I mean, I guess?

Sex is fun, especially when you’re young (I mean, it’s always awesome, but especially when it’s new). When I was a young sir coming up in this world, I wanted to do everything (read “Tomorrow’s Trash Day”). The beautiful young woman I was seeing was… let’s say adventurous, SIDE NOTE this is the same girl from “Tomorrow’s Trash Day” seriously, read that fucking story if you want a better appreciation for this shit.

Her and I legitimately believed we were going to be together forever (young love right?) so we decided we were going to do every stupid sexual thing we could think of. One night we’re in my parents basement (I was in high school don’t judge me) and we were, let’s say, having some innocent fun, until she stops in the middle and goes:

“I have an idea.”

“Okay?” I say very confused and somewhat frustrated because my penis had been rubbing against the inside of my jeans for forty five minutes and I though it was going to fall off.

“Give me one minute,” she says before disappearing upstairs only to return seconds later with a jug of chocolate syrup and a can of whipped cream.

“Let’s make sundaes,” she says with a big grin.

Now, I’m a very dumb man, but even I understood what she meant, and yet the first thing I said was:

“What if it makes a mess?” at the end of the day, I’m always an idiot.

“That’s just a risk we’ll have to take,” easy for her to say, this was my parents house.

I don’t know if any of you have ever actually tried this, but let me tell you from experience, it’s a fucking mess. I do NOT recommend this sexual practice.

We start drizzling chocolate and whipped cream over one another and this shit is getting EVERYWHERE. The floor looked like a Jackson Pollock painting and my chest felt like the business end of a strip of scotch tape. We eventually felt gross and made sweet sticky love to one another on the now abysmal floor, but otherwise I have nothing good to say about this experience. I heavily advise against it.

 

Advertisements

An Open Letter to Smash Burger

I just made stuffed mushrooms while listening to Primus’ first alum. Let’s get weird.

I had Smash Burger yesterday. Never had it before. Probably won’t have it again. It’s not a bad place, in fact it’s pretty good, but it just isn’t good enough for me to go back (especially when there’s a Five Guys closer to my apartment).

For those of you lucky enough to not be “in the know” about Smash Burger, it’s a burger place. That’s all you need to know. I wanted to  try something new and every person I know continuously recommended Smash Burger so I finally gave in to their demands and tried it (never give in to peer pressure kids). I arrived and quickly caught on to how things work, you pick a burger and order it, simple enough. Here’s a direct transcript from my visit:

“What can I get for you?” The waitress is young and very sweet, almost sickeningly so.

“I’ll have the barbecue bacon burger meal,” despite my stoic face I’m very excited.

“What kind of meat would you like?” This question confuses me more than I’d care to admit.

“Meat? Isn’t it all cow?” I say instead of saying “beef” like a normal fucking person.

“Well you can do beef if you want, but there’s also chicken, turkey, and black bean.” This makes me happy, I love a good turkey burger.

“I’ll have turkey instead.”

“Great! Would you like Smash Fries with your burger?”

“The fuck are those?” I ask without thinking about perhaps talking like a decent non-aggressive person.

“They’re our regular fries with oil and spices,”

“Sure why not?”

I pay and take a seat while I wait for my food. They have Diet Dr. Pepper on tap, I like this. Every place should be required to have DDP available.

When my food arrives I am immediately disappointed. The burger is so small I want to ask my waiter if this is the appetizer for my actual burger, and apparently “Smash Fries” is simply code for wet diarrhea fries. The burgers actually quite good, and at risk of sounding so terribly American, it is very small, and the fries are rubbish. It’s just a wet pile of hot oil on my tray.

Smash Burger, it’s not that you’re terrible, it’s just… There’s a lot of better places. I’d rather give my money to Five Guys.

 

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.

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!