Picture this: Two candles lit –Pumpkin Spice and Winter Christmas (My sense of smell is altered due to the polyps clogging my nose, but my imagination is telling me it’s giving off a gingerbread cookie scent and it's making me hungry). I have roommates, lovers and assholes all around me. A dick and a red head to my right, a scissorsauras to my left, a future P.E teacher in the recliner (big dreams huh?), and two chicks on the floor who claim their most scandalous hook up occurred in the bed: missionary style.
And then there’s me, right in between the dinosaur and red head. They’re all watching Hot Tub Time Machine crippling their brains with this disastrous, so-called “comedy.” I’ve never been a fan of funny movies- they’re unrealistic. Fat Jewish guys do not get laid in real life – they eventually get skinny or they spend their life masturbating to “I had a little dreidle.” Black jokes are not funny, they were never funny, and they will never be funny. Yet, black jokes are still told by the ignorant and laughed at by the reformed racist. The inspiring speeches are disturbing. Telling someone they are “Special” or “worth something” after they zipped their penis in their pants or spent their life as an oversized elf is completely fucking wrong. And we wonder why American children have these unattainable aspirations.
In conclusion, comedies suck. I find myself far more entertaining.
Just minutes ago our neighbor broke in. We hear the door slam and I immediately begin plotting an escape route in my head. I imagined myself jumping over the alcohol stained coffee table, pushing the PE teacher off the recliner as a distraction, (I figured if she was an English teacher she would be worth saving considering the current invasion of foreigners, and in that case I would choose the red head as a distraction due to obvious reasons, but the PE teacher isn’t an English teacher and teaching kids to play kickball is simply replaceable). I would then skip between the might-as-well-be-virgins and run up the stairs to the side window. I envisioned punching the window out and landing in the mulch and bushes hopefully enduring only a slight fracture to the wrist or ankle, but my back up plan was to run in my room, lock the door and scream for help. Before I could carry out my escape plan, we made the dick go check out the scene.
Next thing we know a drunk bitch pops around the corner, the dick tackles her to the ground and realizing she had no axe, but an ass, the dick left to go to the bar with her and a few sluts… typical.
So here I am, beginning my blog life after a near death experience, under the romantic glow of two burning candles, resisting the hairy, naked men on the TV screen, and trying to avoid the delicious thought of gingerbread men jumping into milk and then reaching for my mouth.
Oh, College.
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