Saturday, September 26, 2009

Group Therapy and the Scandinavian

Since Mrs. T is watching Grey's Anatomy on the DVR (why the hell she eats this shit up, I have no damn clue) and I am backed up from Applebee's (Zambrano-ing may ensue), so I'm writing this as a race against time before I shart myself. Speaking of which, here is some random shit in my head.


Now that I own a house the only time I go out is when with other couples since single people can't stand to hang out with my kind anymore. And honestly I can't blame them, because we are an uninteresting folk.

However going out with other couples has shown me that I'm not alone in my lameness. It pretty much ends up being "Couple's Therapy" where I can find solace in mediocrity and comfort in knowing my life is just as uninteresting as the rest. There I can see these guys become shadows of their former selves as their minds become numb to the same vaginally-altered logic I endure. Don't get me started on my 3 year long argument about the proper pronunciation of the word "ruined."

Anyways we had one of these therapy sessions at Applebee's tonight and here is the result of said therapy:


A mother turtle and a baby turtle are about to cross a road. The mother turtle told her son that she would cross the road first, then wag her tail when she deemed it ok for her son to cross. So the mother turtle starts to cross the street and gets halfway across before she gets trucked by a Semi. Her son is distraught and after a short time decides to walk along the side of the road.

At the same time, a mother skunk and her son are about to cross the same road. The mother skunk told her son the same thing as the mother turtle told her son and she began to cross the road. The mother skunk got halfway when the same Semi blasted through her in the same fashion as the mother turtle. The son skunk mourns his mothers untimely death and walks along the side of the road as well.

The two newly ordained orphans meet along the same road, each of which is crying. The skunk asks the turtle, "Why are you crying?" The turtle replies, "My mother just died and I don't even know who I am." The skunk says, "Well you're timid, green and have a hard shell, so you must be a turtle. " The turtle replies, "Wow...I must be a turtle." The skunk then says, "I'm sad as well because the same thing happened to my mother and I'm young and I don't even know who I am." The turtle then says, "Well you're black and you're white and you stink like shit, so you must be Puerto Rican."



Yeah this was the highlight of my evening...I really need a mancation.



On that homoerotic note, which of the following things should I feel most gay about?

1) I can't get the new Miley Cyrus song out of my head. "Party in the USA" really strikes a chord with me.
2) This past week I had a shitty day at work and in order to cheer myself up, I bought Guitar Hero: World Tour so that I could play "Beat It" by Michael Jackson. Greatest. Song. Ever.
3) I allowed myself to wear tight spandex and strap into a harness with a large Scandinavian named Henrik as shown in this video here:
http://www.lifepursuitvideo.com/asppublic/Video22153.aspx?CLIENT=22153&VF=cathywarner_091909-1757.flv
I'm the one who looks like a 4th of July themed contraceptive.


Aight I'm done. Now I'm off to throw out the first pitch into the toilet.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Oh Suburbia, How You Drain Me

You may be thinking to yourself, "Is Higgy filled with empty promises?" The answer is yes. I've promised new material time and time again but funny shit just isn't popping in my head anymore. You may follow up with, "Why are you even writing this now?" Well actually my dog licked my foot to awaken me from my suburbian slumber to let me know she needed to park a Welfare Baby amongst its cousin out in my yard. You'll probably come back with, "That was a shitty euphemism" and I'll say "Exactly."

Pretty much I'm milk toast. Lame. Consistent with feminine hygiene products. But I know you are yearning for proof that my penis is slowly being eclipsed by my overnourished gut. So I'll open the door to my day today all of the way until the moment prior to my dog beckoning me to open the door as if I'm the Jeffrey to her Fresh Prince. Damn the dog has me trained well.

Typical Day in the Newfound Suburban Higgy:

-I showed up to work at 9 to find people still had not replied to my emails asking them to copy and paste the shit they were already working on.

- I left at 1:30 to perform my most recent effort in Heebery. I went to the local Gamestop to trade in another neglected video game that I spent the entirety of my Labor Day Weekend completing so I could earn $9.57 towards the purchase of a future $59.99 video game which will end up getting traded in a similar Heebish fashion. Oh that's right, Jews actually realize that math is pretty fucked up.

- I made a pitstop at the MovieStop to pick up Season 5 of The Office in Blu Ray. This was procured based on the aforementioned Moench method.

- I worked at home for about 3 hours still awaiting replies from people who bitch about the work we do but don't feel the need to confirm we've addressed their issues.

- I went to a free class on greening up my lawn at the fucking library. Please don't make me repeat myself. Before this, I had not stepped into a library since college and I sure as hell have never attended an optional class in one. I was the youngest student in this class by at least 20 years.

- I came home after having McDonald's for dinner and wearing a polo that has become too tight due to the fact that maybe I just ate fucking McDonald's and decided, "Shit, I may want to do some Wii-Fitness." So I beat the computer in a Jackknife competition against the computer by completing 10 Jackknife situps half-assed. Being that this extraordinary act didn't fully strain the sinew underneath the lard, I kicked it up a notch and completed 20 more which earned me a new Yoga pose. Ego boosted.

- After my 30 powerhouse situps, Mrs. T and I watched the best show on television hands down. For those in the know, it is referred to as ABDC or America's Best Dance Crew. Host Mario Lopez from "Saved by the Bell" fame kept it "fresh" as dance crews proved their prowess in competition. Mrs. T and I quickly identified the tranny participating amongst the crews. Go us.

- Once the tranny group was eliminated, Mrs. T fell asleep and I watched an episode from Season 2 of Dexter. Wow my life is riveting.

- As I was about to pass out I thought to myself that in 10 days I'm jumping out of a damn plane. Thinking about that brought up a few issues in my mind:

1) Will one pair of Depends brand adult diapers be enough?
2) Is my life adequately insured so that in the case I go KERRRRSPLAAAT on the ground, Mrs. T might benefit from my demise and have a chance in hell of paying off this house?
3) Who will tend to my lawn after learning the great techniques from Cindy, the master gardener intern, if I do end up being liquified?
4) If for some reason we have a close call but we do land safely on the ground, will I hold it over Mrs. T's head forever and be able to demand makeup sex whenever I damn well feel like it?

It was at this moment the dog licked my foot and I realized the following:

Who the fuck am I kidding? On demand sex is never going to happen. The only thing jumping out of this damn plane proves is that I'm more her bitch than I ever thought.

And friends, this is why you should never own a dog.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Holy Balls It has Been Awhile

I doubt any of you still read this damn thing but here is a recap of my life since my last post:

1) Bought a house
2) Continued to "Custer" around Injuns at work. Surprisingly, this has yet to illicit violence towards me.
3) Moved into said house with Mrs. Turtle. Realized that my way of being handy around the house in no way, shape or form satisfies her requests.
4) Attended a few weddings. More to blog on this topic.
5) Gained about 20 lbs.

Yep...20 lbs. I've let myself go. Not only did I gain 20 lbs, the people around me let me know I had gained weight. Here are a few signs that you've plumped up.


1) Your Uncle rubs your belly and ask if it is kicking

2) Your lovely fiance tells you that gastric bypass is in your future and stomach flaps come standard with the package

3) Your father who is 34 years older than you tells you that he's never been this fat in his 60 years of life

4) One of your co-workers who you haven't seen in 6 months tells you, "The engagement seems to be treating you well. You've gained weight haven't you?" This was probably the most polite way I've heard someone bluntly say to another person, "You ate your former self."

5) You walk around your new hood, being all domesticated and shit, and get out of breath after walking for 10 mins.

6) Your silhouette looks like an upside down question mark. Que?

7) The coup de gras. You are eating a Butterfinger and a piece falls out of your hand. You are overcome with much worry that Heaven for fucking bid, that piece of toffee goodness does not enter your pie hole. After much searching on the ground for said piece of candy, you look down and realize your gut jutted out just enough to catch it.


I'll save you the trouble and effort of planning an intervention for me.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

We are all witnesses

After watching this, no one ever again refer to themselves as a badass

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Two of my New Favorite Sites

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/

www.textsfromlastnight.com

Amazing

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

The Feasibility of a Blumpkin

UrbanDictionary.com defines a Blumpkin as the following:

Blumpkin (n)

The act of receiving a blow job and taking a dump on the toilet at the same time.

The delicately balanced art of getting your cock sucked while taking a dump.

And my favorite:

The time honored tradition of receiving a "knobber" whilst taking a "dumple stiltskin."


If you were unaware of what a blumpkin was until now, I'm glad you finally crawled out of your cave. It is a term that gets thrown around in various circles for the purpose of humor but it is rare you hear of someone who has committed the act itself. Maybe I have this view because I lead a sheltered life but maybe I choose not to associate myself with those who actually get off on that. The only reason I bring the topic up is that it was brought up during a conversation I had with T-Pain. He brought up the valid point that a blumpkin would be near impossible for a regular gentleman to achieve no matter what some brash fuck tells you. I agreed with him for the following reasons:

1) If you were constipated, there would be no way you could mask the fact you were attempting to defecate without her noticing your
a) Awkwardly Strained Grunts
b) General Fecal Stank
c) Inability to spray life force in her mouth

2) If you had a case of the runs, it would be impossible to hold it long enough for her to finish the job without her hearing you rip ass prior to Zambrano-ing the toilet. If she actually did continue, I'm fairly certain any upstanding gentleman would not want a such a fellatious sloot to continue for fear of certain penile diseases. Also if you were still able to dish out a 5 roper, you probably are pretty fucked up and actually enjoyed viewing 2 Girls, 1 Cup.

3) If you had perfect constitution and had an Immaculate within reach, there is no way you could focus on both drop a clean deuce and making the blower gag on your shit. The only possible way this could occur is if you let the food baby brew for a little while, get blown, and then drop the Theo Huxtable off at the pool. But the focus would be so much on holding back Theo that you probably could not whitewash her mouth.


However after thinking about it for awhile there may be a chance the Blumpkin would be possible. It would require the following things:

1) The recipient would have to be somewhat tipsy to slightly drunk to ignore the odor while the fellator would have to be completely hammered to the point of convulsing.

2) The recipient would have to be brewing a potential one-hitter for fear the noise of grunts or flatulence would scare the drunken knob slobber of the knob.

3) You know when you have those day after drinking shits and they just slip right out of you? Well you would have to had consumed alcohol the night before in order for the Red October to occur as to mask the turd with silence.

4) The act could not be premeditated at all. Although it is easier to defecate while drunk, predicting this situation would be near impossible. The stars would have to align, Hell would have to freeze over, and Obama would have to openly admit he is the second coming of Jesus. If all that shit happen, then you MIGHT have a chance of pulling it off.

Please tell me where my logic is off

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Intramural Sports

You may ask yourself from time to time, "What does such a magnanimous and virtuous soul such as Higgy do in his free time?" Well besides mocking people and spreading the word that I have a awkwardly large penis, I play intramural sports. Maintaining a magnificently cut body like mine requires much physical activity and I only like physical activity with a purpose. However intramural sports brings out the worst in people. Intramural sports provide a competitive arena to those who were not physically gifted enough to become a professional athlete yet these athletes treat the competition with an intensity unrivaled by a scorned lover. The intensity for some odd reason grows stronger when the intramural sport is sponsored by your employer. Crossing someone over, dunking on someone, hitting a home run, or running for a touchdown against your co-workers won't get you a promotion or even laid for that matter, but these people just do not give a fuck. The majority of these nozzles are former high-school athletes attempting to re-live their glory days by showing how much of a bad ass they are when they play against feeble competition.





Now if you're thinking, "Higgy, you're just saying this because you're an unathletic fuck who couldn't hold my jock strap nor fellate me as I would so desire," I'll respond with the following. I realize I am not God's gift to sport but I feel and my peers agree that I am athletic enough to be competitive amongst the majority of my co-workers. However I do understand I am playing a competitive sport sponsored by my employer, so I probably should act the fuck up. Some people do not realize this lesson and shit tends to turn sour. Here's an example of a recent occurence.





We were playing a call-center team in basketball where the vast majority of the squad was black. Stereotypes are stereotypes so you figure, "Well by golly, we gonna get our asses kicked." Our team always makes every game competitive but there was no way we were going to out run these guys. They had one dude who looked like Reggie Bush and jumped out of the damn gym. He also had a mouth that was begging me to fist it. So for the most part we keep it close which is much to the disdain of Mr. Bush so he starts spewing crap. And spewed he did. He couldn't stop talking. He just couldn't help himself. He talked during our free throws. He talked after he jumped over us. He was telling us we were worthless. He was telling us we had no reason to be out there.



Well funny he said that because he actually didn't belong out there. It must've been just a coincidence this guy was ejected out of his previous game. Go figure. Well his ejection in the previous game made him ineligible for his game against us. Well this began an email chain of epic proportions. We notified the organizer of this league that the rule was breached. This is what began:

From Doucher (with Reggie Bush on the email chain)

I don’t know if there was any decision made regarding this email. To be fair, we can have Reggie Bush sit out our game Monday vs. (Other Team).

We didn't exactly think that was "fair" so I retorted in the following way, word for word:

From Higgy (with Reggie Bush still on the email chain)

Doucher,

I think we're going to have to wait until Monday when (the organizer) can talk to the ref in order to decide on the rule. However with that being said I do not feel your solution is fair since as the rule is written, the ejected player is required to sit out the following game. So here are the two options which our team believes are fair that I wanted to throw out there.

-Team Doucher forfeits their victory against Team Higgy
-Team Doucher replays the match against Team Higgy without Reggie Bush

I want to point out that our team did not appreciate Reggie's candor towards our team during the game. Remember this is a work league where players of various skill sets are participating. A higher level of respect toward your fellow competitor is required.

Thank you,



Higgy

I'm sure he was too dumb to grasp how much he got owned by that, but the message was thrown out there. This handing of ass hopefully brought back the sting he had felt when abandoned by his parents and his foster mom told him how disappointed she was in him for being too much of a Corky to be able to color inside the lines. Just a typical Friday in the working world.

Due to the fact one of our players had knowledge of this ejection, I should have known this as well. Because of that we did not get the forfeit. However Reggie Bush will be unable to play their first playoff game which pretty much fucks their chances of actually getting to the championship game. And for winning the championship you get your team picture on a plaque for no less than 2 weeks. I'm dead serious. This is what we all are competing for. We could not be bigger douchebags.

I'm pretty sure we have no meaning in our lives.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Woody Harrelson is my Hero

http://www.cnn.com/2009/SHOWBIZ/Movies/04/10/woody.harrelson.zombie/index.html

Friday, April 10, 2009

Proper Wash Room Etiquette

Working at a Fortune 500 Company, one would think that its employees would be aware of common wash room etiquette. Unfortunately this can't be tested during the interviewing process because of potential sexual harrassment implications and because of those God damned worker unions, but common sense should tell you how to act. Obviously this is too much to ask for from the average Joe Schmuck as I have encountered the following situations within a weeks time.

1) As I entered the bathroom at work, I walked over to the farthest urinal away from the door (as a common courtesy to others who may enter). Unfortunately as I approach the urinal I find I have to traverse a lagoon of piss far on the floor that was far too wide for me. It was almost surprising the amount of urine that was in puddle form on the floor. The urinal is a pretty fucking large target and I doubt anyone's dick is large enough to over power the basin with their large stream of piss. I also hope no one comes to work drunk enough to miss the urinal basin completely. Again I'm asking for way too much from these people.

2) Far too many conversations have begun by someone addressing me while I have my hands on my genatalia.

3) Recently while Zambrano-ing the work toilet, I hear a gentleman two stalls over rip ass. This is not an uncommon occurence and I would normally giggle to myself because I am juvenile and brush it off. However what followed after was quite unexpected and received a mouth gape facial expression from myself. The guy starts moaning, "Uhhh...shit yeah...oooh" in an ever so soft manner. I mean I get pretty excited about a decent shit, but come the fuck on buddy. Not cool. I honestly thought he was trying to jerk it in the stall....at work. So I pull the toilet paper as loud as I possible could so I wasn't the third wheel in this doucher's fantasy.

Because of these events, I have researched reference materials that I want to share with all that will help beat into people proper etiquette.

Curious about how to handle yourself in a bathroom?
Please go here: http://jeff-flowers.com/12-unspoken-rules-for-urinal-etiquette/

Do you need to be taught the proper angle at which to send your stream of piss into the urinal?
Go Here: http://www.wikihow.com/Use-a-Urinal-Without-Splashing-Yourself

Need it in video form?
Please watch this:



I've done my community service for the month.

Wedding Preparations

While Mrs. T and I are preparing for our wedding, you'll need to prepare yourself for the various dances that we feel are essential, nay required to be memorized for the celebration of our nuptuals. Below are videos displaying each of these dances:

Crank That

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpocrqvP2Yg

Instructional video for Crank That
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sLGLum5SyKQ


Stanky Legg



Bird Walk



Cupid Shuffle



The Ricky Bobby





Disclaimer: Mrs. T has not approved of any of these dances and more likely than not they will be shot down. Especially the Ricky Bobby. But you have to admit that shit is pretty fucking ghetto/tight.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Grand Theft Auto: Chinatown Wars



I don't know if you recall but back in high school when you thought you were so fucking cool with your TI-89 calculator purchased by your mother trying to subsidize your education, you may have played a game called Drug Wars. The premise behind this game was to start with a little bit of money, buy an ounce or two of shit that would appreciate in value and then sell high. Basic stock market principles being applied to the black market. You would repeat this process until you became the Manuel Noreaga of the Graphing Calculator Universe.


Well my friends, you get to relive this fantasy of becoming a drug lord with the newest addition to the Grand Theft Auto Library: Chinatown Wars. You play the role of a Chinese import trying to avenge the death of his father. While dealing with punk Triad gang members and corrupt cops, you get introduced to dealers sprawled all across Liberty City. Some of these people have good shit, some carry some skank ass shit. Some people are trying to rip you off and some are trying to do whatever they can to offload their stash. The cops can try and bust you and you can get snitched on. This pretty much is the most realistic simulation of drug dealing I can find because a) I've never dealt drugs and b) This is the only game I know of that allows you to deal drugs. Dealing drugs in the comfort of your own home is a very lucrative and very fulfilling career path. With the economy turning downward, more people are going to be turning to drugs to get that fix, so my thought is that you might as well get trained with the best training tool there is out there.


Over the past weekend while searching for wedding venues in Ohio with Mrs. T and her ever-so-slightly overbearing mother, I spent a lot of time dealing drugs. I raved about it when I acquired coke at a Tony Montana level. I bitched about it when I got busted with about 60 grand of coke in my possession. Me and Jamal Lewis could've shared a cell. Fuckin 5-0. Some random quips from my drug dealing experiences:


"Come on Kimosabe, you're mocking me with these prices over here. You want to have this big coke party and aren't willing to part with the almighty dollar. It pays me or it gets the shotgun again."


Higgy - "Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! This did not just happen."
Mrs. T. - "What the hell?"
Higgy - "This is real life right here. I'm trying to plan our future over here and it ain't going well. Shit would be a lot easier if I had a mule."
"Acid? Fuck acid. That ain't going to make me shit. You can go trip on my balls."
Mrs. T - "You are ridiculous."
Higgy - "I know."
More experiences to follow. And possibly an attempt to bring this to real life to finance a wedding, a house and a future for some little bushy-browed Higgy's.

Monday, April 6, 2009

King of the Blumpkins, eh?

Not a title I would claim myself, but references to Saved By the Bell and Mario Kart always win me over.

Karma is a Fickle Bitch

My years of Facebook-stalking and judging pretty much every set of tits, asses and mugs placed before me has come to bite me in the proverbial ass. I was recently Facebook-stalked by some of Mrs. T's co-workers and they displayed a concern our offspring would share a trait with a loveable character we've all grown up with.


Guess which one of these characters was I identified with and what facial feature was thus mocked?



Will this stop me from judging and mocking others? Fucks no. Will I embrace my new nick name as a badge of honor and as a sign that I really need to pluck my shit? Probably. Will this cause me enough concern to man-scape them? Probably not. My only concern is they remain plural and not mono.

Anyways Bert feels bushy brows are much better character traits than a cleft palattes or AIDS.

Bert: Whattaya see, Ernie?

Ernie: [points his binoculars at Bert's nose] Your nose, Bert [he laughs]

Bert: Oh go fuck yourself Ernie.

Hard Times for White People

White People Problems

Sunday, March 29, 2009

It's Made in Germany. You know the German's always make good stuff.

I wonder if he pointed to his penis and pitched that line.

http://www.suntimes.com/entertainment/people/1500466,shamwow-guy-vince-shlomi-arrested-032809.article

I figured being the Sham-Wow guy could get you laid anywhere, but you still have to pay? Good thing I was smart enough to buy your product which remains unused to this day which in turn funded your sex addiction. I'll take the blame for this one Vince. You shouldn't have had that extra $1000 laying around.

Huh, what was that Vince? I can't hear you. Whore got your tongue?

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Ok It's Been Awhile, But This Shit is Funny





http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PeR2ORmZh5s

Thanks to Sartastic Meg for these gems. She has nothing better to do than to find this shit so I might as well exploit her for it.


Wednesday, March 11, 2009

I'm a Neglectful Bastard

Lately I've treated this blog like a red-headed step child I never wanted, but only kept because his mother could suck a golf ball through a garden hose. I apologize but this blog does not fellate me the way I want it to, so it gets left behind for work, drinking and Mrs. T. Anyway I have a few things that have accumulated on my chest that need to get dumped onto this thing.


Birthday Musings


"Happy Birthday Pedophile Face!" - Hova


Nothing makes you feel more special then having a dear friend tell you that your face infers your tendency to touch the hearts and genatalia of children. Thank you for that Hova. Being that you could round my age up to 30, my birthday was a mixed bag of emotions. I'm not old enough to realize my mortality by any means; I mean I still think I am immune to AIDS, suffering, drunken drivers and older men/women fiending to touch my privates. However I'm starting to realize I can't do what I used to do. I can't drink as much, jump as high, or remember as much as I used to which makes talking shit and holding grudges an infinitely harder task. This was also affirmed for me by stepping on the balance board that came with the Wii Fit given to me by my lovely mother. Wii Fit's avatar proceeded to tell me I had the reflexes of a 41 year old, overweight, a couch potato, too weak to perform a basic pushup and that my posture makes it so I trip over myself. Awesome. In all fairness though Mrs. T did make my birthday a special one so I felt better about my decrepit status.



The Watchmen

Great movie but what is up with the random trend of exposed male penises in movies these days. Forgetting Sarah Marshall started this trend with random Joe Schmo penis. The Watchmen stepped it up a notch and made the exposed penis large, blue and glowing. Why do we get exposed penis, but we can't find any sign of labia or breast that makes its way past the shadows covering it. Fuck actresses and their moral integrity. If I'm forced to see penis, then I should be rewarded by seeing fully exposed females. Call me chauvinist, I don't give two shits. Next thing you know we'll see exposed dong doing the whirly bird mushroom stamping all that's in its way.
As a side note, T-Pain did mention that Rorschach did look much like an abortion at the end of this film. I fully agree with this statement.


Paparazzi

You know most of the time I am a huge fan of the internet. I can do so many things anonymously and without reprecussions it's great. I can find out about the misery of others catching a beatdown on http://www.tmz.com/, peruse through a plethora of free pornographic videos for my viewing pleasure, write whatever the fuck I want on this blog and have a select few read and pretend to enjoy its material and of course my favorite pastime, stalking any unfortunate bastard dumb enough to post shit on facebook. Well finally the facebook stalking karma has come around and bit me in the ass. Hova decided it would be a good idea to photograph our drunken misadventures during our Seven Springs trip and tag me in enough pictures to prove I am incapable of making a non-awkward facial expression on a photograph. Here are a few examples:



Reaching out with arthritis.

Humping a child that isn't present


Would you like a popsicle?

I'm a PC who looks like a registered sex offender.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Random Dinner Thursday

Whenever T-Pain, Nik and myself convene for a meal the conversation always has the same theme. Nik watches in embarrasing discomfort as T-Pain and myself twist a normal subject into a discussion about the layman competing in Olympic competition. Here are a few edited excerpts from that night.



On the subject of viral videos (somehow a midget doing the robot was brought up)


Higgy - "That would be a much better mascot for Geico than that money with eyes."

T-Pain - "The midget would have to be a stripper. Guess who's getting one of those for their bachelor party?

Higgy - "No thanks. Not something I really want to see."

T-Pain - "C'mon, you'd be jealous if I told you I saw a midget naked and you didn't."

Higgy - "No I'm pretty sure I'd be ok with that."

T-Pain - "'Mrs. T, don't worry he'll come back from this wanting you even more than ever.' We can even use a regular-sized cake."

Higgy - "As long as she does the robot to the song Somebody's Watching Me."

T-Pain - "She does however have to wear regular sized tassels."

Higgy - "On a midget? That's just too much nipple for me."

T-Pain - "A silver dollar is a silver dollar."



On the subject of the Olympics (segued by T-Pain discussing his hobo fire parties)

Higgy - "It's too warm now for Hobo Ice Capades."

T-Pain - "Hobo Olympics are not a summer event."

Higgy - "I beg to differ, there are plenty of Hobo summer events."

T-Pain - "I guess Hobo Street Luge would work."

Higgy - "We can do better than that. How about an event where the hobo has to make it from New York to LA jumping from train to train without any map."

T-Pain - "That would test the Hobo's knowledge of train schedules."

Higgy - "Probably test his mouth too if he decides to hitchhike. What about an event testing how many times a hobo can drop off of a 4 story building?"

T-Pain - "That can be the Hobo High Jump."

Nik - "And we have a 10 way tie for last."

Higgy - "We don't award medals but an escape out of their miserable lives."

T-Pain - "I'm pretty sure death would be a better place."

Higgy - "Or if they get maimed, it would be a way to arouse more pity from others thus increasing their profits from panhandling."



On the subject of 6th grade humor


T-Pain: "Just the other day I got a girl to look down and spell "Attic."

Higgy: "Remember the Pen15 club? Well if you happened to fall for that and then caught a glimpse of your hand while J-ing to the O, would you ask yourself, 'Is this redundant?' "




How I convinced Mrs. T to marry me, I'm not so sure.

Friday, February 20, 2009

25 Things You Probably Didn't Give 2 Shits to Know about Higgy

Since Facebook is inundated with this "25 things about Douchie McKnob" posts and the fact I keep on getting requests to write my own, I'm going to join in on this homosexual following.



1) I hate stupid people. Who would've thought? Honestly I don't hate all people born with mental defects, just those who aren't aware of their mental defects. These people have not only helped to bring down our economy but caused AIDS, Super AIDS and GAIDS to be spread like wildfire.

2) I'm scared of having my legs over my head unless I'm in a pool. But even then the fear paralyzes me from diving into said pool.

3) I once struck fear in the heart of Dave Chappelle. True Story. Yes The Dave Chappelle.

4) I never used a curse word until the fourth grade when I told Rachel Hughes to go fuck herself. The bitch had it coming though because she wouldn't leave me the fuck alone.

5) After said incident, my hippie student teacher pulled me aside and asked me what I had said. I bluntly repeated my sentiments towards Rachel and then directed those exact sentiments towards him and he ordered me to have some quiet time to "cool down." The hippie then left Carl Sundahl Elementary to pursue his life-long dream of selling tie-dye t-shirts out of his yellow van adorned with rainbow drapes. He told me and my fellow classmates this in a typed letter sent to each one of our homes. I shit you not.

6) I hate hippies. I think post #5 is reason enough.

7) I was a big klutz when I was little. It could have been because my arms at that point in time fell below my knees. It could've also been because I was an uncoordinated bastard. Because of this, I would fall playing basketball and always come home with bruises and scrapes. Due to this fact and the fact I would not accept a cookie from Ashley Smith's mom, her mom assumed that I was the victim of child abuse. Stupid bitch.

8) Don't touch my fingernails. Just don't do it.

9) In the same school year as my hippie curse fest and the child abuse accusation, I got into the one and only fight in my life. The kid's name was Erik Bergmann. He picked his nose like a god damn goober. He probably was the victim of child abuse because he was so fucking ugly. I would've beat him too if I were his parent. Shame is best expressed by taking it out on others. Anyway, we were playing 2 on 2 basketball against Brian Brockett and Eric Martinez and I was stuck with the goober. He pissed me off because he sucked and I let him know he sucked. He retaliated by kicking me literally in the ass. I retaliated by jumping him and dragging his head along the chain linked fence. I was told by the Vice Principal that my father was ashamed of me. I found out later he was misquoted and honestly didn't give a shit that I kicked a goober's ass. I couldn't go to recess for a week because of that fuck.

10) At one point in my life, I've been replaced by someone with a lisp. Talk about an ego boost.

11) I used to idolize Michael Jackson. This was when he was black and there were no Ben Roethlisberger child touching accusations. To this day I still try and moonwalk and poorly mimic the choreography to "Thriller."

12) I used to idolize Michael Jordan. No lie, I wanted to be like Mike, even with the gambling addiction. I honestly don't think I had a celebrity role-model in my life who was white.

13) I've been able to have 2 people in my life refer to me as "their God." Out of those two, I've had one of those people feign reverence towards their Almighty.

14) I was the co-valedictorian of my high school. This however was a complete fraud. I actually came in second by one thousandth of a point. You can't just round yourself up to first place. Life just doesn't work that way. The principal still forced me to give a speech. Fucking publicity stunt.

15) Being the co-valedictorian of my high school meant I had the esteemed honor of not getting any during high school. You could say knowledge subsided my chubby. In hindsight, knowledge was a piss poor substitute for pussy.

16) I still have no idea how I landed the catch that I did when I came across Mrs. T. Sure she may refer to me as the "Turtle" of the group but she's pretty fucking wonderful.

17) I'm scared of heights. However I'm going to be conquering that fear by skydiving this summer. Pretty fucking stupid way of doing that I say.

18) I said don't fucking touch my fingernails. Period. End of fucking story.

19) My first dog has a penchant for sucking his own dick until it bleeds. Sorry Choby for outting you but you've got a fucking problem. This is your intervention.

20) The name Choby was derived from a word I made up in middle school for a fat person. The word was "Chobo" but when this miniature dachshund came around we named him Choby Juan Kenobi. To answer your next question, no we were not on shrooms.

21) I only was drunk once before I was 21. It was at a seedy hotel next to a Waffle House. 6 Alabama Slammers later I went Exorcist all over the room. Fucking Lightweight. It took me 2 years to recover from that hangover.

22) I have in fact dunked a basketball in my lifetime. It was a life long goal of mine being a suburban white kid with all black celebrity idols. However I have not been able to do so for about 5 years now. I let that dream ago about 2 years ago.

23) I know I'm not the only person in the world who remembers exactly when they achieved their first erection. Or at least what I thought was my first erection. Definitely required an evasive winky pull manuver.

24) My favorite Ninja Turtle was definitely Donatello. Rafael was a prick, Leonardo was an attention whore and Michaelangelo was a fuck-tard who had a serious addiction to anchovies. Who was smart enough always save their asses? Exactly. My dad made me a sweet ass costume out of cardboard adorned with a empty wrapping paper tube for a bo. That allowed me to bring some justice to the streets.

25) I don't think I'm very funny. I honestly don't know why the fuck you've read all 25 of these, let alone anything I've posted on this blog. Get a damn life.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

The Man-Cation

It has been a long time since I've written in this thing. Lately there have been two major obstacles standing in my way.

  • I recently got a new job and I have been spending my time at work acclimating myself to my new responsibilities and not wasting my time corrupting an already morally deprived World Wide Web.
  • My blog decided to have unprotected sex with another blog and in the process procure a dose of AIDS. However this was not full-blown AIDS and my blog made a random Magic Johnson-esque recovery.

Since my last entry, I organized a skiing/snowboarding trip to Seven Springs Resort just outside of Pittsburgh with the usual gang of Hova, Mouthful and Thomper. This combination has proven to be quite potent when mixed together and random occurences always occur, normally at my expense. Below are some of the finer points of what Mouthful deemed as "Our Bromantic Getaway".

  • Trash-talk begins the week leading up to this trip. Mention of previous adventures and mishaps were thrown at eachother as usual. Events such as Jewish-coitus and strippers were laced into already highly inappropriate emails being tossed from one Nozzle to another during work hours.
  • We all convene late one friday night to this small two room condo with 2 beds. If your math skills are up to snuff there were a total of 4 dudes occupying this space which meant there was going to be some Brokeback bunking involved.
  • Being that the space was in fact small and lacked a proper space for Caps revelry, Thomper came up with the clever idea of moving both of the beds into one bedroom and setting them side by side so that the bunking could become even more homosexual.
  • This bunking was complicated even further by the fact on a previous trip to Cincinnati with the same group, I woke up to having Mouthful in the same bed as me completely naked under the covers. I was entirely clothed mind you but the experience has left me clinching my asshole every time we gather.
  • Hova was kind enough to provide a large cooler filled to the brim with beer, which was supposed to be entirely consumed by 11 am Sunday morning checkout. Foreshadowing doesn't get clearer than this folks.
  • Thomper and I teamed up to challenge Hova and Mouthful only to get our dignity thrown back in our faces.
  • In order for a Man-Cation to be truly Bro-Mantic, a hot tub must be involved. All four of us toasted bastards went into the locked Spa area of the condo complex after hours. All of the lights in the room were off but the outside lights shined through the windows really setting a Bro-mantic mood in the area.
  • Mouthful, being quite possibly the gayest of the foursome, turned on the fireplace to create even more of a dramatic effect.
  • Mouthful, Hova and myself proceed to enter the jacuzzi tub and relax while Thomper sat outside of it and watch. Thomper is quite the voyeur and I'm sure the combination of the hot water glistening our bodies made him pop a chubby so he felt the need to sit back in the comfort of the shadows to play himself a personal game of "Different Strokes."
  • The next day after a long siesta, we hit the slopes. Since I am a complete vagina and this was my third time snowboarding and my first time using the board and boots I bought off of a friend, I required the help of Hova and Thomper to strap me in properly. I looked like a little kid having his recently married gay parents help him tie his shoes. Since our condo was at the top of the hill, I had to fall down the entire hill in order to buy my ski pass so that I could be carried back up the hill to repeat the process. This was going to be a long day for me.
  • Not so much for Thomper though. With his dashing good looks and his incredible freakish height, he was immediately called out by a middle-aged clerk. "Hey look at this monster!" I don't recall what else exactly she said to him because a) I was not directly involved b) I just finished looking like a pansy getting strapped in by Will and Grace c) My memory only kicks in when the spotlight is on me. This woman was quite comical and told us she would meet us at the Foggy Goggle later for drinks. Lying bitch.
  • All day I continued to stumble up and down the hill. I forgot from my previous two times how hard the extreme outdoor sports are on your legs. I'll continue speaking through my vagina for a little longer.
  • At one point, I ended up sliding head first down the slope on my back in the middle of a large crowd of people.
  • At another point I caught the front edge of my board in the snow only to launch myself in the air and land directly on my gut. That slightly hurt...my spirit.
  • Someone probably associated with the resort was filming actual snowboarders completing tricks and decided they were not interesting enough so he turned the camera on me being a complete putz repeatedly falling on my ass. I think I told him to go fuck himself under my breath.
  • I think I told a lot of people to go fuck themselves under my breath. The people of this area (All Steelers Fans because Ben "Touched by or on a child" Roethlisberger was there at the resort celebrating another fucking Super Bowl win) were complete assholes and would try to cut me off between my clumsy self and the edge of the ski run all definitely on my blind spot. The assholishness continued with the piss-poor service provided by the ever-so-enthusiastic staff.
  • At one point I got so fed up, I walked down the slope. Mouthful was not happy babysitting this whining vaginal canal.
  • Since Seven Springs Mountain had a large penis and enjoyed hate fucking me, I was a sore vagina and needed to find solace in food and spirits. So Mouthful and I head there and Hova and Thomper met up with us later. After grabbing some grub, Thomper decides to use the public channel on his walkie talkie to try and talk me off a ledge. Supposedly I had the look in my eye that I wanted to kill myself after my ritualistic rape. He proceeds to say things over the air something to the effect of, "Higgy, you don't have to do this. We all care deeply about you and you don't need to throw your ragged carcass off that ledge. Ok, screw it man, I did all that I could. Just kill yourself, what do I care?" I don't remember exactly because mountain penis is directly tied to amnesia. Or maybe it's the fact I didn't give two shits.
  • After awhile, I was convinced yet again to head up the slopes but I had a little more success. Not enough to make me look like I could drape my testicles over some hapless fuck's eyes, but enough to end the day on a high note.
  • After our long afternoon of hitting the slopes, we hit the jacuzzi tub to rest our aching bodies. We arrived there only to see that some 40 year olds and their children were already occupying the space. But they were drinking so we figured they were good guys and we plopped right next to them drinking our Bud Light.
  • We start shooting the shit about sports, alcohol and pussy (mainly its ability to whip us). We were enjoying ourselves while the kids were fiddle fucking around with the sauna and the lanyard holding the condo keys.
  • Well the old bastards end up leaving with the kids and after we finish our beer we get out only to find those fucking kids jacked our condo keys. Given that we were in our bathing suits, two of us didn't have shoes and it was fucking freezing outside, all of our cell phones, car keys and wallets were in the condo, we were pretty much fucked. Mouthful and I start throwing a shit fit while Hova and Thomper calmly try and handle the situation.
  • I exclaim that I would beat the shit out of the child who did this in front of his fucking father. Thomper calmly reminded me that one of the guys had a Marine tattoo signifying he offed somebody and let me know that going down that path wouldn't end well.
  • We look around and start knocking on doors. We ask some of the drunken people around if they knew where these people were at but their slurred speach indicated they would be of no help.
  • Further thinking that we were screwed and freezing, we asked if we could step into their party just to warm up and grab a beer to calm us down. The people outside happily obliged only to find an angry mob of people giving us the proverbial stink-eye. This was some fraternity party (we believe they were the "Ashers") where they had ugly chicks in nothing but their bras wasting the sweet nectar of alcohol by dousing these bitches in it. We knew we were not welcome and promptly left.
  • Thomper got the bright idea to check to see if we actually locked our condo door only to find we did not close it all of the way. Our negligence proved to be our savior. But it was also my negligence which put us in this situation. Oh well, we are all relieved and happy again.
  • We end up venturing down to the Foggy Goggle and we start drinking. Thomper ends up seeing some chick he knows and starts attempting to mack on this broad. Some chick starts trying to pimp Hova, so Mouthful and I just sit back and chill.
  • After a few hours of fucking around, Thomper tries to head back with the girl while Hova, Mouthful and I head back to the condo.
  • We were all tired and as we hop into bed, Thomper calls to let us know he got stranded outside of the apartment where the girl was staying. Looks like the lady wasn't wooed by him. Also it was crucial to note that Thomper had no fucking clue where the fuck he was, which pissed me off in the ever most slightest of ways. The only details he was able to provide were that the place was by a golf course and the place was called Mountain View Villas.
  • I had a rough idea where the golf course was but being that Mouthful was my babysitter all weekend, he drove while I navigated. Hova didn't even flinch when Thomper called and remained in bed well rested.
  • Being that Thomper was in a drunken state he was borderline emotionally touched by the fact we would make the effort to venture out to get him. He let us know his love for us but I ignored it for the simple fact that I was tired and about to venture out to no man's land to find him.
  • As Mouthful and I head to the car, Mouthful already suffering from a headache slipped on some ice and fell on his ass. I proceeded to tell Thomper, "You just fuckin made Mouthful fall damn it." Mouthful was calm and somewhat graceful about his errored dismount and was trying to calm me down. Honestly, don't get in the way of me and my fucking sleep.
  • So of course being that we were on a fucking mountain and it was dark, it also had to be foggy. I mean really foggy. So much so that we could only see 5 feet in front of us and Mouthful drove at probably 5 miles an hour. My job was to lead him to the golf course and also let him know if he was creeping too far right with the car. Scared shitless doesn't begin to describe my thoughts at this time.
  • We end up meandering our way up and down the mountain and by the grace of Allah we found the mountain villas and picked him up. He tried to push his way into the back as a way of punishing himself for not securing the deal with the chick and potentially fucking us halfway to Tuesday. I sat in the back and the car ride back proved to be one of complete and utter silence.
  • We head back to the condo and pass out only to have to wake up 7 hours later to arrange all of the furniture back to its original order and try to rid the place of the stench of Mouthful's constant spilling of beer.
  • The next morning after packing up, we head out to a smorgasbord somewhat nearby to grab some food and regale about the misadventures of the previous weekend. Thomper is reminded of all of the crap he forgot the previous night and in effigy he proceeds to take a 20 minute Carlos Zambrano in the place.
  • The establishment is filled with the Sunday morning local church crowd and a random woman with extremely fake tits. We make note of this oddity and move onward.
  • Due to the fact that I had not showered that morning nor the night before, my hair still had "product" in it and was standing awkwardly. So as a good gesture, I placed my cap on my head. Well this deeply disturbed one of the ancient locals rocking a Jesus Piece and after stammering back and forth in my periphery I finally looked her way and she said, "You take your hat off when at the table." At this moment I was shocked at her balls and I stared at her for a second fighting back my anger to have Hova tell me to remove my hat even though he kept his on. He did the smart thing though because he say the wheels turning in my head and knew shit would hit the fan.
  • I remove the hat but my anger starts to kick in when I realize I just followed that fucking hag's bidding so it fuels it even more. Of course since this weekend further widened my sopping gape, I did nothing about it but point in her direction and remark to the others that I would show her a thing or two about God.
  • I honestly wanted to say one of two things to this lady in hopes of initiating a heart attack. I first contemplating saying I had cancer but I knew karma would kick my ass harder for that. Then I contemplated responding to her by saying, "Are you saying this to me because I'm black?" This would have confused and stunned the old coot which would've allowed me to follow that comment by kicking her cane, spinning like Michael Jackson during his "Billie Jean" years and yelling "Owww!"

Only this type of shit happens to us. I'm looking forward to pissing off more people with these guys. I'm sure I forgot some other key moments of that weekend but this post was long enough.

I'm back bitches.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Bitches You Gone




So when I last heard those mouse squeaks I thought they were squeaks of pain leading to an agonizing death, but I was wrong. The next morning I walk into the kitchen hoping to find the mouse fighting for its life, but I was wrong. And I was filled with such anguish. The anguish did not stop me from vacationing to Ohio, getting extremely drunk at my friend's wedding reception and in the process hopelessly gyrating to Soulja Boy's "Crank That" in a dance off with a 10 year old boy in which I lost, but I was still harboring much resentment for the manufacturers of the glue trap even as I was driving back home 4 days later.


Well much to my surprise I found not just one mouse stuck by 3 mice adhered to plastic. Remy, the smallest fuck of the three, was dead already but his two bigger partners, Pinky and the Brain were flailing helplessly as they saw their doom personified as a lumbering 6 foot mass with a penchant for tugging aimlessly on his penis (refer to Winky Pull post). Instead of devising a plan to take over the world, every night these two bastards sought out to eat, piss, shit and fuck all over my fucking kitchen. Well their plotting and scheming was about to end and this chapter in my life was going to be finally over. I immediately cackled to myself and let them know their fate.


You're gonna die.


Well seeing these fuck sores move, squirm and eek their last cries sincerely fucked with my being. These disease riddled mutants grossed me the fuck out and I searched all over my apartment for a pair of tongs to handle the trap as I would man it across several treacherous obstacles including winding 3 story staircase, a 20 foot stretch of slick pavement, and a slew of vehicles parked in a manner much similar to how special needs children scribe their name until I would finally reach the dumpster graveyard. Well since I live in an apartment and do not own a grill, I never had the necessity nor desire for tongs until this very moment, so of course this meant I had to handle the trap by hand fearing the dynamic duo would spring free, bite on my hand, give me Rabies or super AIDS and then run back to their lair under my oven. I held on and extended the trap away from my body as far as I possibly could and pussied my way down the stairs, over the sidewalk, past the parking lot and to the trash cans where the duo would be tossed into a tomb of Mandingo semen, rotting chicken carcasses and shredded credit card bills as the final incomprehenisble words were uttered into their insignificant ears.

Bitches, You Gone.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Mouse Capture Update

I have just heard your sharp cries for help as you have just been baited into a glue trap with some Kraft American Cheese expertly placed in it. You are quite the fighter though as you keep on clanging melodically against my oven as if you are praying to your savior in Morse code. Your fight however is for not as you won't be emancipated. Even Obama, our resurrected Jesus can't save your rat ass now. Your only hope is to gnaw your limbs off one by one and use your nubs to hobble your way to safety. However since you will perish before that occurs, I leave you with this final image.


You is fucked.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Old School



I forgot how funny this song is. Extremely inappropriate.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

I'll get you motherfucker

Yeah you, you piece of shit.



You may have slipped past me tonight you prick. You may have squeaked in my oven, munched on my dog's food, and slipped past my poison for your extended stay at the Higgy Hilton. But your scat trail in my kitchen will come to a close very soon. You made the fatal fucking error of scurrying past in my periphery, then having the audacity to choose my unused kitchen vent as your future grave. Well you rat fuck, I just sealed your grave. I hope to hear you eek out your last shrill cry pleading for your life.



I'm sorry Remy but you're gonna die.

This is Your Face On Meth

Thanks to Sartastic Meg, I display before you the following anti-drug message.

http://www.drugfree.org/Portal/DrugIssue/MethResources/faces/index.html

If only you could put in a picture of a loved one into this website and have it show the aftermath of a meth addiction. I think that would send the message home.

This site however told me 3 things:

1) Meth causes herpes of the face to ensue.

2) Meth causes you to awkwardly grow an abnormal amount of hair.

3) Meth causes you to not wash or maintain in any fashion said hair.


I think Darwin would be a proponent of running a meth lab to get rid of wasted spawn.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Hobo Ice Capades

Feel like you're too old for the ice capades? Live in the city? Well my friends if you follow these steps, you can recreate ice skating magic you enjoyed as a child with your friendly neighbor hobos.







1) Gather some hobos. As T-Pain has told me, the best place to find these outcasts are at hobo dumpster fires. If you start to smell the combination of urine cake and the sweat of desperation, you're close.


2) Make sure it is a somewhat Wintery day. Actually it doesn't need to be snowy, or even freezing for that matter. It just needs to be brisk. Make sure the hobos aren't wearing their normal 5 layers of worn flannel. This should add to the effect.


3) Grab a garden hose and spray some water on the concrete. Coupled with their worn shoes, this should recreate in the hobo's mind the slick surface of ice.


4) Make sure your hobo is high or allow them to ingest food laced with PCP and Meth. This will allow the hobos to recreate some of their favorite Disney/Pixar movies in ice capade form.


5) (Optional) Add a trashcan for good measure. Do so only if you could acquire 1 hobo so that they have an romantic interest in the tale on ice.


6) Watch the magic begin. Brian Boitano, eat your heart out.




Do you feel like watching Cool Runnings but don't want to go to Blockbuster? My friends, I present to you Hobo Bobsledding. Follow these steps to recreate that cinematic tale right in front of you.


1) Repeat steps 1 through 4 listed above.


2) Make sure to grab a hobo from the fire that has a shopping cart. Grab 2 of them if you can to make it an actual race, but the PCP should provide some dramatic twists and turns. If you are stingy about accurately recreating the movie, grab hobo's with dredlocks.


3) Make sure you have your copy of the Gideon's Bible onhand. This can be used for a pre-race prayer letting the hobo's know that Hell is real and the forthcoming race will help slay the demon, or to possibly save yourself from eternal damnation for manipulating hobos.


4) Let the race begin! Make sure to have some branches and rocks to throw at the competitors to create volatile race conditions.








If Hell isn't fast approaching me then it can't be real.



Sunday, January 11, 2009

Reasons Why My Gape is Growing

I try to act like a hardass by making fun of the weak and the meager, picking fights with people who honestly can't defend themselves even if they had the mental capacity, and pretty much being the bastard that every expects me to be. Well to you nimrods, retards, cleft-palatte owners, hoes, hobgoblins, and hebrews, today is your lucky day. Finally here is some ammunition you can and should use against me.



So I have a little secret. You may have seen this coming from me being disbarred from the Man Card holding club, but now there is a legitimate reason. I've been harboring a vagina for years. Everytime I do something effeminate or something that shames all straight testicle carrying citizens, my vagina weeps then grows. Below are several reasons my gape is in full bloom.







1) My girlfriend has my testicles in a jar. Sad part is that she made me give them to her. I did so willingly. At least Lance Armstrong put up a fight.





2) I cried during Marley & Me. Yep. We're just going to leave it at that.





3) After finding out I had a mouse (or mice, not yet confirmed), I got my dog out of the apartment, put down some rat poison, and locked myself in my room for fear that the mouse would ignore the dog food it has been throwing to enter my room and nibble at what's left of my genatalia.




4) Besides the aforementioned fact that I have a shit ton of pictures of my dog on my phone (read Why My Man Card Should Be Revoked), I worry about all of the little scratches the dog gets from baiting other mutts at the dog park into chasing her around and around until they get pissed off enough to start attacking her. I treat the dog as if it were my fucking pussy child who couldn't stand up to the bully. A side note, it's pretty fuckin hilarious to see these dogs try to chase her when they don't stand a chance in hell.


What a way for me to out my girlfriend as a lesbo.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

The Illegitimate Children of Star Athletes

Have you ever pondered to yourself any of these questions?

"How many dumbass athletes are there that actually don't know how to use contraceptives?"

"Who is more of a bad father, Karl Malone or Gary Payton?"

"How is Shawn Kemp doing?"

If so, read the following blog.



http://www.faniq.com/blog/Athletes-With-Illegitimate-Kids-The-Comprehensive-List-Blog-17243



Priceless.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

The Winky Pull

I've had this blog way too long and I have not had a post about my exquisite penis.




Yes you read that correctly. Every guy thinks their penis is the exception. They think they're packing heat. They think if any girl caught just a glimpse of their mammoth cock, that girl would drop trough, spread legs and prepare herself for her gynecological exam. I'm no exception, except for the fact that my penis is way more awesome than yours. Guaranteed.



My penis is special. Unique. Breath taking. Some of my friends and people who don't even know me know my penis. They could pick it out of a cock line-up. Some could and would sculpt it out of clay as a memorial. You may ask, "Why is your penis so renowned that Ron Jeremy has grown envious?" Valid question. Some of my friends believe that it started with an unfortunate incident with an Ewok mauling. Other colleagues believe it began with a trip down someone's Yangtze River where only my innate immunity to malaria and jaundice allowed me to survive.


However these people are wrong. It actually all started early in my youth, before I was tainted by the stank of stale gapes, with a song my mom sang to me as a young child. A song written and performed for me about my love affair with my penis.


As a young boy, I did not have the ability to purchase my own clothing since I had neither a job nor any other skills besides the ability to build structures out of Legos. My mother would buy me briefs that wrapped my package just a little too tight. I had no idea that underwear was not supposed to chicken choke your developing nutsack; I mean I was fucking 5 years old. At the age of 5, you are able to dress yourself, but with clothes your mother picked out for you. Also at this age, I was knowledgeable of the fact that you aren't supposed to puppeteer your penis in public. So while I was playing games like "Duck, Duck, Goose" (probably the most discriminating game out there, blog post on that to follow) and Freeze Tag, my childhood genatalia would find itself in precarious situations. It would twist and turn and end up underneath my balls becoming rather uncomfortable. So knowing that I could not grab my junk at the time, I had to adjust myself by gyrating my legs, stretching awkardly, jerking at the waist of my jeans, and any other indirect effort of futility. So trying to remain inconspicuous, I turned away from everyone and grabbed my shaft through my shorts or pants and placed my prick in neutral position.


neutral position - a comfortable position for the penis and gonads in briefs where the balls are beneath the penis and the penis points straight up. Also known as 12 o'clock.


My mother noticed me grabbing at my junk and would start singing the song aptly titled, "The Winky Pull." If you don't understand where the term Winky is derived from, please wait for my remedial course. Here are a few of the lyrics of this simple, yet timeless classic.


"Ah do the winky pull, the winky pull,
Higgy's doing the winky pull, the winky pull

Uh Uh Uh Uh Uh Ah Uh Uh Uh Uh Uh"


This would prompt the following response said in the whiniest of child voices.


"Moooommmmm!!!!"

"Don't you bathe child? Stop pulling on your winky. You'll
get a stutter."



And sure enough I got a stutter. Many sessions with a speech pathologist and the late discovery of J-ing the O and voila! Stutter is gone. Ok the stutter was a complete fabrication. However what is not a lie is the fact that later on in my youth my mother purchased me a cup for tee-ball (I wasn't even a fuckin catcher) which was a couple of sizes too small. That made the winky pull even more of a public phenomenon.

Dad - "Do you think we got the boy too small of a cup"
Mom - "Well he sure does pull on his winky alot."

Fucking awesome.

But honestly, how many people have a song written by another person about their dick? Not too many. How many people have had that song written and performed to family members, school faculty, and any schmuck walking in the vicinity by their own fucking mother? Hopefully that population is limited to just myself and the inbred male population of West Virginia.


So the question you must ask yourself is, how much more awesome is my penis than yours? Huh? I think I've made my case.

Fuck, I've said too much.