Shit man. What can I say? Times are rough. Bynes moved out and went back to work. The Bush “Twins” won’t return my calls. Miley smoked up all my “Salvia.” It’s hard out here for a pimp.
But you know what they say; there’s always other fish in the sea [that is]. So maybe I’ll go date a fish. But don’t fish chicks have like babies in the hundreds? I ain’t down to be a whole lotta baby’ daddies. And being Catholic, condoms don’t fit over my uncircumcised junk. And I’m not going none-breeder. I hate fish sticks, and I ain’t no gay fish (not that there is anything wrong with that). I want myself a mammal. Some sort of sea-mammal…
We like to listen to books together
Wait, what be that over thar me mateys? I thinks me see a beached…okay, you get the joke.
So this is the deal. It’s Friday Night, I’ve had a few drinks…okay, a lot of drinks. I got some mini-meat eying me from across the bar and right now, that shit is looking good. REAL good.
I’m waving off the courtesy warning from my buddy. These beer goggles are on for a reason. I’m clearing myself for landing. Not gonna worry that I’m crashing on my friend’s couch because tonight that’s gonna be a couch for two.
I make my move over.
“What’s up girl?” Yup, that’s my line. That’s what I’m going with. You’re probably thinking it’s not gonna work huh? Watch this:
“Heeeeyyy…” she says. That’s right, it worked.
Really, that’s all it takes sometimes. I was also considering going with, “Daaamnnn girl, how you doin’?” But you know what? This girls lookin’ kinda classy now that I switched over to Whiskey, so I’m taking it up a level.
“You know, I love a girl with a mandarin complexion,” I am so in. I can’t believe how smooth I am when I’m not that into the girl. I should hit on girls I don’t like more often. Takes a lot of the pressure off.
At this point I’m pretty blasted and her and her friends start screaming along to some shit song that came on the juke-box. After the first verse I can pretty much sing along, so deciding I better just commit to this shit, I do just that, “Tonight’s gonna be a good good night.” Dude, I am so in…
Please Sorrentino Don't Hurt Me (See: MC Hammer for joke explanaition)
“My name is Snooki,” she says. That’s cool, I didn’t want to give her my real name either.
“My name is Ezekiel,” that’ll work. This way when she asks for a ride home in the morning I can just claim the Sabbath.
I try to get my buddy over to wing-man for me a bit. I gotta get this girl away from her friends. If I can get her to make out with me she’ll surely go into Class-1 Clinger mode, from there all I got to do is walk her back to my pad…well, to my friend’s pad, where there’s a nice soft couch waiting to get stained.
I figure since I’ll be “guying” my buddy’s couch for a few nights and mashing the shit out of it this night, I better give him the option of swoopin’ in on some Garden State booty as well.
Plus, I need someone to distract her just as desperate friends while I take this little orange mama outside for some public display of affection.
“Dude, I hate this music,” my buddy says to me. I hate this music too, but this is no time from brain functionality. Beer, whiskey, women. That’s how it goes. Not beer, whiskey, artistic analysis.
“I know man, so let’s get a couple of these girls back to your place and we can make our own music,” I know he gets the joke, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. It was good, especially if you take into account my toxicity level. Instead he starts to think about it. Fuck. Don’t think about it!
“All you got to think of is two things; bongrips and blowjobs,” I see the environmentally-regulated light-bulb go on.
“Hi, my name is Jeremiah,” he’s in.
Now, where the rest of the story goes is my little secret (in case you haven’t figured out, none of my stories about girls on this website are real…seriously, if that isn’t clear to my readers I might have some legal issues coming my way). Needless to say I know why they call her Snooki (okay, I don’t know why they call her Snooki. What the fuck does that mean? Is it a sexual innuendo? Is it some alternative version of Pogs? I don’t get it…).
It's like I'm just constantly replacing the last girl with the next in a series of empty relationships in an attempt to fill a huge whole in my heart left by the one true love that got away...or maybe I'm just a dude that like chicks...yeah, I think that's it.
You know, there actually wasn’t a single ounce of interest within me to do any sort of “Miley Cyrus is 18!” type article. First of all, she has an off-and-on again boyfriend, good luck getting in the middle of that drama! Second, as I’ve learned from watching Mystery and Neil Strauss videos on YouTube, you don’t want to play the same card as every single loser with a blog will be playin’. And Finally, cause it’s weird.
But when I saw “Miley Cyrus” and “Bong” in the same headline on hulu.com [was heading there for my weekly Office, 30 Rock and Community (in that order) viewing], I knew I had missed something about this lady.
I love Bongs. Seriously, I regard them as I would a cat, or a squirrel, or perhaps another human-being. My Bongs to date were: Sparticus, Darth Fader, The Force, The Hyperdrive, Excelsior, The Moki and Barack Obonga. Yes, they all have stories. For instance, The Hyperdrive was a very short lived Bong. I had it stashed in a friend’s garage who decided to take it on a brief road trip up North with a couple other friends of ours’. While driving, the Hyperdrive got knocked out of place and destroyed. The Force, with it’s bubble burst, now rests in the bottom of a reservoir in the hills of Sonoma. Excelsior was stolen from my house as I slept on the couch in the living room. I included it in my police report, because I wanted it back. The cop gave me a weird look. I assured him it was for medicinal purposes only. The thief also stole my CD’s which they left in my Car (got my keys as well). Moral of the story, drive a shitty car.
Wait…where was I?
Oh yes, Miley Cyrus. Is that even her real name? Is Billy Ray Cyrus’ last name actually Cyrus or are they one of those fake-name celebrity families like Charlie and Martin Sheen? At any rate, this is a video of her hitting a Bong! So fucking awesome!
They say that she says it was Salvia…what? Have you actually smoked Salvia? It blacks you the fuck out. Seriously. And you don’t smoke it out of a Bong. You pack a small personal bowl in a pipe, smoke it all in one hit, hold it in for about 30 seconds and get low to the ground, because you are about to end up there. It’s DMT! It makes you trip harder than Mushrooms and LSD but for only 5 Minutes. It is Legal. So she didn’t smoke it right, or started crying (as the only girl I’ve seen smoke Salvia did) and having a near death experience immediately after the video stops.
I’m pretty damn sure she was smoking weed. But let’s just say she’s not. Remember all that stuff up top I just said about Salvia. Check the video and notice how the concern drops in the “reporter’s” voice when assuring the viewer that it is simply Salvia, which is legal. “But don’t worry, it isn’t Vodka that the 18 year-old Miley is drinking, it’s just legal Bleach.” What a bunch of idiots! Legalize Pot. Stop harassing people over what drugs they wish to do. Get a fucking life. And Pass the Bong Girl!
Now back to my evening of NBC Sitcoms.
I watch The Office first because it isn’t as good as the others.
So, it’s confirmed, Job Quitting Girl was a completely manufacture false-flag attack on the gullibility of internet-nerds. But girl, you can’t dry erase away the feeling you left in our hearts. You made us laugh, you made us cry, and you made us wish we had a management position in a company capable of hiring you. Now we find out that you are an actress looking to make it big. Well, now there are 33 pictures of you holding an easily edited dry erase board while you make funny and easily misinterpreted facial expressions all over the internet…seriously, what were you thinking? Now, I have class, and will only use this power for good, but sadly I can’t expect that others will have the level of will power that I possess. I had plans on turning these pictures into a funny dialogue like the original, with you realizing the error of your ways mid-story, but I ran out of time and am currently using my lunch break to finish this up. So here are some edits I think show you why maybe you should consider becoming the Official Force of Dork HOPA. The pay sucks (non-existent), benefits are minor (bongrips and keg-stands with yours truly), and reputation is murky (no one likes us), but…shit…I think I fucked up this recruiting effort.
I had a few more made, but they aren’t very funny out of context…okay, they just weren’t funny.