Wednesday, March 31, 2010

ART WEEK!!! goes to college: notetaking 101

It was my senior year of college. My second to last semester, must've been Fall '03 - actually an ethics class haha. Anyway, I took it with one of my buddies, and a bunch of other sluts I knew from the Communication program.

The teacher was such a prick - just a petty, shitty little know-it-all.

So instead of taking notes, I drew. I created art. You should have seen some of the f'ed up stuff I drew lol. This isn't even the worst.

Pretty sweet.

Keeping with the butchery theme, I finished my next "piece".

So yeah, I have a bunch of other awesome drawings, but they were pretty gross lol. Heckyeahwoman totally advised me to not post them here. This one I drew, is actually pretty awesome, but again, a little over the top. Email me at if you want to see it - my favorite piece.

Tomorrow: THE BATTLE II.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

ART WEEK!!! spotlight: artistic masterpieces

Having already conquered literature by topping works from Hemingway, Shakespeare, and other post-modern literary greats, I thought the next logical step would be for me to conquer art.

And what better place to start than my boi, Leonardo da Vinci? Since imitation is the highest form of flattery, I knew I had to recreate a few of his masterpieces.

Mona Lisa, 1503-1519

The Vitruvian Man, 1492

And twat kind of a friend would I be without a shout out to the creator of this awesome comic strip? Funny story: knowing that my blog has been a beacon of awesome since June '08, he asked me to contribute to one of his upcoming comics...with some dialogue & witty banter. Ok he really didn't ask me to contribute, what a dick.

But whatever, I thought I'd take it upon myself to create an artistic tribute. Check it, pussybeats:

Tomorrow: some freehand goodies from my college dayz!

Monday, March 29, 2010


Good News! ART WEEK!!! is back!

Let's get things started off properly, with the now annual ART WEEK!!! KICK OFF!!!

Not just your average field goal, here. Lotsa pressure, buddy - the game's on the line!

It's up, it split the uprights!



5 days of ART WEEK!!! - that's one (1) whole work-week of you watching my mental state slowly degrade through art. Tomorrow we continue with some reinterpretations of a couple classics.

Remember, it's not "art week", it's ART WEEK!!!

Friday, March 26, 2010















And on an even higher note, ART WEEK!!! IS COMING BACK!!! Go ahead and check out what we did last year, and how awesome it was.

ART WEEK!!! 2010 - coming Monday, March 29, uh, 2010.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

the wedding regsitry

Trying to figure out our wedding registry has been brutal. We already have tons of shit, and I don't know how much more we're gonna need.

I thought I'd take the reins on this one, step up, put some time into this, and prove to Heckyeahwoman that I can be the man she needs me to be.

So I added a couple items. Nothing too crazy, just a couple things I think would be fun for us to have. Something that would be a great splurge kind of gift. Obviously, as a dude with a functioning weiner, my first thought was fake tits. Then I looked over at Heckyeahwoman, and realized that yeah, we def don't need that. Heckyeahwoman, would.

After a couple seconds of reflection, I decided that it would be fun to have a motorcycle - so I added a sweet, reasonably priced motorbike to the registry. I get it - it's pretty expensive, but c'mon, we got like a hundred guests; somebody'z gotta throw down some loot.

I enjoy cleaning, I really do. But how much more awesome would it be if we had the services of a sexy maid, already paid in full, for an entire year?!?!? Yeah, it would be sweet. Taking care of our cooking and cleaning, she would provide us extra time to relax, and to enjoy being newlyweds. This is for us.

What about a shitload of awesome guns? I'm going to be the husband. I'm supposed to protect my wife. How would I do that if I didn't have excessive firepower? Exactly. Let me keep you safe, gurl. Also, I want to walk around downtown with machine gunz.

Hey, I'm not that much of a dick, I thought of something she could use...after a year of the maid cooking for us, Heckyeahwoman can bust out this state-of-the-art food processor! Heck yeah, lets process some foods. Lol, she made it easy for me by telling me she wanted one.

Upon seeing my updated registry work, Heckyeahwoman thought my efforts were less than stellar.

Quite less, actually.

Wah? You're not in love with the idea of us receiving a bad ass motorcycle for a wedding gift? How can you not be so stoked to fire all those awesome weapons?! Remember last time we went to the shooting range, and you were blasting bullseyes like woah? Heck yeah you do. Ok ok, you're right, the sexy maid is a bit over the top, we can skip that one.

She was pretty adamant that we didn't need any of that stuff, besides the food processor.

Lucky for me, I had to put things in perspective for her: "well, we can either have somebody else buy these things for us, with no cost at all to us, or I can just go buy them all right now, with the money I've saved up for our wedding & honeymoon. Your choice".

And just like that, she made her choice.

Motorcycle will be here by Saturday, I'll have the guns in a week after the mandatory FL waiting period/background check; and I'm chowin' down on some tasty olive tapenade that Heckyeahwoman made with her sweet new food processor.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

shitty realization

You know, I was just thinking that aside from the few people that care about me, my life is pretty much meaningless. If I died tomorrow, not a lot would change.

My friends and family might grieve for a couple days. My job would go to hell for a couple months. My ferrets would never get their litter boxes cleaned. The gym would be down one customer.

Other than that, not a lot of significant things would change. It's not like I'm discovering a cure for cancer or anything. I get up, go to work, work out, maybe wail on my guitar, clean the ferret's litter boxes, work on a blog, go to bed.

Then I do it all again.

And again, until the weekend.

Some people have a similar routine that they follow all their lives. In a couple years, I'll probably have kids, and then I'll have to take care of them. Goddamnit.

Then on the weekend, I try to take myself out of reality for 48 hours. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But nothing feels worse than the unavoidable, crushing despair that I feel every Sunday night.

After reading this post, I wasn't really sure how I felt about it. I mean yeah, I just had the mindblowing realization that my life really does suI'M JUST KIDDING YOU FUCKING PUSSIES FEEL THE PUMP RIGHT HERE



I'm typing this thing Sunday night, and just looking for suitable videos for today's HDPU has got me so GODDAMN PUMPED UP, I'M NOT EVEN GONNA NEED HDPU ON WEDNESDAY. But not alla'yall get to experience that week-long PUMP. Heckyeahwoman is sitting here while I blast these videos, but she has a frown on her face.


Tuesday, March 23, 2010

first ever HYM bounty

Any bounty hungers out there? Any of you guys (or gals) kill people for a living? If so, hit me at - cause I got some business for you.

This bitch, right here:

I'm willing to pay you a couple hundred American dollars, and I'll throw in assorted gas station gift cards (Kangaroo, Kwik Trip, Shell, & a couple Citgos). This offer ain't last forever, so get at me soon.

Anyway, I need her shot in the head ASAP. I don't care if you also take out her son, and headless hubby. A little human collateral damage never killed anybody. Well except the collateral damage lol. Bottom line though, I need that bitch dead.

But why, whuh happeh?

First, look at her. She is morbidly obese. Deathly obese. But there's more - and like her, a lot more.

See, Donna Simpson wants to be the world's fattest tub of shit. Already tipping the scales at over 600 lbs, she's a mere 400 lbs shy of her goal. That alone is reason enough for her to be murdered.

Besides the fact that she actively wants to weight 1,000 lbs, you need to consider not just the end, but the means. By consuming over 12,000 calories a day, she's looking at dropping up to $750 a week. On food.


Basically, she's eating for 6.

My rent is just a little higher than that - my monthly rent. I'm really glad that there aren't starving homeless people all over the country that would benefit from some extra food or something.

Obviously she doesn't have a real job, so how the hell does she afford to eat like that? She has her own website where she posts videos of herself. Disturbingly, it's NOT SAFE FOR WORK. Do you know what that means? It means NUDITY. Even more disturbingly, she has found other men that are willing to pay to watch her eat burgers, fries, cakes, chips, and 70-pieces of sushi at a time. For just $11 a pop, or $15 monthly, you too, can watch her scarf down all kinds of delectable delights.

I wonder if she takes requests. I would like to see her NOMNOM on some broken glass, chug bleach, or maybe even dine on deep fried cat turds. Hell, I'm ready to pay to see her eat a bullet. I wonder what would happen if you made a request for her to eat like a huge steak or something, and then had the chef switch the steak with human meat. How funny would it be to be all, "oh hey haha I switched your 3 lb porterhouse with a human steak lol punked".

Worth noting, she has a boyfriend, who is a "belly man"; and he reportedly wants her to remain obese/fat as fuck. I can only wonder about this dude's mental state. Yes, I love big titties too, but not at the price of banging a fatty. We're not 18-22 year old college students anymore.

Here's another great reason it would be sweet to see her killed. I want you to chew on this for a minute, just like she chews over-marbled ribeye gristle: "Despite the fact that Simpson cannot easily walk and uses a motorized scooter to get around, she says that she is healthy."

She can't physically walk, yet she is healthy. This, my friends, is nothing short of a medical miracle.

Maybe this is a lard-ass version of "live fast, die young". Maybe this is her version of living dangerously. Maybe excessive overeating and being fat are her drugs, alcohol, and risk taking. I never thought about it this way till now. What if this is her grabbing life by the balls, and squeezing like someone's trying to steal her chicken wing? What if. I could be looking at this all wrong; and instead of looking down at this chub, maybe I should be admiring her.

Nah, fuck that, I'm going to shoot this bitch myself. The bounty is off.

Oh hey, check out the article here, if you're not pissed off enough.

Monday, March 22, 2010

weekend wrap up

Holy shit. This weekend. Wow.

Things started off great when I left work at 3:30 on Friday. How can leaving work ever be bad? It can't. Heckyeahwoman had to defend her P-H-MOTHERFUCKIN-D late Friday afternoon; and I needed to be there when she finished, to help celebrate. So hell yeah, she passed, and she's a doctor now.

Had like a million bottles of champagne at her building on campus lol, then went to the bar to get some dinner/keep the party rolling. I have never seen Dr. Heckyeahwoman so loaded in my life.


And we've been dating for over 8 years. I don't even think she was that loaded on her 21st. At one point she was taking a shot of something green, and she said "it tastes like Kermit; it tastes kinda muppety". Then she had another shot that "smelled like potato chips". Her words, not mine. Anyway, yeah, she was pretty shitty. And we all had a great time.

She not only survived, but she didn't yak once. Great job, doctor.

Woke up Saturday feeling like shit. That didn't stop me from GOING ON THE WORST, HUNGOVER BIKE RIDE OF MY LIFE though. It was beautiful out. Other than fighting off the hangover shits on the bike trail, it was nice. No worries, by Saturday night, I was back and ready to party.

Saturday evening, we had to run over to our friend's place to feed one of her cast some meds. He's kinda sick, and she was out of town. Twatevz, we are happy to help, cause she helps us with our cat. And both of her cats are really cute and nice.

We get there, and the good doctor warms me: "el gato no quiere taking his pills, you hold 'im, and I'll feed 'em to 'im".

No worries, it's a sick cat, this shan't be too hard.

Wait, what? That's not the cat I remember. Hey kitty, you grew a little bit, and your teeth are GIGANTIC!

So Heckyeahwoman grabs him, and he's struggling a bit to get away. Right when it looks like he's about to escape, I reach down to catch him, and all of a sudden this little guy decides he wants to eat me lol. Maybe I put my finger right into his open, hissing mouth lol.

It happened so fast.

What happened so fast?


I'm not black or anything, but it looks like the fingers are telling a different story lol. Seriously, I never thought a finger could swell up so much. Or bleed so much.

Having a chuckle at my misfortune/profuse bleeding, Heckyeahwoman points at the blood dripping everywhere, and tells me to start cleaning up.


Yeah, you can't really tell from the picture we took, but our friend has a very nice, brand new apartment. Again, you can't tell from the pic, but she generally keeps it pretty clean.

The poor little guy probably got so scared when he saw a hulking figure an already shitty situation - being forced cat pillz. I don't blame him, I would have tried to eat me too.

After the trauma of the evening's events, we thought it best to just head home, and watch a movie. We watched Law Abiding Citizen, with Gerald Butler & Jamie Lee Fox. Admittedly, I'm not a huge fan of Jaime Lee Fox, or his smarmy little smirk, but he was decent in the movie. Ok, no he wasn't - he was an asshole. But overall, I was pretty happy with the film, not necessarily a happy ending, but the good guy managed to kill a satisfactory amount of people before he died. No nudity though, bummer.

After a fantastic brunch Sunday morning, I pretty just moped around the apartment all day, in lieu of the oncoming work week.

What a weekend.

Friday, March 19, 2010





friday fyi

Friday FYI: this chick is probably hotter than you.

Ladies, meet Jamie Eason.

It might even be scientifically proven that she's up to ten (10) times hotter than you. She looks great, and her sense of humor is absolutely-well, who gives a shit about that really.

There is no question that this chick is probably hotter than you. No question. Perhaps you've got a great body, and maybe your face is pretty; but neither have been perfected by a professional make-up team, or photoshopped furiously to perfection.

Ladies, don't feel bad though. I always feel bad whenever I see this dude.

I guess it gives us something to strive for.

Anyway, she is probably scientifically proven to be up to ten (10) times hotter than you. True story, to test my hypothesis, I had to consult not just Heckyeahwoman (she's a scientist), but a panel of her scientist friends (they're scientists too). Since I'm not a scientist, I didn't know quite where to start. Of course, my assumption was to start in the lab; cause that's where science is made, right?

So with reckless abandon, we...I stole Heckyeahwoman's keys to her lab at the University of Florida, and rode my bike over there. The thing is, our scientist friends wanted to help, but they seemed to be more interested in dicking around and dilly-dallying. I didn't have time to take data, write macros, build programs, cherry pick the data that fits my hypothesis, and write up some gay article for publication. Nah, I ain't have time for that.

I had a theory to prove, and I needed it done yesterday. Let's get to work.

Luckily, a couple of our scientist buddies changed their minds at the last minute, and agreed to help. Look above, that's us making science. You can really see the science in the upper-right frame, look as she just pours that concoction on the slide. That's the essence right there.

We slaved away all weekend in the lab - wearing lab coats, using beakers, computers, graphs, extrapolation machines, carrying around dictionaries so we could say big words to each other, and all kinds of other extra bonus scientific stuff. One friend, *****, even offered to bring in his huge centrifuge. After we fired that thing up, the data literally just wrote itself.

That's a great picture of me scientifically examining something scientific, under the old 'scope. Everybody knows that scientists use microscopes.

Ultimately, we wound up accomplishing nothing other than making mixed drinks in vials and beakers. Then we used a Bunsen burner to boil some water. While we couldn't scientifically confirm that chick is hotter than you, we could confirm that whiskey tastes good, even after it's been through the centrifuge for a couple minutes.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

free pizza

Holy lol @ this little example of assholery.

I work in an office complex - like a whole office park. Just a bunch of office buildings, owned/managed by the same person/company. Those of us in the business world will find this pretty common.

The cool thing is, the owner recently decided to open a lunch cafe in our building. FUCK YEAH, a lunch cafe. It gets better though: they opened a NY Pizza place!

I don't know if you're familiar with "NY Pizza" or not. Regardless, let me quickly explain - but yo, lemme preface this: I'm not from New York; and I don't claim to know real "New York pizza". It just seems that lately a lot of pizza joints have been popping up with "New York" or "NY" in their name. The common denominator I've noticed, besides the name, is that the slices of pizza are generally larger than average. That's it. For the most part, the pizza is all kinds of tasty too.

Now that that's out of the way, lettuce get back to the story.

So we got a NY Pizza in our office building! Like 20 yards from where I work. So awesome, so tasty. They actually have a restaurant location in town, like 10 mins from the office; and they serve a lunch buffet with so many tasty pizzas and pastas that I usually get a boner just thinking about it. Yeah, a boner.

After witnessing the starting of construction in our building like in October, we waited patiently for this shit to get finished, and ultimately open. It was going so slowly - November passed. Then December. Then part of January. The fact that we kept hearing rumblings of it opening "next week", kept us pumped, but continually bummed. The actual construction was seemingly done, what the fuck was the hold-up?

Finally we got confirmation that it would be opening in early February.

Hell froze over, and come one Monday morning, it was open for business! Upon arriving to the office that morning, I couldn't help but notice how good it smelled! They had breakfast sandwiches, featuring my best friend, bacon! I still have yet to partake, but it looks so good. Things are starting off great!

And with any new business opening up, comes the grand opening! Fuck yeah, I love grand openings! As we all know, with grand openings, comes free samples! Notice how I said free samples, not a free lunch for you to stuff your fucking face with, you fat fuck.

After announcing it for a couple days with signs up all over, they were ready to do this shit. Balloons, and a table full of their finest breakfast sandwiches, pizza, pastries, and other shit was a great way to let you know that yeah, you gon get ur nom nom on. Truly a delightful sight. The entire office smelled so good with freshly cooked delicacies all over. Mmmmmm!

Unfortunately, this wonderful event was marred by the actions of a few gluttons.

It's true, the food they put out for all to sample, was co-opted by a horde of animals. What was intended to be a celebration for all to take in, turned into a free lunch for many. I watched in disgust as the soulless marched up to the buffet table, and piled their plates high with free food. Maybe that was the intention, to provide some with a free lunch. But maybe it was just to get a glimpse, or a taste, of the awesomeness of the potentiality of sharing a lunch-dining experience with our new NY Pizza cafe.

I would lean towards the latter.

From my pedestal, I looked down upon the greedy masses as they consumed and consumed and consumed. Yeah I grabbed a slice of pizza, and enjoyed it furiously, along with the rest of my lunch that I packed that day.

But what I gotta know is, can you live with yourself, after all that free pizza you ate?

Unrelated: I'm watching our skinny bald ferret follow the chubby albino one around, sniffing her butt as they walk their way around the living room.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010



Yo, errbody knows it sucks to fail. 'N errbody know it's funny when other people fail. In ways that cause no harm to animals.

Put aside the fact that your life has been one colossal failure after another. Forget that your week has been 2 days of nonstop failing, only to be punctuated by 2 more days of nonstop failing. But look on the bright side - today is Wednesday - HUMP DAY. For one day, today, you won't fuck up. Well you probably will, but it won't be as bad.

You will, however, share a chuckle with me, as other people fuck up.


Possibly (read: definitely) the worst 41 seconds of guitar playing every laid to a professional tape. Keep in mind, that clip was from the music video. That millions of people have seen. And it was done with a straight face.

None of us will ever play the guitar that poorly. Ever. Oh you've never played the guitar before? Something tells me you'll still be able to play a better solo than that, even if by just chillin' out on open E for 41 seconds.

Here's another fail for you. I'm going to post the picture, and you see if you can tell where the fail(s) is/are.

Go ahead, click the picture, so you can take it all in.

I wasn't going to point it out, but that's like a poor man's cleavage. Like, if you're not hot at all, and you're going to be showin' off some cleave, you better have the best fake tits Donald Trump can buy. Or a really sweet push-up bra. What you're seeing here is the archetypal frumpy chick cleavage: it's there, very underwhelming, if not off-putting, and certainly not awesome.

Whatever, boobs are boobs, cleavage is cleavage; just be glad you're not dating that slore lol. Cleavage appreesh PUMP!

Also, abusing that poor dog PUMP!

On to the next failure!

Wait, there's no failure here! How can you fail if you're sleeping in a hamburger?!?!? You can't!

Though I've never done it before, sleeping in a hamburger PUMPS ME UP! Look at that attention to detail - the cheese foam(?) thing, the the burger mattress, and the lettuce sheet. Pure genius. I see a little red tomato thing sticking out, probably a pillow or something. Just the mere thought of spending a night in that heavenly burger-bed PUMPS ME UP!

Last PUMP here, to get you back to the roots of HUMP DAY PUMP UP - the origins, if you will. See, it all started with me working. The work week is so long and brutal, I needed something to occupy my time. So I started this blog. Then I needed something to help us collectively get through the work week - enter HUMP DAY PUMP UP.

As such, this last video takes place in a business setting, in a conference room, at a meeting. And for those of you not suffering through a 9-5 jobbie - FYI, this kind of stuff happens ON THE REGULAR, no doubt.

Something fun finally happening in a meeting PUMP ME UP PRAISE THE PUMP GODS HALLELUJAH AMEN.

See, your life isn't so bad, some people have it much worse. Keep that in mind as you sputter through the rest of the week. Cause yeah, the last couple days sucked; and yeah, the next couple days are probably gonna suck too. But at least we have HUMP DAY. We'll always have HUMP DAY.


Tuesday, March 16, 2010

4 reasons we get ripped off

Oh hey peeps, peep this: recently, I read an article about why we get ripped off, like when we're buying stuff. My initial response was, "we get ripped of because we signed on the dotted line without even thinking twice about it". Seems plausible, right? It IS plausible, pussies.

But leave it to the liberal hack retards at to blame somebody else for your getting ripped off. Or for anything lol. Yes, you read that right. In a situation where nobody is doing the purchasing but you, they are blaming SOMEBODY ELSE for you buying a shitty thingamabobber.

Ok, they do place some blame on the consumer with the first bullet point, but that olive branch of common sense is quickly negated by 3 more tear-filled bullet points. Whatever, let's take a look at this banality.

1. We suck at math - ok, this first bullet point makes the article worth reading lol. The article just goes on how we, as Americans, are sucking the dong at math...and it's RePuRrCuShInNz in the real world - comparing items in the grocery store, figuring out a tip at a restaurant...and large-scale purchases, like purchasing a car, securing loans, etc. I'm sure you can see the implications. It's like, if you can't do the math, and realize that going to the local porno shop to buy a $25 DVD of an hour and a half of porn is retarded, considering the unlimited free porn on the internet, then you've got some issues, bruh.

2. Sociopaths are everywhere - no shit Sherlock, but does that mean that you have to give them your money? No, it doesn't. So you go shopping for a doohickey, and the sales person tells you that the doohickey, from Brand A, is going to make your wildest dreams come true. Good news, before you went shopping, you consulted your good friend, Google, and they told you that the specific doohickey in question will not make your wildest dreams come true. But it will, in fact, develop an annoying glitch about 6 weeks after you bring it home, and ultimately cease to function within a year of purchase. With that, you tell the salesperson to get lost, as you proceed to procure the doohickey from Brand B. T'ain't nothing a little pre-shopping research can't fix, sucka.

3. Bait and switch capitalism is abundant - lol @ tacking "capitalism" onto a name for a common form of consumer deception. Aside from that obvious misnomer, this is kinda legit. It really sucks to buy something, and then realize there are extra fees, post-purchase. But, there's that whole "reading the fine print" thing that most people glaze over. Surprisingly, the article sensibly uses the example of cell phone companies, as a glaring example. Walking into any cellular store not knowing that you're going to get fucked, is like stabbing your eyes out with a screwdriver, and thinking you're going to be able to see. But anyway, I prefer my tried & true slight modification of "baiting" & "switching". Yeah, it's called "masturbating & switching", a proven method of throwing a lame and cliched joke into a blog post lol.

4. Half the FTC is gone: 20 years ago there were 2k employees, now just over 1k - This is the classic call for someone else to take care of you. Do you want the government tuck you in at night, wipe your ass, and clean your shower for you too? OK, I would like them to clean my shower, but that's it. Maybe my toilet too. And yes I would let Sarah Palin or Cindy McCain tuck me in at night. But holy shit, are you catching this? Part of the reason you're getting ripped off is because of less government lol. Funny, cause with less government, people usually prosper. Just so we're clear here, the author is asking for an entity, with both Medicaid and the USPS on its resume, to talk to you about wasting money. LOL, I thought the point was to NOT go broke. Nevermind the fact that the internet is overflowing with review websites, blogs, and so much information, that it's impossible to make an uninformed decision.

What I want you to take away from this, is that no matter what happens to you, no matter how badly you get the shaft, or how badly you screw yourself, there will always be someone else you can blame.

Here, MSN goes on a crying jag.

Monday, March 15, 2010

thu bust vuwul uvur

Damn, this was like a couple weeks ago. I was talking with my friend/enemy from Wyoming, Canada. Yeah, homeboy lives in Canada or something. I don't know, maybe Wyoming is the crapital of Montana. I can never remember.

That's not important.

What's important is the conversation we had over IM, yes, during work hours, but I WAS ON MY LUNCH BREAK. All day.

We write some pretty fucked up stuff, like stuff that is pretty stupid, and a mix of slang, gibberish, jive talkin', and English.

Somehow it hit me that for some reason, I found the letter "u" to be the most versatile vowel ever. So I shared my feeling with my friend:

Heck Yeah, Man says:
u is the most universal vowel
*u us thu must unuvursul vuwul

Wyoming says:

HYM says:

WY says:

HYM says:

WY says:

This is where I decided that I'm not sure if I really need any other letters at all.

HYM says:
u us thu unly luttur u nuud

WY says:
fuck yuu dumbsluthuvur

HYM says:
u uu uuu uuuu uuuuuu u uuuu

WY says:
vug huvur

HYM says:

WY says:

HYM says:

WY says:
uuu uuuuuu?

HYM says:

WY says:
uu, uuuu uuuuu uuuuu uuuuuu uuuuuuu?

HYM says:

WY says:
uuuu uuuuu, uuu

HYM says:

WY says:
u'u uuuu uuu uuuu uuuuuu uuuu.

HYM says:
uuuu (lerl)

I'm 28 years old, about to get married to a DOCTOR, make a shitload of money, and somehow this is how I still amuse myself.

Friday, March 12, 2010

my shit list

You know, over the last 10 years of my life, I've really come across some shitty businesses. Businesses that I will never give my money to, no matter what kind of product they offer. Most of the time it stems from shitty customer service, a shitty product, or a combination of both.

Either way, I've had some horrible experiences.

Being in sales, I'm the one in contact with customers: the disgruntled ones, like myself. I deal with business owners every day. Often times, I deal with the absolute worst of the worst, the lowest of the low. Real pieces of shit that don't belong in this world. Truly the dredges of society. That's not to say that I don't deal with some fair, and reasonable people every once in a while, because I do.

For a while, I've wanted to a do a "SHIT LIST". Just a simple list of all the assholes who have been just that, assholes. I'm not talking about some jerk that won't buy from me; I'm talking about some jerk who is a real prick about it. The son of a bitch that not only doesn't buy from me, but rubs it in my face. I don't mean a random bartender dude who skips over my business once or twice to serve the hot slores down the bar a bit. I'm talking about the hipster shitheads at the local bar, The Top. It's like pulling teeth to get a drink in that place.

Funny story, a couple years ago on New Year's Eve, we were there, at The Top. And of course I couldn't get a drink. So I yelled at the bartender, "HEY GARGOYLE, CAN I GET THEM DRINKS WHILE I'M STILL YOUNG!?" and my friend, obviously worried about my well-being, cautions me: "omg, you can't talk to the bartenders like that, you'll get thrown out!".

Eyeballing the hipster bartenders, I inquire, "by who?". lol.

Anyway, what I'm talking about here are the businesses that have tried their best to fuck me over. A business like Sprint. Many people have had good experiences with them. I however, have not. With the exception of my main, meatiest friend (and 3 co-workers of his choosing), I hope everybody that works for Sprint, in any capacity, dies.

One time, when I just signed up with sprint, I got a sweet brand new camera-phone. Remember those? It was awesome, I just got my phone activated, and I was about to call Heckyeahwoman to tell her how awesome I/my camera-phone am/is. But I got a text message. A seemingly random text message. It was the kind of phone where when you get one, it automatically pops up, and opens it (the text message), charging you ten cents for each one. The text was from some dude inquiring about what was going on tonight.

Not recognizing the number, I text back, "who is this?" Not expecting the reply I was about to get, I was stunned when I got it: "yo hit me back *n-word*, where u at 2nite?".


Then another text came. And another. And another. This went on for 2 days before I went in to get my number changed. We decided I must have gotten a rather popular person's previous number, when they switched carriers or something. Whatever, I got a new number, and the problem was solved.

Until I got my bill. I got charged for 550+ text messages. 500. Five hundred and fifty. Plus. I explained the situation, and they were adamant about charging me for each one, because my phone automatically opened them. "If you didn't know who was sending it, why would you open it?", they asked. "Uh, the fucking phone does it automatically".

I actually had to have my dad call and get it taken care of for me. Thanks dad! Fuck you Sprint! And no, this wasn't the time I asked the dipshit guido dickhead what time he gets off work, so I could explain to him with my baseball bat, how customer service works. Nah, this wasn't the time I got escorted out of the Sprint store. I can tell you about that time later.

But it's not just Sprint; it's also LG, the electronics-maker. I got one of their phones a year and a half ago, and thought it was sweet. Until the screen died, like a month after I got it. Whatever, bad luck. I took it into a SPRINT store, and the asshole is all like, "oh yeah yeah, we'll fix that no problem, here let me take a look at it".

Being so pumped, I gave him the phone, and after about 30 seconds of looking at it, he hands it back with a frown, "yeah, you're gonna need to send that in".


So I sent it in, and like 2 weeks later, I had a fixed phone. Sweet. They were nice enough to cover it under warranty. Wait, nice enough? The phone was a month and a half old lol. IT SHAN'T NEED TO BE FIXED!

Fast forward a year, now the phone keeps turning off. Put it in my pocket, it turns off. Pull it out of my pocket, it turns off. Set it on the table, it turns off. Try to make a call, it turns off. Get a call, it turns off. Look at it, it turns off. Turn it on, it turns off. To be fair, the combination of my short temper and its rage, directed at the phone when it acts up, probably isn't much help lol.

Maybe I should put myself on my own shitlist, right next to Sprint.

Speaking of SHITlist, I totally wanted to post a little bit about the amazing dump I took yesterday, but after the barrage of poop posts from a week or two, I decided that it can chill for a bit. But seriously, it was an explosion for the ages.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

is this a conundrum?

What a great word, eh?

Oh, which word?

Which word do you think, dumbass?

Some of you may have already realized my affinity for reading Dear Prudie, a weekly advice column on...*gulp* Some of you may even know that I dabble in giving advice from time to time.

With that said, I was reading a question that a reader in Maine wrote in, to Dear Prudie. It was a man, which is strange; because it seems that the majority of the people that write in with questions are women. Hot, sexy, single sluts, that are DTF. That's probably not true, but a neat idea possibly worth exploring later.

Anyway, the man wrote about how much he loved his wife of 15 years, but after a couple kids, she's not the same beautiful woman he fell in love with. Clearly, I didn't have to read anymore to know where he was getting: his once hot wife got fat.

Naturally, after finishing the submission, my suspicions were confirmed: she hasn't been able to lose the baby weight, and cries about not having enough time to exercise. He also noted that she whines about weighing too much. Fair enough, the first step is admitting you have a problem, right? Kudos, fatty. But doing something about the problem is where most lose it.

I could go in a couple different directions here; however, I'll spare you my much-expected ranting about fat people. But there are some things that need to be touched on.

First thing I thought was, WHAT THE FUCK, YOU DIDN'T GET A CONTRACT BEFORE YOU GOT MARRIED? You have no legal recourse to ditch your tubby wife now. Smooth move, dumbass.

That's not the point of this post though. He took a couple sentences to talk about his failures in suggesting she get some exercise, and wondered how to do it more tactfully. Hats off to him - he tried. My take on this: if she can't read between the lines, and infer that you're telling her she needs to get hot again, then she's probably too dumb to notice that you're banging that slore at the gym that's just beggin' for it.

Still not totally the point of this post.

It's like, he'd been lightly suggesting she get some exercise for a while now. You know, before she reaches the tipping point. And you'll know when she's at that tipping point - it's that point where she admits that she needs to start a diet, start going to the gym more than once a week, start doing something about it, start blah blah blah. Yeah, she may have been saying that for a while now, but the tipping point is where you can really hear it in her voice.

You can really hear that cholesterol soaked voice from deep within her loins, crying for help.

And there lies the rub: "Hey, do you want to come to the gym with me, I'd love to take one of those zumba classes with you (lol no I don't, but I will)" vs "Well I've been trying to get you to get some exercise for the last 6 months, and now look at you".

That's the conundrum: "telling your spouse not to get getting some exercise" vs "telling her she is now fat... because of not exercising".

Can you just taste how sweet that double deep fried, bacon-crusted "i told you so" would taste?

Lol, sucks to be that dude.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010


First of all, the word "renig". What a great word. Did you know that "renig" isn't the proper spelling?


How the hell do you spell it then?

Reneg? NOPE.

It's actually R-E-N-E-G-E. Renege. What, is it French or something?

Anyway, enough with the word. I am here to PUMP YOU UP with my semi-renegging.

That's right, last week I told everybody how much I hate Paula Deen. Well I still do, don't worry.

But I let my hate for obese southern twats creep into my decision not to eat at her restaurant, when we were in Savannah this past weekend. See, I was originally against it, in favor of a different, similar place. However, Heckyeahwoman really wanted to try it, so I caved. Grudgingly, I caved.

And holy shit, what a mistake that would have been if we would have passed on this (highly) polished turd!

So here I am, renegging. I was wrong - I have no qualms about admitting it. And with that, lettuce get UBER-PUMPED as I tell the story of my Paula Deen experience.

First things first, rumor is, in order to get lunch at her restaurant, you have to get up at the crack of dawn, and go get in line to put your name in for your lunch reservation. And we did just that - I was up by 9:15, and on my way down to the line by 9:30. Total UNPUMP right there.

Lucky for me, I made a quick pit-stop at the hotel's continental breakfast to grab some quick NOMs before I busted out. Christ, I had no idea how long I'd wait in line, so I had to get my grub on ya heard. Upon arriving in the room containing the continental breakfast, I was greeted by a chorus of "what the fuck is this shit?".

Turns out, I was greeting myself as I gazed yonder at the dismal looking shitinental breakfast. Fucking cereal, shitty OJ, shitty apple juice, tiny cinnamon rolls, shitty biscuits with shitty gravy, what the fuck, I can eat this shit at home. Whatever, Heckyeahwoman told me to chill out and eat a biscuit.

OK so I grabbed a cinnamon roll, and in defiance of Heckyeahwoman telling me to eat a biscuit instead, I poured gravy all over it. It was OK.

5 minutes later, ur boi is out on the mean streets of Savannah, GA, pre 9:30 AM. Damn.

Cause I'm a FUCKING BALLER PIMP, I booked us a hotel right in the middle of the action, so the walk was about 2 minutes. Holy Crap though, I could see the line from the hotel, and it definitely wrapped around the blocks. Whatevs, undeterred, I made my way.

And cause I'm such HANDSOME BALLER PIMP, the mexican bitches in line behind me were trying to smile and flirt with me, but yo, ur boi had his headphonez on, and was about to set it off.

Don't believe me?

Listen to this song, and try not absolutely lose it. G'head, pussybeats - try it.

Within a half hour, we had lunch reservations at 1:45. There was only one thing left for us to do: get PUMPED UP and JACKED at the hotel fitness center. Hell yeah, at the gym by 10 AM on a Saturday, don't see that very often.

Working out on the weekends PUMPS ME UP. I hate it, but it PUMPS ME UP.

So after a brutal workout, a shower, and a couple minutes of chilling, we were on our way to lunch.

Dude it was awesome, we got there, and guess who was seating the guests! MOTHERFUCKING PAULA DEEN WAS! THAT FAT BITCH WAS STANDING THERE, WORKING THE HOSTESS STAND.

Holy shit, that's not true at all, actually it was some doofy looking guy, and some hot looking slore lol.

Of course, we got sat, and immediately gravitated towards the buffet. Wait, buffet? Hell yeah, buffet! A quick once-over told me that this shit was good to go.

Look how tasty the fried chicken looked!

I can't think of many things that PUMP ME UP more than FRIED CHICKEN AND AMERICAN FLAGS. AMURRICUH FUCK YEAH.

Then I took a heaping helping of collard greens. Unfortunately they didn't look like the ones in the picture below. No, they were soaked much longer in what was probably motor oil and salt. But holy shit were they good.

We went on to sample a little bit of everything, not planning on getting as full as we did. We got so full, that we couldn't even start drinking till like 4:30. Yeah, I know right. But then we got...well, I got, very loaded. All I remember is walking home from the bar, and all of a sudden Heckyeahwoman thought we should get pizza. I just remember walking like a zombie, following her so I wouldn't get lost lol. I was pretty tore up.

And this should go with out saying: eating a shitload of horrible-for-you-but-awesome southern food, getting drunk early ever day on vacation, and partying furiously make for one of the most unruly HUMP DAY PUMP UPS that we have on record.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

god is nature

There are some crazy bastards traveling along US 441 between Alachua and Gainesville.

Take this most recent asshole, for example. He had a bumper sticker, not bumper stickers like this, but a different type of bumper sticker.

A much simpler bumper sticker.

A simply stated belief, "God is Nature".

Behold, a revelation. God is nature. So should I capitalize the "n" ("N"?) in Nature?

It wasn't just any revelation; no, it was such an important revelation he wanted to put it on his car, for all to see. That's great that you think that GOD IS NATURE. But aren't there better ideas to be sharing? What about like hugging a homeless person, or neutering your cat, or something. It's hard to argue with hugging a homeless person, or neutering your cat.

I get it dude, God is Nature. I can almost get behind that idea. If I had to believe in God, I would think nature would be as plausible an option as any. In fact, 4 out of 5 scientists agree that Nature would make a pretty cool God.

But I don't know, the God in the bible seems pretty awesome though. Always loving everybody and forgiving motherfuckers n shit. But then your friend Fred Phelps told me that God hates fags. And I'm all like, "aw God, man, whaddya got against fags, man? C'mon bro, don't even call 'em fags."

That's not very loving, but I guess hating stuff is cool.

But for my money yo, God is Mexican. No doubt. I can't think of a type of food I'd rather eat more often. Whoever invented tacos and burritos and nachos and chalupas and perros and stuff, that's some godly type shit right there. God is Mexican as fuck, I guarantee it.

And right there we have our TUESDAY EVENING PRE PUMP CAUSE I'M EATING TACOS TONIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS. That's right, Berri and Spawn* are hosting the weekly Lost party tonight, and rumor is, THEY'RE MAKING TACOS.

I FUCKING LOVE TACOS. I might call in sick to work tomorrow cause I'm so excited. Unfortunately, Heckyeahwoman has never loved, LOVED, Mexican food like me.

Alternate possibilities for the identity of GOD: a really tasty buffalo wing, an open E palm-muted chord, boobs/vaginas, Danzig.

*names changed

Monday, March 8, 2010

that's gay

1. Not sure what happened on Friday. I went on vacation on Thursday, and thought I had a post scheduled. Guess I was wrong. Guess I fucked up. Guess I fucked up again. So yeah, that sucks. Totally forgot to check the blog too. Guess I was too busy partying.

2. Today's post. I was going to just post Friday's post today, but I have a better story.

We took a long weekend, and went on vacation to Savannah, GA. It was awesome. Not counting driving time, I would venture a guess that we spent more time loaded than sober. Eat, drink, sleep, repeat. I've got some stories from the trip that are gonna make great posts. Oddly, this particular story is the last one that happened, chronologically. But it might be the best.

After a brutal weekend of fun, we drove back Sunday afternoon on a beautiful day. Barely getting out of Savannah, we were both feeling the hunger pangs, so what better place to get some NOMs than at SUBWAY.

FUCK YEAH, I forgot how tasty Subway is.

So we walk in, and are greeted by two of the creepiest looking motherfuckers I have ever seen. This long haired freak, wearing a beanie, with just the coldest, emptiest blue eyes ever. Almost a half smile stretched across his face. But not a full-on toothy smile, more like a smirk. Freaky lookin dude right there. I bet he was in his early twenties.

Other dude was a bit older, and probably the other dude's dad. He had the same thing going on, but his eyes weren't as cold. Or as blue. Still, very unsavory-looking characters. But yo, I'll tell you what was savory, those subs we NOM'd on.

So lol, Heckyeahwoman orders a roast chicken sub with all the veggies, but no peppers. No creepy, guy, no peppers - banana, jalapenis, or green. No peppers, thanks. She finishes it off with a bit of ranch, and salt & pepper. Tasty little sandwich she's got there. I know this not because I'm merely assuming it's tasty, because it appears that way. No, I know this because a couple hours later, I would help her finish it in the car - and at that time, my suspicions would be confirmed - the sandwich was very tasty.

I was up next, so I ordered a roast chicken sub with all the veggies. ALL THE VEGGIES, but no green peppers. But yes sir, I would like some banana and jalepenis peppers though. Some salt & pepper, and a little bit of olive oil, thank you. GD man, that sub was tasty. Unfortunately, I was a little hung over, so I couldn't put the whole thing down. Yes, not like me at all.

Anyway, what we ate has no relevance to the lols here. So when we walked in, a mother and child (maybe 3, 4, or 5) were there trying to figure out what to order. Politely, she asked us to go ahead and order, as they were still examining the menu. No biggie, we thanked her, and ordered.

See the picture below for an image featuring a mother and son.

Actually, on second thought, the mother and child duo looked more like the ones below, rather than the ones above.

It was while we were eating when Heckyeahwoman asked me if I heard what the child said to the mother. What? I totally missed it. But after she told me, we both got to ROFLing pretty furiously.

The following is her account of the brief exchange between mother and son.

Mother, holding her son as they look at the menu: It looks like they don't have pizza here.

Son: That's gay.


That's gay? A child said something was "gay"?

This kid was younger than 5 years old! How can he be calling anything gay!? How can he even know what gay means?

The family looked pretty suburban, clean cut, and nice enough - not really the type to be running around calling things gay. The mom was a skinny soccer mom type, minus both the minivan and the hotness. The dad was a skinny balding dude, wearing a polo shirt and dockers. The kid looked like a normal young child, and seemed well behaved.

I really have no explanation for what happened. But I can imagine that hearing a young child calling something gay in a Subway must have been quite a magical experience. And I'm blessed that Heckyeahwoman shared it with me.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

holy shit i hate paula dean

Not really the best title for today's post, but in general, a pretty great title. See, I really do hate Paula Dean, and we'll get to that in a minute (guess what, I hate her because she's fat!).

I want to take this opportunity to wrap up a few thoughts I've had over the last couple months. Nothing life changing, just a few ideas I jotted down, that I thought would be worth mentioning.

First, it all started when Heckyeahwoman and I were having a chilled out Friday night. Damn, this musta been a couple months ago. We were watching some wedding show about a bitch shopping for a wedding dress. Well guess what, she found a beautiful dress that she just had to have. So she got it.

Yes, the groom-to-be was very reluctant to purchase it, because of the price; but that's nothing a little wifely bickering can't fix. Besides, what's a couple thousand dollars over your budget?!? You're only gonna get married a couple times in your life anyway - you should make the most of it each time, and splurge a little. C'mon, live a little.

Then the dress arrived; she tried it on, and she hated it lol. I don't know, I thought it looked fine. I mean, the chick wasn't hot or anything, but she wasn't fat, and the dress looked OK. Then the ROFL happened: she asked the store for a refund! Cause that dress wasn't custom ordered or anything, you DUMB FUCK.

Can you even do that? Can you show such stupid shit on TV? Should I be hollering at the FCC? This might be worse than the Janet Jackson Super Bowl boob slip.

OK, back to Paula Dean, and this has nothing to do with the first story. One night a while ago, we were watching TV, and somehow Paula Dean came on. Her show was horrible - she deep fried everything, poured butter all over it, salt, everything that is bad for you, she did.

Even worse: her hideous southern accent/voice. The way she says "so delicious", just grates on my ears. It's like a southern twang, informed by clogged arteries. Sew deeelishthisths.

I didn't have the time or the patience to find the commercial where she says the phrase in question; but I did manage to find this most unappetizing shit show.

I sincerely and truly hope she dies. Well not until after she cooks my lunch on Friday when we visit her restaurant in Savannah. Lol, I'm blaming Heckyeahwoman for making me go there.

One more thing. You know what this picture is?

It's a ferret in a litter box. No, not one of our girls, but a random, Google images-sponsored picture of a ferret in a litter box. Look at the tail curling, the head pointing upward and outward. That's how all ferrets go potty.

Well, ours usually aren't in the litter box when they're going potty lol.

But the thing is, when I let them out of the cage at night, we usually like to have them drop one real quick, you now, so they're not doing it on the carpet. Most nights they're good, and they'll go potty, then come out and play. They get it: go potty, and come out and play. Sometimes they'll step into the litter box, assume the position, then jump right back out. Not sure if they don't have to go, or if they're just trying to trick me.

Either way, after a couple times, they'll usually go. The thing is, I'm watching them, to make sure they go - like standing right outside the cage, telling the little shits to "go potty, motherfucker". But whenever they assume the position, I always look away.

I don't know, I just feel like it's kinda weird to be watching someone, or something, go to the bathroom. Don't get me wrong, I'll still stand there; but I'll stand real still while respectfully looking the other way.

Everybody has a right to poop in peace, man.

None of the little posts were related at all, but I wanted to indulge my creative self, and feed my ego with a "collection" of short posts. All the great writers have their own "collections", of sorts - Hemingway, Keroouuouauououac, Camus, and now *******. Yes, I am boldly lumping my name in with the classic writers that defined a generation.

Writers that moved me beyond my years.

Writers that clearly influenced my style, as a fellow wordsmith.

Writers whose works were of epic proportions.

Anyway, DUDE

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: one handed bandit

With the clue in the title, I have a feeling that most of you have an idea what band is going to be featured today. Ok, most of you probably have no idea lol.

Far be it from me to mock a man who was born with one hand, especially considering how awesome "Background Music" is. Actually, I don't know if he was born without it, or lost it in a violent accident. How much MORE would it PUMP YOU UP if you learned that he was fighting a gaggle of grizzly bears, lions, and great white sharks when he lost it?


Listen to this awesome song, and you decide:

While I may be typing this up on Sunday night, I'm gonna be no doubt watching this various times throughout Wednesday, so I'm gonna make a prediction. After arriving at work, checking my blog to make sure the post posted, I'm gonna watch each video, and get beyond PUMPED. I'll probably have some tea, and then not being able to contain the PUMP anymore, call a brief meeting in the conference room. When everybody shows up, I'll have the projector hooked up, some speakers plugged in, and this song will be blasting and I'll be spinkicking the shit out of whoever dares come near.

After seeing this video, and watching the retards in the crowd, it makes me kinda embarrassed to listen to hardcore lol.

Whatever, don't let my embarrassment stop you from being PUMPED UP by today's awesome series of INSANE PUMP-INDUCING songs.

You sick of the shoddy quality of the live videos? Here check out this song in it's album version glory:

Bottom line, if you were born with one hand, would you just sit around and cry about it, or would you join a band, and embark on a life long (5 year) mission of PUMPING PEOPLE UP across the globe?

Of course you wouldn't! You'd be spreadin' the PUMP across the land!

Spread that PUMP across the rest of this week, and save some for the weekend.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

i would never serve that to them redux

A bit more about this past Saturday night's festivities, as semi-promised in yesterday's post:

Aw yeah, it happened again. You better believe it.

The last time, I deviously planned to serve our good friends, Ryan & Machel (names changed again, shitdicks), some shitty meatloaf frozen dinner meat thing. This time, the item in question is a thirst quenching, southern red table wine.

My bad: thirst quenching, southern red, PREMIUM table wine.

A little back story: A couple months ago, before the original "i would never serve that to them" was even a mere inkling in my sick little mind, I went to the Winn (lose) Dixie to take advantage of their seemingly endless buy-one-get-one wine deals. Seriously, I've never been there when there hasn't been a BOGO deal with the wine.

And worse, of the probably 300 times I've been to the Winn, in my 4+ years here in Gainesville, I've probably indulged 80% of the time.

So I was at the Winn, just perusing the BOGO wines, and after finding the cheapest ($5.99/bottle), I grabbed two. Little did I know that as fate would have it, this would be the "southern red" in question. Upon returning home, I didn't think anything of it as I threw the bottles in the wine rack, and proceeded to continue on with mah daily lyfe.

Still "thinking nothing of it", a couple nights later, I opened a bottle of that southern red, and poured a glass for both Heckyeahwoman and myself.

"JESUS CHRIST THIS TASTES LIKE SHIT!", I announced, as the warm, toiletwater-esque liquid passed my lips. With a smile on her pretty face, Heckyeahwoman comforted me, "It's not that bad", as she took a sip. Almost instantly, that pretty face turned to a disgusted grimace, as she damn near spit it out at me.

We both decided it tasted like shit. It was very sweet and fruity, kinda like my gay uncle Gord.

Then, reality sets in: we have a whole second bottle of this red-hued piss. Not cool, bruh.

Grudgingly we choked down the rest of the bottle that night; I believe we mixed it with 7up and Vodka or something. What the hell were we gonna do with the other bottle though?

"Next time we go over to Ryan & Machel's, we can just bring it, and leave it over there, no biggie", I suggested.

That was met with a "honey, no!".

Fast forward like 4 months - to this past Saturday night, guess who we got coming over!

Yep, Ryan & Machel. And oh goodie, they brought a half-empty bottle of wine with them! You know they're gonna kill that, and need a refill at some point. Within an hour, that vision became a reality - as they both had empty glasses, and Machel went out on the porch to take a phone call. We quickly told Ryan the story of the shitty wine, and he lolled & wanted to try it.

What a good sport.

So of course he sampled it, and was just as disgusted with it was we were. Always the gentleman, he filled up Machel's glass with some of it. She got back in, and without telling her the horrible truth, informed her that we simply refilled her glass for her.

Responding happily, she reached for the glass to take a sip, as we watched with baited breath. Seriously, it was like we were watching a cat about to give birth to kittens. The glass touched her lips, and we all saw the liquid pass through; and then her facial expression changed dramatically.

"Oh my god this is delightful!", she exclaimed.


It's true, she enjoyed it, and went on to drink more throughout the night.

But what of this "throughout the night" business? Am I suggesting that our Saturday nights consist of more than just tricking girls into drinking shitty wine? You bet I am.

We watched the movie "Up". Yes, the Disney-Pixar joint. After having seen part of "Wall-E", I was less than enthused about this probable piece of shit. Our male guest shared my sentiment, but the gurlz were pumped, so whatever.

Surprisingly, the movie was quite engaging - even though we aren't children. The fact that it's a cartoon, the simple storyline, and the more fantastic bits of the screenplay were the only things, in my eyes, that qualified it as a movie for children. There was action, adult themes, blood, abortions, and death. All awesome stuff for sure, but it was glazed over enough where a kid could miss it, but yo, an older mind will grasp what's happening.

And yes, I said death - plenty of death. This movie had a higher kill count than that newest Rambo flick. Just because you don't see all the gore and awesome brutality when some dude falls out of a hot air balloon, doesn't mean it didn't happen. Seriously, you see a shitload of motherfuckers falling out of that hot air balloon. You just don't see them all smooshed and shit on the ground.

And abortion? You betcha. Well, if you've seen the movie, I'm sure you could argue miscarriage; but I'm definitely thinking second-trimester abortion. Whatever, pretty decent movie.

But yeah, the wine - you would never serve that to them? Well I would, and I did. Sorry!

Monday, March 1, 2010

nom nom nom

I've been sitting on this one for a while.

Def been waiting on an appropriate time to post this. In honor of the ABSOLUTE SHITLOAD of sushi that I ate Saturday night, and how full I got, I thought the next available blog post would be a great time to post this little diamond in the rough.

So check this out, Friday night we met some friends out for happy hour. Damn right we did. I ended up getting pretty tore up, and dancing like an asshole, but whatever. So we met at this restaurant/bar 'n grill type place. It's right on the corner of Main & University, and has been about 8 different names/places since we've moved here. We went there a couple times in the fall to watch Gator games, and it was awesome - great drink prices, and great bar food.

So, since it changed its name again recently, we thought we'd check out the newest incarnation. Long story short: we fucked up. Drinks were great, but the food was pretty shitty. Whatevs, we ain't down to let a couple shitty mealz ruin our night, so we managed to still have a great time.

But yo, when you somehow manage to fuck up chili & cheese fries, that's definitely a sign of bigger problems. Also, Heckyeahwoman and I split a buffalo chicken sandwich (which they also managed to fuck up), but on the menu, it described the chicken as being a huge ass chicken breast that would barely "fit through the door". Ok, so the SINGULAR chicken breast is gonna be huge, and all buffalo'd to high heaven, right? Upon receiving the sandwich, it turned out to be just a couple deep fried chicken tenders, barely coated in buffalo sauce.

I was so pissed, but my sobriety got the best of me, and nothing crazy happened: I cut the sandwich in half, and proceeded to NOM.

That was the first NOM NOM NOM of the weekend.

The second came when we went to the newly opened Ichiban Sushi. Best way to describe that place: holy shit, fuggin' tasty. Dude, I ate half the crab rangoons, most of the miso soup I shared with Heckyeahwoman, a good chunk of the chicken tempura we shared, one (1) huge salmon roll, and a good THURD of Heckyeahwoman's sushi roll of whatthefuggever it was. Oh yeah, and I, I I slammed the shit out of 2 beers.

After looking at what I ate, compared to what she ate, SHE GOT OWNED.

Pretty awesome little dinner though. Lol we went out to dinner that night at 5:30 pm. I swear we're not elderly, just all kinds of hungry whats up.

It's really unbelievable how full I was. We had our good friends and neighbors over to partake in some Saturday night hanging out (more on this maybe tomorrow, but no promises). Like everybody was slamming wine and beer, and here I was, the manliest of the group, drinking water out of a champagne flute. What an asshole.

Literally 3 hours later, the fullness subsided, and I was ready to get back to binge drinking.

The festivities wrapped up around 12:30ish, and having eaten dinner so early, I felt the first pangs of hunger. Like usual, those pangs immediately transformed themselves into MASSIVELY IMPULSIVE RAGES OF I FUCKING NEED TO EAT RIGHT FUCKING NOW YOU FUCKING PUSSIES.

Surprisingly, Heckyeahwoman was feeling the same thing. Though I'm sure her hunger wasn't quite as off-color as mine was.

Without missing a beat, she busted out the frying pan, and some meaty treats from the fridge; and I busted out a microwave safe plate, and some frozen brownie & ice cream indulgences from the freezer. We teamed up to cook that nosh-worthy goodness in record time.

We teamed up again to inhale those meaty, bacon-wrapped, bleu cheese dipped & ice cream and chocolate FUDGE-PACKED brownie treats. Again, in record time.

Fuggin' slept till like 12:30 on Sunday afternoon it was awesome. run on sentences FTW