That’s a recipe for disaster either way Tyler, take yourself out of the game and feel better in the morning.
Agreed.
Also 75 dollah won’t go far in the average strip club unless you are in the far East.
In other news I was out camping with some folks and we were all getting our mellow on around the campfire when some jackass threw his oversized, empty lighter in the fire. Cue explosion and molten, red hot plastic showering down on everyone. Seriously folks - don’t be that guy.
Watching those windows commercials I say Jessie needs a strong ass f**ing. Bet she doesn’t share that with her dad.
Huh. Guess its a good thing we aren’t drunk together in the same room right now, cause I would beat you to death with your own keyboard for that post. I’m drunk and angry fuckers
things that suck, in order of suck from least suck to greatest
- vacuum cleaners
- cancer
- black holes
- OU
I LOVE YOU GUYZZZZZZ
How does my vacuum cleaner work? I fear magnetars.
I’m pretty sure vacuum cleaners need magnetars. Avoid at all costs.
This weekend I invented the Mojito Shot. Two ounces of light rum, five drops of Key Lime Juice, five drops of Torani Peppermint Syrup. Down the hatch! Repeat ad infinitum, or until blind.
Sounds efficient! Drunk with a peppermint-y vengeance.
I made Brandy Blazers this weekend, which is kind of a lame name for an old fashioned with cognac and brown sugar. The blazer factors in when somehow you’ve drunk half the bottle and you’re igniting your fingers instead of the orange peel.
Pretty sure a backhoe can dig a hole deeper than a dog can smell. At least I hope so.
I’m buzzed on bourbon. My fiancee’s friend from school is a houseguest for the weekend, and my (female) cousin is visiting. The girl-talk is overwhelming, and I just didn’t see a way to manage it sober.
I’m drunk. Too many rum and cokes. And I just spent the last hour writing a drunken, sappy email to a girl I still care too much about. At least I have the goddamn common sense not to send it. At least not until I wake up in the morning and read the draft first. Ugh. Sometimes I wish I were gay. Things would be so much easier, I feel.
Vodka and club soda in my recently rediscovered Lord of the Rings Burger King promo glass from December of 2001. It tastes like victory.
One does not simply pour vodka into club soda…
So I went out drinking with my labmates a couple nights ago – something I have not done in literally a decade, when I was a member of a different lab with different labmates – and something happened that has never happened to me, ever, and likely never will again. There was a really hot girl that joined us, from a neighboring lab. I mean she was smoking. I mean she is the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen. So there we are, our (female) advisor, a (male) visiting faculty, two guys, the hot girl, and me. And we’re all drinking and making science jokes and variously nerding out.
Eventually near the end of the evening the advisor leaves, and it’s just us guys. And the hot girl. We all get up to go dancing, but she starts to say she’s leaving (jet lag, etc.). She’s saying her good-byes, hugging everyone in turn.
When she gets to me, she leans over, her hair falling near my face, her red silky blouse rubbing against my arm, and whispers in my ear: “Do you want to come home with me?”
I just don’t even.
Well, don’t leave us hanging. Finish the story!
Apparently your milkshake doesn’t just bring boys to the yard.
I don’t know what this means. But thanks?
Yeah seriously, you’re not going to finish the story? What an asshole :P