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.

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!

First Annual America Day Post (The Origin)

It’s America Day! and as I mentioned on our Twitter feed it’s the special time of year when I hide from my family and friends and watch baseball alone while drinking my secret stash of good beer while my family drinks PBR. I’m a generous host.

Many people wonder why I don’t  write about baseball more. I enjoy baseball a lot it’s not because I have some secret vendetta against the sport, but my history with baseball is… unique.

When I was a child, I was a very gifted pitcher, by the time I was a teenager I was one of the best in the state. I started showing prowess for the sport at a very young age and as a result, my father took it upon himself to make sure I was going to be the best in the world. From around the age of seven up until high school I was outside every day until the sun went down throwing pitches trying to perfect my craft until my arm felt as though it had fallen off hours ago and I eventually crawled back to the house to eat a quick dinner before my father sat me down to go over everything I had done wrong in a series of videos and profanity fueled rants.

This would’ve all been fine if it weren’t for one minor detail, I hated playing baseball (still do, but I’m an adult now). I eventually gathered the courage to tell my father that I no longer wanted to play baseball. This was the first time my father kicked me out of the house. I was always allowed back, but this was merely the first in a series of ejections that would ultimately come to my final one later in life where I didn’t go back, but that’s another story for another day.

Baseball is a great sport. I enjoy watching it as much as possible. But baseball and I, have a strained relationship.

Please Don’t.

This is another story from my fraternity years.

Do any of you have a friend (or friends perhaps?) that are absolutely clueless? I certainly do. His name is Matt (not his real name) and Matt is a nice guy, but he’s about as intelligent as a wet rock.

I was throwing a party many years ago and I invited one of best friends and personal adviser Sarah (also not her real name). A little background on Sarah, she was about five feet tall, if not shorter, and she was very very very pretty, like crazy beautiful. She always took great care of herself and dressed to the nines, HOWEVER Sarah was also a lesbian. TWIST RIGHT?! And when I say lesbian, I’m not talking about some college girl that’s a “casual lesbian” and makes out with her friends after one too many tequila shots. I’m talking about the fact Sarah has (probably) fucked more girls than me, and I’m a human petri dish.

SIDE NOTE: Guys, if you want to get laid beyond all belief, like so much your dick’s going to fall off, have a girl as your wing man, trust me. Ladies, what makes you more comfortable: another girl or some sweaty dude named Chad?? I rest my case.

ANYWAY: flash forward to my party featuring clueless Matt and very gay Sarah. Sarah looks amazing and Matt, well, looks like Matt. Matt sees Sarah across the room and instantly falls in love with her.

“Dude, who’s that?” Matt asks me.

“Oh, that’s my friend Sarah. She fucking awesome.” I say very casually.

“Have you ever, you know… done stuff?” Matt asks very seriously while I attempt to stifle my laughter.

“No. No we have not.” I say with a straight face.

“Do you mind if I ask her out?”

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: A CONUNDRUM.

Do I tell Matt about Sarah being crazy gay, or do I let him off his normally short and quiet leash and experience the sweet satisfaction of life?

“Fuck no dude, go for it,” I say. Looking back on it… I have no regrets.

Matt approaches Sarah and starts talking to her, and surprisingly it’s going very well. It’s natural, it’s fun, I’m in the background praying Sarah doesn’t kick this guy’s ass for asking her out.

Matt finally makes his move: “Would you want to go out sometime?” His face was so pure and innocent, and Sarah starts to laugh which makes me laugh HARD.

“I’m really sorry man,” Sarah starts, “But I’m gay.” Matt looks like he’s never heard that word before.

“So… is that a no?” Matt responds. In a fit of hysterical laughter I drag Matt away before he got his ass kicked by a small woman.

Tomorrow’s Trash Day

Being an adult is pretty legit, but there are many times I miss being a teenager again. High school wasn’t great like some teen movie but it was certainly some of the most fun and reckless times I ever had. Like drinking UV Blue and smoking menthol cigarettes thinking my friends and I were cool. Being a teenager is a fleeting part of growing up that we always take for granted. For example, I am a happily married man with a great job, but there are some things from my youth I will never forget, like the first time I had sex in my car.

Do you remember your first serious relationship? I certainly do. Her and I were both virgins so we made it our goal in life to try as many sexual things as humanly possible, and of course, I thought I was amazing (only to find out later in life, I was very average if not borderline garbage).  My girlfriend at the time and I wanted to try something new, so we landed on car sex. I drove a Buick Le Sabre that had a massive backseat so we assumed it would be perfect.

We grew up in a relatively small town so we went for a drive one evening only to find out that, unlike every movie and television show, there wasn’t some magical hill overlooking our town where teenagers would go to fuck. So we drove around for at least half an hour trying to find a decent place to fornicate in my back seat like a couple of animals; we found nothing. Hollywood had lied to us once again. I pulled into a gas station parking lot and said:

“Wanna just do it in my parents driveway?” I was the truest of gentlemen. As the words left my mouth I immediately anticipated failure. We had been driving around forever trying to find a semi-hidden public place to copulate and came up empty. But fellas, sometimes the universe takes sympathy on you, I will never forget the next words out of her mouth:

“Sure, that could work.” And boy howdy did it ever work.

My parents have a long driveway and, keep in mind, this was two in the morning so there was no way they were ever going to see this; I hope not anyway. The second I park the car we clumsily roll into the backseat and begin to make the sweetest most elbowy coitus of our teenage lives. It was like something out of a very awkward movie.

After we finish, both flush and exhausted from our extreme passion, I throw the car door open, still completely naked mind you, and place my hands on my knees to catch my breath. My tired penis swinging like a grandfather clock pendulum as I watch my breath dissolve in the night air. I rip off my condom and throw it in the trash can.

“What are you doing?!” She screams.

“What? Tomorrow’s trash day.”