Mistakes Were Made (Part Three)

DISCLAIMER: DO NOT DO ANYTHING IN THE FOLLOWING STORY. DRINKING IS DANGEROUS AND I’M A PROFESSIONAL IDIOT. JUST READ MY STORIES AND HAVE FUN. DO NOT COPY ME IN ANY WAY. PLEASE.

I told you three was coming hopefully this will be the conclusion because I’m getting bored of this story and want to write something else.

Against my compatriots best wishes and attempts to stop me, I grabbed a Blender Bottle from the cupboard (my preferred drinking vessel), and started with the absinthe. The newly clear liquid rolled over the ice in my cup and lined the bottom portion. It was now time or the Everclear.

I poured, let’s say a generous portion of Everclear in my glass, and filled the empty space with water. Why water? Let me answer that with yet another disclaimer because I swear to God, if anyone is this stupid I will be very disappointed in you: DON NOT DO THIS EVER. PLEASE.

I used to top drinks with water because then I could use water enhancers to mask the flavor of the alcohol without having to add anything too sugary. I thought I was a genius.

My concoction was complete, one third absinthe, one third Everclear, and one third grape flavored water enhancer. It was truly disgusting but I did not care one bit.

We didn’t have a party that night,thank God, so my brothers and I decided to ahve a chill night with some friends, the entire time I was sipping my garbage concoction and slowly losing my grip with reality. This shit is was no joke. I found some gentleman I had never seen before and made him a similar beverage to mine, and he and I sample our liquid trash while having a wonderful conversation. I have vivid memories of this conversation being very fun and poignant, but my friend had been recording us all night and upon review of the film in the morning, the things this man and I had been saying were absolute nonsense. I mean complete gibberish. I though we were being very eloquent and smart and it turns out we were merely making a series of sounds that translated into drunken nonsense. I then passed out while watching Dallas Buyers Club and woke up in a bath tub with one of the worst hangovers of my life. Long story short, don’t drink kids. It’s the worst.

Mistakes Were Made (Part Two)

DISCLAIMER: DO NOT DO ANYTHING IN THE FOLLOWING STORY. DRINKING IS DANGEROUS AND I’M A PROFESSIONAL IDIOT. JUST READ MY STORIES AND HAVE FUN. DO NOT COPY ME IN ANY WAY. PLEASE.

God damn! I completely forgot about this story. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks. I don’t apologize, because I doubt anyone cared or noticed but here’s the conclusion you filthy bastards.

If memory serves correct, I had just finished trying the absinthe poured over sugar and it was so good. Like liquor candy. After trying the diluted absinthe I began running through the halls like witch on acid demanding everyone come into the kitchen and try this crazy magic drink Adam brought back home. Most people wretched at the idea or outright refused, fuck them, more for me. After about three or four more shots I started getting rowdy. For those of you that have been lucky enough not to be around me when I drink, I am a very destructive alcoholic. I can either be very fun or the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Tunes. Take a guess which one I become in this story.

I was a complete mess; I ripped one of the bathroom doors of the wall and kicked a hole in another one. Doors did not have a very long lifespan in our house. I don’t want to sound like Hercules, because there are an infinite number of people in this world that can kick my ass (men and women alike) these were cheap ass doors that were made with sub-par materials.

“Let’s mix them together!” I shouted now having returned to the kitchen.

“What?!” Ken and Adam said almost in unison.

“Together, the Everclear and absinthe,” I stated once more. They were both speechless and merely exchanged a series or confused and worried glances trying to figure if A) I was being serious, and B) what the fuck should they say. Keep in mind, I’m a very large man, at least 300 pounds, and I love to fight so I completely understand their hesitation to reply. Ken decided to be brave:

“I mean, I think you could die man. That’s like the purest alcohol. Next to like, rubbing alcohol.”

“Die?!” I started, “I’m a fucking viking warlord! I’ll be fine.”

SIDENOTE: I’m half Finnish so when I get drunk I like to refer to myself as a viking even though I don’t think there were any Finnish vikings. If any of you have more knowledge on this subject please comment and educate me because I’m an idiot that went to college on a football scholarship, therefore I’m the epitome of a dumb jock.

“Bro,” Adam chimed in, “This is some dangerous shit. I mean, you can drink like a champ, but this is a really bad idea.” I stared at both of them for what felt like an eternity.

“I’ll be fine, let’s do this,” the famous last words of an idiot.

PART THREE COMING RIGHT NOW. I JUST WANT TO AVOID WRITING ONE MASSIVE PIECE. I PROMISE THREE IS COMING TONIGHT. STAY TUNED YOU FILTHY BASTARDS.

 

Am I the Worst?

So apparently I’m the worst. Which didn’t necessarily come as a surprise to me, but was certainly disappointing to hear.

Some background, I LOVE talking during movies. Not like in the theater, only at home. If I’m in a movie theater I am more than capable of shutting the fuck up, but if I’m watching a movie in my home with friends, I will talk as much as I want. Apparently, many people hate this about me and a handful have gone as far to say they will only watch a movie with me if I promise not to talk (I almost always break this promise).

What could I possibly be talking about you might wonder? I’m glad I asked. My typical commentary ranges from general conversation, jokes about the movies, or my favorite line: “How do I know that person?” which is almost always answered with: “I don’t know, and will you please stop talking?” I don’t stop talking.

Again, this is NOT in public or at someone else’s place this is only within my home. Do I have the right to talk as much as I want during a screening in my own residence or should I be considerate and shut my gob?

To be fair, there are usually a handful of people that enjoy my commentary, but I get the feeling the majority wants to kick my ass.

How I Lost My Virginity to Five Guys

SIDE NOTE: I’m very proud of that title, and yes, it is VERY misleading. You’re welcome.

It was very hot Minnesota evening in July. People don’t often consider Minnesota hot, and when I say this to individuals from other states they laugh as if I’m telling  very funny joke, but let me tell you, Minnesota summers are the worst thing that has ever existed. They’re heavy, they’re very wet, and you can’t step outside without the immediate sensation of being swarmed by thousands of mosquitoes (oh shit, spelled correctly first try, nice).

All I wanted was a milkshake (I briefly considered this as my title but thought the current one would get more views). There’s a Burger King around the corner from my apartment so I braved the MN evening mosquito swarm and ran to my car to get a milkshake. I’d normally walk, but I was very lazy and wanted the comfort of vehicle air conditioning as I drove less than a quarter mile to get a milkshake.

I like Burger King. I think they get too much criticism, but their food is cheap and those dime store burgers are wickedly good. Almost sinful how cheap that shit is. If you want to feel like a glutton, eat at BK.

As I pulled around the corner I had to do a quadruple take to believe what I was seeing (this is 100% real, I wish I was lying) the entire fucking establishment was ON FIRE. Not a little flame, the whole business was up in smoke, and there were three fire engines out front attempting to calm the flames. I damn near cried. I feel so bad for the business and thankfully everyone made it out safely with no harm, but at the time my first thought was:

“Well fuck, guess I’ll have to go to McDonald’s,” I promise I’m not a sociopath and I hope none of you will judge me too harshly for this.

I don’t hate McDonald’s but the way the world is nowadays, they love to make you feel like a piece of shit for liking fast food. McDonald’s is cool as well. Their food is cheap and satisfies me, that’s all I care about. SIDE NOTE: If anyone follows both this blog and the restaurant reviews, they’re going to criticize me for liking uncool chain restaurants, just remember, we’re a collective, and everyone is different.

Long story short, the shake machine at McDonald’s was broken (as always) so I was forced to leave. Now, most people would’ve given up, but I’m persistent and when I have a goal I fucking achieve that goal. So I picked a random direction and started driving in the hopes I would find civilization and any place that made shakes. That’s when I came across “FIVE GUYS” (hence the title).

I had heard numerous positive things about Five Guys but had never been there, and I was desperate by this point so anything would do. It was completely abandoned inside so I ran to the counter and said:

“GIVE ME A LARGE ORDER OF FRIES AND A CHOCOLATE SHAKE!”

“Would you like regular fries or Cajun?” The server asked completely un-phased by my manic state.

“Umm, Cajun I guess,” I said.

Upon delivery of my edibles I was dumbfounded, this was amazing. The fires were the perfect amount of spicy, and the shake changed my life. I cannot recommend Five Guys enough. To this day, if I’m not sure what I want to eat, I just go to Five Guys. Please check this place out if you’re blessed enough to have one near you.

Suck it Losers (Part Four)

What fucking backwards universe have I stumbled into?? Did I cross-dimensional travel through space and time into a world where the Minnesota Timberwolves are suddenly a hot commodity?

Don’t get wrong, I totally understand. Ever since the Butler signing Timberwolves stock has been through the goddamn roof. The fact that elite players are suggesting Minnesota as a desired trade destination has left me floored with a very satisfying erection. This is everything I have ever wanted since I was eight years old and saw my first Wolves game.

The big news that damn near collapsed the sports world yesterday was the talk of Kyrie Irving requesting a trade from Cleveland (If I had to be around Lebron that much I would’ve wanted to leave much sooner). Irving listed Minnesota as a potential landing spot?! This is amazing that such a young talented player would ever want to live in a frozen tundra hellhole just to play ball I respect it immensely (it almost makes up for the fact he thinks the Earth is flat).

Now, with all that being said, yes it’s cool, but I swear to God if Minnesota corporate offices realistically pursue this trade I will riot in the streets. Here’s why, we already have the sickest starting five I could ever want, pursuing Kyrie is greedy, unnecessary, and is going to cost you sooooooo much. DO NOT DO IT. Please for the love of God and MN basketball DO NOT PURSUE THIS OPTION.

It’s like being at a party with your significant other and some girl tries to fuck you, thank you so much for the offer, but I’m happily married. Now move along slut. Go to San Antonio Kyrie. Play for the greatest coach in NBA history. Pop will make you a legend.

What do you Think?

I’m going to try and keep this brief, but my wife and I were having a conversation and it was too amusing not to share. So enjoy this momentary invitation into my private life.

I’ve always wanted to name one of my future sons “Aiden Arthur” because my last name starts with an “A” thus making him “Triple A,” or Trip as i would most certainly call him, and my wife apparently does not care for this concept because she feels this name will make him, as she so eloquently said it, a douche.

My question is, can a name influence you as a person? To my wife’s credit, I once date a girl named Tiara and she was a giant, high maintenance, princess, pain in my ass. So perhaps there’s some validity to her concerns, but for fuck’s sake I want to call my son Trip!

Suck it Losers (Part Three)

It’s time for America’s new favorite web saga revolving around the exciting world of NBA controversy. This week, whatever the fuck I feel like rambling about before the cocktail of pills and alcohol kicks in and I collapse over my keyboard.

First and foremost, the soon to be NBA champion Minnesota Timberwolves just signed Jamal Crawford and I am about to cry because Minnesota professional basketball has never made me so happy. I feel like a woman whose boyfriend has made a super romantic proposal. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and my life is great, but enough about that because there’s so much basketball chicanery that requires discussion and my levels of consciousness are fleeting by the second.

Gordon Hayward is shipping out to Boston as it were, and I wouldn’t normally give half a fuck, but Boston is now forced to make cap space by pawning 3/5 of the starting five that made them THE NUMBER ONE SEED IN THE EAST.

This shit is ridiculous, you’re giving away the talented majority of your players just so you can have a pretty okay white kid on your team. This is bullshit.

Think about this, in 2015, the Atlanta Hawks were also the number one seed and currently, NOT ONE OF THOSE PLAYERS IS ON THE HAWKS. What fucking universe is this? Is this real life? This is the same path the Celtics are on because they’re cleaning house to accommodate Brad Stevens’ weird white boy crush.

The world has gone insane and this season is going to be a Goddamn shit show. For the first time since 2004, it’s good to be a Timberwolves fan.