Sunday, January 31, 2010


Well, the change has been made. It was a close race, but won and I bought the URL. I hope people don't think my blog is an online clothing store that specializes very cool looking cardigans, although I may still buy just in case I come into a large quantity of cashmere cardigans somehow and want to turn a profit. The new blog name will make it easier for people to remember the address and not have to type fifty four characters in order to access my ridiculous and obnoxious thoughts. I want to redesign the blog but do not have the resources or IQ capable of such things. If anyone knows someone that is good at nerdy shit, give them a swirly and hit me up. In other news, I've been working on a couple new blogs for the coming weeks. Here's a short list of some possible topics: the cool teacher, guy's night out, big brother program and another Onionesque style blog. I should have a new one up on Tuesday.


Thursday, January 28, 2010

No. 101 "Strip Club Protocol."

Titty Clubs, Nudie Bars, Employment of Abused Women... Call it what you will; every guy and totally awesome chick loves to venture a trip to the strip club. It's like the Disneyland for adults; except you can't punch teenagers in cartoon character costumes. Every strip club is different. Some are 18+ and show you all the goods, while others are 21+, serve booze but you only get to see breasts and belly buttons. There are also strip clubs where dudes flop their junk around for middle-aged secretaries, but I'd advise against venturing there. Here are a couple tips to make your venture to the naked lady establishment the most entertaining.

Dress Code:
You want to get noticed by these whores, so wear something that will call attention to yourself. Come to the club in doctors scrubs with fake (or real) blood and pretend that you just saved a child's life. If that is too much work for you, just wear a mustard stained t-shirt and sweatpants. You can use the pant's cotton fabric as a condom while strippers dry hump you. Stay away from shirts with words, as most strippers cannot read. Ironic shirts are definitely a no-no, and may cause several strippers' heads to explode trying to decipher its simple meaning.


Most strip joints will have a mandatory cover you are obligated to pay before entering the club. You can easily bypass this waste of money and time by brandishing a weapon to the hostess and casually letting her know that "this is my cover." If a weapon is unavailable to you, just pretend to be out of money and make one of your naive friends pay for you. "I'll get ya back next time, bro." No you won't.


To protect the fine women at this establishment, management has hired a small army of large and unfriendly ex-cons to work the doors and make sure no one is jumping on stage and raping the talent. Make sure to joke around with these kind souls. Try patting them on the back or sticking dollar bills in their pockets. They will find this hilarious and buy you a drink on the house. Or, they may beat you senselessly and drag your lifeless body into the alley for drifters to molest.


Strippers make bellow minimum wage and "earn" the majority of their income on tips to support all five of their children from four different fathers. No need to worry about how they are going to feed their kids, you're there to have fun and save money for more important things like helicopter lessons. Try to never spend more than $3.71 the entire time, so you can buy a couple cheeseburgers after the club has closed. Start off big with a crisp one dollar bill and then continue to lower the amount you are tipping until you are down to Canadian pennies. You can turn this into a game and attempt to make coins into her pussy while she is upside down on the pole. She'll play along, I swear.

Lap Dances:

At first, many strippers will try to use their sex appeal and tig 'ol bitties to coerce you into accompanying her to the champagne room, but this is a trick! Once they take you into what can only be described as a converted storage closet, she'll try to up the price by doing things to you with her hand, mouth, pussy and armpit. Instead, turn the tables on her and demand that she pay you if she wants any lovin'. This will be easier for her to understand once you present her with the laminated pricing guide of your services.


Strip club buffets are second to none. You get to immerse yourself in the fine cuisine crafted by renown chefs from around the world. Enjoy crab legs, fillet mignon, brisket and tiramisu; all for only $3.99. You also get to watch the best strippers that work at 2 PM on a Monday and converse with captains of industry that dine there most days of the week. Actually, the menu at strip clubs is mostly six-day old food that was cooked in a dirty microwave and probably has gonorrhea. And the people that come for the buffet are probably the same people that stole your car stereo last week.


Most titty bars have a two drink minimum, the same policy you obey before driving. You can try to evade this by telling the cocktail waitress (that thinks she's so much better than the strippers because she keeps her clothes on, even though she's probably a bigger slut) that you are allergic to liquid and will not be ordering any beverages. If that doesn't work, order a couple bottles of champagne and turn the strip club into a Dr. Dre video. Start spraying the big booty hoes, bartenders and the bouncers with bubbly and it will turn the place into an all-out party. Then skip the bill.

Ask Stripper To Be Your Girlfriend:

This is to be done towards the end of the night (around 4-5 AM). Make sure you are blackout or at least very, very drunk. Max out your mom's credit card on lap dances and hand jobs, and then start telling your favorite stripper about the ex-girlfriend that broke your heart. She will feign interest, even though it is widely known that strippers are incapable of feelings. Then ask her to go steady once you find the perfect moment between 80's hair band hits. If she says no, remind her that she lives in a trailer and even a lifetime of therapy couldn't solve her daddy issues. Back-hand the hoe and escape on foot.

Other helpful tips:
-Savor your memories and take numerous pictures of the strippers.
-Use the club's ATM in case you are low on cash. Those fee's aren't that bad.
-Go on stage to show off your break dancing skills.
-Heckle the "veteran" strippers and tell them it's time to retire.
-Use only Monopoly money.

So that is how you have a great time at a strip club. If you follow these simple guidelines you will have a blast playing penny pussy beer pong, spraying bar backs with cheap champagne and getting dragged into gutters by large men. One last quick note: If you recognize your mom at the strip club, just quietly sip your seven dollar Coca Cola and look away. She's trying to pay for your education.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

No. 100 "Benign Minutia X."

Wanna make someone awkward? While taking a piss, stare at the guy next to you in the eyes until he notices you and gets very uncomfortable, or punches you square in the nose.

ATTN Chex Mix Makers: There is no need to include pretzels in your mixture. There is a perfect place for pretzels already. Its called the trash can.

Are all administrators post-menopausal overweight women with glasses and short haircuts?

I was listening to the radio the other day because my Sony mini-disc player was broken. While listening to a station that plays the same fourteen songs on repeat, the jive talkin' disc jockey announced that he had received numerous requests for him to play a Lady GaGa track. Really? People aren't hearing enough of him/her/it that they actually call up and request more? This country is doomed.

ATTN Fat Chicks: Stop posting close up pictures as your Facebook profile pics and tricking me into thinking you are cute until three seconds later when I click on you pictures and realize you are actually overweight. The jig is up, fatties!

Ways to let your girlfriend know she's getting fat: Point out an old picture of her when she was skinny, buy her horizontal striped shirts, compliment her fitter friends on their physiques, lock her in the gym so she will be forced to work out, put constipation pills in her food, break up with her and date her sister.

Bank tellers are so nice and friendly to you, until you start joking about guns and getaway vehicles. Jeez, no one can take a joke these days.

Since they already have For Her Pleasure condoms they should make For His Pleasure condoms. Actually, never mind, they already have them. Its called "Not wearing a condom in the first place." Or, "Telling her you put on a condom, but lying."

I can't wait until I have kids so I can always be right. And even if I'm wrong and they prove it so, I will be bigger and stronger than them for a while so they will eventually agree with me after the beatings.

ATTN T9: "Pussy" should be the first choice, not "puppy." I guarantee more people text about pussy than adorable puppies. Even your mom.

Apparently, if one uses Touch of Gray Men's hair treatment your chances of banging coworkers or lady interviewers triples.

I am such a good friend that even when I need to piss like a race horse, I wait for my friend to finish their long winded story before I announce my departure to unload my urine.

Friday, January 22, 2010


Happy Friday blog readers. I'm not sure what all ya'lls plans are this weekend, but I'm planning on drinking between 78-84 beers over the next three days. Whenever I have a sub par weekend, I need to make up for it by abusing my liver twice as hard. Its doctor recommended. Anyways, I'll be changing the name of the blog sometime next week, once I'm able to obtain ten dollars. So far, is winning, so make sure you get your vote in. Also, I spent seven and a half hours trying to figure out how to put a Share on Facebook and Share on Twitter button on my blog. This will make it easier to share my blog with friends, co-workers and grandparents. The button is on the bottom of each new post so help me out and pimp this shit. Til next time...


Thursday, January 21, 2010

No. 99 "Gasol Fined For Neck Hair."

LOS ANGELES—NBA commissioner David Stern levied a $25,000 fine to Los Angeles Lakers power forward Pau Gasol today. The fine is part of a new crack down headed by Stern in an effort to improve the NBA's overall image and dissuade unkempt appearances by players such as Gasol. "Mr. Gasol has shown little to no effort in improving his physical appearance and personal hygiene, and based on that, the NBA needed to take action. His greasy hair and hobo beard are detrimental to the league" said Stern. A representative for Gasol rebutted that his client's robust neck hair and body stench are a vital part of his Spanish culture and will be pursuing an appeal. Stern also noted that several players have complained about Gasol's ugly face, although according to the current collective bargaining agreement, players cannot be fined based solely on their lack of good looks. This is the first time a player has been fined for a dilapidated appearance, but Stern announced that Gasol will not be the only player punished this week. "Anderson Varejao's obnoxious hair and Brian Scalabrine's translucent skin will be the next in line for fines if they don't improve their appearances immediately."

This was my attempt to write an Onionesque fake news story. Let me know what you think.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010


Alright guys, I'm biting the bullet and throwing down ten American dollars to buy my own website name. I know what you're thinking, "Paddy, you could have spent that money on a lot of other, more awesome things." Yes, I know this, but I want to make my blog easier to remember ( is a bit long) and eventually make bumper stickers and stick them to church windows. Here is a short list of things I could have spend my ten dollars on:

-Two five dollar foot longs.
-1/16 grams of crack.
-A ticket to the film The Spy Next Door starring Jackie Chan.
-One hand job from a low-tier prostitute.
-His and hers matching towels from Target.

All those things are great, but this is more important. Also, I need your help to figure out a catchy and cool website name. Here are the final names that are available:

So let me know where I should spend my hard earned money on the poll to your right. Thanks bitches.


Tuesday, January 19, 2010

No. 98 "Party Kit To Go."

If you're like me, then you tend to party at other people's places, and at times you need to have materials on hand in case they were forgotten or you were invited on an impromptu hot tubbin' session with a gaggle of playmates. That's why everyone needs a party kit to go. Basically its just a bunch of things you store in your trunk, and you can use them whenever necessary. Just make sure not to show it off to police officers or your parents. The party kit to go goes something like this:

Plastic Crate:
How else are you going to store all of these awesome accessories without a solid plastic crate? They are inexpensive and you can pick one up from Target while getting your Valtrex prescription refilled. It is also important to keep all of your party kit accessories together. There may be other items that are not party worthy in your trunk, so make sure to separate them. You don't wanna be the dude that brings a tire iron to a party, you'll just look ridiculous.

These are a very important ingredient to your party kit. How else are you friends supposed to get laid? Just make sure to have some on hand so that your better looking friends with game can hook up with chicks you have crushes on. Also, you can make balloon animals out of the extra condoms to entertain yourself while you wait for your friend to finish.

Swim Trunks:
No guy ever likes borrowing trunks from another male friend.* We all know that they have been peed in at least three dozen times. The other option of hitting the pool in just your boxers would be viable if they weren't shit stained and missing the button that keeps your junk out of public view. Also, wearing wet boxers while not being in the pool or spa is very uncomfortable.

Smirnoff Flavored Vodka:
Relatively cheap and the ladies enjoy their wide variety of artificial flavors. Keep a fifth of this in your car for when a group of chicks come by and won't stop complaining about how "There's only, like, beer here." You can be their savior when you casually say "Hold on a second ladies, I'll be right back." Then roll in with some mango-pear-berry vodka to get those bitches crunk. Studies have shown that Smirnoff flavored Vodka leads to 64% of hand jobs at suburban house parties.

Extra Jeans:
We've all been there before. Whether it was too much Mexican food the day before or attempting to fart in a friend's face. We've all shat ourselves. Even your mom. So, when this does happen, its important to have a backup pair of jeans to throw on immediately before anyone notices that large brown stain on the back of your jeans. Also, maybe three bean burritos is too much.

Since the mid-1980's, cards have been used to play a variety of different games that enable groups of individuals to consume alcohol both quickly and in an entertaining manner. Whenever someone brings out a pack of cards from under their sofa, its always missing like seventeen cards and very sticky for one of two reasons**. You can grab your full, non-sticky pack and enjoy endless hours of Asshole, Fuck the Dealer or any other game that has curse words in the title.

An 8 Ball of Cocaine:
Ever been to a boring party and wanted to spice things up? Well, with cocaine you can! Cocaine turns a lame 8th birthday for your cousin into an all out rager. This lovely and healthy*** "supplement" can turn any snore-fest into a 1970's disco. Also, sluts love cocaine and if you share some with them, they are obligated to at least suck your dick.

Beer Pong Balls:
Beer Pong (or as morons that like to piss me off call it: Beirut) has been the most popular drinking game for parties since 2004. But, without at least two balls, is extremely lame. It has been determined that 3.2 beer pong balls get either stepped on or lost by "idiots that weren't even invited to the fucking party" each week. You can save the party by coming back with a brand new 6-pack of balls of hope. This also gives you a front of the line pass for the game.

Similar to beer pong balls, cups are essential to the game. No one likes playing beer pong with non-NBPL cups, and no one enjoys playing pong with random coffee mugs and McDonald's cups. Many party throwers are poor or lazy and use the same cups from the weekend before. You can help stop the spread of H1N1 and mouth herpes by providing new, non-diseased cups for beer pong purposes. Also, cups can be used for drinking beverages while not playing beer pong such as: keg beer, Smirnoff flavored Vodka mixed drinks and cottage cheese.

A Handgun:
This is something that you will need while partying in an area you are unfamiliar with, such as the ghetto. If the shin dig you are attending has five or more frowning black men, it is important to be armed in case they want to compare fire arms and then share a piece of pie. A handgun can also be beneficial for cutting in line for a keg or winning a street fight. People tend to be more polite and say things such as "please" at parties when you are waving around a gun.

So there you have it, The Party Kit To Go. You can make one yourself or you can purchase one from me for three easy payments of $299.95. I hope that these fun, portable kits help you entertain others with condom balloon animals, receive dome from women with loose morals and win street fights by murdering people in cold blood. Lets hope these catch on!

*Other things guys hate borrowing: toothbrushes, hair products and sexually transmitted diseases.
**If they are nudie cards, do not touch them.
***Based on research from my drug dealer, Pablo.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

No. 97 "Benign Minutia IX."

Attention all Women: Whenever one of us guys gets a naked picture we beg you to send to us, our first reaction is to show it to any of our buddies within a one mile radius.

How does one inquire in getting the nick name "Mad Dogg?" Must one do something very crazy or just be angry all the time? I gotta know. Also, the two 'G's" are essential. Thanks.

92% of all cooking related injuries happen after 2am while coming home from the bar hungry as fuck drunk cooking. The most common of which is throwing a pizza in the oven and then passing out as your home catches on fire.

The easiest way to tell that you get bored far too often and you are a male: When you haven't missed an poll is 6 months.

Thank God for Jersey Shore. It is my new favorite bar conversation starter with chicks and random people. Everyone has an opinion on whether or not Snooki is a midget or just a very small person.

You should get a refund if you get home and your sandwich has fucking tomatoes on it, even if you asked for extra tomatoes. Those things are disgusting.

Why does my dog never recognize the other dogs I point out that look like him on television?

They should make a "Not Invited" section for Facebook events. The people included could get a notification so they know where they stand with you. I would add every person I dislike that still happens to be my Facebook friend, my mom, The Jonas Brothers, anyone that has ever read or watched Twilight and every motherfucker from my high school.

Holding your cell phone two feet directly above your head always assures much better service.

Whenever I see a dead animal on the side of the road I always hope its a cat. That's what you get for running away every time I try to pet you. Fucking pussies.

If you ever catch one of your roommates coming out of the bathroom with their laptop, don't believe them when they try to explain they were working on a paper or reading an enlightening ebook. They were whacking it.

I feel bad for red headed children whose parents split up and mother just recently got remarried.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010


What up blog readers? I should have something new up tomorrow or Friday. In the mean time you and your entire family should vote on your favorite blog from last year. (On your right) I'm also thinking about changing the whole look of the blog so it doesn't look like one of those lame geniric blogs about some crazy lady and her twenty eight cats. If anyone is good at designing templates, let me know and I am willing to pay you in hugs and/or expired gift cards. I also think I'm going to change the website name since the whole ".blogspot" thing is a lot to write. I wanna come up with something simple and funny. Suggestions are always encouraged. Til next time, peace out.


Tuesday, January 12, 2010

No. 96 "High School Memories Vol 1."

As many of you know, I am a semi-cool person with almost two dozen friends and get invited to 1.5 suburban house parties per weekend. From time to time, attractive females allow me to engage them sexually. I also have hair that can only be described as "Awesome" and am in the 95th percentile in high-fiveing ability. I was not always this way; in fact I was actually quite the "loser" during my adolescent years. Many people would randomly hit me with objects without explanation and others would mispronounce my name and address me as "Faggot." To my jest, I have remembered many of these stories from high school that make me cry at night, but make others laugh. As always, I will embellish them when appropriate for comedic effect, but for the most part they are sadly, sadly true.

This story begins during the second semester of my senior year, right before graduation. At this point, I was not as big of a social outcast as I had been previously. In fact, it was my number one objective to become "cool" before leaving high school. I was not sure that such a feat had ever been accomplished where a young man who had few friends and even fewer (none) female companions went from being a loser to cool in a few short weeks. This was my goal.

I was in my English class, where Mr. Plocho (Whose name I didn't know how to spell then and don't know how to spell now) was muttering about a book I hadn't read, and then gave us the rest of the class period to complete a worksheet as he laid in his chair and sipped on scotch from his coffee cup. Once he fell asleep or into a short coma, everyone started talking about graduation and the parties that were to follow. A young man, whose ethnicity will remain undisclosed (but used phrases such as "Hellllllll naw! and "Yessir!") gathered everyone around like a preacher as he told the class about his "Bad Ass Rager." For what he lacked in knowledge of the English language and reading skills he made up for in storytelling abilities. This party was to have ten kegs and "a fucking lot" of hard alcohol. Apparently his parents were unaware that he was graduating from high school and decided to book a trip out of town so he could invite underage strangers into their home to over consume alcohol and fornicate on their furniture.

He went on and on about how he was booking a DJ and inviting ASU girls to his party. No one called him out on this, as it is quite common for college girls to drive forty minutes to attend high school graduation parties. He also told the class about what can only be referred to as a sex room where he would be pleasing his female guests for the duration of the night. He did not go into detail about how the order of these sluts would work. I assumed that he had some sort of a velvet rope where they would wait in line patiently until the girl in front of them was finished. Although, a ticket pulling machine would work equally as well, much like a bakery.

Everyone in the class was hanging on his every word as he described the vodka luges that were to be installed in his back yard and sweet dance mixes he would be compiling for the event. No hip hop artists were schedules to perform, but he said that it was a possibility that Usher could show up since his cousin "kind of knows him." He did not mention sleeping arrangements or a town car service so I just assumed that the roads of Cave Creek would be filled with severely intoxicated teenagers once the party came to an end. Which was cool because no one dies between prom and graduation anyway.

While he was describing this awesome party I thought to myself that this could be the perfect venue for me to go from being "the kid no one liked" to "a fucking bad ass." I just imagined coming to the party in an awesome new shirt and sunglasses. People would praise me as I chugged bottles of vodka and showed off my interpretive dance skills. From there I would receive multiple high fives from all the popular dudes as they said things such as "Dude, I didn't know you were cool, but I was wrong!" and "Holy Shit! Patrick is a straight up PIMP!" After which I would bang all the hot girls that never talked to me throughout our high school careers. I assured myself that this was very much a possibility.

After about twenty minutes of describing all of the activities that were to be at this young man's party, (and from my memory included a bouncy castle and a ferris wheel) he notified the class that there would be a monetary cover to attend his party of the century. The cover was to be in cash only because he couldn't get his hands on a credit card machine and personal checks are just too unreliable. $20 for females, $50 for males. What a deal! Usually when I go to high school parties I pay up to $299 per cover and that doesn't include sweet dance mixes or "shit tons" of hard alcohol.

Once he finished explaining the details of his party in full, he arranged for a Q & A from classmates. Most of the questions ranged from "How did you get to be so cool?" to "What time should I arrive via limousine?" I did not have any questions, as I was still in awe of how a seventeen year old high school student could pull of an event bigger than the Oscars in such a short time and with little to no help from teamsters. I did, however, want to let him know how excited I was about his party and give him a verbal RSVP so I wouldn't have to haggle with the multiple bouncers he was to hire about my name being on the guest list.

Before class was dismissed by our now drunk English teacher I told the party planner extraordinaire that I was looking forward to his party and that it was going to be a great time. I was then met with a reaction, which even to this day seems a bit harsh. He waited a few beats as he stared at me and let the class quiet, then he said emphatically that I was "Not FUCKING invited!" Everyone, including my own friends started laughing at me while pointing in my direction in a derogatory fashion. Even Mr. Plocho said something to the extent of "Even I'm invited and I'm 57 years old, you fucking loser." Class dismissed, time to find a rope.

So my dream to become cool in high school never came to fruition. I did not attend his party for fear of being beaten by henchmen he had hired solely to beat uninvited guests. I did, however attend the school sponsored graduation party at Crackerjax, (a poor man's theme park with games and rides made for ten year olds.) where the school provided non-alcoholic refreshments, ugly girls and a hypnotist. Best. Party. Ever.

Sunday, January 10, 2010


Happy 2010 people! I've been working on some new shit for the year and should have two new blogs up this week. Its been a nice little break from my usual routine where I sit at home and watch television until an idea comes into my head and I write crass ideas down. This break from writing has allowed to me to what I truly love doing: helping children. I helped put out a fire at a local orphanage, and saved most of the kids. I may or may not have started the fire while playing with matches and a bottle of Captain Morgan, but the important thing is that I saved all the kids that could walk. The children with crutches and those in wheelchairs were just too difficult to rescue. Anyways, I will have my first blog of the decade up on Tuesday and will continue with my usual schedule of blogs that make my mother "disappointed."

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