Me and Sterg at GoodLife Gym. 6am. Surrounded by geriatrics. On the StairMaster.
Hootch: Hey, did you hear? There is going to be a sex club openning near your pharmacy.
Sterg: What's a sex club?
Hootch: I dunno. I guess like a swingers joint or something.
Sterg: Yeah?
Hootch: Yeah. On the news they were interviewing several female members of sex clubs from other cities in North America and all the chicks were, like, fucking retarded looking.
Sterg: Of course, dude. Why would a good looking chick join a sex club?! Good looking chicks can get laid whenever they want without the benefit of any club or membership.
Hootch: You should've seen this one chick from a Swinger's Club in Montreal. She was missing all her front teeth. It looked like she could give head without even opening her mouth. So, you doing anything tonight?
Sterg: I may see that movie with Leonardo Dicaprio.
Hootch: Is that out already?
Sterg: I think so.
Hootch: Is Dicaprio still going out with that Giselle Bundchen chick.
Sterg: No I dont think so. He's got this other supermodel that he's banging now. Man, that guy knows how to cash in on his celebrity status.
Hootch: What do you mean?
Sterg: Well, you know how you see countless other Hollywood stars, or guys with money, hooking up with super-busted chicks? Not Leo though. He knows how to do it right. He only goes out with supermodels. I mean, think about it. If you've got money why would you go out with anyone other than a supermodel?
Hootch: If I was a celebrity, I'd go out with porn stars.
Sterg: I know, me too. Porno stars and supermodels.
Hootch: Not even supermodels for me, man. Strictly porn stars, thats it.
Sterg: I admire your discipline and restraint my friend.
Hootch: I've always wondered why more major pop culture icons dont hook up with porn stars.
Sterg: There's Tommy Lee.
Hootch: ACK!! Tommy Lee is a fag. I was thinking of guys more the ilk of Justin Timberlake. Why isn't he hopping from porno chick to porno chick? I mean, Cameron was alright in her day but come on... Can you imagine going from Sylvia Saint to Shyla Stylez to Avena Lee?
Sterg: Maybe their management thinks it'll be bad publicity.
Hootch: I think it'd be kinda cool to be known as the celebrity who can bridge the gap between the mainstream and porno. That'd be wild seeing Sylvia Saint attend high-profile public events with, like, Steven Speilberg or someone. The television camera would cut to a live picture of Steven Speilberg and the caption underneath would read "Directed Shindler's List". Then the cameras would cut to a picture of his date, Sylvia Saint, and the caption would say "sucks cock".
Sterg: You remember my cousin Mike, the porno king?
Hootch: Yeah. Your cousin Mike, the porno king, once sent me a picture of a chick blowing a horse to my work e-mail.
Sterg: Your work email?!?!
Hootch: Yeah, but still, even if he sent it to my home email address that shit is still fucked up. I mean, there arn't enough pictures of chicks blowing regular guy dick on the internet that Mike has to resort to downloading pictures of horse penis?!?!
Sterg: You are right. That shit is fucked up.
Hootch: Sorry I interrupted. What did you want to tell me about your cousin Mike, the porno king?
Sterg: Oh right...ah fuck it. I cant remember. It'll come to me later.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
5 Minute Thoughts of Marianne, stripper extraordinaire
Memories of Marianne - part I
ahhh, marianne. You are by far and away the most beautiful girl to ever walk the face of the earth... its a shame you have to be so fuckin retarded.
We had some good times though, didn't we?
Like the time I brought over Goonies for us to watch at your house but you didn't like it. You said the plot was too complicated. You were sitting at the corner of the couch. I was beside you trying to explain the complexities of the Goonies when you effortlessly lifted your leg in the air at a 45 degree angle. You wrapped your calf around the back of my neck and started bending your knee drawing my head closer and closer toward your snapper. That was a pretty hot move. I never told you this before but in the 10 seconds it took me to go from watching the Goonies to be buried in your cooter I must have obliterated my underwear with ejaculate.
Your text message today (the txt message: sorry I was such a bitch. Please for give me) brought back many memories. Like the time I had to convince you that unicorns dont actually exist. Fun times for sure.
Anyway, its time for me to go to work. Take care. Stay well. And dont call me again.
ahhh, marianne. You are by far and away the most beautiful girl to ever walk the face of the earth... its a shame you have to be so fuckin retarded.
We had some good times though, didn't we?
Like the time I brought over Goonies for us to watch at your house but you didn't like it. You said the plot was too complicated. You were sitting at the corner of the couch. I was beside you trying to explain the complexities of the Goonies when you effortlessly lifted your leg in the air at a 45 degree angle. You wrapped your calf around the back of my neck and started bending your knee drawing my head closer and closer toward your snapper. That was a pretty hot move. I never told you this before but in the 10 seconds it took me to go from watching the Goonies to be buried in your cooter I must have obliterated my underwear with ejaculate.
Your text message today (the txt message: sorry I was such a bitch. Please for give me) brought back many memories. Like the time I had to convince you that unicorns dont actually exist. Fun times for sure.
Anyway, its time for me to go to work. Take care. Stay well. And dont call me again.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Conversations at work with NewCootch
I started this on Thursday, I think. The below conversation took place the day before at work. My department is pretty small so its a pretty safe assumption that most of the people I work with heard the following:
NewCootch: Do you want to hear my new ringtone?
Hootch: No.
NewCootch: Why not? Its Sean Paul.
Hootch: I fucking hate Sean Paul.
NewCootch: I thought you liked him.
Hootch: He's alright, I guess. Listen I have a lot of work I gotta do before I go home tonight, alright.
NewCootch: I have Gimme The Light or Give It Up To Me. Which one do you want to hear?
Hootch: Neither.
NewCootch: Oh my god, like, why are you being so rude?
Hootch: Remember Sterg?
NewCootch: The guy who runs the pharmacy?
Hootch: Yeah. Well I gotta break the fuck outta work as soon as I can because he's hooking me up with some serious discount on a lot of shit I need. Vitamins, protein powder, some cologne, you know? And I got to get to his store before he leaves, but first I gotta finish my work.
NewCootch: Can he hook me up too?
Hootch: Sure. With what?
NewCootch: Do you know what I need a lot of from a pharmacy?
Hootch: Trojans?
NewCootch: Wha?! I cant believe you said that. Besides, I dont think they make Trojans in extra small, if they're for you.
NewCootch: Do you want to hear my new ringtone?
Hootch: No.
NewCootch: Why not? Its Sean Paul.
Hootch: I fucking hate Sean Paul.
NewCootch: I thought you liked him.
Hootch: He's alright, I guess. Listen I have a lot of work I gotta do before I go home tonight, alright.
NewCootch: I have Gimme The Light or Give It Up To Me. Which one do you want to hear?
Hootch: Neither.
NewCootch: Oh my god, like, why are you being so rude?
Hootch: Remember Sterg?
NewCootch: The guy who runs the pharmacy?
Hootch: Yeah. Well I gotta break the fuck outta work as soon as I can because he's hooking me up with some serious discount on a lot of shit I need. Vitamins, protein powder, some cologne, you know? And I got to get to his store before he leaves, but first I gotta finish my work.
NewCootch: Can he hook me up too?
Hootch: Sure. With what?
NewCootch: Do you know what I need a lot of from a pharmacy?
Hootch: Trojans?
NewCootch: Wha?! I cant believe you said that. Besides, I dont think they make Trojans in extra small, if they're for you.
5 minutes thoughts from a retard regarding Montreal
Yesterday afternoon some douchebag went on a gun crazy rampage in a Montreal College. Today, according to news reports, the authorities are trying to find a motive for the gunman's actions.
Now, I'm not a police officer or a professional investigator but how about this for a motive - the guy was a fuckin loser.
I'm genuinely sorry the guy felt disenfranchised and he wasn't happy with his life. But get some perspective, asshole. You were 25 years old. A young fuck with his entire life ahead of him. If you didn't like your life with some hard work you could change it. What were you expecting to accomplish by shooting up a joint full of kids younger than you? Was that gonna solve anything or make your life better? Do you think this was an adaquate form of revenge? Trying to kill a school full of kids who have yet to make their mark in the world.
If you wanted to strike back and rage against the world that you hated you could have picked so many other ways to have been the thorn in the side of "the man". But instead you punked out and accomplished nothing.
Now, I'm not a police officer or a professional investigator but how about this for a motive - the guy was a fuckin loser.
I'm genuinely sorry the guy felt disenfranchised and he wasn't happy with his life. But get some perspective, asshole. You were 25 years old. A young fuck with his entire life ahead of him. If you didn't like your life with some hard work you could change it. What were you expecting to accomplish by shooting up a joint full of kids younger than you? Was that gonna solve anything or make your life better? Do you think this was an adaquate form of revenge? Trying to kill a school full of kids who have yet to make their mark in the world.
If you wanted to strike back and rage against the world that you hated you could have picked so many other ways to have been the thorn in the side of "the man". But instead you punked out and accomplished nothing.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
You're my boy, Ace... You're my boy
There is this Chinese guy at my work named Ace. He cant really speak english too well but he's a nice guy and a hard worker. At first I thought he was unflappable as no matter what workplace dilemma we encountered he would always respond with a kind of mindless confidence "eeeerrrr, should be okay".
Hootch: Ace, a shareholder is kicking up a shit storm cuz today is payable day and he hasn't received his multi-million dollar dividend cheque!!!
Ace: Eeeerrrr, should be okay.
or
Hootch: Ace, the office is on fire and your dick is dipped in gasoline!!
Ace: Eeeerrr, should be okay.
Now, I'm not so sure if it was that he's unflappable or that he just couldn't understand what was actually going on in the office. But really... who cares? Ace brought the intangibles. He was always in a good mood; he was always willing to stay after hours so no one else had to; he made chinese food and coffee runs during the lunch hour for anyone who asked; and on occasion he even provided comic relief - like the time he fell asleep at his desk and we flicked elastics at him from across the office.
Anyway, last week Ace got canned. It was complete bullshit. I had and still have a sneaking suspicion the floor manager is looking to downsize our department. My team leader is the greatest and I think she would go to bat for anyone in our department, but once the floor manager got it in her head to reduce staff there was little my team leader could do.
The floor manager, who we will call TakeAFuckinValliumLady, is this completely insane woman who is covering the maternity leave of the real floor manager. TakeAFuckinValliumLady is trying to impress the higher-ups by "trimming the fat" in our department. Of course she'll never admit this. She says "Ace is no longer with the company because of certain performance issues".
Bull-fuckin-shit. Listen, lady, you're the fuckin boss, alright. If you say this person has to get fired - then I guess that person has to get fired. But dont piss in my mouth and tell me its fucking apple juice, alright. I know what the score is. Last month when you walked around our department asking everyone "how long does it take you to perform your work responsibilities for each client we have on a daily basis"? I fucking knew then you were doing the calculations to determine how many people you can fire while still maintaining relatively the same department service quality by increasing everyone else's work. You think we're fucking idiots? Why do you think I told you 30 minutes per client when in actuality its more like 10.
I know my head is also on the chopping block. And I know there is the possibility you read my blog. But this had to be said.
Okay... well I guess me admitting my work takes me 10 minutes didn't actually have to be said but you get the drift.
This one was for you Ace. I feel bad cuz you got the shaft. The only thing you really did wrong at work was take too long to get me my chicken fried rice. Later, buddy.
Hootch: Ace, a shareholder is kicking up a shit storm cuz today is payable day and he hasn't received his multi-million dollar dividend cheque!!!
Ace: Eeeerrrr, should be okay.
or
Hootch: Ace, the office is on fire and your dick is dipped in gasoline!!
Ace: Eeeerrr, should be okay.
Now, I'm not so sure if it was that he's unflappable or that he just couldn't understand what was actually going on in the office. But really... who cares? Ace brought the intangibles. He was always in a good mood; he was always willing to stay after hours so no one else had to; he made chinese food and coffee runs during the lunch hour for anyone who asked; and on occasion he even provided comic relief - like the time he fell asleep at his desk and we flicked elastics at him from across the office.
Anyway, last week Ace got canned. It was complete bullshit. I had and still have a sneaking suspicion the floor manager is looking to downsize our department. My team leader is the greatest and I think she would go to bat for anyone in our department, but once the floor manager got it in her head to reduce staff there was little my team leader could do.
The floor manager, who we will call TakeAFuckinValliumLady, is this completely insane woman who is covering the maternity leave of the real floor manager. TakeAFuckinValliumLady is trying to impress the higher-ups by "trimming the fat" in our department. Of course she'll never admit this. She says "Ace is no longer with the company because of certain performance issues".
Bull-fuckin-shit. Listen, lady, you're the fuckin boss, alright. If you say this person has to get fired - then I guess that person has to get fired. But dont piss in my mouth and tell me its fucking apple juice, alright. I know what the score is. Last month when you walked around our department asking everyone "how long does it take you to perform your work responsibilities for each client we have on a daily basis"? I fucking knew then you were doing the calculations to determine how many people you can fire while still maintaining relatively the same department service quality by increasing everyone else's work. You think we're fucking idiots? Why do you think I told you 30 minutes per client when in actuality its more like 10.
I know my head is also on the chopping block. And I know there is the possibility you read my blog. But this had to be said.
Okay... well I guess me admitting my work takes me 10 minutes didn't actually have to be said but you get the drift.
This one was for you Ace. I feel bad cuz you got the shaft. The only thing you really did wrong at work was take too long to get me my chicken fried rice. Later, buddy.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
My Own Private Idaho
Last weekend I went to another wedding.
The reception took place in a barn.
I'm not shitting you. The reception actually took place in a barn. Well, truth be told I guess it wasn't really a barn, because a barn would imply the structure actually had walls instead of plastic tarps rolled down from the roof and held down to the ground with rocks and wood.
Parking was available on the muddy outskirts of a cornfield, about a 10 minute walk from the barn. I skipped the church service but arrived with NewCootch for the reception.
NewCootch: Ho. Lee. Fuck. Did you know the reception was going to take place in the middle of fucking Idaho.
Hootch: What do you know about Idaho?
NewCootch: Actually, I know nothing about Idaho... and thats the way I was hoping to keep it.
Hootch: Hey.
NewCootch: Hey, what?
Hootch: No. "Hay". You have a couple of straws of hay sticking out from in between your toes.
I watched and laughed as NewCootch traversed the muddy terrain in her 4 inch open toed high heel shoes. Bits of straw and mud were beginning to collect near the front and bottom of her shoes.
NewCootch: I cant believe I bought a new dress for this. Did you know we were coming to a farm for the reception?
Hootch: No. On the invitation card they just gave an address for this place. I assumed it was a banquet hall or a restaurant or something.
NewCootch: It looks like some people knew. Look at that guy. He's wearing jeans and a lumberjack jacket.
Hootch: I know. I saw him before.
NewCootch: And look at that guy over there.
Hootch: What guy?
NewCootch: The guy wearing white high top running shoes with the huge tongue pulled out over his dress pants...who the fuck does he think he is - Chamillionare?
After a bit of walk we arrived at the entrance of the barn. There was a large table set up with a seating chart displaying all the guests' names and where they sat... all the guests' names but mine.
NewCootch: Do you see your name anywhere?
Hootch: Naw.
NewCootch: What are we gonna do?
Hootch: I think here comes the bride's aunt. I'll ask her... Excuse me. Hi. I cant seem to find my name on the seating plan.
Aunt: Oh my. Well, we cant have that now can we? What is your name?
Hootch: Hootch.
Aunt: I arranged all the guests' names in alphabetical order so we shouldn't have any trouble finding your name. Here are all the H's....but... I cant seem to find your name anywhere on this list.
I wanted to say "I know motherfucker. Thats what I just told you".
Aunt: Is there the possibility of you sending in your reply card with another name on it perhaps?
Inside my mind - "Okay, are you mentally fuckin retarded lady. This is your most logical explanation!! Why would I send in my reply card with another name on it. How 'bout the possibility that you just done fucked up and left my name off the list".
Hootch: What do you mean, like Geraldo or something? No. I'm pretty sure on my card I just put down my name.
Aunt: Well, I cant seem to find Hank anywhere on the list. I dont know how that could have happened.
Hootch: Well, I guess thats tough bones for Hank, but I'm Hootch.
Aunt: Well Hank, the good news is all the seats on the tables have name cards also. So what you can do is walk around the building and search the tables for your name card. I'm sure you'll find your seat.
We walked up and down the barn 3 times looking over everyone's shoulder as they were already seated at their respective tables. No luck.
Hootch: Yeah. Hi. I'm Hootch. Sorry I didn't mean to be looking over your shoulder. No, I wasn't staring at your wife... yes, I know a picture lasts longer... I was just looking to see if my name card was on this table.... oh, so there is a master seating list at the entrance of the barn? I must have missed it as I entered through this porthole to hell.
The beginning as well as the rest of the night was hilarious. I'll tell you some more stories later, but for now I'll leave you with one final observation. As me and NewCootch were walking up and down the barn, looking for our table, I overheard one woman say "Later on in the evening I am going to change into my casuals". At the time of this statement this woman was already wearing trackpants.
The reception took place in a barn.
I'm not shitting you. The reception actually took place in a barn. Well, truth be told I guess it wasn't really a barn, because a barn would imply the structure actually had walls instead of plastic tarps rolled down from the roof and held down to the ground with rocks and wood.
Parking was available on the muddy outskirts of a cornfield, about a 10 minute walk from the barn. I skipped the church service but arrived with NewCootch for the reception.
NewCootch: Ho. Lee. Fuck. Did you know the reception was going to take place in the middle of fucking Idaho.
Hootch: What do you know about Idaho?
NewCootch: Actually, I know nothing about Idaho... and thats the way I was hoping to keep it.
Hootch: Hey.
NewCootch: Hey, what?
Hootch: No. "Hay". You have a couple of straws of hay sticking out from in between your toes.
I watched and laughed as NewCootch traversed the muddy terrain in her 4 inch open toed high heel shoes. Bits of straw and mud were beginning to collect near the front and bottom of her shoes.
NewCootch: I cant believe I bought a new dress for this. Did you know we were coming to a farm for the reception?
Hootch: No. On the invitation card they just gave an address for this place. I assumed it was a banquet hall or a restaurant or something.
NewCootch: It looks like some people knew. Look at that guy. He's wearing jeans and a lumberjack jacket.
Hootch: I know. I saw him before.
NewCootch: And look at that guy over there.
Hootch: What guy?
NewCootch: The guy wearing white high top running shoes with the huge tongue pulled out over his dress pants...who the fuck does he think he is - Chamillionare?
After a bit of walk we arrived at the entrance of the barn. There was a large table set up with a seating chart displaying all the guests' names and where they sat... all the guests' names but mine.
NewCootch: Do you see your name anywhere?
Hootch: Naw.
NewCootch: What are we gonna do?
Hootch: I think here comes the bride's aunt. I'll ask her... Excuse me. Hi. I cant seem to find my name on the seating plan.
Aunt: Oh my. Well, we cant have that now can we? What is your name?
Hootch: Hootch.
Aunt: I arranged all the guests' names in alphabetical order so we shouldn't have any trouble finding your name. Here are all the H's....but... I cant seem to find your name anywhere on this list.
I wanted to say "I know motherfucker. Thats what I just told you".
Aunt: Is there the possibility of you sending in your reply card with another name on it perhaps?
Inside my mind - "Okay, are you mentally fuckin retarded lady. This is your most logical explanation!! Why would I send in my reply card with another name on it. How 'bout the possibility that you just done fucked up and left my name off the list".
Hootch: What do you mean, like Geraldo or something? No. I'm pretty sure on my card I just put down my name.
Aunt: Well, I cant seem to find Hank anywhere on the list. I dont know how that could have happened.
Hootch: Well, I guess thats tough bones for Hank, but I'm Hootch.
Aunt: Well Hank, the good news is all the seats on the tables have name cards also. So what you can do is walk around the building and search the tables for your name card. I'm sure you'll find your seat.
We walked up and down the barn 3 times looking over everyone's shoulder as they were already seated at their respective tables. No luck.
Hootch: Yeah. Hi. I'm Hootch. Sorry I didn't mean to be looking over your shoulder. No, I wasn't staring at your wife... yes, I know a picture lasts longer... I was just looking to see if my name card was on this table.... oh, so there is a master seating list at the entrance of the barn? I must have missed it as I entered through this porthole to hell.
The beginning as well as the rest of the night was hilarious. I'll tell you some more stories later, but for now I'll leave you with one final observation. As me and NewCootch were walking up and down the barn, looking for our table, I overheard one woman say "Later on in the evening I am going to change into my casuals". At the time of this statement this woman was already wearing trackpants.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
First thing is Fucking Last - The second fight
A few months after calling it quits with Marianne, ripper extraordinaire, I decided to start dating again. This was not an easy decision to make but I knew I had to do something to thwart my rapidly onsetting case of blueballs. I was in imminent danger of experiencing full scale blueball dementia . It had been so long since I enjoyed any meaningful female company that I, unknowingly, had began drastically lowering my standards of beauty. No longer was I dreaming about Sylvia Saint or Shyla Stylez. Now a scantily clad Condaleeza Rice was invading my dreams with her desert dry repulican cootch. Something had to be done.
A few weeks ago I had a wedding to go to so I asked Newcootch to come along. She said yes and we went together. The wedding was a little unusual as the groom had this inner ear thing that caused him great pain whenever he heard any loud or sharp noises. The Best Man had previously informed the guests, out of respect for the Groom, the volume of music would be kept to a minimum, there would be no clinging and clanging of the cutlery on dishes and applause would be kept to respectable levels. Everybody seemed to understand and was sympathetic towards the Groom's condition. Everybody except one fucktard.
This one fucktard, seated two tables over from us, was applauding, hooting and hollering, and clanging the dishes at every opportunity. During the bride's speech though is when the shit really hit the fan.
Bride: I know its a little unusual, so I'd like to thank everyone for respecting our wishes and not applauding too loudly or hitting their dishes with their forks...
Fucktard: (screaming as loud as he can) Yeeeaaahhh! Lets hear it for keeping volumes at a minimum!! Woooooo!!
Two guys approached the fucktard and discretely told him to keep his voice down.
Bride: So with that I hope everyone has a great time and enjoys the party.
Fucktard: WOOOOOOOO!!! PARTY HEARTY EVERYBODY!!!!
A third guy approaches the fucktard. Before he even has a chance to tell him to keep it quiet the fucktard stands up and pushes the third guy as hard as he can. The third guy goes flying and stumbles over a food tray. Six or Seven dishes of salad that were previously on the tray are now all over the floor. Three or four other guys immediately stand up and rush the fucktard. The fucktard's friends stand up and confront the oncomers.
Now, just as an aside, in 99% of confrontations a full out fist fight will never ensue. What happens is normally a few guys push and swear at each other before they realize "hey wait a second!! I cant fight to save my life... I barely even know how to throw a punch...what made me think all of a sudden that I'm Tito fuckin Ortiz... Elton John could probalby kick my punk ass. I'm gonna get my ass kicked in front of all my friends!!!" Its at this point that all the idle threats are made:
"I'll fuckin kill you, guy!!!
What'd you say motherfucker?! I'll fucking kill you, guy!!"
This type of exchange is pretty common as the two parties walk away and try to create as much separation from each other as possible while still keeping up the tough guy routine.
However on this occaision, just as the two parties were facing off against each other in an apparent stale mate (the oncomers and fucktard's friends), a wave of 15 or 20 other guys came in and jumped in the ruckus. It was the spark that set off the explosion. It was absolute chaos. No one knew who was on who's side. It was essentially every man for himself.
The group of 30 or so guys started spinning more and more out of control. Punches where being thrown, hair was being pulled, tables were being knocked over, old ladies where being sucked into this vortex of testosterone and being spit out the other side all disheveled and retarded looking and with their dentures broken.
More guys jumped into the fray. The fight resembling a hurricane was spinning closer and closer to my table. "Quick Hootch", I thought, "what are you going to do. Go with your natural instinct and look for the most injured participant and beat down on him like you're Ivan Drago in and he's Apollo Creed in Rocky or do the reasonable thing and take NewCootch and walk away". Just as I was finishing this thought I caught a punch on the side of the head. I had no choice. I had to go in. I had to make sure no harm came to NewCootch's magnificent, gravity defying breasts. In my efforts to steer the swirling mass of guys away from my table I was on the receiving end of numberous punches and kicks to my body and head. Then the unexpected. Within a couple of seconds I found myself in the heart of the stom face to face with fucktard. He grabbed my face with his fingers and nails and was squeezing them over my eye. I bent my arm with my fist at my chest and swung my elbow with all the might I could muster aiming for the fucktard's head. >CLACK< I heard as I caught him square on his chin and his jaw slammed shut against the rest of his mouth.
Afterward, when I told Newcootch about the fucktard trying to blind me she said:
NewCootch: Ha! Just like Jean-Claude.
Hootch: What?
NewCootch: In bloodsport. When Bolo Yeung blinded Jean-claude in the kumitee, but Jean-Claude still knocked him the fuck out, remember?
As pretty good looking as Newcootch is, the above conversation had just increased her fuckability factor by about a million.
A few weeks ago I had a wedding to go to so I asked Newcootch to come along. She said yes and we went together. The wedding was a little unusual as the groom had this inner ear thing that caused him great pain whenever he heard any loud or sharp noises. The Best Man had previously informed the guests, out of respect for the Groom, the volume of music would be kept to a minimum, there would be no clinging and clanging of the cutlery on dishes and applause would be kept to respectable levels. Everybody seemed to understand and was sympathetic towards the Groom's condition. Everybody except one fucktard.
This one fucktard, seated two tables over from us, was applauding, hooting and hollering, and clanging the dishes at every opportunity. During the bride's speech though is when the shit really hit the fan.
Bride: I know its a little unusual, so I'd like to thank everyone for respecting our wishes and not applauding too loudly or hitting their dishes with their forks...
Fucktard: (screaming as loud as he can) Yeeeaaahhh! Lets hear it for keeping volumes at a minimum!! Woooooo!!
Two guys approached the fucktard and discretely told him to keep his voice down.
Bride: So with that I hope everyone has a great time and enjoys the party.
Fucktard: WOOOOOOOO!!! PARTY HEARTY EVERYBODY!!!!
A third guy approaches the fucktard. Before he even has a chance to tell him to keep it quiet the fucktard stands up and pushes the third guy as hard as he can. The third guy goes flying and stumbles over a food tray. Six or Seven dishes of salad that were previously on the tray are now all over the floor. Three or four other guys immediately stand up and rush the fucktard. The fucktard's friends stand up and confront the oncomers.
Now, just as an aside, in 99% of confrontations a full out fist fight will never ensue. What happens is normally a few guys push and swear at each other before they realize "hey wait a second!! I cant fight to save my life... I barely even know how to throw a punch...what made me think all of a sudden that I'm Tito fuckin Ortiz... Elton John could probalby kick my punk ass. I'm gonna get my ass kicked in front of all my friends!!!" Its at this point that all the idle threats are made:
"I'll fuckin kill you, guy!!!
What'd you say motherfucker?! I'll fucking kill you, guy!!"
This type of exchange is pretty common as the two parties walk away and try to create as much separation from each other as possible while still keeping up the tough guy routine.
However on this occaision, just as the two parties were facing off against each other in an apparent stale mate (the oncomers and fucktard's friends), a wave of 15 or 20 other guys came in and jumped in the ruckus. It was the spark that set off the explosion. It was absolute chaos. No one knew who was on who's side. It was essentially every man for himself.
The group of 30 or so guys started spinning more and more out of control. Punches where being thrown, hair was being pulled, tables were being knocked over, old ladies where being sucked into this vortex of testosterone and being spit out the other side all disheveled and retarded looking and with their dentures broken.
More guys jumped into the fray. The fight resembling a hurricane was spinning closer and closer to my table. "Quick Hootch", I thought, "what are you going to do. Go with your natural instinct and look for the most injured participant and beat down on him like you're Ivan Drago in and he's Apollo Creed in Rocky or do the reasonable thing and take NewCootch and walk away". Just as I was finishing this thought I caught a punch on the side of the head. I had no choice. I had to go in. I had to make sure no harm came to NewCootch's magnificent, gravity defying breasts. In my efforts to steer the swirling mass of guys away from my table I was on the receiving end of numberous punches and kicks to my body and head. Then the unexpected. Within a couple of seconds I found myself in the heart of the stom face to face with fucktard. He grabbed my face with his fingers and nails and was squeezing them over my eye. I bent my arm with my fist at my chest and swung my elbow with all the might I could muster aiming for the fucktard's head. >CLACK< I heard as I caught him square on his chin and his jaw slammed shut against the rest of his mouth.
Afterward, when I told Newcootch about the fucktard trying to blind me she said:
NewCootch: Ha! Just like Jean-Claude.
Hootch: What?
NewCootch: In bloodsport. When Bolo Yeung blinded Jean-claude in the kumitee, but Jean-Claude still knocked him the fuck out, remember?
As pretty good looking as Newcootch is, the above conversation had just increased her fuckability factor by about a million.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Charles Bronson vs Hootch
Not because I think I'm mother-fucking Charles Bronson in Death Wish, but more so because I'm an idiot who doesn't know how to heed good advice.
When I was younger I used to get in fights pretty often. If there was a brawl in a pool hall I was usually in the middle of it. If there was an altercation on the basketball court chances are I'd be involved. If there were a couple of goofs chucking knuckles at the peelers, dollars to donuts I'd be one of those goofs.
One time, I remember when I was in high school, I came home late for dinner with a couple of scraped knuckles and a bloody lip. My Dad saw me and correclty guessed I had got into a fight. He took me aside, before my mother and sister could see me and asked what had happended. I told him I ran into the school nazi. We had a disagreement regarding political philosophy. The nazi tried to tazer me and I broke his nose.
My Dad told me he understands there are some fights that are impossible to walk away from. But he also told me that 99% of confrontations can be dealt with through non-violent means.
"Walking away should always be your first option", my Dad would say.
"Aww, but Dad I smoked this guy. I knew I could take him".
"You might be able to handle yourself but what about your mom and your sister?"
"What have they got to do with any of this?"
"Have you considered that each time you get into a fight you are endangering the safety of your family? Do you know if the school nazi followed you home? Does he know you have a sister who will be going to your highschool next year?"
"But Dad..."
"What happens if the guy had a gun, or if he had some other friends waiting for you. You never know what can happen in a fight, son. Think of how your mother and sister would feel if anything bad had happened to you. Think of how I would feel.
"but..."
"I'm not saying you should never get in a fight, Hootch. I'm just saying when there is the possibility of walking away, but you choose to fight, I want you to ask yourself one question - is it worth it? Okay?
"okay".
"Now go upstairs and clean yourself up. I dont want your mom to see you like this... she'll have a cow."
Last week I found myself in not one but two dust-ups. Fucking crazy. The events that unfolded that lead to each fight were so unlikely it was, like, a freak occurence that the first fight happened, let alone the second. And to tell you the truth I dont know if either scrap was worth it.
When I was younger I used to get in fights pretty often. If there was a brawl in a pool hall I was usually in the middle of it. If there was an altercation on the basketball court chances are I'd be involved. If there were a couple of goofs chucking knuckles at the peelers, dollars to donuts I'd be one of those goofs.
One time, I remember when I was in high school, I came home late for dinner with a couple of scraped knuckles and a bloody lip. My Dad saw me and correclty guessed I had got into a fight. He took me aside, before my mother and sister could see me and asked what had happended. I told him I ran into the school nazi. We had a disagreement regarding political philosophy. The nazi tried to tazer me and I broke his nose.
My Dad told me he understands there are some fights that are impossible to walk away from. But he also told me that 99% of confrontations can be dealt with through non-violent means.
"Walking away should always be your first option", my Dad would say.
"Aww, but Dad I smoked this guy. I knew I could take him".
"You might be able to handle yourself but what about your mom and your sister?"
"What have they got to do with any of this?"
"Have you considered that each time you get into a fight you are endangering the safety of your family? Do you know if the school nazi followed you home? Does he know you have a sister who will be going to your highschool next year?"
"But Dad..."
"What happens if the guy had a gun, or if he had some other friends waiting for you. You never know what can happen in a fight, son. Think of how your mother and sister would feel if anything bad had happened to you. Think of how I would feel.
"but..."
"I'm not saying you should never get in a fight, Hootch. I'm just saying when there is the possibility of walking away, but you choose to fight, I want you to ask yourself one question - is it worth it? Okay?
"okay".
"Now go upstairs and clean yourself up. I dont want your mom to see you like this... she'll have a cow."
Last week I found myself in not one but two dust-ups. Fucking crazy. The events that unfolded that lead to each fight were so unlikely it was, like, a freak occurence that the first fight happened, let alone the second. And to tell you the truth I dont know if either scrap was worth it.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
From the depths of Depravity... is "depravity" even a word? Anyway...
Been occupying myself the past couple of days watching Buffy, The Vampire Slayer (season 6 and 7). Fucking great stuff.
Anyway, the below is a conversation I had with my friends a few weeks ago, a month, I dunno. We were hanging out at Sterg's house. Most of the guys were playing cards. I was watching tv.
Sterg: Anyone seen Mally?
Kos: I think he's in the bathroom.
Tommy: Still, I've been holding a shit for, like, 20 minutes
(90% of the conversations with my friends begin like this)
Fusis: What are you watching?
Hootch: Gilmore Girls. You can change the channel in a second, tho. I just want to see what episode they're showing.
Fusis: Which one is it?
Hootch: I cant tell yet. They all begin with the same fucked up teaser where the mom and daughter talk so fast you can hardly understand what's going on.
Kos: Every episode they talk this fast? At first I thought they speaking Spanish
Hootch: Yeah, every episode. I'm pretty sure tho I just heard Lorelai say something about "mazola oil", "gerbils" and "anal penetration".
Sterg: You're fucking retarded.
Hootch: Maybe. But the show is fucking awesome.
Tommy: I thought the Gilmore Girls was only for pre-pubescent chicks and their fat over-the-hill moms' who still think they're cool in their fat-over-the-hill mom jeans.
Hootch: No man. The Gilmore Girls transcends both gender, age and fashion sense. It tackles universal issues we can all relate to. Issues that cut to the core of being Human. You know, the need to love, to be loved, the need to belong.
Fusis: Oh yeah? Sounds deep.
Hootch: Yeah... Plus Alexis Bledel is fuckin hot.
Sterg: Is she the mom?
Fusis: She's the daughter.
Kos: The mom is hot.
Fusis: The mom is ugly, dude.
Kos: It figures you think the mom is ugly.
Fusis: Whats that supposed to mean?
Kos: All the chicks you like, Fusis, are jailbait.
Fusis: What?! No... Like who?
Kos: Like who?! What about Hilary Duff.
Fusis: Okay, fine. ONE chick I like is kinda young.
Kos: Rhianna.
Fusis: Alright, two. But you cant really hold Rhianna on me. Everyone thinks she's hot.
Hootch: If someone gave me the choice between peace in the middle east and Rhianna... it wouldn't even be close, dude.
Kos: Lindsay Lohan.
Sterg: (shaking his head in disgust) You like Lindsay Lohan, guy?
Kos: Cassie.
Fusis: NO!! I dont even know who Cassie is!
Sterg: She's the black chick that sings "Me and U"
Fusis: Oh yeah... She's hot.
Kos: Ciara.
Tommy: I heard she was a man once.
Fusis: I'd still throw it to her.
Kos: Jojo
Hootch: Fusis likes the black guy from KC and Jojo?!
Kos: Naw. Jojo the the white chick who sings "A Little Too Late" and "Get Out" .
Sterg: Holy fuck Fusis!! Isn't she, like, 8.
Fusis: She's almost 18. And all I said was that she was a cute kid. I didn't mean anything sexual by it. You guys are fucked.
Sterg: Sure, Fusis. You sick bastard.
Fusis: Listen, just because you guys objectify every single woman you encounter and only see them as a means to satisfy your most base, primal sexual urges doesn't mean that I do too, alright?
Hootch: What?! I soooo do not objectify cootches.
(telephone rings. Tommy picks it up.)
Tommy: Hey Kostakis is on the phone. He's at the rippers. He wants to know if we wanna meet him down there.
Fusis: The titty bar!! Oh, hell yeah. Lets go.
Anyway, the below is a conversation I had with my friends a few weeks ago, a month, I dunno. We were hanging out at Sterg's house. Most of the guys were playing cards. I was watching tv.
Sterg: Anyone seen Mally?
Kos: I think he's in the bathroom.
Tommy: Still, I've been holding a shit for, like, 20 minutes
(90% of the conversations with my friends begin like this)
Fusis: What are you watching?
Hootch: Gilmore Girls. You can change the channel in a second, tho. I just want to see what episode they're showing.
Fusis: Which one is it?
Hootch: I cant tell yet. They all begin with the same fucked up teaser where the mom and daughter talk so fast you can hardly understand what's going on.
Kos: Every episode they talk this fast? At first I thought they speaking Spanish
Hootch: Yeah, every episode. I'm pretty sure tho I just heard Lorelai say something about "mazola oil", "gerbils" and "anal penetration".
Sterg: You're fucking retarded.
Hootch: Maybe. But the show is fucking awesome.
Tommy: I thought the Gilmore Girls was only for pre-pubescent chicks and their fat over-the-hill moms' who still think they're cool in their fat-over-the-hill mom jeans.
Hootch: No man. The Gilmore Girls transcends both gender, age and fashion sense. It tackles universal issues we can all relate to. Issues that cut to the core of being Human. You know, the need to love, to be loved, the need to belong.
Fusis: Oh yeah? Sounds deep.
Hootch: Yeah... Plus Alexis Bledel is fuckin hot.
Sterg: Is she the mom?
Fusis: She's the daughter.
Kos: The mom is hot.
Fusis: The mom is ugly, dude.
Kos: It figures you think the mom is ugly.
Fusis: Whats that supposed to mean?
Kos: All the chicks you like, Fusis, are jailbait.
Fusis: What?! No... Like who?
Kos: Like who?! What about Hilary Duff.
Fusis: Okay, fine. ONE chick I like is kinda young.
Kos: Rhianna.
Fusis: Alright, two. But you cant really hold Rhianna on me. Everyone thinks she's hot.
Hootch: If someone gave me the choice between peace in the middle east and Rhianna... it wouldn't even be close, dude.
Kos: Lindsay Lohan.
Sterg: (shaking his head in disgust) You like Lindsay Lohan, guy?
Kos: Cassie.
Fusis: NO!! I dont even know who Cassie is!
Sterg: She's the black chick that sings "Me and U"
Fusis: Oh yeah... She's hot.
Kos: Ciara.
Tommy: I heard she was a man once.
Fusis: I'd still throw it to her.
Kos: Jojo
Hootch: Fusis likes the black guy from KC and Jojo?!
Kos: Naw. Jojo the the white chick who sings "A Little Too Late" and "Get Out" .
Sterg: Holy fuck Fusis!! Isn't she, like, 8.
Fusis: She's almost 18. And all I said was that she was a cute kid. I didn't mean anything sexual by it. You guys are fucked.
Sterg: Sure, Fusis. You sick bastard.
Fusis: Listen, just because you guys objectify every single woman you encounter and only see them as a means to satisfy your most base, primal sexual urges doesn't mean that I do too, alright?
Hootch: What?! I soooo do not objectify cootches.
(telephone rings. Tommy picks it up.)
Tommy: Hey Kostakis is on the phone. He's at the rippers. He wants to know if we wanna meet him down there.
Fusis: The titty bar!! Oh, hell yeah. Lets go.
Friday, August 18, 2006
A little more of Huner's party
Okay. I have 15 minutes before I have to throw my stank-ass body in the shower and head to work. Lets see how much of Huner's party I can get through.
So, Huner's big deal was that he thought he was "incapable of love". I know, whatta big fuckin' let down. I was kinda hoping he'd say something like "boys, I just scored a shitload of free weed and I'm looking for someone to help me smoke it" or "Hootch, I just discovered that Rhianna and Sylvia Saint wanna tag team your hairy ass and have mad, crazy, jungle gorilla sex with you". But naw. He went all Dawson's Creek and started talking about his feelings, fears, expectations, emotions, uncertainties etc etc.
Huner: My Entire life has been one big hoax. I keep establishing all these false expectations for myself and all I do is bullshit my way through them. Its not right. Its not fair to my family and to those who love me.
Sterg: Huner, thats not true. Dont be ridiculous, dude... nobody loves you.
Anyway, Huner was tripping because he was having 2nd thoughts about his wedding. He was coming to the realization that he did not have any "strong feelings" for his fiance. What made matters worse was that his wedding was in a couple of weeks. What could we possibly tell him to make him feel any better?
Mally: Listen, Huner. More than 50% of marriages today end in divorce anyway, so even if you had feelings for your fiance, chances are you'd be divorcing her ass in a couple of years, regardless.
Strangely, Huner did not find solace in Mally's words of wisdom.
My stench is overcoming me. I'll continue later. I gotta hit the shower before I pass out. The gym today was rough. I had to endure 45 minutes on the eliptical machine while watching Mama's family on the gym tv sets.
Later.
So, Huner's big deal was that he thought he was "incapable of love". I know, whatta big fuckin' let down. I was kinda hoping he'd say something like "boys, I just scored a shitload of free weed and I'm looking for someone to help me smoke it" or "Hootch, I just discovered that Rhianna and Sylvia Saint wanna tag team your hairy ass and have mad, crazy, jungle gorilla sex with you". But naw. He went all Dawson's Creek and started talking about his feelings, fears, expectations, emotions, uncertainties etc etc.
Huner: My Entire life has been one big hoax. I keep establishing all these false expectations for myself and all I do is bullshit my way through them. Its not right. Its not fair to my family and to those who love me.
Sterg: Huner, thats not true. Dont be ridiculous, dude... nobody loves you.
Anyway, Huner was tripping because he was having 2nd thoughts about his wedding. He was coming to the realization that he did not have any "strong feelings" for his fiance. What made matters worse was that his wedding was in a couple of weeks. What could we possibly tell him to make him feel any better?
Mally: Listen, Huner. More than 50% of marriages today end in divorce anyway, so even if you had feelings for your fiance, chances are you'd be divorcing her ass in a couple of years, regardless.
Strangely, Huner did not find solace in Mally's words of wisdom.
My stench is overcoming me. I'll continue later. I gotta hit the shower before I pass out. The gym today was rough. I had to endure 45 minutes on the eliptical machine while watching Mama's family on the gym tv sets.
Later.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
throw the fucker in GenPop
Grab'im by that fuckin shirt that's buttoned all the way up to his pencil neck and tucked three feet into pants, stick a sign on his back that says "I kill kids" and toss'im in with the bikers.
Fellas, its feeding time. Oh, and remember, boys, show Mr. Child Killer/Molester all the consideration he showed the little girl.
Happy feeding.
Fellas, its feeding time. Oh, and remember, boys, show Mr. Child Killer/Molester all the consideration he showed the little girl.
Happy feeding.
Friday, August 11, 2006
This Is My Blog On Smirnoff
Before I continue with the retardation that was Huner's bachelor party I gotta say, the anime girl, today at work, looked fuckin' fabulous. Unbelievable. The best I've ever seen her look. Now, of course, she hates my fucking guts, but that's besides the point. Well... technically its not so much besides the point as it is actually exactly the fuckin point.
The anime girl hates me. I've learned to accept it. She somehow got the impression that I don't take work too seriously. And that bugs her. It goes against the grain of her utilitarian all work and no play philosophy. I never thought I was that bad at work but still... I guess it doesn't help when I spend half the day chasing NewCootch around the office trying to flick her with elastic bands, as she's laughing and yelling "Hootch, the last elastic you hit me with is caught in my cleavage".
Maybe I should make more of an effort to be serious and robot-like at work. Maybe that would impress the anime girl. Maybe I should make more of an effort to wear ugly-ass dress shoes instead of my Wade1's. Maybe then the anime girl would come up to my desk and say "Hootch, your steadfast dedication to the company really makes my clit tingle. Quick, bend me over the photocopier". Or maybe she'll run into me in the cafeteria and say "Hootch, I find your soulless and robot-like efficiency arousing. Prepare to have me sit on your face."
Hmmhh. Something I should think about anyway... and by "think about" I, of course, don't actually mean "thinking" per se, but something more along the lines of getting wasted and scouring the streets of Toronto for skanky chicks.
The anime girl hates me. I've learned to accept it. She somehow got the impression that I don't take work too seriously. And that bugs her. It goes against the grain of her utilitarian all work and no play philosophy. I never thought I was that bad at work but still... I guess it doesn't help when I spend half the day chasing NewCootch around the office trying to flick her with elastic bands, as she's laughing and yelling "Hootch, the last elastic you hit me with is caught in my cleavage".
Maybe I should make more of an effort to be serious and robot-like at work. Maybe that would impress the anime girl. Maybe I should make more of an effort to wear ugly-ass dress shoes instead of my Wade1's. Maybe then the anime girl would come up to my desk and say "Hootch, your steadfast dedication to the company really makes my clit tingle. Quick, bend me over the photocopier". Or maybe she'll run into me in the cafeteria and say "Hootch, I find your soulless and robot-like efficiency arousing. Prepare to have me sit on your face."
Hmmhh. Something I should think about anyway... and by "think about" I, of course, don't actually mean "thinking" per se, but something more along the lines of getting wasted and scouring the streets of Toronto for skanky chicks.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Huner's Bachelor Party; Part II Huner's Confession
As the evening slowly progresses, we are solicited by Toronto's most expensive implants and bombarded with really shitty Eurotrash pop tunes. Some of the girls look alright, but its too early to commit to any one stripper for Huner. Sterg and Mally get up from the table to scope the joint out. As they leave I hear the beginnings of the first song I actually like come over the club's stereo system.
You're keeping in step
In the line
Got your chin held high and you feel just fine
Cause you do
What you're told
But inside your heart it is black and it's hollow and it's cold
Just how deep do you believe?
Will you bite the hand that feeds?
Will you chew until it bleeds?
Can you get up off your knees?
Are you brave enough to see?
Do you want to change it?
The Hand That Feeds from Nine Inch Nails. I turn around to see who the girl is thats dancing to the song. Its some post apocolyptic chick dressed in torn fishnets and a torn generic athletic jersey, a tiny latex skirt and a short black wig. She's not really my type but I gotta give her props for playing a song I like.
"You like that chick?" Huner asks.
"She's alright", I answer. "I like the song more".
Huner: Do you remember that chick from your birthday party?
Hootch: Which one?
Huner: The skinny one with the massive implants.
Hootch: You have to be more specific than that.
Huner: She looked like a beater. She was the one who told you she was gonna become a world famous rapper.
Hootch: Oh fuck. Yeah. She was a fuckin disaster. Did you hear her rhymes?
Huner: I thought she was pretty good.
Hootch: Pretty good?! Oh fuck, Huner, she's so bad she makes Vanilla Ice sound like Chuck D.
Huner: She was hot though.
Hootch: I dunno. I hate implants.
Huner: How can you hate implants?! Oh wait, I know. You probably think implants are a manifestation of man's effort to demean women or some shit, right?
Hootch: No, I just think they feel too hard.
The post apocolyptic girl finishes dancing to her first song. She goes back stage to prepare for the remainder of her set. The club's DJ plays the second song she selects. Another one of my favorites. Sweet little sister by the Mark Inside.
Sweet little sister I cant take much more of this
Come over here for just one little kiss
Sweet little sister if you think you want more
My door is open, girl
Leave your clothes on the floor
Hootch: Oh fuck, this song is the coolest.
Huner: Who sings it?
Hootch: The Mark Inside.
Huner: Never heard of 'em
Hootch: Once I saw them at ...
Huner: (interrupting) Do you think she will be here?
Hootch: Who?
Huner: The beater chick.
Hootch: Naw, I dont think so. She's too ghetto for a place like this.
Huner: I was talking to her for a bit at your party. I thought she was sweet. She had a kind of innocence about her.
Hootch: Huner, at the end of the night she asked me and Sterg if we wanted to tag team her.
Huner: She did?! What did you guys say?
Hootch: We said "Hell Yeah". Its was awesome too... except for the part where I slipped it in Sterg's asshole by accident.
Huner looks at me like he cant decide whether to cry or lunge across the table and stab me .
Hootch: Huner! Dude! I'm joking. Nothing happened. I just went home afterward. What's up with you today, man. Why all these questions. Is everything alright?
Huner: Hootch, I have to tell you something. Something I haven't told anyone else yet.
Hootch: You're not gonna tell me you're gay are you?
Huner: What?! No.
Hootch: I dont know why I said that. I'm really drunk. If you are gay thats okay. I joke alot but thats because I'm an idiot. Its cool if you're gay. It really is. I mean, some of my best friends are black.
Huner: What?!?! No, never mind. I'm not gay, okay. Would you listen to me?
Sterg and Mally return from their implant safari.
Mally: Whats going on?
Hootch: Huner is gay
Sterg: Huner is gay!
Hootch: Dont you judge him, Sterg, you homophobe.
Mally: Holy! How much has Hootch had to drink?
Hootch: ...and Mally, you are the worst out of all of us!!
Mally: Me!? What'd I do?
Hootch: You dont even have any black friends, you sick bastard.
Huner: Will everyone shut the fuck up and sit down. I. AM NOT. GAY. But I do have something important I have to say. Something I need to confess to you all.
You're keeping in step
In the line
Got your chin held high and you feel just fine
Cause you do
What you're told
But inside your heart it is black and it's hollow and it's cold
Just how deep do you believe?
Will you bite the hand that feeds?
Will you chew until it bleeds?
Can you get up off your knees?
Are you brave enough to see?
Do you want to change it?
The Hand That Feeds from Nine Inch Nails. I turn around to see who the girl is thats dancing to the song. Its some post apocolyptic chick dressed in torn fishnets and a torn generic athletic jersey, a tiny latex skirt and a short black wig. She's not really my type but I gotta give her props for playing a song I like.
"You like that chick?" Huner asks.
"She's alright", I answer. "I like the song more".
Huner: Do you remember that chick from your birthday party?
Hootch: Which one?
Huner: The skinny one with the massive implants.
Hootch: You have to be more specific than that.
Huner: She looked like a beater. She was the one who told you she was gonna become a world famous rapper.
Hootch: Oh fuck. Yeah. She was a fuckin disaster. Did you hear her rhymes?
Huner: I thought she was pretty good.
Hootch: Pretty good?! Oh fuck, Huner, she's so bad she makes Vanilla Ice sound like Chuck D.
Huner: She was hot though.
Hootch: I dunno. I hate implants.
Huner: How can you hate implants?! Oh wait, I know. You probably think implants are a manifestation of man's effort to demean women or some shit, right?
Hootch: No, I just think they feel too hard.
The post apocolyptic girl finishes dancing to her first song. She goes back stage to prepare for the remainder of her set. The club's DJ plays the second song she selects. Another one of my favorites. Sweet little sister by the Mark Inside.
Sweet little sister I cant take much more of this
Come over here for just one little kiss
Sweet little sister if you think you want more
My door is open, girl
Leave your clothes on the floor
Hootch: Oh fuck, this song is the coolest.
Huner: Who sings it?
Hootch: The Mark Inside.
Huner: Never heard of 'em
Hootch: Once I saw them at ...
Huner: (interrupting) Do you think she will be here?
Hootch: Who?
Huner: The beater chick.
Hootch: Naw, I dont think so. She's too ghetto for a place like this.
Huner: I was talking to her for a bit at your party. I thought she was sweet. She had a kind of innocence about her.
Hootch: Huner, at the end of the night she asked me and Sterg if we wanted to tag team her.
Huner: She did?! What did you guys say?
Hootch: We said "Hell Yeah". Its was awesome too... except for the part where I slipped it in Sterg's asshole by accident.
Huner looks at me like he cant decide whether to cry or lunge across the table and stab me .
Hootch: Huner! Dude! I'm joking. Nothing happened. I just went home afterward. What's up with you today, man. Why all these questions. Is everything alright?
Huner: Hootch, I have to tell you something. Something I haven't told anyone else yet.
Hootch: You're not gonna tell me you're gay are you?
Huner: What?! No.
Hootch: I dont know why I said that. I'm really drunk. If you are gay thats okay. I joke alot but thats because I'm an idiot. Its cool if you're gay. It really is. I mean, some of my best friends are black.
Huner: What?!?! No, never mind. I'm not gay, okay. Would you listen to me?
Sterg and Mally return from their implant safari.
Mally: Whats going on?
Hootch: Huner is gay
Sterg: Huner is gay!
Hootch: Dont you judge him, Sterg, you homophobe.
Mally: Holy! How much has Hootch had to drink?
Hootch: ...and Mally, you are the worst out of all of us!!
Mally: Me!? What'd I do?
Hootch: You dont even have any black friends, you sick bastard.
Huner: Will everyone shut the fuck up and sit down. I. AM NOT. GAY. But I do have something important I have to say. Something I need to confess to you all.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Huner's Bachelor Party; Part I
Me, Sterg and Mally took Huner out for his bachelor party last week. We took him to a high-end joint on the west side of Toronto. The place was filled with Eurotrash chicks with fake tans and fake tits. Perfect for Huner and Sterg as implants are the first things they look for on a girl. Mally really doesn't have any preference, fake titties or no, as he will fuck anything with a pulse.
We arrived at the rippers' around 9pm. I was a little crusty so to tell you the truth I didn't make much of an effort to dress up. Most of the patrons in the joint were dressed in business attire or business casual. I was wearing my black Elevator to Hell t-shirt, blue jeans that hung off my ass and my Dwane Wade's. I wasn't there to socialize. I wasn't there to show off my latest fashions. I was only there to drink myself into oblivion and to split the cost of Huner pressing his face into a couple of implants.
We grabbed a table and settled in:
Huner: Do you guys know any girls here?
S: No. I dont think so.
Huner: (to me and Sterg) You guys realise between the two of you, your last 3 girlfriends have all been strippers?
S: Have they?
Huner: Yeah, Marianne, Tera and Laura.
S: Oh.
Huner: Why do you think that is?
Hootch: Probably cuz I crave dysfunctional relationships, with slutty girls, that are certain to end in complete and unmitigated catastrophe.
Mally: Huh?
Hootch: Translation - Cuz I'm a fuckin idiot.
S: I just cant go out with normal girls anymore. Its like, 10 minutes into our first date I'm thinking "why isn't this chick straddling me?"
I've heard Sterg say this before and I laugh every time. I can so relate. The gap between normal dating expectations and what I have grown accustomed to is so wide its disgusting. Its sickening. Its really quite sad. Its absolutely unacceptable. I also find it pretty hilarious in a "lets laugh at how much of an ingrate I've become in the last few years" kind of way.
I'm such a disease and an asshole of epic proportions its unbelievable.
We arrived at the rippers' around 9pm. I was a little crusty so to tell you the truth I didn't make much of an effort to dress up. Most of the patrons in the joint were dressed in business attire or business casual. I was wearing my black Elevator to Hell t-shirt, blue jeans that hung off my ass and my Dwane Wade's. I wasn't there to socialize. I wasn't there to show off my latest fashions. I was only there to drink myself into oblivion and to split the cost of Huner pressing his face into a couple of implants.
We grabbed a table and settled in:
Huner: Do you guys know any girls here?
S: No. I dont think so.
Huner: (to me and Sterg) You guys realise between the two of you, your last 3 girlfriends have all been strippers?
S: Have they?
Huner: Yeah, Marianne, Tera and Laura.
S: Oh.
Huner: Why do you think that is?
Hootch: Probably cuz I crave dysfunctional relationships, with slutty girls, that are certain to end in complete and unmitigated catastrophe.
Mally: Huh?
Hootch: Translation - Cuz I'm a fuckin idiot.
S: I just cant go out with normal girls anymore. Its like, 10 minutes into our first date I'm thinking "why isn't this chick straddling me?"
I've heard Sterg say this before and I laugh every time. I can so relate. The gap between normal dating expectations and what I have grown accustomed to is so wide its disgusting. Its sickening. Its really quite sad. Its absolutely unacceptable. I also find it pretty hilarious in a "lets laugh at how much of an ingrate I've become in the last few years" kind of way.
I'm such a disease and an asshole of epic proportions its unbelievable.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
the mother of all ailments - constipation
Okay. So here I am today drinking an ungodly amount of Metamucil trying to counter the affects of the Popeye's fried chicken skin and grease that have conspired to form some sorta impenetrable airtight seal inside my asshole.
I ate Popeye's fried chicken, yesterday, for the first time and since then I haven't shit. Not once. Not even a little nugget. Its been more than 36 hours and thats unheard of for me. I'm normally good for 3 shits every 2 days - one shit each morning and another "wildcard" shit throughout the course of the remaining timeperiod.
Seriously, immediate action is required. I'm about to shoot a large bowl of Raisin Bran up my ass. Do I have everything I need? Let me take an inventory:
Raisin Bran Cereal - check.
Skim Milk - check.
Mazola Oil (for lubrication) - check.
Industrial Sized Turkey Baster - check.
Okay, I'm all ready. "I'm going in" says the Turkey Baster.
If I die in some sorta self-administered enema type of accident, please pull the turkey baster out of my ass before the authorities find my body.
Wish me luck.
I ate Popeye's fried chicken, yesterday, for the first time and since then I haven't shit. Not once. Not even a little nugget. Its been more than 36 hours and thats unheard of for me. I'm normally good for 3 shits every 2 days - one shit each morning and another "wildcard" shit throughout the course of the remaining timeperiod.
Seriously, immediate action is required. I'm about to shoot a large bowl of Raisin Bran up my ass. Do I have everything I need? Let me take an inventory:
Raisin Bran Cereal - check.
Skim Milk - check.
Mazola Oil (for lubrication) - check.
Industrial Sized Turkey Baster - check.
Okay, I'm all ready. "I'm going in" says the Turkey Baster.
If I die in some sorta self-administered enema type of accident, please pull the turkey baster out of my ass before the authorities find my body.
Wish me luck.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
The French Lesbian, AnimeGirl and NewCootch
Today NewCootch caught me sneaking a peek at the AnimeGirl. She asked me if I liked her. I lied and said "no". I dont think I was very convincing though. NewCootch then told me that AnimeGirl had a boyfriend.
"Who? That guy with the coke-bottle glasses, pocket protector and calculator watch?" I asked.
"Yeah". She answered.
I stood there catatonic. I dont even know what catatonic means but thats how I stood.
Shhhhhyyyyaaaaat.
The anime girl - single handedly capable of making you believe in both god and the devil all with the same 2 second heat and flash glance. Sure, she looks like she would be kind of a boring, all business, utilitarian lay, but hey, I'd still throw it to her.
"Yesterday, someone told me they liked you". NewCootch continued talking to me.
"Who?" I asked, convinced the answer would be - Lars, the 5000 year old albino Scandanavian from the warehouse.
"D'you now the tall girl downstairs with the really short hair and the dress shirts?"
"Who? The French lesbian?!"
"She's not French. She has a name you know!"
"I know, what is it again, IWishSheWasBetterLooking?"
"Yeah. she likes you."
"She likes me?! She doesn't even know me... Is she really a lesbian? I was just joking with that bit".
"I think she's bi."
"Cool".
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"What should I tell IWishSheWasBetterLooking?"
I wanted to say "tell her I pine for the animegirl - that boney assed marvel of the world". But instead I said "tell her nothing", as I thought I still have logs in the fire from the bachelor party last saturday. Then I thought "logs in the fire?!" I dont think thats the proper expression. That sounds kinda homo. Then I thought "I'm such an asshole". Then I thought "mustard". Then I thought "why do all strippers love dolphins?"
Then I though "mustard" again.
"Who? That guy with the coke-bottle glasses, pocket protector and calculator watch?" I asked.
"Yeah". She answered.
I stood there catatonic. I dont even know what catatonic means but thats how I stood.
Shhhhhyyyyaaaaat.
The anime girl - single handedly capable of making you believe in both god and the devil all with the same 2 second heat and flash glance. Sure, she looks like she would be kind of a boring, all business, utilitarian lay, but hey, I'd still throw it to her.
"Yesterday, someone told me they liked you". NewCootch continued talking to me.
"Who?" I asked, convinced the answer would be - Lars, the 5000 year old albino Scandanavian from the warehouse.
"D'you now the tall girl downstairs with the really short hair and the dress shirts?"
"Who? The French lesbian?!"
"She's not French. She has a name you know!"
"I know, what is it again, IWishSheWasBetterLooking?"
"Yeah. she likes you."
"She likes me?! She doesn't even know me... Is she really a lesbian? I was just joking with that bit".
"I think she's bi."
"Cool".
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"What should I tell IWishSheWasBetterLooking?"
I wanted to say "tell her I pine for the animegirl - that boney assed marvel of the world". But instead I said "tell her nothing", as I thought I still have logs in the fire from the bachelor party last saturday. Then I thought "logs in the fire?!" I dont think thats the proper expression. That sounds kinda homo. Then I thought "I'm such an asshole". Then I thought "mustard". Then I thought "why do all strippers love dolphins?"
Then I though "mustard" again.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Conversations from the elliptical machine; part: who da fuck cares
Time and Place: 6am. Me and Sterg at GoodLife Gym. Surrounded by a million geriatrics getting in their morning exercise (what the fuck?! Dont old people sleep?)
H: Oh, fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Is this Phil Collins?
S: Yeah.
H: Oh, man. The songs they play here are getting worse and worse.
S: How can they expect us to exercise to Phil Collins? Do you even know what the name of this song is?
H: I think its the Su-Su-Sudio song.
S: Which one is that?
H: Its the one where Phil Collins goes "Su-Su-Sudio"
S: Oh.
H: Actually...I use to like this song.
S: Homo.
H: Hey, check out tv 7.
S: What are Pamela and Kid Rock doing in the news?
H: I dunno. Looks like Kid Rock is harrassing some photographers though.
S: Harrassing photographers?! The guy is like 90 pounds!
H: One of those photographers should just say "step the fuck back, son, before I embarrass you in front of your skank".
S: I know. Go sing another country song , asshole. You couldn't marry Pamela when she was good looking, now you're gonna take her when she has hepatitus?! Loser.
H: Oh I almost forgot. I was checking out this guy's blog, Butchieboy. He's pretty funny. He has this awesome picture of a naked woman with her back arched...
S: What so awesome about that?
H: ...and this squid is on her back with some of its tentacles all over her ass.
(old woman beside us gives us a weird look. she also changes eliptical machines and moves farther away from us)
S: (laughing, nearly falling off the eliptical machine) THAT. IS. WICKED.
H: I cant believe squid is getting more action than me. How are things at your store?
S: Pretty good. I think I made myself too accessible to my staff though.
H: What do you mean?
S: I told my staff if they ever wanna discuss any difficulties or problems they may be having they can always talk to me. "My door is always open to you" I think were my exact words.
H: Why would you say something like that?
S: Some of the girls are pretty good looking and I was hoping I could work the nice guy routine for a lay or two.
H: How is that working so far?
S: Not so good. Yesterday ChineseCootch, this really good looking girl, comes in my office and says "WhiteCootch left a mess in the girls bathroom". So I was thinking "what the fuck do I care?! I dont use the girls bathroom. Aaannnnd why are you telling me? I own the fucking store, I dont clean up the toilets."
H: What d'you tell them?
S: I said "work it out between the two of you".
H: You should be like a hard-ass and have told them "if you two dont solve the problem in 30 minutes my solution is gonna be no more girls bathroom. I'll use the extra space for more merchandizing and you guys can shit in the alley behind the store".
S: Are we still doing something for Huner's bachelor party tonight.
H: Damn straight.
S: Its gonna be sick.
H: I may contract 3 or 4 venereal diseases tonight.
S: You sick bastard...Yeah, me too.
H: Oh, fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Is this Phil Collins?
S: Yeah.
H: Oh, man. The songs they play here are getting worse and worse.
S: How can they expect us to exercise to Phil Collins? Do you even know what the name of this song is?
H: I think its the Su-Su-Sudio song.
S: Which one is that?
H: Its the one where Phil Collins goes "Su-Su-Sudio"
S: Oh.
H: Actually...I use to like this song.
S: Homo.
H: Hey, check out tv 7.
S: What are Pamela and Kid Rock doing in the news?
H: I dunno. Looks like Kid Rock is harrassing some photographers though.
S: Harrassing photographers?! The guy is like 90 pounds!
H: One of those photographers should just say "step the fuck back, son, before I embarrass you in front of your skank".
S: I know. Go sing another country song , asshole. You couldn't marry Pamela when she was good looking, now you're gonna take her when she has hepatitus?! Loser.
H: Oh I almost forgot. I was checking out this guy's blog, Butchieboy. He's pretty funny. He has this awesome picture of a naked woman with her back arched...
S: What so awesome about that?
H: ...and this squid is on her back with some of its tentacles all over her ass.
(old woman beside us gives us a weird look. she also changes eliptical machines and moves farther away from us)
S: (laughing, nearly falling off the eliptical machine) THAT. IS. WICKED.
H: I cant believe squid is getting more action than me. How are things at your store?
S: Pretty good. I think I made myself too accessible to my staff though.
H: What do you mean?
S: I told my staff if they ever wanna discuss any difficulties or problems they may be having they can always talk to me. "My door is always open to you" I think were my exact words.
H: Why would you say something like that?
S: Some of the girls are pretty good looking and I was hoping I could work the nice guy routine for a lay or two.
H: How is that working so far?
S: Not so good. Yesterday ChineseCootch, this really good looking girl, comes in my office and says "WhiteCootch left a mess in the girls bathroom". So I was thinking "what the fuck do I care?! I dont use the girls bathroom. Aaannnnd why are you telling me? I own the fucking store, I dont clean up the toilets."
H: What d'you tell them?
S: I said "work it out between the two of you".
H: You should be like a hard-ass and have told them "if you two dont solve the problem in 30 minutes my solution is gonna be no more girls bathroom. I'll use the extra space for more merchandizing and you guys can shit in the alley behind the store".
S: Are we still doing something for Huner's bachelor party tonight.
H: Damn straight.
S: Its gonna be sick.
H: I may contract 3 or 4 venereal diseases tonight.
S: You sick bastard...Yeah, me too.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Welcome to the Minutia of my Day
Boss is back today. And she's kinda pissed. Word got back to her that me and NewCootch did fuck all yesterday. Someone told her that we were shooting the shit till shift's end. I think I know who it was that ratted us out. Some douche we'll call GetBirdFluAndDie. GetBirdFluAndDie has been clocking NewCootch ever since her first day. I think he digs her.
Anyway, today I'm trying to keep more of a low profile. You know, really hunker down and get alot of work done to make up for yesterday. NewCootch doesn't seem to be cooperating though.
NewCootch: Hootch.
Hootch: Yeah?
NC: Can I ask you a question?
H: If its work related, sure.
NC: Do you like calypso?
H: No. I dont like calypso.
NC: Oh....Why dont you like calypso?
H: I dunno. I just dont. Isn't there some work you should be doing?
NC: Ya. I'll do it right now.... Hootch?
H: Yeah?
NC: I'm writing my performance evaluation. How do you spell "below"?
H: B-E-L-O-W
NC: You're so smart. Do you know how I spelled it?
H: ......
NC: B-L-O-W
That was the last straw. My boss had about enough. She made NewCootch change desks...like we were back in grade school. I thought that was kinda funny.
Anyway, today I'm trying to keep more of a low profile. You know, really hunker down and get alot of work done to make up for yesterday. NewCootch doesn't seem to be cooperating though.
NewCootch: Hootch.
Hootch: Yeah?
NC: Can I ask you a question?
H: If its work related, sure.
NC: Do you like calypso?
H: No. I dont like calypso.
NC: Oh....Why dont you like calypso?
H: I dunno. I just dont. Isn't there some work you should be doing?
NC: Ya. I'll do it right now.... Hootch?
H: Yeah?
NC: I'm writing my performance evaluation. How do you spell "below"?
H: B-E-L-O-W
NC: You're so smart. Do you know how I spelled it?
H: ......
NC: B-L-O-W
That was the last straw. My boss had about enough. She made NewCootch change desks...like we were back in grade school. I thought that was kinda funny.
Fucking the dog with NewCootch
Boss was away yesterday. Me and NewCootch fucked the dog all day. Most of the morning was spent with intellectually stimulating conversation most of you can only dream of:
NC: Hey Hootch, do you want a coloured paperclip?
H: No. Why would I want a coloured paperclip?
NC: So you can paperclip things together.
H: Oh...right. No thanks. I have my own little stash of paperclips right here.
NC: Are they coloured?
H: No. They're just the regular ones
NC: Do you want some coloured ones though?
H: No....why what colours do you have?
Fascinating stuff. I'm pretty sure all the greats, like Sir Isaac Newton and Noam Chomsky, had roughly the same conversation with the cootches in their lives as well.
Anime Girl looked fantastic yesterday. Even her exceptionally unfortunate boney butt couldn't take away from her splendor.
Back to NewCootch - Yesterday afternoon NewCootch confided in me that someone has been "stalking" her. She doesn't recognise the individual but every morning the douchebag waits for her to get off the bus to work and confronts her with inappropiate advances. Further complicating this situation is the fact that NewCootch arrives at work an hour before anyone else. Now, common sense should dictate you alert the local authorities or, at the very least, tell your work. However, common sense in NewCootch is not so common. "That guy better not test me cuz I'll knock him out" has, so far, been her favorite response.
Anyway, today I'm meeting her at the bus station and we'll see what happens. If you dont hear from me within the next few days that probably means I'm enduring an ass rape of gargantuan proportions or I'm being held in captivity by the stalker and he is indiscriminately tazering my balls for his amusement.
later,
Hootch
NC: Hey Hootch, do you want a coloured paperclip?
H: No. Why would I want a coloured paperclip?
NC: So you can paperclip things together.
H: Oh...right. No thanks. I have my own little stash of paperclips right here.
NC: Are they coloured?
H: No. They're just the regular ones
NC: Do you want some coloured ones though?
H: No....why what colours do you have?
Fascinating stuff. I'm pretty sure all the greats, like Sir Isaac Newton and Noam Chomsky, had roughly the same conversation with the cootches in their lives as well.
Anime Girl looked fantastic yesterday. Even her exceptionally unfortunate boney butt couldn't take away from her splendor.
Back to NewCootch - Yesterday afternoon NewCootch confided in me that someone has been "stalking" her. She doesn't recognise the individual but every morning the douchebag waits for her to get off the bus to work and confronts her with inappropiate advances. Further complicating this situation is the fact that NewCootch arrives at work an hour before anyone else. Now, common sense should dictate you alert the local authorities or, at the very least, tell your work. However, common sense in NewCootch is not so common. "That guy better not test me cuz I'll knock him out" has, so far, been her favorite response.
Anyway, today I'm meeting her at the bus station and we'll see what happens. If you dont hear from me within the next few days that probably means I'm enduring an ass rape of gargantuan proportions or I'm being held in captivity by the stalker and he is indiscriminately tazering my balls for his amusement.
later,
Hootch
Saturday, July 22, 2006
More Conversations From The StairMaster
Just in case you were wondering, I know its hard to believe but no - me and Sterg are not members of Mensa.
S: Hey Hootch, have you lost any weight since we started doing this?
H: Yeah man. I lost 4 pounds last week.
S: Really?! Cuz it doesn't look like it
H: Shaaat aapp.
S: Man, if someone doesn't change this music they have on the stereo I may have to knock someone out.
H: For real. Who is this?
S: I think its that guy - Josh Groban?
H: I dont know who the fuck Josh Groban is...but I think he's turning me gay.
S: I know. I suddenly feel this overwhelming urge to sing Elton John songs and grow a moustache.
H: Hey, speaking of fags, hear Dave Navarro and Carmen Electra are breaking up?
S: Yeah. I hate that fucking guy. Carmen is still pretty good looking though, eh?
H: I was never really a fan. Hear Kid Rock marrying Pamela?
S: Such a dumb ass. Pamela dumped him when she was still young and hot and now he's gonna take her back when she's old and ugly?! Its fuckin retarded.
H: I know. Its an outrage. I mean Kid Rock's still got money. Before he was nailing every 20 year old porn star there was. Now he's gonna settle down with 40 year old Pamela?!
S: Its a travesty.
H: What's the world coming to? The conflict in the Middle East, global warming, guys with money marrying old, busted chicks. When will the madness end?
S: Still, Pamela in her day was a piece if ass, eh?
H: I never really was a fan of Pamela either.
S: Who the fuck do you like then?
H: I dunno. Hillary Duff is pretty nice.
S: Hillary Duff?! Ah man, Elton would probably give you more thrills.
H: Why? Who do you like?
S: That Rhianna chick is smoking.
H: Fuck, I know. Black chicks always scare me a little though.
S: Yeah. How come Grand Master?
H: I always get the feeling they could kick my ass, or they could snap my dick in half if they wanted to. Why do you think that is?
S: Probably because there is not much there to snap. Hey, you coming to the beach tomorrow for some volleyball?
H: Who is gonna be there?
S: Me, Mally, Laura, some of her friends, Earl.
H: EARL IS GONNA BE THERE?!?! GAY EARL? NO FUCKIN' WAY
S: Yep. The one and only.
H: Oh man, Gay Earl!! Remember a couple summers ago when we use to play, no matter how Earl went for the dig he always landed in the sand on all fours with his back arched and his ass spread?
S: Yeah. Like he was hoping someone would trip, fall over him and accidentally fuck him in the ass?
H: Oh, man, I love Earl. Yeah, I'm there. Tomorrow should be good.
S: Hey Hootch, have you lost any weight since we started doing this?
H: Yeah man. I lost 4 pounds last week.
S: Really?! Cuz it doesn't look like it
H: Shaaat aapp.
S: Man, if someone doesn't change this music they have on the stereo I may have to knock someone out.
H: For real. Who is this?
S: I think its that guy - Josh Groban?
H: I dont know who the fuck Josh Groban is...but I think he's turning me gay.
S: I know. I suddenly feel this overwhelming urge to sing Elton John songs and grow a moustache.
H: Hey, speaking of fags, hear Dave Navarro and Carmen Electra are breaking up?
S: Yeah. I hate that fucking guy. Carmen is still pretty good looking though, eh?
H: I was never really a fan. Hear Kid Rock marrying Pamela?
S: Such a dumb ass. Pamela dumped him when she was still young and hot and now he's gonna take her back when she's old and ugly?! Its fuckin retarded.
H: I know. Its an outrage. I mean Kid Rock's still got money. Before he was nailing every 20 year old porn star there was. Now he's gonna settle down with 40 year old Pamela?!
S: Its a travesty.
H: What's the world coming to? The conflict in the Middle East, global warming, guys with money marrying old, busted chicks. When will the madness end?
S: Still, Pamela in her day was a piece if ass, eh?
H: I never really was a fan of Pamela either.
S: Who the fuck do you like then?
H: I dunno. Hillary Duff is pretty nice.
S: Hillary Duff?! Ah man, Elton would probably give you more thrills.
H: Why? Who do you like?
S: That Rhianna chick is smoking.
H: Fuck, I know. Black chicks always scare me a little though.
S: Yeah. How come Grand Master?
H: I always get the feeling they could kick my ass, or they could snap my dick in half if they wanted to. Why do you think that is?
S: Probably because there is not much there to snap. Hey, you coming to the beach tomorrow for some volleyball?
H: Who is gonna be there?
S: Me, Mally, Laura, some of her friends, Earl.
H: EARL IS GONNA BE THERE?!?! GAY EARL? NO FUCKIN' WAY
S: Yep. The one and only.
H: Oh man, Gay Earl!! Remember a couple summers ago when we use to play, no matter how Earl went for the dig he always landed in the sand on all fours with his back arched and his ass spread?
S: Yeah. Like he was hoping someone would trip, fall over him and accidentally fuck him in the ass?
H: Oh, man, I love Earl. Yeah, I'm there. Tomorrow should be good.
Monday, July 17, 2006
this could have been good if I could write
Hootch: Where's Mally?
Sterg: I think he's in the bathroom.
H: Still?! He's been in there for a long time, no?
Tommy: Tell me about it. I've been holding a shit for, like, 25 minutes.
Kos: Is that was smells?
T: I think I may have let a nuggent slip out.
Patrick: Hey, who changed the channel?
Hootch: I did. Were you watching something?
P: Ya man, I was watching ultimate fighting.
H: Ultimate fighting is for fags
P: Why?! What the fuck are you watching, tough guy?
H: Dawson's Creek.
P: Fuck that, guy. I should have known. What?! Lemme guess - this is the episode where Dawson whines like a little bitch about not getting any pussy... which, when you think about it, is so completley bullshit cuz we all know Dawson is a raging homo, right?
H: Dawson is not a homo. Every guy in highschool was as least part Dawson. Thats what made Dawson's Creek so great - everyone could relate to the character.
P: Not everyone, brother. I got fuckin laid in highschool.
K: Yeah but getting drilled in the ass by Mr. Allen, the math teacher, is not the same thing.
P: Hootch just cant take it cuz his boy, Dawson, is a fag. I mean, if we were privy to Dawson's interior monologue it'd sound something like this "last night I dreamed I ate out Pacey's ass. It was delicious. It tasted like french vanilla ice cream.."
T: Didn't Dawson though nail that Katie Holmes chick?
S: Katie Holmes in fucking nasty guy.
H: Katie Holmes!? No man, she's nice. She's tall. Her face is kinda fucked up but still...
S: "But still" what?! How can a chick be good looking if her face is fucked up?
H: Well, everyone knows the taller a chick is the less attractive her face has to be, right?
K: Who says that?
H: Everyone. Its scientifically proven.
S: Yeah, fuck that. Just like your brumski theory?
P: What the fuck's a brumski?
S: You dont wanna know, guy.
K: Is it anything like a "Sprolski"?
H: Its in the same family.
S: What the fuck is a Sprolski?
H: Its when you bury your face into chicks asshole and yell "SPPPRRRRROLSKI". You have to roll the "r", like a motorboat.
S: Are you fucking with me now? Cuz if you are its not funny. Yesterday I tried the fuckin brumski and Laura started laughing so hard we didn't even have sex. And now you are telling me about the spr... spro..
H: Sprolski. Trust me dude. The Sprolksi - guarantee G spot orgasm for the chick.
S: For real? I mean, are you sure...cuz I normally dont do the butt.
H: You dont do the butt?!
S: No man, that shit is nasty.
Mally (walks in): Oh man, I eat the pussy, I eat the butt...I dont even give a shit if its clean.
H: Yes, Mally!
T: Where the fuck were you, man?
M: I was cranking one off in the bathroom to Patrick's mom.
H: Sterg, Sprolski Laura and if you dont turn that cooz's cookie into niagra falls, my name is mud.
Sterg: I think he's in the bathroom.
H: Still?! He's been in there for a long time, no?
Tommy: Tell me about it. I've been holding a shit for, like, 25 minutes.
Kos: Is that was smells?
T: I think I may have let a nuggent slip out.
Patrick: Hey, who changed the channel?
Hootch: I did. Were you watching something?
P: Ya man, I was watching ultimate fighting.
H: Ultimate fighting is for fags
P: Why?! What the fuck are you watching, tough guy?
H: Dawson's Creek.
P: Fuck that, guy. I should have known. What?! Lemme guess - this is the episode where Dawson whines like a little bitch about not getting any pussy... which, when you think about it, is so completley bullshit cuz we all know Dawson is a raging homo, right?
H: Dawson is not a homo. Every guy in highschool was as least part Dawson. Thats what made Dawson's Creek so great - everyone could relate to the character.
P: Not everyone, brother. I got fuckin laid in highschool.
K: Yeah but getting drilled in the ass by Mr. Allen, the math teacher, is not the same thing.
P: Hootch just cant take it cuz his boy, Dawson, is a fag. I mean, if we were privy to Dawson's interior monologue it'd sound something like this "last night I dreamed I ate out Pacey's ass. It was delicious. It tasted like french vanilla ice cream.."
T: Didn't Dawson though nail that Katie Holmes chick?
S: Katie Holmes in fucking nasty guy.
H: Katie Holmes!? No man, she's nice. She's tall. Her face is kinda fucked up but still...
S: "But still" what?! How can a chick be good looking if her face is fucked up?
H: Well, everyone knows the taller a chick is the less attractive her face has to be, right?
K: Who says that?
H: Everyone. Its scientifically proven.
S: Yeah, fuck that. Just like your brumski theory?
P: What the fuck's a brumski?
S: You dont wanna know, guy.
K: Is it anything like a "Sprolski"?
H: Its in the same family.
S: What the fuck is a Sprolski?
H: Its when you bury your face into chicks asshole and yell "SPPPRRRRROLSKI". You have to roll the "r", like a motorboat.
S: Are you fucking with me now? Cuz if you are its not funny. Yesterday I tried the fuckin brumski and Laura started laughing so hard we didn't even have sex. And now you are telling me about the spr... spro..
H: Sprolski. Trust me dude. The Sprolksi - guarantee G spot orgasm for the chick.
S: For real? I mean, are you sure...cuz I normally dont do the butt.
H: You dont do the butt?!
S: No man, that shit is nasty.
Mally (walks in): Oh man, I eat the pussy, I eat the butt...I dont even give a shit if its clean.
H: Yes, Mally!
T: Where the fuck were you, man?
M: I was cranking one off in the bathroom to Patrick's mom.
H: Sterg, Sprolski Laura and if you dont turn that cooz's cookie into niagra falls, my name is mud.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Conversations from the StairMaster
The below conversation took place between me and Sterg while doing cardio on the stairmaster at 6am last Sunday. Its almost exactly like we were Dorothy Parker and her crew sitting at the Algonquin Round Table discussing the hot topics of the period....except we're partially retarded...and neither of us know who the fuck Dorothy Parker is.
H: ohhh, fuck I think I'm gonna die.
S: me too.
H: I dont know how much longer I can last
S:me neither...Is it me or do you also feel intense cramping on the left side of your chest.
H: no. no cramping with me...but I think my lungs may have collapsed.
S: how long have we been on for?
H: I dunno. It feels like at least a fuckin hour.
S: take a look at the display monitor. It'll give you all our workout details.
H: alright. Ahhh....it says "Time Elapsed 1 minute and 05 seconds; Calories Burned 15; Distance Traveled 0.01 mile".
S: Fuck this. this is bullshit. I should just go on roids.
H:Yeah, next time we should inject ourselves with some anabolics before the cardio.
(Old geriatric woman beside us gives us a weird look)
S: Hey, you coming over this afternoon to watch the world cup.
H: Yeah, I should be able to make it. Who you routing for?
S: France, man. Zidane's the man.
H: Yeah, I know. Zidane is so manly he may score a goal with his balls tonight.
S: Oh, I forgot to ask - how is NewCootch working out?
H: Oh, fuck. She's fucking useless.
S: yeah?
H: yeah. But yesterday she wore this really low-cut fuckin shirt. You could see the inside curve of both her tits - nice! I felt like giving her a brumski right there at her desk.
S: What the fuck's a brumski".
H: A brumski is when you bury your face in between a chicks tits and yell BRRRRRUMSKI.
S: What the fuck is that supposed to do?
H: I dunno, but chicks love it.
S: Chicks love the brumski?!?!
H: Chicks love the brumski, dude. Its scientifically proven. Nine outta 10 chicks agree, the brumski gives them more pleasure than receiving oral
S: Really?!
H: True dat
S: Awesome. I should try the brumski out on Laura tonight.
H: Yeah. Lemme know how it works out for ya.
H: ohhh, fuck I think I'm gonna die.
S: me too.
H: I dont know how much longer I can last
S:me neither...Is it me or do you also feel intense cramping on the left side of your chest.
H: no. no cramping with me...but I think my lungs may have collapsed.
S: how long have we been on for?
H: I dunno. It feels like at least a fuckin hour.
S: take a look at the display monitor. It'll give you all our workout details.
H: alright. Ahhh....it says "Time Elapsed 1 minute and 05 seconds; Calories Burned 15; Distance Traveled 0.01 mile".
S: Fuck this. this is bullshit. I should just go on roids.
H:Yeah, next time we should inject ourselves with some anabolics before the cardio.
(Old geriatric woman beside us gives us a weird look)
S: Hey, you coming over this afternoon to watch the world cup.
H: Yeah, I should be able to make it. Who you routing for?
S: France, man. Zidane's the man.
H: Yeah, I know. Zidane is so manly he may score a goal with his balls tonight.
S: Oh, I forgot to ask - how is NewCootch working out?
H: Oh, fuck. She's fucking useless.
S: yeah?
H: yeah. But yesterday she wore this really low-cut fuckin shirt. You could see the inside curve of both her tits - nice! I felt like giving her a brumski right there at her desk.
S: What the fuck's a brumski".
H: A brumski is when you bury your face in between a chicks tits and yell BRRRRRUMSKI.
S: What the fuck is that supposed to do?
H: I dunno, but chicks love it.
S: Chicks love the brumski?!?!
H: Chicks love the brumski, dude. Its scientifically proven. Nine outta 10 chicks agree, the brumski gives them more pleasure than receiving oral
S: Really?!
H: True dat
S: Awesome. I should try the brumski out on Laura tonight.
H: Yeah. Lemme know how it works out for ya.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Look Ma, No Proof-Reading
So alright. Okay. What went down at my work today. Well, the anime girl moved desks. That sucks. Moving into her desk is this other girl. She's pretty young. She looks like she's right out of University. She's not as good looking as the anime girl, I think, but alot of guys in the office think she's pretty hot. She's also pretty friendly, eager to please, has a good attitude...and is dumb as fuck.
In our office we have 3 or 4 printers that the entire floor has to share. So, when you print your reports, or whatever, you go to the printer, grab the fuck whatever is yours and go back to your desk and pretend to work. However, this new chick (we'll call her "newcootch"), along with her own reports, is accidentally grabbing everyone else's printouts. As a consequence, everyone in the office is walking around bewildered, checking out all the printers and trays and wondering where the fuck the report is they printed out 5 times already.
Now, to her credit, Newcootch is doing the best to help me out and atone for her mistakes. At her desk, when she realises that she may have grabbed a printout (or 30) that aren't hers, she puts on her cutesy voice and says "woops, Hootch, I think I may have grabbed a report thats yours". Instinctively I take it and say "thanks".
However, if Newcootch had half a brain she'd realise that on the top right hand corner of all the printouts is the name of the individual whose report it is. So, either she hasn't figured that out yet...or she thinks my fucking name is Esther.
In our office we have 3 or 4 printers that the entire floor has to share. So, when you print your reports, or whatever, you go to the printer, grab the fuck whatever is yours and go back to your desk and pretend to work. However, this new chick (we'll call her "newcootch"), along with her own reports, is accidentally grabbing everyone else's printouts. As a consequence, everyone in the office is walking around bewildered, checking out all the printers and trays and wondering where the fuck the report is they printed out 5 times already.
Now, to her credit, Newcootch is doing the best to help me out and atone for her mistakes. At her desk, when she realises that she may have grabbed a printout (or 30) that aren't hers, she puts on her cutesy voice and says "woops, Hootch, I think I may have grabbed a report thats yours". Instinctively I take it and say "thanks".
However, if Newcootch had half a brain she'd realise that on the top right hand corner of all the printouts is the name of the individual whose report it is. So, either she hasn't figured that out yet...or she thinks my fucking name is Esther.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Mally, Katja Kassin, Jesse and Sweaty Young Guy
I have this friend. His name is Mally. Mally is currently single. The ladies dont know what they're missing.
Today me and Mally went to the gym. At 5:45am he pulled up in my driveway, honked the horn and yelled "lets go fuck-face! I told you to be ready!" Half asleep, I stumbled and made my way into Mally's car. It stank like something fierce. It smelled like a skunk crawled up someone's ass and let one rip. It smelled like burnt hair mixed with Kentucky Fried Chicken shit. I asked Mally:
"Mally, what the fuck, did you fart?"
He answered "No, I burped".
Okay, so maybe the ladies aren't missing that much after all.
On the way to the gym Mally told me about this girl there who he thought was digging him. She was the receptionist. Her name was Jesse. When we arrived at GoodLife gym we both saw Jesse right away. She was at the front desk. She looked alright. She looked like a younger version of the porno star Katja Kassin. I mean Katja is not really my type, but fuck, I'd throw it to her.
I recall from some video clips when Katja is giving head she sticks the entire dick in her mouth so much so that her lips are pressed flush against the dude's pubes. And Katja's dudes aren't even "manscaped". Thats fuckin gross. Female pubes are all sunshine and roses but guys' pubes are fuckin' nasty. Same thing with feet. I had a point here, what was it? Oh yeah - Katja Kassin. If Katja Kassin is ever on the verge of going down on my 4 and three quarter inches of throbing beef injection I'm gonna tell her "I dont dig the way you give head, baby".
For real.
I am.
Ok. Where the fuck was I again? Oh ya, me and Mally. Me and Mally put on our work-out clothes in the change room and hit the eliptical machines for a 15 minute warm up. Ten feet ahead of us there was a row of stationary bikes where Jesse had moved to and was now talking with some other young guy. This young guy was pushing himself pretty hard on the stationary bike and was beginning to sweat profusely. Mally asked me:
"So, what do you think. She's pretty, eh?"
"She's alright". I said and continued to watch as Jesse started to massage the back of the young guy's sweaty neck.
"I think I'm gonna ask her out". Mally said.
"Mally, are you seeing whats going down, man?" I asked as Jesse was now sucking the stationary biker's ear as he continued to sweat like a beast.
"What? That!?! They're just friends".
Oh.
Okay.
I can hear the wedding bells now.
Today me and Mally went to the gym. At 5:45am he pulled up in my driveway, honked the horn and yelled "lets go fuck-face! I told you to be ready!" Half asleep, I stumbled and made my way into Mally's car. It stank like something fierce. It smelled like a skunk crawled up someone's ass and let one rip. It smelled like burnt hair mixed with Kentucky Fried Chicken shit. I asked Mally:
"Mally, what the fuck, did you fart?"
He answered "No, I burped".
Okay, so maybe the ladies aren't missing that much after all.
On the way to the gym Mally told me about this girl there who he thought was digging him. She was the receptionist. Her name was Jesse. When we arrived at GoodLife gym we both saw Jesse right away. She was at the front desk. She looked alright. She looked like a younger version of the porno star Katja Kassin. I mean Katja is not really my type, but fuck, I'd throw it to her.
I recall from some video clips when Katja is giving head she sticks the entire dick in her mouth so much so that her lips are pressed flush against the dude's pubes. And Katja's dudes aren't even "manscaped". Thats fuckin gross. Female pubes are all sunshine and roses but guys' pubes are fuckin' nasty. Same thing with feet. I had a point here, what was it? Oh yeah - Katja Kassin. If Katja Kassin is ever on the verge of going down on my 4 and three quarter inches of throbing beef injection I'm gonna tell her "I dont dig the way you give head, baby".
For real.
I am.
Ok. Where the fuck was I again? Oh ya, me and Mally. Me and Mally put on our work-out clothes in the change room and hit the eliptical machines for a 15 minute warm up. Ten feet ahead of us there was a row of stationary bikes where Jesse had moved to and was now talking with some other young guy. This young guy was pushing himself pretty hard on the stationary bike and was beginning to sweat profusely. Mally asked me:
"So, what do you think. She's pretty, eh?"
"She's alright". I said and continued to watch as Jesse started to massage the back of the young guy's sweaty neck.
"I think I'm gonna ask her out". Mally said.
"Mally, are you seeing whats going down, man?" I asked as Jesse was now sucking the stationary biker's ear as he continued to sweat like a beast.
"What? That!?! They're just friends".
Oh.
Okay.
I can hear the wedding bells now.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
I Think I May Have Become "The Fat Guy" In My Group Of Friends
It appears as though the soul-crushing endeavor of employment has occupied so much of my time that it has become absolutely, positively impossible for me to find any opportunity to exercise. For god’s sake, as it stands now, I hardly have any time to play video games, watch tv and surf the internet for porno. Who has time to exercise?!?
I cant believe I’ve become the fattest among my group of friends!! You know how tv writers aspire to create, one dimensional, shallow characters in order to make it easier for the general public to identify with and recognize? Like with the show Friends. You have Rachel who is the pretty one, Chandler the funny one, and Ross the gay guy? Well if my circle of friends had a tv show I’d be the fat, retarded guy.
I’ve thought about going to the gym again and documenting my progress in a serious exercise blog. But ughh, who'd would wanna read what - "today, I struggled to bench press 15 pounds and the juice bags at my gym threatened to ass rape me in the locker-room showers" or "today, this steroid-ravaged chick threatened to snap me in half if I didn't fetch her some water and a hypodermic for her anabolics".
For real, maybe I should bang out some kind of scientific blog where I can empirically measure the benefits of exercise. But it wont be played out like "Exercise is good for your Heart" or Exercise improves Cardiovascular Performance". My scientific blog will study aspects of exercise that haven't been researched yet, like: "Does exercise improve the appearance of your penis" or "the stairmaster - does it really make your balls sag?" I'll take before and after photos and it'll be a whole thing n' all.
I dont even know what I'm saying anymore.
Tomorrow. 6am. GoodLife Gym. Hootch has a rendez-vous with the stairmaster.
Hootch.
ps. If you dont hear from me tomorrow, I may very well have died of a heart-attack.
I cant believe I’ve become the fattest among my group of friends!! You know how tv writers aspire to create, one dimensional, shallow characters in order to make it easier for the general public to identify with and recognize? Like with the show Friends. You have Rachel who is the pretty one, Chandler the funny one, and Ross the gay guy? Well if my circle of friends had a tv show I’d be the fat, retarded guy.
I’ve thought about going to the gym again and documenting my progress in a serious exercise blog. But ughh, who'd would wanna read what - "today, I struggled to bench press 15 pounds and the juice bags at my gym threatened to ass rape me in the locker-room showers" or "today, this steroid-ravaged chick threatened to snap me in half if I didn't fetch her some water and a hypodermic for her anabolics".
For real, maybe I should bang out some kind of scientific blog where I can empirically measure the benefits of exercise. But it wont be played out like "Exercise is good for your Heart" or Exercise improves Cardiovascular Performance". My scientific blog will study aspects of exercise that haven't been researched yet, like: "Does exercise improve the appearance of your penis" or "the stairmaster - does it really make your balls sag?" I'll take before and after photos and it'll be a whole thing n' all.
I dont even know what I'm saying anymore.
Tomorrow. 6am. GoodLife Gym. Hootch has a rendez-vous with the stairmaster.
Hootch.
ps. If you dont hear from me tomorrow, I may very well have died of a heart-attack.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Looking At My Gucci Its About That Time
Lou Dobbs,
What's the dealio, brother? Why you gotta be such a player hater. What have the fuckin' Mexicans ever done to you? And what exactly does "American Jobs" actually fuckin' mean? Is that anything like the positions the Native Americans held in society before the Europeans came over and spread their disease and shit?
Maybe, Lou, you just say the shit you do for shock value. You know, you don't actually believe that bullshit but you say it regardless to guarantee you airtime and to secure your audience of hillbillies. Is that it Lou? You say the shit you do because otherwise you feel you're not as interesting as Wolf Blitzer and his moustache?
Let me fill you in here on a little secret Lou, brother. If you want to go for shock value, I can hook you up with a couple of chicks to suck your balls while you do the news on live TV. Now that will bring in the ratings, vato!! Whattaya say? Come on, hombre, say "yes". When was the last time you had your balls sucked, good and long?
LD: Just yesterday.
Hootch: Get the fuck outta here, brother! You had your balls sucked yesterday!!
LD: Why, yes. I was with Anderson Cooper and he dipped his testicles in a jar of honey made right here in the good ol' U.S. of A. and I proceeded to suck them clean. It was a marvelous experience. That is the same thing, right?
Hootch: No, vato. Having your balls sucked and sucking Anderson Cooper's balls is not the same thing. Tell you what, brother, you think it over, cuz I know there is still an ounce of humanity left in you (unlike that douche, limbaugh and tucker carlson).
So, Lou baby, in closing - don't be such a tight ass. We're all living here on the same piece of dirt, doing our best and trying to get by.
Happy holiday to all my American amigos.
What's the dealio, brother? Why you gotta be such a player hater. What have the fuckin' Mexicans ever done to you? And what exactly does "American Jobs" actually fuckin' mean? Is that anything like the positions the Native Americans held in society before the Europeans came over and spread their disease and shit?
Maybe, Lou, you just say the shit you do for shock value. You know, you don't actually believe that bullshit but you say it regardless to guarantee you airtime and to secure your audience of hillbillies. Is that it Lou? You say the shit you do because otherwise you feel you're not as interesting as Wolf Blitzer and his moustache?
Let me fill you in here on a little secret Lou, brother. If you want to go for shock value, I can hook you up with a couple of chicks to suck your balls while you do the news on live TV. Now that will bring in the ratings, vato!! Whattaya say? Come on, hombre, say "yes". When was the last time you had your balls sucked, good and long?
LD: Just yesterday.
Hootch: Get the fuck outta here, brother! You had your balls sucked yesterday!!
LD: Why, yes. I was with Anderson Cooper and he dipped his testicles in a jar of honey made right here in the good ol' U.S. of A. and I proceeded to suck them clean. It was a marvelous experience. That is the same thing, right?
Hootch: No, vato. Having your balls sucked and sucking Anderson Cooper's balls is not the same thing. Tell you what, brother, you think it over, cuz I know there is still an ounce of humanity left in you (unlike that douche, limbaugh and tucker carlson).
So, Lou baby, in closing - don't be such a tight ass. We're all living here on the same piece of dirt, doing our best and trying to get by.
Happy holiday to all my American amigos.
I Cant Even masturbate To Any Of The Women On The Oprah Show (most of the time) Let Alone Father A New Civilization With Them
If some kind of global cataclysmic even went down and me and that fucking retard Dr Robin, from the Oprah show, were the last two human beings on earth, the human race would surely die out. Yes, the human race would surely perish. No, not because Dr. Robin wouldn't want to get jiggy with me because I'm not her type. I'm exactly her type - tall, dark and dumb as a brick. Dr. Robin wouldn't be able to get enough of me and my super huge hairy baboon balls.
Nor would the human race disappear because I wouldn't get it on with the enormously annoying Dr Robin. Now, understand under any ordinary circumstances I would willingly and gladly castrate myself with an extremely dull and extremely rusty razor than let Dr Robin's snapper devour my tubesteak. However, these would not be ordinary circumstances. Remember? The end of the world? After all, who would know that I tapped dat wrinkly old ass? Not you. You'd all be dead - devoured by the giant man-eating penguins (or whatever the tragedy was that befell the world).
No, dear reader. If me and Dr. Robin, from the Oprah show, were the last two human beings on earth, the human race would surely die out because Dr Robin only likes it up the ass.
This post was dumb.
But I loved it.
Nor would the human race disappear because I wouldn't get it on with the enormously annoying Dr Robin. Now, understand under any ordinary circumstances I would willingly and gladly castrate myself with an extremely dull and extremely rusty razor than let Dr Robin's snapper devour my tubesteak. However, these would not be ordinary circumstances. Remember? The end of the world? After all, who would know that I tapped dat wrinkly old ass? Not you. You'd all be dead - devoured by the giant man-eating penguins (or whatever the tragedy was that befell the world).
No, dear reader. If me and Dr. Robin, from the Oprah show, were the last two human beings on earth, the human race would surely die out because Dr Robin only likes it up the ass.
This post was dumb.
But I loved it.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Everybody Wants To Join A Winner
If you know anything about Toronto, you know its considered one of the most multi-cultural cities in the world...and for good reason. We have motherfuckers here from all over the globe. You name any country in the world and Toronto has a mini version of it right within its city limits - little Italy, little Portugal, little China etc etc.
However, once every 4 years, when the World Cup comes around, every douchebag seems to think they're fucking Brazilian. Every second car I see has a Brazilian flag clamped to its back window. For instance, a friend of mine pulled into his parking-spot at our work. His car had a huge Brazilian flag hanging out the window. I say to him:
- Brother, what are you doing with a Brazilian flag?
- Oh, didn't I tell you, Hootch? My father is part Brazilian.
- Dude!! Your last name is Chang.
Or the other day, when Brazil beat Ghana, I saw this one guy celebrating the victory like he had just won the freakin' lottery. He was albino. Now, I dunno about you but I don't think there are too many real Brazilian albinos around, if any.
So, this is why I have chosen to support a soccer team that no one else has predicted will win the World Cup.
COME ON LUXEMBURG. BRING IT ON HOME TO PAPA!!
However, once every 4 years, when the World Cup comes around, every douchebag seems to think they're fucking Brazilian. Every second car I see has a Brazilian flag clamped to its back window. For instance, a friend of mine pulled into his parking-spot at our work. His car had a huge Brazilian flag hanging out the window. I say to him:
- Brother, what are you doing with a Brazilian flag?
- Oh, didn't I tell you, Hootch? My father is part Brazilian.
- Dude!! Your last name is Chang.
Or the other day, when Brazil beat Ghana, I saw this one guy celebrating the victory like he had just won the freakin' lottery. He was albino. Now, I dunno about you but I don't think there are too many real Brazilian albinos around, if any.
So, this is why I have chosen to support a soccer team that no one else has predicted will win the World Cup.
COME ON LUXEMBURG. BRING IT ON HOME TO PAPA!!
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