Couple F Bombs

Fuck you fat lady who is constantly announcing the new diet you’re on, but never lose a single fucking pound. Funny thing is that throughout the day I truly see you only eat oatmeal, salads, diet soda, grilled chicken, etc. Do you go home and double fist chalupas followed up by a full bag of marshmallows? Fuck.

Fuck you dipshit bouncer who stands in front of the door at a cool bar with a permanent frown. You are a midget stuck in a 6′4” frame. When was the last time you got laid without force?

Fuck you tow truck driving shades. I parked my car in the red for 3 minutes and you are going to charge me $90 because you already lifted my car two inches off the ground? You probably go home to your trailer every night and throw countless beats to the footage you sneakily recorded of star trek geeks doing each other in full furry bunny costumes.

Fuck you P Diddy. That forced black version of N’ Sync you created blows. (Regarding the girl version, Danity Kain – I would make Aubrey my wife if it was legal to permanently sew her mouth shut)

Fuck you white vans. When I buy you, you look so damn cool, I wear you out once and you find it funny to cover yourself in pizza sauce, Jaeger, and some odd red shit. (Fuck my inability to not spill)

Fuck you guy who ruins my heavenly 15 minutes on the can every morning about 9:12am with your chronic dio attacks, extreme heavy breathing, and occasional cell phone pick ups. Mix in a solid meal for god’s sakes, curried goo meat 4 times a day will do that to anyone. Swear I might lob some dirty TP over the stall next time you interrupt me and I hope it lands in your eye.

Fuck you dress shirt neck sizes. I always buy you with extra neck room, and somehow whenever I go to wear you with a tie for the first time, trying to button the top button takes the strength of Arnold in his prime. Then I have to go through my day with a blue face from lack of oxygen, and one deep breath may launch my button, like a speeding bullet, at that guy in the elevator who I swear is a walking SBD.

Fuck you hot chick who suggests that we don’t use a J Cap when it comes down to crunch time. You may not be aware of this, but I have had 15 drinks tonight at the bar and lord knows I don’t have the power to disagree with you at this point. Do I have “please give me wild raw dog agents to dwell upon for the next week, where every routine itch is followed up with a sprint to the bathroom to make sure you didn’t leave me a present” tattooed on my forehead? Get a grip and make some right decisions.

 

The Everlasting Bald Eagle

My friend, whose name will remain anonymous, recently hooked up with a hot chick 5 years his senior.  I saw her in person and let’s just say that any man on the planet would get after it.  Great body, cute face, fake pigs, the whole 9 if you will. 

He takes this girl home one night after a few dates, and before he thought it couldn’t get any better, he comes to find out that her thank-you is unusually soft, clean, and hairless.  He poses the question, how on earth do you get this puppy so amaizingly amazing?  Her reply, “Oh, well, I actually had laser treatment done about a year ago; I will never have a hair down there again my life”. 

Is this not top 10 coolest fucking things you have ever heard?  She took it upon herself to ensure that no man would ever have to get tangled in that mess again for life.  She deserves a Purple Heart, Grammy, National Holiday, a bullet point in the Declaration of Independence, to be bowed upon by all small Asian men upon entering a room, something. 

Only way that chick could get cooler is if she flew into town on business, invited my buddy over to her hotel room for an evening filled with middle BJ’s, let him sleep in a separate bed once the festivities were over, and not expect a call the next day.  Can you imagine if her last name was Zeropussyhair, or something along those lines?  That would put it over the top. 

This is a true story in entirety by the way. FC no A.

Bum-Sike Pay Back

I am typically pretty nice to bums.  That being said, one night after an all day beer festival in San Francisco, a buddy (Who I will call N for anonymity’s sake) and I peel off from our pack of wild hyena buddies around 11pm and hop in a cab back to BART.   We pop in 7 Eleven on Market and from the moment I stepped out of the cab all the way until I went in the door, this one particularly aggressive bum was haggling the shit out of me.  My buddy and I go inside, both recognizing the fact that the bum needed to settle.  The minute I pop open the door to leave, the same dirty bum started freaking out over how much he wanted the change I had in my hand.  Fed up, I grab my change and hold my hand out over his cup and his face lit up like he just hit the lottery.  At the last second, I snapped my hand back and gave him a loud…”Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkkeee”.  My buddy and I turn quickly, laugh our asses off and head towards the BART station without a second thought.  A few minutes later, I hear some yelling noises and the bum is sprinting down the street towards us.  He stops 15 feet away, and while still yelling some demonic shit, he proceeds to Randy Johnson some sort of metal plate directly at my head.  I tried to pull out my Matrix move to dodge it, but I had been drinking brons all day, so the disc smoked me on the side of my head.

 I then proceeded to ram my fist through his abdomen (Blog reader sike).  I actually was a bit freaked out, put my tail between my legs, and sprinted down the stairs and got on BART.  Moral of the story, if you are ever positioned in a perfect bum-sike situation, be prepared for some payback.  If I saw that bum again I’d shake his hand and/or rifle the nearest object in sight at his face.  Late