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.