Jesus is Coming and He's Breathing Heavily

Christmas is an odd time of year for me. On one hand I have the chance to not be a jackass to others and actually be rewarded for it. On the other, I'm a man without an innate, deep belief in God, so I'm a man without an accepting congregation. I'm not going to go into what you should believe in, what you shouldn't and the merits or lack thereof in the establisment of church because frankly I don't give two immaculates what your beliefs are. I have a certain respect for people who can throw their faith into something they can't see because it is something I struggle with. However the reason I mention this at all is the fact the Christmas time always throws me in the midst of religious zealots who end up being the fodder for my humor.

Mrs. T's family is very religious and every Christmas we go to church on Christmas Eve. This Christmas is no different. I don't mind going to church for Mrs. T's sake, but every time I enter a church I feel like an outcast. As well I should, especially if they or He knew the thoughts going through my head. I mean Mrs. T and I are well suited and booted to keep the appearance of a deep reverence of God, so we look the part. We sit in the back and we don't throw our voices in with the cacaphony of squeaks, falsettos and aspiring Beyonce's, so we don't draw attention to ourselves and I would feel like even more of a fraud if I did. Out of respect for these people, I just keep my mouth shut and let them enjoy their moment and boy are they.

While these shrill songbirds were enjoying their moment, I'm picking apart the entire ceremony in my head and Mrs. T is aware I'm doing this so she is checking my reaction to everything. She is an unwilling accomplice to the ill-willed thoughts dancing around in my head. But in all honesty, aside from the enthusiastic singing of Jesus adoration, and the normal goings-on that occur at any Christmas church service, there were only two things that struck me odd.

The first thing that bothered me hit me right at the start of the service. The "Praise Band" starts by playing a really good rendition of the Transiberian Orchestra's version of "The Carol of the Bells." I like the song and I have no bad things to say about the band...except for the band leader or the guy who proclaimed himself band leader. He's one of those guys who had aspirations of rocking the world, having groupies and making millions of dollars but lacked the talent and aesthetics necessary to be a profitable rock star. So what he lacks in talent, he makes up for with rocker enthusiasm as a 40 year old playing amongst teenagers. He starts the song by rocking back and forth to the bass line of the song, guitar in hand, facing the band trying to amp them up for this performance for about 120 people. The other band members appear annoyed at this chump and just continue to play the song with limited fervor as if they were forced by their parents to play.

The band segues into another song and the choir walks on stage behind "Band Leader" and start singing. The band leader then turns to the crowd and starts singing the song, while playing his guitar and realizes his microphone is not working so he looks up to his "Roadie" to inform him that it isn't working. I'm pretty sure "Roadie" did this on purpose and I truly thank him for it. I mean what is the point of having a choir if you have some lead singer trying to get the spotlight? This is church not a damn gig, so isn't the focus supposed to be on God, not on some nozzle trying to live his rockstar dreams out on a congregation of 50+ year olds and their children? This dude then backs away from the mic and starts looking up to the sky and singing with a fervor unmatched by anyone in the choir let alone anyone in the room. Then, later in the service when the song playing does not have a guitar part for him, he stands next to the choir singing and joins in throwing his heart out to God when his voice is superfluous because there is a CHOIR already singing. This is how I imagine God's response to the "Band Leader" looking up to the Heavens singing to Him.

Hey Baby, am I crazy? Or was you giving me the eye?

You said maybe? Well you crazy because I know I'm too fly.

I apologize if you disagree with my depiction of God, but I see Him being black, with a drinking problem, and sounding like Kanye West. Deal with it.

I can't knock the dude though on his multi-instrument talent. Later in the service he whipped out a sax and belted out another Christmas classic. But the delusion of grandeur always bothers me, especially when the service is all about praising your Savior.

Get a clue. Even the outcast in the room realizes you're a hack.

The second thing that puzzled me was the Pastor. Instead of giving us his take on the story of Christmas and what we should take from it, the Pastor delivers a monologue musing to himself as Jesus about the greatness of his birth as if he thought he was He. Uh...isn't there something wrong with this? No one in the room thought so. Not only did this guy deliver some quality, theatre trained acting, he was then joined by recorded voices of God Himself and the Holy Ghost. So you not only play Jesus, you have someone playing God too? The rule is you could only play God in a cartoon, in a musical, or when aborting a fetus. These people now have no Pro-Life argument.

The Pastor also kept on using the word illumine. He wanted us to let God shine through us and illumine the world with His glow. Who uses that word? Are you really trying to be literary on us. Illuminate or shine would work just fine. Pretty ironic this argument is coming from me, huh?

Lesson learned: if you believe God is almighty, you might not want to fight God or His son for the spotlight during a service dedicated to them, you just end up looking like a jackass.

Santa's Stoned Elf

DDT, I have no clue how you always find this shit, but this is genius. Due to the fact I'm a bastard, this is how I envision my offspring to appear.

Rectus, Dominus

Another Tip to Working with Higgy

Following Directions is a Requirement to working with Higgy


When Higgy tells you to do something, there is probably a reason why you should do it. He's probably thought of the possible ways you could fuck something up. For instance, if you don't follow his instructions, then touch something of his and erase all of his hard work because you were too much of a colostomy bag to think about what you were doing. You probably will receive Higgy's wrath and then have someone in a managerial position receive some feedback on your poor performance.

Don't try and rally the troops on your side when Higgy's caught you red-handed in your fuck-tardery

You've already embarrassed yourself by erasing Higgy's shit. Don't make it worse but secretly emailing and IMing Higgy's co-workers to telling them you didn't do it when Higgy already handed these people the evidence. Politics is no replacement for intelligence nor common sense. Does Roger Clemens ring a bell?


Just because he's younger than you, doesn't make him more successful than you

Ok that's a blatant lie, it does mean that. It also means he is better at your job than you are and you probably should just tuck your balls between your legs flaunting that mangina of yours because when he's done, Higgy will remove every ounce of dignity you possibly thought you had.



Lesson learned, don't fuck with me.

Why My Man Card Should Be Revoked

So you're probably surprised to find out I just came to the realization that I'm a bitch. Between how whipped my shit is by Mrs. T's fine ass and my sagging bitch titties, I should've seen it coming. However it took me looking at my phone and more specifically the pictures on my phone to see it for myself.

Now what should a man have on his phone? Blackmail material on his friends? Why not? An image of some jugs being released from the shackles of a bra? Sure. A picture of a shot glass depicting a monkey holding his junk. Hells yes. I'm pretty sure 90% of his pictures shouldn't be this:

This is Mrs. T's and my dog Dixie. Don't blame us for the Confederate stripper name though. We adopted her bastard ass. Even though she's like an illegitimate child to me, she can do no wrong in my eyes. Throwing up a ball of food and rawhide bone? Cute. Ripping ass in my face? Precious. Chewing up Mrs. T's digital camera? Adorable. Stepping on my testicles just to look at what I'm eating? Priceless. Murdering a hobo and leaving me with the carcass? Welcome to the family.

My phone is filled with images such as these. Every puzzled look, every cuddle, every endearing moment is captured in my phone leaving no room for images of boozery, debauchery, and douchery. Next thing I know I'll spend my free time not going out to the bar, but dressing up my dog and placing the dog in pageants.

I need an intervention. And I also need my balls back. Thank you.

Fat Man in Leotard

As Nik told me, this dude has no self-esteem issues:

Chest Cold Diamonds Make a Playa Want to Cough

Since I'm at home sick with some infestation given to me by my lovely girlfriend and because I'm tired of hearing about the Terrell Owens, Tony Romo, Jason Witten Cowboy circle jerk, I decided to make a special mid-week update to the blog. My friend from Wall Street, Yayo, found this video which was the inspiration for my halloween costume. If only I knew then that there was an Arab Sheik dance to this song...



Oh Racism...how you'll never fail to be funny

The Power of your Vocabulary

It really does not take much to amuse me. For instance my dog staring at me and then licking my feet mid-coitus to me is pretty amusing. I definitely went from "Damn I'm liking this odd sensation" to a "Holy Fuck, this is partial beastiality having the canine partake in the sinning" to a "This is blogworthy in hilarity" in the matter of seconds. Nevermind the fact I slopped Skippy between my toes, it really made my day. Ok I feel I'm getting off topic now.





Being that I am easily amused, I tend to try and fit words into conversation or my writing that have some of the following qualities:

1) Polysyllabic

2) Extremely Pompous/Arrogant

3) Succinctly describe one's fault



I feel like the bigger the word, the more likely the Bourgeoisie use said word, thus belittling someone more. Basically they are fun to say as when said correctly roll off the tongue and deliver a lashing similar to the days of...well you can insert any metaphor you choose here.





1) Hobgoblin - A small grotesque, elfish being whose sole purpose is to cause mischief to humans.

Calling someone a hobgoblin implies the person is:

- Short

- Hideous

- Has small, stubby hands

- Isn't human, thus isn't capable to procreating with other humans



Implication is key with words as it causes a delayed reaction time as to when said person connects the dots, they realize how much they suck. These words only have an effect if the person is smart enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together.


2) Juxtaposition - an act or instance of placing close together or side by side, esp. for comparison or contrast.

This is a seemingly harmless word but when used properly adds a pompous and somewhat dickish tone to any insult. Using this as a verb can be even more damaging.

"Even when juxtaposed with Tom Cruise, you are the bigger nozzle in the room."



3) Capitulate - to surrender under agreed conditions.


This pretty much means to become one's bitch and agree to it. Here's an example:


"After being told his dick was used as a 'man-pacifier', Hova capitulated and found himself in Higgy's servant quarters."




4) Acquiesce - to assent tacitly; submit or comply silently or without protest.


In other words, this means to not even put up a fight when you know you got knocked the fuck out. Refer back to the post "Random Post Monday" to see such a pussy showing.

5) Decrepit - worn out by long use; dilapidated.

More importantly, it is a perfect way to describe the genatalia of someone with loose virtue or more specifically someone who has a lot of penile insertion in their gape.

"I don't even think I could shut her up by sticking my dick in her decrepit mouth."

6) Gape - a wide opening, breach.

No lie here, I honestly did not know this was a word until after I typed it in for my definition of decrepit. It just made sense though. What else would you call something that is gaping? Oh the power of words. That whole sticks and stones saying is a bunch of shit. Gape has replaced gash as my euphemism for vagina. Sorry Thomper. Although this word fails condition one listed above, it sure as hell makes up for it with condition 3.

The lesson is over for today children, but more words will be defined here at a later point in time.

This just gave me +3 to my douchebag level.

The Penis Monologues: Part Deux

Boost Mobile Let's Go.

I should have known this would have happened because Hova is a such persistent bastard. I'll admit, this text message battle spanned from the evening of December 1st into the morning of December 2nd. We truly have nothing else better to do.

Hova - "Time to redeem! My dick makes the ladies wet, yo dick don't even
make them sweat."

Higgy - "My dick makes bitches roar, yo dick gives men anal sores."

Hova - "My dick big and bulky, yo dick sad and sulky."

Higgy - "My dick gets gawks of awe and stares, yo dick is hidden by pubic hair."

Hova - "My dick be rockin clit. Yo dick tastes like shit."

Higgy - "How does a dick rock a clit? My dick tastes like (Random Girl Hova
wanted to penetrate)'s shit"

Hova - "Oh it can be done. And of course you'd rather fuck an ass than
vagina."

Higgy - "Well where would my fist go then?"

Hova - "Up your boyfriend's ass."

At this point I would say Hova is on the offensive and is winning handilly. My futile attempt to make it personal has backfired.

Higgy - "My dick sprays 5 ropers, yo dick gets sucked by Al Roker."

Hova - "Weak. My dick Hammer of Thor, yo dick got her laughing on the
floor."

Higgy - "My dick slices bitches like Excalibur, yo dick can't even get past
her fur."

Higgy - "My dick rips her a new gash, yo dick leaves her a new rash."

Hova - "Second one is very good! My dick like Wayne Brady, yo dick can't even
get a lady."

Higgy - "What does it mean like Wayne Brady? My dick beats it like Rodney
King, yo dick makes her pee sting."

What I really should have asked was if his dick liked pretending to be black, but since that is a fond hobby of mine, I should not cast stones.

Hova - "It means it's black"

Higgy - "Yo dick spews air and's failing ya, my dick is King Kong-like
genatalia."

Hova - "Haha I have a bitch over. Go enjoy your cock?"

Higgy - "Treat her well with that small penis."

This concludes the evening bout. Without further adieu, I present to you the morning performance.

Hova - "My dick made of steel. Yo dick listens to Seal."

Higgy - "My dick is 8 inches fo real, yo dick likes making pigs
squeal."

Hova - "My dick, hard and strong. The last vagina yo dick touched was yo
mom's."

Higgy - "My dick leaves a Nagasaki stamp, yo dick leaves the gift of the
clap."

Hova - "Stamp, then clap? I know you are better than that. My dick cost 2 g's, yo dick got pubes with fleas."

At this point I believe Hova alluded to the fact he had to purchase his penis. Not much of an insult to me and more or less insults the natural girth of his member or lack thereof. Please continue.

Higgy - "My dick is more than eager to please, yo dick is riddled with disease."

Hova - "My dick tips the scale, yo dick loves anything that's male."

Higgy - "My dick has much girth to spare, yo dick has AIDS and likes to share."

Hova - "My dick, hall of fame. Yo dick, what a shame."

Higgy - "That shit was weak. My dick busts through hymen like taffy, yo dick
sticks beluga like Raffi."

Hova - "My dick, a chipotle burrito. Yo dick smaller than a mosquito."

Higgy - "My dick pillages villages, yo dick has premature spillages."

Hova - "Ooh not bad! My dick long as a flagpole, yo dick smaller than a
tadpole."

Higgy - "My dick provides a canopy in the Gobi, yo dick fucks fatties and
then owes me."

Hova - "Why would I owe you?"

It's always the worst when you have to deal with incompetence when slinging insults. It is the chink in the armor of any witty banter and ruins the whole vibe. Hova, this is the advanced course, I have no time nor patience to bring you up to speed remedial-style. But alas I wasted the time to explain the finer details to him below.

Higgy - "Because the fatty would be in my employ a.k.a. i'm her pimp."

Hova - "Subject, but I will let you slide. My dick thick and naughty. Yo
dick shriveled into yo body."

Higgy - "I don't understand your beef with fucking one of my whores paying
like everyone else."

Hova - "Haha I just feel like I hard to work to understand your
insult."

Higgy - "You're just slow"

Hova - "Maybe, but why wouldn't you pimp out hotties is beyond me. There's
no money in fatties."

Higgy - "Well people have fetishes and according to my insult you paid for
a fatty being slaved out by me, hence making you a loser."

Hova - "Yes but what you forgot to mention is that she was short on her
weekly payment to you. She gave me the money to pay you. Ugly fatties are
dumb."

Higgy - "haha I need to cut that bitch off payroll."

Hova has a natural ability to show incompetence but to find a perfectly good explanation for something stupid he said. We finally get back to the matter at hand.

Higgy - "My dick sprays her face beamin', yo dick turns her
lesbian."

Hova - "Lesbian cuz no other dude compares oooooooh!"

Higgy - "No other dude compares because your dick is an innie like a
vag."

Hova - "I already used that one try again haha."

Higgy - "haha because your foreskin looks like labia...does that
work?"

Hova - "Yep that works!"

Weak ending I know, but we were growing weary of this game. These bouts were much closer bouts than the first, however there is a clear champion. The winner is...no one. Why you ask? Because we've wasted a whole day talking about our dicks as if we had intimate knowledge of them.

We claim to be straight but do a pretty piss poor job of showing it.

Random Post Monday

Nothing really exciting happened during my Thanksgiving Day weekend trip down to Tennessee. I just slept, ate a shit ton of turkey, drank, was told to commit suicide post haste and played card games. Nothing out of the ordinary for my family.



Well I was fortunate enough to get a text message from my ever so faithful friend Hova which started a beleaguering text message war from which highlights are shown below.

Hova - "Your balls are showing."

Higgy - "Haha...caught you looking"

Hova - "They are too small to miss"

Higgy - "But large enough to drape your eyelids."

Hova - "Heyyooooo! I need new glasses anyway."

Higgy - "You might as well get some arabian shades...I'll give them to you
free of charge."

Hova - "Can't wait. Please use baby powder."

Higgy - "Only the best for you buddy"

Hova - "And slap them on 1 by 1. 2 at a time is just greedy and frankly, I won't appreciate it."

Higgy - "You'll appreciate my dong slapping your chin and I'll expect you to
leave your mouth ajar."

Hova - "Dong is too much. Don't press your luck. I might let you do tummystix though."

Higgy - "Yeah your mouth is not very accommodating for my penis. can you
instead paint my portrait?"

Hova - "Oh man absolutely. I will be kind to the crotchal
region."

I will exclude some of the proceeding texts as they include fraternal disses involving more homosexuality and frankly the joke would not strike you funny. Now I'll end this brief intermission and let us continue as the insults become Mickey Avalon-esque as they always do.

Hova - "My dick attracts closet freaks, yo dick fucks out homo
gays."

Weak right jab.

Higgy - "My dick gets sucked and fucked by chicks, yo dick crosses swords
with other dicks."

Strong counter punch. Hova starts reeling back.

Hova - "Wow. My dick likes vagina. Yo dick whacks to Mariah."

Obviously stunned, Hova throws a weak body blow.

Higgy - "My dick fucks a chick then takes a piss, yo dick fucks a dude in any
orifice."

Showing up strong, Higgy counters with the facial making Hova question his discretion when drinking alcohol and taking a fuckhole home.

Hova - "My dick annihilates puss, yo dick fucks fag wuss."

Hova gets angry and shows it with his correct spelling of annihilate and his use of a slur. It just means he's set himself up for the knock out.

Higgy - "My dick is a woman's desire, yo dick acts as a man pacifier."

10 count ensues. He gone.

Hova - "Wow."

He confirms said knockout blow.

Higgy - "So you must be pretty damn bored to have kept this going for so
long."

Hova - "Nah, I just don't like to lose."

It looks like he just did.

Higgy - "But are you going to concede?"

An attempt to give him an honorable out.

Hova - "Never."

By the looks of things Hova, you lost, badly. You may want to train harder if you want to step into the ring with the big boys.

Church, Priest, Tabernacle.

Your Guide to Working With Higgy

Being that I work with a prominent Fortune 500 company, I come across a diverse group of individuals from all different walks of life everyday. With all of this diversity is the increased probability that one of these individuals will piss me off. As a professional courtesy to those I currently work with and those I may work with in the future, I've made the following guide to properly handle working with me. With a little common sense and some sense of humor, we can leverage our synergies, optimizing quality and time to market.





If you are fortunate, you may come across a talented, intelligent, and humorous individual such as myself at some point in your career. It is your job not to fuck up your shot at working with greatness. Please keep the following tenets in mind as you work with Higgy and he'll promise not only to actually help you out but won't bitch about you and your fuck-tard ways on his blog.


1) Play it straight with Higgy


Higgy has a knack for sniffing out douche hidden behind an seemingly air-tight facade of bravado and corporate jargon. If you don't know what you're talking about, don't talk. You've not only wasted Higgy's precious time, but you've made an instant impact on Higgy as he will no longer respect you nor be expeditious in completing any of your unimportant working requests.


2) If Higgy takes the time to instruct you, don't interrupt him with questions of minutia

If you think you're going to look smart by asking random questions instead of focusing on what is being taught to you, you'll end up looking like a dumbass when you ask Higgy questions over the material he covered. Get your head out of your ass, thanks.


3) Higgy is not motivated by heart-felt tales

Telling Higgy how much you love cats will follow with faked interest followed by a long, annoyed sigh. Using your victory over cancer as a talking point regarding the effort you bring to work each day not only puts off Higgy, but makes him devalue your worth in society.



4) If Higgy asks you a question, it probably is important

Higgy tries to figure shit out on his own but there are times he is smart enough to know other people may have some useful information. You should feel privileged to have received a question from Higgy as he feels you are competent enough to respond with a knowledgeable answer. Please don't change Higgy's perception of you by either not responding or taking your sweet ass time responding. Karma will probably come to bite you in the ass when your question comes Higgy's way.

5) Hawaiian t-shirts in the workplace do not command respect, but demand ridicule

If this isn't self-explanatory to you, don't bother reading further as you are a lost cause.


6) Your lack of planning does not constitute urgency on Higgy's part

This usually happens when you neglect to answer one of Higgy's questions or make the fatal assumption that Higgy will drop whatever it is he is doing to service your needs. Higgy is not your corporate prostitute and isn't paid well enough to drop your trousers and felate you on command. Therefore Higgy's response will be that of disdain and will "push-back" on your request until he deems it fit to make it his priority. You may as well pack a lunch as you should be prepared at this point to wait a long ass time.



7) Deodorant is an unwritten but necessary part of business casual attire

Higgy has been carpet bombed by the foul odor one too many times by co-workers to overlook this important detail. As much as Higgy needs his nose hairs to be cinged, he really does not feel like gagging while trying to work. Common courtesy for others is crucial to working with Higgy.

8) If you think it is slightly funny, it probably isn't

More likely than not, you're not funny. So don't try to be something you're not.


9) If you say something stupid, Higgy's facial expressions will inform you

Higgy like everyone isn't perfect. One of his flaws is that when he hears bullshit from a colostomy bag, he can't hide his contempt behind his chiseled good looks. So don't be alarmed when you see a strained look on Higgy as if he is passing the Rock of Gibraltar through his anal cavity. He is just trying to spit something out of his ass that smells better than the shit coming out of your mouth.

10) If you wouldn't normally associate with Higgy after work hours, please don't befriend him on Facebook

There are some people Higgy does want to associate with during his after hours. These people know who they are. If you are unsure of your standing in this regard, you probably don't fall in this category.

11) Getting to know your executives via blog = more ammunition for ridicule

Higgy doesn't really need to know you're a single man in your 40's blogging about his dogs and displaying your teenage school girl playlist. Let Higgy make the assumption you're a creep, don't confirm it for him.

As long as you show courtesy toward Higgy and others, act intelligently and don't act like a general nozzle, working with Higgy should be an enjoyable experience for you.

Unfortunately this is asking a lot of the people I work with....

My Awesomely Gay Adventure

It seemed a lot of firsts occurred in my life during my 21st year of life. I had my first real kiss. I finally started drinking and enjoying it. I lost my virginity. I got my first blowjob. I had my first heart break. Needless to say I was a late bloomer. However these things are nothing but a vague memory in my past. However something occurred during that year that every once in awhile rears its ugly head back into my consciousness. This memory is my first experience with gay culture.

Now don't get me wrong (famous last words), I have no problem with gay people and actually find them to be quite humorous. Being in a fraternity and working in Corporate America, I've made several friends who happen to be gay. What people do is their perogative and doesn't bother me as long as they aren't douchebags. However being a straight man in a gay man's territory is an awkward, awkward feeling.

Let me give you the setting. It was New Year's Eve. I had just transferred to Ohio State. I did not have very many friends who enjoyed going out. The night starts out drinking at my friend B's house. There was much drinking and enjoyment going on, including beer pong which happens to be my weakness. After awhile my friend B asks me if I want to go to a bar. I tell her I'm down to continue drinking at another venue. Being that my friend B is straight, I never thought I would have to have her clarify the type of bar we were attending. This is a question I regret not asking. None the wiser, I hop in the cab she called and we head downtown.

The reason the cab drive is memorable is because I had one of the more awkward phone conversations in my life during this ride. Foreshadowing, perhaps? Anyways B's sister ends up calling her and asks her to put me on the phone. Now prior to this conversation, I had only a few interactions with this girl. I found her physically repulsive, uninteresting and somewhat psycho, so I really had no reason to give her the time of day. Let's just say hobgoblin-like does not quite describe her features well enough. Well somehow the goblin found my general dickishness to be an attractive quality and thus spent the next 5 minutes professing her love for me over the phone. I was too shocked by this to respond in a dickish manner. So I just told her she wasn't in love and I definitely wasn't interested. This response wasn't taken too well by her and she proceeded to say how ugly she was and how she wasn't worth anything and how she should just off herself. Things in hindsight I completely agree with, but I didn't need goblin blood on my hands to I attempted to comfort her and get myself out of this situation. I eventually handed the phone back to B with the "Holy fuck what just happened?" look.

So the night couldn't get worse from there right? Just you wait. The cab ride ends and we stop in front of this bar with a drag queen out front. It still didn't hit me. Then I see the line outside with men holding hands and talking about fashion in their effeminate voices. It hits me. I'm going to a gay bar. Fucking. Awesome. I hope your sarcasm detector is on.

Well I didn't want to get into a cab by myself and head back alone. I also didn't want to stop drinking especially after the suicidal orc tried to woo me. So I got in line, paid cover and had a life changing experience.

I warn you I may get Tourette's on you going forward. We get in and I quickly find the bar, grab B and myself a drink and then attempt use her as my safety net from the gays. Well that plan just back-fired because they all thought she was my hag. Piss out my ass. Then I made the error in my drunken state to begin dancing with B. Well this just acted as a dick magnet. Fuck shoes. Dudes would walk by, make comments about my ass and one even grabbed it as he walked by. Now I know what hot chicks at a bar deal with. However I just couldn't be upset with the dude because he just thought I was gay and I was in his territory. I also couldn't blame him because my ass is pretty fucking spectacular.

After this, we head to the upstair's bar because I honestly need another drink to deal with this night. I don't remember exactly what I drank, but since I was in a gay bar, I probably felt free to order some fruity ass shit. When in Rome, right? I can hear the voices in my head now, "Higgy you gay bitch" as I write this. It definitely didn't help assert my hetero-masculinity. Also what didn't help is the fact some dude, hired by the bar, was stripping. Jesus Cock-Sucking Christ. Before any dong dropped, we headed back to the downstairs bar.

At the bar, a dude, who probably could snag some Grade-A red snapper, proceeds to tell B he thinks I'm cute. This conversation ensued:

Higgy - "Sorry man, I'm straight."
Dude - "I was straight once. I could help make you gay."
Higgy - "Thanks but no thanks. I like pussy."

The guy was very persistent. So much so he hit on me in front of his midget boyfriend, who seemed to have lost a lengthy battle against the Ugly Tree. Obviously that guy was a catcher. When Catcher started bitching to the Pitcher, the Pitcher began to make out with him and while doing so attempted to grab at my ass and then grab at my package. I had to go Heisman pose on his ass and throw the stiff-arm. No means no, prick.

Now after all of the fruity drinks I had been throwing down throughout the night, I faced another problem. Where the fuck do I piss? I sure as hell wasn't going into the men's bathroom where the line was long to get drugged and wake up with a new asshole. And when you hit that wall you can't hold your piss for very long. So I did what any quick-thinking straight man would do. I went in the women's bathroom. Smartest decision I made all evening.

I was greeted with open arms as two lesbians began to comment on how well I was dressed. They assumed I was gay so they weren't freaked out by the fact we were pissing in the same room. I didn't have to wait very long and the commode was very clean and didn't reek of anal sex. Jackpot.

At the end of the evening, B and I are waiting for some of her friends to towel off so we wait in the Hag Zone. This guy starts talking to me and appreciates my open-mindedness to all of this. I couldn't really say ,"I came here unaware of the place's gayness, that I'd see no attractive women and I would have men grabbing at me." So I put up with his speech about intolerance while seeing his overweight hag friend with red-hair make out with a gay dude. Beggars I guess can't be choosers. And if you're a gay dude and have to settle for making out with a chick in a gay bar, you my friend have failed in life. We finally leave the bar, I head home with so much of an anti-boner I grew some labia, and I pass out asshole intact.

As I retell this story from time to time, I'm told I should view the gays hitting on me as a compliment. And honestly I can't knock 'em for great taste. I can however knock them for trying to grab at the goods with getting to know me first.

I'm not just a cum dumpster. I'm a person too.

Keeping My Bastard Ways in the Virtual World

I had a dream once. My dream was to make the greatest video game ever, combining a vivid story with superfluous violence and a massive amount of debauchery. Well some brilliant fucker named Peter Molyneux beat me to the punch. He's created a masterpiece called Fable 2. In this game you play a boy or a girl who grows up to be a hero and avenge the death of his or her sibling. The path you get to becoming a hero is yours to choose. You can practically do whatever you want, kill/fuck/marry whoever you want, and make a profit from anything/anyone. Well being that I am an asshole, I chose to stretch the definition of the term hero and become the biggest bastard possible. Here is a list of the events that transpired between the time my sister got gatted in the face by some prick named Lucien to the time I found Lucien and had my rifle send him to Jesus, who then forwarded him to Moses and cc-ed him to Allah (Thank you Young Jeezy for that gem).

- After growing up in a gypsy camp, I left the homestead and became a blacksmith to start collecting the funds.

- Bought some fly ass gear that made me look like a regal buccaneer.

- Started to get some vagina marinating with my fly ass gear.

- No women at this time would sleep with me without being engaged and having a house, so I got my real estate on.

- Married a woman who already was taken by some douchebag. I nicknamed her "My Sloot" and since I didn't have a rubber handy (you do have the choice of using protection) I impregnated her with my son who I appropriately named Trojan.

- Accrued some wealth to pick up a second house and a second broad and a second child. As a warning, I did not ever find out where rubbers were sold. This is a common theme in my adventures in this game. This one was a bar maid in some hick ass town.

- The Bar maid was not happy with the fact I solely used her as a fuck hole and left me. Her bitch ass also caused some glitch in the game so that I could not sell the house or rent it out to some bastard. I still used this as a fuck pad for random drunk sloots when I finally realized I didn't have to marry them to use them as cum depositories.

- In this game you can be gay so I kinda wanted to see what would happen and how people in the game would respond if I did in fact screw a dude. So I bring some flamer back to the ole fuck pad but the game would not let me commence in the old pitch and catcher routine. So I did what I felt was my only choice, I offed the dude with one swing of my mallet. The dude squealed and brought me back to that famous scene in Deliverance. Hate crimes in video games, that's a first.

- A warning pops up in the game saying watch out for unprotected sex because it increases your chance of getting an STD. Go figure huh? At this point forward, I try to fuck everything in my path to see how many STD's I can accumulate over the course of a game.

- This game has it all, including cults. So I join the Temple of Shadows. In order to get in I had to eat 5 live baby chicks in front of the gatekeeper. Then in order to become an upstanding member of the congregation I had to make random sacrifices to the Wheel of Fortune. The wheel determined the manner in which the sacrificial lamb would get got including incineration, shock therapy or a vicious stabbing.

- My first sacrifice ends up being the third woman I proposed marriage to but instead of bringing her to another house, I brought her to the temple to get got. As she got stabbed, I yelled "Psyche!" I'm bringing it back. She thought she was going to get some of my Shawn Kemp money but I told her "Like Doritos that's not-yo cheese."

- I get to this place which has a bunch of prostitutes so I keep on hitting that shit raw but I don't see any notification that I got an STD. This upsets me greatly so I keep in my pursuit of the clap.

- I become an assassin to start making more money. The reasons these people have a price on their head is pretty hilarious. One person was requested to be killed because she talked too much. Sounds like justifiable homicide to me.

- Health potions are tough to come by sometimes, but since I have money I buy a lot of food to get my health up including filet mignon pies. That shit makes this evil cracker a fat ass evil cracker. The various women I continue to pork begin to complain that I am crushing them. All this tells me is that I am an uncreative lover and only like the missionary position. This game still has room to improve.

- Because I'm not evil quite enough I become a slaver. Much like a pedophile, I lure an unsuspecting victim into a trap where two men jump them and lock them in a cage. I'm all about that money.

- Finally, after all of the crap I put my first wife through, her and Trojan left me. Can't really blame the broad. Immediately after this I rented out the place she vacated. I knew I could find a way to profit from this somehow. I also found a new woman, wifed her, impregnated her, and farted in her face because she seemed to like it. She also liked it when I thrusted my pelvis in a vulgar fashion in her direction. I like this girl. She definitely won't get sacrificed...yet.

- I sneak into Lucien's lair for some reconnaissance only to become a prison guard for about 10 years. I end up starving at least three prisoners to death and offing a fellow prison guard.

- I notice the logbook which tracks my character's actions, likeability, successes and many other stats including murders and sexual exploits. Looks like I did in fact pick up an STD...five of them to be exact. I screw one more whore commando to pick up my sixth.

- In between all of this fucking and murder I do complete quests to progress myself through the game and I eventually get to that rat bastard Lucien and shoot him in the face. I then have a choice of saving all of those murdered by him, saving my family or being incredibly wealthy. Obviously I pick the wealth. All of Albion hates me, but I am alright with that.

- With my riches, I buy a castle and find a potion in the castle that allows me to change my sex. Of course I had to do so, hoping to become a raging dyke.

I have not played since the sex change but I have a feeling I'm going to come back to this game. You can't make up this type of shit.

Greatest. Game. Ever.

Vote Obama in and I promise that he won't turn into some Uncle Thomas

If you love rap like I does, then you got to watch this parody of A Milli by Lil Wayne.



Perfect.

I have fallen and I can't get up

So it's a Saturday night and my hangover from my previous night's adventures just subsided enough at 9 pm for me to begin thinking about how I ended up puking all day. What a long, awkward yet glorious day I had yesterday. Let me begin.


I had an appointment to go a sports medicine doctor because I had a nagging injury whenever I played any sports. Whether it was basketball, soccer or football, I always felt like I had pulled my groin and no amount of stretching before and after would help fix it. So I decide, with a gentle nudge from my nurse girlfriend to do something about it.


When I get to the doctor's office I had to fill out a bunch of paperwork and wait 30 minutes after the time of my appointment for him to stroll on in all non-chalant without any notice nor care of the time he has already wasted of mine. This is normal for American health-care but I'm not going to rant about that. The final diagnosis is my main concern here. I tell him my issue and he performs a number of tests to determine where the pain actually resides. When you're injured due to your inflexibility, you really want a doctor to pull some contortionist shit on you. I feel the pain as I am writing this. His diagnosis is that I need an X-Ray. Awesome, more money pissed away.


At the time I was pissed that I had to get an X-Ray but an X-Ray of your pelvic region is an awesome thing to discuss with your doctor. The whole time he is trying to show me the region where my injury is, and I am just mesmerized with how huge my cock looks in the x-ray. Its silhouette took over the whole screen and the doctor was too much of a hater to recognize greatness. Fuck being professional. I plan on requesting the image on my next visit for my keeping.


So finally after I zoned back into the conversation, the doctor told me that it looked like I had a stress fracture in my pelvis. You have got to be fucking kidding me. I am 25 years old and my pelvis should be well intact until my 70's. Of course he has to get an MRI on it to confirm. Awesome more money to be pissed away. It better give me a 3-D image of my dong.

So obviously when I told my friends I got a variety of responses:

"What the hell did (my girlfriend) do to you? It should be her pelvis
you're pulverizing, not yours. Are you a bottom?"

"How does she feel about not getting any for awhile? Let her know I can play stunt cock."

"Osteoperosis at age 25, God you suck."

"Man you were breaking people's ankles with a broken pelvis, damn that shit is cold son."

"You probably got it from having to carry that big cock of yours
around."

Ok, I had to clean up some of their responses because honestly my friends really aren't that witty. However one of those statements above was completely made up. Can you guess which one? I can tell you right now you are going to guess incorrectly.

So how do you properly celebrate a broken pelvis on Halloween? You get annoyingly intoxicated, dress up as an Arab Sheik, and go to a Halloween party with your co-workers. How would Higgy dress up as an Arab Sheik you ask? he would take the following items:

- a Wal-Mart toga costume
- a head band
- the nicest towel you have

He would then remove the sash from the Wal-Mart toga, place the towel on his head (yes I know it's racist and it was not intended but an awesome bonus) and place the head band on your head to secure the towel. Then he wouldn't shave for a couple days so he can grow out his patchy ass beard because he hasn't hit puberty yet Then he would listen to most ignorant Arab song out right now, Arab Money by Busta Rhymes, to get his accent correct. The following events would then occur, most of them under the influence of plenty of alcohol.

- Yell Allah as if it started with an H at every cup made in beer pong
- Chant made up Arabic in the streets
- Do the airplane soccer celebration followed by a crash into a building yelling "Hallah!"
- Dance in Arab Sheik style, which requires more made up Arabic chanting followed by weird hand signs, head bobbing, and more G5 airplane impersonations.
- Talk about your anticipation of your 73 vestal virgins in the afterlife.
- Use your towel as a prayer rug.

The last one I'm not very proud of, but that should tell you the lengths at which I will go to stay in character. Surprisingly not too many people at the party were offended and most people were enjoying it. I'm an asshole. I keep digging myself closer to Hell and dragging everyone else with me.

Pictures and video to follow.

My Sudden Realization

Well after thinking about it for approximately two minutes in the shitter today, I realize that our faithful Gamestop clerk Chris only recognized my face but definitely didn't remember my name. When picking up another reserved game yesterday, he asked for my telephone number (for identification purposes people, not to have gay ritualistic sex with me). It was only after that point that he referred to me by my name.


This realization at first came as a relief to me. I may have many nerdish qualities, but I haven't plummeted into the world of Dungeon and Dragon-ers, Trekkies, and Comic-Con attendees. The fear of being recognized in an establishment like Gamestop like I was drinking at Cheers brought upon much worry that I could be associated with those types. Whew.

After the sudden relief, I became upset. I thought Chris and I had something deeper than the customer-retailer relationship. He was supposed to provide my much needed gaming camaraderie and allow me to boost my ego at his expense. Now I just feel used, much like the feeling you have the next morning when the night before a stripper used your weakness for her monetary gain. All Chris was after was my expendable income. But I should've seen the signs.

1) He always tried to sell me on something else whenever I was there, whether it was a game guide, a potential heater coming out in a few months with 50 hours of hardcore limb-decapitating gameplay, or a midnight release party where you could get a special gold colored in-game weapon or action figure.

2) He would ramble on about his gameplay experiences, his favorite games and the fact he got to demo games much earlier than his "non-industry" counterparts. He never asked me about my favorite games, if I liked long walks on the beach, or if I would like to join him on one of his gaming adventures. I would give and give and give, and he never gave back.

3) He made me wait in line with among the hordes of overweight, gouda smelling patrons. The game I picked up yesterday Fallout 3, he did not allow me to cut in front of this overweight man and his overweight wife. I thought my company was important to him but I found out the hard way he'll service anyone any age or size, pretty or ugly.

I feel about the same as when Cashmere the stripper told me I was cute and then took my money without finding out more about the real Higgy. All she did was do her little dance, take my money and run. Chris is nothing but a lousy stripper to me now. Unfortunately I have to see him again. I have one more game pre-ordered that I have to pick up next week and it is at that time I will let him know that I have to terminate my relationship with Gamestop. I will also have to tell him he will receive a poor rating from me on the online survey he requested me to fill out.

Why do I always put myself out there only to let myself get hurt?

Higgy: The Reigning King of all that is Nerd

So as I have posted before on this blog or what you may have gathered or based on the fact that the few of you that read this are my friends, you know I love video games. They are like my crack. It is a sad state of affairs right now because of the amount of games I've sold and bought at Gamestop, I have achieved a new level of loserdom. Here is how it went with our faithful Gamestop clerk, Chris (reference Find the Knob in the Picture).

Higgy: "Do you guys have Little Big Planet in?"
Chris: "No, we have to wait for the UPS guy to show up."

After 2 mins of conversation where Chris explains in way too much detail why other stores got it but his store did not, the UPS guy shows up with the game. Keep in mind it is a little after noon on a Saturday.

Chris: "Awesome, glad you're here because people have been waiting for this
game. Weren't you supposed to be here at 10?
UPS Guy: "Nah, at 12."
Chris: "Oh ok I could've sworn it was at 10 since we open then. (Of course he ahs to argue for nerd's sake) Well this guy right here (refering to me) is glad you came in."
UPS Guy (looking at me like a little fuckin kid): "Well sorry you had to wait, have a great day!"

So now someone else gets to not only acknowledge the fact that I'm a loser, but they then feel the need to apologize to me for my douchebagery . Thanks Chris. Thanks.

Now for the coup de grâce. Because I pre-ordered this game, normally one would have to show their driver's license in order to prove their identity in order to pick the game up. Not this guy.

Higgy attempts to hand his Driver's License
Chris: "I don't need to see that (Higgy), I know who you are."

Fuck, shit, piss out my ass. It was like Bill Gates walked into the room and dubbed me a sir in the Knighthood of Nerdery. Not really an honor I ever want to be given. It was quite the defeating blow to my ego to be well-known enough in a video game retailer. So I went home, head down in shame at my newfound self-realization of my rank in the totem pole of society and told my lovely girlfriend about my great misadventures. Would you expect her to be kind and understanding of the trauma my ego has suffered? Hells no. She let me have it with her patented impersonations which always start with, "My Name is (insert name here)" and are spoken in a voice that I can only describe as a more mentally impaired Napoleon Dynamite. Here are some of her gems.

The GF: "My name is (Higgy) and I like to play video games with my friend Chris.
We are bestest friends."

The GF: "Chris, me, you and Dale should play
video games together sometime."
Higgy: "Where did Dale come from?"
The GF: "I don't know, the name just sounds nerdy."
Higgy: "The name sounds hick but please continue."

I also got a code with the game to redeem to get extra characters in this game and it wasn't working so I had to call Gamestop back up. My girlfriend's mockery continued.

The GF: "Are you calling your buddy Chris? Hopefully he can make it aaallllll better."

No one knows how to stroke my ego like her. Maybe Chris could make it better.

Racial, Social, and Political Menstrals

I apologize in advance for the Seinfeld-esque rant that is to follow. But I'm sorry, this is something that has been bothering me for awhile.

Why does everybody who are considered remotely different or have a random interest in something retarded have to have a celebratory month out of the year? My company thrives on these types of celebrations bringing "awarenesss" to shit that doesn't need light shed upon it. February is Black History Month. June is LGBT awareness month. September 15th begins Hispanic Heritage month. So I'm used to these kind of months. These groups of people feel slighted over the years by ignorant people so they need a whole month to shove their lifestyle into other people's faces. I understand that. Ok I don't understand it since March isn't "Caucasian Invasion" month, but as I said, I'm used to it. But the line was crossed a couple of days ago when the corporate intranet website had an article about Disability Awareness Month. Motherfucker.

Do these people actually want more attention than they already have? Probably not. I'm fully aware of these people everytime I go to a Kroger, watch an after school special or try to park anywhere at work. Their presence is already well-known with their handi-capable parking spaces and their stutters, limps, awkward gaits, deformed faces, lacking mental capacity, powder filled hands due to their inability to stop jacking off making them rub their dick raw, and other abnormalities that I doubt have gone unnoticed by the general populace. So let's put these people in more of a spotlight than the one God has already placed upon these people. Yikes.

But then I was thinking, who counts as disabled? Anyone who has a handicapped placard in their car? Anyone who never graduated from high school? Anyone who is unaware of the fact they have no talent yet still pursue acting and music careers just to end up as soft-core porn actresses? I feel the disabled population encompasses more people than the Disability Awareness Month braintrust imagined.

Then I was listening on the radio and I heard October is Domestic Abuse Awareness Month. When does this stop? Maybe I am naive, but I feel most people are aware that wife-beating hicks and football players exist in the world today. This month only brings about awareness that more of these assholes need to get got when they are in the womb. Ah...more abortion would make our world a much better place.

So I think I should come up with a random month awareness celebration of my own. Since we're on the subject of bringing awareness to something that we are already aware of, I plan on bringing awareness to I hereby declare November to be Bad Blowjob Etiquette Awareness Month.

Now I know what you're thinking, "Yes I've had a bad blowjob, who hasn't?" It's true, we've all been there and much like being black or white, getting beaten by your spouse, or fuck-tarding your way through life, you can't avoid a bad blow job here and there. Ladies, don't feel like I'm singling you out. I'm pretty sure you get the worst of it since you probably orgasm every solar eclipse. And I'm sure this includes anytime your significant other, random schmuck off the street or hired help feel inclined to dive all in your muff.

Now I am by no means an expert in teasing the clit let alone finding the female orgasm much to my girlfriend's disdain. However my real issue is not the execution but the etiquette by which the felatio is performed. Some sex expert well versed in genatalia could tell you how to suck, fuck, lick and stick right, but I want to bring back some common courtesy to the blow job. Some consideration and even appreciation needs to be displayed when applying your orals. Below is just a preview of random Blow Job Etiquette guidelines to follow in the month of November.


1) Thank your suck therapist even if the attempt failed.
Consider this the participation trophy you received for sitting on the bench in third grade basketball. This means give them a nice thank you, a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or even a kiss on the mouth if you're not weirded out by your life force being in their orifice. This does not mean pat them on the head like they are your lap dog unless you have no respect for them.

2) When felating for the love of God don't use your teeth.
Please do not gnaw on the knob unless specifically requested. Don't try to "change shit up or get real kinky" without expressed written and/or verbal consent. Our dicks are pretty much the most treasured item in our lives, please show them the respect that they deserve. That being said, I'm pretty sure many a labia have been mistreated by some ambitious nibbling.


3) Don't be afraid to give constructive criticism when your fuck buddy is terrible
Honestly, if what they're doing isn't helping you bust some ectoplasm it should be kosher to let them know. Don't knock the eager beaver for trying but sometimes you just need to lead the fox to the hole. For instance it should be socially acceptable to tell your mate, "Just because it's called a blowjob does not mean you literally blow on my penis like a candle on your birthday cake."

4) Accept constructive criticism when you're told you're terrible at felating.
If you're told that sticking any and all digits in their anus is neither pleasurable nor appreciated, sack it up, don't take it personally and try something else. This also applies when you're told "I'm not Vince Vaughn so let's not play the game 'Just the Tip'," "that slurping sound just doesn't do it for me" and "Would you please not yell 'Charge!!!' when blowing your load?"

Bad Blowjob Etiquette Awareness Month is all about promoting a healthy dialogue between sexual partners that allow the benefits of bumping uglies to be shared by all parties involved. I want to live in a world where you get what you want, when you want it and not feel ashamed to say it.

Note: These guidelines do not apply if you have no respect for the hole currently attempting to please your junk. I fully believe in making someone who should feel worthless actually feel that they aren't even a worthy suck/fuck pad.

New Beerlympics Training Regimen

As I detailed last week, my ability to handle alcohol has become non-existent. Therefore in order to handle a visit from my Columbus compadres and as a vow to myself to be less of a loose vag, I have made an effort to drink two beers a night until their arrival Halloween weekend in the heart of the Confederacy. I must be fully prepared to drink some firewater and verbally pillage on some douchebags this weekend. Here is how the training went for Week 1.


Monday Night - I was still in Columbus giving that entrance test for my employer to the cheating youth of America. I caught Seung Cho (too soon for that joke?) in the front row trying to get a head start on the test before everyone else and attempted to continue completing the test once the timer went off. It took everything I had not to burn the test right in front of him. After that bullshit, I needed to hang out with the guys so I went over to Hova's house while in Columbus and drank a beer. Hova, being the genius he is came up with a random Ohio State basketball trivia question that he knew I would answer. The resulting prize from this trivia question was a bottle of Mike's Hard Lemonade. I haven't drank that shit since I was interning in Boston and not getting any mouth hugs on my penis. Citris in my alcoholic drink just doesn't sit well with me since a Cinco de Mayo celebration with Mills resulted in me drinking Corona's with lime juice instead of limes thus causing me to exorcise my demons in another pube lined commode.


Tuesday Night - Due to flying all day and eating shitty food, my pussy was out like Lindsay Lohan's. Needless to say I abstained from drinking and let down my brethren. Story of my life.


Wednesday Night - I definitely did not plan on drinking but I got a call from T-Pain telling me he had a shitty ass day covering for dumbasses and that he needed to drink. Since he lives 10 feet away from me, I honestly couldn't say no. He brought over some Scotch and some fudge. Quite the queer combination I know, but his maple fudge was fucking delicious. Anyways I realized I was too much of a wet fuck hole to drink Scotch on the rocks so we ended up having Jack and Coke, while watching Indiana Jones get raped on South Park. My girlfriend called and said, "How full is your bucket?" Great motivation from my so-called coach.


Thursday Night - My coach/girlfriend who has also been pushing me to drink two beers a day asked me to stay the night, but had no beers in her fridge. Pretty damn weak on her part. So we ended up watching The Happening. This is the worst movie I have seen in a long time. When you cast Mark Wahlberg as a high-school science teacher who talks about the scientific method, you definitely have failed as a director and as a human being. That performance was as believable as my girlfriend pretending to enjoy the 30 seconds of pleasure my penis can provide. Halfway through my coach asks me if we should stop watching and I tell her no because "there's always a twist at the end that will make or break Shymalan's movies." Well that was a crock of shit. Pretty much you were told plants were releasing toxins in the air forcing people to off themselves as humans have become a scourge of the planet. Then their attack all of a sudden stops and all is right with the world. "Heart-pounding apocalyptic thriller" my ass. I will never watch an M. Night Shymalan film again. I should've learned my lesson from The Village.



Friday Night - Had two beers before 6:30 at a local hole in the wall 5 blocks away from my residence. People then convened at my crib and we drank while watching Robot Chicken, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and my dog being a jackass. Early in the evening I began to yawn and my girlfriend pushed my jaw up calling me a "Pansy." She was counting down the minutes to 10:30, the time at which I went convulsive on everybody. "Can you last another 30 minutes?" Total bitch move but I she did have a point. I did make it well past 10:30 thank God. My coach later in the evening was looking very tired trying to keep up with my pace while nursing her beer. Weak sauce. Even though she can't back up her words, I do appreciate how I'm moulding her into a shit-talking asshole. I'm proud.



Saturday Night - After a thrilling day running wild with my dog which ended with a Narc ending our fun at the park by calling 911 on us, T-Pain and myself went over to Simi's place to play beer pong and watch the UFC fight. I wasn't really watching much of the UFC fight as T-Pain and I were cleaning house with beer pong. I was on fire and I was letting my opponents know it. Drinking and talking shit go hand and hand with me. I normally pick on the weaker of the two opponents, this time it was Simi's girlfriend who I met for the first time. After exchanging pleasantries I pissed her off enough to huck the ping pong ball directly at my throat. I know I deserved it but I was on so much of a streak I didn't give a shit. I was so on-fire in fact that I made two death cups as well with one of them banking off of the big pony of my opponent's polo shirt and dropped into the cup. If you are unaware of the rules, the death cup is the cup of beer your opponent is currently drinking and if you make said cup they have to drink all of the beer on the table. I was nice enough not to make them drink all of the beer on the table, so it just added to my drunken state. After many games, I ended up drinking out of a bottle of wine with T-Pain, Simi, Simi's girlfriend and Paav until we finished the bottle. I normally hate wine but I was drunk enough that I could not discern between any liquid entering my mouth at that point. A pretty gay way to end the night, but I'm not the most masculine of men.

Sunday - I'm taking today off because I'm proud of my progress thus far. I drank a shit ton last night and didn't even have a hangover for my morning soccer game. My sandy vagina is still attached but hopefully my innie becomes an outie next week. More to come on my progress.

How to identify a Child-Toucher

Thanks to DC 101's Elliot in the Morning and DDT (now known as The Rambling Man from now on for his long-winded comments which had me at "pussy-whipped" and lost me at the "whole grains"), I was made aware of this new development in Pedophiliac Prevention.


http://www.washtimes.com/news/2008/oct/15/pumpkin-marks-sex-offenders-homes/

This got me thinking, I probably could come up with a Halloween costume or two from this. This also got me thinking, I work for a company with 15,000+ employees worldwide. There has to be a registered sex offender amongst them. My company prides itself on diversity so I'm sure we've diversified our workforce enough to pick up at least a child-diddler for good measure. In all honestly I've felt for a long time that one of my co-workers is awkward enough to be a Chester. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I feel this guy has a few key character traits that he could possibly fall into this bucket. So I've decided to make a check list of tell tale signs to determine if someone you work with in fact touches the hearts and genatalia of our youth.

The signs that you have spotted a child-toucher



1) Awkward appearance including facial fair. If they look desheveled or have an apathy towards life because they're too hideous to correct their situation and find a suitable mate their age, you may have found a child-toucher. This person may think a child would not judge them and their many physical faults as children are pure and not judgemental. Pedophiles I'm sorry to inform you that you're wrong because although children may be blind to color differences, they're not blind to ugly. I'm sure anything looking like it came straight from the crypt would probably scare them, not elicit their trust.



2) Awkward social mannerisms. This person probably blends in because they are good at what they do, so most people overlook their mannerisms. I, however, am a very judgemental person and no apparent flaw passes by my radar. These mannerisms can range from anything to awkward conversations because they are social retards to the acknowledgment of odd hobbies for a person their age. For example, if you notice said gentleman is a cat lover because he talks to your female co-worker about her cat at great lengths, that guy probably owns several cats to capture the imagination and orificial virtue of young children. Or the guy could just be gay. Honestly a toss-up here.



3) A soft voice only rivaled by Raffi. I'm not saying this guy would sing Baby Beluga or any shit like that in public, but this person probably carries a guitar with them for no reason at work functions or in general in hopes of wooing a child with some sweet, soft-spoken lullabies. Children do love music and sing alongs. However they won't like them as much when they find out what they are holding up to their lips is not a microphone at all.



4) Prolific wearing of Hawaiian shirts. I'm sorry but Hawaiian shirts in public places other than Hawaii bother me. Hawaiian shirts have no place anywhere let alone at work. Anyone who wears them is trying way too hard to show people they are part of the "fun" crowd. This extra effort to put up a facade is obviously a ploy to hide the fact that they fondle with baby foreskin.


I'm sure you may have an encounter or two with a pedophile, so please provide some suggestions. Do it for the children damn it.

Sometimes Other People's Ignorance is My Bliss

Whenever I try to find something humorous on the internet, the first place I turn to is http://www.foxnews.com/. Well today I found this nice gem coming out of my old stomping grounds, Sacramento, CA. The world would be so boring without white trash.

http://elections.foxnews.com/2008/10/15/gop-site-california-removes-waterboard-obama-graphic/

...In other news, I had this nice text message conversation a la Mickey Avalon with Hova:

Hova: "My dick need no A1. Yo dick even make men run."
Higgy: "Why would your dick need A1?"
Hova: "It's thick like a steak, but tasty enough you don't need steak
sauce."

This is what we refer to as a setup. He baited me into asking that question. Nicely done Hova.

Higgy can't hold his liquor...again (amended twice)

As I sit here fulfilling on my corporate duty of trying to recruit the best and the brightest college youth to my company, I have plenty of downtime to reminisce about my weekend back home. I go back at least once a year to my alma mater to give this test to graduating college students and at least once a year I feel further and further disconnected from the youthful exuberance I once had when I myself was a college youth drinking and fornicating in and around every campus orifice. Okay, that is a blatant lie. The majority of my college days were spent callousing up my dick with my hand with glorious thoughts of how I would plow through one college slut after the next after consuming massive amounts of liquor. Unfortunately for myself and your entertainment from this blog, I was a pretty tame individual compared to most and didn't come into my own until a little too late in my life. Basically I would have been over-qualified as a contestant of Beauty and the Geek. However I was able to get drunk and enjoy the company of friends, so I'm not living with any real regret as to missed opportunities.

Now when I visit and share some spirits with my brethren, I end up going too hard too fast and have to bail out early. Real early. So early my mother could've tucked me in and kissed me goodnight early. I just can't handle staying up all day drinking. So I've decided to chronicle the short-lived night I had out with my friends this past friday. The timing is probably incorrect but we started around 6-6:30 and definitely ended at 11.

Without further adieu, here are the events that took place in the probably the weakest tribute to all that is Tucker Max (http://www.tuckermax.com/).

6:30 pm: Arrive with my girlfriend at Mad Mex, a local campus bar/restaurant she used to work at. She gets greeted by every Gaping Hole and Nozzle in the joint as if it were Cheers. I stand in the background and let her get her 15 minutes of fame and adoration.

6:40 pm: Once she answers the repeated questions from the said Gaping Holes and Nozzles about her life after college even though they are douchy enough to not remember the reason why she moved in the first place, one of them finally has the foresight to think we may actually want to be served. This guy is definitely a standout amongst them. So immediately we go for their juggernaut, their "Big Azz" margaritas. This drink is sweet nectar straight from the Devil's tit. It is a deceptively strong drink that can make giggling school girls out of grown ass men.

6:50 pm: Our first drink arrives and down the hatch she goes. I always tend to drink these way too fast. This folks is what we refer to as foreshadowing.

7:00 pm: Hova and Mills arrive not a moment too soon. I needed a diversion from the fray of feminine hygene products coming my girlfriend's way. Immediately we begin discussing the finer points of the female vagina and Hova's newfound lust for it.

7:10 pm: Some delicious honey barbecue wings have been consumed much to the detriment of my health. Heartburn kicks in as I write this. I make an empty promise to curb my diet.

7:30 pm: Second margarita comes my way. I forgot how good these things tasted. At this point I make a reference to a joke I had made a previous evening about how vaginas always look sad and questioning how sad they would be if they had cleft palattes. Second to red hair, that is the one feature I am afraid my offspring will have due to my bad karma and overall disdain for all that is mutated. I really need to stop repeating what spews out of my mouth for the good of my children.

8:00 pm: Third margarita hits my throat. I can feel the acidic nature of the margarita eat at my already decaying enamel. At this point I am at "insecure drunk." A little more than tipsy at this point but easily upset by any disparaging comment, intentional or not said to me.

8:05 pm: Discussion begins about my blog and references to Entourage begin. We're drunk enough to believe that I'm going to make it big from this thing and how Mills and Hova would be my part of my entourage. We decide Mills would be Eric since he's the grounded, conservative one amongst us, Hova would be Drama because basically he's the wild-card and our friend Thomper would be Turtle. My girlfriend just tuning into the conversation says to me, "Why are you Vince?" I instantly take this as a slight against my physical appearance by saying things like, "Oh what am I not good looking enough to be Vince?" I instantly begin my defense mechanism which is to make half-serious, half-joking comments to her until she tells me I'm the finest man around. She tells me "You would be Turtle. I think Turtle is cute." That instantly sets me off for the remainder of the evening.

8:10 pm: I ask the waiter for the bill so I can cover the first half of drinking and my friends could cover the rest. I figured my per diem could cover it until I saw it. $69. Fuck. Well that blows. I guess drinking is on my tab tonight. You figure this kind of spending would curb my need to drink. Nope.

8:30 pm: My fourth margarita comes up and goes down the hatch even quicker than before. I am giddy around my friends but noticably distant from my girlfriend due to the "Turtle" comment. I am so petty when I'm drunk.

8:45 pm: Hova now has become a walking penis wanting to bang any girl who walks in. I see a girl I think he is eyeing and become noticably disgusted at the audacity she has to flaunt her "muffin-top." When I am disgusted, angered, annoyed, or feel someone is beneath me, I am unable to hide my reaction. My facial expression normally speaks volumes, which makes me not only a bad poker player but a bad person. Hova then corrects me and I am relieved. The girl he was looking at was cute. He does nothing about this. It's ok though because he is much less of a pussy than I was during my single days.

9:00 pm: The waiter asks us if we want 1 more round. Without much of a fight, we humbly oblige. Number 5 is on its way and at this point I am unaware of the consequences of my actions. But I soon will be.

9:05 pm: As my girlfriend attempts to eat a tortilla chip, Hovito knocks the chip out of her hand and states, "Don't come in here with that weak tot action." I proceed to giggle like a fairy. My girlfriend puts up with a lot of shit.

9:10 pm: My friends start throwing pieces of napkins into my girlfriend's drink. I block some of the napkins and waive my finger Dikembe Mutombo style. This obviously escalates things and whole napkins, looking like used tampons with aborted ova on them, get tossed into each other's drinks. This however does not prevent me from consuming mine.

9:30 pm: We decide to leave this restaurant and head to our normal closer bar, the Bier Stube. A complete hole in the wall we fell in love with during our college years due to it's rustic feel, cheap beer and incredible juke box. Heading to a closer bar at 9:30 pm --> more foreshadowing folks.

9:35 pm: We go buy cards at a convenience store, Hova annoys the clerks by messing with the door and making the doorbell play multiple times. He thrives on being awkward.

9:40 pm: We arrive at the Bier Stube and begin to play the game Asshole. If you haven't played it, it is a great game to belittle others, force them to call you their savior and then make them atone for their sins against you by consuming more alcohol. Needless to say I was praying to the gods of Hova, Mills and my girlfriend, who at this point I still think is a bitch for referring to me as "Turtle."

10:15 pm: I hit the wall. When I remark, "The room just got dizzy," I knew things were about the go awry. The massive amounts of tequila are striking back as reparations for the Mexican-American War. I immediately head to the bathroom which looks like the scene of a murder-suicide, wrap my arms around one of the most disgusting commodes I have ever seen, drop to my knees in several urine samples and stick my head into toilet lined with pubes looking like a porcelain vagina. I feel like a petrie dish with all of the different kinds of DNA on my body. I proceed to vomit for a few minutes. Mills comes in to guard the door as if to prevent a gang-style rape for which I am eternally grateful.

10:30 pm: I walk out to meet with my friends again and tell them that I need to get home. I am dizzy and definitely can't walk straight. My girlfriend calls me a pussy and tells me to go outside. I chill by the dumpster outside and my advocate, Mr. Mills comes to check on me. I tell him I need to go home and he soon brings out my girlfriend who proceeds to tell me. "It's fucking 10:30, do you seriously want to go home?" We head towards my rental car and she drives me home telling me how I need to pace myself and how I am a little bitch. She's not happy with me. This is payback for all of the times I've had to hold her hair and console her for being a sloppy drunk

11:00 pm: We get to the hotel and my girlfriend becomes the water Nazi shoving glass after glass of water in my gob. At this point I'm still pissed at her about her comment but I have no time to think as she's yelling, "Take out your fucking contacts." I love her.

11:01 pm: I proceed to throw up again, three more times. Each of these times I ended up ralphing through my nostrils. I imagine this would be the initial sting of doing a line a coke off of a stripper's ass but this is much less satisfying.

11:05 pm: My girlfriend cackles in the background, "I would blow you if you could actually get it up." Total bitch move but in hindsight I view it as well played.

So my friends, that was one of the weaker nights I've had. The next day I was referred to as beachfront property due to the massive amounts of sand in my vagina. The rest of the weekend was fairly tame. Thomper, Hova, and I made a BW3's waitress uncomfortable by arguing about the merits of using your pro football fame to stick it in women and about how burying menstruation does not honor dead babies but only attracts bears while T-Grange, Mills and his fiancee were uncomfortable by our discourse. Thomper, Hova and I came up with a sexual position called the "Texas Shootout" where two couples are fucking with the males backs to eachother and then whoever shoots his load at the other male's backside first wins the shootout.

God we are disgusting human beings.

The Faces of Economic Crisis

Whenever I go to http://www.cnn.com/ during one of my many visits to the Internet at work, the only images I see are those of people at the NYSE cupping their head in their hands as if they just found out that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Jesus aren't real. It's actually quite depressing. I understand we're in a serious time for America due to some major investment fuck ups by big investment firms, but do we really need a visual? I mean I do on occasion enjoy looking at pictures where we are capturing a moment in a person's life where they are literally in the gutter, but I honestly don't need an onslaught of suffering thrown my way. So I've decided to point out the exploitation of these people by exploiting them myself.

Left aghast by the fact that Jeff Ross was even considered a star worthy of being a contestant on "Dancing with the Stars."

This man should just be thankful he had his wedding ring on for this picture.

This schmuck is now calling his old employer asking for his job back at Bobby Layman Chevrolet, Inc.

Cueball is smug knowing that his portfolio is well diversified while the greaser to his left is forced to pawn off his watch and his gold chain.

Why do the majority of these brokers need Bosley hair restoration? Because all they seem to be doing these days is running their hands through their hair. There are hundreds of different variations of this exact image all over every news medium.

Instead of looking bloated, maybe you could improve your appearance and marry into money so you don't have to worry about this shit, huh? Ok...ok...you're right, that wouldn't work because you're too much of an Indigo Girl for that. Am I sexist pig? Yes. But please tell me you have a problem that a rich penis wouldn't fix.

The expression of pain on his face is as if Kim Jong Il just raped and pillaged his homestead. I can't even rip on this dude, he's just way too damn depressing. However not depressing enough for me to not exploit him and his image. "Fo-give-uh-nuss prease."

You sunk my battle-shit!

My friends and I are 20-somethings stuck in corporate America, trying to become badasses in our respective professions yet are hampered by our inability to find a creative outlet when we get into the same mundane routine day in and day out. Although we are grown men, we are still juvenile and get chuckles at dick and fart jokes. However we must conceal our true humor in our respective workplaces since the result of said humor could be lawsuits from the easily offended. What would any man do when pinned to a corner like this? Find an out.

Hence we have the text message. A powerful tool that can send covert messages over electromagnetic wavelengths to suspecting and sometimes unsuspecting colleagues sparking chortle-filled outbursts. In recent times, we've used this mechanism to send messages as to the exact location we're at and the exact action we are taking with painstakingly detailed description. This is a tradition started by my friend Thomper and has snowballed into something bigger than ourselves. Basically we text when we are sitting at the pot "crunching a grumpy" as Thomper would say. It is our way of keeping in touch and showing how much we care. The result is shown below. (Note: The memory on my phone can only hold 100 total text messages, so many of these are not word for word and some of these are just messages I wished I was witty enough to type at the time. Fellas chime in if I forgot any or add any originals)

Thomper - "Guess what? I'm crapping!"
Higgy- "Thanks for the memo."

Higgy - "I just drowned Theo Huxtable in the pool. Definitely a hate crime there."

Hova - "You will appreciate this. I took a dump that was, no joke, at least 14 inches long and a big ole ring gauge."
Higgy - "I'm impressed with the accuracy of the measurement."
Hova - "I put my foot beside the toilet and estimated. It was down the hole but also out of the water."

Higgy - "Smells like Indian death. Trail of tears style."

Higgy- "This shit just gave me goosebumps....it's like a ghost just left
my body."
Hova - "I think it was just the idea of something coming out rather than going in."

Higgy - "Some nuclear fallout just exited my anus. Chernobyl resulted."

Higgy - "Guess what? Immaculate! It's like I'm looking at baby Jesus in the manger."

T-Pain had a good one outside of text messaging in reference to spilling bio-diesel.

T-Pain - "I have conducted a community outreach program...taking some inner city
youths to the white house."

I think you get the idea. More to follow on this I'm sure. If you have some of your own feel free to pop a squat and drop them on here. Maybe I really am a fecal-philiac.

Great Moments in Fuck Up History

Like any decent human being, I'll do nice things for my girlfriend. I'm not saying I'm some Don Juan or Casanova doing some corny ass shit, but I have my moments. Some of my friends and colleagues would consider me somewhat "whipped" and I would somewhat agree with them. Actually I would completely agree with that statement and would freely admit that I only get to see my testicles when she snags the jar she has them in out of her hiding place. So being the ball-less, pussy-whipped, hapless fuck that I am, I futilly agreed to do another nice thing for her. I agreed to throw myself to the wolves and attend her family reunion with her and her mother at a cow pasture out in the middle of nowhere Central Cannucksburg, Canada.

Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Canada. Canadian people are very friendly and Canada has a lot going for it. Fresh air, scenic views, free public health-care, lots of land sparsely inhabited by overly-friendly people...ok fuck it I have plenty against Canada. But they aren't the main characters of this telling tale of fuck-tard-ery as this story could've occurred in Hickville U.S.A. with the same result.

So I was somewhat prepared for this family gathering as I had met her family on her mother's side already on numerous occasions. Being that my girlfriend was borne to parents who were over the age of 40, her family is much older and much more conservative than she. Also assuming that we were heading to Sasketchuan farming country rather than an urban metropolis, I knew that I was going to be surrounded by the religious right the whole time I was there. Which to me means "No Pussy for Higgy Week" since there is no sleeping with my girlfriend or in this case sleeping NEAR my girlfriend. I'm not even joking. I slept on a couch in the living room, which was as comforting to my back as Ike was to the city of Galveston, while my girlfriend shared a double-bed with her snoring mother choking babies in her sleep. She could not escape the snorefest because she was NOT allowed to sleep on the other couch in the living room since I was in there. HOUSE RULES. Why the hell would I ever want to rail my girlfriend with the slight chance that I would be caught by the Jesus police, thrown in a obnoxiously violet field of flax, and left for dead in a country that isn't my own? Give me a damn break. I only tell you this to properly describe the setting of the following story. Had there been a fucking clue in my head, remembering for a split second my surroundings, maybe this would never have happened.

During the week I was in Canada, we ventured with the same people to one of the relatives' houses to have dinner and to talk about the same things we had talked about the previous evening. These subjects ranged from planning the next family reunion and the farming industry to the comfort of Jesus so you can imagine how riveting a time this was for my girlfriend and myself.

So on one of these evenings, we had to drive an hour or so past many a field and pasture to another one of these entertaining dinners. Of course with my luck, my girlfriend is sitting in the back seat passed out from the excitment of our day picking fucking berries in the garden and I am riding shotgun with her mom's cousin's husband (As a small aside to this story, this family tree although large does not have many branches if you catch my drift). Not to get distracted from the tale here, I had to make awkward small talk with this guy during this boring drive. I felt compelled to at least do so as a common courtesy to the guy. This man worked in the mines of Northern Canada for 30 some years and those years had not been so kind to him that's for sure. Basically he was a huge German, grizzly in stature and calling him rough on the exterior would be like saying Sarah Jessica Parker is kinda ugly. Ouch. Anyway, since this grizzled man lived in Canada all of his life, his accent was pretty damn thick, his pronunciation of words was odd to me and frankly it was hard for me to hear what he had to say. Keep this point in mind.

We start to talk about the frequency by which he travels. He definitely lives the good life now spending 2 to 3 months in the winter staying in a place in California just for shits and giggles. He's like a goddamn Monarch Butterfly. He begins to talk about his travels in the States and the dialogue goes as follows:

Man - "I drove down through Georgia one time."
Higgy - "Oh really?"
Man - "Yeah. They definitely have strange food there."
Higgy - "Oh really?"

You can definitely tell I was real engaged in this conversation. But this is where the tide turned.

Man - "Yeah. Boiled penis is real popular there."
Higgy - "Uh. Are you serious?"
Man - "Yeah. It's boiled penis but they call it Hot Penis there."

This is where I start to giggle like a gossipy little girl. You probably know where this story is going but unfortunately I was high off of the surplus of oxygen that is up in Mayberry.

Man - "Yeah I tried some. It was different."
Higgy - "You are a brave man. "
Man - "Why?"
Higgy - "I would never try something like that."
Man - "Well I tried it and it definitely wasn't for me."
Higgy - "I don't care if it was boiled, hot, dry, wet or spicy, I would
never put penis in my mouth."

Yes those words came out of my mouth. Keep in mind all of this time my girlfriend is sound asleep.

Man - "But the funny thing is, they have Boiled Penis there but you can't
find peanut butter anywhere down there."

Then it hit my like a ton of fucking bricks etched with the word "Dumbass." The whole time he was saying "peanuts" not "penis." His goddamn thick Canadian accent did not enunciate the "uuhhhtttss" in "peanuts." Why would I think he ate penis? From what animal would said penis come from? I imagined it being the Laffy-Taffy of all animal bi-products and that thought shrouded me from the obvious fact he was talking about peanuts, which by the way I find delicious. However, he did not catch on to my Freudian slip and I was safe from ridicule and an even more awkward moment.

So we finally arrive, exit the vehicle and proceed to the party. I then pulled my girlfriend aside and told her how much of a dumbass I had been and the fact I could never eat peanuts in front of those relatives of her's ever again. Which really pisses me off because a lot of good shit can be made with peanuts. Fuck salt.

Hopefully that is the last time I talk about the insertion of dong into my gob.


No reason for this image besides the fact that I think this guy has had a view dongs inserted into his gob during his few years of life.