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?
     

Long Live The Captain

      Tender Reader, we need to have a talk. A REAL talk. I have gotten a lot of things out of this blog; clarity, self-worth, understanding, and apparently a fucking bad reputation. The latter of which I never anticipated. I thought people would see past the jokes, see past the funny stories, and see the real me......I was wrong. All I seem to do is bring more trouble my way and make people think that I am a bad person. Well, I will not let this minor setback get in the way of our journey. Fuck you if you don't like me. I probably don't like you very much either. I tend to work that way. People I don't like don't ever seem to like me very much. Apparently, I make my disdain for them fairly obvious. 


      So, I have been trying to get back down to pimpin' weight since my break-up last November. I have lost 35 pounds so far.  226 < 261. You ladies should really try the "Miles Long's Drink More Eat Less Diet." It really trims the waistline. The way it works is I try to get drunk enough that I can't feel hunger anymore. It's amazing. The side effects aren't even that bad. I'm only suffering from nose bleeds, irritable bowel syndrome, ear-aches, numbness in my lower body, diabetes, sleeping with ugly girls, and scurvy. I have a thing about sleeping with ugly girls. No, no, no, I'm not against it, but there are rules. Well, one rule actually. It must be doggy-style at all times. That way, when I close my eyes and turn my head, you probably won't even notice. I do this for THEM. I don't want to hurt their feelings, because I'm a giver.


      Don't worry about me though, Tender Reader. I am going to be around for quite some time. My family has a history of long life expectancy. I know I'm not going anywhere any time soon. I'm still sitting at a Snoopy folding table at Thanksgiving.....thirty years old and I can't even make it to the grown-ups table, cause none of these fucks wanna die. So the moral of our story today is that Arby's roast beef sandwiches look like vaginas turned sideways. At least the ones with all that extra meat hanging off the side. I'm talking about the vaginas, not the sandwiches. No such thing as extra meat on an Arby's sandwich. Those fuckers are delicious. Until next time, Tender Reader.