Honest to god, I’m the gosh dang Michelangelo of bullshit.
The Reprobate Renaissance saw me construct a million Pristine Chapels from the bricks and mortar of my little white lies spouted after inhaling little white lines. Scientists fervently wish they could harness the euphoric camaraderie engendered by my group's coke high.
What could society possibly use that for?
Have some imagination. We’d easily be able to explore deep space and colonize Mars by the end of the week.
There is no deeper, more disgusting depravity than five teeth-gnashing, sweaty, sniffling, secretly self-loathing men nervously clustered around a plate desperately pressing their filthy and numbed thumbs to the ceramic surface.
Hoping against hope they’ll scrounge up just enough magic for a gum bump to keep the anxiety-ridden comedown at bay and the party going at 3:47 AM.
A time when polite society hasn’t yet stirred for their third overactive bladder episode of the night.
Even impolite society has asked them to shut the fuck up about their podcast idea combining True Crime and sports by matching serial killers with their fantasy football equivalents. For the last time, Jay effin Cutler isn’t the franchise-killing reincarnation of Jack The Ripper.
Actually...put a pin in that one. That pitch has some legs.
Unlike Cutler. Boom Roasted. Take that Vanderbilt’s finest.
Speaking of Tennessee, what’s Nashville even about? It’s like y’all wanna be Austin with pricier IPAs, shittier tacos, and more latent racism.
Lakeway NextDoor forums will not stand for their well-established brand being stolen so shamelessly!
What do we want? To never be mildly inconvenienced by teenagers working minimum-wage jobs! When do we want it? Whenever your manager gets back from his smoke break!
Is there anything more damning of an indictment of capitalism than steadfastly maintaining a cigarette habit in the face of the vape revolution?
He’s gonna get his five minutes of peace from the bourgeoisie and don’t you dare try to shackle him! Couldn't be me. I live totally unfettered and unbothered.
Do you ever get nervous?
Nervous about what?
Being haunted by the memory of you in seventh grade telling girls that you're faster than the speed of fast.
They asked for a demonstration. You obliged by Naruto running across the cafeteria because all you ate at lunch that year was strawberry milk, two chocolate chip cookies, and half an apple.
I wasn't wrong though, I was zooming.
Yeah, can't imagine why you never grew at all man.
While we're on the topic of haste, nice guys finish last because they don’t realize sex is a race.
Is that why you always finish first?
I finish second like I’m Danica Patrick.
You know it doesn't count as finishing right when you just fall asleep while she's on top?
I've got narcolepsy, you sleep supremacist!
Narcolepsy? I don't remember that version of Narcos, is that set before or after the one in Mexico?
It's my Narcos spinoff where the cartels traffic exclusively in sleep-apnea masks to prop up an overworked and hellaciously obese American workforce who subsist solely on guacamole. The margins in the avocado game are insane.
Netflix has chosen...not to greenlight it.
I'm not saying those Netflix execs are heroes but I do feel like I have to put up signed posters of them on my walls now.
How did your pitch go?
"Pablo Escobar? More like Pablo Esconarc, right guys? Because of the narcolepsy? It's gonna catch on just wait."
They did not share my patience.
There is seriously a less than zero chance that catches on anywhere outside the confines of your entirely hollow skull.
You're simply jealous of my unparalleled abilities as a taste-maker. I speak things into existence like I'm Lavar Ball's slightly vertically challenged and forgotten son.
What taste? You jerk off to hot-takes from Dan Patrick you Cro-Magnon cast off.
Hot takes that make ya girl’s clam bake.
...I know you can't hear it but I want you to know there is an absolutely deafening roar of boos coming from the liquored-up crowd right now.
Look not every verse is gonna be the Odyssey, okay boys? Roll with me here and allow me some leeway to hoist myself by my own petard.
Alright, go on then. Let’s hear what you got.
Ah well, I don't know about all that. You know I hate being put on the spot.
I'll spot you an order of Burger King nuggets.
The ones that the FDA has classified as "technically not real meat" so they can sell ten of them for a dollar-forty nine?
The very same. Instantaneous regret in a greasy bag.
Make it two orders and listen up...
It ain’t easy being cheesy, said the cheddar to the grate, which made him irate as sweat adorned his pate. Best clean your plate to try and impress your date who was rather conspicuously late. Wipe the slate. It's not her fault she was busy shagging your best mate. Now, ain’t that just a cruel twist of fate?
If you were a medieval bard you would have undoubtedly starved to death after a week on the road.
Au contraire, I would have feasted like a vegan king from all the various raw vegetables aimed at or in my general direction. Hated, adored, yet never ignored as they say.
Fair enough. But how do you go through life knowing you'll definitely never be loved?
Well, by rationalizing how heartbreaking it is that everybody loves someone else and nobody remembers to love themselves.
What about narcissists?
I've never met one before.
Are they like a lesser form of arsonist? Where you kinda dip your toes into the pyromania community by setting one of your little green army men on fire and subsequently pass out from the inhalation of the plastic fumes?
To cover up your embarrassment, you pretend you were just cosplaying America spreading freedom to North Vietnamese rice farmers through the fragrant stylings of Agent Orange.
You know literally every single one of your friends thinks that you're an unrepentant egomaniac with no discernible reason for your unwarranted self-confidence? Now I have to tell them about your penchant for stolen valor.
Be my guest.
What are you going to do to change?
Probably look for friends with lower standards of acceptable behavior in polite society.
It's not my fault they don't like me. I'm not gonna waste my precious time with useless introspection.
Is that your motto in life? Why waste my time?
No, it's "everybody wants to rock Supreme but nobody wants to be the supreme piece of shit."
I am about 3,000% confident that Supreme could sell actual vials of shit with their logo slapped on and you'd trip over your dick to buy it like the mindless consumer scum that you are.
Sounds like it smells like broke in here.
It smells like...never mind. Too easy.
Feces contamination is temporary. Drip is eternal.
Good fucking luck thrifting that collection idiot.
You’re the one banned from Buffalo Exchange.
Buncha austere, Puritanical sticklers over there.
You yelled “Horsepower! Horsepower! All this Polo on, I got Horsepower!” at the high-school girl working returns for 45 minutes.
I could have gone on for another hour honestly.
You were wearing a stained Hanes white tee with the Volcom sticker you five-finger discounted from PacSun, plastered on upside down.
Don't forget my sweet-ass XXL JNCO jeans.
First of all, if I've told you once, I've told you a million times. Stop giving me the finger guns when you're talking to me. But trust me, I've tried to wipe those denim abominations from my now irreparably tainted memory banks.
Have you tried injecting them with disinfectant?
Good one. Like when you unsuccessfully tried to use that "Hey girl you look like you need some Vitamin D...more like Vitamin Me" pickup line with her and instead stuttered "hey girl are you gonna be inviting me to the vitamin par-dee?"
The off-duty security guard had a straitjacket with your name on it ready to go.
Do you think I can sue them for putting my patch on a jacket without giving me any royalties?
Well, I meant that purely metaphorically.
Nobody would actually want your name associated with their brand in a million lifetimes.
You're right, I am a priceless entity.
Thanks for the pick-me-up big guy.
Don't ever assume I am trying to reassure you.
That poor girl legitimately thought you were having a psychotic break of some sort.
Yeah, I was having a break alright. I was breaking up with her hateful and spiteful ass.
Why were you dating a high school girl? You were 23.
Uhhhhhh no. I meant that in the strictly spiritual sense. I was breaking up her negative energy with my good vibes only. And it worked too. I never have to go back there.
You’re legally not allowed in there again. Actually, I don't think you're allowed within 250 feet of any schools either.
Was this why you kept asking me how to spell corsage and then where to find one a few months ago? I really need to stop ignoring you and start paying attention to these warning signs.
They’re not signs. They’re cries for help.
Sorry, did you say something?
I hate it here.