Monday, July 27, 2009

Afrika Bambutta!

Nine years ago to the date, I was kicked out of PRO-AM BBOY competition in miami after an incident in which I mooned afrika bambatta.

There were a number of 1980s Hiphop Elite fucks there; during this highly-over orchestrated speech. At one point during the speech, my turettes kicked in and I challenged crazylegs and speedylegs to a bachata-off.

My hiphop scribe @Roberto_Flack was there and can confirm the validity of these events. Needless to say, I was promptly escorted out after yelling ZUZUZU and mooning the crowd of around 2,000 people.

Yea, try moving the crowd like that afrika bam! I won that round fucker. your move.

:editors note:

Title inspired by below ->
@raisedbyclowns That's a great story. He shall now be known to me as Africa Bambuttaa. Forever.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Fuck you very much

Dear Asshole who stole my cell phone,

I hope at some point you read my text messages and realize I am an evil bastard with a lot of free time. I will find you, and eat your face, with some faava beans. No - not really, please just give me my phone back. We can do lunch, I'll buy you chinese food. Also, I promise I will not stab you in the heart with the chopsticks. Okay, must admit I did think about it. Fine, I'm still thinking about it now. Alright, honestly I can't really guarantee the no-stabbing-with-the-chopsticks thing, but I will buy you an eggroll. You can definitely get an eggroll. WIN WIN for both of us!

Fuck you man.

Just give me back my fucking phone =(

Friday, July 17, 2009

Approved by God

I will add more as I remember them...ha

Random God-related things I "tweet":

Shower Curtains: proof that god doesn't want you to sit on a wet toilet seat.

Vacuum Cleaners: proof that god loves for things to be sucked clean.

Pubic Hair: Gods organic dental floss

Unprotected Wifi: proof that god approves of stealing internet, to view pornography.

Massage Parlors: proof that god loves happy endings.

Unlimited Minutes Phone Plans: proof that god loves phone sex.

Camera Phones: Proof that god loves titi pictures

BabyWipes: Proof that god approves of masturbating at work

I was writing a "tornados: proof that god sucks sometimes" when I heard something hit the window. I get it big guy, you rock.

V-Necks: proof that god loves cleavage.

Jenga: proof that god approves of everyone playing with wood.

Hemroids: Gods way of telling you to get off your ass.

Alcohol: proof that god approves of semi-consentual sex.

Morning After pill: proof that god is against pulling out.

Proof that satan is mexican: You're going to Hell (yea - its a silent H)

Single Ply Toilet Paper: Proof that god approves of sodomy.

Kidney Stones: Gods way of telling you to kick rocks.

Free lunch at stripclubs: Proof that god loves cajun shrimp and big boobs

Humidity: Proof that god loves musky privates.

Chinese People: Proof that god hates cats

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

I'm A McFurry

When was the last time you woke up questioning yourself? Well, both my appetite for food, and possibly furry-on-male action came into question just a few short hours ago. Let me walk you through this:

I just had a daydream in normal afternoon fashion I was sitting on my couch when all of a sudden I heard a Jehovahs Witness type-knock on my door. I slowly detached myself from the couch and looked through the peephole. It was blocked by a seeminly purple haze. When I opened the door I was amazed to find our nations fearless leader Barack Obama and McDonald's anthropomorphic purple-being Grimace anxiously awaiting with a gigantic Happy meal in hand, chanting "burger bail out time baby!"

I can tell you one thing; it was kind of a weird situation at first. You see... I sleep in the nude, so when I opened the door MY nuggets were completely exposed. Barack totally played it cool, however I did catch Grimace staring at my junk more than once. I understand hes giant burger eating eunuch and probably does not run into giant testicles in his field of work.

so yea, back to the story...there I was, with my nuggets out. Grimace doing a C&C Music Factory like happy dance, while Obama kept repeatedly asking me if i had a lufa available. I'm really not sure why, also didn't probe further about it.

I ended up waking up semi spooning my pillow. This is where the questioning myself part comes into play. I am not sure if that was Grimace or Obama I was spooning prior to waking up. #HETEROFAIL

furthermore, if I spooned Grimace in my dream? does that imply I love burgers? or does that somehow make me a furry? At this point I think a little bit of both.

you can thank @Carin_J for coining the term "McFurry" in relation to my...situation.

Monday, July 6, 2009

whats that smell?

So, last week I decide to leave work early and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. I take a short 60 second drive down to the beach (its about 5 minutes walking - but alas I am lazy, and enjoy air conditioning) When I get to the beach I end up pulling up to my favorite pseudo-bar, Fat Tuesday. Tradition dictates I order wings, and raw oysters. Also, they have this drink called 190 octane, its like a frozen fruit drink soaked in bacardi 151 and some other choice liquors. Yea! that drink is "the tits". I get reasonably hammered, not enough to call a cab, but just enough to ignore extremely noticable things (ultimately the reason behind this blog)

So I end up driving home, this turned out to be a rather long drive. You see, I wasnt exactly sober, so my normal 10 minute commute ended up being about an hour, give or take a minute. Yes, I know not very responsible, but fuck you, its not like you offered to drive me back to my poon-layer. Anyhow, many hours later after I awakened from a power nap I decide "hmm some cheetos would be fucking awesome right now!". I hop in my car, when all of a a kangaroo kicking an aboriganee in the chest...i was hit by this awful pungent musky stench. One of those smells that would make the mosquitos in those "feed the hungry" infomercials fly away grasping for oxygen. Yea, effin awesome.

This was actually the high point of the evening, it gradually got worse. You see my "where in the world is carmen san diego" inspector skills kicked in. I NEEDED to find the source of this stench. I start to do a little cosmetic-digging in the layers of filth in my car. (sidenote: its usually clean, but you see, i've been a slob this past week, also, i was drunk, f u, dont judge me) Okay, so here I go. Fingering through the finger touches something smooth, gooey, and uhm wet. Now usually I would be turned on by that, but this wasn't your normal "smooth gooey wetness" it was attached to a shell. Yea - a fucking oyster shell. I need you to sit there, and think about an oyster shell being in my car for an undisclosed amount of time, under the florida sun. RIGHT? fucking gross!

If you havent been in my immediate circle of friends, you may not be aware of the random literal-shit that occurs in my car. Let me fill you in: feces, urine, dying animals, rotten burritos, and countless regurgitation have occured there. Its not on purpose, but it kinda just happens. Basically funk in my car, is just a normal occurence. At some point my a/c was not functional, this added a certain je ne ces pas to my cars already sterling reputation as "the funk box".

Back to the Oyster, so here I am holding this boiling-hot half-eaten shell of funk. I then remember how it ended up in my car in the first place. I had pick-pocketed a bottle of hot sauce from Fat Tuesdays, because I wanted to eat raw oysters while my feet lingered in the beach water. That never happened by the way - In the end I just stole hotsauce for no apparent reason, and had 4 raw oysters baking in my backseat. I quickly discard them by chucking it out of my window as hard as possibly could. I manage to scrub everywhere the oyster touched, and soak the carpet in potpourri goodness. Happy to report that my car now smells like petunias. While cleaning I found about $8 dollars in change, tickets to xmen:wolverine, a stewie doll, and visine. All in all, a good day.

Oh yea, that shell, definitely landed inside the truckbed of my neighbors. The douchebag who likes to blast NIN in the morning. yea, go fuck that like an animal. #oysterwin #truckbedfail