So I wake up hung over as fuck (you know our generation really needs to get out of this whole “fuck can be used for anything” bubble) That being said, I am as hung over as fuck and have to make the treacherous walk from trashby to the fine eating establishment I call my job in less than an hour due to the fact that my car got totaled in the parking lot. How the fuck that happens. I do not know.
Now I can’t move. Literally. I have sex sprains up the kazoo. ( and no not cause of position but location. Location. Location. Location.) I can’t bend down to tie my converse let alone walk the 20 minutes to work.
But I face the music and walk the walk and yet still get walk of shame calls in my uniform. It may have had something to do with the fact that my uniform includes the slogan “We deliever 8 inches in the cold.”
Maybe.
After 6 grueling hours of work. I somehow manage to pass out on my couch from 5p.m. to 9p.m. At 9:03 exactly I woke up. Still hung over, still nauseous. And then it hits me. I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant? Oh, dear god I am pregnant!
My parents even said if you have sex and you don’t use a condom you will get pregnant and die! Or wait was that Mean Girls? Either way, Tina Fey and my mom would not lie to me… would they?
Fuck.
Still disheveled from my five -hour nap, I run and manage to trip over a book, a table and a bed in search of my phone. I must call CVS. I must get this elixir they call Plan B.
But wait? I don’t have a car. How will I get there? The Roommate! The roommate will save me! I call the roommate. The roommate says CVS is closed. Fuck.
But there is a 72-hour gap. Eureka! It’s only been like what 13 hours? Right? Yeah? Yeah. I’m good. I’m so good. I’m soooo not going to be pregnant…
THE NEXT DAY
Easter Sunday.
Hair disheveled. Red Soffee shorts and a black T-shirt with “YEARBOOK NERD” plastered on the front. (This is the right attire to pick up Plan B I presume.) The roommate drops me off @ CVS. The pharmacy is closed. Fail. God damn you Jesus. You and your resurrection. There are more important things such as erasing this potential mistake, mister.
CVS numerous 2. Pharmacy is open! Not fail! The half-Jewish roommate is scouring through the Easter greeting cards as I stumble towards the back forcing down the vomit that I now assume is morning sickness.
Children are frolicking all around. Singing, “We are your future! We are your future! Fuck with god and he will torture!”
I fall to the ground and begin to hurl bouncy balls and transformer figurines at these demons…I mean children, screaming, “God will not prevail!!” (Okay this didn’t happen but whatever.)
I walk back to the pharmacy, and timidly ask for Plan B.
“What?” Said with a Southern accent.
“Plan B!” I repeat as I hand the pharmacist my drug money. An obese overweight child eating something orange out of his belly-button stops, forms words in his head and then turns to his also obese mother and asks:
“Momma? What is a Plan B?”
“Well Dwayne.” As she begins to rub her mistakes belly. “Plan B is a baby killer used by sinners who would rather murder an innocent child than deal with the terrible mistakes they have chosen to make…. and they usually go to hell.“
I think she was talking about me.
There's nothing worse than clowns...
For girls, you don’t get funny by being skinny when you’re ten. And you definitely don’t get funny by being pretty any year before your 18th birthday. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…
The gift of humor comes when your 21 with adult braces and you are forced by your delusional intermediate acting teacher (who is paid by the university) to wear clown make- up for 12 hours straight. And I mean full on white face, with abnormally red cheeks and frizzy ass hair.
… okay the hair was my fault…but I had a feeling that straightening my hair that day wouldn’t exactly diffuse the situation.
You know what’s scarier than clown porn? A clown with ceramic braces…. it’s just doesn’t look right…
I made a girl in my media law class run into a wall and cry that day….she didn’t like clowns/sexually based jokes/me with or without whiteface. Granted, I didn’t like her, so it kind of worked out in my favor. But that’s beside’s the point.
And yet I seemed to be the only person in my acting class that was not okay with this infamous “Clown Day.” Like, I was the freak for not wanting unwarranted attention based solely on my outer appearance.
Um, sorry musical theatre majors, but I couldn’t fit into blue jeans for 12 years and was forced to wear elastic leggings by my mother, that were color coded with the season, my mood and whatever fast food I was eating that day…so, um, yeah…I think I already got my fix of gawking stares from random passerby’s.
We weren’t supposed to talk for those 12 hours either, but after I had my first interaction with Mr. Obvious at nine in the morning, my inner bitch came out real quick.
“Dude, that chicks got clown make-up on.”
“Yeah, no shit, dickwad.”
… Did I mention that I’m not a morning person… or an afternoon person… or an “If it were socially acceptable to wear clown make-up on a daily basis…I so would” person.
Now don’t get my wrong… I love looking disgusting… but only on my own accord. I call it the Amy Sedaris syndrome: beautiful girl just dying to be ugly and wrinkly and sexually perverse for an audience. (Watch, Strangers with Candy).
But, next time someone tells me I’m required to wear white-face and frolic amongst the normal’s (and knowing my life this will happen again), I’m totally throwing out the race card…
“Wait…fuck you…why do I have to wear white-face...why can't I be black? You racist.”
The gift of humor comes when your 21 with adult braces and you are forced by your delusional intermediate acting teacher (who is paid by the university) to wear clown make- up for 12 hours straight. And I mean full on white face, with abnormally red cheeks and frizzy ass hair.
… okay the hair was my fault…but I had a feeling that straightening my hair that day wouldn’t exactly diffuse the situation.
You know what’s scarier than clown porn? A clown with ceramic braces…. it’s just doesn’t look right…
I made a girl in my media law class run into a wall and cry that day….she didn’t like clowns/sexually based jokes/me with or without whiteface. Granted, I didn’t like her, so it kind of worked out in my favor. But that’s beside’s the point.
And yet I seemed to be the only person in my acting class that was not okay with this infamous “Clown Day.” Like, I was the freak for not wanting unwarranted attention based solely on my outer appearance.
Um, sorry musical theatre majors, but I couldn’t fit into blue jeans for 12 years and was forced to wear elastic leggings by my mother, that were color coded with the season, my mood and whatever fast food I was eating that day…so, um, yeah…I think I already got my fix of gawking stares from random passerby’s.
We weren’t supposed to talk for those 12 hours either, but after I had my first interaction with Mr. Obvious at nine in the morning, my inner bitch came out real quick.
“Dude, that chicks got clown make-up on.”
“Yeah, no shit, dickwad.”
… Did I mention that I’m not a morning person… or an afternoon person… or an “If it were socially acceptable to wear clown make-up on a daily basis…I so would” person.
Now don’t get my wrong… I love looking disgusting… but only on my own accord. I call it the Amy Sedaris syndrome: beautiful girl just dying to be ugly and wrinkly and sexually perverse for an audience. (Watch, Strangers with Candy).
But, next time someone tells me I’m required to wear white-face and frolic amongst the normal’s (and knowing my life this will happen again), I’m totally throwing out the race card…
“Wait…fuck you…why do I have to wear white-face...why can't I be black? You racist.”
All right, I’m going to say it…
Nature. Not impressed. It’s so tall and arrogant. Like, “look at me my pretty leaves sway in the wind as I blow gnats into your face.” You little whore. Waving your leaves for all the boys to see. That’s what skanks do nature. That’s what skanks do.
And don’t be such a cliché, nature…that annoys me. And why do you have to be such a bitch? You just can’t seem wait another month for me to lose my summer weight, now can yah? Oh no of course not, Mother Nature. You want the whole world to see my muffin top….bitch.
Honestly, nature you have become a drain on the society. With all your “save me! Save me!” bullshit. Beggars disgust me, and you nature, are a beggar. You don’t see me begging passerby’s for Tasti-Delite, now do you? Okay only on Friday… whatever, fuck you, I have needs.
I think we can all agree that technology supplies that with the sufficient amount of nature to satisfy our natural needs. If you even have any. You sick fuck.
If I could sum up nature with one word it would be, “meh, it looks better on TV.”
When I want to see nature at its “finest” (which is never) I’ll just DVR the Discovery Channel or watch Shark Week high.
I’ve never trusted nature, and I never will. What are you hiding up in those red woods, you sadist bastards? It seems like some voodoo magic to me. Think I’m crazy? Well we’ll just see whose laughing when the Velociraptors come out at night during your “night hike”. And who the fuck hikes at night? Velociraptors with guns, that’s who. Well them and liberal hippie douches.
We need to be careful, or nature will try to fight for it’s natural right on this planet. Which, um hello, it has no right. Can nature vote during presidential elections? Does nature shovel Ben & Jerry’s into its mouth when Joey doesn’t call when he said he would? Does wear pants?
No. It doesn’t.
Know your role, nature. Know your role. Or we’ll just keep replacing you with those synthetic plants from Home Depot.
And don’t be such a cliché, nature…that annoys me. And why do you have to be such a bitch? You just can’t seem wait another month for me to lose my summer weight, now can yah? Oh no of course not, Mother Nature. You want the whole world to see my muffin top….bitch.
Honestly, nature you have become a drain on the society. With all your “save me! Save me!” bullshit. Beggars disgust me, and you nature, are a beggar. You don’t see me begging passerby’s for Tasti-Delite, now do you? Okay only on Friday… whatever, fuck you, I have needs.
I think we can all agree that technology supplies that with the sufficient amount of nature to satisfy our natural needs. If you even have any. You sick fuck.
If I could sum up nature with one word it would be, “meh, it looks better on TV.”
When I want to see nature at its “finest” (which is never) I’ll just DVR the Discovery Channel or watch Shark Week high.
I’ve never trusted nature, and I never will. What are you hiding up in those red woods, you sadist bastards? It seems like some voodoo magic to me. Think I’m crazy? Well we’ll just see whose laughing when the Velociraptors come out at night during your “night hike”. And who the fuck hikes at night? Velociraptors with guns, that’s who. Well them and liberal hippie douches.
We need to be careful, or nature will try to fight for it’s natural right on this planet. Which, um hello, it has no right. Can nature vote during presidential elections? Does nature shovel Ben & Jerry’s into its mouth when Joey doesn’t call when he said he would? Does wear pants?
No. It doesn’t.
Know your role, nature. Know your role. Or we’ll just keep replacing you with those synthetic plants from Home Depot.
Oh you know this and that...
So, two things real quick.
1. This really awesome girl @ TOAR made me this kick ass badge for my blog and you guys should totally like grab it and shit (once I figure out how to download it correctly to my blog) and like make me famous....I don't know....I don't know... I might give you candy as well...
2. I'm lazy on the weekend, so I'm bringing back a post that I really like that I'm pretty sure none of you have read (okay maybe three of you have read)....enjoy while I go drink now...
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
THERE IS A HUGE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BEING A WHORE AND PUTTING OUT....
And as any female neophyte, I am the latter. (It’s probably funny cause, it’s probably not true.) I may be the only girl who actually aspires to put out. (but just for the stories I swear!)
So I’d like to begin my stories (I like to call my whoreish personality traits, stories) on a typical Friday morning. I woke up, ate some mayo and meat, shimmied on my black pleather pants and declared to the roommates @ ten a.m.: “I am having sex tonight.”
“With who?”
“I dunno.”
Silence.
“I just know I am.”
“Sure you are…”
Now this prediction was more than just a hunch; it’s actually a psychic trait I developed after tripping on some crazy weed. Now I can’t see who it is going to be. I can’t see the exact place. Or the exact time of the actual said sex. I just know I will be having sex at some place, with someone, during some particular point on said day.
I think it’s useful (and honestly no one really believes those people who claim to predict tomorrow’s lottery numbers.
I am also on a train as I write this entry and I am getting some very interested looks from some geriatric neophytes to my right. (Just thought that had to be stated.)
Any who! I am convinced I am having sex today. Completely convinced. So convinced I was telling everyone I came into contact with.
“Good Morning!”
“Was sup random professor! I’m having sex tonight.”
“Good for you., I…will not.”
“Oh we know, random professor, We all know.”
People standing by point and laugh @ said professor. As I frolic down the Harrison hallway throwing up fairy dust in search of people who will listen to my latest prediction.
Now, the day has turned into night and herds of overly make-upped and under-dressed whores.. I mean freshman, have come out from under their UV tanning beds in search of one thing: boyfriends. These are the girls that think sex equates into a relationship.
You know the type. They sulk near the bathroom in hopes to lure a potential male specimen for 5-15 minutes. This usually the amount of time it takes for the drunk male specimen to realize that he will get laid if he pretends to stay interested for 9 more minutes.
Sorry girls but if you believe sex equals a relationship this you are not only a whore, but a dumb whore @ best. Which falls right below whore, but two steps above fat, ugly, dumb whore. Gosta be smart wit yo sex
After watching these girls travel the treacherous trip into sexual transmitted disease land, I am absolutely positive that I am having sex tonight. So positive that I walk into a party, where thus “sex ” is located, by myself. ALONE. I was on a mission and that mission was unprotected sex.
The beer is flowing, BAC’s are lingering at a staggering .407, bodies caressing through the sea of unidentified blobs and this was just the keg line. So I know it’s going to be a good night. If I remember it (I did, don’t worry).
“Sex” is flirting with me. I’m flirting with “Sex.” (And now there is a 3-year old sitting next to me as I write this. Yay…awkward. and the mom is so totally judging! How do you think that child got next to me Mom?!? By hugging?)
Anyways, “Sex ” declares: “We should go inside.” And this drunken sex neophyte (me) quickly agrees. Staggering into a dark stairwell, I had to ask the inevitable:
“Do you have a condom?”
“Eh…No?”
Now I don’t know what it is about guys and not having condoms. I think subconsciously they think it will jinx them if they do have one, but seriously guys! Take one for the team! We have to deal with everything else.
You can buy the goddamn condoms.
But the best part wasn’t that “Sex” didn’t have a condom but the fact that ”Sex” said and I quote: “But my cock is clean I promise.”
Really? Did you scrub it alcohol right before this moment? Cause that’s not really what I wanted to hear.
However, I make bad decisions. I always have and probably always will. I like to blame it on my “fuck it mentality.” But it’s more so because I’m a dumb ass that seems to like putting myself in bad but awkwardly funny situations.
Also, we were practically doing it @ this point so my response was slightly obscured by the dry humping. So I said and I quote:
“Eh….fuck it.”
TO BE CONTINUED.
1. This really awesome girl @ TOAR made me this kick ass badge for my blog and you guys should totally like grab it and shit (once I figure out how to download it correctly to my blog) and like make me famous....I don't know....I don't know... I might give you candy as well...
2. I'm lazy on the weekend, so I'm bringing back a post that I really like that I'm pretty sure none of you have read (okay maybe three of you have read)....enjoy while I go drink now...
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
THERE IS A HUGE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BEING A WHORE AND PUTTING OUT....
And as any female neophyte, I am the latter. (It’s probably funny cause, it’s probably not true.) I may be the only girl who actually aspires to put out. (but just for the stories I swear!)
So I’d like to begin my stories (I like to call my whoreish personality traits, stories) on a typical Friday morning. I woke up, ate some mayo and meat, shimmied on my black pleather pants and declared to the roommates @ ten a.m.: “I am having sex tonight.”
“With who?”
“I dunno.”
Silence.
“I just know I am.”
“Sure you are…”
Now this prediction was more than just a hunch; it’s actually a psychic trait I developed after tripping on some crazy weed. Now I can’t see who it is going to be. I can’t see the exact place. Or the exact time of the actual said sex. I just know I will be having sex at some place, with someone, during some particular point on said day.
I think it’s useful (and honestly no one really believes those people who claim to predict tomorrow’s lottery numbers.
I am also on a train as I write this entry and I am getting some very interested looks from some geriatric neophytes to my right. (Just thought that had to be stated.)
Any who! I am convinced I am having sex today. Completely convinced. So convinced I was telling everyone I came into contact with.
“Good Morning!”
“Was sup random professor! I’m having sex tonight.”
“Good for you., I…will not.”
“Oh we know, random professor, We all know.”
People standing by point and laugh @ said professor. As I frolic down the Harrison hallway throwing up fairy dust in search of people who will listen to my latest prediction.
Now, the day has turned into night and herds of overly make-upped and under-dressed whores.. I mean freshman, have come out from under their UV tanning beds in search of one thing: boyfriends. These are the girls that think sex equates into a relationship.
You know the type. They sulk near the bathroom in hopes to lure a potential male specimen for 5-15 minutes. This usually the amount of time it takes for the drunk male specimen to realize that he will get laid if he pretends to stay interested for 9 more minutes.
Sorry girls but if you believe sex equals a relationship this you are not only a whore, but a dumb whore @ best. Which falls right below whore, but two steps above fat, ugly, dumb whore. Gosta be smart wit yo sex
After watching these girls travel the treacherous trip into sexual transmitted disease land, I am absolutely positive that I am having sex tonight. So positive that I walk into a party, where thus “sex ” is located, by myself. ALONE. I was on a mission and that mission was unprotected sex.
The beer is flowing, BAC’s are lingering at a staggering .407, bodies caressing through the sea of unidentified blobs and this was just the keg line. So I know it’s going to be a good night. If I remember it (I did, don’t worry).
“Sex” is flirting with me. I’m flirting with “Sex.” (And now there is a 3-year old sitting next to me as I write this. Yay…awkward. and the mom is so totally judging! How do you think that child got next to me Mom?!? By hugging?)
Anyways, “Sex ” declares: “We should go inside.” And this drunken sex neophyte (me) quickly agrees. Staggering into a dark stairwell, I had to ask the inevitable:
“Do you have a condom?”
“Eh…No?”
Now I don’t know what it is about guys and not having condoms. I think subconsciously they think it will jinx them if they do have one, but seriously guys! Take one for the team! We have to deal with everything else.
You can buy the goddamn condoms.
But the best part wasn’t that “Sex” didn’t have a condom but the fact that ”Sex” said and I quote: “But my cock is clean I promise.”
Really? Did you scrub it alcohol right before this moment? Cause that’s not really what I wanted to hear.
However, I make bad decisions. I always have and probably always will. I like to blame it on my “fuck it mentality.” But it’s more so because I’m a dumb ass that seems to like putting myself in bad but awkwardly funny situations.
Also, we were practically doing it @ this point so my response was slightly obscured by the dry humping. So I said and I quote:
“Eh….fuck it.”
TO BE CONTINUED.
And they're off!
For the three of you that were reading my blog a year ago, then you know I had a very very hard decision to make: to get adult braces or to not.
I had finally admitted to myself that I wanted to be a comedian/comedic actor/stripper and my teeth were an issue.
Seriously, it was a huge issue. I had fangs. Well that is an under statement, in all honesty, I looked like an extra from Twilight. And I would have kept them (the fangs) too, but I was pretty sure that this whole TV vampire shit was going to end soon.
Long story short, I picked the former and after a year of antagonizing embarrassment produced from a 21 year-old mouth of metal, as of yesterday I am no longer a freak of nature.
I have fixed my one facial flaw. Ok that is an exaggeration…I could be tanner.
I can still remember my hand shaking as I signed my life away (they make you sign a contract…those bitches) , or more accurately signing my sex life away. Coincidently, my sex life actually got a little better…. I think the guys could smell the desperation on my face…I don’t know… well actually I do know, that’s exactly what happened.
The worst moment was when I encountered my own kind…the other adult bracerers. It’s the equivalent the ginger head nod, but more embarrassing...because you soberly chose this life. You both know your decision was just (in your narcissist minds), but still you stand their in front of each other two defeated adults stuck in a limbo of metal and roast beef…. The roast beef always seemed to get stuck…
And after this post I am blocking out my “brace face” year out of my mind. I will never talk about it again. I will never think about it. Why? Because it never happened.
Never.
I’m also getting headshots in the near future so get ready to blow your loads (prepubescent boys who accidently ended up at my blog by googling “masturbating too much”).
And for the record my new stripper name is Tequila Mockingbird…
I had finally admitted to myself that I wanted to be a comedian/comedic actor/stripper and my teeth were an issue.
Seriously, it was a huge issue. I had fangs. Well that is an under statement, in all honesty, I looked like an extra from Twilight. And I would have kept them (the fangs) too, but I was pretty sure that this whole TV vampire shit was going to end soon.
Long story short, I picked the former and after a year of antagonizing embarrassment produced from a 21 year-old mouth of metal, as of yesterday I am no longer a freak of nature.
I have fixed my one facial flaw. Ok that is an exaggeration…I could be tanner.
I can still remember my hand shaking as I signed my life away (they make you sign a contract…those bitches) , or more accurately signing my sex life away. Coincidently, my sex life actually got a little better…. I think the guys could smell the desperation on my face…I don’t know… well actually I do know, that’s exactly what happened.
The worst moment was when I encountered my own kind…the other adult bracerers. It’s the equivalent the ginger head nod, but more embarrassing...because you soberly chose this life. You both know your decision was just (in your narcissist minds), but still you stand their in front of each other two defeated adults stuck in a limbo of metal and roast beef…. The roast beef always seemed to get stuck…
And after this post I am blocking out my “brace face” year out of my mind. I will never talk about it again. I will never think about it. Why? Because it never happened.
Never.
I’m also getting headshots in the near future so get ready to blow your loads (prepubescent boys who accidently ended up at my blog by googling “masturbating too much”).
And for the record my new stripper name is Tequila Mockingbird…
How to deal with racism...
It’s so hard to know what’s kosher to say with this generation, what with the P.C. police acting like the S.S. nowadays.
And I think the world would be a better place if we would just admit that we all are a little racist.
Every time a W.A.S.P. whispers, “I don’t see color” an angel dies.
Seriously, it’s true. Just like when it thunders angels are bowling and when there is a sun shower the devil is beating his wife. This is how science works, bitches.
Can we just all agree that we all giggle at a good black joke? Or that it warms our hearts when we see the old Asian lady back her car into a ditch? Or that Dave Chappelle’s impression of a white guy is fucking spot on?!
I’m sorry, but you politically correct people can get off your fucking high horse and kiss my fucking ass.
And I don’t care if you think I’m a racist, as long as you think I’m hot.
But the best part of this whole politically correct era is the people that are truly offended are the “Caucasians”…and first off, what the fuck are Caucasians? Seriously, what are they? Where is this elusive Caucasia? I heard it’s next to GAP, but that might just be a rumor.
Placing me within a certain group of people just because I have no pigment in my skin, well….that’s just racist. And I won’t fucking stand for it.
I like to believe that politically correct people lack acceptable personalities, have mediocre sex at best and smell like self defeat and L.L. Bean….
It’s really the only way I can really feel better about my offensive self, but fuck it, I’m not changing shit.
I bet you wont either. And if you laugh at this video….you shouldn’t change a thing.
And I think the world would be a better place if we would just admit that we all are a little racist.
Every time a W.A.S.P. whispers, “I don’t see color” an angel dies.
Seriously, it’s true. Just like when it thunders angels are bowling and when there is a sun shower the devil is beating his wife. This is how science works, bitches.
Can we just all agree that we all giggle at a good black joke? Or that it warms our hearts when we see the old Asian lady back her car into a ditch? Or that Dave Chappelle’s impression of a white guy is fucking spot on?!
I’m sorry, but you politically correct people can get off your fucking high horse and kiss my fucking ass.
And I don’t care if you think I’m a racist, as long as you think I’m hot.
But the best part of this whole politically correct era is the people that are truly offended are the “Caucasians”…and first off, what the fuck are Caucasians? Seriously, what are they? Where is this elusive Caucasia? I heard it’s next to GAP, but that might just be a rumor.
Placing me within a certain group of people just because I have no pigment in my skin, well….that’s just racist. And I won’t fucking stand for it.
I like to believe that politically correct people lack acceptable personalities, have mediocre sex at best and smell like self defeat and L.L. Bean….
It’s really the only way I can really feel better about my offensive self, but fuck it, I’m not changing shit.
I bet you wont either. And if you laugh at this video….you shouldn’t change a thing.
Just be glad this wasn't you...
First things first I'm over @ http://www.funnynotslutty.com/ today, so go check it ouuuuuuuuuwt!
And next, I would like to present an honorable mention from my contest last month, Aggy, who has so graciously let me post her hilarious story...
Be sure to check her out at http://www.aggykryss.blogspot.com/ and now on to the story...
I used to work at a restaurant and there was this SUPER HOT guy who came in all the time and sat in my section. This was back when I was really into tattoos and piercings ("You have a tattoo? Here, look at my boobs!"), and this guy had 163, or so he said, with plans for more. He also had a tongue ring and eyebrow ring. And even without all the decoration, he was pretty to look at. He was also very nice and had a very sexay voice that could soak my panties in one phrase. Usually that phrase was, "I'll have the fried chicken and fish plate, please." I know, super sexy.
One day, he asked me to come hang out with him at his place after work. After my shift, I ran home to shave the hairs off my vag and legs and scrub the grease from the restaurant off my skin. I wore a pink tank top and even PUT ON MAKE UP. Woah. I was stoked.
I get to his house, and we sit in the front room and proceed to get fall on our asses drunk. His front room is quite normal (he was almost 30... I was 20... I was impressed with his lack of slovenliness that most other guys' apartments seemed to contain). After a while, the usual "lets-make-out-and-make-our-way-to-my-room" routine begins.
At this point, it is important to tell you I'd only slept with TWO other people in my life. This is very important information, keep it in the back of your mind.
Things are going good in the bedroom. Really good, in the dark, quiet room. His dick is gigantic, and I am excited to sample the biggest penis I had ever felt!
Things started to get awkward for me when he started saying things like, "Oh, you're such a dirty whore. Let me lick your A-hole." But I tried to roll with it, finger up the A and all, because hey, he was hot and I didn't want him to know how inexperienced I was! Duh!
Then, he turns on the lights. Because he wants to see how beautiful I am.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I'm lying on my back, on his bed, and he's sliding his giant dick into me, when I notice that over the bed he has hung a MOTHERFUCKING NAZI FLAG.
I look around the room and there are Confederate flags, there are Satanic posters, there are all SORTS OF CRAZY INSANE THINGS hanging all over this guy's room!!!!! And I'm too scared to stop him from slamming into me like a freaking horse on PCP because he's a MOTHERFUCKING NAZI!
After he finishes, he puts on a MOTHERFUCKING G.G. Allen video (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/GG_Allin) and tells me THAT is his hero. At which point I gather my clothes in shame. And of course, thank him for the lovely time but I must be going now it's 6:00 am and I have class in two hours...
And he tells me, "Good. I gotta go pick my girlfriend up to take her to school anyway."
!!!
"Oh, does she go to the university too?" I ask.
"Nah. She goes to NAME OF LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL."
Ummmmmm...
And what's even weirder is that he called me a bunch of times to try to lure me back to his fortress of psycho.
The end!
And next, I would like to present an honorable mention from my contest last month, Aggy, who has so graciously let me post her hilarious story...
Be sure to check her out at http://www.aggykryss.blogspot.com/ and now on to the story...
I used to work at a restaurant and there was this SUPER HOT guy who came in all the time and sat in my section. This was back when I was really into tattoos and piercings ("You have a tattoo? Here, look at my boobs!"), and this guy had 163, or so he said, with plans for more. He also had a tongue ring and eyebrow ring. And even without all the decoration, he was pretty to look at. He was also very nice and had a very sexay voice that could soak my panties in one phrase. Usually that phrase was, "I'll have the fried chicken and fish plate, please." I know, super sexy.
One day, he asked me to come hang out with him at his place after work. After my shift, I ran home to shave the hairs off my vag and legs and scrub the grease from the restaurant off my skin. I wore a pink tank top and even PUT ON MAKE UP. Woah. I was stoked.
I get to his house, and we sit in the front room and proceed to get fall on our asses drunk. His front room is quite normal (he was almost 30... I was 20... I was impressed with his lack of slovenliness that most other guys' apartments seemed to contain). After a while, the usual "lets-make-out-and-make-our-way-to-my-room" routine begins.
At this point, it is important to tell you I'd only slept with TWO other people in my life. This is very important information, keep it in the back of your mind.
Things are going good in the bedroom. Really good, in the dark, quiet room. His dick is gigantic, and I am excited to sample the biggest penis I had ever felt!
Things started to get awkward for me when he started saying things like, "Oh, you're such a dirty whore. Let me lick your A-hole." But I tried to roll with it, finger up the A and all, because hey, he was hot and I didn't want him to know how inexperienced I was! Duh!
Then, he turns on the lights. Because he wants to see how beautiful I am.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I'm lying on my back, on his bed, and he's sliding his giant dick into me, when I notice that over the bed he has hung a MOTHERFUCKING NAZI FLAG.
I look around the room and there are Confederate flags, there are Satanic posters, there are all SORTS OF CRAZY INSANE THINGS hanging all over this guy's room!!!!! And I'm too scared to stop him from slamming into me like a freaking horse on PCP because he's a MOTHERFUCKING NAZI!
After he finishes, he puts on a MOTHERFUCKING G.G. Allen video (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/GG_Allin) and tells me THAT is his hero. At which point I gather my clothes in shame. And of course, thank him for the lovely time but I must be going now it's 6:00 am and I have class in two hours...
And he tells me, "Good. I gotta go pick my girlfriend up to take her to school anyway."
!!!
"Oh, does she go to the university too?" I ask.
"Nah. She goes to NAME OF LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL."
Ummmmmm...
And what's even weirder is that he called me a bunch of times to try to lure me back to his fortress of psycho.
The end!
I think you will agree...I hope.
So it's Friday and we've all got better things to do than read my blog. So let me be frank. There are just some people I could never see having sex. The thought haunts my virgin mind everyday and so of course I feel the need to share it with you.
1. Condoleeza Rice
Nope, she doesn't have sex. Nope. Nope. Nope. In all reality she is probably a freak in the sheets but again for my sanity, there's no way this woman has sex.
2. Roseanne O'Donnell
I heard when she has sex she takes on the form a a praying mantis... and well I think you know the end of that story....
3. Me
I am a saint! I tell you! A saint. But I don't seem to be able to find a picture proving that so....
4. Tom Arnold
Oh who am I kidding. We've all sexually fantasied about this man (gentlemen).
5. The Real Peter Griffin
That's icky....
6. Jeb Bush
I just assume every time he has sex he's thinking about George and I dunno, a brother thinking about a brother while he's doin' it....bug gah.
7. Daniel Radclife
Harry potter is a saint I tell you! A saint!
8. Ann Coulter
Any woman with man hands is on the "i can't see you having sex list," Ann Coulter.
9. Glenn Beck
Just change your personality. Just change it. Or talk to god G. Beck and see if he'll let you reproduce asexually....
10. Mom's With Mom Haircuts
1. Condoleeza Rice
2. Roseanne O'Donnell
3. Me
I am a saint! I tell you! A saint. But I don't seem to be able to find a picture proving that so....
4. Tom Arnold
5. The Real Peter Griffin
That's icky....
6. Jeb Bush
7. Daniel Radclife
Harry potter is a saint I tell you! A saint!
8. Ann Coulter
9. Glenn Beck
10. Mom's With Mom Haircuts
Let your freak flag wave...
There are few things that I pride myself on, well actually there is only one: the amount of meat I can eat in one sitting.
I eat meat like it’s no one’s business. And I mean that in the most unsexual way possible. If I were speaking with a sexual tone, that “meat eating “ business would have a name and that name would be prostitution/stripping/Brett Farve’s publicist.
Now I know. I know. This is a huge turn-on (the nonsexual meat eating). And yes, the phrase “soul-mate” may be lingering in your mind (Mitchell). And god see me with a tub of mayo and I am irristable. So let me get to the chase.
I’m a disgusting human being. If I wasn’t so gosh darn cute, I’d probably be shunned by society. If you haven’t already guessed, then yes, I am going through a dry spell.
At this point you may be talking out loud to your computer.
“But Natalie, how could this be? Your top three favorite subjects are meat/mayo/masturbation. How does every man not find you sexually appealing and mysterious?”
So true ladies (and the two guys) that read my blog. So true.
However, watch me shovel three pounds of roast beef drenched in a gallon of mayo down my gullet as I dispute the deep philosophies of youporn.com and I’m pretty sure you’ll be holding back vomit, like so many others in my past.
Now many of you may find these revelations repulsive…Mother.
And I don’t know why I feel the need to write about this (blame my writing partner Samuel Adams), yet here I am just typing away, half naked with a beer to my right and a plate of meat to my left. Sadly this is not an exaggeration. And I may be wearing zebra stripped shorts right now…I don’t know. I don’t know.
I feel like many of you can relate. All it takes is one freak, and the rest will follow. I also, think this has something to do with my hatred of stupid girls. They act so prim and perfect and well I all I want to do is wait till they accidently fart in public and then tweet about it for five hours straight.
My feet sweat. Penises used to scare me. I’ve been afraid of vomiting since I was seven. I hear voices in my head, well technically it’s just my own voice but still… I find Louis C.K. sexy, sometimes when my phone vibrates I think I farted. I’ve “accidently” eaten dog food on more than one occasion.
This post was probably more for me than anyone else, but whatever it’s my fucking blog.
Hi, my name is Natalie and I’m a fucking freak.
I eat meat like it’s no one’s business. And I mean that in the most unsexual way possible. If I were speaking with a sexual tone, that “meat eating “ business would have a name and that name would be prostitution/stripping/Brett Farve’s publicist.
Now I know. I know. This is a huge turn-on (the nonsexual meat eating). And yes, the phrase “soul-mate” may be lingering in your mind (Mitchell). And god see me with a tub of mayo and I am irristable. So let me get to the chase.
I’m a disgusting human being. If I wasn’t so gosh darn cute, I’d probably be shunned by society. If you haven’t already guessed, then yes, I am going through a dry spell.
At this point you may be talking out loud to your computer.
“But Natalie, how could this be? Your top three favorite subjects are meat/mayo/masturbation. How does every man not find you sexually appealing and mysterious?”
So true ladies (and the two guys) that read my blog. So true.
However, watch me shovel three pounds of roast beef drenched in a gallon of mayo down my gullet as I dispute the deep philosophies of youporn.com and I’m pretty sure you’ll be holding back vomit, like so many others in my past.
Now many of you may find these revelations repulsive…Mother.
And I don’t know why I feel the need to write about this (blame my writing partner Samuel Adams), yet here I am just typing away, half naked with a beer to my right and a plate of meat to my left. Sadly this is not an exaggeration. And I may be wearing zebra stripped shorts right now…I don’t know. I don’t know.
I feel like many of you can relate. All it takes is one freak, and the rest will follow. I also, think this has something to do with my hatred of stupid girls. They act so prim and perfect and well I all I want to do is wait till they accidently fart in public and then tweet about it for five hours straight.
My feet sweat. Penises used to scare me. I’ve been afraid of vomiting since I was seven. I hear voices in my head, well technically it’s just my own voice but still… I find Louis C.K. sexy, sometimes when my phone vibrates I think I farted. I’ve “accidently” eaten dog food on more than one occasion.
This post was probably more for me than anyone else, but whatever it’s my fucking blog.
Hi, my name is Natalie and I’m a fucking freak.
The similarities are uncanny...
So, um lately I’ve realized that the noises I make while I’m exercising are the same exact noises I make while having sex.
A lot of moaning and grunting, a couple of “Jesus Christ!” and “Mother fucker(s)!” and the occasional “Where are my pants?”
….That’s weird right? Since one of those things is a pleasurable experience and one makes me want to (and I usually do) vomit.
I’ll let you decide which one is which.
The similarities are uncanny. I have wrinkles. WRINKLES mother fuckers! From the faces I make during sex/running/watching HGTV. I’m 22, this is not fucking fair.
And the end result is always the same; a little dazed and confused (great movie btw) unsure of my current surroundings and with the insatiable craving for skittles.
I feel like you’ll appreciate my candor, so I’m just going to say this flat out. This scares the living shit out of me. And it leaves only one necessary question in my mind…why the fuck do I always want skittles?
Seriously, I’m not that big of a fan. I’m more of a Zero bar type of girl. Their commercials are so fucking annoying, but it never fails once the deed(s) is done, I want a skittle in my mouth. And I want it in my mouth immediately.
Maybe it’s a white girl thing.
What doesn’t scream upper white middle class than popping a few skittles after marathon training/emotionless sex/playing wii golf? And by skittles I mean xanex and by xanex I mean exactly.
And furthermore, to make myself feel like less of a freak, I’m going to say that people who don’t do this are un-American. No worse than that, anti-American. No…worse than that….liberal hippie douches.
Yeah, that’s right, you liberal hippie douche, you. So while you go and rally to get “Free Bird” as America’s new national anthem, while you drink your PBR and pretend that you actually like the taste. I’ll go live in my diluted sense of reality and continue to ignore my uncontrollable sexual/exercising/bodily functions induced tourettes and finish with a tall, cool bag of skittles.
There. We both win. You freak.
A lot of moaning and grunting, a couple of “Jesus Christ!” and “Mother fucker(s)!” and the occasional “Where are my pants?”
….That’s weird right? Since one of those things is a pleasurable experience and one makes me want to (and I usually do) vomit.
I’ll let you decide which one is which.
The similarities are uncanny. I have wrinkles. WRINKLES mother fuckers! From the faces I make during sex/running/watching HGTV. I’m 22, this is not fucking fair.
And the end result is always the same; a little dazed and confused (great movie btw) unsure of my current surroundings and with the insatiable craving for skittles.
I feel like you’ll appreciate my candor, so I’m just going to say this flat out. This scares the living shit out of me. And it leaves only one necessary question in my mind…why the fuck do I always want skittles?
Seriously, I’m not that big of a fan. I’m more of a Zero bar type of girl. Their commercials are so fucking annoying, but it never fails once the deed(s) is done, I want a skittle in my mouth. And I want it in my mouth immediately.
Maybe it’s a white girl thing.
What doesn’t scream upper white middle class than popping a few skittles after marathon training/emotionless sex/playing wii golf? And by skittles I mean xanex and by xanex I mean exactly.
And furthermore, to make myself feel like less of a freak, I’m going to say that people who don’t do this are un-American. No worse than that, anti-American. No…worse than that….liberal hippie douches.
Yeah, that’s right, you liberal hippie douche, you. So while you go and rally to get “Free Bird” as America’s new national anthem, while you drink your PBR and pretend that you actually like the taste. I’ll go live in my diluted sense of reality and continue to ignore my uncontrollable sexual/exercising/bodily functions induced tourettes and finish with a tall, cool bag of skittles.
There. We both win. You freak.
So I'm assuming you already know but...
As you’ve probably already heard there has been another sex scandal at Duke. Surprise, surprise.
The “Duke Fuck List” a 42 page Power point presentation has gone viral. Many of them men listed were lacrosse players…again. Surprise. Surprise. The presentation goes into vast amounts of detail for each sexual conquest.
While I have my opinions on this scandal (and seeing as all I do is rant)… I really want to know… what do you think of Miss Karen Owen? And of the "fuck list"?
For more details go here.
(when I pulled this image off of google it automatically named itself "duke black cock" muahahahah)
While I have my opinions on this scandal (and seeing as all I do is rant)… I really want to know… what do you think of Miss Karen Owen? And of the "fuck list"?
For more details go here.
Really? Really?!
There are two types of girls in the world: girls that think Katherine Heigl is the best thing since sliced bread and those who think Heigl is a menace to society and should be locked up in a cage, with someone shoving lard down her gullet and forced to watch “The Ugly Truth”…repeatedly.
I fall into the latter.
But can we please talk about this pandemic of dumb girls? (Not my readers, of course, if you find my blog funny, then you are a genius on so many levels.)
Seriously though, so many girls are the same nowadays. I have to make some of you wear Bump It’s just to remember who’s who.
Please stop being a cliché, girls with no personalities… that annoys me.
Maybe it’s just me, but I like my girls bitchy. I like my girls with some gusto. I like my girls to actually understand the definition of gusto.
I went to a college where majority of the girls had no names and just sucked dick…with their mouths and their overall personalities.
Girls that said:
“The movie “Letters to Juliet” just speaks to me in a way that no man really ever can.”
and…
“Wait…I thought Britney Spears wrote ‘(I cant get no) satisfaction’…”
and my all time favorite…
“I ate too much gummy bears last night.”
Really, small Asian girl on the bus that probably gives great head? Really?!
So I may be a little jaded…
But come on!
I’m no feminist, far from it. They annoy me, too. But where did this resurgence of “I have to act dumb to get laid” philosophy come from?
It would make me feel a whole lot better if you at least pretended that “When in Rome” was a movie based on pure fiction and not your slutty’s friends trip to Italy last summer while you intern at the pentagon.
“No, I swear to God! Jackie went to Rome and threw some coin into a fountain and then had sex with some Guido tourist and now they are getting married cause he knocked her up. Who are we looking for again, Osama or Obama?”
Just change your personality. Just change it. Change it or we’re going to do this the hard way, and yes the hard way contains lard.
I fall into the latter.
But can we please talk about this pandemic of dumb girls? (Not my readers, of course, if you find my blog funny, then you are a genius on so many levels.)
Seriously though, so many girls are the same nowadays. I have to make some of you wear Bump It’s just to remember who’s who.
Please stop being a cliché, girls with no personalities… that annoys me.
Maybe it’s just me, but I like my girls bitchy. I like my girls with some gusto. I like my girls to actually understand the definition of gusto.
I went to a college where majority of the girls had no names and just sucked dick…with their mouths and their overall personalities.
Girls that said:
“The movie “Letters to Juliet” just speaks to me in a way that no man really ever can.”
and…
“Wait…I thought Britney Spears wrote ‘(I cant get no) satisfaction’…”
and my all time favorite…
“I ate too much gummy bears last night.”
Really, small Asian girl on the bus that probably gives great head? Really?!
So I may be a little jaded…
But come on!
I’m no feminist, far from it. They annoy me, too. But where did this resurgence of “I have to act dumb to get laid” philosophy come from?
It would make me feel a whole lot better if you at least pretended that “When in Rome” was a movie based on pure fiction and not your slutty’s friends trip to Italy last summer while you intern at the pentagon.
“No, I swear to God! Jackie went to Rome and threw some coin into a fountain and then had sex with some Guido tourist and now they are getting married cause he knocked her up. Who are we looking for again, Osama or Obama?”
Just change your personality. Just change it. Change it or we’re going to do this the hard way, and yes the hard way contains lard.
Um Lorne...can we talk?!?
First and foremost....what the fuck Lorne?!? How the fucking fuck could you get rid of Jenny Slate?! She's one of the funniest women I've ever seen live. And if you're in NYC go see her one woman show @ UCB, you'll piss your pants laughing. And here's just a taste of her comic genius....
!!!!!!! [BESTIE x BESTIE 1] !!!!!!! from Dean Fleischer-Camp on Vimeo.
Did you love it? ...did you?........did you?!?!
Well I love everything about Jenny Slate, especially her opinion about Eat, Pray, Love. So you should love her to. Why? Cause I said so...
I also love these people and so should you guys....
They're funny, bitchy and your new best friends...check em out!
These bad boys have featured me 2..count em...2 times!
This is an effing hilarious site, that has also featured yours truly...so of course this web site fucking rocks.
And last but not least... This girl!
She let me do a guest post for her this week and yeah she kind of fucking rocks! So check her ouwwt!
!!!!!!! [BESTIE x BESTIE 1] !!!!!!! from Dean Fleischer-Camp on Vimeo.
Did you love it? ...did you?........did you?!?!
Well I love everything about Jenny Slate, especially her opinion about Eat, Pray, Love. So you should love her to. Why? Cause I said so...
I also love these people and so should you guys....
These bad boys have featured me 2..count em...2 times!
This is an effing hilarious site, that has also featured yours truly...so of course this web site fucking rocks.
And last but not least... This girl!
She let me do a guest post for her this week and yeah she kind of fucking rocks! So check her ouwwt!
The Cycle Must End...
I have a huge ego. I blame it on my parents.
“You have a gift, you really do.”
“I really do. Now laugh bitches. Laugh.
And you know I’m glad my parents have always blown this much smoke up my ass. It will probably make me famous, because I will expect nothing less.
However, I will not be doing this same shit to my child(ren).
Oh no, no, no, no.
My little bitches or bastards (which is probably going to be more accurate in my future years) are going to hate me.
Why you ask? Well, mainly because I’m probably going to hate them first. With their cute faces and their baby soft skin and perfect fucking complexions. Fuck that. I can’t even compete with them.
And don’t even get me started on how many fucking marshmallows they can shove in their fucking mouths. It’s not even …it’s just not even fair…
They will be my perfect little scapegoats. I’ll get to blame them on my failed comedic career/ my inevitable obesity/ my late night trips to Taco Bell and Long John Silver.
“You want hush puppies and fucking steak quesadillas?! Good choice, but don’t get mad at me when you’re washing me with a cloth on a stick, little fuckers.”
I don’t think I’ll name them either. I don’t want them feeling entitled or some shit like that. I mean Jesus, all they did was come out of my lady-junk.
Big. Fucking. Whoop.
And last time I checked, that’s going to be all me. Fuck that. I get to get their names instead. When I have my first you can just call me: Conway Liz Lemon Natalie Mayonique.
Mayonique… it will totally catch on….Fuck you. It will.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I know this may sound bad. I’ll totally give them money and trust funds for their early teen drug addiction… but they will definitely love their nanny more than me.
“You have a gift, you really do.”
“I really do. Now laugh bitches. Laugh.
And you know I’m glad my parents have always blown this much smoke up my ass. It will probably make me famous, because I will expect nothing less.
However, I will not be doing this same shit to my child(ren).
Oh no, no, no, no.
My little bitches or bastards (which is probably going to be more accurate in my future years) are going to hate me.
Why you ask? Well, mainly because I’m probably going to hate them first. With their cute faces and their baby soft skin and perfect fucking complexions. Fuck that. I can’t even compete with them.
And don’t even get me started on how many fucking marshmallows they can shove in their fucking mouths. It’s not even …it’s just not even fair…
They will be my perfect little scapegoats. I’ll get to blame them on my failed comedic career/ my inevitable obesity/ my late night trips to Taco Bell and Long John Silver.
“You want hush puppies and fucking steak quesadillas?! Good choice, but don’t get mad at me when you’re washing me with a cloth on a stick, little fuckers.”
I don’t think I’ll name them either. I don’t want them feeling entitled or some shit like that. I mean Jesus, all they did was come out of my lady-junk.
Big. Fucking. Whoop.
And last time I checked, that’s going to be all me. Fuck that. I get to get their names instead. When I have my first you can just call me: Conway Liz Lemon Natalie Mayonique.
Mayonique… it will totally catch on….Fuck you. It will.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I know this may sound bad. I’ll totally give them money and trust funds for their early teen drug addiction… but they will definitely love their nanny more than me.
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