This Just In
Fair warning, this entry isn't funny, actually i don't even know why I'm writing it cause i have better shit to be doing. (Enters high Stewie voice) Like working on that novel, you know, the one i've been, um, writing for a few months now, gonna work on developing those characters, maybe throw some interesting plot twists, keep the reader guessing?.. oh who am I kidding, i'ma go jerk off.
A shocking conclusion was made by this reporter in the Hatfield house today. Barry Hatfield, 58, father of three children (ages 20,22,30) was declared to be a very, very funny drunk.
The announcement came after Barry allegedly drained two vodka cocktails and proceeded to (in this reporter's expert opinion) undercook the chicken. A scene then followed where said reporter refused to clean the bone due to a gross surplus of pink and crimson flesh, effectively leaving the better half of a large chicken thigh uneaten and picked apart like an appropriate metaphor which i cannot think of right now.
By this point, the alcohol had percolated it's way through Barry's system and was now piloting his voice. He proceeded to hassle this reporter, calling him childish names like "Bozo Butt," saying that the chicken was plenty done, and further arguing that a person who eats raw fish (sushi) should not have a problem with chicken (He would not say undercooked because in his dilusional mind, the chicken was perfect). We argued for a while, threw each other a few verbal punches, and wisely, i backed down, not wanting to perpetual anything.
After dinner:
Said reporter's brother wants to play cards and Katy (Barry's wife) suggests we may want to wipe off the table, to which this reporter replys: Oh, that's just superstition.
Barry laughs hysterically, and makes me feel funny.
We interrupt this news bulletin to bring you this: my brother's music sucks. Fuck Bad Religion. That's right, I said it.
Anyway, later mom (screw the journalistic narrative, i grow tired of it) uses the word collate in a sentence and i comment that collate is a silly word. At about this time father leaves the room, to come back about 30 seconds later to proudly announce "I agree though, collate is a silly word."
...thank you dad, you drunk son of a biatch.
And for anyone wondering, No, i ain't been drinkin this evening.
PS I don't think there is anything sweeter than when you are driving down a two-lane highway and some douche bag who thinks you are going to slow (75) blasts by you in the other lane and not a mile down the road gets taken down by a motorcycle cop. How sweet is that when you drive by, maybe you slow down a bit as you go, look out the window and turn up your nose at them?
Sweet. Fuck you BMW driver. ENjoy your ticket, you're very impatient.
A shocking conclusion was made by this reporter in the Hatfield house today. Barry Hatfield, 58, father of three children (ages 20,22,30) was declared to be a very, very funny drunk.
The announcement came after Barry allegedly drained two vodka cocktails and proceeded to (in this reporter's expert opinion) undercook the chicken. A scene then followed where said reporter refused to clean the bone due to a gross surplus of pink and crimson flesh, effectively leaving the better half of a large chicken thigh uneaten and picked apart like an appropriate metaphor which i cannot think of right now.
By this point, the alcohol had percolated it's way through Barry's system and was now piloting his voice. He proceeded to hassle this reporter, calling him childish names like "Bozo Butt," saying that the chicken was plenty done, and further arguing that a person who eats raw fish (sushi) should not have a problem with chicken (He would not say undercooked because in his dilusional mind, the chicken was perfect). We argued for a while, threw each other a few verbal punches, and wisely, i backed down, not wanting to perpetual anything.
After dinner:
Said reporter's brother wants to play cards and Katy (Barry's wife) suggests we may want to wipe off the table, to which this reporter replys: Oh, that's just superstition.
Barry laughs hysterically, and makes me feel funny.
We interrupt this news bulletin to bring you this: my brother's music sucks. Fuck Bad Religion. That's right, I said it.
Anyway, later mom (screw the journalistic narrative, i grow tired of it) uses the word collate in a sentence and i comment that collate is a silly word. At about this time father leaves the room, to come back about 30 seconds later to proudly announce "I agree though, collate is a silly word."
...thank you dad, you drunk son of a biatch.
And for anyone wondering, No, i ain't been drinkin this evening.
PS I don't think there is anything sweeter than when you are driving down a two-lane highway and some douche bag who thinks you are going to slow (75) blasts by you in the other lane and not a mile down the road gets taken down by a motorcycle cop. How sweet is that when you drive by, maybe you slow down a bit as you go, look out the window and turn up your nose at them?
Sweet. Fuck you BMW driver. ENjoy your ticket, you're very impatient.