MLS WEST TEAMS AS BEVERLY HILLS 90120 CHARACTERS –

14 12 2015

MLS WEST TEAMS AS BEVERLY HILLS 90120 CHARACTERS –

LA – Dylan McKay
Sexy, has tons of money, pretends to be rogue but really the cream of the crop. Always able to attract the prettiest girls (talent). Has a dark side. Dylan is at his worst when he’s making shady deals however no matter how dark Dylan goes, he always seems to recover and come out on top.

RSL- Brandon Walsh
Stalwart. Steady. Consistent. Without ever saying it, Brandon has a knack of reminding you “he’s better than you” especially when taking Steve Sanders spot on the basketball, track, and flag football teams. Brandon’s goody-two shoes image often times has opponents underestimate his ability to win. Which he does. At everything. Goddamit Brandon.

Portland – Kelly Taylor
Outsiders often gawk at Kelly Taylor for having it all. Money, friends, popularity, and some really nice toys. However, Kelly never can seem to put it together. One season she goes out on a high, the next season we see her at her lowest. (Remember when she did coke, was raped, joined a cult, trapped in a fire, and got amnesia. Damn.) Only her closest friends and rivals really see how troubling things are, while the rest of West Beverly goes on thinking she’s incredibly special.

Vancouver – David Silver
All around nice guy that everyone just says “awe shucks about.” No one knows why he’s there, he just is. Also brings awful dance moves, bad haircuts, and a love of earrings. No one really cared about him till his best friend left the show unceremoniously. (Camillo)

Dallas- Andrea Zucerkman
Perpetually annoying and always around. She always had a holier than thou attitude, yet never accomplished anything truly significant. Sure she excelled at being the editor of the Beverly Blaze but everybody absolutely gave zero fucks about the Beverly Blaze.

San Jose – Brenda Walsh
Seriously. No one likes her.

Colorado – Nat Bussichio
Nat reminded you of a time when things were simpler. Plus going to the Peach Pit is on everyone’s agenda because giving away free pie is totally legal and encouraged. Also he’s basically there just to push along the plot.

Houston – Donna Martin
Donna Martin has a knack of not doing anything for an entire season then completely out of nowhere she’s the center of attention. She also can’t hack it when the big lights hit her. Whether falling over drunk at prom or being addicted to pills before the big presentation, Donna Martin becomes a hot mess when the pressure is on.

Sporting Kansas City – Valerie Malone
Just comes out of nowhere looking all hot! Flashy newcomer to the group and finds herself automatically in a power play for top dog in the group. While she’s got some demons in her closet (Wizards) she basically is there to not fuck around and win the groups affection.

Seattle – Steve Sanders
Has all the money in the world, all the toys and struts around like he owns the place. But in reality Steve is just fighting his way to the top of the West Beverly food chain hoping everyone likes him along the way. He’s done enough cool stuff that casual observers hate him, but the group all respects his accomplishments. Has Bro-ments. He still obsesses over Kelly Taylor.





How To Make An O…

8 12 2010

If you’re like me, you’re a big fan of college football. And if that’s the case then you’ll have heard my favorite team is headed to the National Championship game, or Natty round these parts. That’s right the Ducks from the University of Oregon are headed to the Natty to take on the Tigers from Auburn.

As I stood in my seat at Reeser stadium, watching the Ducks wrap up a perfect 12-0 season, it dawned on me that some Duck fans are indeed letting the team down. I’m not entirely sure they know exactly what they’re doing wrong, but my friends it annoys me to no end when it happens. I am talking of course about, The Vagina Hand.

Let me explain for the non Duck fans out there. See one of the University of Oregon’s many logos is the ‘O.’ it’s one of the more popular logos the school uses and you may have even seen Reese Witherspoon sporting an ‘O’ hat while she galavanted around Hollywood the other day. This logo has transformed into a hand symbol that many of the fans of Oregon deploy to show their allegiances.

However, many fans arent exactly doing it correctly, which is resulting in The Hand Vagina. If you are unaware of what exactly the hand vagina is here is a picture …

I Give You The Hand Vag...

As one can clearly see this isn’t exactly an ‘O.’ what it is, is a derogatory hand gesture usually given to some who’s being a pussy. To be honest, this was a usual hand gesture that was thrown about left and right in my house in college, and usually whilst playing some sort of college football on the Playstation.

While this may be a little derogatory and crass, other people in this world have made millions off The Hand Vagina. First, I believe Jay Z instituted the ‘Roc-A-Fella’ hand gesture which is just a little different from The Hand Vagina…

Jay Z. Kanye. Roc-A-Fella. (Hand Vag)

I haven’t seen Jay utilize the Roc lately. Maybe that’s because his hand are so heavy from trying to carry all that money he makes. Or maybe he’s too busy grabbing Beyonce’s ass… I mean, I would.

Another person that capitalized on a Hand Vagina variation was a wrestler by the name of Diamond Dallas Page. Back in the day I used to be a huge wrestling fan. In fact one spring break my college roommate and I took a trip to Houston to go to Wrestlemania. And to bs honest it was a baddass trip. Of course I was pretty hammered for 99% of the trip which may or may not have lead to an eyebrow piercing, but that’s niether here nor there.

Where was I…. Oh right Diamond Dallas Page. DDP (as he was known by his close friends) had a move called the Diamond Cutter, which of course was his “finishing move.” right before the maneuver was to be executed, DDP would throw up his hand and make the hand vagina The Diamond symbol, and boom! Lays out his opponent with the Diamond Cutter. Finishing the match and walking out of the ring victorious.

DDP and The Diamond Cutter (Hand Vag)

Now that I think about it, pretty sure DDP tried suing Jay for use of his hand symbol.

You may be asking what’s this got to do with Oregon? Well friends a lot. Too many times have i seen it happen people just getting lazy with their ‘Os’. They figure hey it kinda looms like an O, it’s above my head, all my friends are doing it. But people, it’s not ok. It just isn’t. You’re not a rap mogul. You’re also not a wrestler (even if you’re wearing and green and yellow Lucha libre mask)

Now, you may bs saying, “hey my favorite Duck throws up his hands in the Hand Vagina way! I’m going to do the same.”

Yes young fan he is. He is also given this kick ass Nike gloves from Uncle Phil too.

Gloved 'O'


Your favorite Duck player has no choice.. Those gloves make the O for him. So, again unless you’re Jay Z, DDP, or an actually player sporting the Nike Zoom gloves, you should be making the proper O.

Here is a quick lesson on the proper O.

Take your right hand and actually make a C.

RIght half...

Take your left and and make a C.

Left Half

Bring your left hand and right hand together, bam! The Perfect O.

Perfect O

(actually the perfect O is completely elusive and unknown to men)
(come on, you didn’t think I’d go the whole blog talking about hand vaginas and Os without at least ONE innuendo)

Remeber everyone, you don’t see Texas fans throwing up the horns with a pinky bent.

Longhorns...


Or you don’t see Red Raider fans throwing up guns without the thumb up.

Guns Up.

It just doesn’t happen. So fellow Duck fans, I urge you to perfect your Os, to hold them high, and represent the Ducks as they look to roll the Tigers in the Natty.

Oh, and one last thing….

Puddles. He'll see you in Glendale.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Go Ducks!

Email me at
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com





Old Money and Loose Morals… Pt. 3…

16 05 2010

By the way, if you’ve missed parts 1 and 2, make sure to click the numbers to catch up….

With that being said this blog is a little bit more vulgar than one may be used too… so fair warning.

RPG, JP, me, and RPG’s friend all took off from Joe’s to this Irish bar. It was a cool place, and on any given night I would have loved to have stayed there and drink some more casually. However on this night, I was looking to do serious damage to my liver, and potentially sleep with some random slut I found at a bar.

So we were on the move again. We had decided to walk our way to a bar called Whiskey’s. Along the walk RPG figured he needed to pull out some more cash so we could continue on killing our liver with copious amounts of booze and more than likely a pizza at 2 am. (The 2 am pizza has become a particular favorite Boston tradition when I venture out there. It’s been known to happen to have 4 guys demolish 2, yes thats right 2, extra large pizza’s at an ungodly hour of the morning.)

At the ATM vestibule, JP couldn’t help but notice a rather stunning blonde prancing around in some insane heels. I can’t really say I noticed at first because I was busy staring at said blonde’s ass. But then, I caught sight of them, and it just came out. I couldn’t really help it. I had been drinking. I noticed the heels, and thus replied, “those are cute. A girl I dated has a pair of those. They were hot.” I can’t say I tried to stop it. It just came out. Like gay word vomit. JP laughed and asked if I knew where she got them, to which I said no. And in all honesty I didn’t know where she had gotten them. Which doesn’t save my masculinity by any means. I offered to call the girl and ask where she gotten them, but I must not have been drunk enough, because when JP told me to do it, I realized at that moment it probably wasn’t the best idea for me to be call this particular girl. High five drunk me!

We carried on to Whiskey’s. At this point in time, I felt it was time to do some serious damage. RPG got the first round of drinks and we were happily on our way to getting just smashed. Whiskey’s is themed like a country/western/biker bar and so the girls dress accordingly. Slutty. Which is pretty much what I like anyway. We found a spot in the bar to post up in, and our waitress (who wore jean cutoff shorts and a wife beater, class.) came up and got our drink order.

At about this point in the night, things took a turn… I ordered some German Chocolate Cake shots and somehow we got on the topic of porn. I’m not sure how things got there, but they did. Wait, never mind, I do know how we got on to the topic of porn. In fact, I know the exact porn technique we talked about and how it came up.

You see, back in college RPG and I had some pretty colorful terminology. Part of this may have been because we drank a lot and our vocabulary went right out the window. The other part could have been because we were 20 something year old dudes, that really had no particular place where our language would need to be cleaned up. So, I’m not sure who coined it first (I did) and I’m not sure why we continued to say it (cause it was funny) but back when something was incredibly crazy, or some said something that was unbelievable, or something/someone was getting screwed by the man, RPG and I would usually say….

“Are you fist fucking me!?!?”

Class. 24. 7.

So on this particular night, one of us had said something that I couldn’t believe and I replied, “are you fist fucking me!?!” To which JP laughed and shook her head. She then made a vital mistake… one that more than likely cost her innocence. JP exclaimed… “I don’t think that’s possible.” Now, back in the day without technology this would have gone unnoticed or left alone until it could be proven at a later date. Say with a joke birthday gift from the porn store. However, in this day in age, all three of us guys had iPhone and we decided to prove (scientifically of course) that indeed fist fucking was possible. RPG did a search, (which to be honest took a lot less time than I thought) and boom, there it was. Actual video proof, that not only was fist fucking possible, it apparently could be done with more than one fist.

(On a side note, I can’t say I’ve actually seen a porn with fist fucking in it. Now don’t get your panties all in a bunch, I like my porn as much as the next guy, but really I have my limitations. Guy and girl, girl and girl, 3 ways, those are more my thing. You start adding extra curricular to the porn I am out. I like my porn to be a little more wholesome thank you very much.)

JP handled the affair with class and dignity, and maybe a little bit of awe. Who’s to say. After watching the video, we took the shot and got another round. However, it must be said, that these were the WORST German Chocolate Cake shots I’ve EVER had. And I’ve had my fair share of these shots my friends. They were terrible. And for some reason, the Bartender didn’t sugar the rim. I LOVE A SUGARED RIM!!! So of course I told the group that this bartender sucks, because he “left out the sugared rim!” (ps, for those of you keeping score at home, that TWO times I’ve emasculated myself on this night. And sadly, more to come.)

We continued to have half decent conversation about who knows what. This is where things begin to get a bit fuzzy. JP wasn’t feeling great after the poorly made GCC shot, (nor was anyone else for that matter) so we decided to call it a night. RPG’s friend took off and went who knows where. RPG, JP, and I all hopped into a cab to make it safely home to RPG’s. At one point, on the way home it was mentioned we wished the cabbie would put on some awesome tunes for us to get us home. He either didn’t hear us or didn’t want to have a taxicab confessions night complete with karaoke. At this point, JP busted out her iPhone and we began singing the hits. Not well of course, but that didn’t matter. And then it happened….

Baby. by Justin Bieber.

I may loose some readership for this, but I really like this song. And I’m being 100% honest and serious. I love it. I don’t know what it is. It’s pure pop crap, but it gets me every time. Like, every. Fucking. Time. I’d like to think that admitting this would get me laid. You know, cause of the whole honesty angle. Then I realize that chicks aren’t always all about the honesty angle. They’d rather you keep a secret like that deep down, and never speak of it again. I figure this is apparently why I’m single, but ladies, if you’re looking, I am an honest guy, I just happen to have a thing for really catchy pop music. (I can’t help it.)

(ps, This is by far the most emasculating thing I can admit. Strangely enough, it’s also the 3rd for this trip.)

JP and I karaoke our asses off in the back of that cab (complete with me trying to do the Ludacris part). It was pretty fucking sweet. I’m pretty sure at this time, RPG was looking out the window trying to count the minutes till it was all going to be over, like the rape scene in Shawshank Redemption.

The cab dropped of JP, and we made our way victoriously back to RPG’s. Where… we ordered pizza. And it was good.

Sunday morning/afternoon, we got up because we were invited to brunch over at KC’s house. It was also Easter sunday, and the Opening day for the Red Sox. Which we would be attending later that evening. KC had worked all morning long and made a wonderful feast for us to help ease the hangover that some of us had. I wasn’t so much hungover as I was dehydrated so I started off the morning with a mimosa. Which I don’t normally drink, but hey, when in Rome. Once the meal was all cooked we moved our party out onto the Veranda and continued to drink mimosas and have brunch. Not going to lie, it was pretty freaking awesome. Mimosas on the veranda remind me of this video….

Makes me laugh every time. After brunch, it was so insanely nice out that everyone decided to head down to the park and drink. Those who know me, know that I’m not really one for lounging outside in parks and shit, but we brought a ton of beer, and well, I didn’t drive. So down to the park we went, where we saw one of the worst egg hunts in the history of egg hunts. The worst part was it was a group of 20 something’s obviously still high/drunk from the night before. Left like 10 eggs laying around. Of course, none of use went over to get one of the left over eggs, for fear there were used needles or heroin inside the eggs. Plus, we were to busy drinking beers from Red Cups.

After our adventures on the veranda, we continued back to KC’s house were her and her boyfriend BBQ’d their asses off. Not going to lie, it was good to get some more food in me, because not only was I one mimosas, and 4 beers deep, but I had also been out in the sun, which accelerates my hunger/grumpiness/drunkeness. We continued to drink and eat and generally have an amazing day. Little did we know the day had just begun, along with all the awesomeness.

WE made it back to RPG’s house, and we took a minute to change and get prepared for our trip to Fenway Park. Which, really just means we went back to RPG’s and took a shot or two for the ride down to Fenway. The atmosphere was electric around Fenway Park that night. It was opening night, the Yankees were in town, and RPG, and I were getting ready for an unforgettable night. (sort of.) They unfurled a HUGE American flag on the Green Monster to begin the game. Which was a site to see in and of itself, however, the bigger sights came just moments later. The PA announcer geared us up, and announced that PEDRO FUCKING MARTINEZ was home in Fenway Park throwing out the first pitch! I knew we were in for something special and I was not let down.

For the 7th inning stretch, Steven Fucking Tyler of Aerosmith came out and sang God Bless America with his daughter. That was pretty effing cool. I mean Steven Tyler was still alive. Who knew. I was texting with JDub during most of the game as she was at home watching on ESPN. I told her all the cool stuff that was going down, and she half jokingly said, “if Neil Diamond comes out, you can die happy.” to which I replied, “I know right. And then, the most awesomest thing ever happened. NEIL FUCKING DIAMOND came out to sing Sweet Caroline with the Fenway Faithful.

NEIL FUCKING DIAMOND!!!

The whole place went insane. It was an amazing site to see and hear, and what a night of Awesomeness. Pure, unadulterated, awesomeness. And yes, I could probably die happy, however, I’d at least like to have sex one more time. Just sayin.

The night ended on an amazing comeback by the Red Sox and we left Fenway park just insanely happy. Tradition has it, that we roll over to the Cask N’ Flagon, but on this night, things were a bit different. We chose to go over to the Bleacher Bar (which has an amazing view of the Fenway outfield because it’s under the grandstands) T’was my first visit to the bleacher bar, and unlike last time where I celebrated Irish Wake Style, we were in full celebration mode, which meant, 5 jack and cokes in at little over an hour. We closed down Bleacher Bar with some other rowdy Sox fans and made our way back to RPG’s via a cab.

On the way home, we both decided to get some food, and of course we came to the conclusion, pizza. However, this was Sunday night, and not just any Sunday night but Easter. RPG tried to get ahold of the pizza place but any rational person would have known they were closed already. So RPG had the driver drop us off at a gas station, because back in college RPG and I feasted on the bag of chips for 99 cents that you covered in processed melted cheese. Ahhh the good life. However, the gas station was also closed, and I found myself needing to pee. Now, to be completely honest the next few events were really fuzzy.

All I really remember, was being in some alley, and RPG shouting my name, because I took it upon myself to find somewhere to pee. Mission accomplished. However, being in a dark alley, may not have been the smartest drunken mistake of my life. (But shit, since I’m writing about these events I’m obviously ok. High five drunken me!)

We settled in back at RPG’s, and I’m not sure if we ever got any food or not. I don’t really even remember the last 2 hours of the night. All I know was the Sox won, Neil Diamond sang at Fenway, and I was there. It was one of the best trips of my life. And worth every single minute.

After I touched down in Portland after the best trip I’ve taken, I couldn’t help but think, this was exactly what my grandpa had in mind. Cheers to you Gramps.

and ps, how awesome am I that I can have Fisting and Justin Beiber in the same blog?? Awesome.
ps again, I’m not exactly sure how awesome Gramps would have thought that last statement was.

Until Next Time…

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com





Old Money and Loose Morals… Pt. 2…

2 05 2010

So we last left off I was still drunk laying on the couch watching the Kardashians take miami. It was the episode where Kourtney was being auctioned off for a date by her sister Khloe. Not going to lie I was a little bit intrigued by this turn of events, and actually wondered if I were in Miami if I’d a had a shot with Kourtney.

I must add this, Kourtney is my #2 Kardashian. I can’t help it. I LOVE Kim. I find her wildly attractive, and she’s famous for being adventurous in the bedroom. A plus in my book.

So after a few episodes, RPG finally called and laid out the game plan for the day. #1. Get some food at Coolidge Corner Clubhouse. #2. He had to work, so I was going to go to the Red Sox team shop on Yawkey Way. #3. We’d be hitting the Celtics game later that night. #4. Potentially meeting up with one of my favorite Bostonians, JP who we last met on my last adventure to Boston.

I showered, got dressed and decided to face the day. RPG came to pick me up, and at this point, after taking such a hot shower, I realized that I had indeed progressed the drunken state I was in because of the hot water. Sweet. Still drunk at noon on a Friday. Mind you, not a first, however, most of the times I’ve been drunk at noon, I started the same day. Not a carryover from the night before. And no, I still don’t think I have a problem.

We arrived at CCC and seeing how RPG was starting to pre-game for the C’s game, we both ordered drinks. I went with my old stand by Jack and coke, RPG went with something else… I was too drunk to pay attention. Then the strangest thing happened. As we were waiting for our food to arrive, I immediately was hung over. Like BAM. Instantaneously HUNG the fuck OVER. The waitress brought me my drink, and I recoiled with a stomach convulsion. (some people call this a dry heave, I would like to think I’m better than that….) I looked at the drink, looked at RPG, back at the drink, back at RPG and said… “I’m not sure I can do it.” RPG looked at me with disgust, which I would actually like to think was a bit more disappointment.

I’m not going to lie folks. This was tough. I was staring a Jack and Coke dead in the face, with a chicken sandwich and fries to the right. Normally, I don’t get hung over. Normally I can start the very next day with drinking. This particular Jack and Coke was my nemesis.

My Worthy Opponent...

There it is boys and girls. The ONLY Jack and Coke I’ve left as a wounded solider. I got halfway through the drink and couldn’t finish. I had been bested. Well done my friend. You were a worthy adversary.

RPG left to head back to work, and I was left to my own devices. Which meant walking downtown and finding the Red Sox team store. It really wasn’t hard to find, but dammit it was bright out, and I had forgotten my sunglasses. Having my eyes completely dehydrated from boozing, then walking out into the bright sun, not my finest decision making of the trip. However I pressed on. Found the team store, and actually had a grand ole time.

Now this little trip of mine, probably took me a good 3 hours of my day. Walking around Boston is not an easy task. I hadn’t eaten much all day, nor had much to drink. The sun was beating down on me, and I started to feel like Lawrence of Arabia… It was at this moment where I decided to get back to RPG’s as quickly as possible. Here is where the enormity of my hangover/drunkenness came to play. I settled down on a little park bench to take a bit of a breather. Next to me were a line of cabs. In which one driver asked if I needed a ride to which I replied no. I was determined to figure out where I was and take the T back to RPG’s place. I busted out the iPhone, even found myself a little map of the T’s routes. My brain was just not having it. All those squiggly lines on the map, and my iPhone taking its sweet ass time. I said (verbally no less) fuck it. And got myself a cab.

A wise decision, however, not another one of my best. Because of my current state, I picked the closest one. Got inside and distinctly said “Comm Ave please….” and off we went. I sat in the back of the cab, and began smelling something insanely vile. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause of the smell, but it rested on one of two things… The cabbie himself or his lunch. Whatever it was, was making me nauseous. This was bad… I reached for the window in hopes that the fresh air would help and not have me throw up something probably a little more vile than this gentleman’s lunch. To my dismay the window had already been down. I sat in the back and told myself, mind over matter, mind over matter. HURRY THE FUCK UP!!!

Just as my Vomit Threat Level was hitting Orange, the driver began to pull over and was looking at me to exit the vehicle. He turned to me in the back seat, and said “Her ya go. Brookline Ave.”

wait… Brookline Ave? That’s not what I said… I said Comm Ave. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh Shit. He took me to the wrong place. I calmly informed the gentleman that I indeed had said, Comm Ave, not Brookline. I may have also mentioned very politely, how these two sound nothing alike. At all. Like, I’m curious as to how you could mistake them. I’m sure it’s a common mistake sir, my apologies.

After some confusion, (my bet was the English language) he did some fancy maneuvering and gotten me to Comm Ave post haste…. crisis averted.

I finally arrived back at RPG’s and headed straight to my previous location. The couch. I was happy to see that the Kardashians take Miami was still on. It’s like the drunk gods above placed my day on pause so I could resume it at my earliest convenience. I took a nice little nap till RPG got back, and was delight to hear him come in the door and announce, “I shall take a nap before tonight’s proceedings.” Epic win. (He may have also ridiculed me in my choice of entertainment on TV. Whatever.

Friday nights events we really not that exciting. Part of it was my hungover-ness. Part was RPG did work all day. The Celtics lost etc etc… so we essentially just called it a night. I think we would have gone out had JP and her friends made the trek outta her condo. But alas, all was for not, and we just packed it in. Which was probably a good idea because Saturday was a giant shit show….

We woke up the next day to beautiful sunshine outside, and booze on our minds. RPG put out the call that we would be heading down to Joe’s American Bar and Grill. They had an outdoor patio section with a retractable roof, and this particular Joe’s was right on Newbury Street, which apparently is a pretty awesome place to be. (I can’t argue with this fact, it was pretty awesome. Tons of food, shopping, and on a nice day like this day.. women. LOTS of women. It was like my heaven.)

We moseyed our way into the patio section and had to wait for some tables. The place was packed with a ton of people who apparently had the same idea we had. RPG and I began to down beverage after beverage, because that is exactly what you do to stay hydrated when it’s 80 degrees outside. Drink.

After sometime of putting down drink after drink, and me staring at beautiful women, and making fun of douchebags we finally got a table. (Let it be known, that this was indeed like 2-3 hours before we got our table. We really didn’t mind, it was so nice outside and the views were incredible. Plus RPG and I can have bullshit conversations till the cows come home.) After we had gotten our table, RPG (much like he did in college) put out his social Bat Signal and sure enough friends started filling in the empty seats we had. KC, who we previously met in part 1, brought her man down and her 2 friends that were visiting from Florida. More drinks were had and the conversations were awesome. At one point, some dude decided to start playing the bagpipes. Which to be honest, happens quite a lot in Boston. (and yes, most people in Boston hate that shit… however, all bagpipers know, tourists eat that shit up. As is true with this particular dude… )

The shit really hit the fan when JP showed up. At that moment, while proclaiming it was indeed her birthday the festivities took a major turn. And by major turn, I mean we started to get more drunk. Many topics of conversations were had, like “JP, how come you didn’t bring your friends out last night, so I can try to sleep with one of them? I mean we’re both on vacation? I would have walked them back to your place…on my way to Whole Foods.” To which JP replied… “Ever the present gentleman, it’s a wonder I didn’t bring them around!” We had a ton of fun drink Jack and Cokes, and Sangria.

JP began to get a bit tipsy and started a relationship with our waiter… and by relationship I mean, she said, I”ll have this… and he took that as “I’m ready to jump your bones.” One could see how the connection was born. The whole time JP would chat with the waiter, he’d return a volley and smile the biggest smile. What was a tad alarming, was the lack of teeth in said waiters mouth. And, the ones he did have, apparently had never met a Crest white strip. We all had a great laugh about that, and even more so when the waiter brought JP an “on the house” birthday slice of cake. We gave her a hard time, until JP bit into something really hard… We all looked down on her plate, and sure enough, what was laying there looked exactly like our waiters tooth!!

We all FREAKED out and started doing the “EEEWWWW” thing that 8 year olds do… upon closer inspection it was determined to be some sort of misplaced nut. (That’s what she said) JP decided that, cake, may not be her best option. So it was determined that booze was. We all got some more drinks in our system, and by this time it was night fall. We felt that sitting at Joe’s was not going to cut it for us, so RPG, JP, RPG’s friend, and I all decided to hit the town…

To Be Continued…

Until Next Time

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com





Old Money and Loose Morals… Pt. 1…

22 04 2010

I know it’s been a considerable amount of time since I’ve written anything. To my fans. I apologize. To people who are new to this blog (assuming there are at least 2 people who stumbled upon this blog based on some pretty messed up search terms, which I have a feeling I’ll blog about some other time) welcome and I hope you enjoy.

I’ve decided that I’ll be trying to write more about my life and it’s current happenings, but have realized that nothing has really been going on. Yes, I’ve had my fair of drama and some ups, and even some pretty decent downs, but overall life has been essentially status quo.

Which, brings me to this particular event in my life.

You see, a couple months ago, my grandpa unfortunately passed away. It was expected and was a relief to my family because he had been fighting for so long. Fast forward to the end of February when my grandmother made a visit to our house. It was her normal hard of hearing catch phrase repeating visit that I didn’t think much of. Until she handed me an envelope. Inside was a check for a substantial amount of money to which I hurriedly tried to return saying I couldn’t take such a thing. She responded that it was indeed from my grandpa. Apparently he had stashed some money away for all his grandchildren. After wiping my eyes free of dust that had built up in the room, I hugged my grandma and said thanks. Inside the envelope was also a note… “Spend it on something fun.”

I know my grandpa. I loved my grandpa. He was awesome. He was also a prankster, a joker, and didn’t take life to seriously. Aside from a tinge of racism and loving fox news my grandpa was a great man who loved life, and wanted his grand kids to do so as well.

With that, I took a couple days to think about what I would spend the money on, and it hit me. I called up RPG in Boston and asked what his ticket situation was like. And sure enough…. within minutes, I had booked a flight and had Opening Day tickets to Red Sox v Yankees at Fenway park. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt that this would be just the type of fun my grandpa had in mind. (Even if he was an Angles fan.)

Morning of my flight came, and I had to board a plane by 730 am so an early wake up time was in store. I had packed my bags the night before and went to sleep. 5 o’clock rolled around and I made my way to the airport.

As I made my way through the security line, I began unraveling in my head what exactly I had packed and what exactly I had put it in. In my travel bag I had packed all my clothes for the journey and a small Victoria Secret shave kit bag, that I had once procured from a girlfriend who bought me Very Sexy the men’s cologne from Vicky’s. (Which by the way does smell amazing, women flock to it, however, with that being said, telling any female what fragrance you’re wearing and where you got not only raises questions, but seem like it completely emasculates you at the same time. Not a winning combo friends.)

So anyway, inside my VS bag was all my toiletries one needs for a trip. They were all placed neatly inside plastic bags just like the FAA wants me to do. If you haven’t been to the airport recently, you know now that all liquids need to be removed from your bag and scanned separately. Which is really not a big deal. And then, it dawned on me. While I removed all the liquids it left only three items remaining in the bag to be scanned through… they were indeed, my razor, my toothbrush, and a condom. (It should be noted that this is the only condom that I didn’t throw away almost an entire year ago. There is no greater indication of how your sex life is going, then writing about the same unused condom from a YEAR ago.)

That’s right. Security Agent Rose, at 6:15 am on a Thursday morning not only got an idea of what was ahead for the weekend, but she knew my intentions as well. Rose looked up from the screen and asked “Where ya headed?” To which I replied “Boston.” She gave me a quizical look that almost wanted to reprimand me right there in the terminal. I took this as a bit of an insult, looked her right in the eye and replied….

“I’m looking for old money, and loose morals. Good day.”

I would like to tell you she laughed, but she didn’t. I re-packed all my stuff and headed down to board my flight. I had prepared my self for the direct flight by stopping by Barnes and Noble the night before and picking up some books. #1 was Everything is Wrong With Me by Jason Mulgrew. #2 was The Lost City of Z. and #3 was Silver.

Now, I don’t do a lot of shilling out for things on this blog. I feel I like things. You like things. We all go about our business. However, this is a rare occasion. You see, Jason Mulgrew has written a blog for many years. Many of these years I have followed his blog and laughed. And cried (not really that’s for pussies.) Questioned my life existence and over all enjoyed most of his works. So when I read that he was releasing a book, I knew this would be the perfect time to, not only read it, but hope that one of his hot female blog readers would see me reading it, and we’d strike a bond, and I’d be sitting pretty in the Mile High Club in no time.

The Mile High portion of the previous paragraph, sadly, did not come to fruition. However the reading of the entire book on my flight did. And I gotta say friends… it was AWESOME! It was some of the funniest stuff I’ve read in a long time. I like to think I’m funny, (and if you’ve read this long I’m assuming you may too) but sometimes I feel my humor pales in comparison to what was published in this book. At one point, on a plane I was crying I was laughing so hard. Which, I’m sure was awkward for the dude next to me. Like I said, if you enjoy my humor, you’ll love this book. Go get it.

Alright enough with the shilling out… (and ps, if you didn’t like it, deal. It’s my fucking blog I’ll do what I want.)

I touchdown into Boston and a gorgeous day and was quickly picked up by RPG and whisked off to his Alumni Association first Thursday event, which really is just a bunch of people who went to college and now have real jobs, come back to get bombed at. Which as I vaguely remember my college days is the only reason Thursdays existed anyway. The drinking began at roughly 445pm. Please make note of this. I filled RPG in on the goings on around the great Northwest. How so and so is married, and how so and so is having a kid, and how so and so is still a slut (that’s right chick in my Communications class I’m calling you out!) After some time RPG’s friends with real jobs started to show up and the general merriment was under way. Drinks were flowing conversation was great, there was even some dude selling his special musical instruments that he brings to all the events.

This is also where I met KC. Now, I had only talked with KC a couple times before meeting her. At one point there was discussion on me potentially moving to Boston. KC told RPG that she indeed had a room to rent, and at the time, it was something I highly considered. KC and I chatted a bit, and she gave me the go ahead that I could indeed move in AND I could have threesomes. I felt like our friendship was going to be long lasting. (Let it be known, that while I was allowed to have threesomes had I moved in, KC is way to classy for these types of shenanigans, and I would have to procure the 2 other girls for said threesomes on my own.)

Also, let it be known that during this time, there were a LOT of Jack and Cokes being had. If I had to venture a guess… I’d put it at around 7. Rough estimate.

We left the shindig to make our way to another bar. We knew the night was coming to a close, and seeing as it was still a Thursday, people had jobs to do in the morning. However, RPG was like fucking Lewis and Clark blazing the trail to the next bar. And so we went. Went to a place right near RPG’s condo, found a seat at the bar, and attempted to give our livers sclerosis right then and there. I’m not sure at what point I decided this, but I had begun to drink straight Jack with just some ice cubes. Not one of my wisest decisions, but after say 6 more of those, things got a little hazy. And by hazy I mean completely fucking black….

If someone were to say, “hey, I’ll give you a million dollars if you can tell me A.How you got home that night? and B.Who you called that night? I’d really be out a million dollars, cause I would have had no clue. (Most these answers came to light the next day… )

Speaking of the next day, it was about this time where I thought I had lost my iPhone. Again. Yes you read that right I would have been 2 for 2 on trips to Boston and losing an iPhone. I awoke in a panic realizing I had no idea where my iPhone was. I scoured the apartment. I looked for the electrical outlet I had used last time and it wasn’t there. This is apparently where the cold sweats began. With my quick thinking I raced to my bag to see if the charger had been left in there, along with my iPhone. Apparently not. The bag was without cord or charger or phone. Fuck. It was about this time that I made one last ditch effort. I completely removed all the sheets from the bed only to find that right about where my groin area would have passed out all night, was exactly where my phone was. Which lead to a couple conclusions. #1. I wasn’t drunk texting or dialing. #2. Drunk me was smart enough to put it in a safe place. #3. I spooned my iPhone all night long. You’d think I’d be ashamed of #3, but I’m not. Not even at all.

After that whole ordeal with thinking I’d lost an iPhone again, I quickly realized my motor skills were a bit off. Really off, actually. It took roughly 5 minutes with my diminished brain capacity to realize that I was indeed, still drunk. And not just a bit boys and girls, I’m talking speech slurred, got the spins, not ready to face the day drunk. My apologies to those of you on the west coast that I texted so early in the morning. In addition to the spins, and slurred speech, math was apparently lost on me as well.

I got up, poured myself a glass of water, and essentially waited for RPG to call to finalize the itinerary for the day. (What this sentence should have really read was…. I got up, found myself a couch pillow, drank some water and watched Khloe and Kourtney Kardashian for 3 hours straight. However, I felt that sentence was a bit to emasculating. However, I top that 100 times over later in the weekend.)

To Be Continued…

Until Next Time

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com





Never Pet A Hooker… Pt 2…

21 05 2009

If you haven’t already done so, please make sure you read part 1 of this Saga in Seattle. (ooh alliteration.)

After the nights run in with a Hooker, it was off to sleep in our cozy hotel room. I figured I’d plow through a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep and wake up feeling like a million bucks.

This however could not be further from the truth. Roughly at about 5:45 am, the fire alarm in the hotel was going off. We happened to have the room right by the exit, so I could hear everyone congregating outside our room. And by everyone, I mean a team of high school girls it seemed. Along with the fire alarm, I could hear countless girls laughing and cackling and generally having a raucous good time.

Of course, what they couldn’t hear was me, still laying in bed cussing up a storm. I made it my goal to let the world know how pissed off I was at this current moment. Had sailors been around, more than likely I would have offended them. It was definitely a mouth I don’t kiss my mother with.

After a good 3 minutes of my continuous swearing, I decided that my life was probably a little more valuable than a couple more minutes of sleep, and there was a group of high school girls just outside my door probably in teddies, and all sorts of hot lingerie. I begrudgingly got my self out of bed and headed to put on a shirt. The second, and I mean the SECOND that shirt was on, the fire alarm, and girls ceased.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been more pissed in my life. More swearing ensued.

About 930am I made a phone call to my friend Micah for it was indeed his birthday. We had a great conversation about his birthday, and shenanigans, and how he was in fact not in Seattle over the weekend. The reason I questioned this, was because it was in fact my friend Micah who rocked the Michael Vick jersey when trying to score at the clubs. He talked me down of the ledge, by letting me know, much like Vick’s career, his Vick jersey was on lock down.

The phone call lasted about half an hour, when JDub started getting agitated and needing food. Apparently training for a Triathlon* generates an insatiable hunger. So we were off to find some food. However, something was off. I just didn’t feel right. My stomach didn’t want anything inside it, and I was fighting off the urge to fall over and go to sleep. I wasn’t hung-over, because I’ve been hung-over many times, and this was unlike anything. I couldn’t figure it out.

[side bar, please check out JDubs fund raising for her triathlon, it’s for a good cause]

JDub, being the trendy-outdoorsy type that she is, drove my sorry ass to Whole Foods, where she figured we’d both find something to eat. We got inside, and at first, I was in awe of what the Whole Foods had to offer. I am a man that enjoys good food, and for my first time at Whole Foods, it seemed as if they had everything. Chinese food, Pizza, Meat, tons of Beer, it was all there, and on any other given day, Whole Foods may have turned into my favorite store. However on this day, Whole Foods became enemy number one.

As I previously stated, my stomach didn’t feel as if it wanted any food. And while the prospect of some nice Chinese food always makes me happy, I can honestly say the ONLY thing I wanted in this world at that time was a Gatorade, shit, I would have settled for Powerade even. As I perused the store, I saw all sorts of organic hipster loving bullshit. Organic this, organic that, Whole Foods was rapidly moving down my list of cool places to shop. After many passes through the store, I came to the conclusion they had no Gatorade. I want Gatorade dammit. Finally becoming acutely aware of my misery and hatred for the store, JDub found an ultra-hipster employee and the following exchange occurred…

JDub “scuse me, do you guys happen to have Gatorade?”
Ultra Hipster * scoffing at her * “We DON’T carry Gatorade! (acting all indignant that someone would insult the great Whole Foods by carrying Gatorade.)
JDub “ok, do you have anything with electrolytes in it??”
Ultra Hipster “ummm we have some VitaminWater.”
JDub “Soooo water with some vitamins in it?”
Ultra Hipster “Well, ya.”
JDub “ So nothing with electrolytes?”
Ultra Hipster “ VitaminWater.”
JDub “Thanks for ALL your help.”

That was pretty much it. Whole Foods and been removed from my list of places I’ll ever shop. Listen, I know people in their Birkenstocks and Volvo’s love that shit, but if you “CANT” carry some Gatorade, were going to have words.

I settled for some Organically grown water in a bottle and proceeded to checkout with a limited amount of Chinese food. For if it was indeed a hangover, I would soon be cured. I looked longingly at my food, as if at some point it would let me know it would all be ok. That if I ate it, the magic would come through and I could go on and face the day. This was all not to be. I took one bite, and my stomach informed me that another bite, may in fact be the worst decision ever.

We left shortly, with JDub wanting to go for a run, or walk downtown, or check out Pikes Market. However, I, I could only think of one thing. Sleeping. I was having problems keeping myself awake, I knew instantly I was not hung-over. No, I was indeed still drunk.

As I awoke again at 4 o’clock with a hangover I asked JDub just how many people I drunk dialed the night before.
Me “How many people did I drunk dial last night?”
JDub “No one. Oddly enough.”
Me “No one? Are you sure?
JDub “ ya positive.”
Me “That’s weird, I could have sworn we called Micah.”
Jdub “ You did, this morning.”
Me “ ooooooh shit… I don’t really remember that. At all.”

That’s right boys and girls, I made my first trip to Whole Foods, still outta my mind drunk. Awesome. (My feeling still stands. Carry Gatorade assholes.)

Four o’clock brought time for us to get out and face the day. That and the fact the Everybody Loves Raymond was over. We threw on our Sox gear and headed toward the stadium to meet up with some more friends at Sluggers, a sports bar near the stadium.

As we wandered the streets of Seattle, we got a lot of negative remarks for our Sox gear proudly displayed. “Sox Suck.” “Go Mariners!” we’re the majority of things said to us. In most cases I would be the one returning a verbal assault on someone. At one point we were walking down the street, when a bum on the side of the road shouted to us, “Mariners are going to give Boston a tea party tonight!!” This actually caught me off guard and I had no response. JDub, in all her cleverness returned quite the volley…

“Yeah, well I have a home and you DON’T. DEAL!”

Both the bum and I were in awe. It was glorious. Obviously not to the guys feelings, but quite the comeback. To which I turned to her and said… “That’s going in the blog.”

She knew what she had done.

We met up with JLee, Tyson, his brother, and spunky little thing named Katie. We all hung around Sluggers pregame, and enjoyed a number of cocktails and tallboys of Bud Light. (Funniest point of this part of the night was a tie, between this group of douches in plaid shirts wearing St. Louis hats taking pictures of Katie, and Katie, who’s all of 5’3, chugging her tall boy in record time, and slamming it down on the table proclaiming DONE!)

The Sox won the game with Josh Beckett pitching a gem.
Highlights of the game…
1. JDub being called Maam by some dad.
2. Some 8-year-old girl, would mean mug me (glare) every time I verbally rooted for my sox. I counted 4 times. I also made a bet that she was going to throw up, after killing, Nachos, Soda, Cotton Candy, and possible some pizza. I don’t remember it was gone quick.
3. Fans from Boston buying me shots of Jack at the bar in the stadium.
4. Unknowledgeable fan being taught baseball as it was happening by his softball playing girlfriend. Or, mistress, as he was wearing a ring, and she was not. Dude was really annoying… “ooooh that ball is really high.” “ooooh he hit that pretty far.”
5. Girl sitting next to me getting shots, asking her boyfriend if Josh Beckett is good, while rocking a Papelbon shirt. You honey, are a bad Sox fan, as is your boyfriend. He should have his ass kicked. I’m not kidding about this. Don’t bring your new Sox fan girlfriend to the game if she doesn’t know her history. If she didn’t have a sweet southern accent, I would have been more pissed.

We left the game on a mission to meet up with JLee and crew at the Red Door a bit a ways from our hotel. We stood on a street corner attempting to wave down a cab. After several minutes, we saw a cab coming towards us and started waiving. To our shock, he crossed three lanes of traffic coming within inches of hitting the car parked on the side, and having the Toyota Camry rear end him.

I knew we were in for something special!

We got into the cab, and gave him the location, and we were OFF! He took off like a bat out of hell. No red light could stop him, no corner was to sharp, and mirrors we just decorations. Our man had his head on a swivel like he was running from the cops. In fact, now that I think about it… we may have been in a stolen cab. I felt like I was Space Mountain in Disneyland, and only he knew where we were going. The ride jilted the both of us, and I asked to borrow the cabbies Rosary he had dangling from his mirror. It was next to the peace sign.

As we met up with JLee and crew, we got drinks and began just having a good time. The weekend was dying down for most of us, and some of us (me) were a bit tired from the night before. However, once I started drinking that Jack, I couldn’t help but “need’ more. I’m not kidding when I say I have a problem. I’ll deal with it later.

Probably the highlight of the night was when someone spilled some whiskey on the table, and Tyson was in no way going to let it go to waste. So like a cat, he leaned down and began licking the whiskey straight off the table. To which everyone all started moaning and yelling “grossssss.”

I took this opportune time to make a remarkable observation.

“I guess I’m not the most likely to get gonorrhea this weekend now am I?!?”

To which, everyone agreed. And I sat vindicated. My ultimate feat of being the most likely to get gonorrhea by petting a hooker, was trumped only by a man licking whiskey up from a bar table.

Which brings me to the end. While I have remained STD free for my many years of living, my recent outings have caused me to re-think my actions whilst drunk. My conclusion I shall pass onto you, my friends…
Never Pet A Hooker.

Email me at
SarcamsAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Until Next time…





Never Pet A Hooker… Pt 1…

18 05 2009

I know it’s been some time since I’ve written something. To my faithful followers I apologize. I’m trying to get back into the whole writing thing after landing a new job.

I currently work the front desk of a gym, and while I’ve got one or two things in my head I’d love to write about, every time I think of the gym and working, it takes my soul away and I have no desire to continue writing. But know this, a blog about the inner workings of a gym is coming.

This is not that blog.

This my friends is a blog of my Booze induced weekend in Seattle for some Red Sox baseball.

It all began in February, when my birthday is. My friend JDub purchased tickets to see the Red Sox only trip to Seattle this year. I have obviously been in a little bit of a funk, so I was looking forward to this trip.

As some of you may know, I joined the twitter revolution (before Oprah) and decided to send text message updates on twitter as the weekend progressed. The only negative to this whole situation, is I don’t have a phone capable of checking @replies and the such. So basically I update with something funny, and don’t get to see any of the responses. If any. Sad.

As JDub and I proceeded to go over the checklist of things we may need or things we may have forgotten, somehow that list included 2 fifths of Jack Daniels. Obviously a necessary item for any Sox weekend. As we left our great city, we hadn’t even been driving 5 minutes, when I took my first pull from a flask filled with Jack.

This was going to be awesome.

We arrived in Seattle in perfect time to head to the Pyramid Brewery to get some much needed food and….. well booze. Pizza and beer arrived at our table as we sat across the street from the amazing Safeco Field. Whilst the beer and pizza arrived, so did a very nice young lady with nice fake boobs and a glittery Red Sox shirt on. I’m not going to lie, and pretend I wasn’t already smitten, cause well… She was wearing a Sox shirt. However, my curiosity was peaked (as was JDubs) to the fact that said girl was wearing a Friends and Family pass around her glittery Red Sox covered chest.

Which got us to thinking….. and by thinking I mean searching the internet on JDubs phone. After a couple minutes of relentless stalkingsearching, we came to this website, and this conclusion……

John and Farrah Lester

John and Farrah Lester

This was Farrah Lester. Wife of one of my favorite up and coming Red Sox players, and wife to JDub’s second favorite cancer survivor, Jon Lester.

The plan in our heads was hatched of how to say hello, talk to her, ultimately, How can we meet your husband. I was even willing to seduce her to meet her husband. I believe it was at this seminal moment in my life, I realized that I should really find someone to marry or at least seriously date. That way all this attention I place on the Red Sox, could be diverted into real life things I can control. However, since the prospect of getting married is far from here, I shall resume my focus on the Red Sox, and hitting on Jon Lester’s smokin hot wife.

We discussed for a good 30 minutes on an “ice breaker” to talk to Mrs. Lester. However nothing came of it, and she left with her Friends and Family pass.

(ps, I had already been drinking pretty heavily at this point, so it may not have been Mrs. Lester. But I’m pretty sure it was. Either way, please check out The Lester Project)

As we watched Lester pitch a pretty decent game, it was Ichiro who saved the day for all Mariner fans. Speaking of Mariner fans, can people help me out here. If you go to a baseball game, anywhere across this great nation of ours, can you please take a poll of how many lesbians you see at the game. (hot or not, a lesbian is a lesbian.) It just so happens that for some reason the Seattle Mariners fan base consists heavily of mullet wearing, visor toting lesbians. I wish I was half way kidding about this. Friday nights game had us sitting next to a very nice couple, one sporting the short man cut, and the other sporting the very eloquent salt and pepper mullet to the shoulders.

At one point, after Ichiro’s first home run, Man Cut decided to start talking shit to me. Why she didn’t choose JDub who was siting in the seat next to her is beyond me. Maybe she thought JDub might think she was hitting on her… I don’t know. However she leaned over, clapping her hands Church Clap style and proceeded to shout, “He can hit em anytime he wants. ANYTIME HE WANTS.”

Now, we were winning at this point, so I’m ok with a little shit talk here and there. I feel it’s supposed to be there, and he did just hit a home run. However…. The second home run that gave them the lead, and the second ANY TIME HE WANTS had me fuming.

Look tiny lesbian with a nice fade….. Like you, I also believe in rights for everyone, which means treating women equally, which also means, you lean over one more time and come inside my circle, and sure as hell there will be shit storm a coming! I know for 100% fact I can take you… No doubt in my mind. On the other hand, I’m going to refrain from whooping some ass at the ballpark, because I am legitimately scared of Salt N’ Pepper Mullet to your right. I feel as if I’d get one good shot in and SnP would want to get to me! So be happy you’re Mullet sporting partner has got your back cause you almost got an equal rights beat down courtesy of me! (PS, I’m a lot tougher when I drink. Or at least my mouth is.)

Anyway, there were no fisticuffs with the Lesbians, however the Sox did lose, and so I took it upon myself to celebrate Irish Wake style! I received a text from a good friend and former co-worker in radio who informed me he was indeed doing a club night at one of the clubs near the stadium. We walked a couple blocks and were soon in front of the greatest bar in the entire world. (Gross exaggeration for effect.) We were indeed making our way into Cowgirls Inc. OH HELL YES!
(For those of you who didn’t click the link, Cowgirls Inc. is indeed a real life Coyote Ugly. Where the dancers are hot, and the clientele is not.)

Anyway, My friend Maynard knew one of the bartenders in the joint, so it was awesome in getting drinks. Lets just say there were a couple dollars from being free. Which, as anyone knows, is a good thing to have cheap liquor, however, you tend to buy a bit more booze when it’s really cheap. And seeing as how I was in mourning… it was bring on the Jack and Cokes…A lot of them! I was so focused on drinking that at one point, whilst one young lady was gyrating in booty shorts in front of me, attempting to earn some college tuition, I gently nudged her leg and asked her to move so I could get more booze. (Note, this is probably why I’m single, and an alcoholic.)

sidebar: they’re hiring.

The night carried on as did my drinking. In the midst of my drinking 3 major things occurred.
#1. The SECOND Michael Vick jersey siting in Seattle. THE SECOND!!! And this wasn’t even a Falcons jersey, this was an old school Virgina Tech jersey. What’s with Seattle? I haven’t seen two Michael Vick jerseys in one day for as long as I remember. However, back in the Day one of my buddies used to wear his Vick jersey to the club. He mentioned it being the #1 jersey for scoring chicks. Said he was batting a cool .750 (75%) with the Jersey. So I supposed this dude was also attempting to score some chicks at the great Cowgirls Inc. I’m not sure it worked.
#2. I did the robot. It was awesome.
#3. At one point, JDub and I were standing next to one of the speaker boxes. And on said speaker box was a delightful 40 year old cougar dancing her troubles away…. and her marriage. More than once she reached down and was touching me on my head. Messing with my hair. It was hilarious. But what can I say, when I have a good hair day, it’s pretty amazing. And last Friday, my hair was pretty good… so it goes without saying that this cougar was obviously smitten. Our time together came to an abrupt end as we decided it was time to leave. But not without her pointing to her wedding ring multiple times, informing me that we would NOT be having hot cougar sex tonight. damn.

We proceeded to our hotel room, escorted by our mighty yellow chariot. As we were driving up the street to our hotel, we couldn’t help but notice two ladies who were scantily clad walking up the street. JDub, upon seeing the ladies, couldn’t help but yell in excitement like she was on an African safari…. oooohhhh HOOKERS! Our mighty cabbie also got excited shouted “hookers!” and proceeded to honk the horn! So as we pulled into our parking lot the hooker picked up the pace to gallantly take over our cab to reach their next destination.

As I got out of our cab, I decided to be the gentleman that I am and hold the door for one of the hookers. As one of them proceeded to walk past me, I couldn’t help but notice in my drunken state that she was indeed wearing a black fur coat. To which I proceeded to take my hand, and pet her arm and proclaim…. “I like this.”

I’m not sure what followed, but no money or bodily fluids were exchanged, and JDub wisely got me inside the hotel without further incidents with the hooker. I did tell some of my friends about said hooker incident and here were some responses….
#1. You have chlamydia.
#2. Did you ask to try it on?
#3. Is one of your eyes going blind, and does it burn when you pee?
#4. Did she charge you for that?

I proceeded to the room to pass out and get ready to face the day ahead of me….

to be continued.

as always email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

until next time.