Friday, February 29, 2008

Productive Vacation Day

I've whacked off three times and it isn't even 1:00 yet.

Are You Kidding Me?

I write a post on the 23rd and title it "Pee With Me" and this is the turnout I get? You people are some sick mother fuckers.

Or maybe everyone wanted to know if the FA was coming out of the closet. I posted that one on the same day.

Take it Like a/From a...

What does it mean when you have a dream that you're taking it up the ass? You know what, nevermind, I'd rather not know.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Coming Out FA

Yes, somebody found this website by typing "coming out FA" in a Google search. FA buddy, you're famous!

Pee With Me!

After a good night of drinking I can pee for a whole minute straight. My bladder must be able to hold like a gallon or something. Yes ladies, I'm a mean, lean, beer drinking machine - and I can pee on you for a minute straight if you're in to that kind of thing.

Friday, February 22, 2008

Who's Your Daddy?

Back in April of 2007 I met a new friend from out of state. She asked me to show her around town but I had to decline the first night because I didn't have any clean underwear. Seriously. I called her back the next night and we made arrangements which included the whole awkward conversation that went like "I really can't go out drinking and drive home" and "Oh, that's fine, you can stay with me at the hotel" and "Really? Can I stick it in your butt, too?" Ok, that last part wasn't exactly in there but I'm thinking about making it a required question on future dates. You can't get pregnant from anal sex. At least I don't think so…

We hit it off pretty well. Actually, we hit it off very well. She was set to leave on Friday but there we were on Thursday night trying to get the flight changed. $440 freaking dollars to get the flight pushed back to Sunday. That's like paying for a separate round trip flight. I footed half the bill and she spent the weekend at my house.

That weekend the Renter had a new alarm clock. Instead of err, err, err it went more like yes, yes, yes! Yeah, one of the few times that yours truly was seeing any action. I saw her off that Sunday with promises that I'd call and come out to visit. I did call and email but you know me, I'm cheap, and coming up with the scratch for a plane ticket wasn't exactly feasible at the time. Maybe it was feasible but it would have cut into the drinking budget. I've broken up with women over drinking before. Don't give me the ultimatum, I will choose the booze over you. I know where my priorities are at.

After a while I didn't hear anything from her. I'd get the occasional joke email that she'd send out to all her friends but nothing of the personal fashion. And then all hell broke loose.

"You know that Jennifer's pregnant, right?"

The Renter had gone on Jennifer's MySpace page and saw a comment one of her friends had made. It was something to the point where her friend was asking if she knew if it was a boy or a girl. This was around January 28th. She stayed the weekend with me at the end of April.

(Counting on my fingers…)

Yeah, that's nine months.

Once again I didn't have any clean underwear but not because I hadn't done the laundry. I was shitting myself every day.

What the fuck would I, who can barely take care of myself, who consistently has bruises from falling down on the way home from the bar, who's greatest selling point with the ladies is… ok, I don't have one, but what would I do with a kid?


(Scratching my head…)

(Itching my balls…)

Ha, I've got it!


Nothing but have the government take an obscene amount of money out of my paycheck every two weeks. That's a scary thought. That's a lot of money. Thoughts of retiring at 50 were quickly squelched.

But then the Renter sent her an email. It went something like "I was on Myspace and decided to check out all the people on my friends list. When I came to your page I was shocked to find out that you are having a baby. Congrats!!!!!!! This must be very exciting for you. Do you know if it is a boy or a girl? When are you due?"

(People still go on MySpace?)

Jennifer responded. "Any day now. Does B to the… know?"

Yep, I can throw those underwear away.

Actually, the response came back that she was due in June.

(Counting on my fingers again…)

I counted up to eleven just to be sure that I wasn't going to be a proud parent. Yes, that did involve taking off one of my socks. I crapped my pants again just for the hell of it. It was becoming an every day tradition. I was thinking about buying stock in Fruit of the Loom. I know it sounds gross but you get used to it. I highly recommend all of you try it. Life altering.

So I was not going to be a father. I was not going to have the government reach into my wallet and reach around and squeeze my balls at the same time just for good measure. No, instead I felt like I had just won the lottery. I emptied out my piggy bank, dumped it on my bed and rolled around on the change. It would have been nice to have the $1,800 in one dollar bills like back in the day but someone has a little bit of a gambling problem; and those cashiers at the casino can turn 800 $1's into 8 $100's in under ten minutes – I've timed them. Dollars don't get stuck in your ass crack like dimes do either. I've dropped more dimes in the shower than Jason Kidd has in his career. Well, that's an exaggeration, it only happened once, but who else can say that? I was quite surprised to hear the ting ting ting of the coin bouncing towards the shower drain. But hey, at least it proves that I wash my ass crack.

When I first heard the news of the pregnancy I immediately swore off sex forever. That's right, forever. No woman can play with my penis like I can but a nice warm, moist vagina is nice every now and then; nice enough to not be able to swear it off forever. So I devised a new plan. From now on it's either butt sex or sex with married women who won't have a kid because their husbands will divorce them and leave them penniless. That adds up to a lot more than 17% of my income.

But seriously, can you get pregnant from anal sex? I know as much about the female anatomy as I do about the theory called moderation.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

One Bad JE

The caffeine is racing through your blood. Your heart is racing like you just completed the 100 yard dash even though you’re just sitting at your desk. You’ve skipped lunch and the gym yet you’ve still applied two additional coats of deodorant.

Amazing what one incorrect journal entry will do to you when you have to get the financials out.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Stepping It Up A Notch

I've broken the towel rack in my bathroom three times when I lose my balance when I'm loaded. $8 each time. Well, only twice, I got sick of replacing it after the third time. Why fix it?

Friday night I stepped it up a notch. After numerous pitchers at the corner bar I went to another bar. As I walked in, "Brad, Southern Comfort and coke?" They fucking new my name. I don't go in there that much. But I do drink that much.

After six of those I took out the picture frame that is hanging in my hallway. The Renter bought it for me for Christmas of 2006. It was one of five. Luckily I was able to find an exact replacement. But the fucker cost me $15. What can I break next?

Sweaty Feet

I had to do a couple deliveries this morning. At 10:00 I took my boot off to get a piece of salt out. My sock was soaked. I cringe every time I see some dude licking a chick’s toes in porn knowing how sweaty my feet get. Who’s to say that her feet don’t sweat like mine?

I’ve turned green socks a light shade of brown just from wearing them at work. I’ve applied cologne to cover up the smell of my feet wafting up from underneath my desk. And to think that you, yes ladies, you could be knocking boots with me every night of the week – assuming I stayed awake.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Sleeping With Me

Don’t ask me how the conversation came up but I have fallen asleep – complete with snoring – exactly three times while engaged in various sex acts with the opposite sex. I was awoken once as the female who was going down on me didn’t appreciate it too much – and bit my schlong. Ouch.

Snow Angels

I was making snow angels on the way home from the bar the other day. Multiple snow angels. Mind you that I didn’t exactly do this on purpose. One of them even had an impression from my face.

Beware Ladies

It’s almost Valentine’s Day. Ladies, I’ll be on the prowl for those of you who are single, depressed, and insecure. Trust me, I’ll fill your needs. But first, please get on your knees.

(Psst. K, you still out there? Can you wear your Halloween outfit if you come over? I figure it could double for Valentine’s Day attire. Can you bring a twelve pack, too?)

Breaking the Rules With the Indiana Hookers, er, Hoosiers.

Looks like Kelvin Sampson has dug himself quite the hole at Indiana. Never did like the guy. Makes Bobby Knight look like a saint. That’s tough to do.
What would you rather have, a coach that breaks the rules or one whose temper and passion for the game gets the better of him from time to time?

(Insert your favorite Bill Bellicheck cheater joke here.)

On a similar note, what the hell is Roger Clemens doing? Jesus, just admit to the shit already. And why does this all have to go to a congressional hearing? Its freaking baseball, steroids, and lifting weights, not politics. They call it the steroid era for a reason: player’s used the shit. Stiffen up the testing and be done with it.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Bending Over for Love

Oh, B to the…, I know how you like it! I’ll even put on a big smile and turn my head around as you’re sticking it in me!

No B to the…, pick me! I’ll put on an even bigger smile and wave a cowboy hat! We can have our own little rodeo! Ride me, cowboy!

No! No! Pick me! Check out my ass! Pick me!

I’m telling you, sometimes it’s rough being me. So many decisions…

Wiping the Slate Clean

Have you ever taken a shit, washed your hands, left the bathroom only to realize five minutes later that you didn’t quite get the job done in the wiping department, and then upon returning to the bathroom you find it out of service as the cleaning lady is doing the daily cleaning? Then you go back to your desk and sit down and feel whatever it was you missed slowly transfer from your butt crack to your underwear?

That’s never happened to you?

I don’t know if it’s just me or just bad timing or a combination of the two. How do I get myself into this shit? Oh well, nothing a little cologne won’t cover up.

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Snow/Sleep/Stories Come to an End?

I was going to try to catch the Duke/North Carolina game last night but I just couldn’t. By 7:30 I was exhausted from all the snow shoveling. I turned off the lights and crawled into bed with the buzz of snow blowers lulling me to sleep.

I woke up this morning at 7:00. I shoveled till 8:30. It was not pretty. There were some spots where the snow had drifted and accumulated so that it was over my knees. My back hurt all day today at work. I’m really getting sick of this snow shit.

I think I might try the sleep for 11.5 hours thing again tonight. That almost made up for the shoveling.

As much as the shoveling sucked, this whole blogging thing is starting to wear on me a bit. I used to love writing stories about the stupid shit I’ve done but lately it’s become more of a chore than anything. And I think I’ve run out of good stories. Writing in this chauvinistic dialect really isn’t all that funny and it really isn’t all me (well…). As for now, its 8:00, I’m going to bed. See ya when I see ya.

Peace out, homies.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

The Computer Whirlwind

So tonight I packed up my piece of shit Gateway computer and put it in the basement. With the computer desk clear I asked the Renter to put her laptop in the den instead of in the living room.

Renter: I'm not putting my computer in there.

Me: You used to keep it on your desk in there. I figured since we threw your desk out last week that you could use mine.

Renter: Nope.

You see, the Renter has both her laptop and makeup stuff in the living room. If she is home she is either sitting there on the couch playing on the computer, doing her makeup, or watching TV, but always in the living room. I figured if we put her computer in the den we could both have some space and privacy. The only privacy I have now is in my 12 x 13 bedroom.

Me: Why won't you move your computer?

Renter: Because I check my emails while I do my makeup and watch the news in the morning. Besides, the living room is a common room.

Me: But the living room isn't a computer room.

I thought I had a logical argument. Thought...

The next thing I know the Renter is slamming doors and whipping through the house putting everything that's her's in her bedroom. Little bit of an overkill.

All I asked was for the computer (which, by the way, is not on the newly cleaned computer desk but in her room).

I will never understand women.

Who Wants to Help Me Shovel?

What, no takers? A lot of help you guys are.


Those pictures were taken at 2:00. It's now 7:00 and its still snowing. I have drifts that go up to my knees in my front yard. I've shoveled my driveway three times so far and I finally said fuck it, I'm going to wait till this shit stops and get it done in one shot. I haven't even touched the sidewalks on my corner lot yet.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

I Got Nothing...

...but a picture of some nasty ass poo for you. Enjoy.

Monday, February 04, 2008


I heard my future wife, Elisha Cuthbert, was making out with Paris Hilton. What the fuck? Now I have to cross her off my list of celebs I want to fuck.

Ok, I'm lying, I'd still fuck her.

And Paris Hilton, at the same time, but only in that senario.

Who the fuck am I kidding...

Saturday, February 02, 2008


With the whole refinancing thing my buddy Mort had to do a credit check. I got it in the mail yesterday. 770! Who would think that a fuck up like me would have a credit rating like that?

(Actually I pride myself on my financial capabilities. I didn't become an accountant because I like all those hot accounting chicks. Good Lord - few and far between.)


I just got done shaving my face. It's Saturday. I never shave on weekends. Maybe I should check in to rehab with Eva Mendes.

Checking in to Rehab with Eva Mendes

I need to go and check in to the same rehab facility that Eva Mendes just checked in to. You know, try to console and comfort her in while she’s dealing with whatever issues are bothering her. Oh, and to stick it in her ass. Nothing like hitting on a broad when she’s down and out.