Friday, February 18, 2011

Vanna White is Useless.

My Wife and I are like an old married couple. We both get home from work roughly around 1730, and we almost always sit down and watch Jeopardy, and Wheel of Fortune as one of us prepares dinner. But something has been bugging me lately.

What the fuck is she doing out there? Vanna walks around and simply touches a screen. She doesn't turn a letter around like she used to. The untrained eye would assume there is some sort of motion sensor, or switch she is hitting, but she never hits the same spot on a certain box. She could be brain dead, and not even know how to spell for all we know. She went from a respectable woman, with on the fly spelling skills, to a bimbo with an exorbitant amount of evening gowns.

Dont get me wrong, that 54 year old cougar is quite easy on the eyes, but what is the fucking point?

Thursday, February 3, 2011

How I Procured a Chinese Food Delivery Sign

So like all great stories this one starts out like this... I was really drunk. I was at a party with my brother, and a few family friends, and of course like all great drinkers know, nothing goes better with drinking than greasy nasty food. So either we walked there, or someone more than likely somewhat sober drove. I don't remember, and no one got hurt, so I will assume it never happened. You know what...someone definitely drove. Well we arrived at the drunk person Mecca, a place where the inebriated have been congregating for centuries to pray to the beer gods...Taco Bell, and ordered our food. After consuming its trashy goodness we were on our way. We strolled past a chinese food restaurant when I turned into a raccoon hopped up on Miller Lite. I was drawn to a shiny object. Imagine Smeagol from Lord of The Rings, but drunk. I saw a glowing beacon in the night.

Note: it was not a Hungry Howies sign, but this is the closest image I could find. 

I needed to have it. So I took it. I am an asshole, it's what we do. Unfortunately for me it was a bitch to get off, unfortunately for the sign I had beer strength. I grabbed on, bent my knees and deadlifted the sign right up and then leaned back and and the window kind of bent and released my prize. I figured I was free, and had just done the impossible, so I ran away briskly into the night. Logic must have escaped me, because like on every other light, there has to be a power source.

 I got about 6 feet from the car when the cigarette lighter style plug and cord became taught and dropped me on my ass. I looked like Stone Cold Steve Austin had just bounced off the ropes and delivered a massive forearm to my face, laying me out head over heels. As I came to my senses and realized that I had a bleeding lip from where the sign I was grasping smashed into my face at mach 3.  There was a hole through my bottom lip from where my teeth passed clean through. I also felt a pebble in my mouth that later turned out to be my right canine tooth that had chipped off into my mouth...DAMN I LEFT BEHIND DNA EVIDENCE! Imagine my confusion at the time to be laying on the ground thinking somehow pebbles were in my mouth.

Anyways we ran to the car and did what any sane person would do...celebrated our victory by displaying the delivery sign in the window of my brothers car. We arrived back at the party and proclaimed ourselves as their new god. Which the common mortals later accepted after I showed them my trophy. There were many cheers, and the people rejoiced. We continued the celebration with the common folk well into the wee hours of the morning.

Texts Between Hetero Life Mates

Discussing some life problems:

Discussing how the blog was taking off quite rapidly:

I am Running out of Ideas!

Friends, I need your help. I know a lot of you that read are actual close friends. And I know that I have done some dumb shit over the years. Unfortunately I am often intoxicated, and for the lack of better words...I forget. Some friends have already come forward with examples of things I have done. So far my hetero life mate Gabe is the only one to help, and I don't know if I want to tell everyone about that. 

However here is a copy of the text messages to give you a hint of what happened:

let me know by posting comments on this post

or texting me or calling me if you have my number

Not a Laughing Matter

While discussing how I would feel if we were to give birth to a female instead of male. (as if my boys could ever form a female.)

Sarah: "You would hate me if we had a girl"
Me: "No I would just have to teach them to only think about boobs, and the complexities of the wild cat offense"
Sarah: "HAHA very funny"

Friday, January 28, 2011

The Prank War of 2006

If I am guilty of anything, it is that I take things waaaaayyyy too far, and I am a hyper-competetive asshole. I hate being 2nd. I hate losing. I hate being got, or had. Hell, I flipped the game board over and went home early when I saw my defeat was imminent in a Disney trivia game at my mother-in-law's house. 

My friends and I were at a concert a couple cities over. The friends that we were going to meet back at my friend AJ's house left at the same time as us, but we stopped to get food. This quick stop gave them enough time to do something so vile, something so gross, something I had to outdo. When we arrived in my car we parked directly behind AJ's truck and noticed our friends were not there.  We sat in the car and made a phone call to make sure they were ok. They couldn't stop laughing, and dodged questions on where they were. I gave up and hung up the phone because I hate when people act dumb, and have an extremely short temper. We got out of the car  excited to start drinking "The Champagne of Beers". Little did we now our excitement would soon turn into confusion, and that confusion would soon turn into rage. 

There was a dead baby deer on the hood of AJ's truck, and the road-kill was covered unexplainably in macaroni and cheese. Don't worry, we were quite mindfucked as well. We now knew why they were not at the house anymore. 

And I hate being got. 

We went into the house and planned our revenge. We wandered around the house searching for ideas, but nothing compared to a rotting carcass on the hood of a car. So we slept on it. 

The next day when we woke up we were looking for something to eat for breakfast when we stumbled upon a goldmine in the back of AJ's fridge. Gabe's graduation party had been a few months earlier, yet the leftover food still remained hidden in the depths of the fridge. We pulled back the foil encasing the leftovers to reveal a middle school science project growing. The mold was molding. We then knew what we had to do. 

Later that evening, we called our enemies over for drinks. They were hesitant, but we informed them that we weren't mad and that we thought it was actually quite funny. When we had confirmed that they were on the way we set up shop. The corner of AJ's yard has a large pine tree about 5 feet from the driveway. All of the moldy disgusting food that would give Bill Nye a raging science boner was placed behind the pine tree to wait out our guests. While hanging out Gabe and I slipped out and covered their car in filth, and casually walked back inside, and continued the party.

Then it was time for them to leave. They got outside and flipped the fuck out. 

If you cant stand the heat, get the fuck out of the kitchen. 

This part of the story is fuzzy. They did something that made me flip out, but I don't remember at all. But  I had to get them back. I HATE being 2nd to anyone. 

We went to our traditional post drinking spot, the chinese buffet. We loaded up on the same shit-tier quality chinese food that we always eat while hungover and went home. I had to get back, I had to get even. AJ's house is always fucking filthy. His mom leaves town for the summer, and left the house to us. And naturally three 19 year olds fucked shit up. His house was kind of like an episode of hoarders, but we didn't have mental instability, we were just lazy. on the coffee table there were about 10 large McDonald's cups. Then it hit me. These cups will be how we deploy liquid hell on the enemy. We found the grossest shit we could find in the house. 

Beans, rotten bread, stale beer, spit, hair, pubes, snot, cigarette ashes, piss, and dirt was put into all of the cups. We were out of supplies and ideas when something started to rumble. 

I take things way too far. 

That rumble was a mixture of Miller High Life, and poorly executed chinese food not settling too well in my gut. This putrid combo was brewing in my belly and had to be released. I grabbed the remaining cup and ran to the bathroom. The angle wasn't quite right, and I wasn't about to try and shit standing up, so I sat down on the edge with my bare ass hanging into the tub. I grabbed the cup and prepared for the foul anal blast that was about to erupt from my gut. 

It was mustard yellow, and smelled of death. The cup was sealed with saran wrap, then duct tape, followed by the lid, more duct tape, and then the entire bomb was wrapped again in saran wrap. 

We waited til night fall and drove to our friends house. Their lights were out, and the plan was set in motion. We snuck up to the house and poured all of the cups onto the car finishing it up with a diarrhea racing stripe down the middle of the car. 

The next day the enemy quickly sent their white flag up via text message to save the shame, of hearing me gloat, and howl an annoying shit eating laugh. We knew we had won. Unfortunately the victory was bittersweet. Part of me was sad to see it end, however I am still to this day convinced, that if we had let this continue, someone would have died. 

 I didn't get pranked on too much after that day.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Proof That Even While Blacked Out...I Love My Mom

During the summer of 2009 before I left for basic training, my brother was also getting ready to leave home. He was heading to Oregon to go to school. My parents love to throw parties, fuck that, my parents live to throw parties. And for this occasion it was no different. Tons of people showed up. There were kegs, and liquor, enough food for everyone's taste, and unfortunately wine.

You see, I fancy myself a drinker. However when the spirits have been flowing I tend to make mistakes. During the party I parked myself in the garage where the keg was located and played beer pong most of the night. By the time the party was winding down I was near the point of being "Schaivo'd". The residents of Quaker Court, and my close friends will understand the the term but many wont so I will lay it out like this.

1st click this link if you don't know who Terri Schaivo is: 

2nd try to grasp this concept:

tipsy<buzzed<drunk<hammered<smashed<blacked out< "SCHIAVO'D"

This photo represents me in the "buzzed" state posted up at the keg. 
This is me clearly at the drunk stage, creeping on Rae Baby. 
Here I am in the moderately "smashed" possibly into the "hammered" stages.
(notice the final keg is dead)
In this photo I am totally blacked out. I have my older brother in a headlock. 
(note: I appear to be having fun, but my eyes are nearly closed and emotionless)

Unfortunately no photos were taken of me in the Schiavo'd state. 

Pulling off this feat can only done by the true shit show. It is usually induced by a combination of  energy drinks, and a fuck-ton of alcohol, but on this occasion it was something different. I was the end product of a rookie trying to keep up with some of the University of Michigan's finest drinkers.  I was figuratively "showing my ass".

The party was going swimmingly until the last of the kegs was tapped. Remember earlier when I talked about me being poor at making inebriated decisions...yeah, that is about to happen. So here we are, a bunch of guys and gals in our early to mid-twenties with our alcohol supply nearly tapped. The only thing standing is a few bottles of wine that the elders of the family didn't get to during the festivities. Drinking wine is boring, and I personally don't enjoy the taste. I am not exactly the kind of guy that owns a smoking jacket, and talks about stocks. So I have the bright idea of playing "wine pong"...fuck. At this point of my alcoholic journey I am smashed, rounding the base making a b-line towards being blacked out.

And then it happened.

(8-12ish hours missing from memory)

I wake up surrounded by friends and family in my parents dining room. I seem to remember my parents dining room a lot less slippery, and a lot less chunky. Yes, baby made vom vom. There was a blast radius of about 6 feet surrounding my puke covered corpse-like body. It consisted mostly of beer, wine, and my Aunt Mary's famous salsa...I must have had a black out craving. I don't remember what happened, but there were plenty of onlookers. So the rest of the story will be pieced together from various witnesses recollections.
My bedroom at my parents house is carpeted. and directly outside my door is a large area rug, that my mom spent too much money on, that covers a sitting room hardwood floor. By the wall leading out of there is a trail of exposed hardwood that leads to the hardwood floor dining room. I'd draw a map...but I don't care that much...and you probably get the picture. From what friends, and my then girlfriend, now wife, have told me this is what happened. I being "schiavo'd" woke up from my coma in dire need to puke. I apparently got out of bed and looked for a place to release my belly full of goodies, and realizing I was on carpet did what any good son would do. Sacrifice your self...pride.  I pulled out my shirt into a basket like shape and puked into it. I walked out the door and deposited  my papoose of bile into the corner of the sitting room. I started to walk over the nice carpet in the "sitting room" and felt some more spew coming. I dove to the wall where there was no carpet and puked again. Once again missing the rug that my mom loves. I then reportedly crawled on my hands and knees spraying putrid wine and salsa vomit,then forming it into a nice  pile, moving forward, and then continuing on my way for 2 or 3 feet before repeating the process. All the while I was avoiding the carpet, and telling onlookers about my moms precious rug. I then apparently decided that the dining room would be a suitable resting place for the evening and laid down on the ground. I don't believe this part, but I will post it anyway. I supposedly laid on the ground with one eye open with a sea of salsa, beer, wine, chips, and other assorted snacks flowing forth from my stomach to form the previously mentioned 6 foot blast radius. I guess, I cant argue with the evidence.