Well hey there, poop cannons. So I hope you all enjoyed your easter weekends and didn’t spend them having ridiculous religious arguments like I did with random dudes at bars. (seriously, how could jesus have risen to heaven and not have his ears pop like crazy? It’s just commonsense. Whatever, I’m sure he brought gum.)
I thought that that would be the worst verbal exchange I had all weekend, but then I went to watch the C’s game down in the lounge at Johnnie’s on The Side on Friday and brought a buddy, who spent the first 20 minutes of our being there in the bathroom. He then came out and said, Oh man… And I realized I brought that guy to the bar. That Guy who just has to tell you aboutthe shit he just took.
Dude, what the hell? Get out of my dream journal! Seriously, what is the deal with dumpcakes who have to brag about the stinksnakes they coil off? While I do appreciate your road house reference by saying you had to pull a Swayze by throwing huge VIOLENT pains in the ass out the double duece door, it’s still not civilized banter, buttwad.
When did this become appropriate public or private conversation?It’s not like our forefathers sat around Gettysburg or wherever the hell they were discussing thier poops. It’s not exactly world beating or society building dialogue, is it? But for some reason, there’s dudes out there who feel like the best thing they’ve got to toss out during a lull in the conversation isn’t they’re political views or their enliightened thoughts about the socioeconomic strife ripping apart this country but how you felt like you were going to rip your butt in two while dropping the klds off all over the walls at the pool.
Instead of your shit, let’s talk rabout thimngs akin to it, like Jack Johnson Bootleg CDs or Kevin’s chances of fitting in a regulation-sized casket. Maybe you should consider putting some more fiber in your diet, or effort into your socializing skills or some thought into finishing school, because I don’t want to hear about you popping a squat and demolishing a toilet. And here I was, thinking the only birthers with a more ridiculous story were the ones voting for trump. Seriously, for both of you, if ignorance were hair, you’d all be Wookies.
But here’s the thing, lumppumper, nobody wants to hear about your bathroom exploits or exslplats, so save the stories from the lavatory about the five-alarmer for your monthly convo with your mom, or else I’ll take the commerative TP you kept as a keepsake and cram it up your cramhole. Do me a favor and don’t be that guy.