Everybody's an Asshole Except For Me

A lot of people think that they are the nicest person they know. I got news for ya shitballs! You're not nice! You're a prick! Don't worry! There is room for improvement! Everyone always takes care of good old number one: Themselves! This equation just seems to work out great. If everyone just took care of themselves, everyone would be taken care of! Here's some tips for all you self-indulged butt-pirates: 1. GET A DOG. If you're taking care of a dog, you're taking care of some"thing" else. That's pretty close to taking care of some"one" else. 2. BUY ME A BEER. Take care of me! I'm getting sober and slipping into reality really quickly, and it sucks. 3. CREATE A PYRAMID SCHEME. Pyramid schemes take care of tons of people! Unless you are on the bottom, then you're royally fucked! 4. GO FISHING. Make other people's lives better by getting out on the lake and getting out of their fuckin' hair! 5. TAKE A BATH. I don't wanna smell your nasty ass, just festering away next to me. Be a little considerate, ya rotten fuck!

With my help, you could become a respectable American that considers the feelings of others. Until then, just keep being an asshole!

Super-Size Psycho

I was nestling into my new apartment in December, 2007, when I saw a man across the street. He was a super-sized, dirty, sloppy, loud, obviously ignorant jackass, with a severe appearance disorder. He was screaming, "Wrestling champion of the world! Blah, Blah, Blah!", in a rather jackassy tone. I have seen this man many times since then. He walks down the street screaming obscenities and flailing his raptor-arms around wildly, shaking his tits around like an over-worked hooker. He wears old, tattered t-shirts that are three sizes too small, and his belly hangs well below his junk. I just wanna say, "Dude, if I can see your belly, get a new fuckin' shirt. You're not a hot girl. You're a dickless load of monkey-sperm!" He waddles like he's got a corn-cob up his ass and drinks beer outside on nice days. I see him and tremble with fear. The fear that creeps up your spine slowly and then hits you like a ton of dookie. I'm afraid that one night he is going to slip through my window while I'm sleeping and sit on my face with his pants clear down to his ankles. I often have nightmares about this waste of skin; this drain on society; this ignorant pile of rat-dicks. Someone should really slap the piss out of this asshole and send him back to the zoo, where he belongs.

Hooters

Crazy Carl and I walked into Hooters in St. Cloud for a Bloody Mary a few weeks ago. There were hooters everywhere. There were a few waitresses that I felt were kind of "left-out" because of their bee-sting boobies. The girls with small jugs seemed really mad at the world; like they were somehow cheated by God and baby Jesus. I think they should not give these girls hope that they have big hooters by hiring them. I don't care who you are....if you go into Hooters, you expect to see hooters, and you expect them to be huge! I looked at the wall between staring sessions and noticed a hand-painted sign which read: "Our Waitresses Are Flattery Operated". I thought, "Really!?" So I grabbed the nearest waitress, literally, and said, "Nice Turd-Cutter! Now get me a beer!" She's like, "Excuse me?" I'm like, "What? Aren't you flattered? I thought that would make you operate a little faster?" She said, "No, sir". I said, "Well, take that sign down then." Then, to make things even more odd, a whole group of ladies comes barging in and sits down at this huge table. Crazy Carl and I read eachothers' minds. We both looked at eachother and a bubble formed over each of our heads which read, "Lesbians?"

Dance Dilemma

The other day, I experienced my first ever "Dance Dilemma". I walked into a nightclub, and apparently, it was 80's music night. But, not just 80's music; it was 80's music with a new-age techno beat, instead of a good, soothing beat. From one end of the bar, I heard the ever-so-popular "Locomotion" song with a fucked-up beat that sounded like a baseball bat whacking a steel garbage can full of porcelain figurines. Into my other ear, crept "Walk Like an Egyptian" with an even MORE annoying, trancey, industrial noise chiming in the background. I was so confused, so I ordered a Coors Light and started dancing. I started to do the Locomotion. I was really tearing it up and cutting a rug. In the back of my mind, I noticed the other song, and started to Walk Like an Egyptian. This went back and forth for minutes. Eventually, the dances intertwined and wove together. I found myself doing the oddest dance I'd ever come across: The Loco Egyptian. The dance is intriguing and involves a lot of arm-flailing and cursing. After 6 Coors Lights, the flailing and cursing gets stronger and stronger. They kicked me out. That's the last time I did the Loco Egyptian.

New Colors Suck

I remember a day when I could be damn sure that I could buy a red hat, a green shirt, and some blue undies. Now, unfortunately, I have to buy a "starfish"-colored hat, a "teal mist"-colored shirt, and "mocha"-colored undies. Are you fucking serious? Mocha? It's brown, you dumb bastard. Why don't they just come out with "shit"-colored slacks that you can get at Kohls? I think it would be more entertaining. "Hey, Bob. What color are your pants?" "I don't know. Let me check the tag. It's shit color, Steve." "Oh, okay." I even saw some clothing described as Sprout (light green), Lake (blue), Balsam (grey), and Mojito (light green). Actually, Sprout and Mojito are the same fucking color. Gosh, that sure pisses me off. It makes my blood boil and my asshole pucker when I here a guy at JCPenney trying to decide which shirt to get. "Honey, should I get the Laguna or the Lake colored shorts?" "They're both the same! Liver-Dick!" Doesn't make much sense to me. I was actually relieved when I saw a sign that said "White Shirts". Holy shit! They still make white! Kick Ass! Let's party! I thought for sure that white would be called "Cloud" or "Marshmallow" by now. So, next time you head out to buy some clothes, beware that you are about to get an eye-full of shit and it's gonna make you angry, if you're like me. Be sure not to confuse your colors.

Chemicals

It always seems like chemicals are the driving force of my day. I get up and drink a caffeine-containing beverage of some sort, like coffee or redbull. Then I get to work and drink chocolate-cherry-flavored Dr. Pepper until lunch. In between drinks, I devise plans on how I'm going to manipulate little collections of chemicals used to make drugs, in order to test their quality. Yay, then I leave work to head to a friends place, where we will enjoy a cigar and a stiff morgan-coke. Nicotine and alcohol rush into my brain, making me forget how troublesome the world is. I then usually retire to my square that I call my apartment, or "The Hill", which is short for Hillsboro Court. If I'm lucky, some of the chemicals that I was manipulating at work will get on my skin and somehow make their way into me and I'll therefore be forced to sleep like a little bitch until 6 am when I get up and do it all over again. Put a big smile on your face! You are also chemically dependent! And if you're not, you're probably not a real American. You lack what makes America great. The freedom to fuck up our bodies with dangerous chemicals with no immediate consequence. Have a chemically-influenced day!