Anonymous said: TL;DR
TL;DR I fucked your mom in your bed.
Anonymous said: TL;DR
TL;DR I fucked your mom in your bed.
It’s been quite some time since I’ve been on here, and since all my hipster ass friends are all about Tumblin and shit, I’m getting back on this pony.
The other night I had an interaction with a young lady that I still can’t decide if I feel bad about. I probably kind of do, but oh well, shit happens when you’re going hard in the paint. So I’m outside at my friend’s birthday celebration just gettin’ my drank and smoke on when this chick comes up to me and drops the “you be lookin’ like dat fool Jake Gyllenhaal” reference. Usually it comes as like a compliment and I’m all flattered cause my binge drinking and heavy pot smoking has me looking a little more rough for the ware lately.
Instead of just telling me I kinda looked like him, though, she said, “Aren’t you supposed to look like him?” That to me was the worst way possible to word that statement though and my brain split to angry me. Oh well.
Being drunk is never an excuse for your actions, but it can be a clue to why you did the things you did. My brain responded before any train of real conscious thought occured.
Thinking before you speak is usually overrated, anyway. “The Troof Shall Set Yo Ass Free” - Jesus
I guess my Lord of the Rings lovin’ ass noticed her short stature and weird bowl cut hair, so I just said “Aren’t you not supposed to look like Bilbo Baggins?”
She slapped the shit out of me at this point. No stress. It happens. One of the dangers of the lifestyle I guess. My bro Alcohol stepped in and backed me up by making sure I already couldn’t feel my face, so I just laughed and kept yelling “Bitch wouldn’t be mad if da bitch didn’t know it was true.”
I ain’t mad at it though, but just watch the way you word your compliments/sentences/statements/questions around drunk me cause my asshole filter is completely off when I’m schwasty.
Oh and Bilbo, if you read this and you really were just complimenting me, holla at ya boy. I’ll apologize to you and give you forehead kisses. I know the ladies always feelin’ that kinda stuff. I’m into fantasy role playing and BDSM so if you let me be Gandalf and you act like Bilbo, we could probably get into some hella freaky stuff.
This is my formal apology for my drunken behavior at a Chic-Fil-A towards the fat couple I harassed.
Now I know that sounds horrible but I feel like if I tell you its an apology you can take the situation a little less seriously. It was a Saturday morning and after a long night of drinking at my friend Chris’ lake house, I woke up with an odd thirst for more beer. In a morning drunk stupor I made my way to the kitchen and started drinking heavily. Very heavily. 10 beers on a Saturday morning heavy. Drunk before 10:30 am heavy. Around 11 everyone decided we needed to go get lunch. Drunk me could not turn down food at this point.
We made our way into town and found a Taco Bell next to a Chic Fil A. At the time, I was still a vegan and Taco Bell made it super easy for me to customize my order so that it fit my dietary needs. Everyone else went to Chic Fil A though so I got it to go and met them in the restaurant. Everything was going great, but as you may know, when you drink heavily, volume control becomes more difficult than usual. Apparently my burrito that day was extra delicious because I couldn’t stop telling the people at my table how “fucking delicious this goddamn burrito is.” If you aren’t familiar with Chic Fil A, they are a wonderful Christian fried chicken establishment, and on Saturday mornings they stay packed. A very large couple was sitting relatively close to our group and overheard the reviews I was giving my burrito. I accidently made eye contact with her and she just stares at me. We make eye contact again and she goes “Watch your mouth young man! I have a baby!”
Any normal human would have shut the fuck up right there. Drunk me is apparently not any normal human. I never really liked babies, and this little shit was still pretty much a fetus. Therefore in my brain, it didn’t know words and her logic was void. Then something across the lines of “mind your own business” came out of my burrito stuffed mouth and her obese husband turned around and said very sternly, “Look here boy! She just asked you to shut your damn mouth.”
“Yo dog, this is America and I do as I fuckin please.” You’re probably cringing reading this because it’s such an awkward situation at this point. People in the restaurant were very much so trying to avoid the conflict. I went back to my business and the man kept staring at me. The large woman went to get the management, but since they had not seen or heard the exchange they couldn’t do anything. Also Chic Fil A isn’t really under the type of management that wants conflict. They weren’t exactly running a college bar. I was pretty sure at this point that if I walked out of the restaurant that I would be knifed by this large man but everyone was done with their food and it was time to leave.
As I was getting up, one friend there with me apologized to the fat couple. I overheard him talking at the trash can across the restaurant. Once again. Should’ve shut my fat fuckin mouth. Instead I gave out this wonderful statement.
“Bitch you wanna go? You wanna fight me? Oh that’s right you can’t do that until you drop 50 pounds fatass!”
I was then escorted out the door by a manager. I don’t know how many people have had to be escorted out of a Chic Fil A, but I was now apart of this historical group. Writing back on this I feel like a pretty big dick for yelling at the fat couple in a Chic Fil A while hammer drunk, but then again, it’ll be a fun story to tell to the grandkids around Christmas time. But don’t worry, I think I’ve learned to shut my fat fucking mouth at this point. And if that fat couple reads this, or you may know them because you’ve heard about the little cunt who yelled at you in a Christian establishment, let them know I’ll take them out to Ryan’s. All expenses paid. And I’ll even make their ice cream sundae for them.
There are some mornings in college when you wake up and the last thing you want to do is go to class. Then there are the mornings when you wake up and you’re in a field in just your underwear and you don’t have the slightest clue how you got there. Most of my mornings seem to fall into the latter category.
One of my first college parties ended up exactly as you imagined, with me in a field without pants. Of course, I didn’t see it going there because the night started with such great intentions. Two of my friends were in town visiting and I needed to show them a good time. We’d heard about a kegger going on tonight but I still had a backup plan in a guitar case. Not the kind of backup plan that revolves around playing great Wonderwall covers on your sweet acoustic guitar while everyone is sitting around thinking “Is this fucker serious?” I only use my instrument cases to hold booze. I filled the guitar case with Natty Light because that’s what a classy guy like me uses things like that for. A guitar case full of Natural Light is ready for to be snuck in to any dorm meaning it’s a party on the go even when that overweight friendless RM with nothing better to do on a Saturday than to bust me.
Luckily, the keg party was going to happen so I just brought the extra Natty along for the ride. Backup beer is always a good thing because kegs seem to run out much quicker than you’d think. I could go on for days talking about sweet cliche things that went down at this party but if i throw in the words delicious Yuengling keg, keg stand, beer pong, and hookups it gets the point accross just as well. Plus that isn’t the subject of this story. All I really remember after getting there is being shittanked.
The next moments where clarity comes back were in the middle of a field. I stood up from where I was laying and looked around for any sign of where my pants may have been. There were a few apartments and a church near me and I spent the next hour looking in every place I could think of with a heavy buzz still in control of my head. No luck with the pants but I did get the guitar case back. After giving up on that, I realized to get back to my dorm, I had a long walk directly across campus on a Sunday morning. Just me in my boxer briefs with a guitar case. The looks I got were probably priceless, but I did my best to just keep walking.
On arriving back to the dorm, I figured it wouldn’t be that hard to get back in, but the security at our school didn’t like that idea. Without my ID card, they would under no circumstances let me back in unless another student could sign me in. No college student is ever up this early on a Sunday, though. I sat in the lobby almost completely naked with the security for a good 30 to 40 minutes. After finally being let in, I made my way upstairs and found one of the friends I had lost at some point the night before.
"What the fuck happened Dan?"
"HAHAHAHAHAH….where should I even start dude? You kept drinking until you were retardo drunk and then proceeded to try and show people your dick."
Sound like me so far.
"…Then you kissed some dude, then I’m pretty sure we kissed. Then you blacked out and wet that kids bed. Then I’m pretty sure you ran out of the house screaming in the middle of the night and hid your pants and shirt somewhere. I lost you after that man. I’m pretty sure we won at beer pong though so that’s pretty sweet. Hey, have you seen my phone though?"
Needless to say, I never went back to the house where that party occurred. Never found my pants, or wallet, or shirt, or dignity. I consider it my initiation into college life and can look back on it laughing now.
Moral of the story: Drink as much as you fucking can when the booze is free but remember to let someone else be the dude who drinks so much that he loses his pants and wakes up in a field.
The internet is in fact the greatest thing ever created. Without it I would’ve never gotten roofied and not had a great story to tell other people’s kids when the subject of trusting strangers came up. I had been saving money for months to pay for my spring break vacation to Las Vegas. Making money the conventional way just didn’t get me the funds I needed fast enough. Who really has time to have a job? Instead, I sold my blood plasma and answered online surveys to get enough money to pay for my trip. When it came down to the last few weeks, I realized my booze budget fell a lot under what I’d originally planned on. I needed money fast and the only option I had left was Craigslist.
Instead of putting my young muscular body up for sale, I placed a simple ad saying that I needed money to pay for books or something and that I had manual labor experience. I thought I made it very clear that I was not down for anything sexual, but as I learned, that’s Craigslist lingo for you should drug me and then try to get your hands down my pants.
Predictably enough, an older gentlemen answered my ad. He wanted me to clean his garage. He had a broken hip. He would pay me $50. Thinking back on it, a 7 year old girl could’ve come up with a better story but my money desperation made it sound totally believable to me. I showed up at his house and met him. I did take some precaution though letting my friend Tori know that if I texted her needing help she’d call me right away. Having backup could end up being necessary, because in the end, if i get fondled by an old dude, women will be far less likely to let me touch them inappropriately. Classic rape scenarios that I’m familiar with give the man a creepy moustache and large glasses, slightly balding. This guy totally fit the bill but nothing about that threw me off either. I began my labor in his nasty ass garage and was soon greeted with refreshment. Fun fact about most southerners: we don’t usually suspect that someone offering us sweet tea drugged it before giving it away. Let my gullibility be a warning. After taking out two glasses of tea, I began to feel weak and my hands started shaking.
Feeling weird or not, I was determined to finish the job. This extra money could mean no dry days in Vegas and who would say no to that? I kept working through this older man’s trashy garage as he conversed me from the porch. “You know I used to be a photographer and you really do look like you should be a model.” “I used to photograph these Swedish boys a long time ago and I still have them over for dinner every once in a while.” “I know you college boys get hungry for a homecooked meal from a daddy like me” I tried to just go with the comments and kept cleaning his shit up.
By the time I finished the garage, I was completely delusional and felt heavily intoxicated. That’s when the comments started coming. “You looked like a model when you got here but look how dirty you are now!” Oh fuck. I try to dial Tori discreetly with no answer.”You can come shower off inside if you want. I was going to make us dinner anyways.” Oh fucking fuck my fucking shit. Tori still didn’t pick up. “Come on in and get cleaned up while I get my money ready!” If I didn’t think fast, I was about to get the same treatment as a cute girl at a frat party.
My mouth put together some terrible excuse about how I had to pick up my friend from the airport. Almost as bad as the story he made up that I believed so willingly? Yes, but it fucking worked so I was pretty pleased in my skills. We went in his house, because I still needed to get my pay, and was greeted by an old nasty dog with whiteish eyes. “He can only see out of one but that’s all he needed to see of you to like you!” I somehow managed to get the check from him and get in my car before having his hands halfway down my pants while he stroked his one eyed bulldog, a reference to his penis not his pet.
I immediately started dialing up friends and trying to explain what happened. Only one took me seriously, Bobby. “Gimme symptoms…Oh yeah you totally got roofied, get home man and try to hurry to a bed before you can’t even see straight.” I stumbled into my dorm room and told my suitemate about it to which he just shrugged not believing my nonsense. Then I passed out in my bed for well over 6 hours.The only reason I think I made it home that day is because my body was used to being hammer drunk and didn’t let the stuff settle in quickly enough.
I’m going to assume there were two factors in me not passing out quicker, my size and my heavy alcohol tolerance. The moral of this story is sometimes life tries to let old men rape you, but as long as you’re a heavy alcoholic, you’ll be able to escape him before you black out.
All men like blowjobs. Of course there are the ones that lie about how much they love blowjobs because they’d love to let people around them think that they have:
A) some sense of false morals regarding women
B) luv 4 my moralz *STAYIN PURE*
C) I really can’t think of any other reason a guy would lie about blowjobs except for maybe they smell like shit and that makes them nervous to take off their smelly clothes around girls willing to take the downtown train on them.
Either way, I only say this because for the amount of guys that love blowjobs, its sort of hard to find women that really enjoy a good cock in their mouth. Don’t let those greasy pornos fool you, those girls are sucking dick for a purpose. I’m talking about real people who regularly have thoughts like, “you know what would make this spring green salad with balsamic better? a side order of me sucking some guy off.”
When I find women like this however, its safe to say that I will take full control of making sure justice is served and that this girl gets all the holy sausage she wants. Sometimes though, it gets a little more out of hand then I expect. Her name was Megin (and yes she spells it like a fucking moron and made a big deal about you knowing that her special name was unique because her stupid fucking mom couldn’t spell Megan, or Meghan, or even Maegan.) and she was what I like to refer to as a “closet whore.” On the surface, a girl like Megin, seemed like the type to pull out some “oral secks iz sew demeening y’all!” card, but as I found out, she was starving for anyone to fill that fat, fucking hole on her face.
After a very heavy night of drinking at a party for some dumb skating club that none of my friends and I were apart of or had any interest in joining, my hammered self decided it would be a swell idea to invite everyone at the party over for the “afterparty” at 4 in the morning which consisted of absolutely nothing. Seemed like a great idea at the time though. Needless to say, people weren’t really over at our place that long, except for that cock hungry demon woman who apparently had it in her mind that she could treat my humble home as the Golden Corral of Cock. I proceeded to head to bed while a few of my compadres crashed on our couches. Little did I know, that lights out meant “GO” to Megin. From the other room I heard someone start spitting which meant one of two things, someone is spitting on my floor or someone is about to give some sort of practiced porn star blowjob on someone in that room. I decided to investigate.
Never before have I walked in on someone slobbering relentlessly at someone’s cock and had them notice me and then continue their actions. While 2 other people were, I assume, just too drunk to give a fuck in their sleeping spots, Megin was going to town on one of my good friends man parts. Since I’m not one to cock block a fellow dude, I just went back to my room. Not even 5 minutes later, as you can probably guess, Whore-gin was sitting on my legs asking me if it was ok if she sucked me off.
I had to say no because that’s just rude to let a woman be a whore plus she just had my bro’s dick in her mouth!
As you can probably guess, I took that slut up on the offer and she went through the motions of getting her fix. Now after I’ve released my babies down a girls throat, there are 2 things that I don’t want to do. The first its pretty obvious and its be near your mouth. The second is cuddling. Cuddling most of the time, and especially after splooging, fucking blows and anyone who tells you otherwise is either a girl or a fucking liar who’s not telling his loving girlfriend that he doesn’t want her greasy paws on him because he’s trying to fucking sleep. I explained to her very simply that she got what she wanted and now it was time to not touch me and let me sleep.
By the time I woke up the next day she was already gone, but girls tend to want to exchange numbers which apparently she did on her own. My phone already had a wonderful text from Megin which read, appropriately, “I’m a whore.”
I responded with nothing because all I could think to say was “Shut your fat, fucking mouth.” and that’s not very appropriate is it?
i’m gonna tell stories here. you can decide if they’re real. hint: they fucking are.