Your friend has hit a rough spot and, for whatever reason, you have stepped up to aid them in their time of need. When you invite a friend to stay in your home until their lives stabilize, until they stop weeping at night, until they get a job — ANY job — and find a place of their own to live, you may not realize exactly what you are about to do. You may think to yourself, “This man or woman has been my friend for X number of years, I feel fondness for them and would like to give them sanctuary from their troubles. After all, were I in their place, I would hope that I had a good person to help me out.” But you fail to acknowledge that this person will be using your furniture, your bathroom, your cooking utensils. They will be all over your living space. They will probably even look in your bedroom when everyone else is out working.
Basically you’ve gone above and beyond the call of friendship. You may think that because you are being so kind as to do all of this, what with the inconveniencing your life to an extent and shaking up your day-to-day, your friend would be more than happy to do the one or two things you ask of them. No sir.
You see, when you invite a friend to live with you, something happens to them. They change into a monster. Many of you have seen this happen with real room mates, but the complexities of the Room Mate is a topic for another article on another day. Friends who are staying with you as guests do not have to pay rent, or bills. They often feel like real guests, although they start out as overly grateful ones.
In 2001, I landed what I consider to be my first “real job.” I say this because this was the first job I ever had that I would willingly tell people about. Instead of hiding my employment status behind mumbles, I would gladly sit down with you and tell you at great length what my job is, where it is, what I do at it, and a million other details that would cause you to want to punch me if you could just stop feeling so damned happy for me long enough. So after I get the call telling me I have the job, I am given instructions on where to go to do a piss test. Now normally they do these pre-employment, but I was told that the facility this takes place in was under construction and had just re-opened to an extent. “To an extent” was an exact quote from the lady talking to me, just so you know.
I arrive there, wearing some fairly nice clothes. I got the job so I decided I could drop the illusion that I knew how to dress, but I didn’t want to start dressing like a complete scumbag until I was there a few months… so I was in something sorta in between. Like if someone woke you up from a deep sleep and yelled to hurry up because one of your family members just decided to get married on the spot. You wouldn’t have time to put on a suit and tie, but you wouldn’t go in anything that smelled like three days worth of ass. That was the balance I was striving for.
Normally I make a point of it to not cover ground that has already been covered to death. I just don’t mess with it. I know many of you are saying, “But the internet has a million seduction guides up already.” That much is true. They are all well and good, or not so good, and could probably net you a person of average ability, appearance, and expectation, if they are among the better variety. Fine if you are into that kind of thing. Personally, I’m not much for child’s play. So while the other guides might get you some ass, I’m here to get you some class.
Now I’m not giving you ALL of my secrets here. It isn’t fair to the women of the world for me to unleash an army of men they have no ability to resist. Sorry guys, you ain’t leaving with a full stomach, but I ain’t so mean that I’m not going to throw you some scraps. These tips will help you get a leg up, possibly a second leg up, but it is up to you as to whether or not you get that third leg up. As for the rest of you with the manly gender as a target, I am sure these same suggestions can work for you. Hell, any human being of any orientation seeking any other being can probably use this guide just fine. However, I can only really speak for my own self − and I have no complaints.
All of this could have been avoided. This entire article wouldn’t have even been necessary if my parents had followed a fairly logical rule. As a parent myself, I know this rule inside and out. If you have kids, you know it too. But for those of you without children, I am about to drop a real gem on you. A piece of advice that will make your parenting days a lot easier and lessen the chances of your home experiencing a murder/suicide. You ready? Okay.
Don’t tell a child that they can’t see/do something because it is “for adults.”
There you go. I just saved you a lot of yelling and a handful of awkward visits from Child Services. Now don’t go thinking I’m one of those people who doesn’t believe in telling a kid they can’t have something or do something. I’m not saying that you should let a child get away with whatever. By all means, tell them “no” when you want them to keep their snot and dirt-encrusted hands off of something. When they ask you why, just don’t make the mistake of telling them it is for “big folks,” “adults,” “mommy and daddy,” or whatever other stupid shit you say instead of just looking them in the eye and saying, “Shut the fuck up.”
A good solid “shut the fuck up” from my folks sure would have saved me a whole lot of grief.
Christmas nears; there is no escaping that fact. But why would you want to escape it anyway? Christmas is a time for gathering together with family, eating more than you normally should but still a little less than Thanksgiving, and don’t forget the true meaning… PRESENTS! Why would you not look forward to it? Because on the road to that happy destination that is Christmas Morning, you take a detour through HELL. Crowded malls, the local filth taking the third and fourth layers of dirt off of their car so they look more presentable during their only family outing during the year, and just general dumb-asses.
Chances are your workload is busier this time of year, plus when you get off work you have the usual stress of trying to put together a Christmas that won’t be a let-down for yourself and all of those you love and who love you. That’s a lot of stress to put on someone. Way too much. That is a dangerous amount of stress to put on a man, damn it. I’m surprised random unprovoked assaults don’t go up sharply this time of year.
Chances are you are like me and you take a lot of modern conveniences for granted. There isn’t really anything wrong with that, I guess. I mean, here in 2016 [Editor’s note: remember to change the date when we are low on content and re-post this in a year or two] we just assume such things as sanitary products, electronics, and other assorted things are our God-given and rightful property. We feel a great sense of entitlement, and therefore have really stopped appreciating these simple pleasures that keep our world up and running smoothly. It’s just hard for someone who has grown up with such things to understand…
Until you have to do without.
My friends, I had to do without recently. I didn’t have to part ways with my cell phone, or microwavable food items, or anything like that. If that was the case I’d JUST DIE! No, I had to do without something that plays a rather large role in our lives. I had to do without a goddamn shitter: the unsung hero of household items. That’s right, I had to use the toilet without having a toilet to use. You might have trouble wrapping your head around this, because really, the toilet is always there. It’s like a good, dedicated friend. You can always find comfort in its consistency. Cold, white, incredibly heavy but blissfully unaware of just how big it is, and usually full of shit. Now that I think about it, it really is just like a lot of friends I’ve had (and you have probably had as well).
But imagine briefly, that when you need that friend the most, they are nowhere to be found! That when you reach out and expect that helping hand you’ve grown so accustomed to grasping you and pulling you to safety… it doesn’t happen. Of course, I am completely to blame for the incident I am writing about. Looking back I can clearly see where I went wrong.
Halloween is a time for scares, intrigues, mysteries, and unearthing ancient horrors. We have done all of these things with the post we bring you today. Once upon a time, when the earth was young, there was an infernal website called omgjeremy dot com, founded by Lucifer himself, probably. During those times, a writer named Billy Holiday turned his talents to art, and decided to give Amandoll a run for her money in the comics department. What you see here today is three YEARS worth of effort, incomplete because one installment was lost to time, just as we all fear about ourselves the most, deep inside.
Proceed with Caution! You have been warned!
Though I have been personally asked to speak on golf legend Arnold Palmer, it may come as a shock that I know very little of his golf career. He won a lot of trophies and green jackets and the other things they give away to people that win big golf gatherings. Essentially, in the world of golf, he was pretty good.
I would come to know this man by other means. As a child one of my favorite games (and still an occasional one I play) was Arnold Palmer Tournament Golf on the Sega Genesis. This is where I first encountered this man. He graced the cover and even had a big ol’ sorta-likeness in the game. I would learn years later this was a pre-existing golf game overseas that just got a U.S. big-name golfer tacked on, but in my mind this was and always will be HIS golf game. I’m serious, even in the face of countless evidence that says otherwise, I’m basically giving him full credit for every aspect of this game.
Often in life you will hear certain phrases that seem to crop up fairly often. Some are pretty common sense, and others take a little more figuring out or the origins are so lost in time that they never will make sense. I’m going to speak of a fairly common one that usually isn’t meant literally.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
Now this comes in several different forms, often pointing out who or what did the scaring, but the end result is the same… the “shit was scared” out of the person. Of course this is never actually true, as the person will just laugh it off and go about their business instead of dropping their head in shame as the smell overcomes the room. I’ve heard this many times from many different people, and none of them had coated their pants in brown.
However, I am here to tell you that on at least one occasion I can confirm that someone was scared to the point of D’ing up those pants. I share this story with you now.
Growing up in the South (as a PROUD SOUTHERNER) I was offered a variety of food and drink items on a regular basis. Most of these were good. We’re talking about your fried chicken, watermelon, grape soda, SOME BBQ, Cheerwine, and other assorted Southern delicacies. This was quite pleasing, as they were always being offered and seemingly readily abundant. There are however a few Southern staples that don’t please me. There are a few food and drink items that downright disgust me. The big problem is that those were just as readily available and were being offered to me just as often. But one item stood out above all others… and it was a beverage. In fact, I don’t think it even deserves to be called a beverage. It’s swill. The foulest swill. It haunted me throughout my childhood. One sip and I turned into Jim Carrey, my face contorting wildly, jaw jutting out further than my bone structure allowed. Much like Jim Carrey, this was no laughing matter.
I was plagued my entire goddamn childhood by SWEET TEA!