Dude, this is possibly the most disturbing photograph of all time.
Holy Shit! SHE’S THE TERMINATOR!
Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules For Living, Vol. 11
Rule #9: Never trust a crackhead.
(Originally attributed to Abraham Lincoln immediately following the Gettysburg Address)
Yeah, so I locked my room mate out of the house this morning, cause he’s been AWOL for 60 hours, most likely relapsing and on a meth binge. He doesn’t have keys to the deadbolts and is not on the lease (I’m no dummy).
Regardless, my landlords are changing all the locks today.
So, after not having a housemate for 2.5 months, I’m looking for a new one, again.
Anyone want to move to Hawaii – Total living expenses: $725/month (rent/electric/cable internet). You’d get your own room, we’d share the bathroom and the rest of the house.
I’ve got a 2 seat Nautilus machine, a bench, four bars, eight dumbells and a rowing machine, so you get a free gym membership with agreement to rent.
Also, there’s the avocado tree, the tangerine tree, the lemon tree, the guava bush, the three banana trees and the mountain apple tree.
I’m serious, any takers? Only thing – no drugs. Alcohol is optional, but no drugs.
Oh The Places You’ll (Never) Go
I know it’s early, but I’m voting for St. Louis as 2008’s lamest city of the year.
Fuck Bringing Sexy Back, Bring Back the Bitter
You know, sometimes I wonder while I even allow myself to believe in the illusion that I can ever be truly happy. I mean, shit, I know that I’m better off a bitter, cynical bastard.
Shame on me for thinking that it could ever be any other way.
That’s right, kids, Girl 2007.1 is now a smoking ash-heap.
But, with the illusion of happiness draining away, I now feel the creative juices of spite and sarcasm boiling in my blood once again. I’m back, bitches.
Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules For Living, Vol. 10
(As quoted by my daddy, the infamous PapaDoc.)
Rule #7: Son, when dealing with women, it’s either feast or famine.
He was right. Let the feasting begin.
A Long Overdue Farewell
One of my favorite bloggers ended his reign not long ago. Let us say farewell to Joshua Norton, the Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico. Go read his last post here.
Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules For Living, Vol. 9
(Said by Martin Luther King, Jr. to the Rev. Al Sharpton right before he was shot.)
Rule 421: Never trust the chinless.
That’s right, people with no chins are shifty, unreliable and, in my humble opinion, kinda freaky.
Though, I did know one chinless girl, the one that I used this pick up line on, that gave the best blowjobs on Earth. Something about the lack of a chin and her facial structure just gave her the most excellent suction. She was like the Hoover Dick-Suck 3000.
Still, she was shifty as all hell.
But those were some excellent
chicken wings blowjobs.
Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules For Living, Vol. 8
(Taken from one of the twelve step programs. I think it’s No-Ass Havers anonymous, but I’m not really sure.)
Rule # 235: You can’t save your face and your ass at the same time.
Right, so people may wonder why I tell people who I’ve hardly met before, like first dates, people I meet at the gym and have known for five minutes, complete strangers at the coffee shop (“oh what did you do before you were a paralegal?” – “Well, I was a criminal.”) about the details of my past.
Well, I certainly don’t do it out of some Platonic Ideal of the truth with a capital “T”, that’s for fuck’n sure. I do it, simply, out of short-term, stupid self interest.
I do it because I have to own that shit, like, daily.
You see, I have no shame about my past. What I do have is a lot of fear about what will happen if I let that shit take over my life again. So, I need to remain humble and just own my mistakes.
Sure, I scare away a lot of girls this way. Yeah, there are people that don’t invite me to Christmas parties anymore, and I’ve lost a few friends over it, too.
But, you know what? Fuck ’em.
Because there is a part of my brain that cares what people think. Unfortunately, this is the part of my brain that wants me to get loaded and die, too. The other part of my brain wants me to stay alive and, to do so, I need to remind myself, often, about the flaws of my character.
Besides, if I scare some people away, I really didn’t want those pussies in my life anyway. If they can’t accept me as I am, after it took so very long for me to be happy with myself, then they can throw their sorry asses under a bus for all I care.
You’re either on the bus, or you’re under it, bitches.
I be over here with my seemingly boring life, happy as all hell and cheering as the bus sheers off your legs.
I AM The Red Wizard, Bitches
They said it couldn’t be done.
“You can’t do all your Christmas shopping in one day,” they whined.
I scoffed at them.
Never underestimate the power of a man with a list.
I had that shit done in less than 5.5 hours. And two of that was driving. Heh.
I went to Wal-Mart (mostly for things for myself) and the Mall. Man, the madness was palpable. It was delicious.
Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules For Living, Vol. 7
(Taken from Common Sense, by Thomas Paine)
Rule #16: If you can’t keep your vehicle on the correct side of the center line, you’re driving too fast.
Because, seriously, don’t you fuckers think for one second, if you cross the line while driving towards me, that I’m not still self-destructive enough to just ram your silly ass on general principle.