Funny Shit I've Read Lately

Found this story on some NY guy, funny crap about a Friday night he had. I'll post a link to his site later.


Over the next five hours, I got drunk off my ass. Blind, filthy, stinking drunk in my apartment by myself, listening to country music. I finished the bottle of Maker’s Mark, pounding those fucking Manhattans like they were iced tea. When I started drinking, I was using a jigger to measure four jiggers of bourbon, two of vermouth, and drinking the Manhattans out of a highball glass. Once I discovered George Jones however, I was using eight-ten jiggers of bourbon, four-five of vermouth, and drinking out of a pint glass.

I can’t really explain this except to say that I really look good in suits, and, I guess I wanted to look good. So there I was in my apartment, in a suit, alone, drinking Manhattans out of a pint glass, playing guitar and singing lines like "I’ll keep drinking, it won’t matter/I’ll just remember that I once had her."

I realize that this may sound depressing (horribly, horribly depressing), but I had a fucking ball. An absolute blast. Just because the songs were sad doesn’t mean I was; indeed, I’ve gotten a lot sadder by being out at bars, looking at attractive unapproachable women and the douchebags they were with. The songs didn’t inspire sadness in me, but rather a profound awe. I couldn’t believe that a) people wrote songs like these; and b) I hadn’t heard them in my 27 years. Bottom line, there is a lot to be said for getting blackout drunk by yourself (on bourbon, no less), listening to country music. And if you can’t appreciate that, well, then I don’t think you should keep reading this.

By now it was about 2:45 in the morning and I realized that if I didn’t leave the apartment I was going to put myself in the hospital. Although I was just about out of whiskey, I had an almost full bottle of vodka, two bottles of wine, and about a half a case of beer. I was prepared for war.

Instead, I got in touch with a friend who invited me over to smoke a bowl, because, you know, that’s what I really needed at that point. I headed over and brought a can of Chef Boyardee as a gift and spent about an hour hanging out, getting high.

Who takes over Chef Boyardee to someone's house? Must be a stoner thing, I don't get it. Wouldn't it be better to go over empty handed? Next one is from his annual NJ pub crawl. He and his friend will make t-shirts for everyone to wear, guess they had 80 people this year, called it DUYS, or Drink Until You Shit. No one shit, but one guy puked for three blocks straight (while still walking) and there was a reported puke explosion by someone else, sounds like fun?

When I got home, per my usual "I’m super fucked up" routine, instead of properly storing my contact lenses, I took them out of my eyes and threw them the fuck out. I went to bed in the bedroom, leaving Kyle passed out on the couch.

All I know is the next day I woke up on the sofa bed (thankfully, alone). My first instinct when I wake up in a strange place after a night of heavy drinker is to check and make sure my boxers are on. Not because I’m concerned that I was seduced by some succubus in the night, but because if my boxers are off, that usually means I’ve pissed myself; I’ll sometimes piss myself in bed and throw them off during the night when I finally recognize the wetness or, more likely, I’ll get up, walk to a corner or wall in the room, drop my boxers to my ankles and piss, leaving the boxers to soak up the warm urine bouncing off the wall and collecting at my feet.

Is everyone peeing themselves now? Is that the cool thing to do (Billy Madison)?

Which brings me to my evening story. Back when I was in grade school/high school I'd have a bowl of cereal in the morning every day. Favorites back then were Captain Crunch, Froot Loops, Frosted Flakes, and Frosted Mini Wheats. At night I'd have two or three more bowls while I was either doing homework or watching basketball. Back then the NBA was cool and the Chicago station televised every Bulls game, watching Jordan was always entertaining. So I'd have three to four bowls of cereal every day; with 2% milk. All was good.

Fast forward to 2006. I stopped at the parents house after work for some grub and noticed they have chocolate milk in the fridge. I haven't bought milk for my house in months, needed it once to make my 10 block radius famous scrambled eggs, small bottle which of course went bad and had to be tossed. So I pour about six ounces in a cup and show it to pops, he looks at me with a straight face and says I'm leaving right after I eat. Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. I eat and sit on the recliner, pops and sister are watching the Gilmore Girls DVD they got from the library. After not getting much sleep last night I fall asleep, nice little hour and a half nap. Wake up to the feeling that I know all too well, little rumble in the stomach. Oh boy, the fruits of my labor. I let two silent ones fly, wait ten minutes and get up for a popsicle (really tasty rasberry one). As soon as I get up, sister sitting ten feet away looks at me with this angry face, "B you reek! Stop farting!" Obviously the air flow was going in that direction today with the windows closed and the air on. Pops gives his two bits, "B, if you do that again you have to leave." Ok, I understand their point of view and painfully hold in any more. After another 20 minutes I can't take it any more, get up and grab some food for the next day since I can't cook but on the grill. Only problem was the getting up part, something shifted in my body and the painfull hold-in flies out like Superman.

Crap, I better leave soon before they smell that. I packed up some food in a container and realize I'm not going to make it six miles to my place to unload the foulness that's currently residing in my ass. As I head for the bathroom sister's yelling, "No, no, not my bathroom! B, you can't! Use the spare bathroom!" Of course I race into hers and proceed to make the grossest noises possible. Truely an experience, kind of like a colon cleaning if you will, pretty much everything inside of me just slipped out, sometimes forcefully. Got done in there, figured I'd leave sis a present and "forgot" to flush. What are big brothers for?

That brings me back people calling me an ass. Please stop calling me an ass, I know I'm an ass, you know I'm an ass, why be surprised by anything I do? You should just expect ass-like comments/actions to come from me, it's in my nature. My not flushing was my ass-like moment of the day, ha, ha. Peace out and keep the beverages flowing.