And where they come from…
“If you don’t hold the door for women they’ll just bang right into it like a confused bird or a video game character that gets stuck in a corner. Just bang-bang-bangin away with no hope of entry. That’s why we have to do it for them.”
And social responsibility:
“Always let women off the elevator first, even if you’re right near the front and they’re in the back. First, it’s the right thing to do– women’s legs are shorter and their brains are smaller so they need more time to get places than we do. Secondly, it gives you a free look at their ass and up their skirt (but only if you’re wearing my patented Mirror-Topped-Looky-Loo Nikes). And finally, if there happens to be a psycho killer running around stabbing or shooting everyone, she’ll take the brunt of it and allow you to make an attempt at an escape. Win win win!”
I don't think I've ever hated a photograph more than this one.
Pre-class post… Trying to attend some this year. This is something he’s been doing for years, including the time he spanked our neighbor’s son in our front yard when he was 25 and the kid was like 10. It was frightening, like this probably was…
“On the plane back I met up with, not surprisingly, some trouble. It wasn’t of my usual “can’t get hard in the lavatory because of the turbulence” trouble, but instead of a completely non-sexual nature, and involving a child to boot. This little whippersnapper in the seat behind me kept smacking her cute little tootsies on the ground– literally for the first three hours of the flight– and despite my requests for her to stop, she did not. Here I was, minding my own business in Business Class, reading GQ and trying to figure out if Mark Sanchez is gay (He loves showtunes?) while this little shit is just smacking the day away in her Payless shoes. With her fat ugly father passed out and no recourse to be found, I finally rolled up the magazine and smacked her foot as hard as I could with Mark’s smiling, ambiguous face. Of course she immediately started crying, waking her father, at which point she explained to him in Spanish what I’d done, and he burst to his feet to confront me. “Tengo huevos?” I asked him. “Hay heuvos,” I declared, never letting my eyes leave his. “Sientate,” I said, pointing to his seat. And sientate he did my friend. Sientate he fucking did. Pretty sure Sanchez is gay.biz, bt-dubs.”
Glad to hear that no one was hurt… except for that girl’s foot.
I don't think I need to read the GQ article. I've made up my mind.
Can he please just write a book on manners and decorum please?
“I was just at my favorite hangover spot getting a salt bagel (toasted, extra butter) and a large coffee (chugged, quick refill) when I bumped into a young lady on accident. “Woops, sorry,” I said with a smile (and you recall my smile is beautiful). “No worries,” she replied. Needless to say I dumped my coffee on her head. Is there anything more arrogant than saying “No worries” to someone? We’re in the middle of a recession and a war, your hair looks like shit, you’re 17 pounds overweight and about to add another with that donut, your blouse looks like a gay man from the 1940’s dressed you, and you have ZERO worries? Really? Go fuck yourself lady. 9 times out of 10, people who say “no worries” should have a shitload of worries– and people who add “Bro” at the end will be homeless within six months, GUARANTEED. “No worries” is the white person equivalent of “De nada,” the incredibly arrogant Mexican response to a thank you. Really Chuco? “It’s nothing” to you? My fucking thanks means nothing to you!?!?!? Leg sweep!”
This from a man who used to regularly spit his food back onto his plate at dinner and say “Mama?” over and over again to make me laugh as a kid.
I typed "No worries, bro" into Google and this pic was there. Due to the amount of fat chicks recently, here's a cute chick who probably actually does have "no worries."
I got this when my plane landed, so it was of no use to me. It wouldn’t have been anyway, because it’s absurd, and I sat next to a man. But maybe it can help someone else. Just maybe…
“Dude-lick, pick up your phone! You need to use this opportunity to join the Mile High Club! Don’t let life pass you by without fucking a chick on a plane. Sooner or later the World’s gonna end, or you’re gonna get hit by a car, and as you’re lying there on the street with your brains pouring out of your head, you’ll be all like “Damn I wish I would’ve fucked on a plane once!” Well here’s your chance. I’ve done it 52 times, like the weeks in a year! Provided you sit next to a cute girl, strike up a conversation with her right away. Then order yourself and her a drink, on you. Ask her about herself, tell a couple jokes (no racist ones though. Chicks hate racist jokes for some reason). Pretend you give a shit about how she teaches school or whatever dumbass job she has. Then be the first to initiate contact. When she gets up to go to the bathroom, give her a minute, then follow. Stand by the lavatory she went into, and then when she cracks the door open just a wee bit, say “Hellooooooooooooooo Nurse!” and watch as she pulls you inside and practically sucks your dick OFF! Let me know how it goes.”
This was not even close to who I sat next to...
All about the manners. New text:
“Remember, if you don’t have anything nice to say, you should at least be funny as fuck when you’re saying the mean stuff.”
He sent this last night around 10PM, but I was out following his advice so I missed it:
“Just got really stoned with this dude in my building, and after we’d shared two bowls he decides to tell me that he’s got a really nasty cold. Needless to say, I was furious. I almost had to buy a new freezer the motherfucker was so tall!”