Posts Tagged ‘drinking’

Last Sunday (not yesterday) I attended my town’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade. I would name what town the parade takes place in, but I live on the actual street it goes down and would hate for some psychopath to read this then come to my apartment and suck my dick. Seriously, why are people paranoid about saying where they live? I only don’t give out my address because I would hate to get junk mail from you.


(Oh I get it, you guys watch It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Green Man right? Cool. You have cable and watch a popular show. Is it wrong to hope those two guys suffocate?)

Onto the actual parade, it was very average at best. I don’t think I’ve seen a St. Patrick’s Day Parade ever before so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The last time I saw any parade live was probably when I was 5. My only memory is having popsicle on my face. This is why parades need more nudity, children don’t remember them.

I went outside 20 minutes after the parade was supposed to begin because I always like to arrive fashionably late. People would see me come outside so late then think “Wow he was probably up there in his apartment with some hot babe” when really I was running late because I was paying overdue bills and eating cereal. This is what life is all about, fooling people into thinking you’re better than you really are.


Without any particular destination I began walking up the street away from the area I knew all the Portuguese live. Nothing against the Portuguese people, but I would rather avoid you if I can. You’re hardcore European and don’t look it. My mind gets confused.

It was amazing how many people were outside standing on the street. I expected maybe a few hundred scattered around. I would predict there were about 10,000 people outside standing around in green t-shirts, waving the flags of Ireland, and getting piss drunk. These people were mostly white and either formed packs of families, drunk young people, and weekend dads with a child. Do you want to know what’s sad? I felt most attached to the weekend dads with their child. All the drunk whores walking around and I felt more at ease standing near deadbeat dads with young children.

I walked all the way to the end of the parade then crossed the street and began to walk toward the beginning of it. Take note that the parade had not even come by yet. I was simply walking through a large group of neighbors hoping one might touch my butt. None did. I need to start wearing a fake butt.

fake butt

(“I gotta get me one of these.” – Will Smith)

I made it to a point where the parade finally started to come through. I continued walking though because I did not feel I had a good spot where I wouldn’t look too creepy being the only person under 80 standing around watching a parade alone. Eventually I walked back the other way and finally planted myself near a small tree and garbage can. Standing between the tree and the garbage can looked like an evolution chart of how respected these three items are by society, me in the middle.

I had to make sure I got a good spot where I could see the actual performances. They were things like military people twirling guns or slutty high school girls singing. The best parts were when I saw a midget twirling a baton and when I saw a girl in an electronic wheelchair leading the marching band. I’m all for giving the disabled equal opportunities, but isn’t half the battle the marching part? All she did was hold a banner with another kid who looked annoyed.

Probably the best performance in the parade was the Irish step dancers. One in particular won my heart. She had an obvious Irish face, long curly dark hair, and an ass you could…what’s something you could do with a really nice ass? I mean this thing was bonkers. I honestly think I might kill a family member to touch this girl’s ass. Not kill them brutally or drag things out or anything. I’m not sick. Trust me if you saw this girl’s butt you would go home and think about killing yourself because you know you would never get a chance to stick your head in it. What value does life have anymore? I’m literally going to try finding her on Facebook now and hope she’s 18.

DNEWS Rhythm of Ireland

(She’s not pictured here. I actually did find a picture of her on Facebook though. Why have I never gotten a job as a Private Investigator? I found everything out about everyone)

My other observations from the parade are young people curse way too much, parades are mostly fat old people sitting, and I’m more into asses than boobs. I only managed to have two conversations with all these people out there. The first happened while I was passing the frozen yogurt shop. A girl holding out free samples offered me one. A free sample of the frozen yogurt, not of the girl. The other conversation I had was with a drunken prostitute who bumped into me then apologized. I don’t know for a fact she is a prostitute but will assume so because she was drunk and bumping into people at 3 in the afternoon.

The parade came to an end soon after and the citizens cleared out. It was almost sad in a way. Everyone came out to see this big community gathering and before we knew it things were over with. We all retired back to our dwellings to probably never see each other again.

The only other noteworthy event that happened was I think two high school girls thought I was following them. They also know where I live now because they were sitting outside my apartment when I went inside. What would I even do with a high school girl though? Help them with their homework? I’m always years late to the party.

A girl once told me I was weird when I went on a 10 minute rant on why I thought strip clubs were stupid. I won’t go into it but because I hate phonies. Strippers are some of the biggest phonies out there. I don’t hate them for it. Their job is to pretend the beer bellied businessman man is the man they’ve always wanted. I can avoid strippers and their lies easy. Sometimes though it’s hard to avoid the people one level below the stripper, the Miller Lite Girl.

The Miller Lite Girl in this case is a traditionally attractive female between the ages of 18 and 24. When nepotism is involved they’ll go up to 27. They go out to bars and use their flirtatious ways to get lonely older men to buy the product that pays them, Miller Lite. The Miller Lite Girls I’m going to talk about here were sponsored by a radio station based out of Philadelphia, WMMR. It actually doesn’t matter where they came from because all Miller Lite Girls are the same, awful.

miller light girls

(These girls aren’t even that attractive. The one has orange skin and blue eye shadow. Figures a Mets fan would enjoy this. They’ll take any victory they can get. Maybe he likes the orange one because she’s the same colors as Mr. Met?)

I was at my usual bar which is not a party bar. It’s on the Princeton University Campus which you can figure means the average cliental are elderly professors and dorky Chinese kids. There are also quite a few seminary students. Basically what I’m saying is if you’re a guy looking for someone to hook up with you better have an old man fetish.

On this night there were two bimbos in electric blue outfits. It was the same blue the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders wear. Let’s call it Whore Blue actually. I noticed them immediately because even though they were incredibly fake looking they were still by far the most attractive people in the room. No offense of course to the male musician with the Ellen Degeneres face.


(Gay talk show host Ellen Degeneres or Australian musician CJ “Bearcat” Barna getting ready to play another Rob Thomas song?)

I grabbed a seat with my friend Rob and we noticed them prancing around asking people questions and giving out prizes. I’ve lived long enough to know girls like this would never sleep with me. I know what you’re thinking, who wouldn’t have sex with a pretty face like mine? Models, cheerleaders, incredibly attractive meter maids, the Steinert High School graduating class of 2006, any woman with a job; none of them would ever probably let me cozy up next to them. Knowing this fact is comforting. It simply means I can say “fuck it” and whenever a traditionally hot girl acknowledges my existence I set out to prove just how useless beauty can be in this world.

The bimbos actually made a point to try to get over to Rob and me. I saw them through my peripheral vision coming closer. The thing you need to know about slutty girls is they don’t have peripheral vision. The only direction they see is into a mirror. They thought I had no idea they were coming. I love dumb girls.

The blonde asked Rob if he was drinking beer. He wasn’t and they moved on. I made a point not to even look over when they talked to him. Nobody can say “Hey guys–“ and expect me to group myself in with someone else and respond. I am an individual. I heard them behind us saying “Should we ask him?” referring to me. They agreed that they should ask me. They swooped behind us to move onto others at the bar. The brunette said “Are you guys just drinking water?” I explained that I was drinking water but I’m not in charge of what others drink. She asked Rob what he was drinking and he said Vodka even though he has no clue what he was drinking. He’s not as irresponsible as that sounds.

The brunette explained how if we decided to drink Miller Lite we could win lots of prizes. I asked about these prizes. They had keychains, mini-footballs, and our favorite, beads. I made a big deal about the beads and acted as if they had me sold. Why would a grown man ever want to own beads? I told Rob they had beads in which he responded, “Bees? Don’t they sting?” and suddenly our characters had been developed. I was the Unsure Guy and he was the Idiot. I don’t think we were too far off from these girl’s personalities.


(Not the best prize in the world. Still better than some dumb beads though)

Our conversation lasted way too long. She still thought I might want the beads. She said they would be good for Mardi Gras. I turned to Rob and said “Hey, she knows your buddy Marty Graw.” The brunette looked at me blankly as I asked her where she knew Marty Graw from. “Is that a person’s name? Is this a joke or something?” I laughed in her face and she laughed too because that’s a stupid person’s defense.

A Japanese guy named Dan interrupted (yeah, they name their kids Dan now) and he pretended to be interested because he wanted to talk to two hot chicks. An actual guy from WMMR came over and tried to get us to participate in the raffle to win an Under Armor sweater. Rob asked him if he knew WMMR DJ Jacky Bam-Bam. He said he did. I asked him if he was Jacky Bam-Bam. He said he was not. I kept going on how ugly Jacky Bam-Bam is. He didn’t deny it. He asked if I was a fan of WMMR and I said “I haven’t listened to that station in 5 years.” He asked me why and I said they play too much Van Halen. We bonded for a few moments over how much Van Halen sucks.

jacky bam bam

(Jacky Bam-Bam is on the right. The term “a face for radio” was invented for him)

The radio guy gave us stickers in case we changed our minds on getting beer. I told him and the brunette it was un-American to make me buy beer in order to enter a raffle. I was going to say my parents were killed by drunk drivers and they were part of the problem but didn’t get the chance.

The WMMR crew left. Rob got the idea to order a Bud Light instead and trick them into thinking he got a Miller Lite. They didn’t like this joke. The blonde started getting really angry about our nonsense. She asked why he would waste his money on such a crappy beer. He said if he bought a Miller Lite he would have been wasting his money on a crappy beer. The brunette laughed and finally she was getting the joke.

The girls made one last plea to try to get us to purchase their crap beverage. They hyped up the Under Armor sweater that could keep us warm. I asked if the Under Armor was bullet proof and could act as Kevlar. The blonde said “I don’t know what that means” which I think she probably says a lot. We also tried to explain Rob was drinking his drinks in ABC order and he would get to Miller Lite once M came around. The blonde also didn’t understand what ABC order was. I think she’s still in kindergarten.


(Never let her off your shoulders sir. As soon as you do she’s destined down the path of becoming a bimbo who bothers men in a bar with her boobs)

I think the Miller Lite Girls came by us one more time. They made fun of us for drinking Bud Light and water. They ordered two waters from the bar. I yelled at them for being hypocritical parasites (not really, but I should have used those words) for judging us and getting water for themselves. The blonde kept saying she felt bad for us, Rob for drinking a bad drink and me for associating with him. I pretended to be on their side and made fun of Rob for being such a loser. They laughed at his expense with their retarded pretty girl laughs. Then I told Rob he was such a loser and I was glad his dad killed himself earlier in the week. Their faces got really serious and we talked a little bit more about Rob’s dad’s fake suicide. They got their waters, left, and gave out their stupid Under Armor sweater to some asshole who actually thought he could bang them. Men like that annoy me more than the actual Miller Lite Girls.

In America the blood alcohol to be considered legally drunk is .080%. In England I think it’s 17%. One time I was pulled over for drunken driving. I had a blood alcohol content of .018. This is the amount of alcohol you can find in a single nose hair on an English baby. Get it? They drink a lot. Americans drinks a lot too. Different from our previous owners to the east, the English, Americans become even more obnoxious and incoherent when they drink. Nearly every Thursday night since May 2009 I have gone to the same bar on the Princeton University Campus. Here are a few drunken idiots I have met there.

Greg Mario: Bartender Jill said Greg Mario (you have to say his entire name) was a regular at the bar. I met him the first week in January in 2010. I haven’t seen him since. He gave me and my friend Rob hockey tickets. We wanted to thank him and before we did we asked him if he was “Mario.” He laughed, said no, then walked away only to come back later and apologize for being such a loon.

Big Daddy Tom: This man was visiting from some southern state. His son got into Princeton so he figured he would spend the night with a beer while his son was trying to pick up the overwhelming amount of Chinese girls on campus. BDT was special because he kept telling the same story over and over again. It was about something happening at 6:15 in the morning. After he told it a few times I started to tell it for him. He was a little amazed I knew so much about his life. This just proves how drunk he was.

David: I knew I didn’t like David when he was sitting in my favorite spot to sit. At first he seemed like your typical friendly drunk. He said to a woman who passed through “I watch Tinkerbell with my daughter sometimes but you are the most beautiful fairy I have ever seen.” The woman walked away quickly. He continued bothering women all night. It culminated when he was making a girl 30 years younger than he was look at herself in a shot glass. He finally realized we were mocking him and refused to say goodbye to us. Oh well. I never trust someone who goes to a bar wearing a polo shirt and shorts.

Name Unknown: I forget this guy’s name; he may even be two different guys. He owned a storage company in Florida and I found something online about him. His big claim to fame was spending an hour with him naming different celebrities and if he would or would not sleep with them. For a drunk guy he sure was picky. Possibly the most vulgar man I have ever met. And to think the first thing he said to me was a terrible children’s joke about a ghost with a band-aid called a “pumpkin patch.” That’s vulgar on a totally different degree.

The Sleeping Yankees Fan: She’s not a drunk but deserves a mention. She comes in almost every night, asks Bartender Jill to put on the Yankees game, and then falls asleep with her head back in the air. Probably the easiest buffoon to snap a picture of due to her drowsiness.

(I was told by Bartender Jill to not post pictures of Mrs. Holliday online. I have to prove at least one of these people exist. I tried taking a video of when Sigourney Weaver was eating with David Hyde Pierce last week but it just looks like an old beard out with her gay husband enjoying dinner)

Not Jeff Hanneman: Bartender Jill told us this man was from the band Slayer. Nobody knows the members of Slayer. They have one blonde guy so it had to be Jeff Hanneman. For close to two years Rob and I debated if it was him or not. I said there was no way. Finally we realized it couldn’t possibly be because Jeff Hanneman wears his watch on a different wrist than Not Jeff Hanneman and the real Jeff Hanneman had a flesh eating virus. I examined the fake Jeff Hanneman’s body in the bathroom with a flashlight. No signs of a flesh eating virus were discovered.

Captain Miles Standish: I almost forgot about this guy because he was a regular and no longer comes in at all. He was a short Indian man who could barely see over the bar. He never sat, always stood. He would bring homework in and do while I drank a glass of wine. His nickname is very simple, he stands. What else would we call him, Sting song?

The Two Black Guys: Forever Rob and I thought they were janitors because they always helped clean up some dishes. Turns out we’re just racists. They’re in there every time we are no matter what day it is so it was excusable. Last Thursday they had a random 16 year old French kid with them eating cookies. Turns out one of them coached an Olympic tennis star in the 1980s and the other drives a Ferrari. This is why I don’t like affirmative action.

Opera Lady: When women drink they become extremely obnoxious. I guess you can almost say they start behaving like me. This woman had nothing to offer other than whistling really loudly and singing terrible opera songs. She told a really bad story to everyone at the bar about how a train filled with Styrofoam caught on fire and the person at the front desk of her hotel did not work her to warn her about the fire. Fireballs were shot through the air. This apparently happened recently too. You’d think if a train exploded and shot fireballs all over the place killing people it would have made the news. Maybe it happened on 9/11 and it was overshadowed.

Freddy: This is the king of drunks. I think he’s a god in my eyes because he’s also the president of a bank and was the biggest drunk I have met. He even has a catchphrase, saying “What-What?” and pulling on his suspenders. He tried taking Bartender Jill out on a date but she doesn’t date bankers or fat guys who wear suspenders. She has specific taste. The last time she saw him he skipped out on the bill. The key to a woman’s heart is through screwing her on the tab.

Are there any lovable drunks in your life you will never forget?

Being a teenager sucks! The cops are always harassing you, parents are always yelling saying you need to eat your vegetables, and teachers won’t get off your ass about how important geometry is. Really kiddos, geometry is something I use everyday. Every night after dinner I grab a protractor and measure the width of my asshole. I’m kidding of course. Why would I need to do that more than once? It doesn’t change. Geometry is pretty pointless unless you’re a carpenter. Nobody really sets out to be a carpenter either. Usually they’re failed architects. And just because you enjoy Legos doesn’t mean you should aspire to be an architect. It’s a much more boring job than it sounds. If you’ve seen Prison Break and remember how Michael Scofield spoke you’d know.

(Wanna bet he put more time into getting these fake tattoos on then he has working since Prison Break went off the air?)

The hardest part about being a teenager though is finding a place to drink. They’ve got these crazy laws in the United States. You’re not allowed to drink until you’re 21! It’s insane. Everybody knows that 15-year-olds are totally responsible enough to handle their alcohol. That’s one of the dumbest things that teenagers argue about. If American kids could drink when they were under 21 nothing would ever get done. Justin Bieber would be begging for change and Dakota Fanning would be a prostitute.

(Wait, wasn’t she 12 last week?)

I would like to do a service today and let my teenage readers know where the good spots to drink are. I know, I’m a swell guy like that. The first place I would like to mention is my apartment. Yes. All teenagers are welcome to come to my apartment at any time to drink. If anyone asks though you didn’t get the booze from me. You got it from your parent’s liquor cabinet. Here are some perks about drinking in my apartment. For one, it’s inside. That means heating and air conditioning depending on the time of year. I also have a love-seat to sit on as well as a swivel chair. Parties are always more fun with a swivel chair around. I also have a bed. I think it’s a twin? Either way, it could easily fit two slender 18-year-olds who are interested in pursuing a career in modeling on either side of myself. Have I ever mentioned that I’m a modeling agent? I am now if that’s what you’re interested in.

Some of you might be a little uneasy about coming to a stranger’s apartment. Just because I’m strange doesn’t mean I have to always remain a stranger. That so sounds like something a child molester would say. Another place you can drink is at your friend’s house. Not every friend’s house either. It has to be at that one friend’s house. You know, the one whose parents don’t love them. Usually there’s a basement there. Usually this friend also doesn’t have a bed, just a cot. We all have had that friend at some point. The friend with the party house. This friend usually doesn’t amount to much. Nobody has ever done an interview saying “I knew I was going to win the presidential election when a friend of mine called me the biggest partier he knew.” There’s nothing wrong with being the party house kid. It can be a blessing. People will be nice to you because you’re the one person they know who won’t be upset if they throw up on your floor. It’s worth a life of working minimum wage jobs.

(In high school she was the prom queen. In the real world she burns her fingers on a the Fry-O-Later twice a day)

If you’re a more outdoorsy person, you could always have a bonfire. Remember though, these are illegal to do. Actually I’m not sure. But a bonfire has to be illegal. There’s no way a bunch of teenagers are legally allowed to build a giant fire even if it’s to toss a redheaded person into. I’ve been to one bonfire in my life. It was okay. Nobody fell into the fire. One person fell into the lake. All I remember was a lot of guys sitting around on coolers shirtless. They said that they were really hot and that’s why they took their shirts off. How about putting out the fire? A girl also had sex with three different guys in the woods that night. That was the rumor that the one kid whose dad was there started spreading. How does a dad show up at a teenager’s bonfire? No wonder I gave up drinking. It was always too awkward.

The most ridiculous place for a teenager to drink is the car. Teenagers do a lot of strange things in cars. They drink in them, smoke weed in them, have sex in them, everything but drive them. When I think about it, I never even drove my car when I was a teenager. I would sit in it and make racing noises. Call me old-fashioned, but drinking in the car seems sad. You render the car useless by doing so. Your life is that bad that you have to sit in your 1999 Hyundai trying to forget about how bad everything has become? Maybe I’m alone in this. I think if you have to do something that depressing in order to do it at all then you should wait 3 more years until you can do it in a more normal setting, like somewhere with a table.

Teenagers are always going to be drinking. I guess you can’t blame them really. What else is there for them to do? They have so much free time, no worries in life, and awkward pimples in even more awkward places. If it wasn’t for alcohol, teenagers would never have sex. And teenage sex is what makes ABC Family a successful cable channel. Really, how is always bringing sex into the equation family oriented? Families don’t talk about sex. They avoid it. The History Channel should be called the Family Channel. I never had a sex talk with a family member. Yet when I was 14 years old my dad sat me down to have a talk about how Hitler got all of his technology from ancient aliens and ice road truckers. That’s what a real family is like.

(My dad, Giorgio, telling me all about Ancient Aliens and how they built the pyramids and Statue of Liberty)

This is a story about coming of age. It was actually published in the children’s book series THE ADVENTURES OF TOOTSIE WOO!!! If you haven’t read it, you should check it out. It’s about a ghost who travels around with a carnival doing sexual favors for miners. And you thought Casper was friendly!

After reading this entry (or entrée if you figuratively eat words) you will think of me differently. I won’t be that cool guy you all aspire to be like. You’ll see me as a square. An awkward square. Such an awkward square that I’ve become a rhombus. That’s what I am. The biggest rhombus in the world.

I’ve only ever witnessed somebody do cocaine once in my life. It was scary. I was in the home of a stranger and there was a 5’4 guy there with a very round hat. A 4’10 girl that seemed to have an attitude problem came up to me and said that I didn’t have to be scared. Then a knife fell out of her pocket and I turned away, scared and scarred. How did I know how tall everyone was? There was a growth chart in the room!

What mistakes did I make in my life that led me to this place? How did I get here? (CUE: The Talking Heads)

I had been visiting a friend for the evening. The night started off normally. Girls were ignoring me, bartenders looked at me like I had no idea what I was doing (which I didn’t), and my allergies were bad. My allergies are always bad. Even in a bar filled with fag-hags. Maybe I’m allergic to a good time. Or more accurately, an over-hyped not as spectacular as I had imagined it would be time. Lets go with that second one.

I remember locking eyes with one fag-hag in particular. My eyes said “Let me come over there” and her eyes said “Is he looking at me or the window behind my face?” The answer was both, but I didn’t know how to properly respond with just eye signals. I hung out near the cigarette machine which still exist. That 4’10 girl came over and basically shoved me out-of-the-way. I was really turned on by this. She looked like she was 16 and was in a bar, pushing adults to the side, drunk and high on everything she could get. I should have married her right then and there. That way I’d know that my life would end up like crap and I would never get my hopes up.

My friend and I left the bar and found somewhere more quiet. A random woman sat in his chair and she left her cell phone there. He told me that her boyfriend was a douche bag. I continued to cock block him completely by talking to the girl in a friendly way instead of doing what I should have done, ignore her completely. I was young, I learned. If you want a girl to talk to you the last thing you should do is talk to her. Life is complicated and makes no sense like that.

We then went in search of another bar that he said was down the street. It apparently didn’t exist. I found this odd because he lived 5 minutes away and claimed that it was indeed there yesterday. This is why I don’t have trust others or believe what a GPS tells me. Buildings don’t just get up and walk away. Unless you live in Alabama where homes do it all the time. We returned to the first bar only to find that everyone was leaving. “House party!” someone shouted. So, we went.

The house party was at the home of the cocaine girl. She had a giant dog crate in the corner and a bird-cage. Both of them were empty. A tall man and a girl went into the bathroom and came out a half hour later. The fat guy there had to pee on a fence. Nobody really talked to me. One guy who seemed to also not know anyone stood near me and I asked him a few questions that strangers might ask. He lived about 10 minutes away and his favorite color was blue. I quickly ran out of questions and he left. Then a woman with a pixie haircut started talking to me. She had an overweight boyfriend who would scrunch his eyes like he was trying to shit whenever he would talk to me. He’d puff out his cheeks and nod during my responses to his questions about where I lived and what my favorite colors were. The house party stunk.

Someone informed us that the party was moving somewhere else. We all walked about 10 minutes to a bigger home, that of an overweight woman. There’s no reason to point out that she was overweight. Really, there’s no reason to write any of this. I already gave away the ending. A girl does cocaine and I get scared. But to sound smart and artistic, I will describe what was wrong with people who I encountered. The owner of this home’s problem, being a gigantic scary creature.

The “party” continued and I stood around awkwardly. Then I sat around awkwardly. Then everyone who was sitting got up and stood some more. I ran out of things to do. Sitting and standing are my go-to motions. I couldn’t lie down. That’s a real party faux pas.

I went outside and stood there for a bit. Then everyone went inside and I had to knock on the door because they had locked me outside. Hey it happens. Not the first and wasn’t the last that I was completely ignored. I came inside and saw the girl I wanted to have sex with. That’s kind of always what I do when I enter a room, leave a room, enter a car, leave a car, enter a stadium, leave a stadium, etc. She had marijuana eyes and I think it’s because she was on marijuana. She mentioned how she thought one of the guys at the party was cute and his name was Dan. I tried smiling at her and she left the room.

My awkward standing continued and that’s when I saw cocaine girl. She was sitting at a table bitching to a friend. “How am I ever going to find a guy that loves me? I can’t even drink. And that means he can’t drink because when he kisses me I’ll be able to taste it on his lips.” No. She wasn’t being a self-righteous prude. She had that medical condition where alcohol makes you sick. I think we all have that condition. She has it worse. She’ll die if she drinks a beer. We’ll put on a goofy hat and embarrass ourselves. I’m still undecided on which is worse.

Cocaine girl took a bag out from her pocket and then pulled over a magazine from the table. It was something about fishing. Or maybe it was a Playboy. I’m not sure. I couldn’t tell if the man in the picture was wearing a bucket or a cowboy hat. Cokey emptied her bag onto the magazine and without thinking twice closed up her one nostril and snorted with the other. All done! She cleaned up that cocaine like she was an anteater cleaning up whatever it is that those creatures eat.

I didn’t know what had just happened. I had seen cocaine done in movies. Never in person. This must be like when you give birth to a baby. You can know exactly what it looks like yet until it happens to you, you don’t know how to react or how it feels. I was flabbergasted. I wanted to leave. I felt uncomfortable that a woman who thinks a guy won’t date her because she can’t drink beer solves her problems by snorting cocaine. That’s a much bigger deal breaker. Cocaine involves bad tempers and Scarface references. She was a good-looking girl and I would have raised my eyebrows for her until I witnessed her commit a crime. She missed out. She broke our unsaid deal.

Now for the rest of my life I will be prepared for when I see someone snort cocaine. I hope you don’t have to go through the fear and confusion that I did. Cocaine is a dangerous drug. It blows your chances at taking a ride on the wild side with me. What’s scarier than that?

“I love the Cocaine.” – Buckcherry, a band who might have more than 2 hits if they laid off the hard stuff

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.