Category Archives: bar brawls


here’s my problem.  i’m generally a very lazy person (just ask shitler).  my laziness includes cleaning, laundry, being productive and also caring about arguments or other people’s opinions.  

this post started out being about some knobs on facebook that pissed me off last night.  but then my hangover and laziness (see, i told you) got the better of me

here’s the link in case you actually want to read it the article that they posted and then insulted my state with.

but more importantly – my day can be summed up in three pictures:

god i love pickles.

—–

me:  i don’t want to work ever again.  i just want to blog all day.

b: i could read your blog all day then.  what a team.

me: we’d both be living the dream.

b: yep, while being judged by shitler.

me: we’d have vodka.  so we’d be good.

b: what a stellar business plan you’ve come up with.

me: there won’t be many expenses.  just vodka and food.

b: exactly.  very little overhead.  we could survive on vodka and pizza rolls.

so in all seriousness, if you’re vodka, call me.

also, i forgot about my finger and ran my fingers through my hair.  which resulted in getting strands of hair caught in the flap of skin that’s hanging loose from my finger.

and now i have blood in my hair.

Textual Feeling: I Wish Vodka Was My Sponsor

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Tumor Muffin Cometh.


here i stand.  i can do no other.
martin luther said that.

but i’m not standing.  i’m sitting.

because i’m weak. 
this weekend was hard on my mind, body, and soul.

it began with this:

nom nom nom

i got so excited when my entrée came that i immediately shoveled it into my mouth without taking a picture. 
i make no apologies.  that shrimp and crab cannelloni was orgasmic.
nothing got too out of hand, thank god, which is surprising considered i packed in 5 drinks and 3 shots.

B is photo bombing.

i’m currently in a food and alcohol comatose state.
monday i resume my diet and i could not be more excited for that.
in the meantime i’ve managed to pack in the following:

tumor muffin.

BACON.

beyond.

it looks like i’m obsessed with breakfast foods.
but in reality – i’m just obsessed with all food.

like this:

cock cake.

or inappropriate things like these:

i wish.

kinky pussy.

b and i are working on murdering this:

sinner.

well, with that, i must bid thee farewell.
i have a lot of drinking and bad decisions to fit into a single afternoon.

wish me luck.

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The Fucking Trepidation Takes Over


today is the day.

the day i eat and drink my fucking face off. 
and while i was initially very excited – i’m now terrified. 

terrified for how shit-tastic i will feel.
terrified for the hangover.

bear with me.  i’ve been eating shit like this for the last 75 days:

gross.

i’ve been fantasizing about this each and every day since i’ve started this diet:

heavenly.

i’m not even exaggerating about thinking about tacos everyday.  just ask lincoln.  if i remembered what i dreamt about every night i bet it would be about tacos.

so tonight i feast. 

while i’m sure it will be partly glorious, i’m convinced it will be mostly awful on my body and liver and i’ll want to die.

so to recap.
orginially, i felt like this:

i'll see you soon vodka!!

now it’s more like this: 

hold me. i'm scared.

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Textual Feeling: Menace 2 Sobriety


i was bored this morning – so i perused my textual conversation with B.

here’s a rag-tag bunch of shit that doesn’t go together other than that it’s all ridiculous:

me: mmmm.  redzone
B: fuck you.  thanks for rubbing it in.  i’m about to eat quiche!

**

B: i’m a little disappointed in you right now.
me: i had to give people balls.
B: you should have dyed the frosting blue.
me: fitting.  the next batch.

**

me: i just saw the delorean.
B: wait, THE delorean?
me: it could very well have been.
B: could you see the flux capicitor?  that’s the only way to know for sure.
me: i couldn’t.  it was going too fast.
B: fast enough to time travel?
me: i’d like to think so.
B: me too.
me: because if you can’t believe in the delorean, what can you believe in?
B: nothing.  besides, maybe back to the future was based on a true story and we don’t even know it.
me: we should watch it.  for scientific purposes.
B: of course.  sometimes you have pretty good ideas.

**

b: happy new year slut.
me: happy new year asshat.
B: go fuck yourself.
me: done.
B: amen.

**

me: next weekend.  cancel all your plans.  i’m getting “i need to get my stomach pumped because i have alcohol poisoning” drunk.
B: let me check my schedule.

**

with all due respect to my liver – i’m going to punish it this weekend.

i make no apologies.

here’s hoping that this weekend will simultaneously turn out to be the best and worst one of my life.  lincoln told me to be reasonable –
but i can’t make any promises.

my weekend consists of:
dildos
binge eating
vodka
debauchery
work
being hungover
making bad choices

here’s a picture of what i think is my game face:

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Bar Brawls, Mel Gibson, and Mars


A couple weeks back Lincoln and I almost got in a bar fight.  And by bar fight I mean some drunk girl got all hammered pissed at Lincoln and her three guy friends threatened to take him out back and pummel the ever-living shit out of him. 

It was a hoot. 

But let me start from the beginning.

We arrived at a local watering hole which used to be a fun bar but now it’s dead everytime you go in there and they have 19-year-old girls bartending (which is a plus for the guys, I guess).  I had just gotten done with work and I wanted to stop for a drink.  Upon arrival and the ordering of our drinks we discovered that Signs was on.  So we immediately stopped talking to one another and became heavily engrossed in the film.  I have to admit that we watched the movie for a good half hour before I leaned over and whispered to Lincoln: “Do you realize how pathetic we are?  It’s Friday night and we’re at a bar watching Signs.” 
He laughed.  And then shushed me. 

For some reason I had gotten it into my head that I hated this movie.  But as I watched it I couldn’t remember why I hated it. 

First, it’s pre-crazy Mel Gibson.  You watch him before he want bat shit anti-semitic and you’re like, “Damn.  He was good.” 

Second, his wife is dead and you discover that she was in a horrific car accident.  But before she dies they show her alive and the only reason she’s alive is because THE CAR THAT SLICED HER IN HALF IS HOLDING HER TOGETHER.  That’s incredible.

Third, Abigail Breslin saves the day with all those damn glasses of water.  

Fourth, the part where Mel tosses Joaquin a bat and says “Swing away.”

But I digress.  The point of this nonsense about Signs is that Lincoln and I were enjoying a movie at a deserted bar on a Friday night when some lunatic drunk girl started dancing like an asshole by herself on the empty dance floor.  I am, by no means, an even slightly good dancer but this girl was hilarious.  She danced around like a fool and made references to her vagina with her hands.  Then she started to mime that she had a penis.  And by mime, I mean she pretended to stroke a huge, imaginary cock.  Swear to god.  I slapped Lincoln in an effort to get him to turn around and check out the shit show on the dance floor.  He did and then said, “Nice dick” to the footloose fiend.

Apparently this offended her. 

The next thing I knew she was in Lincoln’s face and then back to her posse of fools and tons of yelling and lots of threats ensued.  A compilation of the threats are below:

  • **pounding on the bar** “Do you wanna go outside?!?!?!?”
  • I’ll fucking kick your ass!!!
  • I’ll fucking kill you!
  • Are you fucking kidding me with this shit!??!?!
  • **POUNDING ON THE BAR**

At this point, Lincoln and I are thoroughly confused.  Here we are just trying to have a relaxing time watching Signs and Lincoln happens to compliment a girl about her huge fake dick and now we’ve got some rage fight on our hands. 

It was incredible. 

I had no idea what to do.  So Lincoln calmly and rationaly approached the merry band of pyschos and apologized for whatever they were angry about.  Frankly, I don’t know what they were so angry about and I’m pretty sure that they didn’t either.  At this point, the girl that started everything had gone from tiny dancer, to menacing rage machine, to blubbering freak show.  The dudes accepted Lincoln’s apology and upon making his way back to me he announced that he was going to buy them all shots.   But I’m not in the business of rewarding bad behavior and I’m positive that these people did not need anymore alcohol.  So I had to veto Lincoln’s declaration.

 

There’s a point to this.  Three actually:

1. Drunk idiot girls are incredibly agitating and I’m in no means prepared to fight.  Ever (I’m not saying I won’t do it, I just won’t be properly prepared).

2. Watching Signs only reminded me of this movie and how much I want to watch it:

Jackpot.

 

This is how happy Lincoln was because he didn’t get his ass kicked on our movie night: