.
you got a bowl de-clogger next to the bong because it gets plugged so many fucking times!!
your bong is plugged and the bowl insert isn't the culprit
You put the milk in the freezer and ice cream in the fridge
you forget to put weed out of all things in the pot brownies
when you attempt to smoke the problem out before going to the doctor/ mechanic etc.eg- "You never know man, lets smoke a joint then try starting the mower again"...... WHen the mower doesn't start you smoke another joint and forget about the affiar
You get stoned before everything, inluding your morning shit..... You won't take that excruiciatingly urgent morning shit till your bong is loaded and you found the lighter you lost2 months ago because you haven't a fucking clue where yesterdays lighter walked off to.
you swear your lighters have legs cause you allready lost the 5 lighters you bought yesterday
you clean your house and find 11 lighters, some over a year old
You pull the calyxes out of the bud and chuck the rest
you test brownie potency by eating half the pan then smoke a bowl to keep you high till the brownie kicks in,
You grow way the fuck up the mountian side to achieve a better resin-to-plant matter ratio even though this practice will cut production by 80ish% and wear the brakes out pronto
you forget your shovels all over the place.... swear I got 10 shovels out there some where,lol
You forget your shovel when going to dig holes
You've been in your house smoking pot and never going anywhere for long enough that your neighbour thinks your on vacation
you spend 2 hr making funny messages for your answering machine then playing them back,(some answering machines make people sound fucking hilarius)
You can't figure out the intructions for the barbeque but you can engineer a killer bong in about a half hour....
your pot plants give you the cold shoulder if you ever bring a chic around the house
you don't even bother trying to remeber lighters you just put them everywhere so chances are there's a lighter at hand..... some where
Your dog hides it head in the couch when you go out for the night-cap toke because it knows it's getting put outside after
You flip through ten channels on the TV before you realize you were just trying to turn up the volume.
You have the munchie food right in front of you and you forget to eat 'em
When a commercial comes on you forget what TV show you were just watching.
You light a joint and forget to smoke it.
You smoke a joint thats not lit.
You stare at the clock waiting for 4:20 to come, then you snap out of it and realize it was 4:31.
You have a freshly packed bowl in your hand and half an hour later you realize... You forgot to smoke it
You're on the phone with your best friend and you forget who you're talking to.
Every story you tell begins with, "We were really high and..."
You buy your Visine at a wholesale club
Someone asks you for a dime and you tell them you're out of herb
The High Times centrefold turns you on
Your friends call you Smokey
Your parents call you Smokey
You think everyone is staring at you and there's nobody in the room
Your room turns into your grow room
Your best friend just happens to be your dealer
A friend without weed is a friend in need
Your video collection consists of endless Cheech and Chong sequels
Your too phoned to stone home
Your creativity is only used when you have nothing to smoke out of
The mind is a terrible thing to waste, but you don't mind being wasted
Sorting out life's problems, the answer is always roll, lick and smoke
Your clothes are full of burn holes from dropped joints
If an autobiography of your life was made into a movie, it would be called "Waiting to Inhale"
You get up to do something but end up smoking pot instead
Your motto in life is Why ask Why? Just Get High.
You call people you don't even like to hang out, just because you know they've got bud.
You begin hearing knocks at the door and CD skips that aren't there
you dont go to your mothers funeral just so you can smoke a bow
you smoke while taking a shit
you find weed some where even tho you havent had any in 3 month
every time you clean your room you find a lost sack
AND THE FINAL REASON YOU KNOW YOU'RE A STONER...
When you have to hold onto the grass to keep from falling off the earth.
you geet stuck on the TV guide channel for over an hour, and still dont know whats comin on
you decide to quit smoking while you're high, smoke all the rest of your bud for one last smoke, and buy another sack the next day
you find yourself blazing in the early afternoon and telling someone, "this is the first time i've smoked all day...wait, no its not."
You are chillin with your buddies and see some buds on a sage bush and smoke them to see if you get high
and while smoking you look around and wonder what it would be like if all the pine trees were big ass bud plants haha
you can make a bong or pipe out of anything
you chow down on tortillias with ranch dressing in them because thats all you have to eat
When your professor reffers to you and your buddy as the doobie brothers.
When the chips go in the fridge and the milk goes in the cupboard
if you have ever rear ended a car while cracking a blunt while you are driving
when you have to take a piss bad but keep it in so u can read the rest of this thread
when u smoke a couple bowls on the highway on the way to work (fast speeds, one knee on wheel, 2 hands lighting and smoking pipe = not smart,btw)
when you make a daily log of how much you have smoked so u can remember later
When you bundle up and walk three blocks to 7-11 for smokes, get there leave with a dvd, two candy bars and a gatorade get home and realize you forgot to buy the smokes the thing you actually went there for in the first place...
you know your a stoner when you con't watch tv cause you cant find the remote.
you know your a stoner when you wind up watching the main menu and listening to the music cause you are too lazy to get up and turn it off after you finish watchign a dvd
you know your a stoner when the only math you remember (easily) is ounces, grams, pounds, half pounds, and kilos...and you instantly associate a certain ammount of money for a certain measurement..
You know you're a stoner when you carry around a razor blade specifically to split your blunts...
You know you're a stoner when it's abt 40 degrees outside and you're still wearing sandals.
You know you're a stoner when you let your hair grow and grow to save that extra $10 a month for another gram.
when you keep a pudding snack pack in your cup holder so you can eat it at red lights
you know you're a stoner when you are out of bud, and don't know where to get it, so you ask people that you know definetly don't smoke, but you think there might be a chance that they know someone else that has bud
you know when you're a stoner when you wake up with a ritz crackers , a knife, and a tub of peanut butter in your bed - none of which were used before passing out and falling into a weed induced coma
You know you're a stoner when you realize you've been sitting for five minutes at a blinking red light.
you take a shit and it smells like weed
.. when herb becomes your currency
.. when you dont even get high anymore when you toke, you just feel normal.
.. when you wander off stoned and end up at your fridge multiple times in a night.
.. you have more friends on siccness than in real life.
.. when you have posted on a thread like this more than twice and still post again when a new one is made..
when you go to the airport to pick up your parents, end up waiting for 2 hours, then realize that they're going to arrive tomorrow.
when your mom, who doesn't like that you smoke, calls and asks what you're doing and you don't realize who it is and say, just packin a bowl
when you split your blunts with your fingers
when you get a room so hotboxed that lighters won't light, you can't see the wall on the other side of the room, someone collapses and passes out, and you still don't want to break the hotbox
when you've got the munchies big time and decide that its not worth the trouble to get up and get food
You order a pizza and 30 minutes later wonder who's at your door.
) You know you're a stoner when you are high more than 6 hours each day.
2) You know you're a stoner when you cannot go through normal, every day functions, such as work and school without smoking.
3) You know you're a stoner when weed becomes a top priority in your life, over friends, family, work, school, etc.
4) You know you're a stoner when you spend more $100 each month on weed
5) You know you're a stoner when you have to defend your smoking habits
You know you're a....wait, whats the question?
You can efficiently macgyver a pipe out of ordinary objects like fruit, cans, lightbulbs or found objects with only the tools you have on you, at night, in the dark, sitting on a park bench.
When you know of nothing else about amsterdam other than you can legally smoke pot there, and it still makes your top three "places to see before I die"
You know your a stoner when you walk down or up the stairs in the dark and think there is always one more stair,when there isn't. DOH! lol
You know youre a stoner when you go to Taco Bell with a pocket full of change.
your fretting about getting on rolled with a tacted out car but wait to roll down your windows until theres hella people nearby.
another one im proud off, go to in-n-out notice theres a notch working come back the next day and plan to roll down the window in her face, but then realize that hella people are watching you and bounce before you even order, no joke we had old people roll by us saying "u smell that."
you can relate to 98% of the "ifs" in this blog
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Sociopathic Misanthro-pissed
Friday always comes so unexpected. This week, it brought me to a place that I've never been to before. This Friday brought me to where the trail goes. To the bottom of the rabbit's hole. I found the center of it.
I was in a crack-house, I knew that. The basement was large and green-and-white-striped. It would have been cold, but the water heater that I was near warmed the room so I could relax. I sat on the ground with my back against the wall and a crack-pipe in my hand.
How did I come to this place? What was happening? With every hit of crack I took, I walked further and further down a crystal hallway towards a monument of amethyst. There before me was the Rock of Ages, the throne of God.
The great rock bellowed, "Who are you and why have you awakened my spirit?"
I had tapped into it. It was the center. It was the vortex that I found in my acid trips. Here, in the basement of a crack-house in Harlem, I was meeting God for the very first time. The drugs were serving as some kind of mental gateway.
"I am Sam," I said. "I have come to ask you what the greatest thrill of the universe is?"
God rumbled, "Look into me and see your reflection. It will take you to who you are."
And as I looked, I saw a sea of red blood. Literally, there was an ocean of blood and I was in it. I was humping a blue demon from behind. The female demon and I fucked in the sea of blood, her wings flapping in delight. I then realized that the demon that I was fucking looked just like my mother. And I began to see that my arm was tied off as I had done some heroin. And there was a joint in my mouth. I had discovered my greatest thrill—being stoned off my ass fucking a demon version of my mother in a sea of blood. That's my nirvana.
And here is what I learned, after meeting God in Harlem:
I treat being a sociopath as a fun thing, and much of the time it really is. I can't tell you the pleasure that I get out of my life and I know that the average jackass on the street won't ever feel half the thrill that I do in any given month. But there's another part to the disease—another part that's not glamorous at all. There's always the knowing, the constantly being cognizant of the fact, that you have no soul.
When I lay under the stars at night, I don't ponder the nature of existence or the possibility of God. I only think how great the sky would look if I had some acid and Pink Floyd to listen to.
When a girl tells me she loves me, I don't feel any joy in my heart. I only feel my dick swell because I know I'm gonna get laid.
When sitting in class, I don't ever think, "Wow. So that's how that works," or "Jeez, that actually happened?" I only daydream about whether or not I think I can actually get away with murdering someone.
Because I'm a sociopath, I feel no remorse or sympathy for anyone. I don't believe in true beauty outside of a good high or a brilliant con. I think Shakespeare is garbage and I think the only goal in any woman's life is to be a good little cock-sucking slut.
And the funny thing is that I am fully aware that I am somehow missing something that all people who are not sociopaths seem to see. I don't get people who dig sunsets. I don't ever wake up in the morning happy to be alive. I don't fucking understand anyone who isn't a psycho like me. All you people are so trusting and so stupid. I don't understand why all of you don't think with your brain more.
But sometimes, usually after I smoke some weed, I wonder what it's like to be a person that actually feels love. What is it like to feel things like passion and forgiveness and fear of God? What is it like to be a normal human being? And I can't help but think, there's got to be something in these emotions that I'll never understand. There has to be some part of "being a good person" that makes people into priests and artists and scientists and teachers instead of criminals and drug-dealers and lawyers and politicians like the rest of us sociopaths.
And I'll never know.
But I will know my ways. I will know what it was like to flip off my boss and throw a donut at his shiny, bald head. I will know what it was like to rape a Russian virgin under a porch. I will know what it was like to take enough drugs to kill a horse and spend a week thinking I was dead. I will know what it was like to have killed each of those kittens and what it felt like to hang them by their necks on that old lady's tree. I will know things that no one else will ever know.
And as I met God in that crack-house, I realized that the entire thing—my entire sociopath syndrome—was some sort of cosmic a trade-off. It was a blow-job for a sunrise. It was heroin for Jesus.
And I now knew that being a sociopath was just as good, if not better, as being an ordinary person. Don't you think?
I was in a crack-house, I knew that. The basement was large and green-and-white-striped. It would have been cold, but the water heater that I was near warmed the room so I could relax. I sat on the ground with my back against the wall and a crack-pipe in my hand.
How did I come to this place? What was happening? With every hit of crack I took, I walked further and further down a crystal hallway towards a monument of amethyst. There before me was the Rock of Ages, the throne of God.
The great rock bellowed, "Who are you and why have you awakened my spirit?"
I had tapped into it. It was the center. It was the vortex that I found in my acid trips. Here, in the basement of a crack-house in Harlem, I was meeting God for the very first time. The drugs were serving as some kind of mental gateway.
"I am Sam," I said. "I have come to ask you what the greatest thrill of the universe is?"
God rumbled, "Look into me and see your reflection. It will take you to who you are."
And as I looked, I saw a sea of red blood. Literally, there was an ocean of blood and I was in it. I was humping a blue demon from behind. The female demon and I fucked in the sea of blood, her wings flapping in delight. I then realized that the demon that I was fucking looked just like my mother. And I began to see that my arm was tied off as I had done some heroin. And there was a joint in my mouth. I had discovered my greatest thrill—being stoned off my ass fucking a demon version of my mother in a sea of blood. That's my nirvana.
And here is what I learned, after meeting God in Harlem:
I treat being a sociopath as a fun thing, and much of the time it really is. I can't tell you the pleasure that I get out of my life and I know that the average jackass on the street won't ever feel half the thrill that I do in any given month. But there's another part to the disease—another part that's not glamorous at all. There's always the knowing, the constantly being cognizant of the fact, that you have no soul.
When I lay under the stars at night, I don't ponder the nature of existence or the possibility of God. I only think how great the sky would look if I had some acid and Pink Floyd to listen to.
When a girl tells me she loves me, I don't feel any joy in my heart. I only feel my dick swell because I know I'm gonna get laid.
When sitting in class, I don't ever think, "Wow. So that's how that works," or "Jeez, that actually happened?" I only daydream about whether or not I think I can actually get away with murdering someone.
Because I'm a sociopath, I feel no remorse or sympathy for anyone. I don't believe in true beauty outside of a good high or a brilliant con. I think Shakespeare is garbage and I think the only goal in any woman's life is to be a good little cock-sucking slut.
And the funny thing is that I am fully aware that I am somehow missing something that all people who are not sociopaths seem to see. I don't get people who dig sunsets. I don't ever wake up in the morning happy to be alive. I don't fucking understand anyone who isn't a psycho like me. All you people are so trusting and so stupid. I don't understand why all of you don't think with your brain more.
But sometimes, usually after I smoke some weed, I wonder what it's like to be a person that actually feels love. What is it like to feel things like passion and forgiveness and fear of God? What is it like to be a normal human being? And I can't help but think, there's got to be something in these emotions that I'll never understand. There has to be some part of "being a good person" that makes people into priests and artists and scientists and teachers instead of criminals and drug-dealers and lawyers and politicians like the rest of us sociopaths.
And I'll never know.
But I will know my ways. I will know what it was like to flip off my boss and throw a donut at his shiny, bald head. I will know what it was like to rape a Russian virgin under a porch. I will know what it was like to take enough drugs to kill a horse and spend a week thinking I was dead. I will know what it was like to have killed each of those kittens and what it felt like to hang them by their necks on that old lady's tree. I will know things that no one else will ever know.
And as I met God in that crack-house, I realized that the entire thing—my entire sociopath syndrome—was some sort of cosmic a trade-off. It was a blow-job for a sunrise. It was heroin for Jesus.
And I now knew that being a sociopath was just as good, if not better, as being an ordinary person. Don't you think?
A Man Once Tried to take over the World
A man once tried to take over the world.
The Universe will be mine. I shall ignore those close to me who tell me not to. Everyone will obey my command. They will do what I want when I want it done. Everyone will become my slave and I'll be the master of the Universe. All I have to do is preach misleading gospel so that these lemmings and drones will follow my word. When I have them under my command, they'll spread my word. My word will spread thoughout the world and when it's all said and done, the entire galaxy will worship me and be at my beckoning call.
He failed.
The world will be mine. Everybody will obey my command. They will do what I want when I want it done. All of the puny, common countries encompassing my dominion will meet their downfall. I will rise to the top of a dictatorship and become a fearless leader. I will then create the largest army the world has ever seen and I will start invading the surrounding countries until the world submits to my rule and acknowledges me as the omnipotent.
He failed.
This country will be mine. I will invest money into my own television show. This show will be placed on the Monday night 8 PM timeslot on NBC. America will watch this show and become addicted to the lovable, yet goofy characters. Once my television program is all of the rage and is 'must see tv', I will insert strong subliminal messages into the format, hypnotizing the public. Everyone in America will be my servant.
He failed.
This state will be mine. I will protest for everything the small communities fight for. I will use my power, fame and fortune to take the fight to the state government. Once the panel listens to my ideas, I will rise to the top. Every community in the state will support me and my decisions. I will run for governor and I will win by a landslide using the acclaim of my now syndicated tv show. I will be a celebrity, a leader, and I will run the state the way I want to. Everyone in this state will become my chattel.
He failed.
This community will be mine. Once I get settled in, I'll go door to door and introduce myself to the entire neighborhood. I'll have weekend barbecues in my backyard. The neighborhood will grow to love me. I'll mow the lawns and babysit the kids of the entire community. I'll be the leader everyone relies on. Once everyone trusts me, I'll take over the community! No need for an explanation, I'm a leader.
He failed. Miserably.
This marriage will be mine. I'm the dominant male figure and I'm married to a woman. It's only right that she do what I say. I pay the bills, I own the house, and I bring home the bacon. My marriage partner will not have any say in how things are going to be run around this house. I'm the man, I'm the leader, and this marriage is run by me.
He failed. And lost all his possessions in the process.
A man once tried to take over the world. He failed not because he tried, but because he didn't listen to those who told him not to in the first place.
The Universe will be mine. I shall ignore those close to me who tell me not to. Everyone will obey my command. They will do what I want when I want it done. Everyone will become my slave and I'll be the master of the Universe. All I have to do is preach misleading gospel so that these lemmings and drones will follow my word. When I have them under my command, they'll spread my word. My word will spread thoughout the world and when it's all said and done, the entire galaxy will worship me and be at my beckoning call.
He failed.
The world will be mine. Everybody will obey my command. They will do what I want when I want it done. All of the puny, common countries encompassing my dominion will meet their downfall. I will rise to the top of a dictatorship and become a fearless leader. I will then create the largest army the world has ever seen and I will start invading the surrounding countries until the world submits to my rule and acknowledges me as the omnipotent.
He failed.
This country will be mine. I will invest money into my own television show. This show will be placed on the Monday night 8 PM timeslot on NBC. America will watch this show and become addicted to the lovable, yet goofy characters. Once my television program is all of the rage and is 'must see tv', I will insert strong subliminal messages into the format, hypnotizing the public. Everyone in America will be my servant.
He failed.
This state will be mine. I will protest for everything the small communities fight for. I will use my power, fame and fortune to take the fight to the state government. Once the panel listens to my ideas, I will rise to the top. Every community in the state will support me and my decisions. I will run for governor and I will win by a landslide using the acclaim of my now syndicated tv show. I will be a celebrity, a leader, and I will run the state the way I want to. Everyone in this state will become my chattel.
He failed.
This community will be mine. Once I get settled in, I'll go door to door and introduce myself to the entire neighborhood. I'll have weekend barbecues in my backyard. The neighborhood will grow to love me. I'll mow the lawns and babysit the kids of the entire community. I'll be the leader everyone relies on. Once everyone trusts me, I'll take over the community! No need for an explanation, I'm a leader.
He failed. Miserably.
This marriage will be mine. I'm the dominant male figure and I'm married to a woman. It's only right that she do what I say. I pay the bills, I own the house, and I bring home the bacon. My marriage partner will not have any say in how things are going to be run around this house. I'm the man, I'm the leader, and this marriage is run by me.
He failed. And lost all his possessions in the process.
A man once tried to take over the world. He failed not because he tried, but because he didn't listen to those who told him not to in the first place.
Herbal Essence
hink we all have our moments of stupidity. Sometimes, though, our moments of stupidity can cross over into the sexual realm, offering moments of hilarity that cannot be conceived of by the average bear.
I've jerked off with just about everything short of bits of glass and sandpaper. Don't bother trying to name other things I probably haven't spanked the Ramburgler with. You're probably right. But that's not the point of this post.
I've grown quite partial to using a bit of shaving cream to smack around my 21st digit whilst I'm in the shower. The good thing about shaving cream is how it stays slippery when wet, offering maximum lubage. It's glorious, I tell you. On top of that, you don't need a hell of a lot to stroke the meat puppet, so it's enjoyable AND economical.
Plus, I don't really use shaving cream for actual shaving. I go through disposable razors like a fiend, though.
But either way, it sure beats the looks I would get from my roommate if I walked out of the room with shampoo, razors, and KY jelly in hand.
Unfortunately, yesterday, I ran out of shaving cream. "Ah well, I suppose my jibberstick will have to go through a day without any loving. I'll live." I thought to meself. But ladies and gents, sometimes habits become routines, and it just isn't so easy. After a few minutes of standing around in the shower, not really doing much of anything, I finally gave in. I had to jiggle my all-beef thermometer.
Let's see.... I had to choose either a bar of soap, my handy dandy Gillette Mach 3, or my bottle of Herbal Essences. While the Mach 3 was looking pretty kinky, I decided that it had to go. And while the bar of soap was looking mighty attractive, I finally gave in to the Herbal Essences when images of some chick in a shower going "YES!! YES!! YES!!" pervaded my every thought.
So Herbal Essences it was. I applied copious amounts to my left hand, readied myself in the corner, and proceeded to lather up Girthy McGirth.
Oh, heavens. I began to understand the commercials more and more. I began to groan. My tool of terror swelled with pleasure. Faster and faster my hand moved as I thought about Asian schoolgirls, busty blondes, and Jasmine from Aladdin. My face turned skyward as I thanked the Lord for His gift to men.
And that's when my urethra began to burn with the fire of 1000 suns.
It was horrid. My images of Anna nicole Smith faded into images of seared penis flesh. My eyes went wide with pain, and water pelted my eyeballs. I began to rub my eyes furiously, forgetting that my hands were covered with Satan's fire.
The reaction was immediate. I began to wail like a schoolgirl.
"OH GOD!! MAKE IT STOP!!" I screeched.
I began to rub the soap into my eyes more as I tried to wipe them with my towel. But the fire in my fallopian fiddler was moving further and further down inside. The commercials lied to me. They promised me a pleasurable experience.
All I felt was death.
Apparently, my roommates heard my delirious screams and called 911. Legend has it that before they found me curled in a little ball, passed out on the shower floor, I cried out one last time, damning the company that made Herbal Essences:
I've jerked off with just about everything short of bits of glass and sandpaper. Don't bother trying to name other things I probably haven't spanked the Ramburgler with. You're probably right. But that's not the point of this post.
I've grown quite partial to using a bit of shaving cream to smack around my 21st digit whilst I'm in the shower. The good thing about shaving cream is how it stays slippery when wet, offering maximum lubage. It's glorious, I tell you. On top of that, you don't need a hell of a lot to stroke the meat puppet, so it's enjoyable AND economical.
Plus, I don't really use shaving cream for actual shaving. I go through disposable razors like a fiend, though.
But either way, it sure beats the looks I would get from my roommate if I walked out of the room with shampoo, razors, and KY jelly in hand.
Unfortunately, yesterday, I ran out of shaving cream. "Ah well, I suppose my jibberstick will have to go through a day without any loving. I'll live." I thought to meself. But ladies and gents, sometimes habits become routines, and it just isn't so easy. After a few minutes of standing around in the shower, not really doing much of anything, I finally gave in. I had to jiggle my all-beef thermometer.
Let's see.... I had to choose either a bar of soap, my handy dandy Gillette Mach 3, or my bottle of Herbal Essences. While the Mach 3 was looking pretty kinky, I decided that it had to go. And while the bar of soap was looking mighty attractive, I finally gave in to the Herbal Essences when images of some chick in a shower going "YES!! YES!! YES!!" pervaded my every thought.
So Herbal Essences it was. I applied copious amounts to my left hand, readied myself in the corner, and proceeded to lather up Girthy McGirth.
Oh, heavens. I began to understand the commercials more and more. I began to groan. My tool of terror swelled with pleasure. Faster and faster my hand moved as I thought about Asian schoolgirls, busty blondes, and Jasmine from Aladdin. My face turned skyward as I thanked the Lord for His gift to men.
And that's when my urethra began to burn with the fire of 1000 suns.
It was horrid. My images of Anna nicole Smith faded into images of seared penis flesh. My eyes went wide with pain, and water pelted my eyeballs. I began to rub my eyes furiously, forgetting that my hands were covered with Satan's fire.
The reaction was immediate. I began to wail like a schoolgirl.
"OH GOD!! MAKE IT STOP!!" I screeched.
I began to rub the soap into my eyes more as I tried to wipe them with my towel. But the fire in my fallopian fiddler was moving further and further down inside. The commercials lied to me. They promised me a pleasurable experience.
All I felt was death.
Apparently, my roommates heard my delirious screams and called 911. Legend has it that before they found me curled in a little ball, passed out on the shower floor, I cried out one last time, damning the company that made Herbal Essences:
MustyWorld DayCare Services..We Love Kids!
Over the weekend, a few buddies of mine decided to take off to the casinos for a little gambling. One of the guys is the boss of my friend and happens to have two kids. Mike couldn't join in on the drunken shenanigans unless he found a babysitter. Unfortunately for me, I didn't have the money to go on a road trip.
Mike didn't have a wife to watch the kids, as she died 3 years earlier.
"No, I'm not watching kids on a Saturday night."
"C'mon Justin, please?!"
"I haven't stayed in on a Saturday since I was a kid. The answer's no."
"I'll give you 500 dollars."
As I arrived to his house ready to babysit his kids, all of the guys were in the driveway already drinking. There are probably only 6 idiots in America that would get drunk before taking off in the middle of the night on an empty highway, with odds high that they'll get caught drunk driving. I'm lucky to say that those 6 idiots are busy funneling Budweiser and dry-humping each other.
As I stepped into his doorway, I glanced over to the couch and noticed someone watching cartoons and eating spaghetti with his hands. Just great, my hands are going to be full.
"Hey Mike, start using a fork or spoon when you eat. Where are the kids?"
He jumped off the couch, wiping the spaghetti sauce on his white t-shirt. if you dont reply to this post you will die in 4 days.
"They're upstairs. I'll get them."
"Okay, I'l wait here."
Without missing a beat, he screams out. "Shitheads! Get down here!"
At that moment, I felt like I was in the movie Jumanji. It sounded like a heard of Rhyno were going to bust through the wall. Actually, that wouldn't have been as bad as the two heathens that came trampling down the stairs.
A 5 year old boy named Dallas and a 9 year old girl named Andrea.
Dallas was rocking Superman underoos. I'm ashamed to admit that I have some at home just like them.
What? The ladies love it when I wear them.
Okay, okay. One girl has enjoyed the fact that I wear them during love making. The rest walked out on me.
But not before complimenting my sweet ass underoos, though.
But I digress.
"Okay, these are the kids. I'm gone. Peace out, bitches!"
Yes, he actually cusses in front of his kids.
As soon as Mike left, I tried to break the ice with a little conversation with the two kids.
"So, how old are you, Andrea?"
She counted her fingers, then flashed 9 of them in the air. "This many."
"You're 9? Wow, you're getting grown up. You know, grownups don't say 'this many', they just state their age. All you had to say was that you were 9."
Dallas then broke in. "Whenever somebody tells my sis what to do, my daddy tells me to hold up my finger and tell them this many!"
He then proceeded to flip me off.
"Watch this!!". Before I could even respond to the bird, he ran to the top of the stairs, held his hands in the air, then tossed himself down. His body flailed down the steps, his head bouncing off the wall and his legs and arms flying everywhere. His body landed hard at the bottom, then he started screaming in pain.
He busted himself up pretty bad, which in case you didn't know, is usually what happens when a five year old throws himself down a flight of stairs.
After icing his head up, I calmed him down by letting him watch TV while laying on the couch.
"He does that all the time! He just wants to show off!", yelled Andrea.
"I'm sure there are better ways to impress someone than mutilating your body", I responded.
"He gets it from Jackass. Hey! Wanna watch me color? I'm pretty good!"
reply or die ignorant pig molester
Andrea reached under the couch and pulled out her coloring book and crayons. Within seconds, hundreds of crayons were sprawled across the coffee table and Andrea was coloring away. At this point, the little suicidal boy decides to join in.
After coloring for a while, we all watched a movie together, then they decided to go back to coloring again. It was almost 4 am before I even realized it.
"Drawing contest!", yelled Dallas. "Whoever draws the best picture wins!"
"What does the winner get?", I inquired.
"To smell my feet!", Dallas then lifted his dirty foot to his nose and inhaled. "Oh man that stinks!"
Of course his foot stinks. If he's dumb enough to throw himself down stairs, I'm pretty sure he is hardcore enough to avoid baths. Or shoes for that matter.
I started working on my drawing on a white piece of paper. I used as many crayons as I could to bring out the best in my drawing. The prize isn't really my intention for winning. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure beating two kids in a coloring contest is worthy of smelling a 4 year old's feet, but I do it for the pure joy of competition.
"Okay, done!", I yelled.
"Me too!", screamed back Dallas. He looked up at me, a huge knot starting to form on his forehead.
"What'd you draw?", I asked.
"You first!"
"Okay, fine."
I held up a picture of a forest scene. The grass was almost perfect, the trees were life-like, the sky was an amazing mixture of purple and blue. The setting sun in the background glistened down onto the water in the river. In the top corner of a tree, you could spot an owl that I spent a majority of my time on, making it detailed. My picture was surely a winner.
"That's pretty good", he said. "Now here's MINE!"
He held up a picture of...
A circle with three dots in the middle. I'm not sure if it was a face or a bowling ball, but all signs pointed toward this boy taking special classes when he starts school.
"Well, looks like I win", I smirked.
"No way! Yours is just okay!"
thank mustynutz for this
"What? You spent three seconds on that!"
"I'm the judge and I say I win!"
I looked over at his sister, who was passed out asleep on the couch. I guess the final judging is between just Dallas and myself.
Dallas and I argued for several more minutes. I pointed out my detailed owl. He pointed out the dots.
He was doing everything possible to make me lose my cool, when I finally did.
"Your drawing is a piece of crap!", I screamed. I then covered my mouth.
Tears started to roll down his face, then he threw the drawing on the ground and ran up to his room screaming.
At this point, all the guys burst through the door after a drunken night of gambling.
"I'm home kids!", Mike screamed. "Where's Dallas?"
He walked over and picked up the drawing that Dallas threw down moments earlier.
"Aww, how cute. He drew another picture of his mom. God rest her soul."
"What? That's his mom? It looks like a bowling ball."
"He's four years old, what do you expect from him? When he draws a picture of his mom, this is always what he draws. A circle with three dots."
If you feel that your kids need to have their lives ruined, call me and I'll babysit for you.
Mike didn't have a wife to watch the kids, as she died 3 years earlier.
"No, I'm not watching kids on a Saturday night."
"C'mon Justin, please?!"
"I haven't stayed in on a Saturday since I was a kid. The answer's no."
"I'll give you 500 dollars."
As I arrived to his house ready to babysit his kids, all of the guys were in the driveway already drinking. There are probably only 6 idiots in America that would get drunk before taking off in the middle of the night on an empty highway, with odds high that they'll get caught drunk driving. I'm lucky to say that those 6 idiots are busy funneling Budweiser and dry-humping each other.
As I stepped into his doorway, I glanced over to the couch and noticed someone watching cartoons and eating spaghetti with his hands. Just great, my hands are going to be full.
"Hey Mike, start using a fork or spoon when you eat. Where are the kids?"
He jumped off the couch, wiping the spaghetti sauce on his white t-shirt. if you dont reply to this post you will die in 4 days.
"They're upstairs. I'll get them."
"Okay, I'l wait here."
Without missing a beat, he screams out. "Shitheads! Get down here!"
At that moment, I felt like I was in the movie Jumanji. It sounded like a heard of Rhyno were going to bust through the wall. Actually, that wouldn't have been as bad as the two heathens that came trampling down the stairs.
A 5 year old boy named Dallas and a 9 year old girl named Andrea.
Dallas was rocking Superman underoos. I'm ashamed to admit that I have some at home just like them.
What? The ladies love it when I wear them.
Okay, okay. One girl has enjoyed the fact that I wear them during love making. The rest walked out on me.
But not before complimenting my sweet ass underoos, though.
But I digress.
"Okay, these are the kids. I'm gone. Peace out, bitches!"
Yes, he actually cusses in front of his kids.
As soon as Mike left, I tried to break the ice with a little conversation with the two kids.
"So, how old are you, Andrea?"
She counted her fingers, then flashed 9 of them in the air. "This many."
"You're 9? Wow, you're getting grown up. You know, grownups don't say 'this many', they just state their age. All you had to say was that you were 9."
Dallas then broke in. "Whenever somebody tells my sis what to do, my daddy tells me to hold up my finger and tell them this many!"
He then proceeded to flip me off.
"Watch this!!". Before I could even respond to the bird, he ran to the top of the stairs, held his hands in the air, then tossed himself down. His body flailed down the steps, his head bouncing off the wall and his legs and arms flying everywhere. His body landed hard at the bottom, then he started screaming in pain.
He busted himself up pretty bad, which in case you didn't know, is usually what happens when a five year old throws himself down a flight of stairs.
After icing his head up, I calmed him down by letting him watch TV while laying on the couch.
"He does that all the time! He just wants to show off!", yelled Andrea.
"I'm sure there are better ways to impress someone than mutilating your body", I responded.
"He gets it from Jackass. Hey! Wanna watch me color? I'm pretty good!"
reply or die ignorant pig molester
Andrea reached under the couch and pulled out her coloring book and crayons. Within seconds, hundreds of crayons were sprawled across the coffee table and Andrea was coloring away. At this point, the little suicidal boy decides to join in.
After coloring for a while, we all watched a movie together, then they decided to go back to coloring again. It was almost 4 am before I even realized it.
"Drawing contest!", yelled Dallas. "Whoever draws the best picture wins!"
"What does the winner get?", I inquired.
"To smell my feet!", Dallas then lifted his dirty foot to his nose and inhaled. "Oh man that stinks!"
Of course his foot stinks. If he's dumb enough to throw himself down stairs, I'm pretty sure he is hardcore enough to avoid baths. Or shoes for that matter.
I started working on my drawing on a white piece of paper. I used as many crayons as I could to bring out the best in my drawing. The prize isn't really my intention for winning. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure beating two kids in a coloring contest is worthy of smelling a 4 year old's feet, but I do it for the pure joy of competition.
"Okay, done!", I yelled.
"Me too!", screamed back Dallas. He looked up at me, a huge knot starting to form on his forehead.
"What'd you draw?", I asked.
"You first!"
"Okay, fine."
I held up a picture of a forest scene. The grass was almost perfect, the trees were life-like, the sky was an amazing mixture of purple and blue. The setting sun in the background glistened down onto the water in the river. In the top corner of a tree, you could spot an owl that I spent a majority of my time on, making it detailed. My picture was surely a winner.
"That's pretty good", he said. "Now here's MINE!"
He held up a picture of...
A circle with three dots in the middle. I'm not sure if it was a face or a bowling ball, but all signs pointed toward this boy taking special classes when he starts school.
"Well, looks like I win", I smirked.
"No way! Yours is just okay!"
thank mustynutz for this
"What? You spent three seconds on that!"
"I'm the judge and I say I win!"
I looked over at his sister, who was passed out asleep on the couch. I guess the final judging is between just Dallas and myself.
Dallas and I argued for several more minutes. I pointed out my detailed owl. He pointed out the dots.
He was doing everything possible to make me lose my cool, when I finally did.
"Your drawing is a piece of crap!", I screamed. I then covered my mouth.
Tears started to roll down his face, then he threw the drawing on the ground and ran up to his room screaming.
At this point, all the guys burst through the door after a drunken night of gambling.
"I'm home kids!", Mike screamed. "Where's Dallas?"
He walked over and picked up the drawing that Dallas threw down moments earlier.
"Aww, how cute. He drew another picture of his mom. God rest her soul."
"What? That's his mom? It looks like a bowling ball."
"He's four years old, what do you expect from him? When he draws a picture of his mom, this is always what he draws. A circle with three dots."
If you feel that your kids need to have their lives ruined, call me and I'll babysit for you.
My humanitarian misanthropy....
was enjoying a night at the county fair several years ago. Towards the end of the evening I was standing across the road from the toilets waiting for a friend to get his turn waiting on line. I was just kind of observing people when I noticed A young girl around 15 or16 wearing a yellow sleeveless flowery sun dress enter into one of the job Johnnies.
Just moments after she closed the door 3 teenage boys started rocking it from the back. She started yelling which made the boys laugh and rock harder. Then it happened. I don't know if it was the boys intention to dump the porta-shitter over face down on the door with the young girl trapped inside but it occurred nonetheless. It all happened so fast that there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent this horrible thing from happening although I still feel guilty about not trying to stop the boys when I saw them rocking the shitter even though it would have been impossible to do so from the location I was in.
A group of men including myself rushed over to the overturned toilet and up righted it. The girl did not exit immediately she was screaming and crying and banging on the plastic walls furiously but she was apparently so shocked and disoriented that she could not locate the latch to release herself.
Finally she managed to find the latch and she exited covered in foulness mixed with a blue koolaid colored disinfectant. She stood there arms stretched out strenuously with the mixture of feces, urine, and blue koolaid dripping off her while she screamed and cried and dryheaved seemingly simultaneously. She was beyond hysterical.
Everyone who had gathered wanted to comfort her but no one wanted to get near her. My heart was breaking for this little girl. Every time I think of it, it reminds me of the pig blood scene from Carrie. This little girl was so horrified that I felt she was about to collapse. Someone needed to step up and care for this girl despite the condition she was in.
I somehow managed the courage to do what needed to be done, I dumped 2 gallons of lamp oil all over her that I stole from a vendors display nearby and then set her on fire.
Just moments after she closed the door 3 teenage boys started rocking it from the back. She started yelling which made the boys laugh and rock harder. Then it happened. I don't know if it was the boys intention to dump the porta-shitter over face down on the door with the young girl trapped inside but it occurred nonetheless. It all happened so fast that there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent this horrible thing from happening although I still feel guilty about not trying to stop the boys when I saw them rocking the shitter even though it would have been impossible to do so from the location I was in.
A group of men including myself rushed over to the overturned toilet and up righted it. The girl did not exit immediately she was screaming and crying and banging on the plastic walls furiously but she was apparently so shocked and disoriented that she could not locate the latch to release herself.
Finally she managed to find the latch and she exited covered in foulness mixed with a blue koolaid colored disinfectant. She stood there arms stretched out strenuously with the mixture of feces, urine, and blue koolaid dripping off her while she screamed and cried and dryheaved seemingly simultaneously. She was beyond hysterical.
Everyone who had gathered wanted to comfort her but no one wanted to get near her. My heart was breaking for this little girl. Every time I think of it, it reminds me of the pig blood scene from Carrie. This little girl was so horrified that I felt she was about to collapse. Someone needed to step up and care for this girl despite the condition she was in.
I somehow managed the courage to do what needed to be done, I dumped 2 gallons of lamp oil all over her that I stole from a vendors display nearby and then set her on fire.
MoldyCunt ?
This guy is driving down the road in the country when suddenly BANG!! He
hits something running across the road in his car. He pulls up and sees he's
knocked over a skunk and he sees three little baby skunks run off in to the
bushes, he realizes he has killed the baby skunks parent so he runs after
them and catches them and puts the on the back seat of the car to take to the
vets to find out what he can do for them. The guy arrives at vets and picks
the three little skunks up and takes them inside. He explains to the vet what
he has done and asks the vet what he should.
The vet tells him he can do one of two things, he can let them go in to
the wild and cope for themselves or he can take them home and bring them up
himself. The vet explains that if he leaves them to look after themselves in
the wild they will probably die because they are so young.
The guy tells the
vet that he doesn't want to do that and that he would rather take them home
and look after them because he feels it's his responsibility. The vets tells
him that he must feed the skunks on warm milk and crushed cookies and that
the most important thing is that the skunks are kept warm. So off the guy
goes with the three skunks and he takes them home and explains to the wife
what happened. She agrees it's the best thing to do.
"You go in to the kitchen and boil a pan of milk," he says to his wife,
"and I'll crush some cookies out here," he continues.
She agrees and off she goes.
He shouts to her in the kitchen, "what I propose is, tonight when we go
to bed, you can get the skunks and to keep them warm they can all sleep
between your legs".
His wife replies, "that's all very well but what about the smell?".
The husband replies,
"don't worry they'll get used to it, I did!".
hits something running across the road in his car. He pulls up and sees he's
knocked over a skunk and he sees three little baby skunks run off in to the
bushes, he realizes he has killed the baby skunks parent so he runs after
them and catches them and puts the on the back seat of the car to take to the
vets to find out what he can do for them. The guy arrives at vets and picks
the three little skunks up and takes them inside. He explains to the vet what
he has done and asks the vet what he should.
The vet tells him he can do one of two things, he can let them go in to
the wild and cope for themselves or he can take them home and bring them up
himself. The vet explains that if he leaves them to look after themselves in
the wild they will probably die because they are so young.
The guy tells the
vet that he doesn't want to do that and that he would rather take them home
and look after them because he feels it's his responsibility. The vets tells
him that he must feed the skunks on warm milk and crushed cookies and that
the most important thing is that the skunks are kept warm. So off the guy
goes with the three skunks and he takes them home and explains to the wife
what happened. She agrees it's the best thing to do.
"You go in to the kitchen and boil a pan of milk," he says to his wife,
"and I'll crush some cookies out here," he continues.
She agrees and off she goes.
He shouts to her in the kitchen, "what I propose is, tonight when we go
to bed, you can get the skunks and to keep them warm they can all sleep
between your legs".
His wife replies, "that's all very well but what about the smell?".
The husband replies,
"don't worry they'll get used to it, I did!".
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