10 Reasons You're Here

10 Reasons No Responses »
Nov 062009
don't dump babies

This takes the phrase "baby dumps" to a whole new level.

Sometimes you wake up in a dingy hotel room soaked in hooker juices and vomit and you wonder, “How in the world did I get here?”  While this is a valid question, the word “here” reaches above and beyond your current predicament.  The mere fact that you exist at all is interesting in itself.  These 10 reasons explain the lucky fortunes that befell you on your road to being “here” (where ever that may be):

10. Your father was spreading his seed during the War.

9. Your mother was a whore.

8.  The gentleman operating the coat-hanger apparatus botched the abortion.

7. You chewed threw the garbage bag that was to be your casket and survived on the contents of a China man’s dumpster.

6. Until your mid-teens, you were raised by a small team of success driven rats.

5. You earned a decent wage soliciting sex from bar hopping youngsters who struck out during regular bar business hours.

4. Using the lessons taught to you by your rat kin, you turned your hard earned money into drugs and nesting materials.

3. On a quest to stardom and fame, you sought a career as a Hollywood actor (possibly to find your real parents?).

2.  Unknowingly, you were cast in the movie “Saw VIII: Jigsaw’s Outtakes–Sluts, Gays, and Krab Cakes”.

-And, Finally-

1. Years of smoking methamphetamine have left you toothless, talentless, and desperate.   The mob takes care of you in the only way the mob can; this time, however, you are unable to gnaw your way through the garbage bag that is to be your final resting place.

 

Do you feel that I may have missed a detail in your coming to be?  Please feel free to share in the comment section…

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Posted by wolsamnoraa at 5:33 pm Tagged with: , , , , , , , , , ,

Broken Foot

Injury 3 Responses »
Jul 262009

I am telling you that I’m lying when I say that I broke my foot.  In actuality, I sprained my ankle and it hurts.  But guess what?  I’m playing it off like it’s broke in half.   The Urgent Care clinic made me buy a bulky ass boot which, despite not wanting or liking how hot it makes me, I’m going to wear it.  I like the attention.

A guy at Home Depot asked me today what happened to my leg?  “What’s with the boot,” he says.  Oh wouldn’t he like to know.  I told him that I was at home with his girlfriend and her husband came home and chased me over the railing of their third story balcony.  It would’ve been funny, too, if he had a sense of humor and wasn’t such an intrusive f*ggot.

They gave me drugs.  I like the way they make me feel when I get rich selling them to minors.  I am going to carry on as if I am exceedingly hurt.  And since no one I know is reading this right now or ever, that means that none of my friends can call me out on my fraud.  Since they can’t call me out, they can kiss my ass…or my foot.

That black and blue you see is mascara

That black and blue you see is mascara, the swelling is botox

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Posted by wolsamnoraa at 4:38 pm Tagged with: , , , , , , , ,

Monkeys Throw Poop

Animal, Poop Related No Responses »
Jul 242009
Start em young so theyre strong enough to huck shi@t

Start 'em young so they're strong enough to huck sh@t really hard

It may not be obvious to all but monkeys didn’t just start throwing poop, OK? It started with one monkey’s dedication to making monkey civilization a better place by analyzing the feces of sick monkeys and making them better.

It’s true that this unrecorded modern-day monkey doctor had acute observations and a great love for poop. Maybe there were undigested grubs or bananas in there that could be devoured.  What we equate to typical crazy ape sh*t, poo throwing behavior evolved from there.  My hypothesis as a notable scientist type is that all monkey communities have a designated “witch doctor” of sorts (usually the craziest monkey; the one that smells the other monkey’s sh*t).

You know?  Monkey tribal medicine.  Those are the special monkeys that get stolen from their native lands and launched into space.  They’re not the kind of monkeys whose brains were eaten in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.  That’s how you contract AIDS.  They are quirky, social, helper monkeys that do sign language.  But they’re not human.

They still root around in monkey poop doing medieval diagnostics on poor sick chimps without so much as a rubber glove.  Dude, you live in a rubber tree, you’re doing doctor stuff, you’re smart, so get a f*cking clue.  Get the sh*t out of your hairy paw and reevaluate the situation; get protection.  Have you ever heard of using tools?  You’d shove a stick into a stinging ant hill to avoid being bitten, but you’d get monkey shit all over your fur glove for a grape seed?  You don’t even have soap.

Dumb monkeys.  That’s a nice story, but here’s how a monkey brain really works when he sees a scat item….pick up food, not smell like food, it poop, throw poop at zoo personnel, jump around and make lots of monkey noise, get drugged, monkey coma.  Hey monkeys, listen up, I’m going to sign this really slowly: you look dumb throwing poop, the girl monkeys (apettes?) are talking about you and it’s not good.  Just leave the turd tossing to me.  Besides, I’m really good at it.

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Posted by wolsamnoraa at 2:38 pm Tagged with: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Trendy Trash Talkers Use Drugs

Driving Car, Hate, Hot Chicks, Story No Responses »
Jun 302009

I was driving home the other night from The Hangover with my lovely wifey pooh when the car I was driving was nearly cut off by some radical dudes with tassels on their rear view.  Now, my initial reaction was that I was going to knife these bitches if they started any sh&t, but that feeling eventually escalated (that’s right, more higher).

The inconsiderate punks flipped a sick bitch (it was a power move) and hauled some serious balls right up next to my ride.  You’ll have to understand here, when I mentioned at the beginning of this story that “I was driving“, what I meant was J Dubs, my lover, was driving.

Not only is she a better driver than me at night (I don’t have glasses), she has a hot rack, and I was drunk, but she didn’t know that.  It made sense she drove.

Anyway, these jerk terds, all jostled and riled because they almost hit me, came screaming up next to my ride.  These dudes were crazied in the faces and loud.  The driver’s all, ”Ah, foo! We’se gonna f*ck you up and take your sense of self worth!  You drive negligently!  I’m gonna get a pistole and choo choo.  Even with our limited knowledge of the world and lack of maturity, we graduated foo (from what, he didn’t say).  See my tassel?!”

At that point, I’m livid.  My buzz was wearing off and the light we were sitting at just turned green.  The little hand was already blinking in the cross walk.  I took off my seat belt and reached out of my car, grabbing for nothing but thin air (these dudes were like 8 feet away).  I started screaming obscenities and snarling.  I talked and spit.  I closed my eyes really tight giving the impression that I wasn’t able to see dog sh()t when it was in it’s mom’s station wagon (ba zing!).

Meaningless dribble and insults followed.  And finally I yelled, “You druggers!”  We drove away.  They drove away to buy drugs.  My lovin and loin muscles were throbbing from anxiety and excitement.  I lip kissed the girl and we went home.

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Posted by wolsamnoraa at 4:23 pm Tagged with: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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