of the day, the week, the month, whatever…
“It’s completely unfair that women are allowed a period of time each month (see what I did there???) where they act completely crazy, make no sense and are overly emotional… but when I do that exact same thing once a week I have to go to a doctor and take tests and medicine because I’m “bipolar.” What if I’m just having my Penis Period? Nothing’s bleeding because I’m not weak, but maybe… just maybe… my soul is bleeding a little bit. Sure feels like it. Where is the soul, anyway? Your lower back? That’s where it hurts.”
Nothing should be studied, that’s the thesis:
“A new study indicates that repeated blows to the head were partly to blame for a number of former NFL players suffering from brain trauma later in life. No shit? Glad we did a study on that, because I’ve always wondered, “Hey if I bang my head a thousand times, will that be bad?” I’ve had so many concussions I can’t remember what I’m even emailing you about, but I sure do love pineapple. In the 80’s they told us not to eat eggs, then in the nineties it was “The Incredible, Edible Egg,” and then they were like, “Oh fuck only eat the white part not the yellow!” and then ten years later some asshole figured out that, “Nope, the yellows are good too,” quickly followed up by a different asshole who said the yellows are “Worse than a dog giving you AIDS.” I just did a study: Hey my dick’s hard! Study concluded, thanks to $30M from Uncle Sam, who it turns out is a kinda girl-next-door looking hot bitch named Samantha.”
“Uh… Don’t uh… Don’t rape me Bo.”
Also, here’s the “Incredible Edible Egg” commercial he’s referring to:
In two easy steps…
“If you want to understand what it’s like to be a woman, all you have to do is:
1. Smoke a pack of cigarettes a day for 5 straight years.
2. Quit cold turkey and watch yourself go insane.
Your thoughts will be JUST as irrational as the average woman’s thoughts are all day long. Get mad about nothing? Check. Start a fight out of boredom? Check. Take offense to everything? Check. Only remember bad parts of otherwise good stuff? Discount double check!
I’ve gone completely insane. Called a white woman a “chink” at the ATM today. AND I MEANT IT! But I’ll tell you what. Smoking was worth it. Smoking cigarettes single-handedly got me laid probably 42 times. There’s something about the lonesome camaraderie of a street-corner smoke with a woman that bonds you immediately and forever* because you’ve got them all to yourself for 4-8 minutes. If you can’t spit some walk-off homerun game in that amount of time, you shouldn’t be at a bar in the first place.
*forever ends the next morning.”
This photo might help you understand why women are crazy more than his email.
So long as you’re awesome…
“I literally have no clue who over half the people in my phone are. I mean NO FUCKING CLUE. Who is Antonette? She sounds like a fancy broad from another era. Who’s “Bad News Brenda?” and why did I take her number? And who on earth is “Carl DO NOT ANSWER” and why can’t I answer if he calls? Fuck that rule.
But more importantly, think fast- what does that tell you about me? Answer: I’m awesome. Awesome people don’t care who they meet, and we certainly don’t remember them. Our memories are too full of donkey poems, high wire threesomes and alligator fistfights to remember that say, for instance, your name is Abigail and I owe you $400.”
I feel bad for Abigail. She’s never going to see that money.
In some order. I’m not sure. He sent this much earlier but I’ve been packing and sometimes drinking. Here are his thoughts on Amy Winehouse:
“Life is weird. I found out about Amy Winehouse dying in the Apple Store when the guy doing the tutorial was showing how cool Safari was or something and “Amy Winehouse Found Dead” was the headline story on their CNN homepage. Fucking liberals. I thought about joining the 27 Club and even had a meeting with Jesus about it high as fuck on mushrooms and he was all like “Look dude, you’re totally qualified, but you’re not done. Have you even fucked an Australian girl yet?” And I was all like “Good point Jesus!” and I floated back down to the living room where my friend was watching Requiem for a Dream so I punched him in his fucking face. Whatever– Amy was fucking dope (no pun, don’t be a dick) and her death is another reminder of the danger of drugs. Are drugs awesome? Hell yeah they’re awesome! They let you forget your fears and problems and focus on… um… I dunno… a chair maybe or a movie or some dumb conversation about how life really works for real guys for real I mean it I think we’re onto something? Anyway, drugs can be good, but only in moderation, like anything wonderful in life. I’d have died of a Munchos overdose in the 90’s if it was possible (I call them “the glasses years”) but alas, it was not. But you CAN die from yakkety-yak, that brown horse, and the all of the cream snowballs, purple footballs, and blue dream jet planes delivered to you by people who have no last names and who’s parents stopped talking to them years ago. So be careful out there and don’t be strange to talkers. I mean talk to strangers.”
There’s almost too much to process there. I’m going home in an hour. Good luck out there everyone.
He explains it all here. In perfectly clear terms…
“Women are fascinating, frightening beasts of delight and evil. Did that make sense? Hope so. They can warp a conversation to the point that it’s barely even there anymore, and then they can totally misunderstand what a “blitz” is in a fucking simple-ass game of football that mentally retarded men play. So use this disconnected reality of theirs against them by employing some Reverse Psychology on them every now and then. Here’s the easiest way: Take whatever you were about to do, which was probably perfectly rational and correct, and DO THE OPPOSITE THING. About to call her? Not only should you put the phone down, you should vanish for a week! About to open her car door for her? Drive away instead! About to go down on her? Go to sleep! In the moments following your sudden act of societal defiance, their brains will go through over 718 scenarios in an attempt to explain your behavior, in order, from most rational to least, deciding on the latter as the correct choice. Let them stew in their idiocy for a moment. And then, simply re-appear as if nothing has happened, and never address it again. SHE’LL FUCKING GO INSANE. Serves ’em right, those beautiful fucks.”
So basically anyone can just turn that in to their Psych professor next semester and sit back and wait for the A.
"Those beautiful fucks."