Thursday, April 5, 2012

As Nasty As I Wanna Be – My First Attempt at Freestyle Blogging

It’s been a while since my last post (over 3 weeks to be exact) and I’m starting to jones for some blogger love. The problem is I haven’t had any time to formulate a theme or motif for this post (my damn day job’s getting in the way of what’s really important). Therefore I’m just going to ramble / shoot from the hip. Like a “freestyle” rap, only delivered by a white guy with no rhythm who doesn’t think society’s against him. Hit it.

• I know this fat lady who’s a personal trainer. So I ask myself why the f*ck would anyone go to a fat personal trainer? It would be like going to a hair stylist with f*cked up hair. Or taking financial advice from a person with a state school education.

• Is anyone else curious as to when Starbucks started putting crack in their iced coffee? I swear without my daily Starbucks reboot around 2:00 or 3:00 pm, I’m completely worthless for the rest of the day.

• Last week at the airport they let this really fat dude board the plane ahead of everyone else, which really pissed me off. I’m sorry but self-inflicted handicaps (like obesity) should not be recognized as legitimate handicaps. Back of the plane, fatty.

• I saw this lady pan-handling on the corner yesterday. Her sign read: “Homeless with disabled child. Please help.” I immediately was struck by two things:

1) She was fat – if she’s so poor where’d she get the money for all those calories?

2) She was alone – where’s the disabled child? Am I supposed to just take the word of a fat, homeless person at face value?

I know, I know I’m clearly missing that thing decent people call empathy. What can I say? I was born this way.

• Why are greeting cards so damn expensive? 6 bucks to tell someone you’re sorry for their loss? What the f*ck, Hallmark? It’s ink and paper – you should be ashamed of yourselves.

• Why do people who are new to fitness insist on talking / posting about it all the time? You’re finally exercising and eating right? Good for you, now shut the f*ck up.

• Ever notice how personal injury lawyers only advertise on billboards in the absolute worst parts of town? I guess low-life's prefer working with their own kind.

• One of my good friends recently sent me a copy of “The Drinker’s Dictionary”, which contains 220 expressions for “drunk” documented by Benjamin Franklin. I had a good laugh and thought I would share a few of my favorites:

o He’s Drunk as a Wheelbarrow

o He’s Wamble Crop’d

o He’s Taken Off His Considering Cap

o He’s Wasted his Paunch

o He’s Lost His Rudder

o He Carries Too Much Sail

o He’s Sold His Senses

No matter how you say it it’s hard to deny that the best stories always start and end with the famous last words: “Let’s get f*cked up.”

That’s all I’ve got time for now.

Word (whatever the f*ck that means).

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