Fuck it, Let’s do This

The Packer’s game is under rain delay, I’m listening to the single greatest song in the history of music (Animal (Fuck like a Beast) by W.A.S.P) let’s make a random end of the week post.

My freshman year of college I took an intro Spanish class (having never taken Spanish) thinking it was going to be a fun and easy credit course. I took German in high school, because as we all know, this is indeed the language of the future. I would’ve never taken this language if I would’ve known it would cause all my friends to call me a Nazi for four years.

I arrived at collegiate intro Spanish and to my surprise, the instructor was speaking Spanish… like fluently. I immediately assumed I was in the wrong course. Here’s how the first ten minutes of class went:

Instructor: “Spanish words, Spanish words, Spanish words.”

ME: “Bro, I don’t speak Spanish, that’s why I’m here.”

Instructor: “Angry Spanish words.”

I dropped the class next day. Turns out I registered for some class way beyond my comprehension, I found the right class and joined the other plebeians in our idiotic enjoyment of new languages.

Fast forward to finals time, in this class we had to do outside class activities, like take a salsa class, or fuck a Spanish girl, you know, extra shit. The kid that sat next me (let’s call him Ken) we decided we were going to show our appreciation for Spanish the best way we knew how, drink Jose Cuervo and watch Spanish movies. Here’s how that went:

“Hey professor, Ken and I have an idea for our final project.”

“Great! What were you two thinking?”

“Can we get drunk on Cuervo and watch Spanish movies?” I was expecting an immediate no from the professor, but to my surprise he was actually thinking about it.

“Is this really what you want to do?” he asked.

“Honestly, yeah.” I said expecting him to throw us out of class.

“Well boys… I won’t give you an A, but if that’s what you want to do, I will give you both a grade.” At this point I’m almost certain Ken had six heart attacks.

So, we went home, got obliterated on Cuervo and wrote two of the most beautiful research papers on “Y Tu Mama Tambien” the world had ever known, and guess what, we both got a C+. I’ve never been more proud of myself.

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Fuck Your Wedding

I can’t think of a time I have been less motivated to do anything. It’s unfortunate, but I must push through the melancholy and write something, anything at this point.

First off, let me apologize to anyone that listened to my fantasy football advice and started Derek Carr tonight, I really though he was going to go off, but we all make mistakes.

I went to a wedding last night and it was just the worst. I’m not anti-marriage (I’m married myself), but I am anti-wedding the whole institution is so stupid I hate it more than any reasonable person should. My wedding cost me $120 and that was the cost of the marriage license. Most people hear this and immediately say: “Your wife was okay with this?!” to which I respond: “Uhh, yeah. I proposed in a Target parking lot, nothing is worse than that.”

This may sound like a joke, but it’s all sadly true. My wife has been through a tremendous deal with me as a spouse. Essentially, we woke up one morning, and I said: “Want to get married today?” she agreed, and here we are. Best decision I ever made.

My wife is an angel and I’m an idiot, and to us the wedding was never about extravagance or some posh bullshit, it’s about love, and we have plenty of that.

My point is, expensive weddings are dumb and you’re dumb if you have one. I got married in a free suit and I’ve know my wife since we were 7 years old. Marriage is about love, fuck your wedding. Unless you have an open bar. If you have an open bar please invite me and have a hotel nearby.

Free Form Writing Odyssey

I’m not proud of how many tries it took me to type “odyssey” before I got it right (right click is for quitters).

I just tried to make stir fry and it sucked, so now I’m going to make a post with no purpose and no comprehensible plan. It may come as a surprise to many that I actually put quite a bit of thought into these posts, but this one I’m just going to swing for the fences and hope for the best (much like Aaron Judge, suck it Yankees fans!)

I had a birthday this week. Many consider me young but I have the mentality of a 75 year old man so this may as well be a death sentence. I should clarify, I’m not one of these “anti-birthday” people that hate their birthdays, but to me I often forget about my own birthday until someone reminds me, and I then I say “Oh yeah, neat,” and then I go to work.

Birthdays can be fun, but I often have more fun at other people’s birthdays than my own, but this last week was perfect, I stayed at home, grilled some steaks, enjoyed a moderately priced bourbon, and went to bed after watching a baseball game, fucking perfect. To some, this may sound boring, but this what I love. If I am blessed enough to have a pleasant afterlife every day will be like this.

However, my wife LOVES her birthday, like to an extreme level. She could be actively murdering someone and would say: “But it’s my birthday!” and then I’d allow her to return to her murder. And that’s fine with me because I like celebrating her birthday with her. This year I brought her to a concert, we had dinner after, and stayed in a gorgeous hotel in downtown Minneapolis, another great evening, but very different from my own.

I’m going to be honest, I have no clue where I’m going with this post, I just wanted to write some shit. We’re working on a huge merger at work and that’s all I can think about, but I love doing this so I need to write something to distract myself. Our next post will be better I promise.

How do you like to spend your birthday? Do you like simplicity like myself, or are your a flashy individual much like my wife? Let me know, let’s talk about it.

Am I a Prostitute?

EDIT: forgot a title yesterday. My bad.

Last week on our post “I’ve Got Problems Man,” I talked about the time I dated a stripper, and since then I’ve gotten a couple questions from my friends that saw the post and instantly became curious about my sex life. This is never a touchy subject for me, which is pretty obvious considering I share these details with strangers on the internet, but one thing that became abundantly clear, after speaking with my inner circle, there’s a lot of animosity towards sex workers.

Perhaps my friends are just awful people (sorry guys) but they did not find my post as charming as I had initially expected. This bothers me because dammit haven’t we all done some shit that, in one way or another, is at least a little fucked up? Why the fuck should I judge a stripper? Even though Roxie from my last post stole from me and tried to kill me, this doesn’t mean I now judge all strippers (seriously though, read that post if you haven’t already).

We all do dumb shit, I was once paid for sex, not necessarily in a traditional sense, but I had sex with a woman and was given cab fare for a ride across town, does that make me a prostitute? And if so, am I now a worse person because I accepted dirty sex money? (Not my proudest moment, but I had to get home).

I was a senior in college and by this point I did everything in my power to avoid house parties because they are the absolute worst thing that has ever existed. Hundreds of underage people violating all fire regulations just to rub against strangers and drink too much; although, I too enjoy drinking too much and rubbing against people, but at this point I was a grown ass man and could do this legally in a bar, and the frat house of Delta Chi Who Gives a Fuck as not an ideal location for me to be.

I went with a friend of mine because he assured me: “It’s going to be awesome bro!” It was indeed, not awesome bro.

I hated everything almost immediately upon arrival. People were pissing in the alley, girls were crying, and dudes were fighting in the front yard, all the signs of a garbage evening. BUT I am a supportive friend and I was bound and determined to make the best of a bad situation. I had a few drinks, had some good conversation, and after about an hour I was looking for the nearest object to hang myself on. Then, through a slight clearing in the crowd, I saw her, Karen (not her real name).

Karen, was interesting, she stood out from everyone at this horrible gathering (mostly because she was about six feet tall and looked twenty years older than everyone, seriously, I’m fairly certain this was someone’s mom that came along to the party. To this day, I don’t know why she was there or how old she really was. “Karen” if you ever read this, how old are you and WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING THERE?!)

I walked over, not drunk but charmingly seductive, and began with some general conversation:

“This place sucks right?” She laughs, (I’m in).

“You here with anyone?” I ask.

“I came with some friends, but I don’t know where they went,” she responds.

“You’re too beautiful to stand alone, let’s go outside and talk,” SIDE NOTE: This line will most likely reoccur throughout A LOT of stories because I used it all the fucking time. For some reason, drunk girls love it so I kept it in my rotation. Karen naturally obliged and we went outside and talked, without talking. I grabbed her hand and lead her through the crowd of miscreant youth, and the second we stepped outside I put my arm around her waist and made my move. We made out in the front yard for what felt like an eternity.

“Come back to my place,” I said.

“My place is better,” she responded. I assumed she was correct because my apartment was horrible and my roommates were the worst.

We caught a cab and arrived at a home so beautiful I wasn’t even aware houses this nice existed in Minnesota. I thanked the cab driver profusely as she paid. We strolled to the front door and the second we stepped inside she attacked me. I was completely thrown, she became a newly freed monster. Within seconds my back was on her bed and she was on top of me. We made love for what felt like an eternity. We laid next to one another in a steaming pile of passion and exhaustion for about ten minutes before she said the words I’ll never forget:

“What time are you going to leave?”

Apparently I’m not that good. I changed and left immediately, but not before I had the most humiliating conversation of my life:

“I can leave now, but I don’t even know where I am.”

“You’re at *address*.”

“I live in the East Village.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, well that’s too bad. Listen, there’s forty dollars in my purse on the chair over there. Use that for a cab.”

“Alright.” I got dressed, walked a couple blocks, caught a cab, and rode home.

I woke up he next morning with nothing but regret and dirty clothes. So, you tell me am I bad person?

 

Rock and Roll Dinner

Have you ever been so broke you considered selling your body for money, but then remembered you’re not attractive enough to sell your body, so you just lay down and go to bed? This was my life throughout all of my twenties. I worked a horrible job to pay bills while I attempted to make money as a writer. I shared a house with two other guys that were in a fairly similar position as myself. One was a paralegal and the other was a security guard. The paralegal made decent enough money, but he was really bad with his money, so he was forced to live with two degenerates that ate his food (I love you Glenn, if you ever read this you’re a damn prince).

As some of you know, I was thrown out of my home when I was a teenager (READ OUR “First Annual America Day” post for more info). As a result of being a teenage runaway I didn’t have much money. One night after work I was so hungry and the only food available was Ramen noodles, old bread, and granola bars. But then I remembered I had a bottle of bourbon in my sock drawer for emergencies, because who needs anything other than bourbon for emergencies?

I then proceeded to drink the entire bottle while listening to my old records. I started with Mercyful Fate and inevitably ended with King Diamond solo stuff. It was an epic night filled with alcohol and great music. My roommates found me later passed out in my room listening to Metal Church. They can’t all be winners. But this ill-advised night of alcohol induced hunger created one of the best events of my life “Rock and Roll Dinner.”

To this day my friends come over every month for one day where we get unbelievably drunk and listen to classic albums. It’s the best shit ever. I encourage everyone to have there own Rock and Roll Dinners. Even if you like country music (or anything really) have your friends over, get drunk, and listen to some good music. I promise you will NOT regret this choice.

I love you all. Get drunk and listen to music. Just listen to more music period.

I’ve Got Problems Man

Have you ever dated someone you knew from the very beginning was bad for you, but you insisted on dating them anyway? This is my entire dating history. I have a thing for unstable women that could very likely ┬ámurder me. I have told my friends many times; if I ever die under mysterious circumstances ALWAYS suspect the person I’m dating. It’s not love unless you live in constant fear of death.

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

I’ve had many troublesome exes, but none were worse than Roxie (obviously not her real name seeing as how she’s not a cartoon character or a dog). Roxie was a lovely woman I met bar tending at a Cannibal Corpse concert SIDE NOTE: for those of you not familiar with the body of work of Cannibal Corpse please proceed with caution it is VERY graphic and not for the faint of heart or stomach.

We immediately hit it off, she was funny, charming, and smoking hot (to this day the hottest woman I’ve ever dated). But Roxie also had another job, she was a stripper. To a lot of people, this would be an immediate turn off, but seeing as how I am far from shallow, this was never an issue for me, in fact I was a little proud. Most strippers and even a lot of sex workers are good people, but Roxie was not a good person. She was also a drug addict that tried to kill me with a hammer while I was sleeping. We spent most of our days copulating and listening to old records. When I attempted to end things with Roxie, she seemed oddly happy, so naturally I assumed this was going to be a nice mutual breakup and I had rid myself of this God awful influence in my life… I came home from work that night with my television, guitar, and several records stolen. I was able to get the guitar back, but the TV and records were sadly long gone for heroin money. Fuck I miss those records.

My point is, don’t negatively judge strippers, they’re good people, but once you find out they do heroin RUN. THE. FUCK. AWAY.

There’s a Bar in my Bathroom

As the title sates, there is indeed a bar in my bathroom. It’s a staple I have installed in every establishment that has housed my physical body, and one of the many reasons why the bathroom is my favorite room of any home (well, favorite room in MY home).

Having a bathroom is important, but having a bathroom bar is more important. You ever had a drink in the shower? It’s fantastic. DISCLAIMER make sure it’s a night shower and not a pre-work morning shower, people to tend to throw around words like “alcoholic” if that’s the case.

I should mention, this is not a fancy bar. It’s comprised of cheap liquor bottles and a small table I bought at IKEA. Lovely table. I’m a big fan. Since I already keep booze in my bathroom I also on occasion keep beer under my sink. I’m not a big beer drinker, I prefer hard liquor, no preference, whatever gets my drunk. With beer however, I’m very picky. I enjoy drinking silly hipster brews in moderation and pretending I know what I’m talking about when in actuality I’m quite possibly the most uninformed person in the room.

“Hmmm, yes this beer tastes as if it was made using hops and malt,” he said trying to pretend he knows anything.

Since I keep beer under my bathroom sink next to cleaning chemicals and my gun, there’s really no great way to keep it cold so I have grown to develop a love for warm beer (with a nice after taste of chemicals). I’m going to be honest, warm beer gets a bad reputation. I think it’s delicious. I like it so much I made a Tweet about it last night. FYI if you people read this and are also on Twitter FOLLOW ME IMMEDIATELY OUR FEED IS FUNNY AS FUCK!!! @ViridianReader.

Warm beers delicious. Cold beer is solid as well, but if you haven’t tried warm beer I highly suggest it, but don’t try it with some big brand beer that sponsors sporting events such as a brand that rhymes with “Poors Flight” you know what Poors Flight and sex in a canoe have in common? They’re both fucking close to water *Rim Shot*.

Have something thick and hoppy. Something dark and thick (also how I like my women). What’s your opinion on warm beer? Have you tried it? Did you like it? If not, why? Let’s talk about it. Drink more and sex more. Life is fun, and I love you all. Have a good night.