This is what happens when you ask your ex girlfriend to be your wingman
I feel like a simple no would have sufficed, haha.
Not sure if I posted this one before but here it is anyways:
And for the finale:
Thought of the day: Two people can have a conversation about a subject in which they disagree, without it being an argument. My opinions about apples being the best fruit aren’t necessarily an assault on your right to think oranges are the best. So next time you get defensive or pissy because someone is “arguing” with you; shut up and grow some thicker skin. Because if you listen, you might realize that someone is trying to share a part of themselves with you.
Things on my mind
1. Die hard is the best Christmas movie ever, followed closely by die hard 2
2. People should be able to smoke where ever they want if they look cool. If it’s good for Don Draper it’s good for me.
3. In order to even try to understand me as a person there are certain tv shows and movies you must first watch.
4. Getting an iPhone its a life changing event. Seriously, they’re that freaking sweet.
5. Croissants are entirely underrated as a breakfast food. Goddamnit I want more croissants.
6. Convenience stores that don’t sell alcohol aren’t convenient nor stores.
7. Only athletes should be eligible to win athlete of the year. I’m looking at you Jimmie Johnson and Associated Press.
8. Ninjas are better than pirates. A ninja would beat a Spartan if the two fought and jack bauer can kick chuck norris’ ass. No debate necessary.
9. If you don’t own a mac, then I’m just a little bit better person than you.
10. I only have 9 things on my mind. At least that I’m willing to share with you. The rest is for premium subscribers.
So I went to donate blood yesterday. Figured I’d be a good Samaritan and all. Or at least do some good to balance out all of the bad things I’ve been doing lately. Simple right? Well not so much. It seems like the simplest tasks always lead to the most unexpected of consequences.
After the doctor stuck me with the needle my blood flow immediately stopped. After adjusting the needle several times, painfully I might add, the attending nurse decided to restick me in my other arm. Seems logic right?
Not so much. Because after resticking me in my other arm my blood still refused to flow through the needle. Exasperated the doctor finally gave up and cut open one of the needles to see if there was some sort of blockage. He was right. There was a blockage.
My own blood.
It turns out that my blood was so thick sludgish, the industrial strength blood machines didn’t have enough power to suck it out of my body. Yes, you read that right, my body literally has black(ish red) sludge oozing through my body instead of blood.
So here’s the deal.
A female friend of mine randomly IMed me early tonight to complain about being unable to pick out a swimsuit to wear tomorrow.
Riiiight. Like I’m the person to ask about that kind of stuff. Anyone who’s had more than a five second conversation with me should known that I A) know jack shit about women’s fashion and B) Don’t give a shit about it.But whatever, I’ll help out a friend in need because, I’m just a caring individual like that. ( hahaha… Sorry, even I couldn’t type that with a straight face.)
So I tell her that in all seriousness, there’s no way for me to give her my advice unless shes going to try on each suit and send me a picture. There’s no way she’d go through all that effort right? After all, feigning an attempt to help is the best way to get points for generosity without actually having to do anything. (That tips’ free boys.)
But to my surprise she eagerly agreed to try on each suit for me.
Dammit. Now I actually have to talk about clothing.
Being the optimist that I am, I quickly realize that the silver lining in all this is that I at least get to see a chick in a multiple bikini’s. Resigned to my fate, I eventually convince myself to get excited about this. After all, girls, camera’s, and little to no clothing. That’s the triple crown of a guy’s life.
But of course, all good things must come to an end. As many men reading this already know; women have a sixth sense about the happiness of men. Whenever they sense it, they feel a maternal urge to stop it at all cost.It’s like the Osama Bin Laden of the male -female relationship. Women must destroy it whatever it takes.
That of course lead to this conversation:
LeBron’s Heartthrob: I’m sleepy
Me: dont crap out on me already
Me: we have a bathing suit to pick
Me: and the night is young
LeBron’s Heartthrob: I know lol
LeBron’s Heartthrob: But I’m pooped
Me: better hurry and get this done
LeBron’s Heartthrob: I’m in bedddd
Me: excuses excuses
LeBron’s Heartthrob: yep
LeBron’s Heartthrob: Good thing I do what I want
So before we even start…before a single bikini picture is exchanged she suddenly decides that she’s “too tired”? Fuck, that noise.
Look, I know that she’s been feeling down lately because the same boy that cheats on her cheated on her for the umpteenth time. I understand that girls are “delicate flowers” that need to be handle with the utmost care, but seriously. Don’t beg for my help about women’s fashion, get me excited about the prospect of scantly clad women and then change your mind because you, the person who typically stays up till 4am, is mysteriously tired at only 10pm.
Me: Doing what you want, also known as crying and feeling sorry for yourself
LeBron’s Heartthrob: You really are an asshole
LeBron’s Heartthrob: There is absolutely nothing good that can come from a statement like that
LeBron’s Heartthrob: Good night
AIM Message: LeBron’s Heartthrob is offline
I’m the asshole? I think clearly, I am the victim here.
Here’s some more slam poetry, by popular request. Two time national champion Buddy Wakefield performing The Information Man at the 2006 Individual World Championship Slam.
The slam definitely has a good message for those of us who feel like our life lacks purpose or direction
This one’s for Kryztal…
When I was in the 6th grade all of the classes in the school came together to create a “mock” hotel where every student was assigned a real life position based on their skill, personality, and aptitude. Some kids were hosts, some kids were dealers, some kids were cooks. We even had a president.
Well the teachers felt the need to create a special position for me…
They told me the comedic irony was too funny to resist.