Funny Things
Know how I said I probably wouldn't post anything about this night? I lied. Fuck me. And fuck you, too.
So, tonight I went to the Cubby Bear for a Garcia tribute, and Vince Welnick was there. I shook his hand and washed it within five minutes. Take, giver or "Samba in the Take" and "A Long Take to Go Home". I wanted to say that he was my favorite-est Dead member of all time, but I don't want to be struck by lightning for telling such a gruesome lie.
Anyway, as often happens, Seamus disappeared early and fagged out, predictably passed out on my couch long, long, LONG before 11. My brother's roommate similarly left early, as he claimed some vague obligation or another. So, essentially, me and my brother were left drinking at the Cubby Bear, and we were drinking very heavily at that.
I drank too much tequila tonight, of that I will admit. I remember signing a $260 bar tab on behalf of my brother at the Cubby Bear. Whatever I tipped the girl was far too much, as her ass was really big and she took about eight days to get me drinks. Fuck her. She was cute in the face but her body leaves shitloads to be desired. A couple weeks ago, Seamus coined a phrase for this type of situation: Scepter Face--she's cute, 'cept her face. This chick was a Scepter Face, and she had no business getting at 25% tip, were it not for the fact that I'd not be responsible for ultimately paying the bill.
So, the two dickholes left early while my brother and I stayed to party with these girls. Which girls? I can't remember. All I know is, at one point there were three distinct groups of girls who wanted to fuck us, and we both went home alone. Fuck. Maybe it was the tequila. Who cares? If they'd wanted some love, they'd have been more aggressive. Besides, I have far too much to do tomorrow, what with inventing a job and all. Plus, I was hallucinating. Tough one, huh?
I don't really remember leaving the bar, though I do remember the cab ride. I implored my brother that, regardless of whatever might or might have not transpired during my blacked-out stupor, he must must MUST stop with the grabby-close-talker routine any time he gets more than two drinks in him. From the haze of my stupor this evening, I'd like to attribute my inability to score either of the two hairdresser girls to his insistence upon screaming and licking every face unto which he feels like "making a point". In my opinion, passing out at a bar is much cooler than having people physically wrench your arm off your person. (Yeah, I was nominally passed out at the bar tonight. I had to tell three different bouncers to fuck off, which they did. Maybe they went to go dildo-fuck gay Vince Welnick backstage, what do I care? Darth Pat was out in force tonight, and he was respected.) I love my bro, but he tends to forget his own size when he's the slighest bit drunk. Seriously, the fucker has torn muscles in my neck over topics as vital as, "Let Me Tell You How Stupid People Are." I feel like saying, "I'm a misanthrope too. Now please stop breaking my neck." He never learns, and girls are often the recipients of his lapse of sense.
At any rate, we took a cab back down to our neighborhood, but not before a near fist-fight and a ditched $4 cab after my brother lit a cig and welcomed the wrath of our clean-air cabbie in front of the Salvation Army headquarters on Addison. My brother threw out some xenophobic acidity, and I peed onto the hood of the cab in question. It was funny because it was pretty illegal.
We got down to the Gold Coast, whereupon we had a couple more (unnecessary) drinks at Dublin's, which is a nice enough place in that that it's open very late. The bartender was very nice, after I apologized for my and my brother's asshole performances on Sunday night. She's very pretty, though I doubt anyone tells her as much too often. She's possessed of a very nice figure and an honest face, but she made the mistake of chopping her hair very short. I kept trying to talk to her but she was busy and I was probably slurring all my worst lines. My goal for next week is to have a sober conversation with her that results in my taking her to dinner. I would very much enjoy re-entering the dinner date scene again, as I like nice restaurants, and it kills girls when I get into crowded restaurants with just a couple handshakes.
After an odd parting conversation at Dublin's with these two random not-hot girls (in which my brother broached one of his favorite topics, that being "Do you think me and my brother over there are hot?" which will never really warrant an honest response one way or the other), we ate hotter-than-hell slices of pizza at a joint on Division, then scoped the scene at Funk (lame--none of my dreamgirl bartenders were there) and some other place (lame--don't even remember the name of the place, but I do remember walking right in and right the fuck out). Then my brother and I told each other that we loved each other (which is very true) and walked our separate ways home. I'm so happy my brother moved so close to me, because it's always amusing.
So, anyhow, you're in this family of entertainers. You walk into a talent agency and demand to see their top guy, the uber-agent of all agents. After you wait a long while in this shitty waiting room, the top guy from the agency finally emerges from his office.
You say to him, "You're standing in front of comdedy royalty, and I bet you never realized it. We, my friend, are the answer to all your problems. We have the ultimate family t.v. show all plotted out and ready for production."
And the talent agent says, "Really? Tell me more about what you have in mind."
So you, being the chief of the clan, say, "So, my wife is this complete fucking terrible slut, and she loves to take big fat black dick right up her sweet sweet ass. Luckily, we adopted a son from Nambia, and as it turns out, he happens to have grown into a 7 footer with this huge 25-inch Alabama black snake. So, our adopted son is up on this couch, pounding away at his mother, my wife, as she's screaming away that she can't even take his big black cock so far up her snowy white ass.
"Now, I know what you're thinking: how do I fit into all of this? Well, that's the kicker! I'm standing in the corner, masturbating like you wouldn't believe to this sweet incest-rape scene. I mean, I'm jacking away at my dick so hard that my pecker is completely raw, to the point that blood from my cock is shooting all over this little midget, whose face is the target of my spunk in the first place, because he's dressed up like Bozo the Clown, all of three feet tall and laughing like there's no tomorrow.
"I bet you're asking yourself, 'Where's the rest of the family during all of this?' Well, to be honest, we're going to have my daughter slice huge chunks of my adopted black son's ass, as he is otherwise busy feeding it to my wife's ass, and she's going to throw these huge chunks of his human ass-steak onto a huge Weber grill, and we're going to take turns eating away at it, whether it's cooked or not. So my daugher will be cooking and eating her brother's ass while I keep jacking off to this little midget and my wife just keeps taking it up the cornhole from our big black adopted son. Mayhem? Just you wait!
"Out of nowhere, on the wings of these huge flaming bald eagles, in comes none other than your son, who is naked and covered in honey. All the while, he's being stung by a relentless storm of bees, who are just biting the living shit out of him. He's flying through the air, having been seized by a giant hawk the size of a helicopter, and he's screaming at the top of his lungs, because he's stabbed through the chest with these giant fucking talons. Just then, this huge swarm of bees flies up and starts stinging the fuck out of him, increasingly causing his skin to morph into this sick version of something resembling yellow tapioca pudding, which the hawk keeps catching out of midair with his beak. And all the while he keeps screaming, "No! No! Bees! Oh fuck me! Oh the pain! It's killing me! Fucking killing me!" And, the best part is, all this flying-son-turning-into-tapioca-pudding is really REALLY making me jerk the blood from my hog right into the midget's face, and my wife just keeps screaming more and more as my big African son just keeps feeding his cock into her ass, and the blood and cum start to pour out from her ass in positively Biblical proportions. Then, in the midst of jerking off to this fucking midget clown, and in the midst of seeing this weird adopted-son/mother sexual tryst being played out in front of you, you start to laugh hysterically, just like the rest of America will do, because nothing is quite like wholesome family entertainment!
"Well, what do you think?"
As the talent scout wipes the tears out of his eyes, he manages to mumble, "Well...now...we've got a hit on our hands, of that I am certain! Tell me, what do you plan on calling this show?"
And you, without hesitation, shout, "The Aristocrats!"
:-)
Peace out, mofos...I love you all.
So, tonight I went to the Cubby Bear for a Garcia tribute, and Vince Welnick was there. I shook his hand and washed it within five minutes. Take, giver or "Samba in the Take" and "A Long Take to Go Home". I wanted to say that he was my favorite-est Dead member of all time, but I don't want to be struck by lightning for telling such a gruesome lie.
Anyway, as often happens, Seamus disappeared early and fagged out, predictably passed out on my couch long, long, LONG before 11. My brother's roommate similarly left early, as he claimed some vague obligation or another. So, essentially, me and my brother were left drinking at the Cubby Bear, and we were drinking very heavily at that.
I drank too much tequila tonight, of that I will admit. I remember signing a $260 bar tab on behalf of my brother at the Cubby Bear. Whatever I tipped the girl was far too much, as her ass was really big and she took about eight days to get me drinks. Fuck her. She was cute in the face but her body leaves shitloads to be desired. A couple weeks ago, Seamus coined a phrase for this type of situation: Scepter Face--she's cute, 'cept her face. This chick was a Scepter Face, and she had no business getting at 25% tip, were it not for the fact that I'd not be responsible for ultimately paying the bill.
So, the two dickholes left early while my brother and I stayed to party with these girls. Which girls? I can't remember. All I know is, at one point there were three distinct groups of girls who wanted to fuck us, and we both went home alone. Fuck. Maybe it was the tequila. Who cares? If they'd wanted some love, they'd have been more aggressive. Besides, I have far too much to do tomorrow, what with inventing a job and all. Plus, I was hallucinating. Tough one, huh?
I don't really remember leaving the bar, though I do remember the cab ride. I implored my brother that, regardless of whatever might or might have not transpired during my blacked-out stupor, he must must MUST stop with the grabby-close-talker routine any time he gets more than two drinks in him. From the haze of my stupor this evening, I'd like to attribute my inability to score either of the two hairdresser girls to his insistence upon screaming and licking every face unto which he feels like "making a point". In my opinion, passing out at a bar is much cooler than having people physically wrench your arm off your person. (Yeah, I was nominally passed out at the bar tonight. I had to tell three different bouncers to fuck off, which they did. Maybe they went to go dildo-fuck gay Vince Welnick backstage, what do I care? Darth Pat was out in force tonight, and he was respected.) I love my bro, but he tends to forget his own size when he's the slighest bit drunk. Seriously, the fucker has torn muscles in my neck over topics as vital as, "Let Me Tell You How Stupid People Are." I feel like saying, "I'm a misanthrope too. Now please stop breaking my neck." He never learns, and girls are often the recipients of his lapse of sense.
At any rate, we took a cab back down to our neighborhood, but not before a near fist-fight and a ditched $4 cab after my brother lit a cig and welcomed the wrath of our clean-air cabbie in front of the Salvation Army headquarters on Addison. My brother threw out some xenophobic acidity, and I peed onto the hood of the cab in question. It was funny because it was pretty illegal.
We got down to the Gold Coast, whereupon we had a couple more (unnecessary) drinks at Dublin's, which is a nice enough place in that that it's open very late. The bartender was very nice, after I apologized for my and my brother's asshole performances on Sunday night. She's very pretty, though I doubt anyone tells her as much too often. She's possessed of a very nice figure and an honest face, but she made the mistake of chopping her hair very short. I kept trying to talk to her but she was busy and I was probably slurring all my worst lines. My goal for next week is to have a sober conversation with her that results in my taking her to dinner. I would very much enjoy re-entering the dinner date scene again, as I like nice restaurants, and it kills girls when I get into crowded restaurants with just a couple handshakes.
After an odd parting conversation at Dublin's with these two random not-hot girls (in which my brother broached one of his favorite topics, that being "Do you think me and my brother over there are hot?" which will never really warrant an honest response one way or the other), we ate hotter-than-hell slices of pizza at a joint on Division, then scoped the scene at Funk (lame--none of my dreamgirl bartenders were there) and some other place (lame--don't even remember the name of the place, but I do remember walking right in and right the fuck out). Then my brother and I told each other that we loved each other (which is very true) and walked our separate ways home. I'm so happy my brother moved so close to me, because it's always amusing.
So, anyhow, you're in this family of entertainers. You walk into a talent agency and demand to see their top guy, the uber-agent of all agents. After you wait a long while in this shitty waiting room, the top guy from the agency finally emerges from his office.
You say to him, "You're standing in front of comdedy royalty, and I bet you never realized it. We, my friend, are the answer to all your problems. We have the ultimate family t.v. show all plotted out and ready for production."
And the talent agent says, "Really? Tell me more about what you have in mind."
So you, being the chief of the clan, say, "So, my wife is this complete fucking terrible slut, and she loves to take big fat black dick right up her sweet sweet ass. Luckily, we adopted a son from Nambia, and as it turns out, he happens to have grown into a 7 footer with this huge 25-inch Alabama black snake. So, our adopted son is up on this couch, pounding away at his mother, my wife, as she's screaming away that she can't even take his big black cock so far up her snowy white ass.
"Now, I know what you're thinking: how do I fit into all of this? Well, that's the kicker! I'm standing in the corner, masturbating like you wouldn't believe to this sweet incest-rape scene. I mean, I'm jacking away at my dick so hard that my pecker is completely raw, to the point that blood from my cock is shooting all over this little midget, whose face is the target of my spunk in the first place, because he's dressed up like Bozo the Clown, all of three feet tall and laughing like there's no tomorrow.
"I bet you're asking yourself, 'Where's the rest of the family during all of this?' Well, to be honest, we're going to have my daughter slice huge chunks of my adopted black son's ass, as he is otherwise busy feeding it to my wife's ass, and she's going to throw these huge chunks of his human ass-steak onto a huge Weber grill, and we're going to take turns eating away at it, whether it's cooked or not. So my daugher will be cooking and eating her brother's ass while I keep jacking off to this little midget and my wife just keeps taking it up the cornhole from our big black adopted son. Mayhem? Just you wait!
"Out of nowhere, on the wings of these huge flaming bald eagles, in comes none other than your son, who is naked and covered in honey. All the while, he's being stung by a relentless storm of bees, who are just biting the living shit out of him. He's flying through the air, having been seized by a giant hawk the size of a helicopter, and he's screaming at the top of his lungs, because he's stabbed through the chest with these giant fucking talons. Just then, this huge swarm of bees flies up and starts stinging the fuck out of him, increasingly causing his skin to morph into this sick version of something resembling yellow tapioca pudding, which the hawk keeps catching out of midair with his beak. And all the while he keeps screaming, "No! No! Bees! Oh fuck me! Oh the pain! It's killing me! Fucking killing me!" And, the best part is, all this flying-son-turning-into-tapioca-pudding is really REALLY making me jerk the blood from my hog right into the midget's face, and my wife just keeps screaming more and more as my big African son just keeps feeding his cock into her ass, and the blood and cum start to pour out from her ass in positively Biblical proportions. Then, in the midst of jerking off to this fucking midget clown, and in the midst of seeing this weird adopted-son/mother sexual tryst being played out in front of you, you start to laugh hysterically, just like the rest of America will do, because nothing is quite like wholesome family entertainment!
"Well, what do you think?"
As the talent scout wipes the tears out of his eyes, he manages to mumble, "Well...now...we've got a hit on our hands, of that I am certain! Tell me, what do you plan on calling this show?"
And you, without hesitation, shout, "The Aristocrats!"
:-)
Peace out, mofos...I love you all.
posted by Pat at 3:54 AM
1 Comments:
pat cook, your shit is hilarious!!!
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