VILE SMILES

Yeah I totally lied when I said I was going to be writing in June.

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In all honesty though; I would have had nothing of substance to give to you.  June consisted of me hating my job and being all bitchy with bouts of anxiety.  Hypothetically- this anxiety became totally exacerbated when I attempted to smoke pot a couple times and I had a massive panic attack.

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Seriously dude?  A fucking panic attack?  From pot right?  Bob Saget’s character in Half Baked is absolutely disgusted with me.  Haha—”Have you ever sucked dick for pot?”  Priceless.  Come to mention it, my dad would probably be pretty disgusted with me as well.

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I get older and older, and acquire more and more complexes and insecurities.  Instead of getting high and rubbing one out to Dorothy right while Eclipse starts, I am instead obsessing over garbage……Am I making enough? Am I happy enough?  Do I want to be in Philly again?   Did you hear that? I think it’s my heart dude.  Dude come here and feel my heart.  Fuck I can’t catch my breathe.  Dude don’t laugh it’s not funny I can’t catch my breathe.  Call 911.  Please call 911 dude I ‘m freaking out over here.

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And then I eventually come back to reality and realize I am all but a shadow of a real man.  Real men everywhere were having their real men meetings and holding secret ballots to decide if I would be allowed to retain my penis.  Then the burly lumberjack stood up and proclaimed, “Why must we hold this vote under secret?  This is Ryan we are talking about.  I mean the guy wanted to go to the ER after smoking a joint.  I am sure there is not one real man in this great hall that is concerned at what faggoty repercussions may ensue should Miss Ryan find out that they voted against him”.  The carpenter, bull rider, and guy that smelts things all agreed and the vote was held in public.   By a vote of 3 billion to one it was decided that I am not a real man.  Removal all man-stuff is pending accommodation of the guy with the pliers schedule.  I will keep you updated.

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All this being said, I think I can comfortably say that there is a lot of crappy job stuff behind me as I have some really neat things going on.  I have to keep tight lipped but will let you know asap.  If you are as smart as I hope to dear God that I think you are, then I hope that you put two and two together and realize that I am a bit happier and will understandably be  writing in this horrible blog more often.  I promise.  Not really.  I’m lazy.

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PS–It’s my birthday and I’m off to Mexico.  Peace out dog.

hola…not holla.  keep it in your pants there handsome.  this is going to be in lower case to emphasize how crappy the post is.  ugh!  I’m beating a dead horse….kicking a dead dog?  whatever the point is that i am being redundant in my apologies for not keeping up to snuf on the blog posts.  so again—hang in there and don’t pee yourself.  i’m on the ball in june.  deal with it you big giant pussy.

1) I get embarrassed for dogs when I see them poop while they are being walked. They always look super vulnerable and awkward while they are squatting and it makes me turn away and blush. Occasionally the owner senses my embarrassment and tries to shoot me a reassuring nod that says, “Hey it’s no big deal. You don’t have to look away. I mean I’m the one that has to pick this mess up and stuff it in my pocket. Literally-in my pocket. Just relax there guy.” But I don’t relax.

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2) I’m right handed but I have one ambidextrous trait in that I brush my teeth with my left hand. Whenever the subject of ambidexterity (which is every other week where I roll) comes up, it never fails that I bring up this little fact expecting ooh’s and aah’s. However, nobody ever cares and there are no ooh’s, aah’s, or for that matter even blah’s. I try to recover with a tasteful black joke and sometimes it wins them over. Sometimes there are black people in the room and then of course, I have no recourse.—-source, porche, morse

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3) I have an obsession with the size of my head. Remember that cute kid from Jerry Maguire? Did you know the human head weighs 8 pounds? Really? Does it? Well little guy, I can tell you that a 15 year old Ryan went and put his fucking head on a scale. It came back absolutely horrific like 14 pounds or something. I freak out and my mom tries to convince me that there was no way for me to accurately weigh it because it was attached to my body and my body weight was messing with the scale reading. I never get convinced of this and quite honestly I do not feel that I grew into my head until about three weeks ago. Thanks anyway mom.

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There was a girl who came into the bar last night with an eye patch.  Yup-an eye patch.  Ps–ugh.  You see what you just did?  You thought there might be a pirate joke in here somewhere.  There’s not so keep walking Sally Ann.  I fucking hate you.  Don’t get me wrong-I adore Jack Sparrow and the fact that Johnny Depp is 18% better looking than me while being like 50 years old has a guy wanting to write an open letter to Jesus Christ and thank him for such beautiful things– but I swear to that same Jesus Christ;  If you mention pirates, ninjas, pirates vs ninjas, or have the balls to start spewing out those heinous Chuck Norris facts around me; I will pluck off one of said balls, unravel it and make it into a friendship bracelet for your mother

 Anyway– 

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Me: Dude, dude.  Who’s that chick?

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Bartender Pat: Oh that’s Sandy.  Cool chick.

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Me: Cool chick with an eye patch huh?  What-did the lead singer of Murder by Death choke on a tofu burrito and die? ….. Get it? Get Murder by Death? Haha.  Oh me and my obscure references.  Anyway-stupid hipsters making their boring little fashion statements.  Neat.

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Bartender Pat: Are you being a dick right now?
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Me: Bro you know what I mean.  The schtick gets a little old.

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Bartender Pat: Are you out of your mind?  She was at the dog park on 8th with her French Bulldog like last week.  She is doing her thing and some Pit bull or Doberman  started attacking hers.  She got in the middle of it and the dog bit her in the face.   A la- the eye patch.

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Me: Can I interject?

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Bartender Pat: Yeah.  What?

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Me:  I just wanted to point out that it is extremely gay you know what kind of dog she has.  A la-anal sex with a man
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Bartender Pat: Anyway.  Ryan, like everybody knows this story.  The Doberman/Pit’s owner goes ape shit and starts pulling it off her fucking face.  He manages to get it loose but the thing gets free and attacks her again—gets her right in the crotch.
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Me: Well this is panning out as a great inquiry . . .
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Bartender Pat: Literally right into her vagina.  Like, it starts shaking its head violently while it has her in its grip….by her vagina.  Seriously she might lose her fallopian tubes or something.

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Me: Or might lose her whole vagina vagina vagina? I seriously doubt that.

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Bartender Pat: They are saying she might need a vasectomy.

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Me: I think you mean a hysterectomy.

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Bartender Pat: What?

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Me: Forget it.

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Whatever.  Crappy hipsters making statements with their fancy little dogs.

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Ps- I want to apologize for the tiny font.  I’m trying to figure it out.  Thanks blog writing template thing.

Patty’s day fills my neighborhood with fat people (I know-gross) and tourists.

1) Irish people don’t like your Irish tattoo or multiple Irish tattoos especially when you can’t find their country on a map.

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2) Irish people don’t drink green beer. Green beer is for white trash. Or it’s for black people too who have confused it with a big glass of new flavored Hypnotic.

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3) Irish people don’t like you delivering the punch lines to Irish jokes in a crappy accent. They aren’t impressed. They rather you finish college and learn a second language.

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4) Irish people don’t want to be kissed all the time-they’re not pussies. Instead they want to soak that tee-shirt in Humback Whale pee and set your face on fire.

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5) Irish people don’t care that you are a certain percent Irish and that’s why you always get “blacked the fuck out” every Patty’s Day. They’d rather you be 75% “shut the fuck up” and 25% “dead.”

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6) Irish people don’t like that you’re getting all hip and calling soccer; “football” and pretending to like watching it on TV. I played soccer my whole life. Please believe me when I say I am way better than you. I will say that it is absolutely atrocious to watch. Even I think you’re gay for doing that. Multiply that by a bajillion and cover with a million shiny pink cocks and that is how gay the Irish think your posing is. It’s soccer dude.

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Move your car and go home fat ass.