It gets worse and worse with age…
“I have this recurring daydream where I’m walking down the street stoned and whistling and someone mugs me. But when they get home, they feel terrible about it and, after realizing that I had no cash and all my credit cards are maxed out, decide to pay down all my balances and throw the wallet in a mailbox. When I was your age I’d daydream about falling into the trash compactor from Star Wars, except instead of it being filled with trash, it was filled with smoking hot Latina girls covered in baby oil. What a slippery time we’d have! Point being, NOTHING gets better with age. Not even wine. You should drink wine the second you see it, not when some guy who can’t even hit a line drive in a batting cage tells you to. And never get old. I swear you’ll thank me in Heaven.”
There were supposed to be bitches in here!
And here’s another picture because I couldn’t decide which one to use:
I typed "Latina Girls Baby Oil" into Google Images.
in a really weird way…
“A guy in my building (and I won’t say what race he is because I don’t see color and you’re racist) just told me about the time he was in prison and how it’s hard for him to sleep now because when you’re in prison sometimes you wake up to the sound of someone being either raped or murdered. Not surprisingly, that had a SOUR PATCH KIDS effect on his sleep schedule. I asked if he was able to purchase or obtain ear plugs, and he said that it was easier to get heroin than earplugs, but that he did manage to eventually steal some earplugs from the “guards’ commissary.” So if you’re ever feeling like everything sucks and you’ve got it bad, just remember that you could be stealing earplugs so you don’t have to hear rape sounds. Wait never mind, you live in a fraternity house, you’re used to rape sounds. ZING!”
Weirdest way to mention Sour Patch Kids I've ever heard.
From my brother to the world:
“Happy Valentine’s Day you piece of shit! JK JK! You’re not a POS you’re a wonderful little fella with a heart of gold not unlike a hooker’s, and a strange inability to get laid despite sharing my DNA. Let me assist you– today is the greatest day of the year to be a single man because all women are going EVEN MORE BONKERS than normal today. Seeing as you’ve managed to escape the terror-trap of having a girlfriend thus far, you’ll be able to prey on the legions of single women drowning their sorrows in pizza, cupcakes they bought themselves, and hopefully liquor at your nearest Watering (or tonight, Crying) Hole. So my friend, walk around that beautiful campus of yours and put those tuition dollars to work, picking all the fresh flowers you can hold in your arms, and then hand them out to every forlorn looking girl you see during the day. Say nothing other than “Happy Valentine’s Day,” and maybe call them some funny name like Mallory or Priscilla as if you know them, give a wink, and leave. Later this evening, capture your bounty by whistling a jaunty tune around the dorms, student housing lairs and bars. The women will notice, saying “Hey there’s that fella that made my day earlier! He’s under the impression my name’s Mallory, but heck– he could call me Dogbone and I’d still suck him off in the restroom over yonder!” (That’s how women talk, right?) Anyway, capitalize on their sadness and your generosity by FUCKING THEM SILLY later on. And make sure to vanish from their lives quick as you came, never to be seen again. Aaaaaaaaannnnnnnnndddddd you’re welcome.”
I’ll give it a shot!
Actual photo of my brother picking flowers.
When you’re as ridiculous as he is, the speeches come from everywhere…
“My dickhead drug dealer just gave me a whole speech about how he thinks I “need to chill” because I kept asking him for greens and reds and whites (even though I was just getting in the Holiday spirit drug-wise) and says he won’t sell to me for awhile. What a haughty (look it up) piece of shit. He kept going on and on about all the weird times of night I call him, about the time I waited outside his building pretending to walk a dog that I didn’t even own, and bitching endlessly about the time I broke into his apartment wearing a Freddy Kruger mask and tried to convince him he was having a nightmare and to give me all his drugs. Waahhh Waahhh Wahhh gimme a break! ANyway I canceled my therapy session tonight because who needs one after a guy named Sneaky Bart tells you what all your problems are while smoking a hookah and playing Donkey Kong Country? AM I RIIIIIIIIGHT?!?!?!?!?!?!”
Haughty means “arrogantly superior and disdainful” FYI. Who wants a drug dealer like that?
Doesn't look like the little guy is going to make it.
I told him that someone stole my favorite shirt and ruined it and he told me basically to shut the fuck up…
“If you’re partying hard enough, you’re just gonna lose stuff. Fact. So buck up and accept it early on. I lost a wine opener the other night when I loaned it to a Chinese hooker so she could get her pussy open. Am I gonna see that shit again? Nope. Was it worth it? I don’t know, check back with me after the test results. And quit crying about bullshit. In a fraternity house, all property is communal. T-shirts, bongs, women… They all belong to the greater good. Deal with it.”
Did she have a lock on it? I’m confused.
had by the king of having weird nights, my brother…
“Just hung out with a monstrous cokehead. Was he rich? Yes. Handsome? Not really. Inundated with pussy? Sadly, yes. Did I at one point tell him to chill the fuck out in my “serious voice” and scare the shit out of him and the two super hot 19 year old chicks he was with, thereby kind of ruining the night for everyone? You bet your ass I did. But we can learn from this fuckstack. His money and his drug of choice gave him one amazing advantage over everyone else: He honestly believed that he was better than us all. And while obviously that’s not true because I was in the room and I exist within society like a math problem and I’m Googleplex Infinity (the highest number fucking EVER bro), the fact that he genuinely believed this about himself is the reason he will be LIVING shit that I’m about to jack off to on the Internet in five minutes. Confidence always wins the day. And yes, shitloads of money and access to illicit drugs and girls with seriously obvious Daddy Issues doesn’t hurt, but the bottom line was that this Nightmare in Prada loafers was putting something out to the World that women can’t help but receive and embrace- True belief in himself. Remember that tomorrow night when you’re at a frat party or bar. Tell the World that you KNOW you’re the man by the way you carry yourself. You don’t have to be a fucker about it, just let it be known that you know you’re the most interesting person there, the only person worth talking to, and women will respond accordingly. You’re welcome.
Oh and PS- cokeheads leave their shit everywhere, so never miss the opportunity to go through their wallet while they’re bragging in the other room and tip yourself $40 for putting up with their bullshit.”
Hope that was educational for everyone. Seems like the advice is “act like a cokehead.”