matches at the most. One time the other kid fell backwards into a bush. That was the Knockout Punch in the fight. Falling into a bush full of berries. I don’t think they were even poison berries. So that’s the story of my biggest fight. A kid falling into a bush full of berries. I need to challenge better people.

The kid in question was named Josh. Josh isn’t that bad of a name. It’s a little bit of a jock name, but I’ve known fat people named Josh too. If I lost my fight to Josh I wouldn’t have been too embarrassed. It’s a fine enough name to get your ass handed to by. With that thought in mind, there are some names that if I ever lost a bar fight to, I would have to cut off my own testicles.

Larry – I would be very embarrassed if someone named Larry ever beat me up. At least Lawrence sounds like a British militant, to me at least. Chipper Jones changed his name from Larry Wayne to Chipper because of how lousy of a name it is. Chipper sounds like the name of a small child with glasses and a unibrow and still that’s better than being called Larry. Most people named Larry also have kazoo voices. The only time kazoo voices are useless are when calling in bomb threats.

Gary – It reminds with Larry and is equally as bad. I’m sure there are some tough guys named Gary out there, but they’re truck drivers. I’ve known one child named Gary and he was one of those ass clowns that everyone hated. He was on my baseball team and everybody hated him. The coaches, the players, the parents, everyone. He was chubby with blonde hair and we rooted for him to fail. His dad also failed me for inspection at the DMV. His father’s name, also Gary. The only way a Gary could ever win a fight is with a sucker punch. Because that’s what they are, people who suck.

Kevin – I don’t know what it is about this name, but nobody really cool ever has it. I’ve known people I liked named Kevin, but it’s certainly not a tough one. The only abbreviation for it is “Kev” and that isn’t even a good nickname. The most famous Kevin is Kevin Bacon. Isn’t that the complete opposite side of names? You go from a wimpy name of Kevin to a manly food like Bacon. That’s still not saying Kevin Bacon is tough or anything. He loves the Arts in Philadelphia and has a scrunched up face. My theory on the scrunched up face, he lost a lot of fights.

Blaise – You may not know that this is a name, but it is. It’s kind of common now too. It’s pronounced like blaze as in anyone with that name is a such a homosexual, that they are no flaming, they are blazing. It’s an awful name and nobody tough ever has it. Johnny Cash had the song “A Boy Named Sue” where the parents name their son Sue to toughen him up. Naming your son Blaise only makes him a coward. Sure, it sounds cool on the surface, being named after something fire does. But if you ever meet someone with this name check out their hair. I guarantee they have a fohawk and a vest, the sure sign of a someone who needs to be punched.

Hunter – I would put this name up there with Blaise. Hunters can be cool, the people who actually hunt and not the people with the name. I remember the first time I found out that Hunter was a name and thinking that the parents were mental. Why not name your kid Poacher? Or Deer Killer? I’ve never met a Hunter in real life that I can remember. And that’s good because once I do meet a Hunter, he won’t be living much longer. Lets see how tough you are without your gun or bright orange vest.

Brent – You could throw Brett in there too with this one. I associate these names with being the outside jock. That little guy that hangs around with all of the football players. He usually has a goofy nose or big ears. They’re always the weakest of the bunch in their group of friends. It’s the poor man’s Brad. Not that Brad is a great name or anything, but if someone with that name knocked out my teeth I wouldn’t be too upset. When a Brent throws a punch it usually lands into their own crotch. It’s a real MIND WARP!!! why anyone would name their kid this.

Unisex Names – There isn’t much to say about this. If your name is Kelly, Stacy, Jesse, or any other traditional girls name, I don’t want to get beaten up by you. It’s embarrassing. I don’t get why parents do give their sons names like this. I mentioned before about Johnny Cash and his song, but you shouldn’t take songs as a basis for what you name your kids. Your kid won’t always live up to their name. If they did then every girl named Roxanne would be a whore and every sweet girl named Caroline would be the most annoying girl at karaoke night.