And also, totally nonsensical…
“Figures that a week after Halloween I’d come up with the greatest costume ever. File this under “FUCK YEAH” for next year. Here’s what you do– Dress up like a bong by making a transparent green cylinder that wraps around your body with a hole cut out at the top, for your face, and also right at your crotch (where the slide would go in a bong). Then take some Viagra so you’ve got a raging boner that fits perfectly out the slide hole, and walk around all night asking ladies if they want to light you up. Then wink. Always wink after you say something awesome. One time people thought I had Tourette’s because I said like a hundred awesome things in a row and had to keep winking. Anyway, you’re welcome for the costume idea.”
Wouldn’t that be offering to get your dick lit on fire all night? Maybe he’s into that kind of stuff now…
in the sneakiest way possible…
“Dressed up in a totally normal outfit for work for Halloween today and everyone’s all like “What the Hell? Why didn’t you dress up???” and then I’m all like, “I did. I’m dressed as a bad boss.” And then I grab their private parts and wink. Always keep people on their toes.”
so long as no one kills me before my time…
“My buddy just looked at me in all-seriousness and said “So are we ever gonna do blackface for Halloween or what?” This is the kind of thing you have to look forward to when you’re older. Standing on a friend’s balcony smoking cigarettes, your knee in a brace because you tried to get laid at a yoga class, your married friend asking you if you’ll PLEASE bring some excitement to his life by doing one of the most racist things you can ever do. Yep, that’s it.
PS we decided on Indianface and I’m going to carry a tarp behind me with tears drawn on it that I won’t let anyone step on. “Trail of Tears, bro!” Welcome to your future.”
And as usual, that sounds terrible. Let’s all get drunk tonight in memory of my brother’s fun life.
That Max Standley sure can capture the essence of suffering.
He sent me this photo today. I didn’t follow much of his advice at all… maybe none. And guess what? I didn’t get laid. I hate that he might have been right. About anything. Ever.
I feel more like this today.