Cleveland

Start off with a wonderful video.



Oh Clevelandtown. I hate to say it, and it kills me to do so... but I think I may be allergic to you. You see, I was in your presence this past weekend and ever since I got into the realm of, as they say, "The Clev", I have had massive amounts of congestion and migraines. I am not sick, let's get this straight. I rarely get sick and I know when I am. This is not it. So it has to be some sort of allergy... no other explanation.

Maybe it was the crippling depression.

I mean, honestly, there was NO ONE out at night. I couldn't believe it. I asked Cody, one of my good friends I was with at the time, "are you sure this is a major city"? Because I swear to you, there was literally not a soul on the streets. I was perplexed. Actually I don't know if I was perplexed by that or the fact that I wasn't sure why my head was pounding ALL DAY LONG...

Or maybe it was the constant badgering I took the night before. The first night I felt fine but a lot of things happened that may have lead to these things happening. How about when I beat some girl at darts and she called me an ass. Or how about the girl that was wearing a stripped maroon and yellow sweater who called me a dick for saying she looked like Harry Potter. Or how about the guy who got pissed at me for saying "let's go Steelers" because he was wearing a Pitt hat. Like literally angry. It didn't make any sense. Or how about the angry random black guy who was honestly confused by the fact that I ordered rye toast at a diner... or dinor depending on which side of Lake Erie you are from. Why it was any business of that man's I have no idea but I obliged him by convincing him I was Jewish. A man at the next table even said Salome to me as I was leaving. So in a matter of one night, I was called ass, dick, dick, and Jew. A pretty good accomplishment if I do say so myself. But maybe I am having these headaches from the mental anguish I was put through. I doubt it.

Or maybe it is from that punching bag game I tried to conquer. For those of you who don't know, a lot of bars now adays have these games where burly manly men pay anywhere from 50 cents to a dollar to punch this punching bag as hard as they can. It then measures how hard you punch it. Then other men try and you mock them by how weak they are. You know, good old wholesome fun. Well, being as awesome as I am, I tried this with little effectiveness. Unbeknownst to me, and without having much liquor in my system, I was standing much to close to the machine. I reared back, and wailed on the bag as hard as I could. It looked a lot more majestic then it actually was... being that my follow through was met by a brick wall. Immediately all five of my knuckles on my right hand start bleeding and swelling. It hurt SO BAD. Luckily I didn't break anything but it still hurt like hell. Maybe it is because of that. But I don't think.

So sooooooomething had to have done it. Something had to have latched onto me and is effecting me in such a way that I cant even stand it anymore. Any suggestions? Because I have no idea. It's probably the river water. Haven't you heard? All of Cleveland's fish have aids.



The End

Well I guess that time has come everyone. The world is going to end tomorrow and there is nothing we can do about it. I am going to be spending my last days on this earth doing something I don't give a crap about. Well, actually, I guess those idiotic tribesmen really didn't give a time of day, really. It could happen while I am sleeping, while I am at that job I just spoke of, or it could be later that evening while I am all dulled up celebrating with friends. Not one person knows when this is going to happen. Which reminds me... it isn't going to happen.

If you people actually think some pack of wild men who just so happened to know how to stack some rocks in a triangular formation also knew how to predict the end of this planet, then you should have probably died as idiotic and comically as they did. In fact, let me check my watch... According to my watch, at the time I am writing this blog post, it has been 12-21-12 in New Zealand for almost an hour now. No end of the world yet. Maybe it needs to be Easter Standard Time. Were those savages able to differentiate time zones? I mean, surely they would be able to. They are still thriving... oh wait, no... they weren't even smart enough to stay alive for more than 650 years(ish).

I mean honestly, who believes this crap. For fuck sake. Look how these people dressed. Do I need to say anything more? Oi vey.



The man looks like a true genius. 

Bathroom Fun tip #1

I have come up with many things to do while in the bathroom. You know, to keep yourself occupied from the monotonous duties that occur while you are in there of course... I mean honestly, how boring can it get in there? Well that was before the wonderful invention of Kindles and Smart Phones of course. But I still stick with my guns. I go old school. I have more of these to come by the way... hence the #1 in the title...

Tip #1

Eroding Urinal Cakes

First of all, do women even know what a urinal cake is? I would assume so. This is sort of common knowledge isn't it? But if you don't, here is a flattering picture of one.

When you are a man and you have a penis, it is kind of easy to aim it at things. Thus, when you pee, you can aim the stream at things and hit them with it or even create little designs when you pee in snow. I have, on multiple occasions, wrote my name in cursive while peeing in snow. What man hasn't?  So, as you can see, it is very easy to get carried away with the possibilities. One of my personal favorite pisstimes however is my first bathroom fun tip... It is like Christmas morning when I see a fresh urinal cake. So fresh, so vibrant, so pink. Fortunately for me, my place of employment puts urinal cakes in. So I have multiple chances at honing my craft. Go ahead men. Try it. Take aim at a new urinal cake and see what happens. You will be surprised how long it takes to do it. There are few things better than the feeling of eroding away a chunk off of a urinal cake after days of aiming and pissing. But let ye be warned... the Ghostbusters were right. Don't you dare cross the streams. Not only is is unethical, it is cheating every person who ever tried eroding away a cake. Do it on your own time. I mean, if you are into that kind of thing.

Pissing Contest

I am sorry I am writing about baseball again but I can't help it. Today, the Los Angeles Angels (of Aneheim) signed the top free agent on the market. The numbers are not out there yet for the free world to vomit at, but I assure you, I bet it is five years for at least a trillion dollars. I am obviously exagerating, but you get my point. Now with the recent events going on in the Dodgers organization, I often wonder if these two owners are just trying to make their dicks look bigger than the other owners. I can see it now...

Angels owner Art Mereno

Dodgers partial owner Magic Johnson... and his response.

Hey Chipper!

I am a sucker for celebrity gossip. I have no idea why and I never will. Why should I care about these people who I have nothing to do with besides watching them on a screen? Well in case of athletes, it is kind of the same thing except sometimes I watch them in the flesh. But I saw a news story today that literally blew my mind... well actually just reassured a fact that men have been trying to prove for ages.

First off, I know for a fact that a lot... and I can't stress enough that I just said A LOT, not ALL... of women only date or marry a man because of their wealth. Any woman who puts themselves in a situation where they are questioned about why they are with that person should suck it up and say it because let's face it, it's true. Any woman in that situation that says otherwise is a fucking liar. Plain and simple. The "celebrity" I am referring to in this case is non other than Larry Wayne Jones himself. Or for those of you who have no idea who that is, lets go by his outlandish, not really sure why the hell he was ever called this in the first place, alias, Chipper Jones. There may be a story behind him being called Chipper, but to be honest, I don't give a rats ass.

That is right, everyone's favorite former third basemen of the Atlanta Braves. Not only is he future hall of fame player, which is impressive in it's own right, but he has millions, upon millions, upon millions of dollars. Before I reveal why I am actually writing this blog post, let me fill you in on a bit of Chipper's past personal life. I found out from this article that on November 16th, he finalized his divorce with his now ex wife Sharon Logonov. Turns out this was actually not his first time on the merry go round. He apparently was divorced once before with a woman named Karin Fulford in 1998 because he had an 18 month affair with a Hooter's waitress, which by the way produced a son. Not only this, he is an avid hunter, who has his own hunting television show. So let me get this straight. He has been divorced twice by gorgeous women because he was an ass, he kills animals constantly, and he has the worst beard in the history of the world? If this guy isn't the consistency of ass bag, I have no idea who is.

But back to current times here. Apparently, immediately after getting divorced, he started dating a Playboy model by the name of  Lexi Ray Taylor.

If you don't think this was going on for a while, then you are an imbecile. At this point in time, Chipper Jones is 40 years old going on 41. This blond bombshell is no more than 25 years old. Not only that, she surely realizes his reputation with women at this point. I mean, am I wrong in saying this? The man is a giant womanizer. He has been married to two women already only to screw it up, literally and figuratively. How could a woman as good looking as miss Taylor be interested in him? I mean it isn't like he is a good looking guy. It looks like his face was hit with a frying pan.

Isn't it obvious people? The man is a complete tool, he objectifies women, and he acts like 90% of the men in Fayette County. Why else would that gorgeous woman be dating Chipper Jones? The conversation? I bet that is enthralling. No... it's all about the cash. Plain and simple.