Tuesday, September 29, 2009

No. 71 "Things Your Boyfriend Will Never Say."

This one's for you, ladies. :)

Can you stop blowing me, Yes, Dear is about to start.

I know you already told me about your day in detail, but could you do it again, I don't want to forget anything.

I don't think you should go to the gym, you should just stay home and eat fried food.

You should berate and emasculate me more in public.

Did you remember to tivo Gossip Girl tonight?

Can I buy you more useless shit you won't appreciate in a month?

Why don't you have more guy friends?

Tell me more about your period.

Yes, that does make you look fat.

Do you want to see my porn collection?

I don't think you have enough shoes or purses.

My fantasy football league has an opening, you interested?

Your boobs are too big and round.

No, I don't want to watch that action movie, I'd much rather watch Sandra Bullock's new and original romantic comedy.

What did you want to know about the bachelor party? I'll tell you everything.

Fuck no I don't want a threesome.

Did you want to drive?

You should stand in front of the TV while I'm watching football more.

Going on a vacation to Mexico with your guy friends much better looking and more physically fit than me is a great idea. Have fun!

Thursday, September 24, 2009

No. 70 "Fucking Famous."

So, the other day I had this dream. I was fucking Elisha Cuthbert and Adriana Lima, and it was something. Whoops, wrong dream. I had this dream I was rich and famous, and I was like the coolest dude ever. So, I decided to compile a list of things I would do once I became fucking famous.

Goodbye Old Friends:
Sorry losers, but unless you dine at restaurants with desserts made with real gold, you gots to go! I'll make new celebrity friends, maybe a couple sports celebrities as well. My facebook status will go something like this: Hanging out with my boy Tobie McGuire. That's right, Spiderman! Suck it former friends! And I can't wait to hear from one of my loser former friends, "Man, (long pause) you've changed." It will be music to my ears.

Assaulting Paparazzi:
I'll be eating lunch outside with some hot model and I'll see someone with a camera and just run up to them and smash it while yelling profanities at them. I'll later apologize to the young Asian girl who was just on vacation with her family.

Sexually Harassing My Assistants:
Of course my assistant will be hot as hell. I'm thinking a tall Indian chick with a British accent. Hot, huh? After a month and six different assistants I will have compiled a class action lawsuit against myself. High Five!

Since I'm rich and super famous I don't want common folk coming up to be asking for autographs or complimenting me on my work, fuck that. I will have a wide array of hats, wide sunglasses and fake mustaches so I can pick up a hooker without getting spotted by fans.

Buy A Bunch Of Shit I Don't Need:
A couple roman statues, a gold toilet and a wise cracking black midget. Why a wise cracking black midget? If you have to ask, you can't afford it. I'll just store all this shit in one of my many other houses that I don't use. And I'll keep the water running so I waste another resource.

Do You Know Who The Fuck I Am?
Uttering those words to someone at a club or dinner party is something I've always wanted to do.

Drug Parties:
Every young celebrity does it. I'm thinking I round up Robert Downey Jr., River Phoenix and Chris Farley and have a huge drug party. Oh, Phoenix and Farley are dead? Shit. So, its just me and Downey. More of a drug get-together than a party but its still cool.

Bang Hot Bitches:
Every day.

In the end I'll probably lose it all after various stints in rehab and gay porn and eventually come crawling back to my former former friends via a facebook note. Actually, maybe I just won't be fucking famous. Naw.

Monday, September 21, 2009

No. 69 "Benign Minutia VI."

Is there an noun that comes after "raging" that is positive?

Whenever me and a group of people order food at a drive-thru I have to be the first person to go through the bag and find my items, while doing this I always slyly steal a couple fries while no one is looking.

Why do people on boats always have to waive to onlookers? You're not in a parade, retards.

Spraying your armpits with cologne when you're out of deodorant is never an effective replacement for the real thing.

You know you're unemployed when you have to Google the date.

It is impossible to win an argument with your dad if you don't have a job. You could be arguing about the color of the sky and somehow he will still find a way to bring up the fact that you "don't have a fucking job!"

"Trying to get back in shape" and "getting back in shape" are two completely different things.

I like to change my status on Facebook to something like "going to the gym for a couple hours" just so people think I'm exercising. Even though I'm usually just napping during this period.

Has anyone ever complained about too much shrimp in their pasta?

There are certain food items that do not work with the "5 second rule." Some of them include: ice cream, salsa, cottage cheese, and pretty much anything that comes in a bowl. Once it's hit the floor, just have your dog lick it up (Their food ruling standards are a bit more lenient.)

When entering my confirm your email part of an online form I always copy and paste the first one I wrote because I'm too lazy to type twelve letters again.

Whenever I eat a Payday candy bar I wonder to myself, "This would be so much better if it were covered in chocolate."

You know you're gonna have a crazy night when you set your alarm for PM the next day.

Whenever I lie about running errands to sound busy even thought I'm just sitting at home watching TV I have to include "going to the bank." This makes people assume I'm always depositing large sums of money into my bank account.

Every guy will say "My hand is too slippery" when he really means "I'm too weak" when opening jars.

Vomiting into an ice maker is the gift that keeps on giving.

Just once I want to walk into a room and have a 90's audience do that "OoOo" and scream cat calls at me.

Most uncomfortable moment of my week: watching a Vagasil commercial while sitting next to my mother in total silence.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

No. 68 "Benign Minutia V."

I have an inkling that Kelli, Jessika, and Lyndzi are not former spelling bee champions.

Whenever someone mentions a recent news story I like to follow up by saying "Yeah, I read something about that." Even though I saw it on TV.

How lazy am I? Well, after the power goes out, instead of resetting my clock, I just remember to add an extra six hours and 24 minutes to the time.

Whenever I see one of those straight billed hats that cops wear I want to just fuck it up and give it a couple sweet curves. But, I have a feeling that if I tried that while a cop was wearing it I might end up screaming "Don't taze me, bro."

There are never winners when it comes to Dungeons & Dragons.

How do you spell the letter "H?" Like the letter "A" would be "aye," "W" would be "double you." But how the fuck do you spell "H?" This will annoy you the rest of the day.

Yelling out "Where the white women at?" in a densely African American populated location is not a successful way to pick up chicks or make friends.

Gentile comedians should get some sort of a handicap when performing jokes after Jewish comedians.

Why do conversations that start like "Patrick, you know we love you but..." are always so negative. For once I'd like to have that conversation go something like this: "Patrick, you know we love you but, we just bought you a BRAND NEW CAR!"

My favorite stories that people tell are ones that involve me.

Is there a proper way to let a girl know that her oral services are no longer needed (and that the use of teeth should never be an option.)

Recently I was out with friends camping. A random girl that I had never met before said: "Mmm what smells so good?" I didn't skip a beat and said "I farted." I love to make a great first impression.

Every time I see a dead roadrunner in the road I smile because I know Wile. E. is finally happy.

Attention Soccer fans: Do not call soccer football if you live in the United States. Not only is it confusing, it is fucking obnoxious. When you invite me to "watch some football" and I come over to your place and see soccer on I want to terminate our Facebook friendship immediately after pummeling you with a football.

I wonder if people from the United Arab Emirates get equally as annoyed when they click on the United States when filling out online forms.

(Btw- its "aitch.")

Sunday, September 13, 2009

No. 67 "Why I Hate Children."

To start off I'll let you know that I don't hate children. I just really, really don't like them and I find it hard not to kick them when they're screaming in a movie theater while I'm trying to get head. There are kids out there that are pretty cool. Like kids/babies with British accents, how can you not just love them? They're like the parrots of the children species, whatever they say is entertaining. Anyways, I decided to compile a list of the top ten reasons why I hate non-British children. And we're off.

Can't Hold Their Booze:
How am I supposed to have fun with a kid if they complain when you give them an "adult apple juice," and start crying and throwing themselves on the floor when you call them a faggot for not taking another Jager bomb. Put down your juice box and slam some tequila dammit! And even if they do last half the night, they usually complain that their fucking tummy hurts and start crying again. Plus, they never stick to the plan about pretending to be a midget when you try to hit up the bar together. Fucking amateurs.

Not Funny:
Common misconception: if someone laughs a lot, they're funny. Kids love to fucking laugh and think Sponge Bob is the funniest bastard around. I've tried to watch the horrid show and it's not funny one little bit, no dick jokes at all. And I'm not even gonna get into the fact that he's a god damn sponge, the same thing I use to clean up my cum after I masturbate on linoleum. I feel like I'm getting off topic. Children aren't funny. They don't know how to use irony or sarcasm properly and try to pass off that hand-underneath-the-armpit-flapping-thing as a joke. I get it, it sounds like a fart. Now just fall down and get hurt and then I'll laugh.

Fucking Narcs:
Rats, snitches, tattle tales, whatever you want to call it, that's what they are. You think you can trust them to keep a secret and then they go off and tell their stupid mom or their idiot best friend Jimmy. Real friends know how to keep a secret, especially a secret that involves theft and grand theft auto. And then after they snitch on you they think it's funny to hide behind their mother and laugh at you while you're being arrested.

No Game:
Chicks may think they're adorable and try to have cutesy conversations with them, but children just can't seal the deal. That chick was all over you bro, and you just brushed her off to watch Finding Nemo again. I mean, you've seen it like a dozen times already. Don't try to convince me that play dates are real dates either. And whenever I ask them to bring a couple chicks to a party they bring their mom and their grandma. Do you not know any other broads? And don't give me that cooties bullshit again, we all know that's a myth.

No Taste In Music:
The fucking Wiggles? What are you, retarded? Whenever I try to get them to listen to some Nirvana or Beatles they start screaming at a very high octave and run in circles. Is that how you get your way? Not 'round me mother fucker. And whenever I change their music in the car because I contemplate driving through a brick wall they start crying again until I put in their Disney soundtrack featuring lyrics by Tim Rice. Whatever, queer.

Belly Achers:
Stop fucking complaining about everything. I told you I was in a hurry to get concert tickets, but as soon as you see a McDonald's you start ranting and raving about how you want a stupid Happy Meal. Repeating "I want McDonald's" a dozen times doesn't help either. You had McDonald's three hours ago for god's sake. And I get it, candy is tasty, I like it too, but the world doesn't revolve around it. Home Depot does not and never will have candy, and I don't care how bored you are.

Can't Bust Their Balls:
Guys love to give each other shit and bust one another's balls, but kids can't seem to take a joke. Don't get all butt-hurt because I made fun of your shirt. Did you really expect not to be made fun of while you're wearing an Elmo shirt, fag? And we all feel bad for drawing penises on your face while you were sleeping, but it had to be done, you one-beer-bitch. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, but you need to man up and get a nice pair of jeans for tonight. I don't think they allow Huggies at the club.

Straight Up Liars:
I had a whole bag of popcicles in my freezer that I was going to have my girlfriend fellate later tonight to my viewing pleasure but somehow they went missing when you were over... That shaking your head feverishly trick isn't going to convince me otherwise! And they have no problem lying to your face no matter how much proof you have. Timmy, there are popcicle sticks all over your room. Wasn't me. You were the only one here. Wasn't me. Your god damn face is covered in cherry juice! (Starts crying.)

Don't Have Your Back:
Whenever I get into a little scuffle with a bunch of biker broads at a bar I want to know that my homies have my back. And children are never much help. I understand that they are much shorter and weaker than most adults, but at least give an effort. Rolling into a ball and sucking your thumb while sobbing doesn't help me against three diesel dykes with bats. At least distract them with a magic trick or one of your Thomas The Tank Engine toys.

Gross As Hell:
I'm cool with a gross antics for the sake of humor, but enough is enough. Peeing your pants is funny maybe once a month, but not everyday. It just makes a damn mess. And stop picking your nose and eating it. We just went out to a nice dinner with friends and you're still hungry? Come on now, at least do it in the car or when no one is looking like an adult. Also, why the hell are they so against brushing their teeth, its not a colonoscopy now.

Several other reasons kids suck:
-NEVER throw down for booze.
-Cry when you beat them (and mock them afterwords) in video games.
-You have to go to the bathroom with them.
-Scared of the dark.
-Change the channel from football to Dora The Explorer.
-Can't tie their shoes without assistance.
-Always want you to hold their hand (No homo.)
-Think a shoddily made drawing is a proper wedding gift.
-Unsatisfactory hygiene.
-Ask stupid questions.
-Always laugh when the word "duty" is uttered.
-Horrible readers.
-Mistake your bag of coke for sugar and have to be hospitalized.
-Suck at sports.
-Very short.

So there it is. My manifesto on why I hate children. Now, all you out there with kids of your own, don't get offended and write me angrily worded emails that I won't read anyways. This is just my hackneyed attempt at never being asked to babysit your monsters. And future children of mine: Stop crying you pussies, daddy was just kidding.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

No. 66 "My Blogs Are Shit."

Often times I get asked how I come up with my ideas for blogs, and to be honest I really don't know. I watch a lot of TV, I drink too much and I can barely read, not exactly Hemmingway's modus operandi. Although I can't tell you how I come up with the ideas, I can let you in on how the process of writing one of my blogs works. Its like taking a shit. Stay with me now...

Chunks of Shit:
This is when an idea poops pops into my head and I start writing but can't get a full blog out of it. Just like when you (yes you) take a shit and those annoying little chunks come out. They're solid, but not complete. Sometimes you can piece them together and get a whole idea out of it, but other times you can't. I'm talking about writing, please do not try to piece together your feces.

Hernia Shit:
This happens when I haven't written something for a while and I try to force an idea out. I sit at my computer and try and try to come up with an original post. Eventually, I get an idea off right when I injure myself by pushing too hard and have to go to the hospital. Its best to let it come naturally, the way nature intended it.

Diarrhea Shit:
My favorite. This is when I have an idea come into my head and I keep writing for hours and end up writing four complete blogs in one sitting. Just like diarrhea, I don't know when its going to happen and I hope I am home when it does. Unfortunately, diarrhea shit can come at all hours and if you aren't ready for it, it can create a mess.

Too Much Wiping Shit:
Whenever I write something, and think that the blog is finished and ready to be posted I'll come back to it and add some more stuff or tweak it a little bit. Just like when you are taking a dump and you think three wipes with quadruple-ply toilet paper will suffice, only to eventually go through two and a half roles and upset environmentalists across the world. But, you don't wanna be walking around with skid marks.

Constipated Shit:
This is when I have tried to force it and I start to worry I'm never going to be able to shit (write) again. When you are literally constipated there are things to do such as adding more fiber to your diet or eating at Taco Bell, but when it comes to writing there isn't much you can do, although Taco Bell never hurts.

Blue Shit:
I had that once and it really confused me. It has nothing to do with writing, I just thought it was weird. Did I eat a smurf?

So there is your answer. The best thing to compare my writing to is taking a shit. Hopefully whenever you are on the can you will be thinking of me.

Updated 7/17/10

Sunday, September 6, 2009

No. 65 "Dinner Party."

As I have grown older, certain things have become gauche, such as beer bongs and tongue rings and been replaced with more adult activities. (And no, I don't mean "adult" in a porno sense, unfortunately.) These adult activities involve the use of words such as "gauche" and drinking white wine, which to this day I always pretend to like only to later add Sprite to it when no one is looking.

The dinner party is the first step in one's transition from young adult to adult. Others like to get married and raise a family, but I'd rather save my money and pull out. The term dinner party confused me at first. When I hear the word party I generally expect some sort of drinking game involving ping pong balls and intoxicated women french kissing. I was mistaken. Apparently, these types of activities are looked down upon at dinner parties. Start taking notes, folks.

Dinner parties also start a bit earlier than the parties I am used to attending. Most start around 7 P.M., which is right in the middle of my second nap of the day. Oh, the things I do for friends. One is also expected to bring some sort of hors d'oeuvre, which I am fairly confident I will never be able to spell correctly without the assistance of Google. A bag of Ruffles probably will not suffice, so I usually just ask a gay guy at Safeway for advice. If you have a significant other, it is customary to bring them with you and not just try to "holler at bitches when you get to the party." Again, activities that should be avoided at a dinner party.

Dress is another aspect that may cause confusion for some. Most people like to dress up and wear something nice. I guess stores are now selling these things called "blazers" which one wears over a nice V-neck shirt with slacks or nice jeans. You know, the same get-up the dudes from The Hills wear when attempting to win the affection of any of those tramps. I personally would rather wear a t-shirt with curse words displayed, but I make sacrifices for the ones I care about.

Once I get to the dinner party I make sure to firmly shake the male host's hand and joke about the stock market or another issue I know nothing about. When the female host greets me, I shun her since she should be in the kitchen cooking, not fraternizing with guests. Just kidding. I give her one of those cheek kisses that I still can't perfect without looking like a weirdo. For some reason, the dinner part of the party is never ready when you arrive, no matter how many times you mention it to others a few decibels too loud. During this time you're forced to have various conversations with the rest of the guests. These conversations usually involve literature or art, and very rarely come upon the subject of irrumatio. Before leaving for the dinner party, I vigorously search the definitions of big words that I can later use at the party to impress guests and garner applause. It's difficult to casually insert the word "iatromathematical" into a conversation about french films, but I enjoy a challenge.

Once dinner is served, I remember what my mom told me about "eating like a big boy." I try not to slurp my noodles and refrain from creating art out of mashed potatoes. Blowing bubbles is considered rude by most and curly straws are not acceptable for wine glasses, no matter how you argue it. Quiet conversation and occasional compliments about the food are customary. If I dislike the entree because it has gross vegetables, I try to distract the guests by pointing at a painting and comparing it to Rembrant's later works while I spit my food into a linen napkin. I also try to fit in questions for the host and hostess. Asking the year of the wine is a valid question, inquiring about the size of Diane's breasts as a follow-up question is not.

After everyone has finished eating, try not to confuse the African American guest returning from the restroom as "the help." Telling him that you are pretty sure he wasn't invited just digs you a deeper hole as well. Once the female host has finished cleaning up the dishes the black man refused to help with, discussions about intellectual topics usually resumes. By this point, I usually allow my significant other to speak, only to later regret it. She will try to be humorous and joke about how "our relationship is pretty much over anyway" and that she "has always found black men attractive" when she thinks I am in the other room. Obviously her sense of humor is critically flawed.

Sometimes a game is played after dinner to loosen people up, and unfortunately it is never a game I prefer or am accomplished at. I tried my best not to yell at Diane, but who the fuck doesn't have an XBOX? Once I calmed myself down I was ready for a non-video game. The game of choice was Pictionary, which becomes ironically cool once you reach your mid-twenties for some ridiculous reason. What my date lacked in humor, she made up for in Pictionary skills. After winning six games in a row I mocked the rest of the fucktards guests and accidentally knocked over a bottle of white wine during an exuberant fist-pump. I even attempted to clean the mess with an old trick taught to me by my grandmother. I learned a valuable lesson: red wine does not get out white wine, and grandma is a lying twat.

Towards the end of the night, we all made a toast to friendship and health or something, I wasn't really paying attention, mostly staring at Diane's breasts. People started to politely gather their coats and head for the door. My date tried to be funny again by pretending to go home with the African American gentleman. I, on the other hand was not ready to leave since it wasn't even midnight yet, and I was only partially buzzed. I have found that staying until everyone but the hosts have left and watching television while complaining about the lack of beer is not found to be amusing by any standard. Neither is pretending to leave and then hiding in their bedroom and scaring them.

After the police kindly escorted me out, I said my good byes to the hosts and made my way home. Diane and Jim joked about how I made a mockery of their dinner party and was never invited back into their home. All in all, I think I like these dinner parties, and hope to get invited to another one soon.

Updated 8/9/10

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

No. 64 "Benign Minutia IV."

I want to go to a battered woman's shelter and show up with a baseball bat just to see their reaction. Then, I will invite them to join in on a friendly game of baseball where we can all forget about our worries. After which I will beat them with a baseball bat.

Remember when nautical star tattoos were cool? Yeah, me neither.

There is something emasculating about letting someone pass you on the right when you are driving on the highway. Even if I'm going much slower than the posted speed limit and the car has every right to pass me I still feel the need to speed up and not allow him to do so. Who's the pussy now, bitch!?

After several years and various attempts I have found that it is impossible to look cool while holding a purse if you are a male. Whenever a chick (or my mom) gives me her purse to hold on to while they do their make up or jack of a midget I try to find a way to hold it without looking like a gay. Under the shoulder? Faggy. Extended away from my torso? Homoey. On my head? Just retarded. I guess the only cool way to hold a purse is to steal one from a woman on the street, but I still think they are a little bit self conscious while running away with it.

It is nearly impossible to pick up chicks at a candlelight vigil.

AIM screen names with one's boyfriend/girlfriend in the title are basically the name tattoos for teenagers. It must suck for Jakesgirl34 to have to change her screen name to Jakesacheatingjerk34 once Jake bangs her sister. That's what you get for not putting out, bitch.

Reason #45,028 why I am immature: I consider "older chicks" to be women my age.

Whenever I forget to turn up the volume on my cell phone alarm clock or program it to PM instead of AM, I instantly get angry at the phone. I throw it and curse at my phone while I'm burning it alive as if my phone has some sort of vendetta against me.

There is no way to use the word exfoliate and sound straight.

I love it when my mom tries to trick me into thinking I like a certain food. "Mom, what the fuck? Why did you put mushrooms in this?" "Honey, you love mushrooms, I should know, I'm your mother." I'm not sure if my mom is getting senile or she's just a flat out liar. I hate mushrooms, I've created several Facebook groups professing my hatred for the vegetable. Nice try Mom, you fucking liar.
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