Strove to find a way to punch people in the face by using the Internet.


Holy Shit, My Foot. Argh, What The Fuck.
So I had taken a bit of a break from kickboxing training the past few weeks, what with my Costanza and all. But this past week I tried to step up both the frequency and intensity of my shit, for no discernible reason. Here you can view the delightful results.

What the fuck. Seriously.

I have a vagina on my foot. How? Why? Did the lesbians put a curse on me? The fucking bathroom window was an accident, I swear. Call off your goddess, you lesbians, and I'll... Holy shit, did you just see that? Did that fucking thing just wink at me?

Everybody that thought I was frontin' about the magical healing powers of Krazy Glue can blow me.

By the way, I've been drinking for the past, um, six hours? Seven hours? Shit, I dunno. I lost count.

If I wake up tomorrow and still have a foot — that is, one that doesn't look like a rotten banana — I reckon it'll all be worth it.

Heh heh, I accidentally glued my foot to my thigh, and when I peeled it off it looked like this. Think it's permanent?

I swear to god, I have the best life in the world, and I... Ummm, hold on... Shit, I think I glued my foot to the floor. I, uh, need to go attend to this. Let me get back to you.



Dear Lesbians — Please Accept My Apologies
Last night I drank all this wine and went nuts.

See, I haven't really been drinking the past several months, because I had this delusional idea that I was training for a kickboxing match, so my tolerance for the hooch is totally in the shitter. And I was at Laura Minor's apartment for this going-away-sale-slash-leaving-town party, and she had all this wine... It was really good; went down smooth. And so did all the Guinness Chris Ross left behind when he split, and so did all the Jim Beam. Anyway, I got totally tanked. And Laura's party wrapped up and people were splitting, and I caught a ride with this awesome lesbian over to this lesbian party.

I don't know why going to a party seemed like such a good idea. In practical terms, I was minutes away from unconsciousness, just running on booze fumes. My lesbian should've just conked me on the head and left me by the side of the road instead of hauling me around — I was drunk beyond comprehension, babbling and talking shit. Having trouble with complete sentences, not to mention focusing my eyes. Really, I don't know what this lesbian was thinking.

We ended up at the lesbian party and... Well, technically it wasn't a lesbian party, or a lesbian-only party anyway, but suffice to say there weren't a lot of dudes there, and I was feeling a little self-conscious.

The fact I'm bald now wasn't helping. I mean, I was bald before, or severely balding at the very least. And I keep what hair I have short, but there's usually some coverage on the ol' scalp. But at 5:45 a.m. after shaving my head down to its usual 3/4ths of an inch I took the guard off the clippers to trim up the neckline, and while I was fixing that up I noticed I had missed a patch, so I reflexively just zapped it. In doing so I shaved a 4" bald stripe across the back of my head.

I couldn't believe it. I stood there, bleary-eyed and swaying to and fro at like 6 in the goddamn morning, rubbing the bald patch and wondering if I was dreaming, or just tired and mistaken and this would all be cleared up after I drank a cup of coffee. But no, after several minutes of glaring at my stupid head in the mirror I had to admit that I really did shave this big-ass diagonal bald patch across the back of my scalp, and I was going to have to deal with this somehow and live with the consequences.

For a minute or two I contemplated the Ron Howard approach and just going for the ball cap until it grew out enough to even it up, but eventually just said "fuck it" and mowed all that shit off, right down to the skin. So I was feeling pretty self-conscious all day, even before I got to the lesbian party. I didn't wear my Doc Martens and I was going out of my way to be super nice to black people all day because I was paranoid everyone was going to think I was some Nazi skinhead dude or something.

Plus I just look fucking ugly with my lumpy, scarred head all naked and exposed. I know I'm not exactly winning any beauty contests with hair or anything, but I do what I can, just so children don't immediately cry in my presence and stuff. So, yeah, I was pretty uncomfortable all day yesterday, then found myself standing around at this lesbian party looking like a fucking walking penis.

Anyway, I'm standing around like a giant boner trying to stay out of the way of all the lesbians and not bum them out. Mostly hiding in the kitchen. I was really trying hard not to pass out or do anything too stupid or offensive, and believe me I'm not exactly a pro at that approach when I'm stone-cold sober.

Every once in a while someone I kind of knew would walk up to chat with me, and I would concentrate so hard, so very very hard, on maintaining some semblance of coherency. They'd finish speaking and I'd just stand there, bracing myself against the sink and trying to look pleasant. Then I'd realize that they were under the impression that we're having a conversation, and now it was my turn to talk. Maybe they had even asked me a question — who could tell? I had no idea what was going on, and I was desperate to keep the lesbians from getting pissed off at me, so I'd very carefully enunciate something that I figured was innocuous enough to keep me out of trouble, like, "Birds are so pretty," or, "Peanut butter sandwich." As soon as this shit came out of my mouth I'd think, "You should've said something germane to the actual conversation," an impression reinforced by the weird looks I got as whoever it was made an awkward excuse and bailed.

Eventually I decided on a plan: I would get the hell out of there and go home. First, though, I would pee.

I went to the bathroom and closed the door. It didn't close all the way — the door jamb didn't quite fit the door or something, and there was no way to lock it. I was terrified at what might happen if I showed my weiner to a lesbian, so I gave the door a little yank. And I heard a huge crash behind me.

I turned around and the bathroom window had fallen out of the wall, frame and all. There was glass everywhere; all over the floor, the toilet seat... Huge shards of it sticking out of the bowl. "Fuck," I thought, "What have I done? Those lesbians are gonna fuckin' kill me."

I opened the door as people came running, then I stood there like a big useless hard-on as lesbians filled the room, clustering around and surveying the damage. "Guh," I said. "Uhhhh... Shit." I muttered a few apologies and started picking up some of the bigger shards before a stern, competent lesbian hustled my ass out of there. I didn't exactly get the gist of it, but I guess the window smashing wasn't wholly unanticipated. Like, maybe it was a booby trap. Or something. I don't know, I was feeling like a big douche and got the hell out of there.

I went out on their front porch and tried to talk to a few people, but was just too mortified. I also knew that I was on a serious countdown to unconsciousness, and since there didn't seem to be any alternative decided to walk the two or three miles from the lesbian party back to my apartment.

There really isn't much to say about the walk home, except that it sucked. It took a lot of focus to make my feet go in the right order, and once or twice I concentrated too hard on it and walked into a bush. But I made it home unscathed, and am reasonably sure I didn't fall down, or cause anyone's bathroom window to fall out of the wall and smash all over the toilet.

For some reason, I used the walk home as an opportunity to reflect on my many flaws. By the time I made it in the door, I was in a full-fledged, drunken paroxysm of self-loathing.

This in turn made me decide to erase my MySpace and Friendster profiles. I'm not sure about the exact reasoning, but I think it had something to do with me not deserving any friends.

Anyway, today I feel like a dipshit. And I guess if you were my friend I need to reconnect to you with my new profiles, so we can keep in touch and shit. Though if you wanted to use this occasion to just, you know, cut me loose I wouldn't exactly blame you.

Now if anyone needs me, I'm going to go to bed, and stay there, for like a month.

I am a giant douche.


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