or face the consequences…
“Was at this chick’s house last night trying to find a snack while she cleaned herself off from what I just did to her, and discovered her pantry’s best option to be REDUCED FAT CHEEZ-ITs. Who in the fuck buys REDUCED FAT CHEEZ-ITs? If there’s a fucking “Z” in the name of the food, go ahead and get full-fat. Just go for it at that point. Well, needless to say, I ate none and then broke all her wine glasses before yelling “You’re doin’ it wrong!” and leaving the front door open behind me. That’s my new thing– “You’re doin’ it wrong!” I like to just randomly yell it at people while I’m driving, or while they’re shopping or something. Could be a good reality TV show where I help people stop being so shitty at everything. Something to think about.”
GREATEST PHOTO ON THE INTERNET.
We used to play in our backyard and hit the balls into a huge tree that kind of had perfect levels of branches, so the highest was worth four points and the lowest one. His claim to fame was breaking his bat while hitting the winning homerun against his friend. Now this is how he plays ball:
“Guerilla Marketing Campaign proposal DENIED at work today. I wanted them to give me money to get our company logo put on a bunch of baseballs, and then I was going to get SUPER WASTED over a series of nights and walk around different neighborhoods hitting the balls through people’s windows. CRACK! SMASH! “Hey what the hell?! Oh look, a reliable financial company with the vision to explore new boundaries while remaining prudent in pursuit of gains!” Anyway people said stuff like “That’s illegal” and “That’s ridiculous” and “Put your pants back on!” during the meeting and my idea was shut down. Another reminder that when you’re awesome, sometimes non-awesome people are going to gang up on you and act like you’re crazy. But they’re just jealous that you have a super sweet custom Louisville Slugger bat and a big JOHNSON HOG.”
*Custom Louisville Slugger not pictured.
The back of that baseball card can be found at:
He has one!
“Had this girl invite me over to her place for dinner last night, and when she was putting all the food out she started bragging about this “organic” ranch dressing she had for the salad. Well, needless to say, I swept all of the plates onto the floor and left. I don’t want “organic” ranch dressing, you idiot. I want ranch dressing from a factory in Iowa that’s had several health code violations over the years. Organic food tastes like shit. Have a good dinner– ALONE!”
A couple things here: One, it is not “needless to say” that you would break someone’s plates. And two, didn’t he eat dinner alone also?
This someecard makes about as much sense as his email. Was their a Hidden Valley Ranch party in SOMEONE ELSE’S mouth earlier? WTF is a Hidden Valley Ranch party anyway?
For fun and stress relief…
“I keep meaning to remind you about keg tossing after a party. It’s a good way to work out the stress of not getting laid should that sadly occur, great exercise and loads of fun too. I recommend tossing it the way they throw the discus in the Olympics– grab a handle, spin a couple times and let ‘er rip! I believe my record was 50 feet, 70 if you count the bounce and 85 if you count when it broke through my neighbor’s window and rolled into her kitchen. And you should count that.”
"It was him again. That maniac. Oh how I love him."
I thought it was odd when I called him that it went straight to voicemail:
“iPhones act like they’re all cool and fancy, but they smash against walls during fits of rage just like Blackberries do. Back online, bitches.”
What could have caused this, you wonder? Let’s start with “anything.”
Weird last couple of days, but my loss is your gain… Here’s everything he sent me over the last two days:
“We finally started having sex last night and it was great and all, but then this morning I accidentally said my own name during it and she got pissed. It’s not like I said some other chick’s name– what the fuck is the problem? I was saying the name of the person I’m most in love with. Whatabitch#”
Love his use of the hashtag there. Very hip. Later in the evening he sent this:
“So she left in a huff before she was supposed to take me to the airport. Just told me to lock the bottom lock on my way out. If by “lock the bottom lock” she meant leave an upper-decker in the water tank of her toilet, we’re all set!”
And then from the plane:
“FEMALE PILOT. Is Southwest joking? Am I on Punk’d? Where’s Bieber? See you in Hell!”
Then on MONDAY he forwarded me a text from the girl in Austin:
“Thx for leaving my place a mess, thx for breaking my coffee maker, and thx for being a complete asshole the entire time you were here. Talk to you never.”
Then he wrote me:
“Didn’t realize I broke her coffee maker. I would send her $11 to replace it, but I’m under strict orders to “talk to her never.” What the fuck does that even mean? Just don’t text me if you don’t want to talk. Think I might start calling her a bunch.”
AND NOW TODAY:
“Got to work super early, raided the company liquor cabinet, drove back home and came in at my normal time (9:42AM) and no one was the wiser. Just like I always say– “If a crackhead dies in a dark alley and no one’s there to see it, is he really dead?” I think not.”
So there you have it folks. Back to my struggling grades!
Glad we have him to help us learn important shit like this:
“I’m gonna tell you something that a lot of people are afraid to admit. Something the government wants kept quiet.
The secret ingredient in Jameson Irish Whiskey is cocaine.
If it’s not, then why did I destroy my entire apartment complex last night? Answer me that, college boy.”
Nothing mentioned about it on the bottle, but his evidence stacks up...