http://www.buzzfeed.com/ashleyford/my-boyfriend-came-out-to-me-after-we-dated-for-six-years#ptojkc
October 10, 2014
Coincidence? Told You, THIS IS REAL LIFE
Remember that post about the guy I was hooking up with who had a girlfriend of 6 years? I think she finally came to her senses... Coinghcidence? Beware, you very well could be dating a closeted homo! Thanks for sharing, Hannah!
http://www.buzzfeed.com/ashleyford/my-boyfriend-came-out-to-me-after-we-dated-for-six-years#ptojkc
http://www.buzzfeed.com/ashleyford/my-boyfriend-came-out-to-me-after-we-dated-for-six-years#ptojkc
October 6, 2014
The "Happy" Couple Posts
Nothing gets me going quite like stumbling upon an array of exaggerated and overdone couples photo collages. One reason I can't stand to get on Facebook anymore is the plethora of babies and engagement announcements that crowd my newsfeed. Who's to blame? Well, it's the "happy couple" that insists on beautifying their otherwise dull and monotonous lives by sharing to each and every unsuspecting individual within their social network. It's an immediate "unfollow" for me.
I'm all for people finding love and embracing it for all the world to know... to a goddamn extent. "Happy" couples who post every last motherfucking detail of their mundane lives annoy the shit out of me. I log into Facebook once a day to see if I'm missing anyones birthday that I remotely care about and end up witnessing ludicrous couples proclaiming their love for one another via Facebook posts. "Happy anniversary, babe!" or "Happy birthday, sweetie!" are my favorites. Unless you're significant other is shipped off to Iraq, fighting whatever pointless war the United States has gotten itself into this time, there is no fucking point for you to post this nonsense on their wall for ALLLLL your fake little friends to see. If you wake up next to that person each and every goddamn day, simply utter the words, "happy anniversary" or "happy birthday" to them before you take your morning shit and shower for work, then, give them the overly sentimental card you picked out from Kroger the night before and call it a damn day.
Do not, for any reason, log onto your Facebook and post to their wall affirming each and every goddamn reason you love them for all Facebook to see. Additionally, this act of overcompensating almost always leads to a comment from an annoying older person who doesn't quite understand the purpose of Facebook and concocts a grammatically incorrect, misspelled post: "Yall are to cute! OMG love aunt Kathy"... Literally, leave it to these fucks to post nonsense like that.
Since I've given my blatant stance on these dimwitted posts, what do I deem worthy of public acknowledgment? Here is a list of acceptable posts made true by either individual of the "happy" couple:
1) You're engaged. How fucking great. Congrats. I find a simple Instagram post and Facebook status highlighting the ring to be entirely sufficient. Don't overdo this one. There are many, many single people out there that do not need reaffirmation of their shortcomings. On the other side, there are many, many married couples laughing at their screens wishing they could warn you now.
Note: Nobody gives a shit about an engagement photo album. You may very well have them done, but keep them to yourselves, use them for the newspaper announcement, pass them along to family members, or make "save the dates" out of them. That is it.
2) Your engagement lasted long enough to see your wedding day. Weddings are special events. Hopefully an event you only have once in your life. Utilize Facebook to add an album of your best photos and post a picture of yourselves on Instagram for all to envy in your love. Ultimately, your allowing many individuals, close and far, to make critical assessments of the monstrosity known as your wedding dress or how incredibly uncomfortable the husband looks in pictures.
Note: Nobody gives a shit about seeing you get your hair done, the cute little baskets you made for your bridesmaids, or what the groom and groomsmen were drinking before and after the ceremony. If you love the pictures so much, print them out and add them to your scrapbooks. Whoever you force into viewing your compilation will have the displeasure of flipping through as fast as they can to get back to whatever the fuck they were doing before.
3) You decided to reproduce. Holy hell. This is my biggest pet peeve about "happy" couples. For whatever reason, a child affirms a couples' love in soOoOo many ways. NO, it does not. It says 1) you planned horribly by having a child so early into your marriage that you'll never know what it's like being just the two of you, very well leading to divorce once your kids are grown. 2) If you're not engaged or married already, it was a fucking mistake and you're using the child as a means of maintaining an otherwise unhappy relationship, or 3) You're just super-fucking-pumped for having finally conceived after many years of trying. Number 3 is the only reason I'd like to see sonogram pictures or newborn alien-like babies. But, sadly, it's very rare in this day of age.
Fun fact: A woman is at much higher risk of miscarriage during her first trimester. WAIT A GOD DAMN MINUTE before you post any pictures of that peanut-sized fetus, unless you want your next Facebook post to be a status explaining why there is no longer a bun in your over. Get the point? You're letting too many people into your boring lives by posting all this nonsensical shit across all your social media accounts.
Note: Nobody needs a play-by-play of your pregnancy, there are forums and doctors for that kind of rubbish. Additionally, twenty years down the road, your kid may actually get really fucking pissed for having absurd photos of their childhood blasted across your profiles. It's there FOREVER, people.
Examples: A pea-sized fetus and clichéd engagement photo.
More to come on this persistent phenomenon soon.
-dylsny
I'm all for people finding love and embracing it for all the world to know... to a goddamn extent. "Happy" couples who post every last motherfucking detail of their mundane lives annoy the shit out of me. I log into Facebook once a day to see if I'm missing anyones birthday that I remotely care about and end up witnessing ludicrous couples proclaiming their love for one another via Facebook posts. "Happy anniversary, babe!" or "Happy birthday, sweetie!" are my favorites. Unless you're significant other is shipped off to Iraq, fighting whatever pointless war the United States has gotten itself into this time, there is no fucking point for you to post this nonsense on their wall for ALLLLL your fake little friends to see. If you wake up next to that person each and every goddamn day, simply utter the words, "happy anniversary" or "happy birthday" to them before you take your morning shit and shower for work, then, give them the overly sentimental card you picked out from Kroger the night before and call it a damn day.
Do not, for any reason, log onto your Facebook and post to their wall affirming each and every goddamn reason you love them for all Facebook to see. Additionally, this act of overcompensating almost always leads to a comment from an annoying older person who doesn't quite understand the purpose of Facebook and concocts a grammatically incorrect, misspelled post: "Yall are to cute! OMG love aunt Kathy"... Literally, leave it to these fucks to post nonsense like that.
Since I've given my blatant stance on these dimwitted posts, what do I deem worthy of public acknowledgment? Here is a list of acceptable posts made true by either individual of the "happy" couple:
1) You're engaged. How fucking great. Congrats. I find a simple Instagram post and Facebook status highlighting the ring to be entirely sufficient. Don't overdo this one. There are many, many single people out there that do not need reaffirmation of their shortcomings. On the other side, there are many, many married couples laughing at their screens wishing they could warn you now.
Note: Nobody gives a shit about an engagement photo album. You may very well have them done, but keep them to yourselves, use them for the newspaper announcement, pass them along to family members, or make "save the dates" out of them. That is it.
2) Your engagement lasted long enough to see your wedding day. Weddings are special events. Hopefully an event you only have once in your life. Utilize Facebook to add an album of your best photos and post a picture of yourselves on Instagram for all to envy in your love. Ultimately, your allowing many individuals, close and far, to make critical assessments of the monstrosity known as your wedding dress or how incredibly uncomfortable the husband looks in pictures.
Note: Nobody gives a shit about seeing you get your hair done, the cute little baskets you made for your bridesmaids, or what the groom and groomsmen were drinking before and after the ceremony. If you love the pictures so much, print them out and add them to your scrapbooks. Whoever you force into viewing your compilation will have the displeasure of flipping through as fast as they can to get back to whatever the fuck they were doing before.
3) You decided to reproduce. Holy hell. This is my biggest pet peeve about "happy" couples. For whatever reason, a child affirms a couples' love in soOoOo many ways. NO, it does not. It says 1) you planned horribly by having a child so early into your marriage that you'll never know what it's like being just the two of you, very well leading to divorce once your kids are grown. 2) If you're not engaged or married already, it was a fucking mistake and you're using the child as a means of maintaining an otherwise unhappy relationship, or 3) You're just super-fucking-pumped for having finally conceived after many years of trying. Number 3 is the only reason I'd like to see sonogram pictures or newborn alien-like babies. But, sadly, it's very rare in this day of age.
Fun fact: A woman is at much higher risk of miscarriage during her first trimester. WAIT A GOD DAMN MINUTE before you post any pictures of that peanut-sized fetus, unless you want your next Facebook post to be a status explaining why there is no longer a bun in your over. Get the point? You're letting too many people into your boring lives by posting all this nonsensical shit across all your social media accounts.
Note: Nobody needs a play-by-play of your pregnancy, there are forums and doctors for that kind of rubbish. Additionally, twenty years down the road, your kid may actually get really fucking pissed for having absurd photos of their childhood blasted across your profiles. It's there FOREVER, people.
Examples: A pea-sized fetus and clichéd engagement photo.
More to come on this persistent phenomenon soon.
-dylsny
October 3, 2014
Chronic Nice Guy
In addition to sharing unsolicited help targeted towards women, I'm offering pointers to my male readers as well.
First up: Relieving Chronic Nice Guy Syndrome
Have a friend who is simply too nice to girls? Is he average in appearance and particularly awkward around women? Does he constantly sulk in self pity? Well, if so, we have a serious case of Chronic Nice Guy Syndrome to address. Typically, a man suffering from CNGS rarely dates and often times lags behind his friends when picking up girls. He tries, unsuccessfully, to bring these unknowing broads back to his home, which most times is far nicer than his confidants, but fails miserably and becomes the laughingstock of his buddies. A man suffering from CNGS tries hard to maintain a certain physique to compete with his friends, but is mostly left unsatisfied with lagging results, usually triggered by mild depression and a mundane desk job.
What you don't realize is that these men are prime husband material. They literally give into whatever their woman desires. Chronic Nice Guys rarely feed the fire during fights. With that said, the women who end up dating "nice guys" wear the pants in the relationship and control many aspects of their rather normal lifestyle. Literally, the only type of woman who's drawn to these men are those on a severe and sometimes unexplainable power trip to control EVERY ASPECT of that poor sap's life.
How can a man suffering from this pathetic illness relieve himself of such? No matter how kind and caring his mother taught him to treat a woman, forget everything. Girls, for whatever reason, love a chase. They desire someone with attitude and an "IDGAF" mentality. Inevitably, it destroys a woman's confidence and self-respect, but just like these trifling hoes, a man with CNGS has a lesson to learn. Finding a respectable balance between both opposite ends of the male dating spectrum is key. Adopt the "IDGAF" mentality when deciding between certain critical decisions, like where to eat and what movie to see. It shouldn't always be the girlfriend's choice. Don't come on too strong at bars: give a girl her space, buy her a drink, partake in small talk, then go find another broad to mirror the gesture. It will make Girl #1 jealous in no time.
Remember, when correcting CNGS, one must find harmony between his natural demeanor and that of the douchebag who picked on him in high school. When left untreated, CNGS may cause extra-marital affairs... their wives will literally find any guy remotely interesting to fuck, because their husbands are simply too boring to bear. On the flip side, men with an "IDGAF" mentality will break-up a similar marriage by cheating on his wife multiple times because he never truly cared for anyone but himself.
See... Balance.
Rarely, Chronic Nice Guy Syndrome may also lead to a long life of lonely misery. Men who are often unwilling to change find themselves in their mid-forties with an average job dodging gay rumors. Who the fuck wants that?
In closing, to all you nice guys longing for a meaningful relationship with the opposite sex: man up. Change your technique, adopt an "IDGAF" mentality during necessary times, start playing the field, and avoid women already in a relationship. I don't know what it is about "nice guys," but they're always targeting women who clearly have a boyfriend or a specified fuck buddy. Good luck, guys!
-dylsny
First up: Relieving Chronic Nice Guy Syndrome
Have a friend who is simply too nice to girls? Is he average in appearance and particularly awkward around women? Does he constantly sulk in self pity? Well, if so, we have a serious case of Chronic Nice Guy Syndrome to address. Typically, a man suffering from CNGS rarely dates and often times lags behind his friends when picking up girls. He tries, unsuccessfully, to bring these unknowing broads back to his home, which most times is far nicer than his confidants, but fails miserably and becomes the laughingstock of his buddies. A man suffering from CNGS tries hard to maintain a certain physique to compete with his friends, but is mostly left unsatisfied with lagging results, usually triggered by mild depression and a mundane desk job.
What you don't realize is that these men are prime husband material. They literally give into whatever their woman desires. Chronic Nice Guys rarely feed the fire during fights. With that said, the women who end up dating "nice guys" wear the pants in the relationship and control many aspects of their rather normal lifestyle. Literally, the only type of woman who's drawn to these men are those on a severe and sometimes unexplainable power trip to control EVERY ASPECT of that poor sap's life.
How can a man suffering from this pathetic illness relieve himself of such? No matter how kind and caring his mother taught him to treat a woman, forget everything. Girls, for whatever reason, love a chase. They desire someone with attitude and an "IDGAF" mentality. Inevitably, it destroys a woman's confidence and self-respect, but just like these trifling hoes, a man with CNGS has a lesson to learn. Finding a respectable balance between both opposite ends of the male dating spectrum is key. Adopt the "IDGAF" mentality when deciding between certain critical decisions, like where to eat and what movie to see. It shouldn't always be the girlfriend's choice. Don't come on too strong at bars: give a girl her space, buy her a drink, partake in small talk, then go find another broad to mirror the gesture. It will make Girl #1 jealous in no time.
Remember, when correcting CNGS, one must find harmony between his natural demeanor and that of the douchebag who picked on him in high school. When left untreated, CNGS may cause extra-marital affairs... their wives will literally find any guy remotely interesting to fuck, because their husbands are simply too boring to bear. On the flip side, men with an "IDGAF" mentality will break-up a similar marriage by cheating on his wife multiple times because he never truly cared for anyone but himself.
See... Balance.
Rarely, Chronic Nice Guy Syndrome may also lead to a long life of lonely misery. Men who are often unwilling to change find themselves in their mid-forties with an average job dodging gay rumors. Who the fuck wants that?
In closing, to all you nice guys longing for a meaningful relationship with the opposite sex: man up. Change your technique, adopt an "IDGAF" mentality during necessary times, start playing the field, and avoid women already in a relationship. I don't know what it is about "nice guys," but they're always targeting women who clearly have a boyfriend or a specified fuck buddy. Good luck, guys!
-dylsny
October 2, 2014
How to Catch a Homo
In reference to my last blog, how may one determine whether her boyfriend fancies D instead of V?
*Overcompensation (of his masculinity) is a dead giveaway, as well.
If, for whatever reason, you suspect your boyfriend of being interested in other men, here are some ways to snoop:
These all sound like paranoid ways to "catch a homo," but there's no reason any woman should feel like her boyfriend isn't attracted to her, you know, because there's a V where he'd prefer a D.
To prove I'm not making this shit up and these "down-low" and "curious" guys exist, here are some Grindr profiles I encountered in my last semester of WVU. Just one semester. These are the only ones I kept record of... In Morgantown, this was common:
Exhibit 1: This guy clearly lists he has a girlfriend he's not out to as, I'm assuming, bisexual. Looking for "NSA fun"... Cool, so your girlfriend doesn't know you like other men OR that you're using Grindr to solicit sex? Winner.
Exhibit 2: I talked to this guy from time to time. He was interested in "NSA fun" as well, and claimed to be "bi-curious", which is a "justifiable" way to say he was "straight" and closeted. I don't know if a girlfriend existed with this one... Got a lot of dick pics, though.
Exhibit 3: "Straight-curious"... come on, really? In the Grindr world, this headless torso has probably seen a lot action with other guys, as long as his secret face was cute. At what point- how many same-sex hookups- would you consider a man "straight-curious"? Personally, a one-time tryst should shed light onto whether a guy has homosexual desires. When they're soliciting sex on Grindr, or have been with several other men, they're easily a closeted, denying bisexual, if not blatant homosexual.
Exhibit 4: "If I am on, I am looking for DL fun." Umm, ok, closet-case "straight" guy. These types, with no picture at all, clearly only looking for sex, are the worst. They run rampant in the Morgantown Grindr scene.
Exhibit 5: This "straight" guy was especially hot. I would've loved to run into him on campus to see him in his natural habitat. He had a thing for gym fantasies. Literally, he wanted to suck someone off at the rec center after his workouts.
Exhibit 6: I hope you can't see this guys face, I was honestly too lazy to blur it out. Oh well, he was "definitely not" out, so you can put two-and-two together. I had never seen him on campus, so I really couldn't tell you. His secrecy, though, alluded to a "down-low", "straight" man.
So, does that make you girls wonder what some "straight" guys are doing behind closed doors? It should...
I think I'm going to start luring "straight" guys who use these apps into a trap and post their pictures online for all to see and identify. That would surely make me famous... and probably the most hated gay ever. Ohh well, it may teach otherwise "straight" men not to stray from their heterosexual lifestyles when they are clearly dating and misleading women.
-dylsny
- Does your boyfriend take more time than you to get ready? (Really, with buzz cuts and no makeup to be worn, there's NO excuse)
- Does your boyfriend have trouble getting it up and keeping it up?
- Does he seem to space out during sex? i.e. He's thinking about other things... 8===)
- Have you ever caught him checking out other men?
- Have your girlfriends and gay BFFs ever confronted you about the possibility your boyfriend enjoys the company of other raging hard-ons besides his own?
- Is his phone typically off limits? (Does he have something to hide?)
- Does he prefer to watch HGTV over ESPN?
- Does he have an unexplainably strange relationship with a known or assumed homosexual?
If, for whatever reason, you suspect your boyfriend of being interested in other men, here are some ways to snoop:
- Sure, you've never seen suspicious dating apps on his phone before, but when you delete an app from your phone, it's still downloadable from the cloud or your phone's memory. Many down-low "straight" guys get a random urge to act on their deepest desires for dick and often, repeatedly, download and delete apps like Grindr. Grab his phone, go to the app store and type in Grindr... It's the go-to hook-up app for "straight" guys seeking the D. If it has been downloaded before, you have a raging homosexual on your hands.
- Check his internet browser history. This is a no-brainer. If he uses a personal laptop that rarely has other users, he's not taking the time to delete his history... unless he's completely paranoid. So check out what kind of porn he's into. Every guy looks at it, straight or gay.
- If you've had friends tell you they think your boyfriend is gay... take it seriously. You may have the gaydar of a blind and deaf, mentally challenged first grader, but some of your friends, especially the gay ones, are usually spot-on. Set the closet-case up. If you have a gay friend at your disposal that your boyfriend has never met, have him make a move on your boyfriend. Sometimes the timing and setting isn't even an issue, all men would react differently to being hit on by another guy. Those with something to hide would most likely have the biggest problem. Reaction is key. Unless he's a major homophobe, it shouldn't be hostile. On the other hand, if he returns subtle gestures to the undercover queer, then something is inevitably off.
*Remember, most guys date women before they accept their homosexuality, if they ever do, and it's most prominent during the college years.
These all sound like paranoid ways to "catch a homo," but there's no reason any woman should feel like her boyfriend isn't attracted to her, you know, because there's a V where he'd prefer a D.
To prove I'm not making this shit up and these "down-low" and "curious" guys exist, here are some Grindr profiles I encountered in my last semester of WVU. Just one semester. These are the only ones I kept record of... In Morgantown, this was common:
1)
2)
2)
3)
4)
4)
5)
6)
6)Exhibit 1: This guy clearly lists he has a girlfriend he's not out to as, I'm assuming, bisexual. Looking for "NSA fun"... Cool, so your girlfriend doesn't know you like other men OR that you're using Grindr to solicit sex? Winner.
Exhibit 2: I talked to this guy from time to time. He was interested in "NSA fun" as well, and claimed to be "bi-curious", which is a "justifiable" way to say he was "straight" and closeted. I don't know if a girlfriend existed with this one... Got a lot of dick pics, though.
Exhibit 3: "Straight-curious"... come on, really? In the Grindr world, this headless torso has probably seen a lot action with other guys, as long as his secret face was cute. At what point- how many same-sex hookups- would you consider a man "straight-curious"? Personally, a one-time tryst should shed light onto whether a guy has homosexual desires. When they're soliciting sex on Grindr, or have been with several other men, they're easily a closeted, denying bisexual, if not blatant homosexual.
Exhibit 4: "If I am on, I am looking for DL fun." Umm, ok, closet-case "straight" guy. These types, with no picture at all, clearly only looking for sex, are the worst. They run rampant in the Morgantown Grindr scene.
Exhibit 5: This "straight" guy was especially hot. I would've loved to run into him on campus to see him in his natural habitat. He had a thing for gym fantasies. Literally, he wanted to suck someone off at the rec center after his workouts.
Exhibit 6: I hope you can't see this guys face, I was honestly too lazy to blur it out. Oh well, he was "definitely not" out, so you can put two-and-two together. I had never seen him on campus, so I really couldn't tell you. His secrecy, though, alluded to a "down-low", "straight" man.
So, does that make you girls wonder what some "straight" guys are doing behind closed doors? It should...
I think I'm going to start luring "straight" guys who use these apps into a trap and post their pictures online for all to see and identify. That would surely make me famous... and probably the most hated gay ever. Ohh well, it may teach otherwise "straight" men not to stray from their heterosexual lifestyles when they are clearly dating and misleading women.
-dylsny
September 30, 2014
Chloe Sevigny Does Pittsburgh
I came across these bizarre videos of a man in drag impersonating Chloe Sevigny awhile back, and now, she's been to Pittsburgh and tells viewers her favorite things of the city.
Girl, You're Dating a 'Mo
Female readers, I ask you, has the thought ever crossed your mind that your boyfriend could be a raging homosexual? Closeted, of course. With online dating apps like Tinder, OKCupid, Grindr, etc., taking over as the easiest way for our generation to meet a potential partner, I pose a major risk with some men today and the ease of accessing these apps.
I'm not going to lie, courting a "straight" man is something thrilling to me. I'm attracted to masculinity and confidence, something most notably characteristic of your typical "bro" from college or pretty boy down the street. What most of you don't know is how EASY it is to come across this type. If you've ever logged onto Grindr from you gay BFF's phone, you may realize how many men do not list a face picture. Granted, some guys enjoy their privacy. I'm openly gay, yet respect my right to privacy with these otherwise creepy and slutty apps available today. What is especially eery about most of these headless torsos is that they're sometimes "down-low" men who are "curious", "bisexual", or just looking for a hole to stick it in. These men are sometimes (most of the time) "straight".
What I can never fathom is a "straight" man who enjoys fucking other guys, giving head, or taking it in the ass themselves. How can they call themselves "straight" when they ironically like the taste of dick? Let me tell you a little story of how an innocent hook-up I had turned into a crazy scenario resulting in myself almost ruining a 6-year relationship.
I met a guy off one of the gay dating apps, "Scruff". (These names are hilarious, are they not?) I deemed him cute and after several days of talking, I felt he was relatively normal enough to invite over to hang out. What I didn't realize was that he wasn't interested in my company, but instead, my dick. "Luke" came over several times over a span of two months to "have a little fun" when we each had downtime. This is soooo typical for the majority of gay guys using these apps, but definitely out of character for myself. The thrill for me was that he wasn't out... and I was drowning in grad school with two jobs on the side. Some fun wasn't going to hurt. After awhile, I just wasn't into it anymore. He was inevitably very sketchy, so I stopped returning his requests to "have fun".
Months later, a fellow gay friend of mine was telling me about a guy he knows from his dorm days that pulled him into a club's bathroom to make out one night. The kicker: he was "straight" and had a girlfriend. Obviously, I asked for this closet-case's name and searched him on Facebook. It was none-other than "Luke". When I originally met "Luke", I thought it was odd I couldn't find anyone with his first and last name on Facebook, having come from an area where most of my friends were from: Bridgeport, WV. Once I had Luke's real name, I started creeping on his photos. This "down-low" guy happened to be in the same fraternity as one of my good friends from grad school, who I sat next to each day. After breaking this news to the gay friend who told me, he continued to tell me that "Luke" and his girlfriend had in fact been together for SIX years. SIX YEARS... and this motherfucker gets off by sucking dick.
Betrayed and baffled that someone would go to such great lengths to keep their true identity from me, I told my friend who was in the same frat as him. His response was the best: he wasn't surprised. His friends had always suspected "Luke" of being gay. I made sure that my friend wouldn't say anything of this revelation, because I would actually fear my life had he come after me, or worse, that others wouldn't believe me. Believe this, bitches, I keep evidence of this shit for YEARS. I mean, I had texts and pictures to prove it.
What I didn't do, which I still question to this day, is contact the poor girl who was dating this bastard. I mean, her boyfriend was cheating on her... with another man. I didn't feel it was the right place to "out" someone, fearing my own safety, nor was their relationship any of my business. Maybe there's a mutual agreement... maybe she's a lesbian? Who fucking knows. I had done the right thing months ago by ending it because of his suspicious and sketchy demeanor, anyways.
What irks me the most of this very true account is that the poor girl still doesn't know her boyfriend of SIX YEARS likes the taste of cock. Even more scary, STDs run rampant through both the straight and gay communities. Let's face it, though, a stigma is attached to gays for having higher HIV/AIDS cases. If this "straight" man happened to contract an STD of that kind and pass it along to his girlfriend, there would be no excuse for his actions. I may even turn my head if the woman wanted to castrate her cheating, closeted, and infected boyfriend.
With all that out in the open, riddle me this: 1 out of 10 men are assumed to be gay. Of that 10%, what percentage is closeted? My guess is that the closeted portion, the portion who may still sleep with and date girls to affirm their "masculinity," is MUCH LARGER than you'd think. If you have ever suspected your boyfriend of being gay, think long and hard. Go through his phone, check his internet history. If you have the slightest idea that your boyfriend really bats for the other team, major red flags should be raised. You can never be too sure... or too safe.
Tune in tomorrow for ways to detect whether you're dating a raging homosexual. I may even throw in MORE true accounts from my end.
-dylsny
I'm not going to lie, courting a "straight" man is something thrilling to me. I'm attracted to masculinity and confidence, something most notably characteristic of your typical "bro" from college or pretty boy down the street. What most of you don't know is how EASY it is to come across this type. If you've ever logged onto Grindr from you gay BFF's phone, you may realize how many men do not list a face picture. Granted, some guys enjoy their privacy. I'm openly gay, yet respect my right to privacy with these otherwise creepy and slutty apps available today. What is especially eery about most of these headless torsos is that they're sometimes "down-low" men who are "curious", "bisexual", or just looking for a hole to stick it in. These men are sometimes (most of the time) "straight".
What I can never fathom is a "straight" man who enjoys fucking other guys, giving head, or taking it in the ass themselves. How can they call themselves "straight" when they ironically like the taste of dick? Let me tell you a little story of how an innocent hook-up I had turned into a crazy scenario resulting in myself almost ruining a 6-year relationship.
I met a guy off one of the gay dating apps, "Scruff". (These names are hilarious, are they not?) I deemed him cute and after several days of talking, I felt he was relatively normal enough to invite over to hang out. What I didn't realize was that he wasn't interested in my company, but instead, my dick. "Luke" came over several times over a span of two months to "have a little fun" when we each had downtime. This is soooo typical for the majority of gay guys using these apps, but definitely out of character for myself. The thrill for me was that he wasn't out... and I was drowning in grad school with two jobs on the side. Some fun wasn't going to hurt. After awhile, I just wasn't into it anymore. He was inevitably very sketchy, so I stopped returning his requests to "have fun".
Months later, a fellow gay friend of mine was telling me about a guy he knows from his dorm days that pulled him into a club's bathroom to make out one night. The kicker: he was "straight" and had a girlfriend. Obviously, I asked for this closet-case's name and searched him on Facebook. It was none-other than "Luke". When I originally met "Luke", I thought it was odd I couldn't find anyone with his first and last name on Facebook, having come from an area where most of my friends were from: Bridgeport, WV. Once I had Luke's real name, I started creeping on his photos. This "down-low" guy happened to be in the same fraternity as one of my good friends from grad school, who I sat next to each day. After breaking this news to the gay friend who told me, he continued to tell me that "Luke" and his girlfriend had in fact been together for SIX years. SIX YEARS... and this motherfucker gets off by sucking dick.
Betrayed and baffled that someone would go to such great lengths to keep their true identity from me, I told my friend who was in the same frat as him. His response was the best: he wasn't surprised. His friends had always suspected "Luke" of being gay. I made sure that my friend wouldn't say anything of this revelation, because I would actually fear my life had he come after me, or worse, that others wouldn't believe me. Believe this, bitches, I keep evidence of this shit for YEARS. I mean, I had texts and pictures to prove it.
What I didn't do, which I still question to this day, is contact the poor girl who was dating this bastard. I mean, her boyfriend was cheating on her... with another man. I didn't feel it was the right place to "out" someone, fearing my own safety, nor was their relationship any of my business. Maybe there's a mutual agreement... maybe she's a lesbian? Who fucking knows. I had done the right thing months ago by ending it because of his suspicious and sketchy demeanor, anyways.
What irks me the most of this very true account is that the poor girl still doesn't know her boyfriend of SIX YEARS likes the taste of cock. Even more scary, STDs run rampant through both the straight and gay communities. Let's face it, though, a stigma is attached to gays for having higher HIV/AIDS cases. If this "straight" man happened to contract an STD of that kind and pass it along to his girlfriend, there would be no excuse for his actions. I may even turn my head if the woman wanted to castrate her cheating, closeted, and infected boyfriend.
With all that out in the open, riddle me this: 1 out of 10 men are assumed to be gay. Of that 10%, what percentage is closeted? My guess is that the closeted portion, the portion who may still sleep with and date girls to affirm their "masculinity," is MUCH LARGER than you'd think. If you have ever suspected your boyfriend of being gay, think long and hard. Go through his phone, check his internet history. If you have the slightest idea that your boyfriend really bats for the other team, major red flags should be raised. You can never be too sure... or too safe.
Tune in tomorrow for ways to detect whether you're dating a raging homosexual. I may even throw in MORE true accounts from my end.
-dylsny
September 24, 2014
Reality Setting In
This morning, I received a call from my mother's work phone before 530 AM Pacific time. You know it's serious when your mother intentionally wakes you up that early using her work line. I automatically thought the worst. With my crying mother on the other end, I immediately thought something had happened to Juju or my Grandfather. Anyone who knows me realizes that type of phone call may ruin me. They're two of the most important people in my life. It was a rude awakening realizing just how far away I am now, in case something like that had actually happened. I still can't fathom what I'd do, but it would haunt me forever knowing that I didn't have a chance to say goodbye or cherish the exact final phone call I might've had with either one.
I wish I could pick my family up and move them to California with me. Juju and I could go see Ellen together. That would be fabulous. I mean, let's be real, she may even get me a reality TV show. She'd obviously be the star, but I'd take it. Hoping I never get that call as long as I'm living on the West coast.
With all that said, please keep my family in your thoughts, and if you're religious like they are, in your prayers, for we have lost someone this morning.
I wish I could pick my family up and move them to California with me. Juju and I could go see Ellen together. That would be fabulous. I mean, let's be real, she may even get me a reality TV show. She'd obviously be the star, but I'd take it. Hoping I never get that call as long as I'm living on the West coast.
With all that said, please keep my family in your thoughts, and if you're religious like they are, in your prayers, for we have lost someone this morning.
September 23, 2014
Jourdan and I take on GoPro
More from in-and-out of the car during our trip! Please excuse the music edit on this one, still trying to get the hang of editing these things! Enjoy!
The Journey: Part II
Remember when I said I would never drive under the influence of marijuana again? Well, that lasted for about 12 hours. When we left Colorado Springs with the remaining edibles we had purchased, I had the bright idea, probably because I was hungry, to consume more before we crossed into New Mexico. What I didn't anticipate were massive storms throughout the state. What was most eery about these storms was "the great divide". To the left of the highway, the sky was clear as day, but to the right, you could see rain clouds hammering down and producing the scariest lightning I've ever witnessed. You think a conventional thunderstorm on the east coast is scary? Wait until you can see miles ahead of you in all directions and view different storm surges forming all around you. If I never witness another New Mexico storm, I'll be just fine.
A friend told me of the Petrified Forest National Park in Northeast Arizona, so we decided to stop, still high off edibles to see the colorful land formations and petrified wood in the center of the Arizona desert. What we didn't realize was the park was near closing, storms were forming in the area, and your car was checked upon exit. I rarely ever dabble with weed, and being especially high from the edibles freaked me the fuck out when we went to leave the park. I imagined the worst: There would be some sort of brief sweep through your car to make sure you didn't snatch any of their petrified wood. I had even convinced myself there were going to be dogs. I was about to get arrested in Arizona for having fucking weed cookies from a legal dispensary in CO.
We proceeded to the exit, glassy-eyed and tripping balls only to be 'waved' through by the teenage park attendant. All that freaking out for nothing. I could've stolen so much fucking wood and that little twat would've never known. Onto the Grand Canyon, where I figured it would be simple to park inside the park and camp in our car. Wrong, yet again. After realizing the town was miles from the crater itself and the park closed at a specific time, we sought help from an RV park that pointed us towards a desolate area a 1/2 mile from the main road. We noticed others doing the same, so we parked our car near fellow humans and tried to get comfortable in the front seats of my Jetta, which could not be reclined because of the inconceivable amount of shit I packed in the back. I figured I'd try and finish the edibles before crossing into another state before bed, so I doubled up on some cookies and fell asleep.
My co-pilot, Jourdan, had cracked her window for ventilation. I wasn't about to do the same with mine, because anyone could be in the woods surrounding us: axe murderers, serial rapists, rabid bears, etc. I tilted open the sunroof and fell fast asleep, very uncomfortably. I woke at 5:15 to get sunrise photos over the south rim and Jourdan informed me she heard noises all night and hadn't slept much... and that shortly after I fell asleep, she nudged me to roll up her window because she didn't feel safe, to which I replied, "you're fine". Whoops, sorry betch. Maybe you should've thought harder about having an open hole in your window, large enough to fit an arm, paw, or claw, in the middle of bumfucked Arizona forests.
We entered the park, I got my pictures, and we were off to Los Angeles- the home stretch! It didn't stop me yet again to eat more weed cookies, not knowing there was border patrol at the California line. Thank god I can't buy weed legally in this state without a med card, or I'd be tripping balls on the 101 every damn day.
*Sunrise, South Rim, Grand Canyon National Park
-dylsny
A friend told me of the Petrified Forest National Park in Northeast Arizona, so we decided to stop, still high off edibles to see the colorful land formations and petrified wood in the center of the Arizona desert. What we didn't realize was the park was near closing, storms were forming in the area, and your car was checked upon exit. I rarely ever dabble with weed, and being especially high from the edibles freaked me the fuck out when we went to leave the park. I imagined the worst: There would be some sort of brief sweep through your car to make sure you didn't snatch any of their petrified wood. I had even convinced myself there were going to be dogs. I was about to get arrested in Arizona for having fucking weed cookies from a legal dispensary in CO.
We proceeded to the exit, glassy-eyed and tripping balls only to be 'waved' through by the teenage park attendant. All that freaking out for nothing. I could've stolen so much fucking wood and that little twat would've never known. Onto the Grand Canyon, where I figured it would be simple to park inside the park and camp in our car. Wrong, yet again. After realizing the town was miles from the crater itself and the park closed at a specific time, we sought help from an RV park that pointed us towards a desolate area a 1/2 mile from the main road. We noticed others doing the same, so we parked our car near fellow humans and tried to get comfortable in the front seats of my Jetta, which could not be reclined because of the inconceivable amount of shit I packed in the back. I figured I'd try and finish the edibles before crossing into another state before bed, so I doubled up on some cookies and fell asleep.
My co-pilot, Jourdan, had cracked her window for ventilation. I wasn't about to do the same with mine, because anyone could be in the woods surrounding us: axe murderers, serial rapists, rabid bears, etc. I tilted open the sunroof and fell fast asleep, very uncomfortably. I woke at 5:15 to get sunrise photos over the south rim and Jourdan informed me she heard noises all night and hadn't slept much... and that shortly after I fell asleep, she nudged me to roll up her window because she didn't feel safe, to which I replied, "you're fine". Whoops, sorry betch. Maybe you should've thought harder about having an open hole in your window, large enough to fit an arm, paw, or claw, in the middle of bumfucked Arizona forests.
We entered the park, I got my pictures, and we were off to Los Angeles- the home stretch! It didn't stop me yet again to eat more weed cookies, not knowing there was border patrol at the California line. Thank god I can't buy weed legally in this state without a med card, or I'd be tripping balls on the 101 every damn day.
*Sunrise, South Rim, Grand Canyon National Park
-dylsny
My Journey in Video
A little video I compiled with my co-pilot across the nation. I love my GoPro and the free editing software, it's so easy to use, I highly recommend it!
September 22, 2014
The Journey: Part I
Have you ever been to Hell on Earth? I have, and many know it better as Kansas. On August 12th, I packed up my little Jetta and embarked on a cross-country trip to California with my friend Jourdan. Thank god I had a co-pilot, because I may have easily left my sanity in the flat, never-ending, tortuous hell known as Kansas, had she not been there.
After stopping in Muncie, Indiana to visit my friend Alex and tour the campus of Ball State, where she studies graduate communications, Jourdan and I got back in my car and drove 16 straight hours from Indiana to Colorado Springs, CO. Ever wonder what is in those vast, open midwest states? Well, absolutely nothing. Nothing. At. All. Thankfully, the legalization of marijuana in Colorado, paired with the state's natural beauty made for a very eventful trip.
Upon getting off I-70 for the first time in fifteen hours, of which I drove the entire way, without stopping, I was blasted by a state trooper for traveling 78 in a 65 MPH zone. Jourdan and I still maintain there were no speed markers in that area. Blasphemy. We were staying with my cousin and his fiancé, but when we rolled up to an empty home, waiting on Zach to get there, we had convinced ourselves there was a home intruder, one that was even receiving text messages. We weren't keen on getting slaughtered in a suburban Colorado Springs home, moments after receiving a hefty speeding violation and quickly losing it to sleep deprivation, so we didn't make it further than the laundry room. When my cousin arrived, we realized it was his iPad making the text noises: joke was on us.
The next day, we explored Colorado Springs, Garden of the Gods, Red Rock Amphitheater, and downtown Denver. All beautiful places. After strolling around the mile-high city and having a few brewskis, Jourdan and I decided to purchase marijuana. I mean, it was legal, so what the fuck ever. After entering the establishment and getting cash out from a provided ATM machine, we loitered around the dispensary along with their noticeably high clientele. It was time to get on their level. We each purchased edibles and made our way out from the "happy zone".
Knowing that my cousin's fiancé was having a baby in the coming months, I thought of buying their daughter an outfit for letting us stay at their home. We pulled into a Denver shopping mall, where I convinced Jourdan to eat some edibles with me before going in. The woman at the dispensary recommended a certain amount, which I thought was small, so I suggested taking 50% more than the recommended amount, citing "they probably have a legal obligation to recommend the same amount to everyone". Bad call, Dylsny, for Jourdan and I rarely smoke. Within 30 minutes, inside Urban Outfitters, Jourdan was losing her shit and it was frying me out.
She got some water and calmed down for maybe... 5 minutes. We finally found the Baby Gap when it started hitting me. I have never shopped for baby clothes, ever. I have never shopped for normal size clothing high, ever. This was turning into a nightmare. After settling on what I thought was a cute, mis-matched pink outfit for their baby, we proceeded to check out. The gay cashier made a comment about Jourdan being the expecting mother. I don't think either of us opened our mouths to communicate. At that point, I don't know if I could muster coherent words. We booked it out of Baby Gap to find the car. After stopping at Starbucks for a coffee, and another water for Jourdan, who looked like she could yakk at any moment, we continued to what I thought was the correct parking garage entrance.
We walked up the stairs to the level I believed we were on, but to no avail, could not locate my car. We rode the elevator back down, contemplated walking to the next entrance, but rode the elevator back up to a new floor. We played this game of walking the stairs and riding the elevator for a mere 40 minutes before I started to lose my shit. Not once did it cross my mind to set off the panic alarm on my key ring. Finally, after riding the elevator back up to the top level, where we had found ourselves the FIRST time around, I found the damn car. I was high as fuck, but originally correct at the first attempt of locating our car... had we just walked one more aisle of cars left, we would've seen my gray Jetta in plain sight.
We got in, thanked baby Jesus we were safe and drove home in the rain. We grabbed a few pizzas for everyone back home for dinner and stayed put, leaving the next morning. I told Jourdan after finding the car in the damn parking garage after nearly an hour of looking that I'd never get high and drive again. Yeah fucking right. Part II to come soon!
-dylsny
After stopping in Muncie, Indiana to visit my friend Alex and tour the campus of Ball State, where she studies graduate communications, Jourdan and I got back in my car and drove 16 straight hours from Indiana to Colorado Springs, CO. Ever wonder what is in those vast, open midwest states? Well, absolutely nothing. Nothing. At. All. Thankfully, the legalization of marijuana in Colorado, paired with the state's natural beauty made for a very eventful trip.
Upon getting off I-70 for the first time in fifteen hours, of which I drove the entire way, without stopping, I was blasted by a state trooper for traveling 78 in a 65 MPH zone. Jourdan and I still maintain there were no speed markers in that area. Blasphemy. We were staying with my cousin and his fiancé, but when we rolled up to an empty home, waiting on Zach to get there, we had convinced ourselves there was a home intruder, one that was even receiving text messages. We weren't keen on getting slaughtered in a suburban Colorado Springs home, moments after receiving a hefty speeding violation and quickly losing it to sleep deprivation, so we didn't make it further than the laundry room. When my cousin arrived, we realized it was his iPad making the text noises: joke was on us.
The next day, we explored Colorado Springs, Garden of the Gods, Red Rock Amphitheater, and downtown Denver. All beautiful places. After strolling around the mile-high city and having a few brewskis, Jourdan and I decided to purchase marijuana. I mean, it was legal, so what the fuck ever. After entering the establishment and getting cash out from a provided ATM machine, we loitered around the dispensary along with their noticeably high clientele. It was time to get on their level. We each purchased edibles and made our way out from the "happy zone".
Knowing that my cousin's fiancé was having a baby in the coming months, I thought of buying their daughter an outfit for letting us stay at their home. We pulled into a Denver shopping mall, where I convinced Jourdan to eat some edibles with me before going in. The woman at the dispensary recommended a certain amount, which I thought was small, so I suggested taking 50% more than the recommended amount, citing "they probably have a legal obligation to recommend the same amount to everyone". Bad call, Dylsny, for Jourdan and I rarely smoke. Within 30 minutes, inside Urban Outfitters, Jourdan was losing her shit and it was frying me out.
She got some water and calmed down for maybe... 5 minutes. We finally found the Baby Gap when it started hitting me. I have never shopped for baby clothes, ever. I have never shopped for normal size clothing high, ever. This was turning into a nightmare. After settling on what I thought was a cute, mis-matched pink outfit for their baby, we proceeded to check out. The gay cashier made a comment about Jourdan being the expecting mother. I don't think either of us opened our mouths to communicate. At that point, I don't know if I could muster coherent words. We booked it out of Baby Gap to find the car. After stopping at Starbucks for a coffee, and another water for Jourdan, who looked like she could yakk at any moment, we continued to what I thought was the correct parking garage entrance.
We walked up the stairs to the level I believed we were on, but to no avail, could not locate my car. We rode the elevator back down, contemplated walking to the next entrance, but rode the elevator back up to a new floor. We played this game of walking the stairs and riding the elevator for a mere 40 minutes before I started to lose my shit. Not once did it cross my mind to set off the panic alarm on my key ring. Finally, after riding the elevator back up to the top level, where we had found ourselves the FIRST time around, I found the damn car. I was high as fuck, but originally correct at the first attempt of locating our car... had we just walked one more aisle of cars left, we would've seen my gray Jetta in plain sight.
We got in, thanked baby Jesus we were safe and drove home in the rain. We grabbed a few pizzas for everyone back home for dinner and stayed put, leaving the next morning. I told Jourdan after finding the car in the damn parking garage after nearly an hour of looking that I'd never get high and drive again. Yeah fucking right. Part II to come soon!
-dylsny
September 19, 2014
I'm back, bitches.
After a long hiatus from my treasured blog, I've finally settled in California and plan on regularly posting for my viewers' pleasure. What's new and not-so-new?... I will continue to reminisce about hysterical, college-era stories, most likely involving a friend or two back home. They're some of the most entertaining stories I hold onto and surely put a smile on many faces... or they make readers feel relieved they never had the misfortune of meeting us in our drunken stupors. In addition, I will be offering advice to both men and women, sparking discussion with controversial topics, and highlighting what I thought would be the best and biggest change of my life: moving to California.
So, East-coasters, look for new posts on your lunch break and West-coasters, tune in during your daily commute. I promise there will be something worth reading on this rather useless, unintelligent, drunk-induced blog!
Enjoy your weekend, too, bitches! I may get crazy and actually leave my humble studio apartment... But, it's still very unlikely since I haven't made a single friend in Lalaland and hardly ever see the ones I had upon my move. Life is great, isn't it?
-dylsny
So, East-coasters, look for new posts on your lunch break and West-coasters, tune in during your daily commute. I promise there will be something worth reading on this rather useless, unintelligent, drunk-induced blog!
Enjoy your weekend, too, bitches! I may get crazy and actually leave my humble studio apartment... But, it's still very unlikely since I haven't made a single friend in Lalaland and hardly ever see the ones I had upon my move. Life is great, isn't it?
-dylsny
March 18, 2014
That One Time...
I videotaped an assault on High Street. That betch had it coming once she stepped onto the street looking like a seasoned hooker... but still, girls shouldn't be getting assaulted on the streets of Morgantown lol ENJOY!
It's Time
DC St. Patty's Shenanigans: 2k14
I'm getting older, which is making me somewhat more responsible. This year, my friends and I drove to the DC area to visit our friends and celebrate St. Patty's Day... like real adults, on a bar crawl in Arlington. Surprisingly, nothing too stupid happened to any of us... but there were two funny highlights from my trip:
Friday night, we traveled from Bethesda to Arlington to go out. My friends and I are either mentally retarded or believe we are above the law, because we all had water bottles full of wine in our hands on the metro. I had pregamed with Fireball that night, nothing out of the ordinary, but I was going rather harder than my friends. At the bar, I ordered myself some drinks and accused some of the guys I was with of being gay, which I guess they found entertaining, and became the drunkest guy in the bar.
Out of nowhere, mid-conversation, I was on the ground. Not on my knees, not tying my shoe, physically laying on the ground. Somehow, I had managed to trip over myself, at the bar top, and failed to catch myself with my available appendages known as arms. I don't remember much about this fall, except for the 2 guys I was accusing of being homosexual having to help me off the liquor soaked cement floor.
I woke up the next morning sore as shit and was quickly reminded of my epic bar top fall. Inevitably, my knee is bruised and doubled in size, I have a significant bruising to my elbow, and even have bruises up and down my hip. You would've thought I had fallen down a small flight of stairs, but no, I literally fell over at the bar and failed to catch myself.
The next day, after hours of drinking at our St. Patty's bar crawl, a few of my friends and I decided to trek home to prepare ourselves for a night out. My friend, let's call her Salamander (dead giveaway), was in rare form and she had managed to lose her boyfriend. A few of us left the last bar and started walking home, but Salamander was trailing behind with a box of pizza she found on a patio table. Our other friends were insisting we do not eat the mystery pizza, but Salamander and I were famished. We helped each other eat a slice, which made our other friends yell in disgust, so we ditched the pizza box on the sidewalk and hurried in front of the group.
Salamander lagged behind as we were crossing the street, when surprisingly, she picked up speed while the warning light had changed to "DO NOT CROSS" and a Land Rover, barreling down the street, came within inches of striking poor Salamander. The driver laid on his horn and Salamander giggled and pranced in front of the now-stopped SUV.
I wish I had gotten that on video. Salamander's reaction was priceless, like she had done nothing wrong and that massive SUV was just a tiny obstacle in her walk home. The driver was not pleased to say the least, I was actually afraid he was going to step out of the vehicle to verbally rape Salamander and possibly assault myself and our friends.
All-in-all, it was a successful trip... until I ordered a foot-long tuna sub from Subway shortly after Salamander's traffic folly. It ended up making me sick to the point I couldn't continue drinking that night, totally out of my norm.
The next time I decide to road trip to DC, I'm going to remember one simple fact: I'm 24 years old. I seriously need to start acting my age if I actually want to become an employable, respectable human being.
Friday night, we traveled from Bethesda to Arlington to go out. My friends and I are either mentally retarded or believe we are above the law, because we all had water bottles full of wine in our hands on the metro. I had pregamed with Fireball that night, nothing out of the ordinary, but I was going rather harder than my friends. At the bar, I ordered myself some drinks and accused some of the guys I was with of being gay, which I guess they found entertaining, and became the drunkest guy in the bar.
Out of nowhere, mid-conversation, I was on the ground. Not on my knees, not tying my shoe, physically laying on the ground. Somehow, I had managed to trip over myself, at the bar top, and failed to catch myself with my available appendages known as arms. I don't remember much about this fall, except for the 2 guys I was accusing of being homosexual having to help me off the liquor soaked cement floor.
I woke up the next morning sore as shit and was quickly reminded of my epic bar top fall. Inevitably, my knee is bruised and doubled in size, I have a significant bruising to my elbow, and even have bruises up and down my hip. You would've thought I had fallen down a small flight of stairs, but no, I literally fell over at the bar and failed to catch myself.
The next day, after hours of drinking at our St. Patty's bar crawl, a few of my friends and I decided to trek home to prepare ourselves for a night out. My friend, let's call her Salamander (dead giveaway), was in rare form and she had managed to lose her boyfriend. A few of us left the last bar and started walking home, but Salamander was trailing behind with a box of pizza she found on a patio table. Our other friends were insisting we do not eat the mystery pizza, but Salamander and I were famished. We helped each other eat a slice, which made our other friends yell in disgust, so we ditched the pizza box on the sidewalk and hurried in front of the group.
Salamander lagged behind as we were crossing the street, when surprisingly, she picked up speed while the warning light had changed to "DO NOT CROSS" and a Land Rover, barreling down the street, came within inches of striking poor Salamander. The driver laid on his horn and Salamander giggled and pranced in front of the now-stopped SUV.
I wish I had gotten that on video. Salamander's reaction was priceless, like she had done nothing wrong and that massive SUV was just a tiny obstacle in her walk home. The driver was not pleased to say the least, I was actually afraid he was going to step out of the vehicle to verbally rape Salamander and possibly assault myself and our friends.
All-in-all, it was a successful trip... until I ordered a foot-long tuna sub from Subway shortly after Salamander's traffic folly. It ended up making me sick to the point I couldn't continue drinking that night, totally out of my norm.
The next time I decide to road trip to DC, I'm going to remember one simple fact: I'm 24 years old. I seriously need to start acting my age if I actually want to become an employable, respectable human being.
St. Patty's Probz
Back in 2012, during my senior year at WVU, I decided to spend my last St. Patty's Day the only acceptable way: royally fucked up.
My friends and I started drinking around 10 AM on the coveted Sunnyside street of Beverly. There was one minor problem: I had to work at 4. That didn't bother me at the time... I figured I'd stop drinking around 2, get ready and go serve the general public endless amounts of salad and pasta just a wee-bit fucked up. Easy, right? Not for a seasoned drinker/borderline alcoholic, like myself. I ended up taking a wrong turn to Blackout City while playing in our St. Patty's Day 4-Square Tournament. It was a fantastic idea to turn the street into a 4-square arena. We lucked out with 70 degree weather for the mid-March event, and a shit ton of people turned out for their attempt at 4-square king/queen.
I didn't show my true 4-square talents that day... I was just too fucked up. Around 1 or 2, when I should've been slowing down my alcohol consumption, an officer approached our group on foot. I had a bottle of liquor in one hand and a beer in the other. Typical. At this specific moment in time, I was standing in my friend's driveway. He immediately asked for my ID, which I happily gave him, being 22, but the asshole continued, "Young man, you do realize you've got open containers on the sidewalk? I can issue you an open container violation."
Uhh, no you will not.
I immediately got sassy and pointed out that I was not, in fact, on public property, "Clearly officer, I am in the driveway of my friend's home, therefore I am not on public property." I waived my alcohol-filled hands around the area, to give him the full effect of the widely known concept of a driveway. He shook his head and told me to go onto the porch with my friends. There, I reiterated that I had to work at 4. My friends began planning my call-off. One girl was ready to call-in as my mother to say I had a family emergency, another was ready to call on my behalf of being arrested. Neither sufficed for me. I dipped out, friends unknowing, and walked home and drunkenly got myself ready for work.
I drove to work and whipped my car into a parking spot. I stumbled out of my car to find my arch nemesis from work, Donna, being dropped off. "Uhh, are you sure you should be here right now?" She yelled over to me. Yeah bitch, I can handle myself, I thought. I walked in, visibly drunk and ready to start my shift. My manager, some Mexican twat I didn't get along with, who had "uncle" as his first name, told me I was the extra. I'm not sure if he did this intentionally after seeing me stumble upon him, or if he could smell the alcohol seeping from my pores.
As an extra, you don't have to work unless another server doesn't show for their shift. I was in clear, or so you would think. Every server was quickly accounted for, but a drunken Dylsny decided, "Well, since I'm here, I might as well work." My manager rolled his eyes and I stayed for another server to work.
That day was the first time I received a negative comment. I worked a party with another server, who is known for being a clusterfuck spazz, and on our receipt it read, "You two could use a little work."
Well fuck. I ended my shift and had sobered up, drove home, and found the bottle from earlier in the day and finished it. That was literally one of the dumbest days of my life, but I justified every stupid decision simply by the fact it was St. Patty's Day.
For your viewing pleasure, this was also the same St. Patty's Day "I'm Schmacked" visited WVU. I'm not in the video myself, but some of my friends have cameos... enjoy!
My friends and I started drinking around 10 AM on the coveted Sunnyside street of Beverly. There was one minor problem: I had to work at 4. That didn't bother me at the time... I figured I'd stop drinking around 2, get ready and go serve the general public endless amounts of salad and pasta just a wee-bit fucked up. Easy, right? Not for a seasoned drinker/borderline alcoholic, like myself. I ended up taking a wrong turn to Blackout City while playing in our St. Patty's Day 4-Square Tournament. It was a fantastic idea to turn the street into a 4-square arena. We lucked out with 70 degree weather for the mid-March event, and a shit ton of people turned out for their attempt at 4-square king/queen.
I didn't show my true 4-square talents that day... I was just too fucked up. Around 1 or 2, when I should've been slowing down my alcohol consumption, an officer approached our group on foot. I had a bottle of liquor in one hand and a beer in the other. Typical. At this specific moment in time, I was standing in my friend's driveway. He immediately asked for my ID, which I happily gave him, being 22, but the asshole continued, "Young man, you do realize you've got open containers on the sidewalk? I can issue you an open container violation."
Uhh, no you will not.
I immediately got sassy and pointed out that I was not, in fact, on public property, "Clearly officer, I am in the driveway of my friend's home, therefore I am not on public property." I waived my alcohol-filled hands around the area, to give him the full effect of the widely known concept of a driveway. He shook his head and told me to go onto the porch with my friends. There, I reiterated that I had to work at 4. My friends began planning my call-off. One girl was ready to call-in as my mother to say I had a family emergency, another was ready to call on my behalf of being arrested. Neither sufficed for me. I dipped out, friends unknowing, and walked home and drunkenly got myself ready for work.
I drove to work and whipped my car into a parking spot. I stumbled out of my car to find my arch nemesis from work, Donna, being dropped off. "Uhh, are you sure you should be here right now?" She yelled over to me. Yeah bitch, I can handle myself, I thought. I walked in, visibly drunk and ready to start my shift. My manager, some Mexican twat I didn't get along with, who had "uncle" as his first name, told me I was the extra. I'm not sure if he did this intentionally after seeing me stumble upon him, or if he could smell the alcohol seeping from my pores.
As an extra, you don't have to work unless another server doesn't show for their shift. I was in clear, or so you would think. Every server was quickly accounted for, but a drunken Dylsny decided, "Well, since I'm here, I might as well work." My manager rolled his eyes and I stayed for another server to work.
That day was the first time I received a negative comment. I worked a party with another server, who is known for being a clusterfuck spazz, and on our receipt it read, "You two could use a little work."
Well fuck. I ended my shift and had sobered up, drove home, and found the bottle from earlier in the day and finished it. That was literally one of the dumbest days of my life, but I justified every stupid decision simply by the fact it was St. Patty's Day.
For your viewing pleasure, this was also the same St. Patty's Day "I'm Schmacked" visited WVU. I'm not in the video myself, but some of my friends have cameos... enjoy!
March 6, 2014
Neo-Clueless
Love the movie Clueless? You'll probably like this... Australian sensation, Iggy Azalea gives a 2014-spin on the 90's classic. The outfits and characters are dead on... even down to the red BMW Dion frantically drives down the expressway. Enjoy!
That one time...
... I threatened my father's mistress.
Ok, I got your attention with "mistress," but I guess she shouldn't technically be classified as such. When my parents separated and before their divorce was final, good ole Jimmy Snyds started fucking our next door neighbor. He's a rather upstanding individual, my father. This woman is a rather upstanding individual as well. She has dated half of my hometown and has been successfully un-married for nearly 25 years. Red flag? If no one will marry the bitch over that long of a time period, then don't date her either... there's obviously something wrong.
During one of my "Snyderfests", my party had been carried onto my driveway. We weren't being rowdy in most regards, but neighbors could definitely tell something was going on at the Snyder house. Apparently, my father realized as well. As I'm having myself a grand ole time in the driveway with my friends, taking shots of my go-to liquor of the time: 99 bananas, my dad decides to make an appearance.
He walks over to the house and enters the driveway. I guess, legally, he has a right to be at the home he built and currently pays the mortgage for, but at the time, he was not welcome at 142 Westgate Drive. He claimed his girlfriend's dog was missing. Boo hoo, pops, now get the fuck out of here. After my friends talked to him briefly, apologizing for my drunken behavior, he was off, back to his whore's house across the street.
The party continued and I kept taking shots. One of my best friends, Amanda, happened to have her digital camera out taking pictures of the night. Suddenly, Slutty McSlutterson, my dad's fuck buddy and slore girlfriend, shows up on my driveway. No. She. Didn't.
I immediately confronted her about what the fuck she thought she was doing. She reiterated to myself and party-goers her dog was missing. "Yeah, bitch, we know, my dad already came over and told us." I was more than ready to verbally annihilate this twat. Amanda, at this time, had taken out her camera to record the confrontation. I'm quoted after reminding her she is not welcome on my property that, "If I find your dog, I'm going to kill it... and set your house on fire. Now, get the fuck off my property."
She took the hint and left.
Now, one may think I was rather harsh on said whore. IF YOU ONLY KNEW. I can remember when she moved into the neighborhood. My aunt and uncle were visiting from Indianapolis that weekend. Somehow, she knew my parents prior to her move, so she ended up introducing herself to everyone outside my house one afternoon. My aunt must've gotten a "flirtatious" vibe from her, because she told my mom that was a woman you needed to watch out for. Lolololololz and look where that ended up!
On my mother's birthday the same year, my sister and I took her to everyone's favorite local restaurant. After we had been sat, I saw my father and this stupid bitch walking through the restaurant. Are you kidding me? Granted, my dad dined there on a regular basis, but he ALWAYS sat on the bar side. That night, while we were celebrating my mother's birthday, the woman he was still married to, they entered the same room we were seated in to dine. As the two passed, my dad kept to himself and smiled to us as he waved, and she followed suit, making a point to say, "Happy birthday, Marie" to my mother. My mom had to stop me from standing up. I asked if she wanted to find another table in the restaurant to eat at, considering those twats were seated behind us, but, being the strong, confident woman my mother is, she refused and we continued our dinner.
If there's any lesson learned from my story, it is: Don't become that bitch. Don't be the person with a less-than-savory reputation in your town for "getting around" and dating everyone, especially in your 40s/50s. Don't consider dating a man that is still legally married and has a wife and daughter living directly across the street from your home. Have some decency, wait for the divorce to be final, or use absolute discretion.
You may think, "well what about your father?" There are no excuses for him either... exactly why we didn't speak for 6 months.
***Disclosure: I would never harm an animal... and more than likely never set fire to somebody's home***
-DMS
Ok, I got your attention with "mistress," but I guess she shouldn't technically be classified as such. When my parents separated and before their divorce was final, good ole Jimmy Snyds started fucking our next door neighbor. He's a rather upstanding individual, my father. This woman is a rather upstanding individual as well. She has dated half of my hometown and has been successfully un-married for nearly 25 years. Red flag? If no one will marry the bitch over that long of a time period, then don't date her either... there's obviously something wrong.
During one of my "Snyderfests", my party had been carried onto my driveway. We weren't being rowdy in most regards, but neighbors could definitely tell something was going on at the Snyder house. Apparently, my father realized as well. As I'm having myself a grand ole time in the driveway with my friends, taking shots of my go-to liquor of the time: 99 bananas, my dad decides to make an appearance.
He walks over to the house and enters the driveway. I guess, legally, he has a right to be at the home he built and currently pays the mortgage for, but at the time, he was not welcome at 142 Westgate Drive. He claimed his girlfriend's dog was missing. Boo hoo, pops, now get the fuck out of here. After my friends talked to him briefly, apologizing for my drunken behavior, he was off, back to his whore's house across the street.
The party continued and I kept taking shots. One of my best friends, Amanda, happened to have her digital camera out taking pictures of the night. Suddenly, Slutty McSlutterson, my dad's fuck buddy and slore girlfriend, shows up on my driveway. No. She. Didn't.
I immediately confronted her about what the fuck she thought she was doing. She reiterated to myself and party-goers her dog was missing. "Yeah, bitch, we know, my dad already came over and told us." I was more than ready to verbally annihilate this twat. Amanda, at this time, had taken out her camera to record the confrontation. I'm quoted after reminding her she is not welcome on my property that, "If I find your dog, I'm going to kill it... and set your house on fire. Now, get the fuck off my property."
She took the hint and left.
Now, one may think I was rather harsh on said whore. IF YOU ONLY KNEW. I can remember when she moved into the neighborhood. My aunt and uncle were visiting from Indianapolis that weekend. Somehow, she knew my parents prior to her move, so she ended up introducing herself to everyone outside my house one afternoon. My aunt must've gotten a "flirtatious" vibe from her, because she told my mom that was a woman you needed to watch out for. Lolololololz and look where that ended up!
On my mother's birthday the same year, my sister and I took her to everyone's favorite local restaurant. After we had been sat, I saw my father and this stupid bitch walking through the restaurant. Are you kidding me? Granted, my dad dined there on a regular basis, but he ALWAYS sat on the bar side. That night, while we were celebrating my mother's birthday, the woman he was still married to, they entered the same room we were seated in to dine. As the two passed, my dad kept to himself and smiled to us as he waved, and she followed suit, making a point to say, "Happy birthday, Marie" to my mother. My mom had to stop me from standing up. I asked if she wanted to find another table in the restaurant to eat at, considering those twats were seated behind us, but, being the strong, confident woman my mother is, she refused and we continued our dinner.
If there's any lesson learned from my story, it is: Don't become that bitch. Don't be the person with a less-than-savory reputation in your town for "getting around" and dating everyone, especially in your 40s/50s. Don't consider dating a man that is still legally married and has a wife and daughter living directly across the street from your home. Have some decency, wait for the divorce to be final, or use absolute discretion.
You may think, "well what about your father?" There are no excuses for him either... exactly why we didn't speak for 6 months.
***Disclosure: I would never harm an animal... and more than likely never set fire to somebody's home***
-DMS
March 4, 2014
Private Party Probz
(Please read the prior post before reading this... I've chronologically documented my night lolz)
Once I had made it to my party, I needed a fucking shot. People didn't start arriving until a few minutes after myself, so I thought I'd buy a round and get to know my bartenders. Well, fuck. The one girl looked weirdly familiar to me. After I ordered a round from the other bartender, I asked the one in question what her name was. She is named after a fucking desert...and I knew exactly who she was. Months ago, at some frattastic, Motown club, I met some friends for drinks. Normally, I go places where I easily get served, since I know many bartenders. Not the case at this joint. I waited, patiently, for twenty minutes to be served... all while people came and went RIGHT NEXT TO ME. The bartender: desert bitch.
Now, I legitimately waited patiently, even going so far as to flash my Louis Vuitton wallet, hoping that would attract a server... I mean, it's real, so they can assume I'm of the upper-class. I won't mind. I did not get served that night. Not acceptable with Dylsny, so I left the establishment and have since never been back. The next week, the same bartender happened to be standing behind me in line for another bar. Drunkenly, I turned around and asked, "Hey, what's your name?" When she responded as being the desert bitch, I sassily remarked, "Ohh yeah, you bartend at Lux... you fucking suck. You legitimately fucking suck as a bartender."
I couldn't believe this girl was bartending my party. She knew exactly who I was and now realized she needed to suck up to me. It was fanfuckingtastic. I ended up pretty much avoiding the bar that night, because shots were being bought for me, so I didn't mind she was there. I'll let it slide.
The party had a great turn out, from what I've been told and who I remember seeing. The deal was that people inside my party would be allowed to go upstairs to the other bar for free, avoiding the cover charge. But, before I know it, mass chaos breaks out. I was literally being kicked out of my own party. Myself and all my party-goers were very confused. Apparently, someone in a green beanie let himself into the champagne storage closet and took a bottle for himself. Are you fucking kidding me? I still haven't figured out who the prick is, and if I do, I will unleash an unimaginable hell upon him. I bet he was one of the randos who wasn't even invited and lurking around my pretty friends. This is not acceptable.
Once we were cleared out, I found out they were charging us all to get into the bar upstairs. No, not me. I wasn't standing for this. Although it was my favorite bar in Motown, and it was my fucking birthday party, I was not paying to go upstairs. Instead, I decided to follow some friends to Joe Mama's... the bar I don't fuck with. It's whatever, I don't remember being there, didn't spend a dime, and left the establishment after a short period of time.
My night is still in pieces from the time before I was kicked out of my party all the way to bringing a regular hookup of mine home. My friend, and part-time roommate, Juanita, had left my party early because she worked at 7 am in a town 45 minutes away. I let her have my bed that night and I slept on the extra mattress in my living room, with regular hookup guy. Thank god I realized in my drunken state that I did, in fact, have more friends coming home to stay that night. I respectfully clothed myself before passing out and waking to a herd of six friends moments later.
We all crashed in different areas of my living room and woke at 8 AM. 8 fucking AM. I was sandwiched between "hookup" and my friend, Logan. Weird thing, though, I vaguely remembered my other friend, Seth, falling asleep next to me. Apparently, Seth was weirded out by myself and "hookup", so he switched with Logan. Valid. I would be too. But, for the record, I did not touch "hookup" a single time after my friends got home. I'm respectable, I wouldn't do that in front of my friends. But really, I wouldn't. PDA makes me cringe. Being hugged, touched, or any type of physical contact, makes me cringe.
We woke up, my friends, Susie (remember her?) and Canada decided to keep their drunk going, and started taking shots of whiskey then and there. Drunken Canada came in handy a couple hours later, when I found an array of hubcaps dropping off a friend from lunch. Normally, in broad daylight, I wouldn't mind getting a hubcap from the side of the road, or I'd just mentally note it and come back at dark. This, was a special circumstance. There were literally SIX hubcaps within feet of each other. Canada offered her hubcap-retrieving assistance, and gathered ALL of them up! It was by far the greatest thing I've witnessed. Now, I have a whole trunk full. It made my fucking day! haha
-DMS
Once I had made it to my party, I needed a fucking shot. People didn't start arriving until a few minutes after myself, so I thought I'd buy a round and get to know my bartenders. Well, fuck. The one girl looked weirdly familiar to me. After I ordered a round from the other bartender, I asked the one in question what her name was. She is named after a fucking desert...and I knew exactly who she was. Months ago, at some frattastic, Motown club, I met some friends for drinks. Normally, I go places where I easily get served, since I know many bartenders. Not the case at this joint. I waited, patiently, for twenty minutes to be served... all while people came and went RIGHT NEXT TO ME. The bartender: desert bitch.
Now, I legitimately waited patiently, even going so far as to flash my Louis Vuitton wallet, hoping that would attract a server... I mean, it's real, so they can assume I'm of the upper-class. I won't mind. I did not get served that night. Not acceptable with Dylsny, so I left the establishment and have since never been back. The next week, the same bartender happened to be standing behind me in line for another bar. Drunkenly, I turned around and asked, "Hey, what's your name?" When she responded as being the desert bitch, I sassily remarked, "Ohh yeah, you bartend at Lux... you fucking suck. You legitimately fucking suck as a bartender."
I couldn't believe this girl was bartending my party. She knew exactly who I was and now realized she needed to suck up to me. It was fanfuckingtastic. I ended up pretty much avoiding the bar that night, because shots were being bought for me, so I didn't mind she was there. I'll let it slide.
The party had a great turn out, from what I've been told and who I remember seeing. The deal was that people inside my party would be allowed to go upstairs to the other bar for free, avoiding the cover charge. But, before I know it, mass chaos breaks out. I was literally being kicked out of my own party. Myself and all my party-goers were very confused. Apparently, someone in a green beanie let himself into the champagne storage closet and took a bottle for himself. Are you fucking kidding me? I still haven't figured out who the prick is, and if I do, I will unleash an unimaginable hell upon him. I bet he was one of the randos who wasn't even invited and lurking around my pretty friends. This is not acceptable.
Once we were cleared out, I found out they were charging us all to get into the bar upstairs. No, not me. I wasn't standing for this. Although it was my favorite bar in Motown, and it was my fucking birthday party, I was not paying to go upstairs. Instead, I decided to follow some friends to Joe Mama's... the bar I don't fuck with. It's whatever, I don't remember being there, didn't spend a dime, and left the establishment after a short period of time.
My night is still in pieces from the time before I was kicked out of my party all the way to bringing a regular hookup of mine home. My friend, and part-time roommate, Juanita, had left my party early because she worked at 7 am in a town 45 minutes away. I let her have my bed that night and I slept on the extra mattress in my living room, with regular hookup guy. Thank god I realized in my drunken state that I did, in fact, have more friends coming home to stay that night. I respectfully clothed myself before passing out and waking to a herd of six friends moments later.
We all crashed in different areas of my living room and woke at 8 AM. 8 fucking AM. I was sandwiched between "hookup" and my friend, Logan. Weird thing, though, I vaguely remembered my other friend, Seth, falling asleep next to me. Apparently, Seth was weirded out by myself and "hookup", so he switched with Logan. Valid. I would be too. But, for the record, I did not touch "hookup" a single time after my friends got home. I'm respectable, I wouldn't do that in front of my friends. But really, I wouldn't. PDA makes me cringe. Being hugged, touched, or any type of physical contact, makes me cringe.
We woke up, my friends, Susie (remember her?) and Canada decided to keep their drunk going, and started taking shots of whiskey then and there. Drunken Canada came in handy a couple hours later, when I found an array of hubcaps dropping off a friend from lunch. Normally, in broad daylight, I wouldn't mind getting a hubcap from the side of the road, or I'd just mentally note it and come back at dark. This, was a special circumstance. There were literally SIX hubcaps within feet of each other. Canada offered her hubcap-retrieving assistance, and gathered ALL of them up! It was by far the greatest thing I've witnessed. Now, I have a whole trunk full. It made my fucking day! haha
-DMS
Invincible-ish
This past Friday I hosted a party for my 24th birthday... and of course, everything didn't go as planned.
Before I even made it to my party, on our walk downtown, we ran into a small obstacle: policemen. I had just left my sister's house near Ashebrooke with a groups of friends. Being the cocky motherfuck I am, I brought with me an open bottle of wine, and open can of Bud Light, and another Bud Light... just in case. Never have I been stopped by a police officer on my walk downtown, with open containers, so I felt invincible.
Two houses down from my sisters were two cop cars posted up on the goddamn sidewalk. Like seriously? I had too many alcoholic beverages in my possession to hide them discreetly in my jacket. I had almost made it by the cop cars before I heard, "Hey, you, stop!" Fuck. Surely, I was getting an open container ticket... maybe even a public intox... hell, it was my birthday party, I bet I was going to get all kinds of fucking tickets they could legally assign me... It's just my luck.
Well, as luck would have it, that officer walked right passed me for my friend, Ronald. Ronald had a single open beer in his possession. I literally stopped dead in my tracks as Ronald dealt with the observant officer. I was not yet in the clear, though. There was a second cop, straight up chillin', right behind me. I ran several scenarios out in my head. I could either continue walking by Ronald and the officer and risk him writing me a ticket as well, or I could take a chance with homeboy policeman behind me.
I took the latter.
I quietly turned around to face the second officer, holding all three of my alcoholic beverages. I said, "I'm really sorry, but I was just handed all of these drinks, we're on our way to my birthday party, can I just dump everything out? Right here, I dump everything out right here." This guy was too kind. He literally said, "Go ahead." Was this a joke? As I poured the beverages into nearby landscaping, I inquired as to whether I'd be written a ticket. "That's up to him, I'm not going to write you one myself, though." So, this guy is letting me go, will the other? Once everything is empty, I tell the officer I use to live in the apartments we are outside (truth) and knew there's a dumpster nearby that I can discard the bottles. I walk, nonchalantly up the apartment's lot and throw everything away.
I scurried off to the rest of the group, all girls, who had been waiting for Ronald and I during the whole fiasco. The cop writing up Ronald didn't notice me as I tried blending in with the girls. I wanted to go talk him out of the ticket, but knew it would inevitably end in my own ticket... and quite possibly extreme sass from my end... which would've probably landed me in the back of the cop car.
Ronald took the open container ticket and we continued our walk to my party. I stayed ahead of the group, determined to get there on time and partly to avoid a visibly-upset friend who had just been written a ticket, when I had not.
My night was off to a great, but shitty start.
Before I even made it to my party, on our walk downtown, we ran into a small obstacle: policemen. I had just left my sister's house near Ashebrooke with a groups of friends. Being the cocky motherfuck I am, I brought with me an open bottle of wine, and open can of Bud Light, and another Bud Light... just in case. Never have I been stopped by a police officer on my walk downtown, with open containers, so I felt invincible.
Two houses down from my sisters were two cop cars posted up on the goddamn sidewalk. Like seriously? I had too many alcoholic beverages in my possession to hide them discreetly in my jacket. I had almost made it by the cop cars before I heard, "Hey, you, stop!" Fuck. Surely, I was getting an open container ticket... maybe even a public intox... hell, it was my birthday party, I bet I was going to get all kinds of fucking tickets they could legally assign me... It's just my luck.
Well, as luck would have it, that officer walked right passed me for my friend, Ronald. Ronald had a single open beer in his possession. I literally stopped dead in my tracks as Ronald dealt with the observant officer. I was not yet in the clear, though. There was a second cop, straight up chillin', right behind me. I ran several scenarios out in my head. I could either continue walking by Ronald and the officer and risk him writing me a ticket as well, or I could take a chance with homeboy policeman behind me.
I took the latter.
I quietly turned around to face the second officer, holding all three of my alcoholic beverages. I said, "I'm really sorry, but I was just handed all of these drinks, we're on our way to my birthday party, can I just dump everything out? Right here, I dump everything out right here." This guy was too kind. He literally said, "Go ahead." Was this a joke? As I poured the beverages into nearby landscaping, I inquired as to whether I'd be written a ticket. "That's up to him, I'm not going to write you one myself, though." So, this guy is letting me go, will the other? Once everything is empty, I tell the officer I use to live in the apartments we are outside (truth) and knew there's a dumpster nearby that I can discard the bottles. I walk, nonchalantly up the apartment's lot and throw everything away.
I scurried off to the rest of the group, all girls, who had been waiting for Ronald and I during the whole fiasco. The cop writing up Ronald didn't notice me as I tried blending in with the girls. I wanted to go talk him out of the ticket, but knew it would inevitably end in my own ticket... and quite possibly extreme sass from my end... which would've probably landed me in the back of the cop car.
Ronald took the open container ticket and we continued our walk to my party. I stayed ahead of the group, determined to get there on time and partly to avoid a visibly-upset friend who had just been written a ticket, when I had not.
My night was off to a great, but shitty start.
February 26, 2014
Which celebrity couple...
My imaginary boyfriend and I took the "Which celebrity couple are you and your significant other" test and got:
So true. My non-existent boyfriend and I really idolize NPH and David Burtka... I'm honored to have gotten them. Maybe someday we will pay someone to produce such cute little ones too.
Words of Advice
I will occasionally offer some advice to my precious readers... here's one for the winter:
If you are bundled up tightly, walking anywhere in the snow or ice, I can offer one very important piece of advice. No matter how cold your hands are, if you forgot your gloves that day, ALWAYS have your hands accessible and ready. You could go down at ANY MOMENT.
I learned this the hard way: As a freshman, I was racing to class in the snow. I had made it all the way to Armstrong Hall unharmed. Once inside, I booked it up the steps. After the second landing, with such grace and resilience, I slipped. My face broke the fall and met the above stairs abruptly. I couldn't get my fucking hands out of my jacket quick enough to catch myself. I don't know how I didn't lose a tooth or break my nose. It was a hard fall and hurt like a mother fucker. Of course this didn't go unnoticed. An older kid going down the next flight over turned around and offered a very concerned look. I don't know how he kept a straight face. He asked if I were ok, and with tears forming in my eyes, I quickly said yes and scurried up the remaining steps.
So everyone, always have your hands easily accessible... At all times, really. Especially if you're a naturally clumsy person. If you don't want to take this advice to heart, I wish for you a very similar and aggressive fall... with a much larger audience.
-DMS
If you are bundled up tightly, walking anywhere in the snow or ice, I can offer one very important piece of advice. No matter how cold your hands are, if you forgot your gloves that day, ALWAYS have your hands accessible and ready. You could go down at ANY MOMENT.
I learned this the hard way: As a freshman, I was racing to class in the snow. I had made it all the way to Armstrong Hall unharmed. Once inside, I booked it up the steps. After the second landing, with such grace and resilience, I slipped. My face broke the fall and met the above stairs abruptly. I couldn't get my fucking hands out of my jacket quick enough to catch myself. I don't know how I didn't lose a tooth or break my nose. It was a hard fall and hurt like a mother fucker. Of course this didn't go unnoticed. An older kid going down the next flight over turned around and offered a very concerned look. I don't know how he kept a straight face. He asked if I were ok, and with tears forming in my eyes, I quickly said yes and scurried up the remaining steps.
So everyone, always have your hands easily accessible... At all times, really. Especially if you're a naturally clumsy person. If you don't want to take this advice to heart, I wish for you a very similar and aggressive fall... with a much larger audience.
-DMS
What I got for my birthday...
24 really is a shitty birthday. If you're still receiving money from your parents, grandparents, and some aunts/uncles, like myself, all that money, hunnids and hunnids of doll hairs, goes to: BILLS. Fucking bills. Is this real life? I literally received over $500 and I deposited $100 into the bank, the remaining $400 went to my mother, because I'm in so much debt to her every. fucking. month.
Aside from money, I received copious amounts of fireball from my friends. Literally 4 bottles. All chilling in my freezer as we speak... waiting to be consumed this Friday at my birthdaypalooza at Bent Willey's. Fireball is my weakness. That stuff has healing powers. I could be contemplating going out because I'm "sick" or "tired" and will take one shot and I'm ready to fucking go.
Alas, on my actual birthday, I received a present not well received: a hicky. Who gives those anymore? I had to work the next morning! It wasn't a small one either... Noooo, of course it was massive. Thank god all my friends are girls. My neighbor was gracious enough to provide me with concealer. Luckily, we have the same skin tone. It was still noticeable DAYS later at my family birthday dinner. Thank god my grandmother is going blind... and my grandfather isn't fully aware of his surroundings... Because once they left, my mom was on it, "Where'd you get that sucker on your neck?" Sucker, mom? What?
I also got to do laundry the night of my birthday. See, the same guy yakked IN MY BED. Not to the side, off my bed, not in a nearby trashcan, but IN MY FUCKING BED. I've probably pulled some similar shit while clearly intoxicated, so I could level with him there... But, that was one thing I really didn't want to deal with on my birthday. I had to wash my fleece sheets 3 times. My downed comforter is back home in Wheeling, waiting until my mother figures out how to wash such an item. I'm lost without my downed comforter. It's fucking winter in West Virginia. If I weren't so goddamn poor, I'd go to Bed Bath and Beyond to purchase a new one. Fail. Major fail.
Where is my new Audi? Or a handsome sugar daddy? Where were the things I actually asked for? In my fucking dreams... I received them in my fucking dreams.
-DMS
February 24, 2014
Social Media Birthday Blasts
I was graced with many birthday collages this year... Here they are.
Oh Chels, my bestie and future roomie in El Lay, those are some primo pics you've got on your hands! I expected worse haha
Cort, is it weird we are doing the exact same pose two years in a row!? #Jamboprobz
Toad, I thought I burned all those... lmao #middleschoolprobz #fatkidslovecake
Oh #ChessietheBestie... loved this one... We look better as zombies.
Probably my favorite, no offense, but my sister does have access to some fantastic throwbacks... considering she's my sister and all. Loved this, Breezy!
DEM LEGZ!! And how sexual were we bottom-right!? Thanks Chelsea!
Lolololz I wouldn't expect anything more random from muh gurl Madi Mo... She's gonna be on Ellen someday!
My half sister from another mister and I don't mess around. #classy
Erika, I apologize if I tackled or molested you that day :/ #Alpha4Lyfe
Carlita was sure to have some good ones... and she did. Thanks for capturing me in a somewhat acceptable behavior... I'm trying so hard to become a real adult.
Muh OG gurl AnnaMariah found a good one... #OGbabies
Oh, you know, stuffing a cat in my UPS uniform, dancing my brain off in LA, and flipping the camera off at Jambo... you caught some great ones, XANDRA <3
Literally am I licking your tit, Em? And didn't that get sent to our work group text!? LMAO, either way, it was totally acceptable! Loved this!
Another sister of mine, Carmen San Davis... Girl, you got it coming on your bday ;)
Erika and I love two things: boys and tacos. lolol
Finally, one of my best friends from kindyyygartenn... I knew she'd have some good ones as well, I'm such an attractive specimen of the male human species. #yeahright #sass
Thanks to all my friends who took time out of their day to embarrass me on social media... I truly do adore you. And thanks to everyone who celebrated with me on my birthday and/or in Columbus! I couldn't have a better group of friends!
I can't wait to see the rest of you twats that missed out on either of the above nights at my big party this Friday!!
Thanks for making 24... well, 24. Fuck, I'm getting old.
-DMS
February 19, 2014
Preparing for 24
Dear twats,
Tomorrow, I embark on my 24th year of life. I am not at all pleased with turning 24... Why? Because I look back at my life and realize I have accomplished nothing spectacular. Granted, I've had the opportunity to travel to Europe, I received my bachelor's degree, and I'd like to think I've lived a rather fun life. But, I failed to find a job upon graduation, I am tens of thousands in debt, I'm perpetually single, and now, I blog. What has my life become?
I do plan on going all out for my birthday, something I haven't done since my 21st birthday, when I rented out the frattastic Motown bar, Rain. That was an awesome birthday party I'll never remember. This year, I plan on spending my birthday weekend in Columbus with some close friends and little sister. The week after, I'm throwing a private rager at one of my favorite Motown bars, Bent. All in all, I better have a good time... I've taken some precautions so nobody ruins my good time. I'm all about good times, not so much good vibes, but good times.
If you're wondering what I'd like for my 24th birthday, here's a sampling of my "wish list":
- A fucking job. Preferably, one located in Los Angeles that pays more than $60,000
- Some new clothes. I already have an impressive wardrobe, but I always find myself wearing the same shit.
- A new car. I love my Jetta, but I'd love an Audi even more
- A sugar daddy... Now, this one shall be limited in scope. I just want presents in return for my fun and charming accompaniment.
So, as I celebrate the 24th anniversary of my life, I request that nobody get in my way. Don't fucking bother me with your bullshit or petty drama. Come to my party and don't make it about you. Leave your drama and whiny attitudes at the door and buy me a fucking shot. You'll forever be in my debts.
Best,
-Dylsny
Tomorrow, I embark on my 24th year of life. I am not at all pleased with turning 24... Why? Because I look back at my life and realize I have accomplished nothing spectacular. Granted, I've had the opportunity to travel to Europe, I received my bachelor's degree, and I'd like to think I've lived a rather fun life. But, I failed to find a job upon graduation, I am tens of thousands in debt, I'm perpetually single, and now, I blog. What has my life become?
I do plan on going all out for my birthday, something I haven't done since my 21st birthday, when I rented out the frattastic Motown bar, Rain. That was an awesome birthday party I'll never remember. This year, I plan on spending my birthday weekend in Columbus with some close friends and little sister. The week after, I'm throwing a private rager at one of my favorite Motown bars, Bent. All in all, I better have a good time... I've taken some precautions so nobody ruins my good time. I'm all about good times, not so much good vibes, but good times.
If you're wondering what I'd like for my 24th birthday, here's a sampling of my "wish list":
- A fucking job. Preferably, one located in Los Angeles that pays more than $60,000
- Some new clothes. I already have an impressive wardrobe, but I always find myself wearing the same shit.
- A new car. I love my Jetta, but I'd love an Audi even more
- A sugar daddy... Now, this one shall be limited in scope. I just want presents in return for my fun and charming accompaniment.
So, as I celebrate the 24th anniversary of my life, I request that nobody get in my way. Don't fucking bother me with your bullshit or petty drama. Come to my party and don't make it about you. Leave your drama and whiny attitudes at the door and buy me a fucking shot. You'll forever be in my debts.
Best,
-Dylsny
February 13, 2014
Abercrombie's Demise
Can anyone recall the last time they physically walked into an Abercrombie & Fitch store and actually purchased an item? I can't. I went to South Hills with my mom and sister over the winter break and decided to stop into one of my "favorite" stores in middle and high school.
I couldn't justify why anyone, including myself, would ever or currently buy Abercrombie clothing. I remember Christmases where I asked for the most absurd pieces of clothing from Abercrombie. My parents, when married, we very well off, but there was no need to spend $90+ dollars on a pair of faded and ripped jeans or a fleece pullover. Their merchandise was rarely on sale, too! I can't believe I asked for such clothing as a kid. I obviously didn't understand the value of a dollar.
Anyone remember the, "It's All Relative in West Virginia" tee?? I purchased one online just to have. To me, it was hilarious, I still think it's hilarious, but it's a low-blow to our state. Although, recently, this state has turned to shit. Abercrombie has historically created much negative press with materials such as those or comments made by top executives. Mike Jeffries, CEO, has said publicly, on numerous occasions, how their brand is meant for the "popular, attractive kids with a lot of friends" and not meant for "larger people". Does that douchebag think comments like that will HELP his brand? If so, he's seriously delusional.
Abercrombie has closed over 170 stores nationwide since 2009 and they continue to make cuts. The brand is simply not doing well. Why? Because they have failed to evolve with young Americans. Teens these days are not hell-bent on being in the "in-crowd" and spending absurd amounts on generic clothing just for that obnoxious moose label or "1892" plastered on their chests. The comment Jeffries has made also doesn't help.
If you've ever bought Abercrombie clothing and/or don't know the current state of the company, please read this article originally printed in New York Magazine. Unless Abercrombie makes changes ASAP, they will cease to exist. Do everyone and yourself a favor... continue shopping at Gap, H&M, and Forever 21... Fuck A&F.
You can find the article here:
You can find the article here:
February 12, 2014
SHOSHI 2014
Do you watch girls? Do you love Shoshonna? Do you watch the winter Olympics?
If you answered "YES" to at least two of those... you're gonna fucking love this...
http://shoshigames.tumblr.com/?og=1
If you answered "YES" to at least two of those... you're gonna fucking love this...
http://shoshigames.tumblr.com/?og=1
February 11, 2014
"I'm not drunk, you betch."
One of my favorite YouTube videos! I've met my fair share of sorority girls, and thankfully, the ones that are my friends don't act like this... But, I know many and have overheard many say dumb shit like this.
"I just saw a fat as shit squirrel... She was probably a DG" lolololz
SNYDERFEST
For whatever reason, my mother trusted me with our old house. My parents built it when I was in kindergarten and I can honestly say it was the nicest one on our street. If I can give my dad one compliment, because I can't give him many, it's that he maintained our house like a professional. When my parents were separating, my mom would go away for weekends and leave me the house. I don't know what would possess her to do such a thing, but she trusted me nonetheless. I guess she figured if there were any issues, my dad, who was fucking the neighborhood whore across the street, would get ahold of her.
One night, I decided to have a random array of friends over for a party. I had been having parties on a regular basis now and had coined them "SnyderFests". This particular night, a friend from work, a lesbian, brought her lesbian friends. I love lesbians, especially my friend, let's call her Marissa. Marissa was one of the funniest lesbians I had ever met and probably my only gay friend. Side note: I don't prefer having other homosexuals as friends and for some reason, meeting lesbians is a hard task... honestly, where do they hang out?
Marissa and her friends drove up from downtown Wheeling, after leaving the bar, LaCage. LaCage (spelling?) was a gay bar and probably the only one in our godforsaken town. They drove up to my house, intoxicated from LaCage and we continued drinking into the night... Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing even rowdy about this "Snyderfest"...
The next morning, I awoke to random lesbians all over my living room. I took a lesbian roll call and found one was missing, but nobody knew where she was. I started cleaning up and another lesbian friend of theirs picked all the remaining lesbos up. After a couple hours of recouping, I decided to go to the gym. As I was backing out of my driveway, a police car was pulling in. WTF
We both got out of our cars and he greeted me with, "Are you Dylan Snyder?" I responded "yes" and he proceeded to ask if I had a party last night, to which I assured him only a few friends were over; it wasn't a party. Truthfully, I wouldn't have called the prior night a party- more like a small drunken gathering. Wellllll, apparently there was a girl in the local Emergency Room claiming she was at my house and wasn't in good shape. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I was told to follow him to the police station.
Once I arrived, the policeman starting grilling me, asking who I had invited over, what we were drinking, and if there were drugs involved... then he dropped the bomb: the girl, who I had pieced together was the missing lesbian, told her mother she was drugged... at my house... and they assumed it was me. NOW, what would I, an openly gay kid, benefit from drugging a goddamn lesbian?? He then asked for my account of the night. I immediately told him how that group of girls had arrived at my house after visiting LaCage in downtown. The policeman's face was instantly dismayed... apparently, the girl, who was underage and not out to her family, decided to keep that part of her night out of her story. I could even remember her bragging to me at my house that she had been bought many drinks at LaCage... Bitch, if you were drugged, it was probably by one of those filthy lesbians who frequent that dirty, dikey bar.
I gave him a written statement, maintaining that I had nothing to do with her misfortunes that night and asked if he knew my mother, the principal at our local elementary school, which seemed to help me in the situation. Before I walked out of the makeshift police station situated in the center of our dreary community park, I asked if I needed to get a lawyer. He said I should be ok, but that he'd be in contact with me soon. I never heard back.
Later that day, after calling Marissa and flipping shit on her and asking what the fuck happened to her stupid lesbian friend, I was able to piece together the night. Apparently, the lesbian who was missing in the morning had left my house the night before in her car... Even though Marissa did not condone. I don't condone drinking and driving either, although I've been known to do it, but this bitch definitely didn't need to be behind the wheel. She was found in the early morning hours walking up a major roadway several miles from my house, disoriented, intoxicated, and covered in blood. Blood. Da fuck? This twat had driven her car from my house to South Wheeling, a good five miles. But, during her drive, she managed to rip the concreted basketball hoop out of my neighbor's front yard, which pierced her windshield and continued driving to her destination of the Lowe's parking lot. When found covered in blood walking up the road, she was taken to the hospital for alcohol poisoning and suspicion of drug use. You would think that a large object, like a basketball hoop, piercing through your windshield would have deterred her from continuing her drunken voyage OR given her cuts and scrapes, leading to the blood found on her... but... It. Wasn't. Her. Blood. WHAT?! I don't think they ever determined where the blood came from. It could've been from a number of things, like, maybe she also ran down a small animal and decided to check on its survival... or maybe she killed a hobo in cold blood with a gun she had stolen from LaCage. Either way, that was the most peculiar part of the night and I don't care to know where the blood truly came from.
I haven't seen this lesbian since and I don't even remember her name. She lost a lot of my respect the moment she claimed I drugged her... like, really bitch? You got what you deserved: your stomach pumped, your car fucked, and outed to your family. Cyabyeeee
-DMS
One night, I decided to have a random array of friends over for a party. I had been having parties on a regular basis now and had coined them "SnyderFests". This particular night, a friend from work, a lesbian, brought her lesbian friends. I love lesbians, especially my friend, let's call her Marissa. Marissa was one of the funniest lesbians I had ever met and probably my only gay friend. Side note: I don't prefer having other homosexuals as friends and for some reason, meeting lesbians is a hard task... honestly, where do they hang out?
Marissa and her friends drove up from downtown Wheeling, after leaving the bar, LaCage. LaCage (spelling?) was a gay bar and probably the only one in our godforsaken town. They drove up to my house, intoxicated from LaCage and we continued drinking into the night... Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing even rowdy about this "Snyderfest"...
The next morning, I awoke to random lesbians all over my living room. I took a lesbian roll call and found one was missing, but nobody knew where she was. I started cleaning up and another lesbian friend of theirs picked all the remaining lesbos up. After a couple hours of recouping, I decided to go to the gym. As I was backing out of my driveway, a police car was pulling in. WTF
We both got out of our cars and he greeted me with, "Are you Dylan Snyder?" I responded "yes" and he proceeded to ask if I had a party last night, to which I assured him only a few friends were over; it wasn't a party. Truthfully, I wouldn't have called the prior night a party- more like a small drunken gathering. Wellllll, apparently there was a girl in the local Emergency Room claiming she was at my house and wasn't in good shape. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I was told to follow him to the police station.
Once I arrived, the policeman starting grilling me, asking who I had invited over, what we were drinking, and if there were drugs involved... then he dropped the bomb: the girl, who I had pieced together was the missing lesbian, told her mother she was drugged... at my house... and they assumed it was me. NOW, what would I, an openly gay kid, benefit from drugging a goddamn lesbian?? He then asked for my account of the night. I immediately told him how that group of girls had arrived at my house after visiting LaCage in downtown. The policeman's face was instantly dismayed... apparently, the girl, who was underage and not out to her family, decided to keep that part of her night out of her story. I could even remember her bragging to me at my house that she had been bought many drinks at LaCage... Bitch, if you were drugged, it was probably by one of those filthy lesbians who frequent that dirty, dikey bar.
I gave him a written statement, maintaining that I had nothing to do with her misfortunes that night and asked if he knew my mother, the principal at our local elementary school, which seemed to help me in the situation. Before I walked out of the makeshift police station situated in the center of our dreary community park, I asked if I needed to get a lawyer. He said I should be ok, but that he'd be in contact with me soon. I never heard back.
Later that day, after calling Marissa and flipping shit on her and asking what the fuck happened to her stupid lesbian friend, I was able to piece together the night. Apparently, the lesbian who was missing in the morning had left my house the night before in her car... Even though Marissa did not condone. I don't condone drinking and driving either, although I've been known to do it, but this bitch definitely didn't need to be behind the wheel. She was found in the early morning hours walking up a major roadway several miles from my house, disoriented, intoxicated, and covered in blood. Blood. Da fuck? This twat had driven her car from my house to South Wheeling, a good five miles. But, during her drive, she managed to rip the concreted basketball hoop out of my neighbor's front yard, which pierced her windshield and continued driving to her destination of the Lowe's parking lot. When found covered in blood walking up the road, she was taken to the hospital for alcohol poisoning and suspicion of drug use. You would think that a large object, like a basketball hoop, piercing through your windshield would have deterred her from continuing her drunken voyage OR given her cuts and scrapes, leading to the blood found on her... but... It. Wasn't. Her. Blood. WHAT?! I don't think they ever determined where the blood came from. It could've been from a number of things, like, maybe she also ran down a small animal and decided to check on its survival... or maybe she killed a hobo in cold blood with a gun she had stolen from LaCage. Either way, that was the most peculiar part of the night and I don't care to know where the blood truly came from.
I haven't seen this lesbian since and I don't even remember her name. She lost a lot of my respect the moment she claimed I drugged her... like, really bitch? You got what you deserved: your stomach pumped, your car fucked, and outed to your family. Cyabyeeee
-DMS
February 6, 2014
Fall Fest Fuckery
Recently, at a cabin in bumfucked Ohio, my friends and I were discussing their random visits to WVU over the years. One story stuck out: Fall Fest 2009. Fall Fest is WVU's "welcome back" party. They usually book semi-popular bands/singers that provide a "free" concert to all students, the first Monday of school. It is always hot AF in August at Fall Fest, the crowd is unbelievably large, belligerent, and unruly, and to this day, I don't remember a single Fall Fest. I've attended five. There's something wrong with that figure.
Several friends visited me that year, 2009. As we were reminiscing, one friend explained how she "touched Akon that night" and the other, let's call her Morgan, said, "I ate rat poison that night, nothing much else."
"Nothing much else"?! Really bitch?! Da fuck?!
The picture above shows Morgan surrounded by cigarettes, not her own, and the white powered behind her is some kind of rat poison/pesticide that legitimately found its way into her mouth that day. WTF
* Apparently, Morgan, who's real name is obviously not displayed, still didn't want her gorgeous, rat poison-infested face on my blog... so she requested to have her face blurred... whatthefuckever.
-DMS
February 5, 2014
Ohh, Susie!
So my sister and her roommate, who were involved in witnessing Susie's lowest point on my 20th birthday, just reminded me of what happened AFTER we got home from picking her up...
Susie was visibly upset from her public display of affection with a token black lesbian, or maybe the fact she missed out on McNuggets. Either way, she was not pleased... and NOT ready for bed. We were all congregating in my bedroom, trying to get to bed, when I offered a nugget to Susie. Being the asshole I am, I didn't just hand her said nugget, I threw it towards her. Hot messie Susie could barely stumble her way to my bathroom across the hall, let alone catch the smallest nugget from my batch.
The nugget went missing and Susie went on a violent rampage to locate it. In the meantime, she threw anything that was in her way across all directions of my bedroom, including my computer chair, which she hoisted above her head and chucked onto my bed. This would be somewhat acceptable, considering her current state of mind, but she threw the chair on some unfortunate twat who was passed out in my bed. She. Didn't. Move. That computer chair was a clunker, probably as old as I... yet that bitch must've been just as fucked as Susie for not waking up.
I eventually locked Susie out of my bedroom so I could sleep peacefully. She retreated to the living room where she most likely stayed up until sunrise twiddling her thumbs and having conversations with herself since no one else was awake... Something Susie still does to this day.
-DMS
Susie was visibly upset from her public display of affection with a token black lesbian, or maybe the fact she missed out on McNuggets. Either way, she was not pleased... and NOT ready for bed. We were all congregating in my bedroom, trying to get to bed, when I offered a nugget to Susie. Being the asshole I am, I didn't just hand her said nugget, I threw it towards her. Hot messie Susie could barely stumble her way to my bathroom across the hall, let alone catch the smallest nugget from my batch.
The nugget went missing and Susie went on a violent rampage to locate it. In the meantime, she threw anything that was in her way across all directions of my bedroom, including my computer chair, which she hoisted above her head and chucked onto my bed. This would be somewhat acceptable, considering her current state of mind, but she threw the chair on some unfortunate twat who was passed out in my bed. She. Didn't. Move. That computer chair was a clunker, probably as old as I... yet that bitch must've been just as fucked as Susie for not waking up.
I eventually locked Susie out of my bedroom so I could sleep peacefully. She retreated to the living room where she most likely stayed up until sunrise twiddling her thumbs and having conversations with herself since no one else was awake... Something Susie still does to this day.
-DMS
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)