A toast to you, Mr. Creeper - This guy is like a fucking sexual-predator-lion. He’s like the Jerry Sandusky of drunk or crying girls (too soon?). The only thing on his mind is getting laid tonight by literally almost anything that walks.
The Creeper can stalk all kinds of different prey. Drunk girls, crying girls, dead girls (just kidding…I hope) and he has a different approach with each one. Here is a breakdown of the Creeper’s victims:
- Creeping on the Drunk Girl - We have all seen this before. She arrives at the bar semi retarded already and four lemon drops and one Vodka-Ton and five minutes later she is shit faced retarded singing Miley Cyrus at the top of her lungs on the Karaoke. The Creeper smells her drunk behavior. He sees her stumbling, bumbling, rumbling Chris Berman style and he locks in. He tries to talk her into inviting him back to her place to do some shots. Dude, are you fucking serious? She’s one shot away from a whole lot of puking and whole lot of unconsciousness and you’re seriously trying to get it in right now? You need to call her a cab home…and not to your home. The last thing she wants is some douchebag named Chad double fisting Vodka Crans and trying to get her to dance with him.
- Creeping on the Crying Girl - When girls get drunk they can turn into a number of things: a bitch, a slut, a lot of fun or she can be one of those girls who starts crying at literally fucking anything. While this is the most annoying kind of drunk girl, she is typically the most common. She can think of her ex boyfriend, the death of a family pet, or just how much she loves Christmas and BOOM! the tears start flowing. All because Sally Whatsherfuckingname hooked up with her ex boyfriend 4 months ago and posted on his Facebook wall. Mr. Creeper loves this. Why? Because what they’re looking for some comfort. And he’s just the creep to give it to her.
- Creeping on the younger sister - Family weekend means you’re offers the opportunity to take your little brothers or sisters out. Your parents want to give your 18 year old HS senior sister a glimpse of what life at college is like. You take her to a party, introduce her to your friends, get her drunk…enter Mr. Creeper. “Oh, hey! You’re Melissa’s little sister? I’m Chad, we’ve been best friends for like 2 years! Want another drink?” In no time your little sister is the latest prey of Mr. Creeper and his creeping ways.
All of these cases can end one of two ways: A hookup that turns out to be a mistake OR a sober friend can step in and stop this before it has a chance to ruin anyone’s reputation. This guy is one thin mustache away from seeing Chris Hansen in his kitchen.
And so, a toast to you, Mr. Creeper. We fucking hate you.
A toast to you, Bed Wetter - Everybody’s least favorite house guest. The person responsible for you having to Lysol your entire futon and thoroughly wash that blanket 4 times. You know, that one blanket that Gam-Gam knitted for you when you were 3. Well now it smells like it did when you were a filthy little 3 year old…like piss. Except this time its not because your parents let you watch Jurassic Park and you got so scared that a velociraptor would eat your face that you pissed your pants. No, this time its because some asshole got wasted, crashed on your couch, grabbed Gam-Gam’s blanky and pissed all fucking over it.
Don’t get me wrong. I know its an accident. I’ve done it. That’s right. I have gotten so wasted that I blacked out, fell asleep before I could empty my bladder, and pissed my bed. (I even blamed it on a night sweat. A ball-sack only night sweat.) There is no shame in getting so drunk that you piss the bed one time. Well, there is some shame in it. Sorry Mom and Dad. The thing is that it was MY bed. I didn’t pass out on someone’s couch, piss on it, flip the cushion, then head out for the Walk-of-Shame trek home hoping nobody notices the smelly wet spot coming from under their ass.
Drunk bed wetting seems way too common. My roommate did it relentlessly. So much, in fact, that not only did all of my other roommates and I know that the washer/dryer was off limits for Saturday and Sunday mornings, but his girlfriend actually started setting alarms for him to get up in the middle of the night to go pee. She was sick and tired of getting woken up to so a spontaneous golden shower every weekend. I think she even bought a rubber mattress pad for him. Yeah, THAT bad.
But my roommate isn’t the only one I know who has done it. Some of my friends’ hookups. Other friends have done it in drawers. My friend ruined 2 phones in two nights because of piss. Hell, one girl even shit somewhere one time! But nothing tops the guy who passed out on our porch, lost his shoe, pissed his pants, refused to believe he was at the wrong house, and then walked home….shoeless, piss-pantsed, and in the wrong direction of campus. (Best part: we saw him the next Monday at the dining hall and he DEFINITELY remembered us. Classic. By the way, you owe us a new stool you Dick)
The problem I have with (my fellow) Bed Wetters is that they don’t stay in their own bed. They piss everywhere. Futons, couches, floors, a drawer, MY PORCH! And they don’t own up to it. They flip the cushion, sneak out and then deny, deny, deny. If you’re gonna piss all over my furniture and ruin my already hand-me-down semen covered futon, at least help my clean it up. Don’t blame it on the dog I don’t have, say “it was like that before I slept there,” or just tell me there isn’t piss on my cushion. There is fucking piss on my cushion. And I can see the wet spot on your pants.
So please, try to squeeze one out before you go to bed, set a few alarms, put on your rubber pants or sleep in the shower. And if you still end up pissing during your slumber, then grab a can of lysol and get to work, Sprinkles.
And so, a toast to you, Bed Wetter. Thank you for at least providing us with a funny reason as to why our house smells like crusty urine. But our house still smells like crusty fucking urine. And for that, we fucking hate you.
People with Dumb Tattoos
A toast to you, People with Dumb Tattoos - Tattoos should mean something. I mean, after all, they’re fucking permanent. That’s why I get both confused and frustrated when I see some dumb fucking girl with some dumb fucking tattoo that she thinks “really speaks to her.”
Yesterday I saw a girl with “To Live or to Love” tattooed on the back of her neck. Seriously? You had nothing else important enough to get tattooed on yourself that you actually typed “Inspirational quotes” into Google, and then spent 6 and a half minutes deciding which one was “like so true” to you?
Lots of people have tattoos. I have a tattoo. I think they’re a great way to express yourself. But get something that is meaningful for fuck sake. Your last name, a song lyric or quote that is ACTUALLY meaningful, a family motto….something with thought behind it. Not just a picture of a bear in a cowboy hat (I don’t know). It’s permanent. So here are some no-no’s for avoiding lame tattooing:
- Chinese symbol - Sometimes, they can be cool. Like if you’re a Chinese guy who collects little animals with super powers and stores them in little red and white balls and you’re Ash from Pokemon. If you’re a white guy who has absolutely no knowledge of China, Chinese culture or the fact that China is a country, not just a fancy plate, then this is a no-no. Getting the Chinese symbol for Trust because you just think trust is really important, is really fucking stupid. Everyone thinks trust is important. Except for whoever told you your tattoo looked cool. They don’t give a shit about trust.
- Inside of your lip tattoos - Who the FUCK thought of this one? Did one of those old ladies who has inked their entire bodies think “Hm, since 100 percent of my body is already covered in dumb ink flowers and Ed Hardy shirt patterns, might as well make myself a total freak and start on the inside of my body.” This has to be how it happened because surely no normal person would think to do this. This tattoo is just plain gross. When someone asks me “hey, wanna see my tattoo?” I do not want you to yank down your lower lip so I can see “SMILE” written on that veiny, damp flap. Eughhh.
- Ambigram tattoos - For those of you that don’t know, this is a tattoo design that can be read both forward and upside down. As in one word can be seen if you look at it one way, and another word is seen when you look at it upside down. Example: If I get a tattoo that says SINNER on my chest, then i do a handstand, the tattoo now says SAINT. The only issue is, handstands are fucking hard. And ambirgram tattoos, no matter what you get them to say, just look like you gave a blind retarded guy an Etch-a-Sketch. And he marked you forever with this genius design. For the record I have no fucking clue what that says. As is the case with every ambigram tattoo, for all you dumb fucks who have them.
- Latin - OK so you’re a lawyer? A doctor? From Ancient Rome? Oh, no, you’re just a fucking retard who thought it’d be cool to get a dead language that nobody speaks tattooed on your bicep. Just because you got “Live Free or Die Hard” in Latin, doesn’t make it any less of a Bruce Willis movie or any more of a cool tattoo idea. It also doesn’t mean you Live Free or that you Die Hard. Everyone except Chinese children and Middle Eastern women live free. And dying hard sounds like a warning on the back of a Viagra box.
- Tattoos on the face - Mike Tyson has one. You’re a douche.
- Tattoos of faces - Getting a tattoo that is dedicated to someone is a really personal thing. It’s beautiful, in fact, to dedicate a small area of your body in memory of a good friend or important person in your life. But getting a portrait of someone, especially drawn on you by a sketchy guy named Chaz for forty bucks is never a good idea. If anything, whoever this special person is in the tattoo is going to look more like a zombie than the special human being they most likely are to you. Get their name or something, not something that resembles an amateur sketch of a Leprechaun. (watch this video)
- Tramp Stamps - Saved the best for last. Firstly, it’s actually called a tramp stamp. Secondly, it’s called a tramp stamp. There needs to be a weight limit on all women who get a tramp stamp. Nobody wants to see a stretched out butterfly pancake tattoo on the lower back of a 300lb girl’s muffin top. And men, don’t even think about it.
There it is. A guideline to getting a tattoo that is not 100 percent douchey. I’m not saying don’t get a tattoo. And I’m definitely not saying don’t get any of these tattoos. But I am saying that if you do, you’re just opening yourself up to a life of wondering why the FUCK you got a DUMB FUCKING TATTOO of a DUMB FUCKING AMBIGRAM on the inside of your DUMB FUCKING LIP. I mean, after all, they’re permanent you butthole.
And so, a toast to you People with Dumb Tattoos. Shit ain’t coming off with soap and hot water. Oh, and we hate you as much as your are going to hate your tattoo in 2 weeks.
The Girl Who Thinks She is Way Prettier Than She Actually Is
A toast to you, Girl Who Thinks She is Way Prettier Than She Actually Is - This is rare, but it still happens. It makes me so angry when it does happen because, on the other hand there are some really pretty girls who don’t know they’re really gorgeous, and they date ugly bags of douche because they don’t think they can do any better. So frustrating.
Some girls think that just because they have blonde hair and big tits that they are God’s gift to Earth. Well, yes, blonde hair and big tits are pretty fucking awesome. Heck, throw a nice ass in there and you’re more than half-way to an erection from me. But if you have a face that resemble Steve Buscemi, then stop pretending like your hot shit. Boner killed. (By the way, click this)
You honestly can’t tell you’re not that hot? You couldn’t tell? Even after you were Baby Spice for Halloween and everyone thought you were either Carson from Queer Eye or Owen Wilson? Seriously? Still no?
Is it me, or do these girls piss everyone else off too? They honestly think they are attractive. I just don’t get it! And the worst part is they usually have the worst personalities too. They think they’re so attractive that they deserve to have everything done for them by the guys who are swooning after them with hopes of one day perhaps being “lucky enough” bump uglies (literally!).
There is no fucking way you go to a bar and can just “flip your hair and get free drinks all night.” (real quote) That’s fucking bullshit! If you go to a bar and flip your hair, I’m gonna buy myself a few more drinks so my Beer Goggles can make you stop looking like Sarah Jessica Parker and start looking a little bit more like a hazy Megan Fox. Mmmmm Megan Fox.
Let me just get this point across. Most people go to bars looking to have some fun with their friends, get retarded and possibly hook up. That’s just the truth. And if you’re a girl thinking to yourself “OMGzzz thats like so not true!” Shut the fuck up. You’re probably either a whore or bitter because you never get hit on.
Anyway, so If a guy starts buying you some drinks, it means he wants to get in your pants. That, in no way, means you’re the best looking girl at the bar. In some cases it might (shitty bar). However, there is only one “best looking girl at the bar” and that’s my girlfriend, so its not you. You fall into the “good enough” category. As in good enough to hook up with. Shallow? Yes. True? Also yes. Sorry……(I’m not sorry.)
Let’s review: if some guy picks you up at a bar and starts buying you drinks, it probably means you’re “good enough,” not that you’re a super model (Unless it’s for a ‘before using Proactive’ picture) or that you just flipped your hair. It means you’re a girl who is at least a 4, and he is horny. So don’t get too cocky. (get it?)
And if the guy sneaks out the next morning in such a hurry that he forgot his shirt, boxers, your telephone number and one of his shoes, he realized he just slept with Sloth from the Goonies and he has to get home before his roommates find out that he “actually did it!? Oh man!!”
And so, a toast to you, Girl Who Thinks She is Way Prettier Than She Actually Is. No you fucking don’t look like Jennifer Lopez. You look more like a mix between Sanjaya and Helga Pataki (Hey Arnold! duh.). OH, and we hate you.
***Please note: This is not shitting on old people. I love old people. I know we all get old some day, and getting old is not a joke, but a tragedy. But at least when I get old, I’m not gonna be a bitter old fart who robs college kids on the reg.***
A toast to you, Parking Services - Nobody fucking likes you. You are, probably, the worst human beings on the planet. At least in the eyes of thousands of college kids nation-wide.
I swear, they must go to the senior citizens home, pick up the most bitter old people they can find who are not yet using a Hoveround, throw them in a parking services car (which has to be the douchiest thing I’ve ever seen…other than a PT Cruiser), and tell them to go fuck as many people as possible before their afternoon nap. I honestly don’t know if this is true at other schools, but at my school, that’s how we roll. However, I can only imagine this to be true at most schools, as parking seems to be a legitimate issue at most universities.
The parking services at my school is an independent system. They fund themselves based on the money they earn by giving out tickets, towing cars and shitting on people’s lives Monday-Friday, 7:30-4:30. So, honestly, if a person is parked in the wrong spot, I don’t care if they give them a ticket. By all means, do so. That’s what’s supposed to happen. That’s your job. You guys gotta pay for your $5 Walmart prescriptions one way or another, right?… But I’ve heard some pretty nefarious stories about these assholes. So here is some Do’s and Don’t’s for parking Services:
- Hand out a ticket if somebody is in the wrong spot/their meter runs out.
- Tow a car that is parked next to a fire hydrant or delivery lane.
- Make sure that cars parked in designated spots have their appropriate emblem to park there
- Give me a motherfucking ticket at 4:28, for parking in a spot that opens at 4:30. There should be like a 5 minute grace period or something. So that I am allowed to park in a spot within 5 minutes of it being open, without getting a ticket. In return, I won’t take a bat to your surgically replaced hip and your arthritic knees.
- Issue more than one fucking ticket for the same fucking offense. If I’m parked in a 30min spot, and you give me a ticket for being there for an hour, don’t fucking come back and give me another ticket. I clearly was just in a rush and needed somewhere to park. the last thing I probably need if I was so busy that I had to park in a 30 minute spot all the while knowing I would be recieving a ticket, is ANOTHER fucking ticket.
- Get halfway through a ticket and then refuse to just “forget that it all happened” when I come back to get my car 30 seconds after you started writing. You’re telling me you honestly can’t just “forget” about it? You’d forget what pills to take on what day if it wasn’t for that fancy fucking pill seperator. I’m like 30 seconds late, gimme a fucking break. Dick.
- Charge me $150 dollars just for the pass to be able to park my car on campus, and then charge me $15-$95 every time I make an infraction, and be a dick about it. I’ve already shelled out 150 bucks to pay for your grandchildren’s Christmas gifts. The least you can do is be personable while your robbing me of my beer money for the weekend.
It gets me so pissed when I see their little fucking electric car cruising around the parking lots, looking for who they can fuck next. You know when you have one of those “Holy Shit was that real” daydreams? Well I have one of these every time I see their cars. Except my day dreams envision a T-Rex just attacking their car like in Jurassic Park. That shit was awesome.
Do you want to know the worst park about parking services? At least down south, the cost of a case of beer in $15. Guess how much a ticket is from Parking Services. You Bastards.
And so, a toast to you, Parking Services. Go take a nap, grab one of those Bus Drivers who won’t let me bring a sealed bottle of water on the bus, and go fuck each other.
The Drama Couple
A toast to you, Drama Couple - It seems like every single party I go to, there is one of these couples. One that “loves” each other so much that they can’t go one weekend without being on the brink of breaking up, before rekindling their magical relationship towards the end of the night… at least until the next weekend’s party.
This couple thinks they are perfect for each other because they are both fans of the Dave Matthews Band and bonded over this while they were drunk at a party one time. They were saying the L-O-V-E word after just two weeks and they don’t go five minutes without texting each other. God…(click this and skip to 1:00)
No you know I love me some lists, so here is a typical party timeline for this couple:
- Texting each other all day Friday. They’ve said “I love you” to each other 40 times before lunch time because they don’t have anything else to say.
- As soon as Friday night comes, this couple shows up at the party together at around 10:00 pm. (Sarcastic “Heyyyyyy!!!” from everyone)
- By 10:45 pm, the girl is already drunk off of two Burnette’s shots and a half of a beer.
- By 11:15 the girlfriend finds out that the boyfriend was, at some point in his life, a long time ago, before meeting her, in a relationship, for a short amount of time, with a girl she has and never will meet in her entire fucking life. *Sigh*
- By 11:18, drunk girlfriend is locked in a bathroom (see Crying Girl) and crying about how much of an asshole her boyfriend of 2 weeks is because he has yet to share every single detail of his life with her over the past 14 days of their relationship. “What a FUCKING asshole”
- By 11:30, Crying Girlfriend’s fat friend lets the boyfriend know that his dumbass girlfriend is “piiiiiiiiissed at himmmmmmmm” and is locked in the bathroom, refusing to come out…. Boyfriend keeps playing beer pong and actually enjoying his life. “You’re a FUCKING asshole.”
- By 11:45, Crying Girlfriend realizes her boyfriend isn’t coming, makes an even bigger scene by leaving the bathroom to drink herself into drunken oblivion, trying to make her boyfriend jealous by hitting on some random nearby dude. Amazingly, rando-bro doesn’t want anything to do with a retarded drunk girl who keeps talking about her boyfriend. Who knew?
- By 11:50, boyfriend sees his girlfriend mean mugging him from across the room while simultaneously making herself look like a whore. He gets pissed.
- From 11:51-11:55, boyfriend confronts girlfriend about her acting like a total bitch. Score one for girlfriend! She has gotten the attention she was asking for, returns to the bathroom crying and locks it behind her, keeping her now pissed off boyfriend out. It’s on.
- From 11:56-12:30, girlfriend continues to cry in the bathroom, while shitting, while throwing up. Believe me, It happens. A lot. (Click it) Boyfriend is pounding on the door, trying to get past the troll of a fat best friend who guards it. Bitch. Meanwhile, his friends try and get the party moved elsewhere so that they don’t have to see their friend act like a total pussy and throw his night away to “the girl he loves” (bull shit)
- By 12:31, fat best friend gets hungry, goes to pantry to steal Milano cookies from party host, allowing boyfriend to enter bathroom, effectively ending his night. Sick bro. Bitch ate my cookies.
- By 12:35, boyfriend and girlfriend work out their differences and decide they are so in love with each other. And in love with DMB. He holds her hair back for her while she vomits, then they embrace and kiss. Yeah, something like this. They re-enter the party, to everyone’s dismay, then begin to be Touchy Feely Couple (see Touchy Feely Couple)
Fight, Make up, Repeat.
Every. FUCKING. Weekend.
One weekend it’s over past flames, another weekend its how the girlfriend is wearing a skimpy outfit. Either way, they’re together one week, apart the next, then back together, then apart. Over, and over, and fucking over again.
Regardless if they’re together or not, they fight every weekend, ruining our nights and making us all wish they would just light each other on fire and be done with it. Yes, I seriously wish they would.
And so, a toast to you, Drama Couple. Get out of the bathroom!!! I have to shit!!!…………. Oh, and we fucking hate you both.
The Suck Up
A toast to you, the Suck Up - There is one in every class. Everybody knows who he or she is as soon as the first day of school comes around. This person is the first one in class, last one out. Always.
This jackass arrives to class 15 minutes before it even starts. How the hell does he get there so fast? the last class ended 15 minutes ago, and you know he was the last one to leave that class too. Somehow he can bolt across campus to make sure he drives everyone in his next class nuts. Even 8am classes, he gets there at 7:45. Most people are just rubbing the boogers out of their eyes and taking their morning piss. But this asshole is already in class, sitting in his desk bright eyed and bushy tailed, with his computer open to a blank Word document, water bottle with a slice of lemon in it and every single book that is the class calls for, even if there are weeks until they are assigned to us.
Characteristics of a Suck Up:
- First to class by at least 15 minutes. (See above.)
- Writes down literally EVERYTHING the teacher says or does or put on the board, even if the professor says “You don’t have to write this down. It’s not going to be on the test”…..Why the FUCK are you still writing it down???
- Asks “Do we have any homework?” at the end of every class. Even if it is clear that the professor has forgotten about giving any. You FUCK!!! Now, instead of going home to play GTA and nap, I have to go home and read 45 pages on the life of Mark fucking Twain and write a 3 page summary on how his childhood affected his writings. Dick.
- When the teacher is about to end class early, but then asks the question every normal person hates to hear: “OK, so before we go, does anyone have any questions?” this person ALWAYS has a question. “Yes, um…..like….for the paper, do you care if we exceed the maximum page limit?” Of course she fucking does. That’s why she set the 13 page limit. You’re honestly telling me that you’re going to write more than 13 pages, double spaced on the importance of Telephones in WWI? Bull. Shit. No you are not.
- They laugh way too hard at anything the professor does that isn’t even funny.
**The teacher has a really cheesy joke - not funny, but deserves a “Hah” just because you feel bad for them.
**The teacher spills her coffee all over the face of a the brown nosing son of a bitch class Suck Up - Fucking hilarious. I bet it burns.
- They do the class readings weeks before they’re due. Are you fucking serious dude?! Not only does the rest of the class not do this, we barely get it read the NIGHT before it’s due. How and Why did you do this? You just had nothing else to do this past weekend, so you thought you’d get a head start on the 200 pages of reading we have to do over the next 3 months? I’m starting to feel bad for you. And then I remember you’re a brown nosing piece of shit.
- After a test or quiz, they go up to everyone and say “Hey how’d that quiz go?….Oh my gosh I did so bad, I like barely studied. I definitely failed oh my god, oh my god, oh my god” We all know you’re full of shit. You’re gonna get that pop quiz back and get a 104 while the rest of the class struggles to break 80 because pop quizzes fucking suck and nobody read those 45 pages last night except for you because it was St. Patrick’s Day. It’s green beer….for your information.
- They’re the last to leave class because at the end of the class, they go up the the professor and do overtime brown nosing. “Hey, Mr. B? I just wanted to say I really enjoyed your lecture today. But I just wanted to ask…..” ….probably something really fucking stupid. Hey stud, how bout you scoot on out so those of us that have real questions can actually ask them before prof here has to go read your 18 page paper on those WWI telephones? Even brown nosers who aren’t in your class can piss you off. When you’re waiting to go into your next class, standing up in the hallway, these fuckers are inside wasting everyone’s time and preventing you from sitting down and sleeping through your Women’s History class…oh come on, it’s women’s history, that shit’s better than melatonin.
Do you really think that all this sucking up is going to help you become President one day? It’s not. The only thing suck ups end up doing are being the male secretaries of the corporate world. So enjoy getting coffee for the rest of you life. Try not to spill it on your own face.
And so, a toast to you, Suck Up. We hate you.
The Joke Killer
A toast to you, Joke Killer - There is one of these in every group of friends. The one friend that once he gets his hands on a perfectly good “inside joke,” the rest of the group knows they’re about to witness a joke-icide (Joke Murder).
This person usually kills the joke slowly. In the most painful way possible. And he makes all of you watch. Its like he refilmed the movie Hostel, but with your jokes instead of American tourists. And then he made you watch it. Honestly, I’d rather watch the tourists get tortured.
His favorite method is by constantly repeating whatever the joke may be, in situations where it isn’t applicable. I mean constantly. It makes your skin crawl.
Let’s say the inside joke is that, when your friend Jeff got really wasted, he was bent over in the yard, spewing vomit out of every facial orifice (for the love of God, click that hyperlink). As you went outside to tend to his pussy ass, he managed to squeak out some sort of grunting sound. When you asked what the fuck it was, Jeff says “I shit my pants.” This is pure comedic gold. An epic story and the beginnings of a very funny joke. Now every time Jeff drinks, you ask him “Hey Jeff, are you gonna shit your pants again?” or ask him if he is going to get “Pants shitting drunk.”
Granted, this is not my best example, but go with it.
You and your buddies know who the Joke Killer is in your group. Lets call him….Keith. That’s a pretty terrible name, so it suits this person well. So whenever you get a real good joke, you do everything physically possible to keep Keith from hearing it. When Keith is around, the joke does not exist. Even when you could really get a big laugh by using it, you bury it deep down inside to avoid him getting his filthy hands on it. You repress it.
But, eventually, one of you fucks it up. Keith gets hold of the joke. Bewildered, he inquires as to the origin. Once hearing the story, the slow agonizing death of the joke is under way. The poor joke. It never knew what hit it.
Keith obviously thinks every fucking joke is the funniest fucking thing he has ever heard. (Side note, have you ever realized how this guy also has the most ear bleeding laugh ever? Its terrible. Which makes the joke murdering that much harder to bear) He murmurs it to himself a few times quietly, giggling every time he says it. “hehehe…….pants shitting….hehehe.”
Then, over the next few days, or if this person is a pro, over the next few months, the joke sees its life come to a long, drawn out end. Now every time somebody wants to drink, Keith is there with a hillllllllaaaaarrrrrriiiiiooooouuuuussssss:
“Hey are you tryna shit your pants or something? hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha”
Ehhhhhhh…..Why do you do this to me, Keith?
But that’s just the start of it. Keith also inserts the joke into places where it doesn’t belong. Its like he sticks the joke into someone’s ass.
Wrong hole, Keith. It doesn’t belong there. He doesn’t care. Great, now he is a Joke Rapist and a Joke Killer. I smell a new episode of Law and Order: SVU here.
You’re all eating breakfast after a night out. 6 weeks removed from the origin of the aforementioned joke. The conversation goes like this:
Keith - Man, I almost pulled a Jeff last night. I was pants shitting drunk! HAHAHAHAH
Friend A - Yeah, I think we were all pretty wasted.
Friend B - Yeah I think at one point Tony shotgunned like 5 beers in a row.
Keith - Did he shit his pants? HAHAHAHAHA
Friend A - (clearly agitated) No. He didn’t fucking shit hi—
Friend C - Anyway, did you see Kevin hooking up with Stacey McKenna last night? That bitch is busted.
Keith - HAHAHAHA Yeah I’d have to be pants shitting drunk to do that HAHAHAHA
The table goes quiet. Breakfast (and possibly the day) is ruined. Thanks a lot, Keith.
This is a typical conversation with Keith. Until, that is, he gets his hands on a new piece of fresh joke meat. Then he murders another, having picked apart the last one down to the bone. Seriously, this kid has brutally murdered like 25 jokes in the past 6 months. Seriously, he’s like the John Wayne Gacy of laughter. Don’t they have jails for people like this? Where they can get a new joke every day to kill all by themselves in solitary confinement? Or to collectively beat a joke to death in some sort of Joke Killing orgy with a group full of fellow joke killers? That’s the world I one day want to live in. Where all the Keiths in the world are locked away to kill jokes amongst each other and not subject us to the painful slow death of our once funny one liners. **Sigh**
And so, a toast to you, Joke Killer. We hate you. And please, for the love of God, don’t start a blog now called “Burnt Toast.” Let me have this one a little longer, you bastard.
Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker (as promised)
A Toast to you, Facebook Stalker - Everyone does it. In fact, you probably just got done doing it. We find some people on Facebook, whether its an ex, a friend, a friend’s ex, an old HS crush, your sister’s roommate, your buddy’s cousin’s friend’s mom with the huge tits or anyone…and we look through their Facebook profile. Pictures, interests, old wall posts. All that shit. Facebook has been the aid to stalkers everywhere for the past few years. I swear I can find out almost anything on it just by visiting a few profiles, adding a few friends here or there, and reading a few wall posts.
But even though everyone does it, there is also a small group of individuals who do nothing but this. An occasional “stalk” here or there is healthy. But if you’re sitting in class going through the Facebook profile of your roommates high school hookup (who you have never met, talked to or even seen in person) and you know their “Favorite Quotations” and the order of their profile pictures by heart, there is something wrong with you.
Now people could have trouble deciding whether or not they are actually Stage 1 Facebook Stalkers (normal amount of stalking) or if they have reached Code Red Stage 5 status. Here are some clues:
1. If the sheer word “status” in the paragraph above made you want to “Like” something, you might be a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker.
2. If you sit at your computer and go through all 62 friends who just changed their profile pictures just to see what the picture has been changed to, you might be a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker.
3. If you constantly refresh your Facebook home page every 5 seconds to see if there are any new posts from the conversation between your ex-boyfriend (from 6 years ago) and his buddy about the trouble they are having with their History 311 class, you might be a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker (or just genuinely concerned). Regardless, creepy.
4. If you’re the first person to “Like” a post, 2 seconds after it is posted, you might be a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker. Seriously, there is no way you can “Like” something that fast. It takes me like 30 seconds just to read and then digest any sort of post. Especially if it is a video clip. Yeah, you might KNOW that you like a YouTube clip of Dave Matthews Band’s “Crash into me.” But did you know, without actually watching the video, you could have just liked the video recording of a Mexican midget and Donkey porno (poor, poor midget) that has been named “Crash into me” just to avoid trouble from authorities. And YOU liked it!!! You’re sick.
5. If you add every single mutual friend of your ex-boyfriend AFTER you de-friended your ex in a messy break up, JUST so that you can properly continue to stalk him, you might be a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker. Actually, you ARE a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker. That’s really fucking weird.
6. If you comment on or “Like” every single profile picture of your roommate’s little sister who you met once on move-in day 2 years ago, you might be a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker. Or a pedo….Come on dude, she’s like 15.
7. If you create a fake Facebook page named “John Smith” and then friend request somebody you meet so you can stalk them and not actually friend them because you don’t want to seem weird by friending after just a two word conversation, you might be a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker.
8. If you have a restraining order against you, you might be a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker or you’re a regular stalker. Pick your poison. Both suck.
9. If you know every single fact under somebody’s “Info” tab (This includes “Favorite Quotations,” favorite music, books, TV shows, movies, activities, people and can recite their “About Me” section by heart), you might be a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker or you could just have a really great memory. If it’s the latter, I still wouldn’t go public with this information.
10. If you have Facebook Stalked somebody SO hard before meeting them, that when you first meet them, the conversation goes like this:
- Person A - Hey
- Code Red Stage 5 - Good Thanks.
- Person A - Um, What? Ha.
- Code Red Stage 5 - Oh, nothing. I just saw that you liked “That awkward moment when someone says ‘hello’ and you say ‘good thanks’” on Facebook.
- Person A - Uh, I’m not friends with you on Facebook.
- Code Red Stage 5 - Hahahahahaha Totally.
…..Then you might be a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker…What the fuck are you thinking?
Now these are only 10 of the many clues that can help each one of you out there decide whether your friends or yourself is a Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker or just a regular Facebook Stalker. I could go on forever with these, but if you’ve committed at least half of these Facebook crimes, then you should be committed.
And so, a toast to you, Code Red Stage 5 Facebook Stalker. Go outside. We “OMG! I wish there was a dislike button” you. Creep.
Beer Stealer (you asshole)
A toast to you, Beer Stealer - Beer. Delicious, golden and refreshing. There is nothing better than cracking open an ice cold and sitting in the sunshine. In college, beer is probably one of the main food groups. There’s: Fast Food, Dining Hall sludge, Pizza, Ramen and Beer…and for me, toast. When I think back on what my diet was like in college, these are what will come to mind.
Take note that beer is the only beverage on the list above. That’s because other than Dr. Thunder (Dr. Pepper’s autistic younger brother) or some other sort of cheap soda you can get from Wal-Mart, and water, Beer is what you drink the most. You drink Monday night to get over the shock that the week is starting already, you drink Tuesday to help get over the hangover from Monday, You drink Wednesday to celebrate Hump-Day, then its Thirsty Thursday, the weekend, and you recover on Sunday with some homework sprinkled in. That’s just how college is for some people.
Now granted, not everyone drinks beer. Some drink Whiskey, Rum, Gin, rubbing alcohol, girls drink Vodka, Smirnoff Ices, Wine. It depends what your taste is. But the point is, Beer is number one. In addition to its popularity, its also sometimes difficult to come by at parties. Sometimes not everyone is 21, making the obtaining of beer quite a challenge. Other times the gas station can’t serve beer on Sundays (Bible Belt, it sucks). Maybe you only have enough money to buy a 12 pack for the night. Either way, these are what makes beer so desirable. Its delicious and popular, and it is also sometimes hard to obtain.
This brings me to the feature of this post. Here’s an example to lead into my point.
Picture this: You’re low on cash. Your bros come knocking on your door on Friday night. You close the laptop to hide the fact that you were Facebook stalking some girl from your Art History class (Facebook Stalker - Coming Soon!). You answer the door to see some of your bros with a frosty delicious beverage in their hand. Beer. “Bro, those Delta Gamma Blowjob sluts are having a party tonight at University Apartments, we gotta go. I heard that girl from your Art History class is gonna be there!” ….Sold.
The only problem now is that you are broke. You have no beer at all. And what good is this party with Art History girl if you can’t get wasted and grow the balls to talk to her with a little liquid confidence? Immediately you look around the room.
You check your wallet one last time….Nothing….Secret money hiding spot….2 bucks….Ok Ok, its a start….Out to your car….$2.54 in change….OK you got $4.54. You only need about 4 more bucks for a 12-pack which will get you just drunk enough to talk to the Art History angel.
Back to looking….Kitchen counter drawer…65 cents and a picture of your roommates sexy sister. Nice….under the couch…82 cents…Fuck. Its not enough. You are about $2.50 short. You begin thinking about selling your laptop. Or maybe your desk lamp. Or maybe trading your watch to the Indian guy at the gas station for a free case. They love bling.
FUCK!! But then it hits you. You have a $5 dollar bill in your jeans from when you went to McDonalds last Tuesday and they didn’t charge you for your nuggets!! You tear apart your laundry hamper, find the 5 and head to the gas station. Beer purchased, you head home.
After crushing some of your boys in a little bit of pre-gaming BP, you head out. 7 beers deep and a couple of shots you buddy’s spotted you, you’re feeling it a little. But you need those 5 remaining brews to get the right amount of conversation-having drunk….clutch. As you head out, you throw the remaining brews back into either the 12-pack case or a grocery bag (if you’re grubby). Party time.
Entering the party, you have two thoughts in your head: 1.) Find Art History girl. 2.) Find a place to put the beer so you and only you can find and drink them. Since you can’t do 1 without number 2, you look for a hiding spot.
Under the couch? Taken. Behind this curtain? Taken. In the back part of the toilet? Taken by an upper-decked turd already… and gross. Kitchen cabinet? Taken. Closet? Clearly taken.
You go outside to the last resort and hide your grocery bag in a bush. Adjusting the branches so nobody will find them. You put two beers in your pocket then proceed into the party and begin fraternizing. You crush a beer. Open the next. Crushed. Back outside for more. You’re right on the brink of being drunk enough to talk to the AH girl. But then, something terrible happens. Some mother-fucker stole your beer. Yes, it was only 3 beers, but this is the shit I hate.
This bastard has not only robbed you of your delicious golden beverage, he has also robbed you of the liquid confidence you put so much hard work into finding as well as that comfortable feeling of having a drink in your hand at a party. Here, left without beer, you look like a Sober Sally. Which, at a party, does not make you look like the most fun person.
This jackass probably showed up double fisting 2 beers (and thats it) and was plotting the entire time to steal beer from wherever he could. Usually, he has come prepared: He has a beer in each one of his cargo-shorts pockets that can fit a beer (meh, Cargo shorts. Don’t get me started.) Those things have like 50 fucking pockets. Usually he is either playing beer pong (everyone knows you can’t interrupt a game to ask who stole your beer. That’s called etiquette, boys and girls) or he is in sitting down in a crowded area, staying out of your sight.
I’ve heard this person been called a beer ninja. Stealthily taking beer from another. (taken from Urban Dictionary).
Synonyms: Beer Stealer, Fuck Face, Asshole, Dickhead, Freshman. Antonyms: Good Friend, Good Person, Respectable Human Being.
Regardless of what you call him, this person is responsible for ruining dozens of nights all across the country. He not only prevents you from continuing drinking, he completely halts the party. T=because everyone knows the party ends when the beer runs out. And since he didn’t bring any and just steals from others, the beer runs out pretty fucking fast. Party is over. Dick.
And so a toast to you, Beer Stealer. You’re a fuck face, and if I ever see you stealing my beer, I will shove it up your Buttweiser (right?!)….oh, and we hate you.
Girl who thinks she has “way more guy friends than girl friends.”
A toast to you, Girl who thinks she has “way more guy friends than girl friends.” - I’m probably going to get some shit for this one because I feel like 75 percent of the girls I know feel this way. And in some cases, its true. Some girls just connect better with us guys. They’re more comfortable talking about sports and joking and having fun than they are with talking about how fat Julie has gotten since she broke up with Brad or how much of a slut Tina is for giving that guy a beej (blowjob) after dating him for “only like 3 months! OMG!”
Some girls almost always suck as friends. Sometimes it seems like there is a minority of girls in the world who are actually trustworthy, non-bitchy people you can actually enjoy being around. These girls are hybrids. They have found out how to be a genuinely nice person and good friend and still retain their girlyness. Its awesome. Bros love these girls. But some girls just straight up suck.
If you tell one of these so called “girl friends” (notice the space between those two words) about how you secretly have a crush on Penelope, odds are that Penelope is gonna fucking find out…Probably within the hour. Thats just how some girls are. They’re manipulative, mean and dramatic and they make you want to break their nose with a 5-iron. That’s why I don’t blame some girls for wanting to be friends with guys instead of other girls.
I’m not saying guys are the best friends ever and don’t do any of this shit. Some guys are just as shitty friends as these girls. But guys forgive and forget. We don’t get drunk one night, bring up how Lana fucked our boyfriend before we did, yell at her to stop flirting with him, then proceed to pull her hair out of her head in some sort of awkward hug called a “cat fight.” (also very sexy)
So I have a problem not with girls that believe they have more guy friends than girl friends. This can be true. Some of my best friends are girls. What I have a problem with is the girl who clearly does not.
If this girl has a problem, she calls her girl friends, not her guy friends to cry. She shows up to parties with a group of girls, not guys. If she is bored, she calls her betches to come over and watch Dear John with her while they eat chocolate and talk about Tina…again. (Poor Tina)
She texts guys….but only if she’s trying to hook up with them. Trust me, guys do this a lot too. But we don’t go around saying we have “way more girl friends than guy friends.” Those who do are typically homosexuals. For some reason that’s just the way it is. So stop lying to yourself and everyone else. I’m sure you have one or two guy friends, but you definitely have a lot more girl friends than guy friends.
And so, a toast to you Girl who thinks she has “way more guy friends than girl friends.” Shut the fuck up. No you fucking don’t. Maybe if you blew as many girls as you do guys, you’d have as many girl friends as you do guy friends.
The Extreme Drunk Texter
A toast to you, Extreme Drunk Texter - I love texting. In fact, I do it all the time. Speaking on the phone has its uses: Car crashes, trying to find each other in a crowd, speaking to a significant other, letting your best friend know that Family Guy is on TBS. You know, the emergencies.
Now as you can tell by the paragraph above, I text all the time. Especially when I am drunk. I think that everyone does it. And if you say you don’t, you’re either extremely good at self-control or you don’t have any fucking friends. It’s actually kind of fun.
Waking up the next morning to see that you sent your some girl from high school “you got sime Great.tits gaha” is nothing short of comedic gold. Even sending a text to your buddy and then proceeding to have an entire drunk text conversation with him about which one is the better friend. That’s just wonderful. A few mis-spelled words is fine. A stray i here, a couple auto-corrected words there that don’t make sense. Splendid.
But what really gets to me is when you’re sitting with your buddies early on in the night, sipping some brews. Suddenly, your phone buzzes on your leg. You whip out your iPhone and read the text only to find out its an incomprehensible paragraph from your friend that just serves to piss you off. (This is a girl about 75 percent of the time. But guys have been caught doing it.)
“Omg i juys dranhbv a shioyt of thg grosest voidkja everrr5rr lol. we;re coninhg toi your hoiuse now”
Clearly you’re not that drunk. It’s 7:30, you’ve been drinking for 45 minutes. But before we get to that, lets evaluate the text.
This thing looks like actual word vomit. Some of the letters in these words aren’t even close to the other letters that you meant to push on the keypad. I know you have the iPhone too, which means you have auto-correct. That means you actually disregarded the auto-corrections to your text so that this drunk string of garbage would look as terrible as possible when i attempted to translate it. It’s actually like a brain teaser. I don’t really want to do some sort of mental exercise every time I read a fucking text from you on the weekend.
Also, I can’t quite wrap my head around how you got that 5 into the text, mid-word. (For you non-iPhone users: to do so, you would actually have to switch pages from the letters to the numbers page, then go back to finish the word) Now it seems to me that this was not a drunk text to me at all. In fact, it looks like a very sober you carefully constructed some ridiculous slew of shit into one text message in order to give the impression of you being blackout drunk and completely unable to operate a phone. This would allow you to act like a train wreck upon arrival, giving me the heads up before you actually arrive so I don’t hit you in the face with a shovel.
This hypothesis seems even more of a fact when you show up to the house, out of control, take 5 more shots of “thg grosest voidkja everrr5rr lol” and then tell me you’re not that drunk. But the best is when you get a text from them later on in the night that is completely legible.
“Hey! Great night tonight. Sorry we broke your lamp! See you tomorrow! :)”
Are you serious? What the fuck is happening. 6 hours, 5 shots and 2 mixed drinks ago you were extra sloppy, now you’re spelling correctly, using exclamation points, proper grammar and even threw in a smiley (those are sexy). Its like the more you actually drink, the better you can operate a phone?
You took drunk texting and fucked it in the ass. What was once fun is now ruined for me…..Obviously I am going to continue to do it, but anytime I get a text from you past 8 o’clock at night on a weekend, conversation over. Respect lost. Fuck you.
So here’s a toast to you, Extreme Drunk Texter…. W;e Hatre uyou loll
A toast to you, Touchy-Feely Couple - Congratulations on finding each other. It must be really special to have somebody else who loves you and does not mind groping the fuck out of you in public while simultaneously getting fondled in return.
Couples are awesome. What’s better than having a great girl who you can walk to class with, hold her hand, spoil her, watch bad movies with her, stay up late talking to her, buy her flowers, talk sports with her (see: sports girl) have her be the first thing you see in the morning? Nothing tops it. (Except maybe toast. And winning. I love winning). But the moment that your bedroom life with her goes out into the public arena, we got a problem.
I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to see you guys finger-fucking under the table at the dining hall. And what’s with you two sitting on the same side of the booth as each other? Its a booth. There are two sides. Personally, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to sit across from your girl so you can look into her eyes. Oh, wait. Now I know, because you can’t shove your face in her chome (this is exaggerated. But only a little) from the other side of the booth.
Kissing in public is great. Holding hands. Having her rest her head on you. Even the occasional butt grab. Nobody appreciates a good butt like me. But crotch rubbing? Tit grabbing? Neck kissing, sensual massages and blowjobs? OK, not really blowjobs. But come on. That shit is fucked up. Nobody wants to see you guys try and get your nut off in public. How hard is it to keep your hands off of each other until you get home?
This seems to be especially bad at parties. Listen, I get it. Alcohol makes everyone horny. But if you start feeling “the urge” then grab your girl or guy and gtfo. (Yep, bringing back AIM lingo). Otherwise, the whole party is gonna feel super uncomfortable trying to have a good time while you guys are balls deep on the couch. Plus we’ll probably have to throw that couch out.
And so, a toast to you, Touchy-Feely Couple. Its great that you guys love each other. But stop the public porno. Nobody wants to see that shit… Unless its two girls. That’d be pretty cool.
If you’re offended by these posts then you have serious personal issues. These are about nobody in particular but rather just people we all see around at college. They’re for entertainment purposes only