Friday, June 25, 2010

tollbooth meltdown

Short little story here to ease you into the weekend.

So we were headin' back from Orlando, trying to get back into town on time to get Heckyeahwoman to her hair appointment on time. She scheduled it at like 2 pm, and Orlando is about 2 hours away. Staying overnight in a hotel, we knew that checkout was gonna be at like 11. Staying overnight in a hotel, we knew that we were probably gonna wake up from the alarm, snooze it, and call for late checkout.

Staying overnight in a hotel, we knew that there was going to be some fucking around, and we would be running late.

Needless to say, we were running late. The dumb bitch at the Starbucks taking FOREVER to get me my 2 goddamn AMERICANOZ didn't help things.

Anyway, so we finally get on the road, and as we're heading to the first tollbooth, I grab my 75 cents and toss them in the toll-collecting basket. Sweet, all 3 quarters sailed right in. In a hurry, I pull ahead, and notice the gate didn't open for me. We wait about 20 seconds, and the gate is still not down.

Right as I'm about start punching the dashboard, Heckyeahwoman yells, "GO PUT MORE MONEY IN". OK, so I get 3 more quarters, and toss them in. Immediately I run to the car, so I can speed out of the now opening gate. Except the gates not opening.

What the fuck.

I get out again, and give a "sorry" hand gesture & smile to the cars behind me. They're getting pissed; but interestingly enough, I didn't hear a single horn during the entire ordeal. Kinda cool. After a handful of change gets violently thrown at the basket, I run back to the car so as not to miss the opening of the gate.


Heckyeahwoman is pretty pissed at this point. I'm sweating.

Finally, I run to the lady in the booth, working the change-line, and point. She gestures for me to go, and raises the gate. FUCK YEAH WE'RE OUTTA THERE.

The minute I get in the car, Heckyeahwoman, obviously flustered, asks, "Why didn't you wait for the gate to raise before pulling forward?" Kind of confused, I ask, "Wait, what?". That seems to be my standard response for any question I don't like.

She clarifies for me, implying that I caused the tollbooth to malfunction. Now seeing the error of my ways, I apologize for the tollbooth not functioning properly, as that was something I obviously wanted to have happen. It was my goal for us to be stuck in a tollbooth, watching as the line of cars grows and grows.

Understandably, she was irritated; we were running late, and we were both pretty hungry. And I was sweating.

Some words of wisdom: all you boyfriends, and future husbands out there - remember, if a piece of machinery, or anything, ever malfunctions, independent of your actions, it's your fault. You fucked up.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010


PICTURE PUMP UP! I totally got married on Saturday!

I'm on the left, homeboy grabbin' my bride's ass on the right. Hey, better than him grabbing her boobs though, right?

It rained, so we had the ceremony indoors. I'm pretty happy about that, cause it was HOT AS FUCK. Luckily on the way to the afterparty, we managed to snag a pic at the gazebo, where we would have gotten married, had the weather cooperated.

Took that shit off with my teef.

Precursor to consummation, friends.

I was so PUMPED that my eyes actually looked like that.

The wedding/reception produced enough pictures for HUMP DAY PICTURE PUMP UPS for ages.

Monday, June 21, 2010

i'm married now

It's official: I have a hot wife.

Everybody that came to celebrate: we loved having you, thanks!

Everybody that couldn't make it, but wanted to: hopefully I'll see you next time.

Back in full effect on Wednesday, with HUMP DAY PUMP UP - But for now Ima consummate this thing right now.

OK, fine, quick little story from the wedding:

So it happened: the officiant announced our marriage, the ceremony was over! Wow! Goddamnit, pictures are next. Knowing the humid, sweat-filled doom that awaited us, we all slowly trudged outside to get our picture on. Luckily it didn't take much more than an hour to get the family, bridal party, and everything photographed.

Horrible, inefficient, and sweaty? Yes. But for the most part, the pictures were done. Time for the entrance.

That's right, Heckyeahwoman and I make our grand entrance together, into the reception. While the DJ is getting everybody into the reception hall, I'm hanging out back with the beautiful bride, the ring bearer, and his mother. In case you didn't know, the ring bearer is my good friend's 2 year old son. Such a cute little guy, and he looked really handsome in his little baby-suit.

As I head outside to meet up with Heckyeahwoman, and do this thing, the ring bearer snuck out the open door, and made a break for it!

Oh noez!

No worries, I walked over and picked him up, but as I bent down and grabbed him, TEEEAAARRRR!


Sure enough, after placing the ring bearer back down on the earf, my hand slowly found its way to the seat of my pants. There it is - a sweet 6 inch tear.

After some checking, we discovered that my suit jacket covers up the tear. Thing is, it's a million degrees, and humid as hell - I need to lose the coat, dog. That, and my suit was more expensive than the bride's dress lol.

So there it is, your boi doin' the grand entrance with a huge-ass tear along his ass-crack. Then we did the first dance, and I kept my back to the wall the entire time.

Look out for a more in depth wrap up, but for now, here's my initial thought on seeing the bride: WOULD.

Friday, June 18, 2010


I was totally just thinking about something the other day: we were at some bridal store, doing some bridal wedding shit, and the topic of monograms came up. I can't remember, I think we were talking about like monogramming the inside of Heckyeahwoman's wedding dress.

I don't know.

Just the idea of monogramming something is kind of stupid. Or even the inside of an article of clothing. People can't even see it; what would be the point? When I get shit monogrammed, I want it to be heavy duty, serious shit. Like gold foil embossed.

This leads me to my next question, if you're gonna get something monogrammed, what the hell do you get monogrammed? A towel? A polo shirt? A sock?

Nah, you get your face monogrammed, pussy. Or like a pillowcase or something.

Then what? What do you get monogrammed on your face? Your initials, obviously.

With that in mind, I immediately commented to Heckyeahwoman that she has pretty feminine initials.

C H L - all very womanly, weak letters. They scream subordination. Just so dainty and womanlike.

Take me for example, A G T - these are very rugged letters, culminating into one of the toughest sets of initials ever. Axe, Guitar, and Trap. Very masculine words. Do you know why they're so masculine? Because they begin with HARD ASS letters.

Other manly letters that would make for a great, mean monogram: D F R. That's some pretty manly stuff right there. Heavy duty, no doubt. Think about words that begin with D's, F's, and R's: Dick, Fart, and Rage. Hard as NAILS.

Funny, of all the things to refer to as "pretty manly stuff", I refer to certain monogrammed initials lol. If I could be yelling instead of typing right now, I totally would be. In fact, if "blasting chicks" could be a monogram, I'd totally get that on something.

And don't worry, we absolutely didn't monogram anything.

And on a semi-related note, I am getting married tomorrow. FUCK YEAH

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


While browsing youtube, looking for awesome videos for HUMP DAY PUMP UP, somehow, magically, the following video appeared on the right. As a related video. Related? While not related to the PUMPY sounds of the usual HDPU fare, it is indeed guilty by association.

Association of awesome.

It's short, like a minute or something; but the payoff at the end makes it well worth suffering through the horror of watching kitties wrestle. Trust me.


So kittens don't do it for you? What about kids freaking out? Man, I love watching kids freak out.

What's with Gramma in on the joke? Kid, you got punk'd by Gramma. Your grandmother is Ashton Kutcher. And Ashton Kutcher is married to Demi Moore. And she's hot.

And hot chicks PUMP ME UP.

Gramma laughing at her grandson PUMPS ME UP.

Other older lady laughing at retarded grandson PUMPS ME UP.

Not being able to tell if that little shit was crying or laughing PUMPS ME UP.


Totally unrelated, but right now as you read this, my meatiest friend, and his date, are driving down to Florida for my wedding (from Minnesota). They're going to get in late - sometime Thursday night. It's true, this dude is so meaty, that one time we ate nothing but meat, cheese-stuffed meat, and meat-stuffed cheese for an entire weekend.

Then we wrote a song about it.

The thing is, we wrote the song before we even spent the entire weekend eating meat. We just knew. We just knew that we would eat so much meat. So much muscle n flesh, that it would require songwriting. True story. Extremely true story.

Long (true) story short, MEATMAN PUMPS ME UP. Here's a great pic of him:

While you're suffering through yet another meatless afternoon at work, just trying to kill the last hour and a half. Think of my meaty friend: he's driving through like Illinois or Indiana right now. Lol, that sucks.

Or if you think you can't handle the rest of the week, let this boost your PUMP levels: Your grandma probably isn't laughing at you. [predictable cliche next sentence: Yeah, she probably is laughing at you.]

And if that doesn't get ur blood a-boilin', then I suggest you revel in my PUMP'DNESS - I'm gonna have an awesome wedding and then go on an awesome honeymoon.


Ridiculous story about a toll-booth coming up for Friday.

Monday, June 14, 2010

this is for real

This is correspondence from an actual, real-life company that I am working with. It's the restaurant we are booking our rehearsal dinner with.

The manager of the restaurant simply replied to my email, in response to my inquiry about a set menu. She wrote:

"I can do the menu you would like for $20.00 this will also include a non alcoholic beverage. The option for a salad will be 2.99 extra and for the soup 4.49 extra. We do not know yet what our soup will be for that day. We are going threw a menu change in June and the only items that will be changing on your menu is the soups so whatever 2 soups we have I will add on. With the special menu’s we add 18% gratuity. If you are okay with all of this please let me know and I will have you all set up!"

Did you read that? Did she even read it before she sent it?

As I was getting ready to reply to this, to finally secure the details of the dinner, I found myself repeatedly typing, then erasing: "FUCK YOU YOUR A IDIOT!"

Friday, June 11, 2010

welcome to subway

"Welcome to Subway; we have a serial killer on the loose."

This seriously happened to us in Jennings, Louisiana. OK, the sandwich artist didn't greet us exactly like that, but it was pretty close.

After walking in, the lady greeted us, and as she prepared our subs, I commented about how many cops we saw on the highway in the area. Right after that comment left my lips, the look on her face got real serious. REAL SRS.

Very dryly, she replied, "we have a serial killer here". Stunned, the only thing I could muster was, "I'm sorry".

At first I thought she was pulling my chain; but her cold, hardened eyes told me she wasn't shitting me. She was just a young girl trying to stay alive.

Naturally I had to know more, as that's kind of a bold statement, especially for such a small town. Turns out, eight young women have been killed since 2005 - one or two a year. She went on to explain that the reason I saw so many cops along the highway is because the local law enforcement is getting some extra help from the FBI, and state troopers. That makes for a shitload of po in a town of just over 12,000.


But seriously, after the lady told me about it, she mentioned that she thought "the serial killer is a cop". When probed as to why she would think that, I got a simple, yet profound answer: "dey ain't catch 'im yeh".

So because the cops haven't caught the bad guy yet, the bad guy must be a cop. That makes sense.

Not gonna lie though, for the remaining 15-20 minutes we spent in Jennings, everything was a little bit creepier. The shitty Subway bathroom had a more ominous vibe. The creepy rural weirdos at the gas station across the street, where I bought beer, seemed just a bit more rural. By the time we left, it sure felt good to escape with our lives.

Next stop: Baton Rouge.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010




My bowels are movin' just thinking about how PUMPED UP I AM.

Don't believe me? Check out this asshole in a blanket-scarf!

How PUMPED UP do I look!?!?! Bummer there were no pics of me with the blanket on my head, pretending to be a ghost. That's what we need.

Look at the hard-ass sucka mean muggin' behind me. Clearly he hain't been touched by THE PUMP yet. But he will be. Sooner or later we ALL get touched by THE PUMP. One nation, under PUMP.

Driving from Florida to Texas, and then back, we spent a shitload of time in the car, straight PUMPED UP.

We even hit some construction, some detours, some accidents, and some lane closures. But by livin' the PUMPED UP life, and fightin' the good fight, we turned every

into a


Yo, I don't have to face the work week anymore, being unemployed and all, but I know some of you out there do. So friends, this PUMP is for you. Yeah, you probably got up early today (that sucks lol), and you probably went into work (haha, sorry), and you probably thought about driving your hybrid (lol, twink) right into oncoming traffic on the way in, but you didn't.

Do you know why you didn't? Because you just stopped at the Chevron, bought a big ass super-gulp size coffee, and you didn't want that $1.49 to be spent in vain. Smart move.

Go ahead, let me be your guiding PUMP. Let this blog bring you to PUMPYtown. You've already made it halfway through the work week, and I haven't gotten up earlier than 12:30 so far. That's pretty awesome.

Oh, and on Friday night I'm going to see SCREECHING WEASEL.

Heck yeah, feel the PUMP.

Monday, June 7, 2010

touchdown jesus

OK, I'm back from vacation. Actually, I got back on Friday, and have been in a constant state of either "working out" or "loaded", since. Speaking of Friday though, not sure what happened with the post not posting. Actually I know exactly what happened: I didn't post anything. And by not posting it, I mean that I was way too loaded to take the time to finish up the post while on vacation. That, and we hardly had any internetz.

So where the hell was I, and what did I do? Well, we were in New Orleans, San Antonio, Baton Rouge, and Panama City Beach. And we pretty much just partied nonstop. Gone for about a week and a half, massive road trip. But don't worry, the vacation produced some great blog-worthy stuff.

Let's talk about the time the cops yelled at my friend ****** and I, at the Alamo.

Maybe some of you have heard of "Touchdown Jesus". Maybe you haven't. I don't give a shit.

But here it is:

We didn't see it, as it's not in Texas. Actually, I have no idea where the hell it is.

Anyway, what the hell does TOUCHDOWN GODDAMN JESUS have to do with the Alamalamo? Nothing really, we just saw some big ass sculpture monument thing that looked a little bit like TOUCHDOWN JEEZUS.

And like any great patriot, we decided to climb it.

And like any great patriotic asshole, we decided to recreate the pose, sans the nudity. Though looking back now, hangin' the brain would have been a great idea.

And like any great po, Officer Friendly here yelled at us to, "GET OFF THE MOTHERFUCKIN' STAT-CHU RYTE NAW!".

Yeah dickhead, way to yell at us AFTER we climbed all the way up, got sweet pictures taken, and were already halfway down. Way to protect and serve, officer pussybeats.

Kind of an interesting aside: while not too daunting of an ascent, the climb down looked kinda brutal from up top. I managed to scratch the shit out of my leg, and got some pretty bad ass wounds, going down. On dudes lol.

More great possible blogposts from vacation:
Killer Shark! freakout on Bourbon Street
Author of heck yeah, man wears a blanket like a scarf, then pretends to be a ghost with blanket over his head
Depressing casino in Baton Rouge makes me consider suicide
Naked Katy Perry magically appears in photographs

Wednesday, June 2, 2010


Gonna use some PICTURES to PUMP YOU UP today.

Like yo, if I was gonna be a weatherman, I would be predicting the weather so much as I'd be PUMPING YOU UP with a HUGE RADAR DICK.

Erry night on the evening news, kids.

I so wish that statue was a real person. And I so wish what the picture is implying, would really happen. And I really wish there would be a picture to document the aftermath.

HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT THOSE APES FIGHTING. But they're not just fighting each other - nah, they're fighting for your PUMP. They've been doing this ever HUMP DAY since the dawn of time; and they will continue to fight for your freedom to be PUMPED UP, for eternity.

The PUMP here is obvious: a kid in a bear trap. The potentiality of kids getting hurt PUMPS ME UP. HATING KIDS PUMPS ME UP.

Eh yo, this PUMP is for all my scientist friends. "Time Paradox"? That sounds scientific. Dividing by zero? So mathematical. The insanity of the image taken as a whole? Truly a PUMP-inducing picture presentation. This should be on a Powerpoint or something.

Today is what, Wednesday? I'm not entirely sure where I am, probably back in Florida by now, but rest assured, I'm severely hung over, and desperately need this PUMP to get me through.