As it turns out, John and I are in the same industry and I saw him at a trade show in Florida.
That's fucked up.
What's not fucked up is a girl punching me in the face.
Coincidence
I'm not sure if you remember the Guess How Much Money is in the Bag contest, but the winner of the contest was some guy named John from North Carolina.
As it turns out, John and I are in the same industry and I saw him at a trade show in Florida.
That's fucked up.
What's not fucked up is a girl punching me in the face.
As it turns out, John and I are in the same industry and I saw him at a trade show in Florida.
That's fucked up.
What's not fucked up is a girl punching me in the face.
Don't be a lame ass turd
Listen. You've basically been a turd your whole life. You don't care for anyone but yourself.
Well, fucker, it's time to care about a cause.
No, not cancer.
I'm talking about Off, Off, Off Broadway. I'm talking about Mad Labs.
Mad Labs needs money. They are a bunch of poor acting fucks who think that someday they might make it as big as me. This money might help to cure them of that fantasy.
Go here and join their cause: http://www.causes.com/causes/476165-madlab?m=9e4cc0c7&recruiter_id=22026465
And yes, your person information will be used to sneak children out of China.
Well, fucker, it's time to care about a cause.
No, not cancer.
I'm talking about Off, Off, Off Broadway. I'm talking about Mad Labs.
Mad Labs needs money. They are a bunch of poor acting fucks who think that someday they might make it as big as me. This money might help to cure them of that fantasy.
Go here and join their cause: http://www.causes.com/causes/476165-madlab?m=9e4cc0c7&recruiter_id=22026465
And yes, your person information will be used to sneak children out of China.
Return Envelope Surprise
On one of my last days at my old job, I was offered a look at one of our postage paid return envelopes that had been delivered back to our offices. Normally this envelope would be filled with very, very boring stuff.
Here is the envelope. Looks like the sender is a supporter of stopping breast cancer.
Here's the back. Puppy and kitten stickers!
And inside...
Good old American porn.
I have done similar things with obnoxious mailings from credit card companies, except normally I just take the stuff out of one credit card application and switch it with the stuff from another. This was genius.
And it was real porn. I just arranged the pages so the really good stuff was face down. And I did not get excited by the content. I just had to go pee right afterwards.
Here is the envelope. Looks like the sender is a supporter of stopping breast cancer.
Here's the back. Puppy and kitten stickers!
And inside...
Good old American porn.
I have done similar things with obnoxious mailings from credit card companies, except normally I just take the stuff out of one credit card application and switch it with the stuff from another. This was genius.
And it was real porn. I just arranged the pages so the really good stuff was face down. And I did not get excited by the content. I just had to go pee right afterwards.
Fuck1ng Pa$$word
At my previous place of employment, our credit card system required you to change your password every three months. Because I only accessed my credit card program once a month, it seem like I was changing it all the time. This made me very angry every time I had to think of a new password. Because I was accessing the program so infrequently, I would have to write the password down. So every third time I would cross off the old password and write the new password down.
Button Weed follow up
It turns out that there really is something called Buttonweed: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diodia
Button Weed
Call me a liar, but it's true... I don't smoke weed. It makes my hands feel big and my head thrums with every heartbeat. I just don't like it. I prefer a safer alternative, like alcohol. But I have some friends that like weed. This is a story about one time when my friend smoked button weed.
We had gone to Cleveland to visit friends. While there at my buddy's apartment, a few of his friends popped by. We were getting ready to head out to a concert/bar, when one of the chicks asked if anyone wanted to smoke some weed. A few did, so they stepped out back.
When they were done, we headed out to the show and then to a bar. All throughout the night, my stoned friend said nothing. He was really, really stoned. Once we were finally at the bar, I asked him when he was going to start speaking again. He said as soon as he remembered what vowels were. The next morning we questioned him as to why he was so stoned. He said that he didn't know and that it must have been the button weed.
I don't know about you, but I am not wise to the different kinds of weed out there. I know you can roll it or smoke it out of a pipe, but that's the extent of my knowledge. When he said "button weed" I assumed it was some type of potent, compressed weed that was in the shape of a button. A fabricated, easy to use portion that you might drop in a pipe or bong. An easy size to sell and transport. (This is starting to sound like a commercial.)
For the past two years, at times when people started talking about weed, I would bring up my friend and his experience with button weed. For some reason, button weed must be a Cleveland thing because no one had heard of it.
Last week found us back up in Cleveland for a less exciting trip. But the story about my friend being stoned came up again and the phrase button weed was mentioned. I remarked that the button weed must be a very regional drug because no one else had heard of it. My friends looked at me as if I was crazy. I explained what I thought button weed was... little, potent, button sized, compressed.
My friends laughed and laughed.
As it turns out, button weed was not used to describe what the weed was but rather what the girl kept it in: the little plastic bag that extra jacket buttons come in. She kept her weed in that bag and there were still some buttons in it with the weed. Button weed.
I'm an idiot.
We had gone to Cleveland to visit friends. While there at my buddy's apartment, a few of his friends popped by. We were getting ready to head out to a concert/bar, when one of the chicks asked if anyone wanted to smoke some weed. A few did, so they stepped out back.
When they were done, we headed out to the show and then to a bar. All throughout the night, my stoned friend said nothing. He was really, really stoned. Once we were finally at the bar, I asked him when he was going to start speaking again. He said as soon as he remembered what vowels were. The next morning we questioned him as to why he was so stoned. He said that he didn't know and that it must have been the button weed.
I don't know about you, but I am not wise to the different kinds of weed out there. I know you can roll it or smoke it out of a pipe, but that's the extent of my knowledge. When he said "button weed" I assumed it was some type of potent, compressed weed that was in the shape of a button. A fabricated, easy to use portion that you might drop in a pipe or bong. An easy size to sell and transport. (This is starting to sound like a commercial.)
For the past two years, at times when people started talking about weed, I would bring up my friend and his experience with button weed. For some reason, button weed must be a Cleveland thing because no one had heard of it.
Last week found us back up in Cleveland for a less exciting trip. But the story about my friend being stoned came up again and the phrase button weed was mentioned. I remarked that the button weed must be a very regional drug because no one else had heard of it. My friends looked at me as if I was crazy. I explained what I thought button weed was... little, potent, button sized, compressed.
My friends laughed and laughed.
As it turns out, button weed was not used to describe what the weed was but rather what the girl kept it in: the little plastic bag that extra jacket buttons come in. She kept her weed in that bag and there were still some buttons in it with the weed. Button weed.
I'm an idiot.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)