Punches and Pole-Dancers

      Gentle Reader, let's talk about drinking today. First off, people that say they don't have to drink or do drugs to have a good time think they are better than you. If anyone ever says this to you, feel free to kick them in the chin mid-sentence. Next, I am so tired of people telling me they don't understand. They don't like the taste of it. Really? You think we LIKE the taste of it? We drink because we struggle to find real joy in life dealing with people like you. You and your stable job history, cheap car insurance, and kids that can't take a punch. Fuck that, I plan on committing as many sins as I can, because I want to make sure that Jesus didn't die for nothing.

      As most of you know, I've raised a lot of kids in my life. Infants, toddlers, and teenagers. Hell, I should quit my real job and start a day-care service. The most important thing that I learned along the way is that you should only beat a kid when they are little. That way they won't remember it when they grow up. Kidney-punch those little fucks before they have the ability to make memories. Get a couple years of abuse in for free, and then hug them and say "Daddy loves you." I mean, yes, they might start crying in the middle of a restaurant for no reason later in life, but that's not your problem anymore, is it?

       I want to end with a little advice for the fellas. You should not, I repeat, should NOT EVER enter a strip club unless you're drunk. Seriously, don't do it. There is shit going on in there that no sober mind should ever witness. When you're fucked up, you don't notice them coming out and cleaning the pole with Lysol and a paper towel in between dancers. You start to see the bags under their eyes, the shame IN their eyes, and their C-section scars. It's not a recipe for a good time. You start to look around and you kind of just feel sorry for them, but then you realize that they just got done cleaning their lady-parts with baby-wipes two minutes before they sat in your lap and called you baby. The $200 they made from the blowjob in the alley is now sticking out of their garter and touching your leg. The semen from the guy in the alley is now glistening on her chin from the flashing lights. You never realized that so many 30 year-old women were in med-school. You even start to wonder where the fuck these girls are getting all of these neon bikinis. Is there a Wal-Mart somewhere that only sells slutty outfits and low self-esteem?
     

Drunks, Death, and Dildos

      Gentle Reader (back by popular demand), I welcome you back for another action-packed episode. I want to start by saying that this vibrator craze is getting a little out of hand. I understand a dildo, but a vibrator creates a sensation that a real man could never duplicate, unless you're Michael J. Fox. These things are packing NASA technology these days. With pearls spinning around and some fucking thing that looks like Beaker from "The Muppets" sticking out of the side. I understand trying to rub one out, but let's not get greedy ladies. Were you the middle child and not hugged enough when you were little?

NASA Vibrator

Beaker from "The Muppets"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      I appreciate all of the sharing of the blog that has taken place recently. I've heard from a lot of people whose friends wanted to find how to keep up with it. Almost all of the feedback has been positive. All except for a friend of one reader. This reader said, "My friend read it, and said you left a bad taste in her mouth." That's odd. That normally doesn't happen until at least the second date. Speaking of second dates, I need to find a girl I'm compatible with. It needs to be someone that drinks. I don't need anyone counting my beers for me. "Really? Another one? How many have you had?"...... And what's your point? I don't know how many I've had. Apparently not enough to make me stop disliking you right now. Or enough to make you prettier than your sister.  Perhaps you should just let me go with it. And why are carrying around an abacus in your pocket?

Abacus - For those not smart enough to get the last joke

      On a final note, I am curious as to why when assholes die, we have to talk about them and treat them like angels. Just because you aren't here anymore, doesn't mean you weren't a fucking prick. Once you're gone, people will always act like they cared about you more than everyone else did and only speak of the good things you did. So on the bright side, at least I have that going for me, which is nice. My eulogy is probably going to be pretty short, but at least I will go out on a high note. Until next time, GENTLE Reader.

Things That Go Bump In The Night

      Tender Reader, the craziest shit just happened to me. I was sitting in my front yard trying to watch the meteor shower, when I hear movement in the grass. I jump up, my motion detector light comes on, and there is a possum standing six inches from my foot. I shout, "What the FUCK?" The possum gets so scared he takes off running so fast that he runs straight into the side of my house, apparently knocking himself out and giving himself a concussion. The combination of fear, funny, and alcohol now has me laying in the front yard laughing until tears are running down my face. This is the point at which the possum decides to regain consciousness and starts running straight at me. I instantly levitate to my feet and again shout, "What the FUCK?" as I run my ass back inside the house screaming like an 8 year old girl. I slam the door and immediately lock the deadbolt; Apparently thinking that a fucking marsupial knows how to work a doorknob, and then I fall over laughing again. Did that shit really just happen to me? Yes, it did. Freaky little bastards.

       On a side note, I will be joining the twitter nation sometime in the near future. Follow me at @CaptMilesLong.