- If hurricane Katrina
were a woman she'd be beautiful. Like I know she cost the country 81
billion dollars and all, but with a name like Katrina? She'd
definitely have high heels and buns like two volleyballs.
-The thing about circle
jerks... this is, in fact, a weird one... I bet circle jerks look
like witches around a cauldron in a kids story. There are lots of
scary cries of "Yes! Yes!" It's terrifying. They have a
little song to it: "Double bubble, toil and trouble, pinch
Ricky's asshole, hit Jim with a shovel." It's a very strange and
kinky song.
-Hey, man. You ever have
eye contact with women? Aw, man. That's some good stuff.
- I know there's nothing
funny about...uh.. dying alone... but what if you died alone wearing
a pointy party cap?
Jesus. Sorry! Weird. No!
No, it's just funny... because it's tr-...oubling.
- There are two things
that make me blush: even the smallest compliment and cumming on a
screaming partner.
- Well shucks, to tell you
the truth I don't know a lot about ladies. I often worry about them.
Like I worry about “What if during the pillow fights they're always
having one of them hits each other too hard in a too sensitive area
and one of them gets a freak injury to the cock?”
- And don't get me started
on Asians. I think I can sum up my feelings on Asian people in just
one word! Exterminate.
- I just love how a lot of
kids in my life blatantly lie to their parents about school and
all sorts of things. Like their Mom's like, “You've never seen
anyone do drugs in front of you, right?” They go
“Well...no.” The Mom goes “School's the most important thing to
you, right?” They go “Yeah. Yeah, yeah... yeah.”
- What's that you say? I'm
immature? Nuh-uh! Bet you a gumball I'm fucking not!
- I like all the special
slurs that we as a society have come up with for all kinds of people
but we shouldn't underestimate the insult of calling someone a
“world-class loser.” It always makes people feel bad! I
mean... oh my G-d.
-
I was at the Yale Art Gallery today and I saw a sign in a
half-completed display room that said “Watch as we prepare.” I
can't put my finger on it but something seemed medium Nazi-ish about
it.
Old
stuff:
-One
day in my history class my teacher was presenting a series of
quotations from early America and added “Gee, a lot of this has a
lot of Harry Potter patois
to it.” At first I didn't know what patois
was (first clue: it is, in fact, a French word) but then I looked it
up and it means my history teacher's a big fucking nerd.
This one takes a lot of
focus but we can do it:
- “Shush! I'm watching
my stories!” is both what you will hear when you interrupt a
stereotypical old lady watching the news and what you will hear when
you interrupt an on-duty architect.
(Get it? Like the amount of levels and stories in a building? I don't know. Just in case. I don't know.)
- I'm a mega nervous
man and I'm interested in psychology. Yo, I read somewhere there are
as many people with OCD as there are people diagnosed with asthma.
Which is an interesting thought: for people with asthma you just have
to give them one inhaler and they're set; for people with OCD it's a
little trickier. I think with the OCD people it just comes down to
telling them that things are going to be okay. And then repeating it
11 times while washing your hands. That stuff can be a pain in the
tuchas.
-I'm a super curious
person: and I found out there's this neat British dessert called
Angel Delight. It's a great dessert and has a great name. Angel
Delight, however is not to be confused with Angel Dust. Angel Delight
is a powdered custard dessert made in England. Angel dust is a
common name for PCP. And also Angel Delight is a dessert.
And
also some people in some places (interesting thing) call PCP-- they
call it rocket fuel. Some people called PCP rocket fuel. Which is
also a shame because I used to call coca-cola rocket fuel (that's
what's extreme for me) and then I found out I was being super
ridiculous; that most people consider coca-cola a lesser rung of
inebriant than... fucking PCP.
-I heard about mobsters
that don't live tremendously, tremendously far from my neighborhood.
It's a scary thought. On the bright side maybe I could take advantage
because when you hire mobsters for a hit you have choices like when
you're getting orange juice at the supermarket: you could have your
victim become lots of pulp, some pulp, or no pulp at all.
-New Haven's a funny place. True thing, my hand to G-d: one time I was lying on the New Haven green and I tried on a friend's sunglasses and then a homeless guy came up to us and came up to me and shouted "Well, who's cooler than you?!" Truth. The answer: not loud homeless people. That's the ranking: I'm cooler than loud homeless people and most but not all children. Like the kind of eight year old that's always riding his bike without a helmet? We're a tie.
-
It's funny how “I don't know,” often means “I'm uncomfortable,”
rather than “I lack knowledge.”
-
I'm such a young person that the other today when I was in this
awesome antique shop (in Essex, Connecticut, by the way) I managed to
find a cribbage board and it took me forever
to figure out it wasn't a new-agey piece of art titled “cabbage.”
- This isn't really a joke
but drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth tastes intense as
shit. Steer clear, dawg.
-
Everyone tells you about the stress you experience when you go
through your first day of school, puberty, and your first
relationship but why is no one ever
talking about
diarrhea? Why?!
- My hobbies include
flirting... and... and that's the list.
-
Just to be hypocritical I love eating power bars before
I go to bed.
- I'm super concerned. If
I like chicken breast a lot, does that make me cock hungry?
(Stupid
joke. Stupid, stupid, stupid joke.)
- Beauty is only
skin-deep, but penetration isn't.
Thanks for reading!
Oh, and one last thing. Here's a throwback blog post. A classic from the vault. It comes from a previous blog post dated on June the...um...well, you'll just see for yourself below.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Why I Love Butterfingers And More.
I love Nestle Butterfinger candy bars. Not exaggerating or misusing the word: I love them.
There ought to be a
trophy for “world's greatest candy bar,” the trophy ought to be
in the shape of a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar, and the winner of
the award ought to be the Nestle Butterfinger candy bar, who, of
course, gladly accepts the award after listening to a heartfelt,
complimentary speech given by a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar.
I would be an
assassin... if the pay was in Butterfingers and the pay was good.
Dairy Queen offers a
desert they consider original called a Butterfinger Blizzard. I call
it desert plagiarism. The Butterfinger deserves better.
Eating them is like
having a game of capture the flag between the salty, sweet, and
bitter parts of your tongue and the all the metaphorical people
playing the game of capture the flag have taken five “5-hour
energy,” shots. (By the way, after researching this, I've found out
the crazy-popular theory that parts of your tongue can experience
different sensations with more intensity than others, as displayed on
a “tongue-map, is not true, and was developed by a Harvard
psychologist named Edwin Boring. ...For real, that theory is not
true, and the guy who proved it is actually named Edwin Boring. Look
it up.)
If there were an
animal that, after it ate, digested everything it's eaten into a
butterfinger-based bowel movement that would be, as the animal's
ritual dictates, dropped on top of it's master's pillow... I would
adopt that animal. I would gladly adopt that animal.
If for some reason I
was forced to have my penis surgically removed and replaced with a
candy bar, but I got to pick which candy bar it was replaced (I don't
know why that would happen, just go with it because I'm running out
of crazy or exciting things to say... Please, just go with
it.) I would pick the Butterfinger.
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