Sometimes Other People's Ignorance is My Bliss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God we are disgusting human beings.

The Faces of Economic Crisis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sunk my battle-shit!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great Moments in Fuck Up History

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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