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| I've not done one of these this entire semester. The last post was around the time we were drinking in my room in the suites quite often and some hoe started spending the night. This same hoe and I would end up moving into a house, which we currently live in. Her name would be Jennifer for those of you who dont know, even though she is probably the only person that will read this. I failed 3 of my 4 classes last semester and was put on probation. I am doing alot better this semester. I have worked at walmart roughly the last 6 months and that part of my life has been very dark. I hate walmart with a passion. I am about to start working for a construction company building roads. I start monday. Umm alot of things have happened funny stories and what not. We went to the casino and Jennifer locked her keys in the car it was fun. I have had a few too many nights I cant remember. I discovered Jagermeister since the last post. We were very good friends until one of those nights that i cant remember happened. It is summer now and im going to get back into the drinking swing during the weekends. Im not too exciting anymore i still take my clothes off and run around but it isnt as exciting as when there are alot of people around. I dont get to play beer pong anymore and I wish i got to play more drinking games. Overall things couldnt be going anybetter unless i came into a large amount of money and didnt have to work anymore. Other than that I couldnt ask for anymore. Jennifer you are awesome and I thank you for constantly providing a round ass for my hand to smacketh. | | |
| At some point in your college experience, you will invariably end up
befriending the guy who exaggerates about everything. A ubiquitous
presence on every campus, he is everyone’s friend; a renaissance man, a
man of the people, a meaty frat boy with greasy curls of hair
straggling out from under a Von Dutch hat. I find that Preston is a
name that best fits this guy who exaggerates about everything. We all
know a Preston from college in one form or another. He could also be
the nicely groomed rich guy from New Hampshire who always wears Lacoste
polo shirts. Though his incarnations may vary, his soul remains the
same – that of a pompous braggart.
If Preston had a sandwich from someplace where you’ve never had a
sandwich, it is now the best sandwich in the universe, and he’s going
to let you know about it in glorious detail. Even if he knows nothing
about food, Preston will find some way to ramble on about how
incredible it was to eat that sandwich. Keep in mind, Preston’s realm
of transcendental experience is not just confined to lunchmeats and
bread, as pretty much anything he does in which you have no frame of
reference is “totally off the hook.”
One of Preston’s favorite ways to illustrate this method of coping with
inadequacy is by telling you about his night last night. Stumbling in
late one morning, it’s likely the first words out of his mouth will be:
“You fucking missed it loser! You should have come out last night. I
got so wasted!” After politely responding that he must have had fun,
chances are Preston will fire back with: “Dude, you have no idea.”
Perhaps with an addendum of: “It was the best night of partying, I
think, ever… in the history of mankind.”
The goal, obviously, is to make you feel like a douche for not going
out to whatever party he chose that night for getting drunk. Maybe you
went to a different party, or you maybe you just like to it easy on
Tuesday nights, the point is you didn’t follow him, and his was a night
of bacchanalian revelry. One way or another, Preston is going to tell
you about how “fucking sick” last night was, so you might as well sit
back and enjoy. I find the best way to deal with these annoying people
is to fuel their fire, rather than try to snuff it out or leave it
alone.
By asking the right questions, you can take his natural talent for
exaggeration on quite the ride. Sometimes the responses can be very
entertaining. Under the right circumstances, you can even get him to
just straight up lie about ridiculous shit. For instance, if you ask if
there were lots of girls at the party, it won’t take long before every
guy was getting a lap dance. With deft maneuvering and a little
practice, you can hear all about how you missed out on the igloo-sized
ice luges and beer slip-n-slides.
Did the party have weed-filled smoke machines? Of course! There were
five and they were operated by strippers. And people were
skinny-dipping in an entire swimming pool of Grey Goose vodka. I jumped
in with a huge cannonball that got everyone wasted. Dude, the kegs
there were personalized. And filled with champagne. It was amazing, I
was so gone. I’m just laying out the facts, plain and simple: I was
rock star wasted. I took the game of wasted to a degree that no one
thought possible before. I was the Michael Jordan of wasted. I was so.
Wasted.
Preston, don’t ever change. You know I can’t wait to hear about your
future escapades. Tequila-fueled mayhem in Cancun? Sounds awesome.
Partying at the Playboy Mansion? Even better. Oh, let’s go skydiving,
you loveable drunk. | | |
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how tight is this free picture business...
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| My genitals are so gigantic, and yours so woefully inadequate, that
evolution laughs at you and promises that your male offspring will also
be cursed with your ridiculous nubbin -- thus dooming your DNA!
My genitals are so sweetly intoxicating, I was able to convince Cornel
West and Camille Paglia to violently disrobe and vigorously copulate
with me in a Chablis-fueled, mind-bending threesome that made the
seraphim in paradise blush with a mixture of shame and desire!
My genitals are so leviathan that Ahab himself, if he were rendered a
non-fictional creature, would surely stand upon his masts crows nest
and lob mighty harpoons at me!
If the teaming masses were to behold my juggernaut-like genitals, surely Marx's concept of the End of History would be nigh.
My genitals are of such behemoth proportions, it is to the world of
genitalia what Noam Chomsky is to the study of global activism!
My genitals are so mammoth in size, that if inches were words, my
member could fill every page of one of Ayn Rand's epic Objectivist
tomes!
A fine 1997 Chateau-La Cardonne Bordeaux would go well with my robust and flavorful genitals, even after the third helping!
My genitals are so bursting with sexual magnetism, I could
single-handedly seduce and defile the entire lesbian population of
Sarah Lawrence University!
My genitals bloat with such passionate force, that upon arousal, I
barely have enough epidermis to purse my lips so that I may recite
Shelley's immortal poem "Ozymandias"!
If Philip Glass wrote an ambient opera in honor of my genitals, the
title of the epic collection of random notes and sounds would be
"Phantasmagoric Ode To Big Dong Number Five."!
Hemingway's lost book about my genitals began thusly: "His organ was big."
My virility is so profoundly cosmic, that in the event that every human
male were to cease to be, my limitless supplies of genetically
super-human semen could impregnate the remaining female population,
thus siring a perfect race of confident, and impressively endowed men!
Tired Freudian references aside - your mother played my mighty skin
flute like a surf crowned sea nymph trying to rouse Poseidon from his
watery slumber!
Kurt Anderson secretly admires the cultural relevancy of my genitals,
which have supplied artists and writers alike the inspiration needed to
create great American works, and this admiration turned to sour envy
when he ignored my zippered muse and wrote that appalling "Turn of the
Century" that many have mistakenly referred to as a "novel"!
So colossal are my genitals, that they compelled Stephen Hawking to
theorize that my sexual gravity is such that a tablespoon of it would
weigh more than an entire LA club full of amorous, cocaine-addled,
Prada-clad Casanovas!
My genitals are comparable to Harvard University’s endowment - both are
the largest of their kind, both are institutions that demand the
respect of academics and undergraduate trollops, and both cannot be
seen or used by anyone of low birth or intelligence, unless they work
very hard to prove they are worthy. | | |
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