(no subject)
So this morning Kneegs made the mistake of telling me it was going up to 14 degrees today (that's almost 60 to you non-metric heathens). Its been winter too damned long. I rolled straight upstairs, slapped a coat of red polish on my cloven hoofs, busted out my high heeled crocs and off I went to work. Yes, I was That Idiot. I knew how utterly ridiculous I looked dodging snowbanks with my gnarly, exposed toesies. And dude. Seriously. Invest in some damned leg paint because pasty is NOT the new black. And of course I froze my damned ass off.
But I just Did. Not. Care. The sun was on my face and at some point today it might feel like spring and who knows how many sandal days we get and I just didn't want to waste a single one.
So there I was the only pasty-legged raytard in a sea of pants and boots on the subway when I made the mistake of starting I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell. And yes, Kneegs, you are most assuredly funnier than Tucker Max and every other human being alive. But this guy has editors, damned good ones and me and my pasty bare legs started laughing. And laughing. And LAUGHING. Eventually I lost the plot so badly that a couple of other people actually started laughing with me. (With me, at me, whatever.) That just made me laugh harder which made them laugh harder and the rest of the people on that stuffed sardine can actually started backing away from me. Like I was dangerous.
Ha.
I need to get better nicknames for my friends.
My life will not be complete until I've spent a night wasted with Hate, Brownhole and El Bingeroso.
Come to think of it, I'm surprised my friends don't call me Brownhole already.
To my face.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
ETA: Tucker Max is a dink and I am ashamed I ever found him funny. But then, I shit on people's couches so shame is a feeling I am used to. :p
But I just Did. Not. Care. The sun was on my face and at some point today it might feel like spring and who knows how many sandal days we get and I just didn't want to waste a single one.
So there I was the only pasty-legged raytard in a sea of pants and boots on the subway when I made the mistake of starting I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell. And yes, Kneegs, you are most assuredly funnier than Tucker Max and every other human being alive. But this guy has editors, damned good ones and me and my pasty bare legs started laughing. And laughing. And LAUGHING. Eventually I lost the plot so badly that a couple of other people actually started laughing with me. (With me, at me, whatever.) That just made me laugh harder which made them laugh harder and the rest of the people on that stuffed sardine can actually started backing away from me. Like I was dangerous.
Ha.
I need to get better nicknames for my friends.
My life will not be complete until I've spent a night wasted with Hate, Brownhole and El Bingeroso.
Come to think of it, I'm surprised my friends don't call me Brownhole already.
To my face.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
ETA: Tucker Max is a dink and I am ashamed I ever found him funny. But then, I shit on people's couches so shame is a feeling I am used to. :p