Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Star Spangled Awesome
Okay, I'm doing a podcast with my homie, it's basically a spoken word version of the bullshit I put on here. If you've paid attention to this before, you might be interested. I'll try to put it on here, but we'll have a website soon. I dunno. Stay based.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
No Shame
College has been pretty nice to me; I've only made a few friends, I've learned a few facts, and might be able to get a job one day.
But I've also developed a taste for unsweetened iced tea, and nobody fucking likes unsweetened iced tea.
Also, cougar's at bars in college towns are, quite possibly, THE BEST form of entertainment via voyeurism(or "creepin", for you lames). Honestly, there are very few things that fill me with simultaneous confusion and joy as much as seeing a woman in her "sexual prime" hoping to catch some hung college stud who couldn't quite cut it with the sluts his own age (this has kinda happened to me.... more on that later). Witnessing these ladies in person is something magical, I imagine it's like being able to see a feral beast in the wild, who is only available to us because they let us see them. Depending on your watering hole of choice, you may not see these gossamer beings very often, but when you do it is such a treat! The awkward dance moves, the cranberry & vodka drinks, the vain attempts to look sexy; they're all elements involved in one of the more depressing aspects of ageing. This is truly embodied in Shannon.
I'm trusting the reader to not pass any judgments on me for what I'm about to tell you. Shannon thought she was a "thirty five" year old former stripper from out west. She had gone through a tasking divorce in which whatever retard who married her in the first place ended up with the kids, the house, the money, yadda yadda yadda. So what does Shannon decide to do? Why, the only logical thing... move to Maryland! Not beautiful Annapolis, nor Baltimore City, not even near D.C.! No, she chose to relocate back to her moms crib in Cecilton or Elkton("...Where memories are made!") or some shit-kicking hillbilly den in Cecil County, Maryland. Apparently the Buffalo Wild Wings in Newark, Delaware was the best place for her to grab a drink, because she must not have known about the other five or six bars on Main Street that are infinitely better than a BWW bar. It just so happened that I was spending the Summer evening with a few esteemed colleagues of mine who live above said Buffalo Wild Wings, and it just so happened that my colleagues and I decided on some late night wings to go with our uneventful evening of shouting "PARTY AT 209 ELKTON ROAD" at underage chicks on Main.
Now I wasn't as drunk as my coadjutors(Greg, Willey, and Barrow, for future reference), I had maybe three or four beers, which is more than enough to affect my then 19 year old decision making. We ordered our wings and waited near the bar, where a sad, desperate shell of a woman was waiting for us. She tried to casually look over her should at our table, she brushed her hair to the side, played with her drink, all of that shit, until she got sidetracked by a jukebox that was playing Pink. From there Shannon focused her attention to a table of youthier youths who seemed to be giving her more attention than we were... we'll see how long that lasts. Being the gentleman that I am, I took out my gaunt wallet and managed to fish out a one dollar bill that I must have stole from some close relative. I gave a wolf whistle or something and, I shit you not, waved the dollar bill in Shannon's general direction. Obviously showing off in front of my friends, I was confident that there was no way in hell that this would work.
Right. Shannon, being the greedy little trailer park trash that she was, zeroed in on the path of the fluttering Washington and popped a squat right on my 19 year old lap, and boy did she earn that dollar. She was yapping about how whatever shitty Pink song that was on was in fact, "her song", and proceeded to give me a lap dance. In the middle of Buffalo Wild Wings. Just to make sure that her antics weren't going to be a problem for the BWW staff, I asked the bartender if it was okay for her to perform a lap dance in this setting at this hour(in case I didn't mention before, it was kind of fucking late), the bartender did not seem to mind. It should also be brought to the reader's attention that the bartender was a male and really fucking bored since he was working in a bar in Newark during the Summer. And with the man's consent, Shannon commenced one of the most awkward, physical, and pointless lap dances of my life. Whatever. Some cunty server or counter girl broke the whole thing up; apparently that's "inappropriate behavior". I think Shannon then left us to catch her ride or whatever. Food's done, let's go eat some wings.
But I've also developed a taste for unsweetened iced tea, and nobody fucking likes unsweetened iced tea.
Also, cougar's at bars in college towns are, quite possibly, THE BEST form of entertainment via voyeurism(or "creepin", for you lames). Honestly, there are very few things that fill me with simultaneous confusion and joy as much as seeing a woman in her "sexual prime" hoping to catch some hung college stud who couldn't quite cut it with the sluts his own age (this has kinda happened to me.... more on that later). Witnessing these ladies in person is something magical, I imagine it's like being able to see a feral beast in the wild, who is only available to us because they let us see them. Depending on your watering hole of choice, you may not see these gossamer beings very often, but when you do it is such a treat! The awkward dance moves, the cranberry & vodka drinks, the vain attempts to look sexy; they're all elements involved in one of the more depressing aspects of ageing. This is truly embodied in Shannon.
I'm trusting the reader to not pass any judgments on me for what I'm about to tell you. Shannon thought she was a "thirty five" year old former stripper from out west. She had gone through a tasking divorce in which whatever retard who married her in the first place ended up with the kids, the house, the money, yadda yadda yadda. So what does Shannon decide to do? Why, the only logical thing... move to Maryland! Not beautiful Annapolis, nor Baltimore City, not even near D.C.! No, she chose to relocate back to her moms crib in Cecilton or Elkton("...Where memories are made!") or some shit-kicking hillbilly den in Cecil County, Maryland. Apparently the Buffalo Wild Wings in Newark, Delaware was the best place for her to grab a drink, because she must not have known about the other five or six bars on Main Street that are infinitely better than a BWW bar. It just so happened that I was spending the Summer evening with a few esteemed colleagues of mine who live above said Buffalo Wild Wings, and it just so happened that my colleagues and I decided on some late night wings to go with our uneventful evening of shouting "PARTY AT 209 ELKTON ROAD" at underage chicks on Main.
Now I wasn't as drunk as my coadjutors(Greg, Willey, and Barrow, for future reference), I had maybe three or four beers, which is more than enough to affect my then 19 year old decision making. We ordered our wings and waited near the bar, where a sad, desperate shell of a woman was waiting for us. She tried to casually look over her should at our table, she brushed her hair to the side, played with her drink, all of that shit, until she got sidetracked by a jukebox that was playing Pink. From there Shannon focused her attention to a table of youthier youths who seemed to be giving her more attention than we were... we'll see how long that lasts. Being the gentleman that I am, I took out my gaunt wallet and managed to fish out a one dollar bill that I must have stole from some close relative. I gave a wolf whistle or something and, I shit you not, waved the dollar bill in Shannon's general direction. Obviously showing off in front of my friends, I was confident that there was no way in hell that this would work.
Right. Shannon, being the greedy little trailer park trash that she was, zeroed in on the path of the fluttering Washington and popped a squat right on my 19 year old lap, and boy did she earn that dollar. She was yapping about how whatever shitty Pink song that was on was in fact, "her song", and proceeded to give me a lap dance. In the middle of Buffalo Wild Wings. Just to make sure that her antics weren't going to be a problem for the BWW staff, I asked the bartender if it was okay for her to perform a lap dance in this setting at this hour(in case I didn't mention before, it was kind of fucking late), the bartender did not seem to mind. It should also be brought to the reader's attention that the bartender was a male and really fucking bored since he was working in a bar in Newark during the Summer. And with the man's consent, Shannon commenced one of the most awkward, physical, and pointless lap dances of my life. Whatever. Some cunty server or counter girl broke the whole thing up; apparently that's "inappropriate behavior". I think Shannon then left us to catch her ride or whatever. Food's done, let's go eat some wings.
 |
| Pictured above: Probably some place Shannon worked. |
SIKE, hows about we just run into Shannon right outside of Greg and Barrow's apartment? Sounds like a plan! Obviously we invited her up for some Natty's and some overall good times. Good times happened to include the entire crew getting lap dances while Neal Diamond played in the background. Also, we somehow convinced Shan to show us her extremely fake tits. She was more than excited to indulge us in her rack, and I'm pretty sure one of us motorboated them! Fun fun. Also, at this point Shannon is all over me, which totally RULED at the time. Now it's sad and gross. What's important is that I know NOW that what happened that night was really fucking weird and not okay, with the only benefit being that I get to share it with you at this point in time. Now that we've established that I am aware of my folly, let us continue.
Shannon asked me how old I was, and why the fuck would I tell her I was 19? Her kids could probably beat me up, so I gave a nonchalant ,"How old do I look"? Apparently a skin headed Joey G looks a lot older than he actually is.
 |
| Pictured above: Some really old dude. |
I can't remember what the dame guessed (probably somewhere around 23), but whatever it was, she decided that it was old enough for her to start sucking my mouth hole until a white dwarf formed. That or she thought the fountain of youth was in there somewhere, because she was doing some serious digging. Eventually I got her off of me and we just kinda went on with a game of beer pong or something. For some reason I was sitting on the couch, probably texting someone, "t0tez gettin wit da koogr", when I fucking saw it out of the corner of my eye. Shannon was on the ground, probably showing off her moves because she thought we were still entertained by them, but that wasn't what caught my attention. My eyes were the size of fucking hockey pucks as I turned to Greg who had to have seen it too, since his jaw was hanging near his field negro cock. He locked eyes with me and silently mouthed, "She fucking pissed herself". All I could do was nod.
I don't remember what happened right after that, she went to the bathroom to clean up or something so she must've realized that she fucking lost control over her vagina for a second there! Oh, and ladies, if you ever do something questionable in a room full of dudes and then head to the bathroom, it's the only thing we're going to talk about until you come back. At this point Shannon had been there for a while, which is weird since her ride was waiting for her in the fucking parking lot. We asked her about whether or not she should probably go home since it had been over an hour and her response was "No", because they were probably having sex or something. Real classy Shan. Well we had continued drinking for a while when I felt a little tug at my shirt as Shannon headed off to the bathroom. Uh ohhhh, you know what this means! SCORE!!!
Except when we got to that tight little 5x8 room and Shannon pulled down her pants, I got to see what a 40-50 some year old woman looked like, and boy howdy was I intimidated. Maybe it was all the sagging that was going on, maybe it was it was how she tried to immediately pull my dick inside of her, no knob shining at all, she must've been all lubed up from trying to detach my face from my head. Actually, now that I mention that, THAT'S why we thought she pissed herself, she just couldn't control the plumbing thanks to me! Hopefully.
That point is when I think that my Jiminy Cricket was telling me to fucking bail, but I was putting up a pretty good fight, so I decided to barter with Shan. I told her that she should totally blow me (I put it more eloquently at the time), she declined my offer, apparently blowing a guy in a bathroom was not up her alley, go figure. I gave a deep sigh and a "Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine", and we mutually agreed on using our hands on each other, mutual masturbation! Well I'll be damned if that wasn't the most awkward thing I've done with three of my fingers at once. Use your fucking imaginations for the rest of that bizarre moment, I know I won't!
To wrap things up I immediately washed my hands as hard as I fucking could and popped a squat on the couch next to whoever was watching something that wasn't a woman's vagina. She remained in the bathroom for a bit longer and I noticed a pack of Newport cigs chilling on the coffee table with my dollar bill tucked in the plastic wrapping. She scarred me, so I took that Washington back (which, I just realized, was a third of what she made in an hour... what a dick I am). Shannon kind of announced that she was leaving and we all kind of waved bye. She left. Thank god.
So that's my story, I stand in front of you a broken man who has seen some shit. Also I looked up when Sweet Caroline (the Neil Diamond song we "partied" to)came out, and the year is... 1969. Fuck.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Life after graduation?
You'd figure I'd write more if I didn't have school work to do. Turns out I'm just dumbfoundingly lazy.
There are arduous, agonizing, unspeakable deaths... and then there's Walmart.
Unfortunately for me, I have to experience the latter week or so, purely for groceries and its close proximity to where I live, and it is fucking torture. It's already a fairly renowned fact that I'm going to hate most people, let alone the common street filth that inhabits Walmart (referred to as "The Wall" for the rest of this rant). I figure that there are scummy people at every grocery store, but not quite on the exponentially disturbing scale like the filth at The Wall. These fucks make the Westboro Baptist Church members seem like normal people. I went yesterday, and while it wasn't the most unpleasant Wall trip I took, it triggered some PTSD memories from the worst grocery shopping experience of my life, which I felt would be appropriate to share and hopefully deter further patronage from that hell hole.
One prejudice filled evening, I was shopping for some bell peppers to add to a delicious ground beef medley. I stood looking at the horrifying options I had in front of me, trying to decide which gangrene infested veggies I would try to shove down my throat, when I turned to bring my shopping cart in closer to the food so this passing family could walk past with ease, when this putrid little juvenile (about 5 or 6 years old, I dunno, I'm terrible at guessing ages) verbally accosts me with a vicious little, "Move yo shit, whitey" (I'll let you assume any racial differences that may be present here). I swear to fucking god, that actually happened. I looked around for this little shits parent/guardian and spotted her, fucking around on her iPhone while dragging her cart behind her. I assume whatever she was doing on her phone was important, because she was ignoring the fact that she was raising one of the next members of the Death Angels. She looks up from her Angry Birds and sees my shocked, open-jawed expression and shoots me a look like, "Do somethin', I dare you." Obviously I did nothing. What was I gonna do? Kick the little snot in the face? I have wet dreams about doing it though, soaking wet dreams.
This one other time I was cruising through the frozen meats and such, I spotted a normal looking person at the Wall. This, in and of itself, is fucking amazing. This is essentially the spotting of a unicorn; it's pretty hard for me to not find anything wrong with a person, especially at the Wall, but this guy seemed incredibly normal. Not morbidly obese, not wearing trashy clothing nor fancy clothing, just a dude who looked like he was a semi-productive member of society. I almost had to shake his hand and ask him how he did it, how could he exist in this Wallrealm...
...But then, in slow motion, I watched as this putz trip forward and bust his schnoz on the handle of his shopping cart. He then proceeded to cushion his fall by landing directly on his face. I didn't think the trailer trash tramp that was next to him was associated with him, but she was in fact his significant other, and she must have thought he died on the spot, because she screamed and scared the shit out of everyone else in the store. I couldn't believe this shit. His tramp was screaming because of the ungodly amount of blood squirting from his fucking nose. Now I'm no hero, so I just kinda stood there with my hands in front of me, giving a shit but not enough to help this stunod.
Yeah, those last two sucked dick, but this one really made me question as to whether or not my life was real or not. After a grueling session of shopping with the scum of Kent County, I'm finally in the speedy checkout like with less than 20 items in my cart, and for once nobody ahead of me is abusing this 20 item limit, jubilee. I've put myself through another dreadful evening of smelly, loud, obnoxious people and I'm ready to get the fuck outta dodge. The bags are in the cart, I'm waiting for my total, card in my hand, fully erect and as the cashier (who no doubt only works at Walmart because she hates herself) turns her head to mumble my total, she fucking burps in my face.
She burped.
In my face.
And then told me my total.
I just stared with my mouth open, so her soulless breath probably made its way onto my palate. Like, did you really have to spread your general distaste for life with me, when I was just on my way out? So many thoughts ran through my head; is this reality, who shot Kennedy, what am I jerking off to tonight... but I couldn't make sense of anything. This was life for me; receiving a hearty belch for no pay at all. I guess I'm fortunate, because some people have to find a sad hooker for that kind of thing. Wait, no, that was really fucking gross.
Fuck Walmart. I suppose shit could be worse.
Sick of cold weather,
JoeyG
There are arduous, agonizing, unspeakable deaths... and then there's Walmart.
Unfortunately for me, I have to experience the latter week or so, purely for groceries and its close proximity to where I live, and it is fucking torture. It's already a fairly renowned fact that I'm going to hate most people, let alone the common street filth that inhabits Walmart (referred to as "The Wall" for the rest of this rant). I figure that there are scummy people at every grocery store, but not quite on the exponentially disturbing scale like the filth at The Wall. These fucks make the Westboro Baptist Church members seem like normal people. I went yesterday, and while it wasn't the most unpleasant Wall trip I took, it triggered some PTSD memories from the worst grocery shopping experience of my life, which I felt would be appropriate to share and hopefully deter further patronage from that hell hole.
One prejudice filled evening, I was shopping for some bell peppers to add to a delicious ground beef medley. I stood looking at the horrifying options I had in front of me, trying to decide which gangrene infested veggies I would try to shove down my throat, when I turned to bring my shopping cart in closer to the food so this passing family could walk past with ease, when this putrid little juvenile (about 5 or 6 years old, I dunno, I'm terrible at guessing ages) verbally accosts me with a vicious little, "Move yo shit, whitey" (I'll let you assume any racial differences that may be present here). I swear to fucking god, that actually happened. I looked around for this little shits parent/guardian and spotted her, fucking around on her iPhone while dragging her cart behind her. I assume whatever she was doing on her phone was important, because she was ignoring the fact that she was raising one of the next members of the Death Angels. She looks up from her Angry Birds and sees my shocked, open-jawed expression and shoots me a look like, "Do somethin', I dare you." Obviously I did nothing. What was I gonna do? Kick the little snot in the face? I have wet dreams about doing it though, soaking wet dreams.
This one other time I was cruising through the frozen meats and such, I spotted a normal looking person at the Wall. This, in and of itself, is fucking amazing. This is essentially the spotting of a unicorn; it's pretty hard for me to not find anything wrong with a person, especially at the Wall, but this guy seemed incredibly normal. Not morbidly obese, not wearing trashy clothing nor fancy clothing, just a dude who looked like he was a semi-productive member of society. I almost had to shake his hand and ask him how he did it, how could he exist in this Wallrealm...
...But then, in slow motion, I watched as this putz trip forward and bust his schnoz on the handle of his shopping cart. He then proceeded to cushion his fall by landing directly on his face. I didn't think the trailer trash tramp that was next to him was associated with him, but she was in fact his significant other, and she must have thought he died on the spot, because she screamed and scared the shit out of everyone else in the store. I couldn't believe this shit. His tramp was screaming because of the ungodly amount of blood squirting from his fucking nose. Now I'm no hero, so I just kinda stood there with my hands in front of me, giving a shit but not enough to help this stunod.
 |
| "Holy shit. I, ah.... fuck this." |
Yeah, those last two sucked dick, but this one really made me question as to whether or not my life was real or not. After a grueling session of shopping with the scum of Kent County, I'm finally in the speedy checkout like with less than 20 items in my cart, and for once nobody ahead of me is abusing this 20 item limit, jubilee. I've put myself through another dreadful evening of smelly, loud, obnoxious people and I'm ready to get the fuck outta dodge. The bags are in the cart, I'm waiting for my total, card in my hand, fully erect and as the cashier (who no doubt only works at Walmart because she hates herself) turns her head to mumble my total, she fucking burps in my face.
She burped.
In my face.
And then told me my total.
I just stared with my mouth open, so her soulless breath probably made its way onto my palate. Like, did you really have to spread your general distaste for life with me, when I was just on my way out? So many thoughts ran through my head; is this reality, who shot Kennedy, what am I jerking off to tonight... but I couldn't make sense of anything. This was life for me; receiving a hearty belch for no pay at all. I guess I'm fortunate, because some people have to find a sad hooker for that kind of thing. Wait, no, that was really fucking gross.
Fuck Walmart. I suppose shit could be worse.
Sick of cold weather,
JoeyG
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Not the man now, dawg.
Sorry, I got distracted.
Okay, lemme just put this out there.... new born babies are not cute, at all. I guess I just don't see the beauty of life in this pygmy version of a human that looks supremely pissed off all the time. As if it wasn't bad enough that babies have the ultimate premadonna attitude, not allowing a normal sleep or sexy-time schedule, but they just shit their pants whenever they feel like it. I understand that they have no control over their bowels and whatnot, but then why does it seem that people my age are popping these things out at a frightening pace? I would love to be able to honestly tell them that the picture they snapped of the baby right after it came out is cute, but it's not. This seems to be the case with all babies, not just the ugly ones. Some people might see this blatant display of telling the truth as an attempt to pick on babies. Those people are only about half right.
Speaking of ugly people, a woman in a Walmart fucking peppered sprayed other shoppers for an XBOX on Black Friday. Now first off, I don't think I'd be caught dead at this pathetic attempt to buy shit for a little bit cheaper than usual, but I'm only saying that because Vietnamese children aren't offered at malls or Walmarts yet. Second, if ANYBODY peppered sprayed me over a fucking game console, I would mercilessly beat them into a coma. This includes this mother of three children, all of whom were with her when she decided to do her best impression of an Oakland riot squad officer. How did this filthy cunt get away with spraying 20ish people, and not get her ass beat? Humans are putrid things, and if you actually went out and shopped on Black Friday, I think you're a shallow, materialistic pig. Fuck off.
I'm keeping this shit short, because I have more Skyrim to play, but recently I read a question that gave me a solid 4-6 minutes of pondering: "You're in a room with your clone, fight it or fuck it?" This is quite the inquery, because despite my charm and handsome looks, I would have finally found someone who GETS ME! My closest friends don't really understand what's going on in my noggin, so it'd be really great to sit and chat with one of the most underestimated minds of my generation. But the option was not to casually chat with your clone, and I don't think I could fuck myself. Some people may be able to easily picture themselves pounding themselves in the ass or scissoring with themself, but for some reason that just ain't doing it for me. But a fight, however, would be fucking sweet. Finally, an opponent who matches me in every strength and weakness, I can see cities crumbling at their foundation as the fight proves what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. I get moist at the idea.
I need to get back to wasting my time, but meanwhile, ask yourself, "Fight, or fuck myself?"
Seriously.
Better than my clone,
Joey G
Okay, lemme just put this out there.... new born babies are not cute, at all. I guess I just don't see the beauty of life in this pygmy version of a human that looks supremely pissed off all the time. As if it wasn't bad enough that babies have the ultimate premadonna attitude, not allowing a normal sleep or sexy-time schedule, but they just shit their pants whenever they feel like it. I understand that they have no control over their bowels and whatnot, but then why does it seem that people my age are popping these things out at a frightening pace? I would love to be able to honestly tell them that the picture they snapped of the baby right after it came out is cute, but it's not. This seems to be the case with all babies, not just the ugly ones. Some people might see this blatant display of telling the truth as an attempt to pick on babies. Those people are only about half right.
 |
| As adorable as cancer. |
Speaking of ugly people, a woman in a Walmart fucking peppered sprayed other shoppers for an XBOX on Black Friday. Now first off, I don't think I'd be caught dead at this pathetic attempt to buy shit for a little bit cheaper than usual, but I'm only saying that because Vietnamese children aren't offered at malls or Walmarts yet. Second, if ANYBODY peppered sprayed me over a fucking game console, I would mercilessly beat them into a coma. This includes this mother of three children, all of whom were with her when she decided to do her best impression of an Oakland riot squad officer. How did this filthy cunt get away with spraying 20ish people, and not get her ass beat? Humans are putrid things, and if you actually went out and shopped on Black Friday, I think you're a shallow, materialistic pig. Fuck off.
I'm keeping this shit short, because I have more Skyrim to play, but recently I read a question that gave me a solid 4-6 minutes of pondering: "You're in a room with your clone, fight it or fuck it?" This is quite the inquery, because despite my charm and handsome looks, I would have finally found someone who GETS ME! My closest friends don't really understand what's going on in my noggin, so it'd be really great to sit and chat with one of the most underestimated minds of my generation. But the option was not to casually chat with your clone, and I don't think I could fuck myself. Some people may be able to easily picture themselves pounding themselves in the ass or scissoring with themself, but for some reason that just ain't doing it for me. But a fight, however, would be fucking sweet. Finally, an opponent who matches me in every strength and weakness, I can see cities crumbling at their foundation as the fight proves what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. I get moist at the idea.
I need to get back to wasting my time, but meanwhile, ask yourself, "Fight, or fuck myself?"
Seriously.
Better than my clone,
Joey G
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Ctrl+Z
Only a little over a year into my 20s and I realize that fun is only available through substance abuse or the defiling of state and federal laws... or acting like a teenager. I'm slowly realizing that college is going to end soon, and if I'm lucky, I'll get one of the jobs that television portrays as a slow, methodical way to deteriorate any personal value you've ever felt that you had. This is the "Quarter-Life Crisis", and it's beating the living tar out of me. While Mr.Crisis proceeds to simultaneously finger bang and face fuck me with Flo Rida playing in the background, I've decided to reflect on my teenage years to distract me from my awful gag reflexes.
Who else remembers when Jager and Miller Lite made for an awesome party? Throw on ...Is A Real Boy or whatever goofy ass shit you listened to back then, keep the partying at a minimum roar, just loud enough so that whoever's mom wouldn't come and yell at us. You had your tight crew of misfits and were supremely bummed when one of them couldn't make it to the weekly jamboree at your mom's house. You were having so much fun.
Fast forward six years. You are supremely pissed if the only shit you have to drink is Miller and Jager. Whatever music you want to listen while you binge is determined by the amount of functional alcoholics gathering. If it's only you and a few of your chums turning a video game into a hangover producer, then you can listen to whatever the fuck you want. Having a "rager", with dozens of people present? Get ready for the most monotonous and obnoxious mix of shitty pop remixes and bad rap songs the Billboard 100 could spew forth. Let's assume you have to hunt for a party and end up at some lair of frat douches, you are now stuck with Dave Matthew's Band and Mac Miller for the rest of the night. That sense of camaraderie with the other party goers that you had before, that's replaced with total disgust and loathing for the gaudy alcoholics who the house owners like a lot more than you. Parties are no longer fun, bars are too expensive, drinking becomes a guilt trip.
Working wasn't that bad either. Walking into the pizza hole, fresh face and ready to playfully flirt with your teenage coworkers while eventually doing the least amount of work possible that would please your cool boss! If you had a sterling sense of humor, not unlike myself, everyone loved you because you made a disgusting work hell a little bit more bearable. Cute as fuck, and you lived without even realizing that you could be fired. I kind of enjoyed work.
Now I'm 21, and work fucking blows. The chicks who I flirted with at work when I was a teenager are now getting pounded by jacked, genetically superior, athlete scumbags, and for some reason it's frowned upon for me to hit on the 16 year old chick at work. That sterling sense of humor has been weathered down to a cynical, biting wit that people only find humorous because you are completely fucking serious. That cool boss you had when you were younger? Yeah, they suck now. They're still managing a pizza place and living with the shitty decisions they made in high school that didn't really open up career options for themselves. So now these miserable managers start taking advantage of the employer-employee relationship and give you shit everytime you go to work, just because they can.
Relationships. Ahhh relationships. I remember being in love for the first time and how it probably feels similar to doing heroin for the first time. You know that life doesn't get any better than holding hands and looking into that beautiful piece of jailbait's eyes while knowing that you cannot live without this person in your life. You tossed around the word "love" like it's a comma and thought your friends were heartless when they scoffed at you professing your allegiance to this significant other. Love fucking ruled!
"Love" is now the most putrid word I can think of. If you managed to somehow stay in a relationship with the same person you fell in love with in high school, you more than likely hate their fucking guts. When I heard someone say they "love" me when I was a teen, my dick got hard and I started rubbing it on things. If someone said that to me now I'd I go into a state of panic similar to that of American's on 9/11. The idea of someone being in love at this age is a horrifying concept; your agonizing life is only getting started, don't bring someone you kinda care about into that with you. It's healthy and reasonable to love shit; people, video games, hockey fights, etc., but don't be IN love with shit. People not in love hate you, because we are now second fiddle to whatever you love. So stop.
Being a teenager ruled. Sure, I was really awkward and went through confusing stages in life, but I didn't have to worry about shit like health care or rent(mooching is a guilt trip though), and for most of my teen years my criminal record was written on a board with a dry erase marker until I was 18... and I failed to take advantage of it, no stolen cop cars for me. I could go on for hours about how much growing up blows, but I guess I'm just upset that I'm an adult now and have responsibilities that must be tended to. I'm turning into a grumpy old dick, and I've only just been allowed by the legal system to buy alcohol. Fucking save me.
Happy as ever,
JoeyG
Who else remembers when Jager and Miller Lite made for an awesome party? Throw on ...Is A Real Boy or whatever goofy ass shit you listened to back then, keep the partying at a minimum roar, just loud enough so that whoever's mom wouldn't come and yell at us. You had your tight crew of misfits and were supremely bummed when one of them couldn't make it to the weekly jamboree at your mom's house. You were having so much fun.
Fast forward six years. You are supremely pissed if the only shit you have to drink is Miller and Jager. Whatever music you want to listen while you binge is determined by the amount of functional alcoholics gathering. If it's only you and a few of your chums turning a video game into a hangover producer, then you can listen to whatever the fuck you want. Having a "rager", with dozens of people present? Get ready for the most monotonous and obnoxious mix of shitty pop remixes and bad rap songs the Billboard 100 could spew forth. Let's assume you have to hunt for a party and end up at some lair of frat douches, you are now stuck with Dave Matthew's Band and Mac Miller for the rest of the night. That sense of camaraderie with the other party goers that you had before, that's replaced with total disgust and loathing for the gaudy alcoholics who the house owners like a lot more than you. Parties are no longer fun, bars are too expensive, drinking becomes a guilt trip.
Working wasn't that bad either. Walking into the pizza hole, fresh face and ready to playfully flirt with your teenage coworkers while eventually doing the least amount of work possible that would please your cool boss! If you had a sterling sense of humor, not unlike myself, everyone loved you because you made a disgusting work hell a little bit more bearable. Cute as fuck, and you lived without even realizing that you could be fired. I kind of enjoyed work.
Now I'm 21, and work fucking blows. The chicks who I flirted with at work when I was a teenager are now getting pounded by jacked, genetically superior, athlete scumbags, and for some reason it's frowned upon for me to hit on the 16 year old chick at work. That sterling sense of humor has been weathered down to a cynical, biting wit that people only find humorous because you are completely fucking serious. That cool boss you had when you were younger? Yeah, they suck now. They're still managing a pizza place and living with the shitty decisions they made in high school that didn't really open up career options for themselves. So now these miserable managers start taking advantage of the employer-employee relationship and give you shit everytime you go to work, just because they can.
Relationships. Ahhh relationships. I remember being in love for the first time and how it probably feels similar to doing heroin for the first time. You know that life doesn't get any better than holding hands and looking into that beautiful piece of jailbait's eyes while knowing that you cannot live without this person in your life. You tossed around the word "love" like it's a comma and thought your friends were heartless when they scoffed at you professing your allegiance to this significant other. Love fucking ruled!
 |
| Barf. |
Being a teenager ruled. Sure, I was really awkward and went through confusing stages in life, but I didn't have to worry about shit like health care or rent(mooching is a guilt trip though), and for most of my teen years my criminal record was written on a board with a dry erase marker until I was 18... and I failed to take advantage of it, no stolen cop cars for me. I could go on for hours about how much growing up blows, but I guess I'm just upset that I'm an adult now and have responsibilities that must be tended to. I'm turning into a grumpy old dick, and I've only just been allowed by the legal system to buy alcohol. Fucking save me.
Happy as ever,
JoeyG
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Povich 4 Prez
In the spirit of Dress Up Like a Slut weekend, lets talk about other shit that I love!
I don't think I've ever met a person who didn't like Maury, and wasn't a complete and total douchebag. There's a sort of mystical allure that's present when you watch the dregs of society take some of the most embarrassing social issues that a person can find themselves in, and go on a TV show that thousands of people watch each day. I must also credit Jerry Springer and Steve Wilkos for having pretty entertaining shows in time slots that would be suicidal for most series's, but Springer brings a little too much deliberate humor in with his guests, and Wilkos is more often than not, depressing as fuck and a little unprofessional. Maury, however, has gotten me through more meaningless afternoons than I can even come close to putting a number on. Let's run through this a little bit...
If I ever have relationship problems, or any issues regarding a relationship I'm involved with, I may run it by my friends if it's not so serious. This would be general subject matter: denial of anal, hygiene problems, shitty relatives, etc. Very few people are privy to my ACTUAL problems, relationship ending fights and such. I get a little uneasy with the term "Facebook Official", because it's just a giant broadcast of your own stupid business that people you don't really give a shit about get to see. But you have something so embarrassing that Facebook hasn't even made it an official status yet? Good news, you can bypass Facebook Official, and go straight to fucking MAURY OFFICIAL.
Oh, your daughter is 14 years old and already gets laid more than me? Go on fucking Maury. Confident that your genes are superior and only capable of creating a perfectly healthy baby boy? Prove it on Maury, you fuck. You aren't 100% sure which burnout you had sex with 9 months ago? I fucking have a blog for that specific purpose! But go on Maury and your fucking life sorted out... and then kill the fucking kid. It's not fair that it has to be stuck with you (as if former Maury guests are reading this).
On the realest real note though, it has been my dream for a while to go up to Connecticut and see that glorious man in person. Can you possibly imagine people actually dispute their basic responsibilities as maternal/paternal figures, while you watch? You think you can? How about if one of them is a fucking black albino man? Yep, black albinos get more pussy than me.
I really, really love my entire family to death, but it would just be so fucking super if Maury Povich was an uncle or grandfather of mine. Holy fuck, Christmas would be fantastic. I could even hook up with the underage sluts on his show too! That's a world I want to live in. Underage sluts for everyone. Happy Halloween you sows.
Seeking bromance,
JoeyG
I don't think I've ever met a person who didn't like Maury, and wasn't a complete and total douchebag. There's a sort of mystical allure that's present when you watch the dregs of society take some of the most embarrassing social issues that a person can find themselves in, and go on a TV show that thousands of people watch each day. I must also credit Jerry Springer and Steve Wilkos for having pretty entertaining shows in time slots that would be suicidal for most series's, but Springer brings a little too much deliberate humor in with his guests, and Wilkos is more often than not, depressing as fuck and a little unprofessional. Maury, however, has gotten me through more meaningless afternoons than I can even come close to putting a number on. Let's run through this a little bit...
If I ever have relationship problems, or any issues regarding a relationship I'm involved with, I may run it by my friends if it's not so serious. This would be general subject matter: denial of anal, hygiene problems, shitty relatives, etc. Very few people are privy to my ACTUAL problems, relationship ending fights and such. I get a little uneasy with the term "Facebook Official", because it's just a giant broadcast of your own stupid business that people you don't really give a shit about get to see. But you have something so embarrassing that Facebook hasn't even made it an official status yet? Good news, you can bypass Facebook Official, and go straight to fucking MAURY OFFICIAL.
Oh, your daughter is 14 years old and already gets laid more than me? Go on fucking Maury. Confident that your genes are superior and only capable of creating a perfectly healthy baby boy? Prove it on Maury, you fuck. You aren't 100% sure which burnout you had sex with 9 months ago? I fucking have a blog for that specific purpose! But go on Maury and your fucking life sorted out... and then kill the fucking kid. It's not fair that it has to be stuck with you (as if former Maury guests are reading this).
On the realest real note though, it has been my dream for a while to go up to Connecticut and see that glorious man in person. Can you possibly imagine people actually dispute their basic responsibilities as maternal/paternal figures, while you watch? You think you can? How about if one of them is a fucking black albino man? Yep, black albinos get more pussy than me.
 | |
| Does he have down syndrome too? Unreal. |
I really, really love my entire family to death, but it would just be so fucking super if Maury Povich was an uncle or grandfather of mine. Holy fuck, Christmas would be fantastic. I could even hook up with the underage sluts on his show too! That's a world I want to live in. Underage sluts for everyone. Happy Halloween you sows.
Seeking bromance,
JoeyG
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