Dude, I'm scared.

Before I begin lets get one thing straight. Weed is not a drug. It's a plant. It's no worse the tobacco, and certainly not worse the booze. You parents have tried it. Successful people do it. It's not a drug.

Drugs are bad. Weed is not. Therefore weed is not a drug.

By definition they, drugs, are a waste of fucking time. They are for losers and wastes of space. It' doesn't matter whether it's Coke, heroin, Meth, pills whatever the fuck, it's all bad. There is no justification. 

This conversation is not ever going to happen:

Dude Doing Drugs "oh man, I'm doing (insert drug of choice here)"

Friend Who Doesn't Do Drugs "Why man?! Drugs are bad!"

DDD" Because man, (insert half ass reason for justification for killing yourself)"

FWDD "Oh, that makes a ton of fucking sense. Lets do it together!"

Tonight I had a buddy (and by buddy I mean probably one of my three best friends) tell me they've been doing a few of the previously named shit head substances recently (and at an alarming pace). I immediately went into, and remain in absolute shock. I wasn't sure what to say. At first, I just got real quiet, and REAL angry. How can this happen. This has got to be a tasteless joke. I mean, I knew he wasn't all there. I've always known that. Hell, thats what our friendship is based on. We aren't there. We both had a hint of self destruction, and have a lot of fun exploiting that.

But drugs, especially of this magnitude, is insane. It doesn't make sense. I've been sitting on this knowledge for an hour and half and still can't wrap my head around it.

I mean REALLY DUDE!?!? 

Seriously dude, what the fuck. You have so much shit going for you and you just want to fuck it all up. I know you grew up rough. I get that. I also get that coming from where I come from I can't fully grasp that. But dude, your life isn't bad. You have a good job, and a ton of friends that love you. 

And I'm not throwing the Love word around like 17 year old BFF's either.  I mean it man. We are as close as brothers, and to hear this shit is ripping me apart.

I don't want you to die man. I want to be an old dudes together and reminisce on how we use to drink a case of beer in your car before Brand New concerts. Or how we would bull shit for hours over hooka.

Tonight you told me you can see your funeral. This isn't much different from your common drunken claim where you exclaim that you won't see 29. Before tonight, I use to laugh when you would say shit like that. Now I see where you are coming from and I'm scared.

I texted you just now telling you I'm scared, and you replied "I'm dying anyways". This is true, we will all die. But that doesn't mean you need to speed up the process.

Half wasted.

So I'm kinda half shit faced right now and really hankering for an ol' fashioned milkshake. Oreo Milkshake, from Sharies. That sounds awesome right now. Seriously, it sounds better then 18 virgins (or in my Utopia, 18 girls who have had sex with one guy).

I want to wake Derek up and make him come with me. Because who really wants to have Sharies by themselves?? I'll tell you who, fucking losers. And I'm not a loser.

It's always awesome to see the variety of people you see at Sharies. You get quite the slice of life. Everything from Drunk High School kids, to a family of 9, 8 of which have Mullets (the only one missing is 1, but they put PBR in his bottle, so it works)

After I eat Sharies, I want to watch Arrested Development. I'll finish that thought later, Derek just showed up and volunteered to come to Sharies with me. 

God is smiling.

Just got back from Sharies and it was spectacular. I had an Oreo Milkshake and it was like the holocaust, only 180 degrees of opposite. 

OK time to walk the Joan Rivers Roast, which promises to have little ditty's like "Joan Rivers has been stitched up more then the aids quilt, only she's more depressing. 

Smiles kids, smiles.

Status Update

Yo YO YO. 

Ok so I've been a real slacker again. Work has been bitch slapping me to no end. I promise I have a few un finished things, that will get thrown up there as soon as their done. It'll hit you like a storm, or not at all...depending on how many readers I actually have.

But they're coming. Just not this weekend. I'm going to go fishing and drinking with the boys. But when I'm back I'll finish those previously mentioned and probably have a few new stories to tell you.

All hail weekends of drunkenness and testosterone.

Who Wants 18 Virgins?

The muslim  religion says if you are a good little muslim you get 18 virgins in Heaven.

I say who wants virigns? Wouldn't you rather have 18 girls who have had sex with like one other dude? That sounds like a better plan to me then dealing with the emotions and blood.

You also don't want them to be packing a huge body counts. Because then you have to worry about them comparing you to High School boyfriends, college flings, the Altanta Falcons and that dude that dated her and her best friend at the same time and neither of them figured it out for a while.

But if you rock a girl that only has like one dude...then you don't have anything to worry about. Well unless that one guy is a French Yoga instructor named Jean Luc, then you're screwed. Because then you're risking the only reason that the girl is only available because she got too sexed out and needed to find a guy that she could conversation with. Because she only speaks very little French, so their relationship is only bang bang bang. And damnit, she's tired of that. Poor girl isn't a shallow human.  And who wants a girl that is burnt out on banging?!?!

Also, can you even imagine the horror of having 18 girls head over heals in love with you? Lets face it, girls are already an emotional lot. Now add the fact that they are recently relieved of the shackles of virginity. AND REMEMBER YOU'RE DEALING WITH 18 OF THEM! 

Who wants that stress? Not me. Plus the promise of Heaven is good enough for me. Eternal life and a perfect body? As opposed to eternity getting tortured? Uh, where do I sign up. Thats a no brainer. Heaven sounds like, well, heaven. 18 Virgins would just be taking away from the fun. Like a fat dude blocking your sun while you're trying to tan. Which is never good. 

Thank you for listening.

Beer Goggles Phenomenon

I drank my face off last night, and I'm hurting right now. 

The old Jim Brewer joke held true last night. The one where he describes his stomach as a party with a bouncer.  Youtube it if i you haven't heard it before, cuz I'm sure as shit not going to repeat it. Nothing bombs more then someone trying to recite a joke they thought was funny. It's never as funny as you thought it was, and then it's a real awkward moment. 

But my night started with beer and finished with Tequila. Shiiiiiit. We all know where I'm at right now. I'm cage fighting a sever headache.

I came to stunning conclusion last night. Actually, more of a re-remembering (hahahaha Roger Clemens is so dumb). Because this actually wasn't NEW information. But when you're drinking, and drinking in excess, certain realities become altered.

Arguably, the most apparent is with girls. It's crazy. Throughout the night of self destruction, a girl really does get better looking. You could meet some chick, at beer one, who has no chance with you. But as each beer goes down, or you start moving to shots or what not, I don't know if you just become less aware, or if you just stop caring, but the looks become less apparent. 

Beer Goggles are real people. For good or bad, those things are real, and ugly chicks have good stories to tell at work the next day because of them.

Does that mean beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Or is beauty at the bottom of a Budwiser? You be the judge.

Through my experiments and during my research (ie. many drunken evenings) I have found that all it really takes is on trait on the girl to make her attractive during a drunken evening. You find that one thing that they have that is awesome, and get fixated on that. Honestly, the most common trigger to this reaction is big tits (which would explain how you can wake up with a fat chick).  To prove this point I remember one night, way back in the day meeting a girl. Now, I don't remember what she looked like, hell I can't even tell you what her name was. All I remember from this interaction was finding out she was a baseball fan, and being overtaken with desire. We were making out right in front of the whole party only moments after I met her. Thats all it takes sometimes.

One thing and you stop worrying about the fact that they could be a creature from the black lagoon or whatever. I mean come on, she has monstrous tits ( or in my case, she liked baseball)! 

I don't know. Maybe it's not as interesting a phenomenon that I'm pointing it out to be. Maybe I'm just making an aunt out of a mole hill. Who really knows. I know I find it interesting. And since this is MY blog, I can write about what I want. In fact, I think this subject is so interesting that I'm going to go do some more research tonight.

Ramblings: July Edition

Welcome to July ladies and gentlemen. Lots of stuff has happened the last couple weeks. Tons of good topics for me to ridicule and rip in vulgar fashion have just landed in my lap. It's been a writers utopia. 

Unfortunately for all, I've been balls deep on Tiger Woods 2010 to worry about stupid writing.

Yes, I missed covering the end of NBA finals, some key celebrity deaths and now Forth of July (which is probably my top drinking day of the year) because I've been so wrapped up in making my character good. You would think I'm a virgin.

So lets just briefly cover the things I missed...

• I was actually ok with the Lake Show winning the title. A summer of talking heads rotating between Brett Favre and Kobe can't win stories would make me blow up. Or make me sacrafice my shoe through my new tv. Which ever came first.
• Do you think the boys that Michael Jackson allegedly molested were sad when he died? After all, it is said that you never stop loving your first.
• While we are on the subject, kinda crazy that the best thing the King of Pop did for his career in over twenty years was die. Before two weeks ago, MJ was a boy touching freak who used to be black and once upon a time wrote billie jean. Post two weeks ago, HE IS THE KING OF FUCKING POP AND THE MAN WROTE BILLIE JEAN.
• Saw the UFC 100 this weekend. Good times. One major note George St. Pierre is either over compensating with a massive cup, or the man has an absolute rope for a dick. His cup looks like it might've been Patrick Roy's goalie mask once upon a time.
• Brock Lesner is married to Sable. 14 years ago this would've been awesome.
• One last thing, Bisping...how does Hendo's ass taste???

Is KP above the law?

Over the last two years, philosophers have been trying to answer the question, " If Kevin Pritchard chopped up two hookers in the center of a packed Rose Garden, then took his pants down a dropped a duece on a poster of the pope...would he get in any trouble?"

Lets see if we can't find the answer.

KP  could bring in an autistic amputee to play the 3 spot and I wouldn't doubt him. He could come out and say that he is giving Sue Bird a 6 year max deal because he feels teaming her up with Roy would be a good idea, and I wouldn't even raise an eye brow.

Why we haven't sent him to North Korea to "pritch-slap" Kim Jong Il is beyond me. I bet he could barter Mr. Il to stop being a bitch  and get a discount on korean hookers for three years without even rolling up his sleeves.

Thats why when news hit that we were going after a slow, 30 year old small forward (Hedo) and I didn't really get it, I refused to say anything negative about it. Sure we have three small forwards already, and another who is capable of playing that position. And sure our problems were at the point guard position...but if KP feels like Hedo would've helped then Hedo would've been right.

Think about it, he is the man that ultimately turned Seabstan Telfair into Brandon Roy. Even on video games thats robbery (legend has it is he was the only one during the Nash and Patterson era that wanted to draft Chris Paul over Martell Webster. Shit).

 

So the next time you see KP sweaty, smeared with blood, eyes blood shot and smelling like the last wishes of hookers, and you want to know if the Blazers Gm is going to have some legal issues a head...the answer is no. He won't.

Keven Pritchard is above the law. Next question.