Sleeping City Sidewalk
Right. That is a funny ass advertisement. Anywho, who is number 43 on my list of people I hate most in the world? Paris Hilton. I can't stand that bitch. Why is it I know things about her? How is it I have seen her twat more times than I have seen my cock in the past month? I hate her for all the same reasons everyone with half of a partially functioning brain hates her. She sucks and pornotube doesn't have her sucking on its website, making me hate her even more. It's not jealously you cunt, it's reality. I'm keeping it real. And for real, I hate you.I am leaving for Paris tomorrow. I will put awesome pictures of myself on my myspace page. As if every picture of me is not awesome. I will bend my arms. Because I have been informed that I look like Frankenstein with rigor mortis. That sucks. But is still awesome because it involves me.
Megan Fox is the hottest shit ever and loves me and doesn't even know it yet. I am so going to pull a three-way with her on the first Christmas after I marry JESSICA BIEL.
I went on a run today. I am not sure how to say this, but I don't think I ever want to run with these people again. I mean sure I am trying out for the triathlon, but come on fellas, take it easy. We ran like 10 miles at like a 6 minute pace. I am so hurt right now. We started out with 30 guys and we lost all but 5 very quickly. My asshole hurts. I don't know why my asshole hurts. The only thing I can think is that the run's dick didn't lube before it violated me. My fucking eyebrows hurt. I never ran so fast in my life. I am tendering my resignation to the triathlon team effective today. No. I can't quit. I want to win. But if this is how they practice, I might die.
I need a flask.
I decided that when I am out of the Army, I would really like to write. I have a list of pros and cons about my career decision.
Pros:
I can make my own hours because I am my own boss.
I can show up drunk to work and my boss is cool with it.
I can still have time to run and watch sports.
Everything I create will be completely decided upon by me.
I already have a computer.
Cons:
I don't know how to get published.
I have nothing to write about.
I don't know how to write.
I won't have an excuse for not doing laundry if my office is my house.
I don't see how this job will get me laid more. (But it can't get me laid any less, so it's a moot con.)
Other jobs I have been thinking of taking are CIA agent, international rock star, brick layer, bum and baby seal clubber.
I don't know how to go about getting any of these jobs, but I really think I'd like to write because I'd really like to have a conversation like, "Showing up for work drunk again huh?" "Yeah. it couldn't be helped." "I like the attitude." I find talking to myself funny. It's good that I don't know how to get any of these jobs because I have a better chance of making the female swim team than I do of getting out of the Army.
Christ I am in pain. I was good for like the first 4 miles. Then I was thinking, "Sooner or later we have to slow down a bit." We never did. I thought I was going to die. Part of me wishes I had because having your butthole hurt sucks.
Labels: the greatest shit ever
posted by Yossarian at 11:14 AM
12 Comments:
this shit was pure poetry. I like how you tied it back around again to your hurt butthole in the end. See...that's what a good writer does.
You are a pussy for not being able to run fast like those guys especially after you talked about the jogger lady yesterday and how much faster you wanted to run. Looks like life bitchslapped you. that's funny. I mean this in a postive way, of course.
ALso, I never said you looked like frankenstein with rigor mortis. stop it!
HAVE FUN IN PARIS!!! I WANT STORIES OF OFFENDING FRENCH PEOPLE!!! USA REPRESENT!!!!!!!!
for the record. i DID run as fast as those guys, i just dont think i could run any faster.
maybe if you ran faster, you would explode. that would be cool, but i would miss you.
old peoples eyebrows go crazy. the hair is eccentric. longer and thinner and sometimes curly.
the world's best run the half marathon at 4:30 mile pace. that is faster than any mile i have run in my entire life. 6 flat pace for ten is very good though.
don't you see karma written all over this?
huh?
does nancy-nancy-jogger-i'm-no-jogger-i'm-a-runner ring any bells?
and write you do
and do
and do
you never stop writing
i'm surprised the army sees anything of you
i have a philosophy and that is that you should do what you already do prolificly
(wanking doesn't pay much i don't think)
so run and write i say
before this weekend is over i will drink three Irish Car Bombs.
This I swear....
i say i didnt see any new pics on myspace
you dont even know who i am on myspace
i deleted the one friend.
then i checked out andrew of steels page..... and wafer's
and klumps. holy crap. klump.
That's a good idea, the looking up of old peeps. I use myspace solely for finding ex-girlfriends and seeing if I can rekindle some fucking. Hasn't worked yet.
IRISH CAR BOMB ATTEMPT #1:
-Went to local Irish Pub.
-Ordered 2 Irish Car Bombs.
-Waiter tells me they only serve beer and wine.
-Grudgingly order 2 Guinness.
-While Guinness's were quite tasy and lovingly poured, they were not two Irish Car Bombs.
-Attempt #1 Results: FAILED!
Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, two outs and the Yankees trailing by a run. Just the type of pressure situation Rodriguez failed at during the last two Octobers. Nearly the same circumstances as two nights earlier, when he popped out and tossed his bat to the ground in disgust.
"There's no way out," manager Joe Torre said. "There it is: You either produce, or you're going to read about yourself again."
This time was different. This time, A-Rod wound up getting shoved back onto the field by Derek Jeter for a curtain call.
Down to his last strike, Rodriguez came through in the most dramatic way, sending a soaring drive into the center-field bleachers, Yankee Stadium's famed black seats. His grand slam off Chris Ray, A-Rod's second home run Saturday, gave the Yankees a memorable 10-7 victory over the Baltimore Orioles.
good lord, we've got another hunter s. thompson on our hands.
your shit still cracks me up.
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