Wednesday, April 28, 2010

On Being a Social Butterfly

I was going to write this super, in-touch with the sensitive feelings in my heart, post about how this lady freaked out on me because I had my shirt off and was doing flex poses in front of the mirror in the restroom*. And sure, I SUPPOSE there's an argument to be made that I didn't belong in the ladies room to begin with, but the men's room smelled really bad and was dirty and didn't have a period couch for reclining on after my "workout", so I think we can all agree I did the right thing. And besides LADY, if your chief argument is that you don't want your daughter exposed to naked men, why the hell did you even BRING her to Chuck E. Cheese? Don't you know that place is like a well-stocked cafeteria for Pedophiles? Sheesh. I blame most of her reaction on how stunningly handsome I am, or else I would be more upset. My Advanced Pectoral Muscles© are like a shock and awe campaign against your dirty terrorist eyes hiding in their bunker of sexual ignorance.


I was just practicing my Tourette's Syndrome impression in case I decide to go to any parties this weekend where no one knows me**, because nothing breaks the ice at a boring-ass wake quiet party like an uninvited guest who runs in screaming profanities and racial slurs***. The trick is the barking. I like to add extra barks just so I seem legit. It's like my calling card or my DNA at that stupid crime scene from SIX years ago. God. Who knew semen decomposed so slowly? (besides your mom) Anyway(s), I was practicing my barking and swearing when a co-worker walked by behind me and I had to do a quick cover-up, so I pretended I had just hit myself in the thumb accidentally. And the thing I said I hit it with was a "filthy asshole bitch fuck cunt". I'm pretty sure they bought it.


Moral: In conclusion, this is a picture of the best party in the world:

Woo-Hoo!! I'll have one more LSD- Jager-Roofie-Bomb, Garcon!!

*Turns out I DID write about it. You're welcome. This post is like hard-hitting news that touches the heart AND informs. I'm expecting a call from the Pulitzer people any day now.

**Some people call it "crashing" a party, but it's my contention that the ONLY reason I wasn't invited is because they don't know me, so Quid Pro Quo, I go anyway(s). I'LL decide whether or not I'm invited places, thank you very much!

*** The only better way to break the ice is a good old-fashioned tickle fight. Now the rules change depending on the circumstances of how the deceased parted this Mortal Coil how uptight the family is, but in general you want to single out an old lady in a wheelchair or the one Aunt who's totally tanked on Mimosas. They always laugh the best. Nanas because they so rarely get groped, and drunk Aunts because they're whores.


Steam Me Up, Kid said...

Aw! You brought back the period couch!

Tickle fights with Nana, I'll tell you right now, it's more like tickle Omaha Beach with Nana, or whatever battle that was where one side was so overwhelmed by tickle power that they rolled out of their wheelchair and got their head wedged under the sofa. Bring your own tickle, is my advice for you.

Sara said...

I didn't think this post could get any funnier until I saw Steamy's comment. You two should collaborate.

lesinfin said...

I don’t ask questions when I hang out on the Chuck E. Cheese period couch anymore. In Miami, just because you’re stunningly handsome and have Advanced Pectoral Muscles doesn’t mean you don’t have a vagina.

Sarah P said...

Halogen lamp - check
Crappy eighties door hinting that you live in a bad neighborhood - check
Granny's old couch - check
Silk flowers from your high school girlfriend - check

Everything here fits. I didn't even know you could decorate with hula hoops.

miss. chief said...

I always thought crashing a party looked like this:

No One Reads The Copy said...


"I was practicing my barking and swearing when a co-worker walked by behind me and I had to do a quick cover-up, so I pretended I had just hit myself in the thumb accidentally. And the thing I said I hit it with was a "filthy asshole bitch fuck cunt". I'm pretty sure they bought it."

made me guffaw. Wanted you to know that. You are so funny.

Beta Dad said...

I had a similar close call with a cursing outburst recently. My lawnmower gave out on me as I was mowing the knee-high weeds in front of my house and because I was blasting Erasure so loud on the ipod, I didn't realize that I had screamed, "Fucking piece of fuck!" at full volume as I shoved the mower away from me in disgust and the only thing that kept it from launching off of the retaining wall and landing on top of the stroller being pushed by a nice young couple from down the street was the slender lamp post in the corner of the lawn. I averted embarrassment by giving the couple a "what the fuck are you looking at" glare at which point they picked up their pace. Whew.

Soda and Candy said...

What the hell is a period couch? Is it the comfiest couch ever so I can recline on it during my Woman Times?

Captain Dumbass said...

I need to get myself a cat.

Rockstarishvamp said...

Who doesn't do flex poses in the Ladies Room at Chucky Cheese? Seriously.
Ah, I can't even remember how many times I've been almost-caught practicing my swearing (why do people seem to find that offensive?) in public places, loads of fun that is, isn't it? The key to not-getting-caught is to have a believable back-up story. Yours was brilliant.

Megs said...

If you are going to the bathroom at Chucky Cheese, you should be thankful if you escape having merely witnessed an extremely handsome man flexing shirtless.

I mean, going to the bathroom at that place is just an invitation to be molested, isn't it?

Ed said...


Kissing chics.

Pussy flying all over the place.

That is the BEST partay evah!