69 dudes

Last post was number 69 on the google... hehe...

"The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good."

-Samuel Johnson

Interesting sentiment that I've been thinking about a lot lately.

Convo

Cute but Drunk Girl (CBDG): Hey!

Me: Hey, what's up?

CBDG: (drunk laughter and stumbling) I really need to talk to you...

Me: Oh yeah?

CBDG: So it's my birthday!

Me: Happy birthday!!!

CBDG: And I need to tell you something...

Me: mmmk...

CBDG: Yeah, my hot friend thinks you're really cute...

Me: Awesome! Who's your friend?

CBDG: That guy right there...

Me: Wah-wah-wah-waheeaheeaheeahhhh!!!!

Then I was told my glasses were "a little gay" and my hair "wasn't
helping" Awesome. Yeah. Not that it's not flattering and all,
but like, Yyyyyyeeeeaaaaahhhhhh...

Two Things I Don't Understand

And it involves the gay community. Go figure, right? Ok, here goes...

What's with twinky gay boys taking on effeminate traits? Like if a
guy is attracted to other guys, wouldn't taking on a trait that is
feminine turn him off? What's the deal there?

And by the same token, what's with those lesbian girls who dress like
dudes? Short hair, boy's pants, etc... I don't understand. Can
someone explain these things to me, because I'm stupid...

Thanks.

RIP George Carlin

One of the brightest and funniest men alive is no longer, well, alive. Here's a small clip of one of my favorite routines. Here's hoping someone honest comes along to try and fill the void left by him...

Update

As promised... a few more that I had forgotten:

Carol, GILF, Mortal Enemy, Pocohantas, Proletariat, Snoopy, Stalky


All in all, not a bad little list, considering that almost everyone in the place got a nickname.

In other news, I want an InNOut Burger.

Start Mentally Preparing Yourself to Lick the Shit-Truck

Ok, so I know you've missed me. I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me... I just feel like we've grown apart. You're great and everything, I just need some space. It's just that I've grown up and you've stayed the same. The more I live life the more I realize I need to live MY life. I guess what I'm trying to say is, will you move in with me?

For those of you who missed it, The Brass went to Canada for a few weeks of debauchery. Highlights: After a 12 hour drive, and a lot of Wild-Turkey, I puked all over the side of a hill, and rolled down it (not necessarily in that order). Then I woke up at 6 am, and climbed into John's sleeping bag, prompting him to wonder how someone who went to bed 3 hours before, practically DEAD, could be up fucking with him at such an ungodly hour. Good times.

We were convinced that everyone was afraid of us kwazey New Yorkers...

Then Matt arrived. Always a bad idea. The first night, he decided to freak out the squares. Yadda, yadda, yadda, dislocated my finger in the ensuing ruckus, yadda, yadda, yadda threw a boulder at him jokingly, but the McGill contingent was like, "Those guys are fucking nuts..."

Some night that first week, Mafoo met a bottle of Vodka that he couldn't resist. Their relationship ended badly, when he drunkenly lost his blackberry, and was screaming at me at 3 AM trying to get the keys to my car to look for it. When I was like, "no" he then proceeded to try a little "ethnic cleansing" within the quintet. After a pretty good shove, which left a bruise on my chest, I feel over backwards and landed awkwardly on my head. Big bump, thought I broke a toe in there somewhere also... but all appears to be fine. Wait, who are you? He felt bad enough to say that I can use his room as a toilet when I move in this week. At least that's what I got from the conversation.

Also, there was a shit-truck. Imagine a septic tank pumping truck, but instead of like, housing all the feces in the tank, it also was covered in shit, and also smelled like the most potent shit stank you've ever smelled, so that even if you are driving near it, with the windows up and the air circulation restricted to recycling the flow of air from within the car, it still smells bad enough to make you wanna puke. Now imagine Matt offers to lick the shit truck to make amends for my semi-broken toe. And the welty-bruise that used to be my skull.

As always seems to happen when me, the Matts, JEE and Selly get together, everyone starts getting nicknames. Below is the compendium of Domaine Forget nicknames, alphabetized for your convenience:

Albino Horn Chick, Algonquin, Annoying Horn Chick, Avril Lavign, Big Red, Big Tit Tuba Chick, Box Office Chicks, Brad's Girl, Bruised Ego, Damien, Eight-Year-Old Boy, Foosball King, Gardner 2.0, Gurf's Nemesis, Granny, Hebrew Hunter, Inuana, Jester 2.0, Le Sklunt, Lesbian Horn Chick, Lesbian Trumpet Chick, Little Trumpet Dude, Natural Trumpet Dude, Plain Jane, Power Bottom, Shelf, Sinead, Slagathor, Sri Lanka, The Sideler, Twinky Trumpet Dude, Wenis

Not to be outdone, through some covert recon, Gurftastic learned that that the Frenchie chicks had nicknames for some of the BBQ. The only ones I was able to learn before the storm troopers arrived were, "Sexy Matt", and "Just Matt". Sorry, JUST Mafoo... Wah-Wah...

There's a lot more to tell, like how fucking stereotypical the town was, and how uppitty all the Frenchies were about everything, and how the was practically an all-out Frenchie chick throw-down... but ummm perhaps I'll leave that for another time... Also, I'm pretty sure there's more nicknames I'm leaving out, so I'll have to get back to with updates as needed...