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by Paul
Sep 29, 2005 10:09
And if I'm lucky it pans out into some coherent thought I can share. This might be one of those times. Why is a "Man's Man" a cool dude. It seems to me that another man's man, is in fact, a homosexual. In either case I guess the saying is in place, so let's just roll with it.
I am a man's man. Meaning I'm not a fruit. Paul likes the ladies. I have most of my conversations with them staring at their chest. I say goodbye with a firm smack on the ass. And yes, I do kiss my mother with this mouth, bitch.
Those of you who are unfamiliar with the Beach Boys should know that big girls don't cry. You might also know what doing a shitload of acid and hanging out with Charles Manson does for your surfer/stoner rock career. Anyway that's all beside the point. Big girls don't cry, and since I'm a man's man, neither do I.
Fast forward to today. By today I mean like last week, but it's today enough for our purposes here. Let's not get caught up in specifics. So today me, myself and my friend Brandon, who we'll call Eugene, because it's a funnier name, were going to a fast food drive through. Eugene is driving, and your's truely is riding shotgun.
Really, the fast food trip has nothing to do with anything, I was just giving you a little background in case you're in charge of some sort of unauthorized Paul-Biography.
What matters is Eugene had one of those little bottles of concentrated "New Car Smell" air freshener, which he decided to spray. Good idea I thought. This car smells like hot ass.
Unbeknownst to me... no, that's not true. Knownst to me, but unaccounted for were the number of climate control vents aimed squarely at my eyes. Once that New Car Smell hit the air, all 16 vents pushed it directly into my pupils. My eyes looked like that one lady who can pop her eyes out of her head, only I'm not ridiculously played out like she is.
The following is a hit or miss transcription of the ensuing conversation.
Paul: Thanks.
Eugene: Not problem. That bottle smells great.
P: I agree, but you just sprayed all that directly in my eyes.
E: ...
P: ...
E: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
P: Fuck you asshole, this shit burns!
E: Oh shit. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
P: I hate you.
E: That's hella funny. How did I even do that, I sprayed it down here (indicating a rough area; center console)
P: Yeah dick, but your vents are on. It came right up in my face. I can't even cry because I'm too hard for the radio. MTV won't even play my video. But right now as we speak, my eyes are on fire.
E: ...
P: I really can't quite explain to you how much this hurts. And consequently how much being a super man's man hurts because I refuse to cry.
Drive Through Girl: Hi. That'll be nine dollars and... what's wrong with your friend.
E: He's gay.
P: Fuck that son. This asshole just sprayed mace in my eyes.
Drive Through Girl: Oh my god! You sprayed mace?!
P: Yeah all girls carry mace, which is why this cock socket unloaded on me after I told him he put on a few pounds and he got offended.
Drive Through Girl: Oh my god!
P: That's what I said.
Give or take all or none of those words, I think that's how the situation went. Now I know how porn stars feel. One split second of bad timing, and BAM right in the face, and you're on hurt-mode for the next 15 minutes. I swear to god if that mother fucker ruined my vision and I have to get glasses, he's paying for them, AND I get to spray aerosol hairspray right into his face with his eyelids flipped inside-out.
In related man news, I man'd the situation up, and promptly recovered 100%. If anything I think my eyes are better now because I'm building up an immunity.
Today I'm listening to: Jimmy Cliff - I Can See Clearly NowIncidentally, the moral of the story is that I should get some smarter friends. Nothing funny here people. Keep walking.
by Paul
Aug 23, 2005 10:04
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mashing down only the aisles containing products I need of course. I had to get some shampoo generico, and in the process I pass the tooth brushes. Now, I'm a man who is the best tooth brusher in the entire universe, and the last time I checked, a few alternate universes as well. Including the universe where everyone has perfect teeth. I'm still the best. I have had 0, count them 1, 2, 0 cavities in my entire life.
I don't even use an electric tooth brush either. My shit is all manual. The last time I bought tooth brushes was at the Costco. I got like a 50 pack (their smallest) of the super ultra tooth brushes. You know what I'm talking about?
My shit has everything. The bristles that change color so you know when you need a new brush (3 days). The bristles on the end that are longer to get behind your back teeth. I have the bristles that cross back and forth to get between your teeth.
I've got the angled head.
My angled head flexes.
I've even got the fucking rubber curb-feelers on the side that massage your gums, balance your checkbook, and wipe your ass.
My toothbrush has it all!
No, no it doesn't. I'm watching TV, and i see the Oral-B Pulsar. HOLY SHIT. This toothbrush has a head that's split in half! Some of the bristles have like... these rubber plaque attackers or something. I don't even know what's going on! All I know, is that if i can have 0 cavities now, and that's without the Oral-B Pulsar, if I got the puslar, I think I could probably have negative 4 cavities! Or maybe it would get rid of this nagging rash I keep getting. A toothbrush with more features than a fucking BMW has to be so good it's proactive at preventing all kinds of crazy ass diseases.
At least, that makes sense on paper right?
Today I'm watching: Plaque to the Future |
| My toothbrush is so good I catch gingivitis on purpose, just to mock it and get rid of it. |
by Paul
Aug 11, 2005 10:03
Unfortunately the rest of the world insists on being selfish, and/or lazy so I end up picking up the slack. The rest of the world lacks the gumption necessary. The rest of the world lacks the dedication necessary. The rest of the world, lacks the LOVE, necessary to tell other people they're fucking up. So guess who comes to the rescue? That's right, everyone's idol, Paul. Paul comes to the rescue, picking up the world's slack, and guess what? Now *I'm* the bad guy.
Remember when you were kids, and your friend Bertha played Barbies with you? Yeah. That was great. Then remember in about... 5th grade when Bertha started packing on a few extra pounds? Remember when you said, "Hey Bertha, I think you should maybe watch your weight a bit." Oh, you don't remember that? Oh wait! That's because you never said it! 15 years, and 150 pounds later, guess who has to say something to her? That's right, me. And now I'm the bad guy. What's the deal here? You were her best friend. You should have told her. You're supposed to care. You love her don't you?
Remember when your boy Bob started dating that girl Matilda? Yeah, the one who looks like somebody lit her face on fire, and put it out with a sledgehammer? Yeah her. It was a good thing you told Bob not to date her. Oh wait, you didn't! Now they're married, and just because I suggested Bob maybe possibly might have been able to do a little bit better, I'm the bad guy. What's the deal here?
Remember that girl who wore a little bit too much makeup? Just because I said "You know those sponges you use with astringent to remove makeup? Well, your sponge is the same one i use to wash my car.", I'm the bad guy.
Am I to blame for this? No. The blame rests squarely on the shoulders of the people who are supposed to be close; the people who are supposed to care. If I'm at fault for anything here, it's that I love too much. That's right, I have an enlarged heart. I care enough about everyone to point out various ways they can improve themselves.
If that's a crime my friends, well then give me the lethal injection.
Today's Free Giveaway is: Diets for everyone!It was pointed out to me that an enlarged heart is a serious medical condition I should have checked out. I'll make an appointment right after i talk to this woman about her White Woman Ass Syndrome.
by Paul
Jul 25, 2005 10:28
When the world was slightly less fucked up, but we thought it was horrible? Like if you turned on the radio in the 80's, you thought "Wow, this is as bad as it can ever get." Obviously you would be wrong, because now we have 2000's rap. Ok maybe the 80's is still the absolute worst music but you get my point.
As a barometer (Look it up illiterates) of how terrible things are, I look at jokes. More specifically capping on people (Yes I said "capping").
When I was in Junior High, it was all about "Yo' Mama" jokes and so forth. These days, real life is the joke. I don't even have to dig deep down for humorous double entendres and innuendo. If I want to clown you today, I can just pick an issue you have to deal with every day and clown you about that.
"Yo! Bob drives an SUV and that fool has to pay $85 to fill up his gas tank!!!"
OOOOHHHHHHHHH!!!!! FACIAL La Fleur. TOTAL FACIAL.
"Hey... Check out Bill. Bill's hella dumb. Bill bought a two bedroom house for damn near half a million bucks, and then the market went stagnant and he can't refinance against his equity!!!"
HAHAHAHAHA. Oh shit Bill! He got you good you fucker.
"That joke was so funny I forgot to vote!!!"
Oh shit! 8!.. 9!.. 10!.. This one's a knockout ladies and gentlemen! It's all over.
But seriously. Wow. Am I right? Wow.
by Paul
Jul 25, 2005 10:01
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Yes I can read. Asshole. Anyway, some tee ball coach in Pennsylvania paid one of his players to nail another retarded player in the head with a ball. A ball that I assume was a tee ball. I assume this, because he is a tee ball coach. I used deductive reasoning. However, that's not the point. The point is the rules state all the kids have to play at least three innings or some mess like that. So the coach thought, if the retard kid is on the injured reserve, he can't play, and my team will have a better chance of winning.
Brilliant! Except, I've seen tee ball games before. One team scores a million points while the other team's outfield is chasing butterflies around and throwing piles of dirt at each other. Then after one fat kid tries to swing and misses five times in a row, the coaches go "ALRIGHT! That's it everyone, it's a TIE!" All the kids cheer, and somebody's mom hands out Capri Suns. That's what the kids are there for anyway, the Capri Suns.
Meanwhile somebody's dad is taking a walk to "cool off" because he can't believe his seven year old daughter only made it to second base on that grounder she hit. Let's ignore the fact that he's 5'8", weighs a cool 240 pounds, and can't run outside fast enough to catch the ice cream truck, let alone his own seven year old daughter.
If you're that guy, shut the fuck up. Get on a treadmill while you're at it you fat sack of shit. Oh, and stop bringing Capri Suns for the kids when it's your day to cater the after-game snack. Everyone knows those things are full of sugar. It's bad enough you're a fat ass, but now all the high class white parents are going to know you're a bad parent because you brought sugar drinks instead of some nutritious orange juice. Then you distributed the liquid in styrofoam cups. The nerve. The unmitigated gall. First you yell at your daughter, who can run faster than you. Then you serve sugar drinks. Now you're depleting the ozone layer. Way to go dad. Hey, quick! Jump in your huge ass Ford Excursion and maybe run over a few trees on the way home, and a minority orphan. That should close the loop of destruction.
Dick. |
| Hey incidentally, what happened to the days when if you didn't play, it meant you sucked. Not that you got hit in the head with a baseball because the coach paid another player. You know coach, you're just leading him on. Tell him he sucks now so he can cry and get over it, and maybe try a different sport. |
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