Whores

This is going to be about whores. So the group of man-bros I hang out with seldom have happenin' babes hang out with us. Sure, some of us do well with the ladies, and some of us lie about doing well with the ladies. But "the ladies" never really stick around with us casually. You know at places like bars, during band practice or our usual nights of pointless, drunken revelry.
That was until recently.
Now we have these three hangers on. All of them are whores, all are annoying, and all are not attractive... that is, they aren't skinny and their faces don't make up for that.
This one girl, henceforth known as Snooki, tries (and generally fails) to get dick in her vagina. One party she stayed up with us until 7 in the morning drinking, hoping one of us would throw her a pity fuck. I went home, then came back at 1 the next afternoon, and she was still there. I was like, "who bit the bullet, and fucked the troll". Apparently no one. She slung her vagina and there were no takers.
Then she banged one of our friends, and I figured, "awesome, now we'll be rid of her". Nope. Bitch is still around, trying to get dick from almost every guy.
There's also this THICK girl with a huge chin who is a down-right whore. She literally can't exist without some form of birth control. I think she's afraid she has so much sperm up in her tummy that if she skips taking her BC pills she'll suddenly become preggers.
The last girl is by far one of the more annoying. She has this high pitch scream she uses to get attention. Fucking high pitch. Anytime she sees me she tries to get me to fuck her. Which is downright annoying, especially considering I have rules against putting my dick in a girl whose gut outshines her titties.
I doubt she trims.
So here I am, with three annoying whores (2 out of 3 who went to Whitewater) and no way to get rid of them. They think that talking constantly about their vagina makes them independent women.

The Smarties Diet

I've designed a new diet for you digital-age fat-asses. I call it The Smarties Diet. Essentially you just eat nothing but smarties. They're low cal. (25 calories a roll) and if you eat enough of them your teeth hurt, and you'll shun any food that requires even the most minimal of chewing.

I can feel the vibrations of most of you excitedly shifting in your seats, wondering if it works. I can assure you, my humble fat-asses, this diet indeed works. Why, I'm not only the innovator of The Smarties Diet, I'm also the chief guinea pig. I can tell you that I have lost 10 pounds already. Let's be clear though, I didn't need to lose 10 pounds, because I'm in a constant state of perfection. Whatever my physical state, that is the current definition of perfection, and never forget that.

There have been some side-effects, but I assure you the benefit out strips these side-effects. Here's a list of some of the little trifles that you may experience while losing all that weight, and looking amazing:

Extreme energy highs, and extreme energy lows

Hallucinations

Extreme tooth sensitivity

Horrific constipation

Soul-sapping epiphanies

Christian Bale in The Machinist-like insomnia

Murderous rages

Absolute loss of sex drive

Multi-colored pee

Exercise may be hampered by need to lie down

Overwhelming stockpile of Smarties wrappers

Fame-hungry parents attempting to get you on that show Intervention

Nude sleep-walking

Gum bleeds

Muscle spasms

Hair loss

Thinking Dane Cook is funny

Drastic thoughts about which celebrity to kill to get Jodie Foster's attention

Phantom genitals

I got your back Mark

We can't go around censoring books. Part of the appeal of reading is acknowledging the cultural context of when that book was written. The contemporary vernacular, and opinions of the day. We can't hide from our past. We don't need to accept the negative things, but we should at the very least attempt to understand those things. I fear if we continue to avoid, or change the more challenging things from our past, we're doomed to be haunted by those very things in the future.

Keeping it going

So here I am pecking away at the Internet, trying to find the meaning of life and all that, when all of a sudden it hits me. I should be asleep, because I work early tomorrow. I guess I should, but fuck that shit. I'm going to live life on my terms, and by jove, I'm a night owl. I need to stay up late into the night leering at strippers, reading James Roday trivia, and eating all of my sister's gluten-free oatmeal cookies.

It's unfortunate that we night owls get no respect. We're always told that we have to be in bed by a certain time, and are looked at with scorn when we roll out of bed at 3 in the afternoon. We're yelled at when we play our drums at 1 in the morning. Hell, one time I was asked to leave a public park at 4 in the morning. I'm sorry, I didn't know my taxes only paid for the park between sunrise and sunset. I thought this was America, the home of the 7/11, 24/7.

When I was a kid I used to be bummed out, because I knew that at 9 o'clock I had to be in bed. I had so much more shit to do, I thought. Now, that I'm older, make my own decision, and can grow a beard I make the decisions, and wanna know what? I'm gonna stay up until I pass out. I'm going to live my life, and sleep when my body can't take it anymore!

I have to be up by 5 tomorrow, and as I write this it's a bit past midnight. It'll be later when I finish this rant, and it'll be much later when I finally decide to pull out my bed and get my z's on. I may only get 3 hours of sleep, but what of it? I'm having fun, and the day goes by much faster when you're working on only 3 hours of sleep. So long as you don't make it a habit.

The thing that I hate is when people make the choice to skip sleep, and then, the next morning, complain about being tired. I'm owning up to my poor decisions. It's my own damn fault I decided to stay up until 2:30 writing a fake diary.

That's right, I'm writing a fake diary. Basically I'm banking on archaeologists from the 23 century discovering this little diary and getting some seriously misguided notions on what life was like in the 21st century. 200 years from now they're going to think Ryan Reynolds was president, our currency was Mallomar bars, and Obama was something you yelled during sex.

Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to write discouraging things on people's walls, and down another aspirin before my heart explodes.

Middle-Aged People are Diluted Perverts

Middle aged people are diluted perverts. Who else would willingly canoodle a sweaty, obese, lump of hairy fat? Who is even aroused by the thought of that? Apparently our parents are and that's what makes them perverts. Sickos really.

Everything starts out normally. We're all after essentially the same thing when we're younger...but as we get older our standards lower and lower until we settle for the guy or gal we're gonna live with the rest of our lives. Some of us are tricked into it though. Like for guys she could be stunning but on your 5 year anniversary she's beginning to look like her mother momma hutt. and girls, I can't discriminate, after 5 years he starts to bald, gets fat and gains hair in rather inappropriate places. Your sex life is confined to an average of 5 minutes a month, including fore play and only if there's nothing on TV.

So for multiple reasons (I'll delve into those later) when we're older we're more apt to boning an ugo. And I don't mean 'paper bag special' or 'kinda cute' we're talking unholy of unholies. We're talking the complete opposite of anything remotely attractive, healthy or arousing. That cute 115 lb blonde you married is now a 245 pound lump of rolls lying on the bed struggling to breath. and that studly guy you married is now a balding, hairy butted, pot-bellied perv.

We must be gluttons for punishment as we get older. When you live with someone that long you probably hate the other person and you won't divorce because you hate change even more...and the monthly ritual is probably so grotesque you only can stomach it for maybe 15 seconds at a time. You blame work, you blame your blood pressure you even blame e.d. for your lack of effort and 'WOW' but in reality its just that you're both horror movie ugly.

Quit Breaking the Pee Rules

Ladies, what I am about to tell you will boggle your y chromosome. We men folk have certain unspeakable rules for bathrooms. I think one of the biggest rules involve the urinals...but let's back up and give the ladies some context.

First, using a public restroom (especially older ones) can be the most embarrassing thing next to getting a physical or prostate exam. Essentially you just pop your tackle out for all to see and then you pee.

There are even some restrooms where you gather round a semicircular trough and take a wizz whilst exposing your shame to every Harry, Dick and peeping Tom.

Whilst bleeding the fleshy lizard you know that there is a 1 in 3 chance that some asshole is checking out your goods. Its not a sexual thing, no, the little bastard is just curious. Its little bastards like that and mans natural shame that make these pee codes necessary.

Now, when a man walks into a bathroom and there are 3 urinals with two fellow men on opposing sides with the remaining urinal unoccupied you are, under no circumstances, to use that urinal. A related rule is the rule of every other. There must be a buffer zone of one urinal per side for every man flushing the gates. That is there must be a urinal space between each man, there is no buddy system, no holding hands. Do not squeeze yourself in. Now this rule can be bent if you use a piswa at one of the ends. That is you can occupy the first or last urinal or a urinal that is not buffered on both sides. So let's say that there are 6 urinals and urinal 1 and 3 and 5 are occupied, okay? You could occupy 6 if you faced slightly away from the occupant of urinal 5. Or let's say someone else broke the rules and you've gotta go big time and all the other methods are properly taxed (the stalls are occupied). So, same set up 6 urinals numbers 1, 4, 5 and 6 are occupied leaving 2 and 3 empty. Theoretically you could go to either stall. However, any deviation from the every other rule is frowned upon. It isn't forbidden but we don't encourage someone always breaking that rule.

Another rule is NO PEEKING. I hear some of you saying, "Hey, its not manly to be afraid of someone seeing your manly bits". But people that say that are just jack asses. I can't pee when you stare. Our essential purpose is to go into the bathroom flip out our tackle and piss. Not go in flip out our tackle and just hold it to show it we love it. Its not show and tell. You go in keep your eyes up because peripheral is a bitch.

Now, I hear some of you bitching that men take showers with each other all the time our nudity shouldn't bother us as much as I say it does. Well, most of the time you take showers with men is when they are your hombres on some team...and we don't peek.

There are two exceptions to the shower peeking rule. Normally if you do peak or accidentally catch a glimpse of major Johnson you're supposed to look straight up and think of Jessica Alba or talk sports. But there are two times you may not just ignore it and forget it. The first is when the naked person is a girl...you must stare and stare and stare until a hole is burned into her chest by your culminate looks. And the second reason is if theirs a dude naked with a boner in the dudes locker room and there's no chicks.

Now let's talk about number twos. Lets say you walk in to take a wicked yes and you all of a sudden see a dude struggling to lose his breakfast burrito. Try to get in and out before that dude has the shame of knowing the face of the guy that unexpectedly walked in on him giving birth to a massive turd...of doom.

Also, whilst pooping all bets are off...you deal with that shit yourself man...just be sure to flush.

No one likes to walk into an act of hate.
If you shit on the floor clean it up.
Do not buy cologne or condoms in the bathroom.
Always wash your hands. We're at that age that I don't want to be shaking your hand and wiener at the same time.

Heroes of the Special Olympics

This article was written my Junior year of High School in 2002. Uh, you'll probably be offended

Heroes of the Special Olympics

An echoed hush. Li'l Timmy squabbles across the finish line. A humongous swell of cheers and associated grunts enchant the grounds. Seconds later the rest of these special athletes cross the finish line. After this, a long day, they're given li'l quarter size medallions with cookies and juice.

These, my friends, are the special athletes that make up the Special Olympics. Their true competitive nature is shown in this magical park. Their competitiveness is spoken by words of actions, actions of what seems to be competitive babbles and grunts. Even spoken by Harvey the Tard who finished 3rd in the race. "Aw, geez, you guys. I got jibbed. I should have gotten second place if it weren't for Joey. It's not fair! He has a motorized scooter!"

These li'l heroes train tirelessly for 5 seconds before each event. Training their li'l underdeveloped, atrophied limbs to perform simple tasks like running in lighting speed. Some even taunt others of their own special stature. "See my back? That's all you'll see!" or, "Suck ma balls motherfucker. You shit is going down, beeyotch. I own yo ass muthafucka!"

Although taunting is looked down upon in the Special Olympics it is still "Funny as fuck" as not-so-special Albert Venice, a middle aged divorcee, stated last Wednesday as he was being escorted out of the park.

"Boy, we just hope everyone here has just a good fun, happy-sunshine-face-time here today. And remember: try your best because you're all 'Speacial' here" stated event supervisor Henry Winklstein in a pre-ceremonies speech.

"I hear we get cookies and juice," exclaimed Johnny Frumple earlier that day before being disqualified for exposing himself in front of a flock of geese, "I just hope they got the juice I like."
God bless you special athletes!