Friday, July 31, 2009
Yeah, right in the middle of my lunch.
My first reaction was to ask her if it looks like I'm actively looking for bullshit inquiries about messes in the kitchen. Instead, I told her she was a FUCKING RETARD. OK, I didn't really do that, but here's what went down:
Psychopath (P): You gonna clean up that mess on the counter?
heck yeah, man (hym): What mess?
P: The one over by the toaster.
hym: (getting up to look at the toaster, cause I'm FUCKING PISSED, and I KNOW I didn't use the toaster) - I didn't toast anything. I'm not sure who used it.
P: Well you're the only one eating in here.
hym: I'm pretty sure I used the microwave on the OTHER SIDE OF THE GODDAMN KITCHEN, and like I said before, I didn't use that toaster.
P: Well there's a mess there.
hym: Yes, it appears that way, doesn't it.
P: You made the mess, didn't you?
hym: Look at my food, retardslutwhore, is any of this shit the same color as the shit over by the toaster? By the way, you don't have kids do you, cause they're probably going to kill themselves pretty soon.
Finally she left, and the dude I was talking to, looked at me like, "yo wtf is that bitch crazy?"
And I looked at him like, "yo, that bitch batshit crazy".
Thursday, July 30, 2009
YOU BETTER REMEMBER IT.
Anyway, holy lol, I got an email from the 'skank' ex-girlfriend. She was offended because I called her a skank. Wow.
In truth, she wasn't really a skank. Like not at all. But that's not the point. The point is she totally remembered this happening, and how awesome it was. And I guess it pissed her off. Well it didn't really piss her off too much, she seemed to be pretty good natured about the whole thing.
Here are some excerpts:
"I really don't think it's right for you to refer to me as a skank! That hurts my feelings! I don't know if you remember or not, but the reason you broke up with me was because I wouldn't put out."
Yeah, I remember. Also:
"But I should also have you know that the reason I wouldn't put out, was because the entire time we were dating, you were blasting other girls on the regular. I didn't feel comfortable doing with you, what you were doing with what seemed like everyone else."
It's cool, baby.
"Despite all that, I can still look back fondly on all the special times we spent together, especially the time you described in your blog. I can't believe how much you puked that night! I also remember that one time you came over, and we were gonna watch a movie, but you were in such a bad mood because I wouldn't shut up. I'm sorry I caused you to be so angry; I still have slight markings on my face from those welts".
There she is, rambling again.
"Anyway, I need to get going, it was good to hear from you in the form of a blog post indirectly involving me. I hope everything is great for you. I'm sorry again for being such, as you would say, an annoying twat! Take care!"
There you have it folks.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The name of the band is Suicide Note. That got me thinking, what if I got an actual suicide note sent to me....from like a reader or something. What if a reader got so butthurt, that they wanted to blame me?
How awesome/brutal would that be?
I imagine it would probably go something like this.
Dear heck yeah, man:
I'm going to kill myself. Don't tell my parents, but I'm going to do it Thursday afternoon sometime. I'm not sure when, and I'm not sure how, but I know it'll be quiet so my parents don't hear me; and it'll be sometime before my mom calls me down for dinner.
Then they go on about how I made them cry or something:
Like is hard enough, and then I stumbled across your blog and read your blog about fat people. Well, I'm a fat people, and I get called fat every day. I love oreos. I just can't go on like this anymore.
Here it is - placing the blame. Hopefully they'd be kind enough to namedrop us here.
This is all your fault heck yeah, man blog. The blood is on your hands.
Well actually, if you used a gun, the blood wouldn't be on your hands - cause it would be splattered all over your bedroom wall there, friendo.
I just did a HUMP DAY PUMP UP that included a hypothetical suicide note, addressed to us at heck yeah, man.
THAT PUMPS ME THE FUCK UP.
OK, we're done potentially crossing the line.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
It was Christmas break and the new couple thought it would be fun to go skiing. And go skiing they did. They chose some slopes (lol, Japan), and set a date. How convenient, the chick's like OMG total BFF also lived in that same area we'd be skiing. And OMG she lived with her fiance, or whatever. So plans were made to ski all day, drink at night, and stay over there. Mind you, this was before either of us were 21, so we still actively made plans to drink.
Finally that day came, and we hit the slopes. It was a blast. I'm not much of a skier, and that was only like the 2nd time I've ever gone. It was fun, I stuck to the double black diamond hills and almost died, it was great.
Once we finished skiing, the partying began. Picking up the booze, and grabbing a bite, man we were PUMPED.
The night started off well, I think we were playing some drinking games. It was great, we were all getting along well enough, and I was drinking quite a bit. But trust me, if you were dealing with these 2 slores, you'd be drinking heavily too.
Finally the time came for us to hit the sack. The couple that lived there retreated to the bedroom, and we retreated to the living room floor. Whatever, I was too loaded to care where I crashed.
It must have been around 4am or something, and I awoke with a start. I heard a weird rumbling in my bell-OH SHIT I NEED TO PUKE!
Running to the bathroom, I feel a little come up, so I catch it in my hands. Goddamn, finally I get to the bathroom and begin PUKING MY FUCKING BRAINS OUT. Now, the other couple is still sleeping, and I'm keeping that in mind as I puke so quietly. It was so hard to hold back when I needed to roar like a lion.
But whatever, I can't take it anymore, I'm puking so violently that I let out a roar the Lion King would be proud of. Holy shit, this definitely woke everybody up. The couple comes running to see what is going on.
They ask me if I'm OK, and if I'd like some water; and as I nod affirmatively, they walk off in disgust.
What, you fuckers? You ain't ever seen anyone throw up before? So I continue puking a little, and things finally settle down. I crawl onto the couch to sleep for another couple hours before we get up and drive the 2 hours home. Fuck.
OK, I awake to the sounds of the couple angrily making breakfast, and I wonder, 'what the fuck got their undies in a bundle', as I walk to the bathroom to pee.
My eyes are just as shocked as my brain is, when I see:
FUCKING PUKE EVERYWHERE
ALL OVER THE TOILET, TOILET SEAT, TOILET BOWL (INSIDE AND OUT), FLOOR, SIDE OF THE SINK CABINET, GARBAGE CAN, THE TOILET CLEANER BRUSH HANDLE, FUCKING EVERYWHERE
I had no idea. A half a fucking hour later, I clean ALL THE PUKE up, and am ready to GTFO.
I had been dating that chick for like 2 weeks at this time, and we ended up dating for what, like maybe another month or so. We never hung out with her friends again.
Monday, July 27, 2009
The dialogue was so awkward and shitty, it made Juno look clever. OK, that's not entirely true, cause Juno wasn't clever at all; and it had probably the most forced dialogue I have ever seen. Either way, it was a waste of time. You know who likes these types of movies?
GODDAMN SONOFABITCHES, that's who.
You wanna know why they like shit like this?
Cause they think it's cool.
You wanna know why they think it's cool?
Because Wes Anderson wrote and directed it.
For those of you not in the know, Wes Anderson is a dickhead, and I hate him. In fact, I hate him so much, if I type his name, I'm not going to capitalize it.
Royal Tenenbaums sucked. I've seen this cinematic shitfest twice. I thought maybe I missed something the first time I saw it, and thought it was horrible. Turns out, I was right the first time - it was dually awful the second time.
Life Aquatic sucked. I remember this crap, I actually fell asleep on the floor while this dvd equivalent of knocking my dick in the dirt, played. Seriously, I fell asleep on the floor. Bill Murray needs to stick to Ghostbusters, and driving his golf cart when he's loaded.
He even found a way to make the 13 minute, part 1 of The Darjeerling Limited, Hotel Chevalier, suck. He manages to have Natalie Portman take some clothes off, but you don't even get a nip-slip. Less than 15 minutes of bad acting. Thanks for that.
Bottom line: wes anderson applies liberal amounts of suck to anything he's involved with.
On a lighter note, we (hopefully) will have successfully completed our move yesterday. I'm not exactly sure because I'm writing this Thursday night, cause there's no way I'll be able to pump out any blogs over the weekend. I was hoping to get some good pictures during the actual moving, but that won't happen for two (2) reasons:
1. I packed my camera, and I have no idea where it is, and...
2. I don't want to be the dick (lol, actually I do) taking pictures while everybody else is busting their asses loading and unloading the truck. Besides, that's heckyeahwoman's job.
Big thanks go out to my friends ***** and *** for helping with the move. I feel pretty good, not only did ***** actually leave the house, to come out and help, but *** actually drove all the way up from Tampa that morning - so early. Thanks again guys!
I hope everyone had an awesome weekend! And by weekEND, I mean the END of your life.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Sorry again, you're gonna have to click it, to take in all of the awesomeness.
We're moving this weekend, and one of my good friends is coming up from Tampa, to help. We're pretty pumped about that, you should be too. I really hope the new landlord cleaned out the apartment, as it's been vacant all year. Last thing I need to do is cut that little shit up for not cleaning my crib up.
So yeah, I'll be getting loaded, while loading up the uhaul, and driving it all around town - all loaded.
One more thing, here's an awesome song:
Thursday, July 23, 2009
You want to find a good man? Well, nobody GIVES A SHIT about you.
Here's what we think of the article's best places to find a good man:
Churches, synagogues or mosques: "There will you find men with a spiritual disposition," Rabbi Shmuley says. heck yeah, man says: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA yeah, if you're into some retard who's idea of a fun weekend is waking up early on Sunday, and eating cardboard pieces of bread cause he believes it's some dead dude's body. Yo, that's fucked up. I guess on the plus side, if you're in the bible belt, the 9 o'clock mass is about as early as you can publicly consume booze, legally.
Bookstores: Here, you'll find men who are intelligent, he says. heck yeah, man says: Do you know what kind of pudwhackers hang out at bookstores? Douchebags trying to get bitches to think they're intelligent - that's what kind.
Charity events: Volunteer to work with charitable organizations and attend charity events to find men with heart, Rabbi Shmuley says. "[Charity events] usually draw men with a social conscience," he says. heck yeah, man says: One friend says to his other friend, "hey I'm going to tell this broad that I volunteer at this animal shelter so she'll sleep with me. I bet that place is just crawling with poon". Also, I volunteered at a women's domestic abuse shelter. Do the math, dickhead.
On dates set up by friends: Your friends will most likely be discerning in who they'll introduce you to, Rabbi Shmuley says. heck yeah, man says: This is the easiest way to clean up.
In the military: "The military usually draws really good guys," he says. "They're heroes—men with a sense of mission." heck yeah, man says: You're also going to find dudes that shoot huge, awesome weapons, and then next time you're pissing him off, he's going to SHOOT YOU WITH A FUCKING ROCKETLAUNCHER OR FLAMETHROWER OR SOMETHING.
Libraries: These are quiet, contemplative settings that often attract intellectual guys, Rabbi Shmuley says. heck yeah, man says: Or it could just attract a normal scumbag looking to borrow a book, or something.
Concert halls: Find cultured men who love music at these venues, he says. heck yeah, man says: Uuuhh, the kind of concerts I go to, I think 'cultured' is the last thing I'd think of any of the patrons, male or female. Ain't nothin' wrong with a little scene trash every once in a while.
Weddings: Weddings have a great romantic atmosphere, and commitment phobes usually stay away from them, Rabbi Shmuley says. heck yeah, man says: Fact: 99% of dudes at weddings, that are single, are looking to get laid. Fact: 99% of dudes at weddings, not single, are looking to get laid.
Lectures and debates: Such events usually attract a higher quality guy. heck yeah, man says: "a higher quality guy" - please define that. I like to think of myself as a 'higher quality guy', and I would enjoy going to a lecture or a debate. But then again, I love this song (longest, most bad ass windmill ever, at about 1:35).
Coffeehouses and poetry recitals: Seek out the sensitive, nice guys who might frequent these places. heck yeah, man says: My life mission is to go to every coffeehouse or poetry recital, and kick every dude's ass I see. One time I went to this poetry recital looking for a good knockdown, and some dipshit was on the stage rapping about a fucking tree branch, so I grabbed this other douchebags macbook, and beat both of them to death with it.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I was gonna post Screeching Weasel and Strung Out, but I just did that a couple weeks ago lol. Whatevs, here are some awesome songs for you to suck on.
Misfits - Dig Up Her Bones
Misfits - Don't Open Till Doomsday
Goddamn, American Psycho is so awesome.
And yeah, I know motherfuckers are gonna be crying about the lack of Danzig. But if you know anything about me, you know we won't tolerate a lack of Danzig. Holler @ ur boi.
This was a tough HUMP DAY PUMP UP to not only write, but to finish too, man. I was trolling youtube for videos, and I must have listened to 15 Misfits songs, and by the time I was on the third one, I was so PUMPED UP that I almost called my brother to tell him how PUMPED UP I WAS. I didn't call him; instead I called my Dad, and said whats up to him oh man it was awesome.
Then after I talked to my Dad, I got back onto the interwebs, and got even more PUMPED UP by watching more videos. This got me so PUMPED UP, that I totally forgot how full I was, from the awesome Indian food we had for dinner, that I went and got a beer. THAT BEER WAS SO COLD, AND IT TASTED SO RIGHT, AND THE MUSIC SOUNDED SO AWESOME THAT I WAS LITERALLY ABOUT TO EXPLODE HOLY SHIT I AM SO PUMPED UP RIGHT NOW I WISH I COULD MAKE THIS FONT EVEN BIGGER, IM IN ALL CAPS AND THIS IS AS BIG AS IT'LL GO.
OH SHIT I GUESS YOU CAN MAKE IT BIGGER. OR BOLD, I GUESS.
I AM SO PUMPED UP RIGHT NOW
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Yeah pretty lame, but the best part I have ever seen on this show, in the 4 -5 times I've actually seen it on TV, was when he was at the pool. omg he's so buff lol!
I don't know if he was talking to the film crew or what. Maybe the producers.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Ok, check this spit out - we have plans to meet some friends at the new(ish) hipster-infested burrito joint in town. The place is really tasty, and they gots all kinds of awesome margaritas. So we met a gaggle of friends there, had some awesome tacos, and enjoyed a few more dranks.
So we're sitting on the patio there, enjoying a minty margarita, and I see some fat kid trying to climb a tree, just outside the restaurant. Naturally I point this out to everybody, "hey look at that fat kid climbing the tree omg lolz".
Heckyeahwoman immediately scolds me, "those are his parents right over there", as she points to the next table over. Luckily they didn't hear me.
Never wanting to be scene in the same place for too long, we decided to head to the local Saturday night karaoke bar. This place is awesome, there's one bozo who used to bring in an inflatable guitar every week. He'd sing a song, and stand there and strum his blow-up guitar. Man, that dude jammed so furiously.
Then one day we went, and we saw that he bought a real guitar. And by "real guitar", I mean a "really shitty Les Paul knock-off". Sure enough, when it was his turn, he would get up, sing horribly, and wail on that shitty little guitar. Fuckin' bozo.
There's this other dude, some kid that brings in his own karoake cds to sing along to. Not sure why I mentioned that; but neither of those dudes were there on Saturday.
OK, so back to this past Saturday night - The karaoke lady that runs this shit gets on the mic calling for all the girls in the bar to get up there and help them sing. Probably some women's anthem, or something equally as LAME.
Sure enough, the song starts, and it's this shit:
So we got about 8 broads up there, singin' this song, thinkin' how empowered & awesome they are, havin' no idea that they just look like a bunch of drunk sluts, severely DTF. How empowering.
Of course we're all laughing at these trick ass hoez, and finally my friend leans over to me and says, "you know what that looks like up there?"
"No, what?" I ask.
"Looks like a line-up of bitches I wouldn't pound", he replies.
Lol, true that brother, true that. There were bunch of frat-bro douchebags hanging out, including this one dickbiting psychopath that was dancing and singing, and putting on a crazy show. Some of the girls thought he was cool.
Dancing like a fucking moron, and singing like the dude from Nickelback is never cool.
And oh yeah, Sunday. What happened Sunday? We went box hunting. Lol, not like a night out with the guys - actual cardboard box hunting. We're moving and we need boxes, so we drove around looking for dumpsters with boxes. We found a shitload.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Imagine for a second that you just spent the night at a woman's place. You were probably up really late working on homework or something. It was awesome. And anyway, you're pretty hungover.
Laying in bed, you feel the gurgling of your belly and you know something ain't right. You need to go to the bathroom.
The bathroom isn't like, just off the bedroom, or down the hall, or something, either. It's right off the kitchen. THE FUCKING KITCHEN.
And she has roommates.
And their place is clean - like, girl clean. But there is nothing clean about what you know you gotta do.
So you sneak outta bed, head into the bathroom, and flip on the fan, just praying that it's noise will drown out some of the hellish noises you're about to let loose.
Long story short, you're sitting there blasting away just fine, in relative silence; and then you hear her get up, and walk into one of her roommate's rooms. Ok, you thought you snuck out of bed undetected. Either way, she now knows that someone, presumably you, is in the bathroom making the brown stuff.
That's fine - it's totally natural, right? I guess you could argue that what you're doing right now may be natural, but it sure ain't right.
Right then, you let out a monstrous, roaring fart that echoes so loud, it vibrates the entire house. A couple more toots follow, and where you could previously make out some faint chit chat between the girls, is now a brief moment of silence.
And then you hear it...
The faint sound of 2 girls, and their muffled giggling. They hear me.
The worst may be over, but your bowels still have a little bit of fight left in them. You unleash another couple blasts of hot air/more brown stuff, and whatever giggling the girls were doing has now turned into outright laughter.
I can't control it, I get the urge to laugh, and it's gonna take every ounce of strength I have to contain my ROFLS.
Do I have the inner strength necessary to contain those ROFLS?
Not a chance. Before long, the house is filled with roaring laughter.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
I guess some people at the gas station may have thought it was kind weird for me to be snapping pics, while she crawls on the hood of her car all suggestively. Whatever.
Dang, I never realized she looks kind of busted. I ain't mad at that; so I took it upon myself get my mack on:
me: "n we meet again, shawtie"
shawtie: "how u doin?"
me "mmmmm, jus' fine baby gurl, what it do what it do?"
shawtie: "how u doin?"
me: "i'm good. jus' gettin my fuel on"
shawtie: "how u doin?"
me: "oh yeah, im likin wut i'm seein'.
shawtie: "how u doin?"
me: "gurl, i'd like 2 get up close n personable witchu sumtime."
shawtie: "how u doin?"
me: "u like my ride shawtie, pretty fly, huh?"
shawtie: "how u doin?"
me: "dang, u ain't much 4 conversation, r u?"
shawtie: "how u doin?"
me: "oh fuck this, you're a retard. i'm outta here"
True story, this actually happened.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Another awesome song to get you PUMPED up. But wait, WTF does "piebald" even mean? Well, besides "an awesome band"? You see, I always just thought the band made up the name by combining two awesome words - pie & bald.
Who doesn't like pies? Retards, that's who. I guess nobody is really that PUMPED to be bald, so I guess it's not really that awesome of a word. It does sound kind of cool to say though - I wish it meant something else.
Whatever, thefreedictionary.com says:
marked in two colours, esp. black and white
a black-and-white horse
Speaking of "piebald", here's more!
I don't know. This guy isn't piebald.
BUT THIS IS!
GD, just a workin' man, tryin' to throw some PUMP into ur HUMP DAY if yaknowutimsayin.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Well we were out and about down in St. Pete a couple weeks ago, and this crazy dude was swervin' all over the place, hugging the right side of the road, crossing the center line, it was nuts.
We were pretty sure he was loaded. Finally he hits a stop light, and we pull up right behind him. And what do we see?
A "BABY ON BOARD" sticker.
Jesus, I thought the point of this was so people would see you, and that you had a baby in your car, you know, like "precious cargo", or something. You'd think this would cause them to be a little bit more careful when driving.
Lol, or at least not be absolutely tanked while driving. Who knows, maybe there wasn't a baby on board. I tried to get a pic, but I totally forgot my camera.
Forgetting my camera made me so angry that I freaked out and started yelling, sobbing, and slamming my forehead on the dashboard. It was horrible, I was slamming my head in anger so furiously that the glove compartment opened up, and all the shit inside of it spilled all over the floor.
That really set me off, so I grabbed a handful of the shit that just fell out of the glove compartment, and started punching myself in the face with it. Oh I was so pissed off.
So pissed off that I started doing the head bob, that the guys from A Night at The Roxbury do, right into the window. I got in about 15 head bobs before the glass shattered and cut my head pretty badly. The thing is, I didn't just accidentally, or casually, break the window - nah, I slammed the entire right side of my face into it with all the anger I could muster.
Now I'm pissed off and bleeding like crazy. Meanwhile, the dude with the baby on board sticker is swerving all over the place, and I'm HAVING A MELTDOWN HOLY SHIT.
When I was finished with my little temper tantrum there, Heckyeahwoman just kind of looked at me like I was retarded.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Let's get this thing started, shall we? I was IM'ing (instant messaging) my friend the other day - I was definitely NOT at work - and this is what went down (mom & dad, warning - there are curse words):
heck yeah, man says:
did you know I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, SLEEP WITH BOTH EYES OPEN MOTHERFUCKER
heck yeah, man says:
lol at the size of the hole in your head within seconds from the minute you try to illegally enter my apartment
heck yeah, man says:
lol @ you sneaking into my apartment, thinking i'm in one bedroom sleeping, when i'm really just waiting in the shadows for a moment like this, and i come out of nowhere from behind you and slit your throat so slowly taht you feel the blade cut so slow, and before you die, you feel the air getting harder and harder to breathe. you die a horrible death while i piss on your dying body
lol at the size of the hole in your head when you wake up and realize you forgot to wake up and shoot me.
heck yeah, man says:
lol @ the minute you try to break in, my motion activated speakers turn on AND FUCKING OBITUARY'S "THE END COMPLETE" STARTS BLASTING AT EARDRUM SHATTERING VOLUMES AND ITS SO AWESOME CAUSE
OBITUARY IS AWESOME AND ALL THE LIGHTS COME ON AND THE DEATH METAL IS SO LOUD THAT EVERYBODY IS HAVING AN AWESOME FUCKING TIME
LOL AT ME PEEING IN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH WHILST YOU SLEEP AND YOU SMILING THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME. THEN I SHOVE THE SHOTGUN INTO YOUR MOUTH AND PAINT YOUR HEADBOARD WITH YOUR FUCKING BRAINS
heck yeah, man says:
AND OUT OF NOWHERE APPEARS OBITUARY AND THEY'RE JAMMING SO HARD AND IM JAMMING SO HARD AND YOUR GETTING A JACK KNIFE JAMMED INTO YOUR SKULL SO HARD FUCK YOU IM GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU
heck yeah, man says:
literally LOL at this point
I didn't fix most of the typos, as I was typing so furiously that I couldn't control my fingers.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Dude it's Friday, let's keep it light, as we here at heck yeah, man bring it home.
What better way to keep it light, then* BONERS AT WORK!?!?!?!
Ok, I'm not gonna write about boners at work, but I do have one of the worst stories ever, about paying rent. After that barnburner yesterday, I honestly have no idea how I can follow it up. So I'll just do my best, as I get you up to speed on a recent domestic happening at my spot.
At my crib.
At my home.
It was the first, or second; ok, it was the 3rd of the month, and rent was due a couple days ago. So there we are, heckyeahwoman & I, I & heckyeahwoman - sitting there with our checkbooks about to write out some checks, yo.
Rent is $679. A lot of times we just half it, but lately, I've been paying for a bigger chunk of it, as I make more money; and I'm awesome. That's fair, right? I offer up a check for $500, leaving her with $179.
Total: $679, we're good right?
Yeah. That was easy.
But something throws it off - she reminds me that UPS came earlier with my package - they left a note on the door (cause we were still sleeping lol), and the package is in the office. I don't know why, but I hate going to the office for my package. The landlord is really nice and everything, I don't know.
Out of nowhere, I blurt, "I'll do $550, instead of $500, if you go and get my package". WTF was I thinking.
With the fastest "OK" I've ever heard, heckyeahwoman replies affirmatively.
Not gonna lie, I pull a bitch-move and renig. "What is u smoking, trick, $50 to walk over to the office? Less than a block away? AW HELL NAW".
After about 20 minutes of playful bickering back and forth like children, I offer $20 cash. She's still holding out for the $50. I don't blame her.
Damn, it's already like 2:30; and I need to get to the gym. Finally on my way out, she offers me the final deal: She'll get my package, if I buy dinner tonight.
Jumping at this opportunity, "I except**, man".
U got hosed garl, I was gonna buy dinner tonight, anyway - CAUSE I ALWAYS BUY DINNER.
Sure enough, when I got home, there was my package, sitting there, in all of it's glory.
Oh, and I paid the water bill, too.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
What if you had a coworker that didn't always smell that good?
What if this coworker came into your office, with no regard for the stink its' body carries with it?
Now imagine this: You're sitting at your desk, working so furiously, just enjoying the nice cool air that your fan is blowing on you. Life is good, man.
And then that nice refreshing feeling is interrupted.
This may be kind of hard to visualize, with just words, so I put together a proper diagram - please see below. I'm sorry, but whenever I try to add a picture, it always comes out really small. Please click on it, to get the full awesome effect.
Notice my "failed drawer blocker". I keep that drawer always open/extended for that reason alone. It usually creates a nice little barricade. Someone sees it, and subconsciously thinks they shouldn't come in any further.
Not the case here.
She just waddles in, closes the drawer, and gets up close & personal with my personal space.
As the picture shows, some of the stink even gets on me a little. So not cool.
One day last week, in particular, the stink was just putrid. Smelled like wet dog, ramen noodles, and AIDS. Horrible, lethal combo right there.
It was so bad I had to email the HR department. Here's an excerpt from that email.
subject: "the stink"
body: Dear HR,
Please look at the attached picture, and help me return to the previously unstinky working conditions that I enjoyed a year ago. Also, please note that it took the strength of ten thousand men not to gag.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
I tried to pick a favorite, but it was so hard. I wish I could have posted a video for every song on the album.
"Won't Go Home Without You", live
Honestly, I could post Maroon 5 videos all day, but I know most of you are probably pretty pissed off right now lol.
No mashing today, no killing, no cutting, no lighting anybody on fire, no stabbing, no peeing on anybody today.
LOL OK THAT WAS A LIE. GET PUMPED UP NOW - HOLY SHIT WE'RE GONNA KILL EVERYBODY.
I really do enjoy Maroon 5 though.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
1. The other day, I was just standing at the urinal peeing, and farting. And I don't know why, but I was giggling really hard. Like, I know it's rude to fart out in public, outside of a bathroom, but I'm sure these flatulences were audible from beyond the bathroom door. I don't know what you want from me - I went into the bathroom and farted where I was supposed to.
2. A lot of my time at work is spent on the phone. I called this broad up, and got her voicemail greeting, which said something to the effect of this: "I'm sorry I missed your call, I'm in the office today; but unfortunately I'm not available to take your call right now". No shit you're not available to take my call - that's why I'm listening to your voicemail greeting YOU RETARD TWAT.
3. I was sherkin' my duties at work, and went into the kitchen to get some more tea, and I spied the front page of the newspaper, and the headline was, "Hot Weather to Stay". ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? It was June in Florida - of course the hot weather is gonna stay. Seriously, the Gainesville Sun is horrible. If this shit keeps up, I may be better off reading the New York Times, lol yeah right.
If I were a gamblin' man, I'd bet on a few more work-themed posts this week.
Monday, July 6, 2009
If you're reading this, it's Monday morning; and most likely you are at work. That's bittersweet. It's sweet, cause you've got a job, and you're probably getting paid. It's bitter cause you're still at work; and I probably make a shitload more than you do, doing a lot less.
Those of you out in the workforce are probably familiar with the term, "potluck". You know, everybody brings a dish, and you all share. Sounds like a great idea, right?
FUCK NO, IT'S A HORRIBLE IDEA.
Not only do I have to worry about eating a less-than-healthy meal; but I have no idea what kind of squalor my fellow employees live in. I haven't been to each and every one of their domiciles - to check for cleanliness. All I have to go on is their personal appearance.
AND IN SOME CASES THAT'S PRETTY FUCKED UP.
Some people (or poople, lol) smell, some don't do the proper hygiene thing, some are aware, and some are oblivious. I don't care, I don't really want to make you feel bad - I just don't want to eat your gross-ass food, YOU FILTHY ANIMAL.
It's like, "you are fat and disgusting, and are touching something I could potentially eat".
Now I'm not saying I'm above reproach here. Wait, actually I am. I very rarely bring anything homemade in for potlucks. If I do, it's usually something I can cook at the office, so everyone can see the precautions I take for a savory (and sanitary) contribution to our nice little potluck. In most cases, I just run to the store and pick something up.
You know there's always gonna be someone of lesser cleanliness asking me to try his/her food. "Oh Andy, you're gonna love it." Actually, you shithead, I'm not going to love it. I've worked with you for the past 4 years, and every day you come into the lunchroom and tell me I'm crazy for eating "a salad "; "so healthy"; and "those vegetables". You do this every day. Now you want me to try your deep-fried chocolate turds with cream cheese? You also asked me if my vegetarian chili had rabbit in it. You are so beyond fucked in the head.
We (read: I) have instituted a few policies to enjoy not only a nutritious lunch, but to also survive this here potluck situation:
- The potluck sign-up sheet hanging in the kitchen - this is our first line of defense against the unclean. It says right there, who is bringing what. What a great resource for not eating, for lack of a better word, food that is straight-up crap. I usually pick out a dish or two brought by someone I personally trust.
- On numerous occasions, I have requested that HR requires name tags by each dish. Just a little piece of paper to identify not only the dish, but who brought it. Sometimes the sign-up sheet is hard to follow (illegible handwriting; unidentifiable, fucked up looking food)
- Myself, and a few like minded co-workers usually get together and try to assign things to bring, between us. We like to have a(n) (edible) protein, a few (2) sides, and maybe a desert. I trust these few people - whether they make it at home, or they buy it at the store - I know I can safely eat it...and not get poisoned by the grimy, gluttonous cookings of unsanitarians.
The lunch-time horn toots, and everybody mills into the kitchen, like zombies trudging around in an aimless search for human brains. And there I am, smiling and enjoying my inner peace - knowing I will have survived another potluck.
Friday, July 3, 2009
We hit this new burrito place, and started the night out right with some chips and salsa. And a few beers.
OK, more than a few beers.
It was fun - we talked about guy stuff. Of course, that whole intervention thing from yesterday, happened. After that - with what seemed like a natural progression, the conversation evolved as we drank more. You know, we start out talking about the happenings in our lives, and wind up taking subtle verbal jabs at each other. That's pretty normal, right?
Going from the subtle verbal jabs to a more drunken insulting, someone had the audacity to suggest that my girlfriend is going on a "BJ tour of Wisconsin". That pretty much opened the floodgates of insults.
With the skill of the savviest lawyer, I plead my case that his girlfriend is currently getting DVDA'd, and has been for some time. Truth hurts, man.
We finished up dinner, and headed back to one of the guy's places. Had a beer there, and made fun of his bike. To be fair though, he painted it himself; and it did look nice.
For some reason, we decided to go to another bar, where one dude's girlfriend is already out for a "girl's night" lol. Heading in, we say whats up to her, and her friends, and then grab a drink. Before long, we're over at a different table, so as to let the girls enjoy their time - yet still under the watchful eye of her boyfriend/my friend.
Our other friend and I notice the ladies' waiter stopping by their table rather frequently, and note that they're obviously flirting. It's our duty to inform this in the most brutal way possible.
"Hey dude, I think the waiter is gonna blast your girlfriend in the bathroom".
"No dude, he definitely already blasted her, look at that smirk on his face".
*Please note that all the girlfriend allegations in this post are 100% fictitious, made up purely for the sake of ripping on a friend. Clearly, none of our girlfriends are doing such things, it just seems like this is the next step up from calling each other gay.
Everybody have an awesome 4th of July! Go celebrate your freedom, or light off some firecrackerz.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Every post I make starts out with an idea. This idea is usually an action, an interaction, or an observation. But please note, the idea may be retarded, juvenile, and/or really fucking stupid. Probably a healthy mix of all three.
In this case, it was a night out with a couple friends. What happened was, we were having a few beers, and one of the guys comes right out (of the closet), and he tells me that my blog hasn't been bringing the rofls lately.
I detect a sense of genuine concern, as he's been a reader since I started. Immediately, a wave of disappointment comes over me: I know he's right. It has suffered lately.
Literally a second later, friend #2 chimes in, with the same sentiment. And they nod their heads in agreement, while looking at me caringly - so as not to crush my heart.
It's OK, it's constructive criticism, I can handle it.
But what the fuck, this seems like a goddamn intervention - the way they were both in such sync with each other. It was like, the two of them, against the one of me. I mean, that's a fight I'd take any day. But not when it comes to my blog, man.
As they voiced their concerns with an air of seriousness, I knew this wasn't just some friendly insulting. I knew their concerns held water; and I appreciate the mature handling of the situation. We ended up parting ways that night with a much stronger bond, now that everything is out there. Whatever, I just went home, had some more whiskey, and went to bed with a nice little buzz.
So that's the bulk of what happened that night...the action, the interaction, or the observation that sets off a need to write about it. Then as soon as I get back to a computer, I'll start a new post, type a few words, phrases, or sentences, - a brief outline, if you will - and work on it when I have more time.
Here are the few phrases I had to work from, as I type this up now:
"i'm going to fucking kill the both of you"
Kinda cryptic, but THAT'S HOW I ROLL, SON. And finally that time comes where I'll have to get to work, and make this literary work of art 100% blog-ready.
Uh, so here it is:
As I sit here and type, I realize that yeah, my blogs are suffering. But why?
The only thing I can think of, is that I haven't been blogging at work like I used to. YES - that's it! I have been busier, and haven't just had time, man. Shoot, when I started this blog, that was the whole thing: I'd write hilarious blogs at work, while getting paid to do it. It was awesome. Some where along the line, I lost sight, and started doing more work.
I was wrong: I'm sorry for not doing my blogs at work; and I'm sorry for incorrectly choosing my work, my income, and my ability to take care of my family over my blog.
It won't happen again.
Bottom line: I promise to devote more time at work to my blog. FYI - I made this pledge on Monday, and already I have a shitload more awesome ideas - and the best part is that I got paid to think them up!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
We're gonna combine a couple of my favorite things: Walker TX Ranger & Keyboard Cat.
Maybe some of you have already seen this, maybe some of you haven't. Honestly though, I really hate to poach another person's comedic genius, but I really feel like this is worth it. If you ain't lollin' at 0:46, check ur pulsez.
Do any of you remember this video from a couple years ago (minus the keyboard cat)? The lady loses her balance, falls, makes the most hideous noise ever, and hilarity ensues?
IS THIS RINGING ANY GODDAMN BELLS?
GODDAMN, RIGHT AFTER THE LOLZ HAPPEN, WHEN THE ELECTRONIC DRUMS KICK IN, I JUST LOSE IT. I WISH I COULD JUST TAKE A SAMPLE OF THOSE DRUMS, AND LOOP IT ONTO MY MP3 PLAYER FOR AT THE GYM.
OK, so here's the plan: Today is Wednesday, and I want you to pretend that the rest of this week is a bunch of grapes, and you're mashin' the shit outta them with your gnarled-toe-nasty-mangled-ass feet. Go ahead, mash it up good, and don't fall. But if you do, just don't make those brutal croaking noises like that weirdo in the video did.