tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58892227280604168752024-03-08T00:55:15.904-08:00Chemical MisadventuresNot for prudes.JRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889222728060416875.post-59826177641730145432011-01-13T17:33:00.000-08:002011-01-13T17:38:36.084-08:00standford is silly<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzTZZA2iGgvIr8YOYqZYv2QYsRpVLJOUeoaXiJomu6s9MnWc9oSXzCWNoxvx827hEJ2fPniSn3A7qnBwgAt3g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />gotta love fansJRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889222728060416875.post-89299833073175437692010-02-05T11:05:00.000-08:002010-02-05T11:16:59.172-08:00new people.With my new job, I meet on average anywhere from 30 to 70 new people a day. When you meet new people at this level you realize how many people have issues, mainly physically. Instead of celebrating difference, which is the pc thing to do, I like to make fun of them. God knows I have my differences, I laugh at them too.<br /><br />One thing I have realized while meeting so many people is that there are a ton of cross eyed people out there. I had no idea so many had this issue. The most awkward moment possible in life must be the first time you communicate with a cross eyed person. Where do I look? Which eye? It's even worse if you see them far away and they acknowledge you because from further away its even harder to get a track on which eye is looking at you. And as they approach you feel the pressure increasing to commit to an eye. Because how humiliating if you are staring at the wrong eye the whole time? I have met 6 cross eyed people already.<br /><br />There was one woman I met who was wearing a Gilligan hat and yawning. Trying to be the friendly corporate smart ass, I commented "Someone was up late last night eh?". She turned to me and removed her cap, revealing a bald head. "I'm going through chemo, I have no energy.". I apologized and she walked away. That was pretty awkward.<br /><br />This gorgeous young woman was hugging and kissing an older man, balding, big fake teeth, wearing a pink polo shirt trying to act young and spontaneous. He made me sick, how is she attracted to him. When he walked away I asked her, "big dick, big money right?" She laughed and nodded. You damn women make me crazy.JRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889222728060416875.post-52158630930805833892010-01-14T09:28:00.000-08:002010-01-14T10:14:10.484-08:00parrot-head poon.1. I really love girls in Ugg's, especially when they wear tight jeans and a big jacket with a furry lined hood, and Ugg's. I don't know why but it's so hot to me. I think it may take me back to some primeval urge, an instinctive attracttion, maybe not everyone is in tune with this retro cave woman connection, but I am. <div><br /></div><div>One time I went to this theme park after dropping a micro-dot and went missing near the beer garden. Turns out i was found hours later dry humping a Clidesdale horse when all along I thought I was having a sexy threesome with two girls in Uggs. Needless to say, I am banned for life from Busch Gardens and Sea World.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. I have always hated Jimmy Buffett and his cleverly named Coral Reefer Band but I will say one thing, you go to one of those shows and you have a 100% chance of getting laid in the parking lot. I was at the Florida Panthers game last night and there were ads everywhere for an upcoming Buffett concert, all my memories rushed back and I thought I had to share. The first time I went to a Buffett show, I was twelve and dragged by my parents. Not only was it the first time I smelled weed but the first time I had seen bare breasts in my face, everywhere. Old boobs, young boobs, fat boobs, painted boobs, saggy boobs, everyone was high and nobody was shy. I had to remain seated the entire show for fear of random boner. On the way out, women were pinching my ass, grabbing my crotch, rubbing my head, I was twelve years old! I was amazed.</div><div><br /></div><div>The second time I saw Buffett live, I was older and I went for one reason, to turn those butt pinches and flat hands into a full out sex romp. And it was so easy, grab the first stoned 28 year old you see and tell her you have weed in your Expedition, she will follow you cross counties and do things to you that you've only heard about from the 60's. Some of you may have to drop your standards for this 100% rate, like maybe an older parrot-head, or put up with weed breath or deal with a kid waiting outside the car or hide from her normally tame husband. Anyway, it's worth a try, go for it.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. You want to know what frustrates me more than anything in the world? My iPhone not letting me say HELL, it always changes it to HE'LL. ALWAYS!</div>JRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889222728060416875.post-18955343966480086432010-01-13T07:38:00.000-08:002010-01-13T07:56:48.724-08:00two quick things.<div><div>1. I hope that when I'm older, I'm not attracted to teenage girls. I was talking to my pilot friend the other day at a bar, he is 29 and was explaining to me that its no big deal for him to date a 17 year old if he wanted to. He was making me physically ill. Now I will agree, some of these teens look like full grown adults with their premature developed chests and toned legs but the difference in emotional and mental capacity is disgusting. What the fuck would a 29 year old talk about with a 17 year old? Nothing. I think my friend is a pervert and I may have to keep an eye on him. But then again, maybe it's something we all go through as we get older, I'm not attracted to teens but maybe when I'm 29 I will be. I hope not.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've said it once, I'll say it again. Please stop pumping chicken with hormones so I can stop accidentally hitting 16 year olds. </div><div><br /></div><div>Every time I do this I go home and vomit, and then slam my penis under Infinite Jest.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>2. I have successfully made it three quarters of the way through dating off season. At least that is my current scapegoat for a nonexistent love life. In case you are unaware, dating off season takes place from Thanksgiving to Valentines Day and the whole idea is that you won't have to meet parents or buy gifts so early in the relationship. Plus, it seems easier to fall head over heels for someone when it's cold and Christmas music is playing. I've been following these rules for several years now because the last time I started dating someone in November, it ended in disaster. Kind of a blow your load all at once type thing. We were obsessed with each other, it was romantic, and then we became bored in March. One more month to go, I must stay strong.<div><br /></div><div>Do you think dating off season is a good idea?</div>JRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889222728060416875.post-86779028920380313082010-01-10T07:14:00.000-08:002010-01-10T07:31:24.097-08:00your mouth turns me off.I've never considered myself a boob guy nor a butt guy rather I've always been obsessed with voices. People who know me can vouch, it's always the first thing I comment on.<div><br /></div><div>Far too often, I will be physically attracted to someone and maybe even into their personality but then the way they talk completely turns me off. </div><div><br /></div><div>It goes beyond accents, I like most accents with a few exceptions. It could be the way their mouth moves, it could be their teeth or gums when exposed or it could be their voice. Let me give you some examples...</div><div><br /></div><div>1) If you ask me, Natalie Portman is the most gorgeous woman alive, if I saw her in person I might be tempted to rape her. Now imagine if Natalie had that scratchy party girl voice. As if she removed her vocal chords every night and soaked them in a glass of whiskey by the sink. At that point, I don't think I could rape her. Sometimes raspy is nice but I've talked to some girls who have extremely raspy voices. Turn off.</div><div><br /></div><div>2) One thing I'm not fond of is an attractive slender woman with a man voice. What the fuck happened to your voice? What's the reason for this? I apologize if you have a man voice, it doesn't make you any less of a person, just know I am never going to fuck you.</div><div><br /></div><div>3) Slow talkers drive me nuts, minimum mouth movement, monotone, crawling cadence. Please leave me alone.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>What kind of voices turn you off?</div><div>Is it enough to be a deal breaker?</div><div>Do you like Natalie Portman?</div><div><br /></div>JRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889222728060416875.post-54025808617449727612010-01-09T14:35:00.000-08:002010-01-09T14:39:43.383-08:00commercials.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 11px; "><p>According to television ads, and I base all fact on these, people with Herpes and overactive bladders are way more outgoing than I am. They are always white water rafting or throwing frisbies to golden retrievers or running down a beach with their loved one who's cool with their disease so long as they are taking their meds. And they always have athletic gear on, sweatpants, sports bras, head bands. You would think that commercials like these would inspire me to be more active but no, they have the opposite effect. It seems to me that the only people with prostate problems and high cholesterol are athletes. Like they always say, everything in moderation, it's obvious to me now that if youre not careful and spend too much time doing stuff outdoors, youre going to get an STD.</p><p>I also learn from commercials, that big Jews love Windows 7.</p></span>JRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889222728060416875.post-31158551413202584512010-01-09T14:33:00.000-08:002010-01-10T11:03:54.371-08:00Glasses.<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(242, 227, 198); line-height: 20px; font-family:'Lucida Grande', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">I was on Facebook looking at my cousins mobile uploads, mostly pictures of himself trying to look thug. One of the pictures was self taken, over head, him looking up to the camera with these glasses on. His caption simply said “$200 Prada glasses”. Mind you this kid works in the meat department at Publix and drives a Grand Am. I decided he was in need of a lesson, it’s not right to brag about expensive things or even buy things just because they are expensive.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">I had just done a line of coke and was already wearing my Valentino suit so I jumped into my Vantage for the two hour drive south.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">Half way down, I stopped at a Starbucks and ordered three chai’s, I only drink one of them but order three because I can. I realized half way through my chai that I still had my Moss Lipow aviators on and my earbuds weren’t actually plugged in to my 17” Macbook Pro, so everyone in the Starbucks was listening to This American Life with me. All I could think is how pretentious I must look, and also how good.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">I finally arrive at my cousins house, which is also my uncles house since he doesnt have the money to move out. I storm his room and tear him from his bed.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">“Where are they!” I screamed.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">I see on his messy bureau, the glasses. I grab them and he jumps to protect them. I throw them to the floor and stomp them as he cries from his knees.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">“Don’t cry on my Berluti’s please.” I say.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">I throw him a $20 and tell him to go buy some Foster Grant’s from Wal-Mart.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">End of story, lesson learned.</span></p></span>JRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889222728060416875.post-23051583171654999552009-07-06T13:25:00.000-07:002009-07-06T13:54:30.296-07:00My awkward life.As if I hadn't experienced enough already to write a novel on awkward moments, this past weekend was a gem. Because I am a creep, and an asshole I constantly set myself up for uncomfortable situations.<div><br /></div><div>Saturday Morning</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I was driving around my hometown with the windows down, taking in the salt. Sometimes it's nice to drive with no sound but the window breaking the flow of air. I pull up to a red light and the heat quickly catches up with me, then my phone rings. I look to the screen to see the name 'Kelly Blansett', someone I hadn't seen since high school. With an overacted look of disgust on my face I yell, "ew, ugly bitch" and throw my phone into the passenger seat. Over the near silence of stagnant wind I begin to hear a light whimper. I slowly turn to my left to see a girl crying in a Honda...with a phone to her ear...its Kelly. "I was just kidding Kelly," I yell to her. "I saw you coming up behind me I knew you were there, don't cry." The light turns green and she peels away, I yell once more and wave as I take a right onto Broward Blvd. It only took a few moments for the guilt to wash away.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday Night</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I had cybersex.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Early Sunday Morning</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I flirted with a 16 year old on Twitter. At the time, I was unaware of her age. Did I feel disgusted...no.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sunday Afternoon</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I was at a friend's BBQ, eating leftover ribs from the 4th. This is where I finally meet the parents of my good friend Karsten and I remember how he told me his mother was a dairy farmer her whole life, or until she met his father. "So Karsten told me you were a dairy farmer for a while eh?" I asked. She confirmed and noted how strong her hands were from years of milking. Without thinking I erupted with..."Wow I can only imagine the hand jobs!" Silence came over the party, you would have thought a child was drowning, every conversation stopped and the collection of gasps could have rid this planet of air. In attempt to lighten the situation, I elbow his father, "come on, you know what I'm saying right?" No reply. Like a raccoon backed into a corner I decided to explode and run away. "Fuck you all!" I exclaimed as I chugged my remaining Natty and exited the scene. I later fantasized to the varying best possible scenarios that could have stemmed from this, for example, a demonstration. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am dark, I am twisted, I know this.</div>JRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889222728060416875.post-59931762525407534552009-06-27T18:13:00.000-07:002009-06-27T18:22:26.697-07:00At 16, I was a bitch.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">When I was 16 years old I had a romantic relationship with a 33 year old single mom, she later raped me but that's not the point of this post. I found this country song I wrote for her while I was waiting for her to work on my knee. You see she was a physical therapist and I was a football player, it's a good ol' American love story.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">When I sang it to her she slapped me, and I cried with her, but neither of us understood what we ere crying over so she slapped me again. I cried harder because this time I knew why I was crying, the second slap had hurt much worse than the first one. Anyway, here is the country song.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">I wish I could compose like you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">Every breath is a symphony.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">Every breath you give to me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">I wish I could breathe like you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">Every blink I long for you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">Hoping you'll reopen soon.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">Life's so dark without your eyes</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">Flooding my existence with light.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">Every time you laugh</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">You add a year to my life.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">Every time you smile</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">You add a year to my life.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">Every time you speak my name</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">You add a year to my life.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">I can't wait to die old with you</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">At the age of 6005.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px;">The End</span></div>JRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889222728060416875.post-22911613747867598202009-06-27T17:33:00.001-07:002009-06-27T18:07:44.271-07:00Notables 6/27/09<div>This works better if you read with a South Jersey accent.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>11:30 AM</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I wake up in my sheetless bed to the sound of thunder, quickly spring to my feet and leap to the pantry for a spoonful of Nutella. I wash it down with the harsh agitation of warm seltzer water. I am ready for the day.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>12:00 PM</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I stand in the open window in my underwear, pretending to mess with the blinds, waiting for some passing motorist to gaze upon my bulge. If I am lucky, they will crash into the light post, knocking it down so it will no longer shine in my face at night. Fucking light posts.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>2:30 PM</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>After a quick nap, I drive around the walking lake in my Beemer, windows down, moonroof open and blasting some dancey indie music like Empire of The Sun or Hot Chip. This is the lake where all the sexy ladies get their exercise, only today it was full of men, families, and a few women. These women were walking for a reason, know what I'm saying? I peeled off path in anger, time for my Chai.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>3:12 PM</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>While driving in my cool glasses I notice myself in the mirror. Every day I can count new grey hairs on my head and the first thought that comes to mind is, "Damn you get better looking by the day."<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>5:59 PM<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Feeling down after some girl said no to me, I asked her if she wanted to smoke the hookah. I spot a mom and daughter holding hands and I smile, it lifts my spirits. Soon after a Ford Focus drives by with loud exhaust and a spoiler, this instantly reinstalls my hatred for human life. I hurry and pull the mother's hand away from her daughter, give her a pouty lip and run off.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>7:01 PM</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I realize at this moment how cute those fake girl laughs are at the end of porno's.</div><div><br /></div><div>10:03 PM</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> I contemplate the easiest way to get rid of my cats, oddly enough, dropping them out the window isn't one of them. Can't remember where I left the Beemer but it doesn't bother me. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>JRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04136152584087656182noreply@blogger.com0