As anyone with Internet or a TV should know, the Mega Millions lottery has hit a whopping $640 jackpot. I know my luck, so I bought a ticket and plan on winning this massive amount of cash. Some may say that $640M is too much for one person to ever have. I say, screw them! Here's what I'll do when I win this money.
During the time my numbers are picked tonight (around 11p EST), I will be riding around downtown Columbus in a limo. (I'm actually not kidding on that) When I find out that I've won what is deservedly mine, I will instantly find the nearest cigar shop and buy the most expensive cigar there. I will then light it with a $100 bill and pay the limo driver to take our late night posse around to the finest bars and clubs. I'll buy a stripper at each place and add them to our posse. I'll probably right then and there buy one of the clubs I like and make it open bar for the entire place. There's maybe only a million or two dropped right there.
Once we are driven back in MY new limo, I'll pass out on my new memory foam mattress I ordered at the bar. I'll snuggle with my golden poodle tonight. Oh yeah, I'm buying a dog for my dog. Awesome, right!? I will wake up, take my routine morning poop, wipe with $100 bills, and take a golden shower. No, not THAT golden shower, but a shower made out of gold. I'll have one of my strippers sponge bathe me too while I read an issue of Forbes magazine. I'll get out and dry off with my brand spanking new full-body air dryer. They don't make them yet - I have the only one.
Since I'm not a greedy person, I'll instantly pay off my student loans, my parent's mortgage and any debt they've accumulated, and send like $10M for my family to split. Chump change, in my book. You can call me the Oprah of lottery winners. You get a million, YOU get a million, EVERYONE GETS A MILLION BUCKS!
After I'm done being nice, I'll probably buy the country of Greece. Why? Because I can. Gyros will now be called Jordanos. Greek food will then be called Jordan food. Back here in the states, I'll probably open a sweet club/bar with some sweet name that has yet to be determined and only hire the best DJ's in the world to perform. You're welcome, America! I'll go back home after my purchases to my new mansion.
Now, my mansion will include all golden toilet and showers, with rolls of $100 bills to wipe with, like I had previously mentioned. Each bathroom will have a bathroom, too. Why not? My living room will consist of a full wall which is a plasma screen TV, which is similar to the one Barney Stinson has in his bachelor pad. Memory foam sofas will line the room while sweet pictures of sweet shit will cover the walls. I'll turn on the TV and, wait, what's that? Looks my new team, the Los Angeles Lakers, are on TV tonight! Sweet! I'll run to my kitchen (which is conveniently a Chipotle/Cane's Chicken combo restaurant) and grab some snacks.
Once the game's over, we can head to my pool/jacuzzi that overlooks the city. We'll sip Dom Perignon while discussing our latest investments in Fortune 500 companies, of which I will be a board member of 6 of them. Of course, we'll be smoking stogies lit with our $100 bills. We'll converse about my new monument I erected in the town's downtown area. He's a handsome man, you know.
Finally, before the day is over, I'll have the P90X dude give me a workout personally while.... "enjoying" the company of the lovely ladies I brought over. They're nice girls, you should meet them sometime. I'll open the house up for a housewarming party that P. Diddy could only wish he could throw. Enough drinks to get the country of Finland drunk for 3 full weeks and enough Chipotle to send even the most strong stomached individual to the toiler three times a night. After everyone vomits and passes out, I'll have my branch of the local maid service come in and clean up while I enjoy watching my Lakers win again.
I only spent a 5th of my fortune too, and that's on a mild day. Imagine what every other day would be like....
No, this isn't another video about shit llamas say or anything. This is, however, a rant about the stupid, overused phrases that the world needs to stop saying this instant. There are many reasons for why these terms needs to cease and desist. Some of them are just annoying, some make you sound like an uneducated dumbass, while some just make you look like an idiot when you say them. These are those terms:
"You Only Live Once"
No shit Sherlock, how long did it take for you to realize this one? If I lived more than once, I'd be a sweet ass velociraptor and not some guy writing blog articles about stupid phrases. This phrase has been around for a while, but then that guy Drake made a song about The Motto and now anyone who wants to be accepted is adding "YOLO" to the end of everything daring they think they're doing. No one cares that you're eating a donut while on your diet because you only live once. I sure as hell don't care if you don't buckle your seatbelt because YOLO. You sound like a crazed teen band fan girl, except with less brain cells. If you're going to pick a different inspirational quote, pick one that can affect people, something like "Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars." I'd much rather people say SFTMEIYMYLATS than YOLO, because at the end of the day, YOLO both sounds like a ripoff clothing line and a dirty thing people do their wives at the end of the day. SFTMEIYMYLATS just sounds dumb, but has a real core meaning to it that can appeal to people who don't listen to mainstream media. Stop saying this dumb, overused phrase or I'll end your life that you only live once. Please.
"Dat Shit Cray/Cray Cray"
I want to hit Kanye West in the face with a fish stick for coining this dumb phrase. Made famous by being blurted out in Kanye's collab with Jay-Z, "Niggas In Paris," everyone has decided to lower themselves to the literacy of a flower by shouting this anytime something potentially wild may happen. There are so many other synonomical verses one can speak instead of "dat shit cray," including "That's nucking futs!", "Off the chain, yo!", and even the once overused term "This shit is bananas!" Nothing is "cray" about this phrase except for the amount of people using it, and the fact people still willingly use it despite using a word that is clearly missing a letter. Your 4th grade English teacher would slap the crap out of you if they ever heard you say "dat shit cray." Knock it off, crayfish.
"Sorry For Partying"
Oh, I get it! You went out last night and got like SUUUUPER wasted, and then tell everyone about all the crazy shenanigans you got into, and then you spout out "lol sorry 4 parteying!1" because you're really NOT sorry you partied! It all makes sense now. While the ladies in the pictures may be easy on the eyes, you still sound like an idiot saying this. In a world that has glamorized partying, this phrase just makes me think of that try-hard Kesha and her stupid antics. You don't want to be like her, do you? She's not even good looking. Anyway, this phrase is so overdone, especially by girls, who feel the need to stick it to the man because they had 14 cherry bombs and threw up on the bouncer. Sorry for partying! Everyone parties/has partied, and no one really cares if one does so. No need to address to the world how cool you are (not).
"Swag"
I may not fully understand the concept of swag, but from what I've picked up, it's what lame and uncool people need to get laid. To me, swag is attempting to bring your style into a world where everyone is the same. Well, if everyone is trying to bring their own style, wouldn't that make everyone trying to bring in swag, swagless? Swag is like the hipster, but only with flashy jewelry and stupid limps while walking. This fad needs to stop. If you need swag to get along in life, then you should reevaluate your life then. Leave swag at the curb, next to where the hookers and trash are. Find skill, intelligence, and logic, and then you won't need this "cure-all" swag.
April showers bring May flowers, but what does March bring? YOGA PANTS! Yoga pants are skin-tight trousers made of thin fabric that is fun for the whole family. If you don't like yoga pants, then you're a communist. Here's why both girls and guys can love this fantastic article of clothing:
-Girls love how comfortable they are
I can't say I've ever put a pair of these puppies on, but women rave about how comfortable and soft they are. Apparently it's like wearing a La-Z-Boy around your ass all day. In a world where women where uncomfy boob restraints, the yoga pant offers a different perspective, allowing your waist and legs to enjoy the feeling of pantlessness whilst still wearing pants! If this were made for guys, I'd wear them around the house all day with my house shoes and shit. They'd have to be manly though. Maybe through some USA flag print or something on it.
-Guys love how girl's butts look in them
Let's cut the shit: yoga pants are like push-up bras for your ass. Yoga pants can turn a pancake butt into something with shape, and can turn a medium-sized butt into a real donk. If you asked a guy what his favorite type of trousers were, he'd say yoga pants were second (obviously after no pants). Guys can be notorious for checking out the hiney of a finey, and these trousers from heaven only ass, I mean add fuel to the fire. It's like dangling a Big Mac in front of a homeless man.
-Girls love how yoga pants can go with almost any outfit
Wearing a t-shirt today? Yoga pants. Am I going to do yoga? Yoga pants. Going for a jog with my running attire? Yoga pants. Need something underneath your short dress? Yoga pants. They're like the chameleon of pants. The typical pair of black yoga pants can go with almost any ensemble, partly because the color black can go with anything. But for some reason, the yoga pant can ass, I mean add a classy touch, regardless of what one's wearing up top. Heck, it's look fine without a top! My theory is that is doesn't draw a lot of attention to the lower portion of the body. Thin, black pants don't necessarily stand out, leaving the attention up top.
-Guys love how girl's butts look in them
Let's cut the shit: yoga pants are like push-up bras for your ass. Yoga pants can turn a pancake butt into something with shape, and can turn a medium-sized butt into a real donk. If you asked a guy what his favorite type of trousers were, he'd say yoga pants were second (obviously after no pants). Guys can be notorious for checking out the hiney of a finey, and these trousers from heaven only ass, I mean add fuel to the fire. It's like dangling a Big Mac in front of a homeless man.
-Girls love the fabric
I may be getting redundant as the fabric definitely adds to the comfortability factor mentioned earlier, but there's more reasons for girls to love the fabric of yoga pants! With the fabric being so thin, it can make you feel like you're wearing nothing at all! It can allow your parts to breathe while still being clothed, which I can only imagine how awesome that feels, even my only judgement is from my experiences of standing over air blowing upwards from a downtown sewer grate. The thinness allows one to be comfy while not being overheated as well. Before yoga pants, 'comfy' was synonymous with 'warm, fuzzy, soft clothing.' This, by deductive reasoning, makes yoga pants a game changer, eternalizing them among the top pants of all time.
-Guys love how girl's butts look in them
Let's cut the shit: yoga pants are like push-up bras for your ass. Yoga pants can turn a pancake butt into something with shape, and can turn a medium-sized butt into a real donk. If you asked a guy what his favorite type of trousers were, he'd say yoga pants were second (obviously after no pants). Guys can be notorious for checking out the hiney of a finey, and these trousers from heaven only ass, I mean add fuel to the fire. It's like dangling a Big Mac in front of a homeless man.
But seriously, this is the only reason that benefits men. If you ladies had an everyday article of clothing for guys that could make you wetter than a sponge in a rainstorm, you'd obviously place that positive ahead of many other potential ones. I can't really think of any other positive for yoga pants for men though, unless they suddenly catch on and we lose the Affliction tees and start wearing these yoga pants.
Wait, shit! Us guys have been wearing this crap forever! I guess they really are as comfy as the women say they are....
What, you thought there were only three kinds of blackouts we encounter when we torture our livers? You're sadly mistaken. Upon our scientific studies and field research, we've encountered even more types of blackouts to educate you on. We can guarantee one of your lame friends probably falls under one of these too. Observe...
The Angry Blackout
So get this: you walk into your friend's house and chat up a conversation with the cute girl in the corner. Out of fucking nowhere, a TV remote flies like a Randy Johnson fastball and sticks into the wall. You then hear a guttural scream that would even scare Bigfoot, followed by a series of battering ram-esque head butts to the window. So much for getting lucky tonight, as you're too busy running away from this disaster like ants under a magnifying glass. This type of blackout disaster tends to be a more rare breed, but always brings an interesting (and usually less than pleasant) experience. The angry blackout usually ends their night in a hospital bed with a plank through their arm or stuffed in the back of a cop car after a household appliance throwing frenzy. Avoid this guy like the plague, because anything in the path of this drunken tornado can and will be ripped to shreds. No one really knows how this person gets so furious, but this dark side tends to always come out when they pass the point of no return.
The Crying Blackout
Have you ever seen someone in the corner of the bar crying? Odds are, you have. You wander over to console this person and offer a hand of friendship. Little do you know that they're really crying because the last song played reminded her (these people are usually a 'her') of her pet hamster Willie that died 16 years ago in a tragic hamster wheel accident. Little do you also know that she's really not going to remember anything come tomorrow. The crying blackout really is self explanatory; they get drunk, and cry. They don't cry about anything important like friends or sports, though. They break out the waterworks for what seems like the dumbest shit. It must be important to them, though, which may make you question why someone is so upset that they had forgotten they lost their old 98 Degrees album in 4th grade. Daddy issues? Emotional issues? Simply just a hot mess? Who knows. The crying blackout tends to be a bit of a buzzkill, though. It was fun to poke fun at the crier the first 107 times, but after a while it just becomes pathetic. Seriously, you're supposed to be having a good time, not moping in a corner over spilt milk. No, I'm not kidding, she literally just spilt a cup of milk and may be suicidal now. This cheap novelty gets old after a while, but they don't want to leave. We suggest avoiding this blacked out mess, otherwise you're handcuffing yourself to an emotional train wreck for the rest of the night.
The Bad Influence Blackout
By day, they are your average person. Maybe even your best friend, perhaps. But come nightfall, this enabler and instigator will get you into so many shenanigans that will make you eligible for an episode of "I Shouldn't Be Alive." We're not sure what does it, but when alcohol mixes with this person's body, it sends the gears in their head spinning so fast that any person within a 2 mile radius is subject to his debauchery. A few hours ago, this guy and yourself were leaving the office. Now, you're at the bar doing a handstand with a stripper doing shots off your taint. But wait, there's more! How did you get to White Castle, and why are you showering in Big Red while hitting on the 57-year-old decrepit cashier? And why is there a Walmart receipt in your left back pocket for five bottles of KY Jelly, a tennis racquet, and bird feed? While your night may be a blur, you know this person is (almost) always a great time, even though they really won't remember getting into some sticky situations (literally). You're not sure why, but you do everything that this blackout demands. Somewhere between the verbal onslaughts of "YOU WON'T!"'s and "Duuuuude, don't be a pussy!", you decide that downtown drunken parkour really IS a great idea, even though you really know it's not. This blackout makes for some of the best stories, but there's a good chance you exchange a lot of your dignity or stomach contents for that story.
@CanadaInAmerica with help from guest contributer @dylan_helber
Have you ever gone to a party that a friend is hosting and you walk in the door and instantly think, "Wow, bro, this sucks hardcore bro!"? Well that's because someone has been a naughty boy and has violated at least one of the basic party rules that EVERYONE should know. These common sense laws are constantly broken, and it's about time some cleared this up. I'm tired of newbies crashing my shindigs and making them suck more than a 15-year-old Vietnamese girl. (I know I'm going to hell)
Rule #1: If you're a guy, bring at least one girl for every guy you bring. If you're a girl, bring more girls.
Nothing screams "having a good time" more than a good 'ol fashioned sausage fest. Seriously, I don't care how chill your 43 friends from high school are, don't bring them unless you are pulling 43 girls. As a male, I hate to admit it, but girls really are the life of the party. Without them, guys tend to drink themselves into an oblivion, and that's when shit gets broken and feelings get hurt. The guys you typically bring are douchey anyway, that's why they probably weren't invited in the first place, which leads me to my next point.
Rule #2: Don't crash a party unless you either know the host, were invited, or are planning on talking to the host.
I hate it when random kids walk into a random house looking for a random good time. We all understand that people just want to meet other people, but learn some etiquette! We all understand we have to eat but it doesn't mean we can plow our face into our meals and eat it like a dog eating out of a dog bowl. The one exception to this rule is if you plan on finding the host of the shindig, introducing yourself, and asking if it's cool if you stay there. More often than not, you'll receive an overwhelming "Eh, sure" from the host, and all of a sudden you're not a rando douche. EVERYBODY WINS. Remember not to walk in with 69 dudes though. Not only will you look like a tool, but the host will probably laugh in your face.
Rule #3: Don't be THAT guy.
If you're looking to go out and have a good time, go for it. But don't leave your house drunk enough to the point where you have to hold onto the grass or else you'll fall off the earth. Leaving the house like a drunken cyclone ready to hit a party will ensure one of three things.
1) You will get your ass beat for doing/saying/touching something wrong.
2) You'll throw up on someone. If you throw up on the wrong person, see above.
3) You'll pass out in a random location and wake up without a wallet, cell phone, dignity, or shoes, and/or have Sharpie dicks all over your face.
Seriously, this is a no-no. Don't be the guy who puts his hand in hot water, only to yank it out and test the water again in 5 seconds. Dumbass.
Rule #4: Don't be the chick taking too many pictures.
This is directed to the lovely ladies, because if you're a guy taking too many pictures at a party, you should probably just go home and turn on some Redtube instead. Nobody likes the girl who stands in the corner and stalks her pray for a picture. This isn't the Amazon of profile pictures, it's a social gathering where you're supposed to meet other people. No one will care when you upload 154 pictures from last night with you making the duck face next to 154 different people. In fact, you'll probably never be allowed at another social function ever again, so knock it off.
Rule #5: Don't come to the party ready to start a fight.
You know who you are. You leave the house wanting nothing more than to engage in fisticuffs. Here's the thing with your flawed and socially awkward logic: you're going to a house where the host obviously has a lot of their friends there to back each other up should someone get in a fight. That being said, going to a party to start a fight is like walking into Harlem with a KKK uniform on; you're going to get your ass beat and no one will shed a tear. They may even laugh, actually. Stay home and punch holes in walls or something, weirdo.
Rule #6: Powder your nose and meet up with Mary Jane somewhere else.
Look, no one really cares what your substance of choice is, but at a party, alcohol is the substance that evening. That being said, don't bring other stuff to a party that you know is either unwelcome or will get you in trouble. (Potentially see #1 above) It's risky enough hosting a get-together as it is, and we don't need to add class 2 substances to the picture. Don't find a room to smoke in without permission, don't do coke in the bathroom, and definitely don't shoot up while spitting game to that dimepiece. Those are all recipes for disaster that will not end well. Come to drink and be merry, not to stare at the ceiling for two hours debating why Phish is so much better than Rush.
These are only a few of the basic rules that everyone should know about parties, regardless of your age or grade. The rest of the rules... well, you're going to have to find out about them on your own. It wouldn't be fun for us professionals to see you newbies not make an ass of yourself every once in a while now, would it?
@CanadaInAmerica and guest contributer @dylan_helber
Every year, "new" artists break through to the mainstream, making way for their spot in the most important or catchy tunes of that year. Thing is, a lot of the "new" artists have been around for a while. As a music fan, it bugs me how uneducated about music the average person is, and this shows how assuming people are about the hits they listen to. Check out these examples to see what I mean.
fun.
fun. is a prime example of what I'm talking about. Their breakthrough hit "We Are Young" is what everyone and their cat is singing to right now, and I'll admit that it is pretty catchy. This "new" band has been around for years, though. fun. formed in 2008 and has had the privilege of opening for bands such as Paramore, Jack's Mannequin, Taking Back Sunday, and Anberlin. I actually have seen fun. twice as an opening band, one of which was when they were touring with Taking Back Sunday and Anberlin. fun. lives up to their name as they put on a show full of quirky things, including the use of a flugelhorn (look it up) and all sorts of chants and acts. fun. is a testament to how hard work and patience pays off, as they are now enjoying owning the #1 song in the US currently. These guys may be another "typical hipster band," but 1) at least they don't have long, ridiculous beards, and 2) are a legit group that any fan should follow.
Calvin Harris
Any uneducated self-proclaimed "music aficionado" will instantly proclaim "OH MAH GAWD CALVIN HARRIS LIEK DID THAT SONG WIFF REEYANNA OH MY LAWD" upon hearing the name Calvin Harris. I, as a legimitate music aficionado, will proclaim my fist through someone's ugly face upon hearing that reaction. Yes, Calvin Harris' mainstream breakthrough comes with producing "We Found Love" with Rihanna. This helped him push his solo mainstream breakthrough in "Feel So Close." (Which, by the way, has finally hit top 40 radio and is by the far the best song on radio today. Just saying.) Little do you know that Harris has been spinning the 1's and 2's and producing music as a legitimate artist since 2004. In 2006, he signed a deal with Sony BMG and EMI after being discovered on MySpace. (Remember that site?) Harris has enjoyed intermittent success here and there, but nothing to the likes of "We Found Love," which has established himself as a huge EDM contender. This new artist has been around for at least 8 years though, and it looks like he'll be hanging a while too.
Adele
Betcha didn't know Adele isn't "new" at all, did you, you dumbass? I know I may be tired of hearing her songs being played 78 times an hour, but this legitimate singer has had a record contract since 2006. Obviously enjoying success with "Rolling In The Deep,""Set Fire To The Rain," and "Someone Like You," her "21" album is actually a follow to the album "19," which both represent the age she wrote the albums. "19" was actually nominated for the Grammy, even though no big hits came from the album. Adele also saw her first real success from Myspace, where she signed her aforementioned record contract in 2006. She started with a recorded demo that eventually found its way into the correct hands, and those hands hyped her up enough to be one of the most sought after artists going into 2008. She was even said to be Britain's next big breakthrough artist... I think those guys knew what they were talking about. Sucks to suck, Mr. Adele's Ex-boyfriend.
Skrillex
It saddens me that I have to mention Skrillex in this. Skrillex is one of the biggest artists in EDM, but too many people blindly follow him without recognizing his roots in pop-punk. Skrillex, whose real name is Sonny Moore, was a part of a band called From First To Last, who saw a decent amount of success ever since their 2003 EP release "Aesthetic." FFTL has enjoyed tours, both headlining and supporting, and even the occasional spot on the Vans Warped Tour. (One of which I was fortunate enough to go and see FFTL perform with Sonny on vocals) After Sonny left FFTL, he began his electronic music career. As Skrillex, he released his first EP in 2009 and his success began a steep climb afterwards. This crazy-haired weirdo took his new name to a new level with, yet again, free releases via Myspace that began his underground fame which finally put Skrillex as a household name. His influences with EDM took dubstep, which was already a pretty well-known genre in Europe, and made it his own. His "dirtier-than-a-High-Street-hooker" bass drops and "sounds-like-two-robots-doing-it-doggy-style" melodies have been popularized in America and has been dubstep a legit genre in the US as well.
See, people? These artists have been around for a while, much like every other artist that breaks through to the mainstream. It's rare for someone to achieve massive success from their first works, because the music industry is full of assholes that need you to establish yourself before really making a dime off of your music. Remember that, ladies and gentlemen, the next time you take a dump in Garageband and try to hype yourself up as the world's next best producer.
Funerals are never fun. Seeing someone you love laying in a casket while everyone tells stories of how awesome they were can leave the strongest person crying like a kindergartner learning that Santa doesn't exist. Funerals are always too sad, which is why I've decided that when people come to my funeral, they're going to have the time of their life. I can't decide which funeral theme I want to go with though, but here's what's on the table.
Viking Funeral
Who wouldn't want to attend a viking funeral? Here's how this would go down. First off, everyone must arrive with one of those viking hats with the horns on them, because those are badass. The service will include only the most memorable stories of yours truly, followed by a burial at sea. This isn't a traditional burial at sea, though. This would include taking my sexy but also deceased body, putting it on a boat, sending out to open water, and having everyone shoot flaming arrows at the boat until the boat catches fire. Awesome, right!? After that would come the reception. There would be an open bar (duh) that would serve nothing but Heineken and Beck's. There would be a tug-of-war contest in there followed by a jousting competition where EVERYONE is required to participate. Don't think I won't haunt your ass from the grave if you don't participate in the jousting, you disprespectful jerk. When everyone is finally piss drunk, everyone will sit around a bonfire and roast a whole giraffe. Hog roasts are so overdone.
Gangster Funeral
Nothing says "goodbye" like sacrificing some of your champagne on the carpet. This funeral would start with the pole bearers walking my casket into the funeral blaring "All I Do Is Win" by DJ Khaled. After a few nice words from my homies, I'll be laid to rest in the ground with enough gold and Hennessy to fix Greece's financial crisis. My casket is going to made out of pure platinum and will have diamond studs, mind you. Everyone will then swap stories at the reception, how I got shot 14 times as a 7-year-old for calling Wayne Brady a punk bitch, or the time I mistook Shanquala the corner tranny as a 18-year-old dime piece. That last one really damaged my ego. The reception will feature a fountain of malt liquor and will be highlighted by a performance from Rick Ross. Once everyone's too high to function or has been sent to the hospital, the last event will be a dominoes tournament, where the winner has 30 seconds to dig my body up and take as much gold and Hennessy as they can. Sounds pretty baller, right?
Classical Music Funeral
This funeral would actually require an IQ exam before entering, so you had better start hitting the books on 17th century German culture if you expect to be in attendance for this gathering. Assuming you pass the exam, you will be promptly handed a fancy wig and white powder to powder your face. Pale is back in, ladies! The funeral will start with a string quartet playing some stuff. I don't care what they play, I'll be dead at this point, just as long as it's fancy. Everyone will be required to start the overdramatic waterworks at this point. Once a eulogy is said about me using a ridiculous vocabulary that will confuse even the most well-refined scholars, I will simply be buried. Nothing special there. At the reception, we'll be serving cheese trays while discussing the works of Chopin and Great Britain's influence in the South Pacific. If at any point you sound like an idiot, you'll be called out, then promptly tarred and feathered. I wasn't kidding when I said to hit the books. The event will end with a performance of Swan Lake, the ballet. Enjoy!
Rave Funeral
This is by far the most interesting funeral idea out there. Before coming into the building, all of the attendees will spin a wheel which will decide what drug you are on for the day. Lucky you, you hit the bonus peg of the wheel! Here's your PCP laced joint and acid-wrapped ecstacy tablet. Once you digest your substances, three stagehands will bring in my casket, which has appropriately been turned into a 20" subwoofer. Tiesto will bust in the doors and deliver a 2-hour set that'll have everyone jacked up. No eulogy, no kind words of me, just dancing in the chapel and dirty things in the bathrooms. My body/casket/subwoofer will then be taken to the reception which will feature a set by Deadmau5 and Swedish House Mafia. By now the drugs will have fully kicked in, assuming you're not on the floor convulsing at this point. No food, no games, nothing. Just dancing at the reception. Once the DJ's end their set (at 5am), someone will probably try to steal my body/casket/subwoofer. Just let it happen, don't stop them! I won't care too much.
Everyone's heard the stereotype that the only reason senior year exists in college is to drink until your liver tries to blow up inside of you. From a personal experience, it's actually not true at all, and I'm here to dispel this myth once and for all.
"Senior year is easy! You have a light class load and teachers don't care about you since you're about to graduate."
Wrong, you misinformed little turd. Senior year might contain a light class load, but those classes may be the most informative and influential, as they take your education and wrap it up into a 3-times-a-week set of courses with a nice cherry on top. Your senior seminar class may contain information from your previous six semesters, so it's not like you're sitting around pretzel-style listening to the professor read "Clifford The Big Red Dog" books to you. Take your towel and nap somewhere else. This isn't necessarily time to draw your hot professor naked during class, as you may write a novel with the amount of notes you take in the hour you're in the classroom. The class load may be light, but it's definitely not easy.
Hehehehe.... he said "load"
"You just said the class load is light! You have plenty of time to drink then."
Did you not read anything I just typed? Let me reiterate this: light class load does not mean easy classes. During that extra free time, you're writing 16-page thesis papers, researching why gingers don't have souls, and doing other of school work that makes your freshman year look like kindergarten. You'll be juggling enough tasks to take up a nice chunk of your evening hours which will prevent you from vomiting your turkey sandwich from lunch.
"You've been balancing your school work and alcoholism well for three years now. What makes your senior year any different?"
You really don't have a brain in your head, do you? How are you supposed to afford your habitual alcoholism after you graduate? Mom and Pops sure as hell don't want to keep funding you and your bad decisions. Between balancing your school work and other priorities, you're going to be on the job hunt as well. I guess you CAN skip this part of your senior year, but I'll go ahead and let you know that I like my cheeseburgers with only ketchup and my mocha latte made with soy milk. Anyone who actually cares will be adding an internship to their schedule or devoting lots of time researching job markets for their desired position. Unless you want to be working for a fraction of my pay, I suggest you put down the bottle and find a big kid job that will allow you to damage your liver for years to come.
My mom says I can do whatever I want when I grow up, so I decided to suck!
"But.. but... what about the saying 'All second semester seniors drink?' "
Yeah, all the second semester seniors who graduate with a GPA that says "Barely good enough." That's just another stereotype, like all Mexicans have mustaches or all Asians can fly. (PROTIP: I did see an Asian kid fly once, but I'll keep you posted) For every second semester senior devoting their time to Natty Light instead of real life, there's a handful more that actually give a shit and want to do something with their lives. Saying that second semester seniors only drink is like saying The Hangover 2 was better than the original. IT'S JUST NOT TRUE.
"Wow, you sound like a pussy. So you're really no fun once you hit senior year?"
Now, I never said that. Just because you begin the transition from college to real life doesn't mean you can't have fun. In fact, it's a great excuse to actually go out and drink away your sorrows of a long and stressful day. One must learn to balance it though. You can't rage out like you did as an underclassman, but your experience you've mustered the previous three years allows you to go harder than any 18-year-old could dream of. A student is like an OCD kid trapped in a room of non-symmetrical patterns - it become more tolerant over time. Your senior may be at your binge drinking prime, and you shouldn't let that go to waste. However, balancing your liver and your livelihood is more important than drinking the cocky freshman under the table. That really shouldn't be an issue anyway.
Senior year is fun, but it's the first step into the awful place they call "The Real World." If you thought the MTV show of the same name was awful, then you haven't had a dose of the real stuff yet. You have to grow up and put down the bottle, which hopefully is a concept young professionals can grasp. Save the liter of Jim Beam until you leave school with your degree - you'll have earned it at that point.
Day drinking is often associated with drinking holidays like St. Patrick's Day and Cinco de Mayo, sporting events, and funerals. Drinking while the sun is up is very different from the typical nighttime debauchery, though. To be able to survive an afternoon-long binge takes tact, talent, and most importantly, experience. You don't walk into a calculus test knowing two plus two equals banana - you have to have a strategy and knowledge of the topic. If you didn't know how to day drink, ask somebody. If they don't know, smack somebody. Lucky for you and your friend you were going to smack, I'm here to spit some knowledge on you fools.
DO: Pace yourself. Day drinking is a marathon, not a sprint. Lucky for me, I sprint marathons. Many others don't, though. If you go balls to the wall and try to be Senor Hardass and down drinks like a hipster downs soy milk, you will die. It's inevitable. Take your time and calm down on the chugging for a little bit to ensure you don't wake up in a fountain of your stomach contents.
DO NOT: Be a hero. Just because you're known for finishing 2 cases and a bottle of Absinthe in an hour doesn't mean you should, and especially not during the day. No one cares how much you drink during the day time, save the competition for the after hours festivities. Enjoy yourself and keep your buzz going. If you're day drinking, it's usually pretty damn nice outside, so enjoy it there, not on the couch with Sharpie dicks all over your face.
DO: Things you normally don't do at night. This includes large community drinking games, eating at sit-down restaurants, and play sports outside. At night, you can't stumble into your local Chinese buffet and devour eggrolls like a hyena in the wild. At night, you can't throw around a football or play some beer frisbee. At night, you can't grill enough food to feed the state of Montana. Enjoy the day time.
DO NOT: Make bad decisions with people of the opposite sex. I mean, yes, make terrible decisions, but it's the day time, dude! There is literally no reason to blame your nasty hookup because "it was dark and they looked cute." Any bad decision made while trying to get it in is all on you, not Mr. Moon. Save your bad judgement for when you can actually use that terrible excuse.
DO: Take a nap, but only if necessary. You have a long night ahead of you, and balancing your level of inebriation to carry you over in the dark is a skill that only experienced alcoholics and black belts can do. (They teach some mind over matter shit in karate I think) If your body says you're tired, take a nap. Otherwise, you risk being the first one tired at the night time party, being entirely too drunk to function, or even worse, the terrible 11 o'clock hangover. If you can transition your body from daytime to nighttime without needing a nap, then go grab a cookie or find a gold medal to hang around your dick or something. But don't deny your body's needs.
Way to go, champ!
DO NOT: Attempt masculine feats. Just because it's the daytime and you're all jacked up doesn't mean you can jump that 4-foot fence or do a backflip. You couldn't do it sober, daytime or nighttime, so save the pissing contest for another time or risk being the guy who gets sent to the hospital with a shattered fibia because you thought you jump off the garage and dunk the basketball. No one will think less of you for not trying to whip your dick out, but you will be thought of poorly if you try to whip your dick out and get it chopped off. In conclusion, don't whip your dick, figuratively and literally. You never know when a mosquito might give you a bite on your happy place.
That's it for now. Remember to go into your next day drinking escapades with a plan and arm yourself with knowledge, or you may be the guy who wakes up with a missing eyebrow.
Have you ever seen such a sight? Taco Bell recently introduced the Dorito Loco Taco. It's a normal hard shell taco, but get this -- THE SHELL IS ONE GIANT DORITO CHIP. I need to find the person who thought of this masterpiece and have some of what he's smoking. This invention may rival the Wright Brother's invention of the airplane and Benjamin Franklin's discovery of electricity. This taco... no, taco goddess could probably bring world peace to everyone, which got me thinking. I believe the Dorito Loco Taco should be President, and here's why:
-Let's be real -- no one is really happy with any of the potential presidential candidates or even our current president. Who doesn't love tacos and Doritos, nonetheless combined into one serving of deliciousness only rivaled by bacon wrapped bacon?
-Mitt Romney is white and Mormon. Obama is black and some people (correction, idiots) believe he's a Muslim. Many other candidates follow Christian faith, leaving the field open to discrimination and unwarranted hatred. The Dorito Loco Taco at Taco Bell is none of these things. The Dorito Loco Taco at Taco Bell is beef, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and sour cream wrapped in a delicious Dorito shell. Unless you're a Nazi, no one can hate a Dorito Loco Taco.
-No human can literally solve world hunger. The Dorito Loco Taco can literally solve world for it is a taco. You're welcome, Nigeria.
-The Dorito Loco Taco can solve world ethnic issues, for it is not American, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, British, Ugandan, Vietnamese, Brazilian, nor Polish; it is taco.
-The regular Dorito Loco Taco (not the supreme) is only $1.29. I'd like to dare anyone to present a better economic policy than that.
-Wall Street fat cats are running this nation, you say? Fear not, because the fat cats won't want to hang around Washington with the Dorito Loco Taco running this shit. The Dorito Loco Taco goes through you faster than a batch of laxative brownies. Those greedy corporate CEOs will be running away with the Hershey squirts faster than you can say "401k".
-The Dorito Loco Taco will stand firm on all of its stances, for it's hard Dorito shell will not bend. It will crunch, however.
With logic like that, how can anyone afford NOT to vote for the Dorito Loco Taco from Taco Bell in 2012? Share this post and this image if you believe America should put its vote and its mouth where its taco.
Let's be real with ourselves -- we all have had a little too much to drink sometimes and we end up waking up in the morning thinking to ourselves, "What the hell happened?" The answer to that may differ from blackout to blackout, with the only similarity being that we don't remember shit. What happens during our mini episode of Alzheimer's depends on the type of blackout we have. Now, I know what you're thinking - "There aren't different types of blackouts, dumbass. You just get drunk, do something stupid, and not remember lolol." My amigo, you couldn't be farther from the truth. Let us divulge ourselves into one of life's greatest mysteries: who we are when we blackout.
The Sloppy Blackout
Awarded "Least Likely To Hold His Alcohol" in high school
This is the most common type of blackout there is. You have a few too many shots and fall into a black hole of sloppiness rivaled only by the Flirty Blackout. You, in a way, become THAT guy. You are the person who trips over the pong table and flips it over, soaking everyone within a 5 foot radius and sending John to the hospital with a torn Achilles. You are the person who trips down a flight of steps and runs headfirst into the second story window. You are the person who mistakes the brochacho's dip spit container for a half full beer. These people often make for good stories and leave the victim with a damaged ego that makes then want to retire more than Brett Favre. Common symptoms for an incoming Sloppy Blackout include rambunctious hollering, gratuitous use of the word "bro," and the willingness to accept any bet, dare, or challenge put in their way. Ways to handle someone suffering from a Sloppy Blackout include, well, throwing any bet, dare, or challenge their way. Let's be real, you could get away with murder and the Blackoutee wouldn't remember. Use this power wisely.
The Flirty Blackout
This guy!
One of the more entertaining forms of the blackout is the Flirty Blackout. This person goes into the night determined to take someone home, and by golly no one can stop 'em. Through hell or high water, they're gettin' it in tonight. As the night goes on, however, and the victim becomes more and more inebriated, the "game" this person is spitting sounds more like Dick Clark hosting New Years Eve. What was now a 3 on the scale is now an 8, but they don't need to know that! Where the ultimate sloppiness comes in is when the Blackoutee finally gets the catch of the night and is against the wall, licking the face of their partner like a popsicle on the 4th of July. The moves of this player-in-training rival that of a socially awkward llama. Symptoms of an incoming Flirty Blackout include awkward smiles whenever a member of the opposite sex pass, slurred pick up lines (diiiidd iiisss ddiiieeee nnn gooo tuh heeehhvunn be*hiccup*cus youu faayyysseee iissss liicckkkk aa mmuudd p-p-puuddllee), and the occasional over-the-top ass slap. A way to deal with this type of victim is to point them to the nearest person who would make for a great story tomorrow.
The Functioning Blackout
I'm drunk... and better than you!
On occasion, you'll run into someone who you can tell is blacked out, but still manages to function rather well. They can hold a decent conversation without sounding like Daffy Duck, maintains the dexterity of a 14-year old Chinese gymnast, and could probably debate the pros and cons of Reaganomics at a collegiate level while doing a handstand. This rare gem of a drinker is who alcoholics aspire to be. When they wake up in the morning, they may be often surprised about how coherent they appeared. You, on the other hand, are surprised they don't remember a minute of it. Symptoms of a Functioning Blackoutee include obnoxious debates about the 1977 World's Fair, shaking hands and kissing babies, and winning 37 games of pong in a row. How do you deal with people like this? You don't. You watch and learn, young padawon.
That's all for now, stay tuned for the next series of Types Of Blackouts in the future. And yes, I know I'm going to hell for some of the references made.
If you haven't heard "Levels" by Swedish DJ and badass Avicii yet, then get out from under your rock and get the wiener out of your ears. This 2011 mega-hit is accredited for giving hard-ons to music lovers everywhere, launching electronic dance music (EDM) into the mainstream and still is one of my favorite songs (it still may be when I'm still raging at 71). "Levels" has launched Avicii from an underground DJ to one of the most sought after musical acts in the world, setting him up for other hits such at "Nicktim," "Seek Bromance," and "Fade Into Darkness." Unfortunately, everyone seems to want to piggyback on the success of "Levels," and now everyone with a computer and Garageband is finding it necessary to remix "Levels," and this needs to stop now.
Don't get me wrong -- remixing is a huge part in the hip-hop and EDM community, as it allows artists to put their own touch on a song. However, when everyone and their goldfish start doing so, it becomes a little old. Even worse, the remixes aren't even that good. Take this "gem" for example, which literally takes the original version and puts a latin beat over top of it. Seriously?
And here's another brilliant remix that literally takes the original song, takes the main chorus, plays it backwards, and throws it back into the original.
See what I mean? At first, the remixes were sweet because the song was relatively new, but the novelty has worn off by now. The remixes are getting worse and worse. It's like taking a dead dog and tying strings to it's paws and trying to get it to pretend it's still alive. BUT IT'S NOT. Let the dog be.
I think the biggest exception to this is from dubstep artist Skrillex, who takes the original song and turns it into something that completely fits the dubstep genre and within the style of Skrillex itself. The remix goes pretty hard too, even as someone who has hesitantly began to get into dubstep.
Not bad, huh? Now let's take another artist who took "Levels" and made it his own. No, seriously, this peckerhead actually ripped off the song, added some nonsense words that even he can't understand, and put a new title on it. Totally stealing Avicii's well earned thunder, bro, totally stealing it. I, of course, am talking about world-famous rip-off artist and douchenozzle Flo Rida. Everyone's heard "Good Feeling" by now and the only proper response is to want to vomit, eat up the vomit, and then vomit once again. This atrocity goes against every unwritten rule in the music industry, and I truly hope that Avicii is earning royalties every time this turd is performed.
Catchy, yes, but so is every other song with a 6-1-5-4 chord progression. (look it up) My point is that the original "Levels" by Avicii needs to stop being remixed and messed with, because the song which may be the poster child for EDM in mainstream music can and will lose validity and at this point, it's just embarrassing with all these remixes coming out. It's like how everyone loves the original "Land Before Time" movie and then they decided to make 4,729 more sequels. Knock it off. Create some original music, so you as an artist can be known for having a different sound, instead of having the same sound of every high schooler on their mom's Macbook. Oh, and create some original music so I can stop throwing up from all these poor remixes.
A lot of blogs start out their first posts with a cliche little tidbit about what they're writing about, why they're writing, and what to expect. I will probably write about whatever I want, including sports, music and other things I notice. Oh, and I'll include stories deemed necessary for retelling. This is one of those stories.
The week of February 26th was a much anticipated one. It was going to be a 5 day visit to Fort Lauderdale, Florida for my last college spring break. (Yes, spring break in February. I don't get it either.) After the hellish week that led up to break ended, it was finally time to travel south. After a nice visit to the bars at two airports, we arrived in sunny Ft. Laudy and made our way to the hotel. This scenario is another story in itself - I may explain it later. All you need to know is that instead of staying in a hotel that was slightly reminiscent of a trap from the Saw movies, we upgraded to the Hilton.
The night of Sunday, February 26th started out like any other typical spring break night; hanging out in a pool/hot tub with a Long Island in hand. The hot tub was broken though, and spewing cold water that could have very well formed icebergs. A friend and I (let's call him Bill) decide to hit the bars for one drink. One drink. Upon the rest of the group's demands to stay back, Bill and I venture into the bars. We reach a place called Big Kahuna and grab a Dos Equis. Having a Dos Equis on draft is like drinking water out of the Fountain of Youth. It was one of the best things I've ever put into my mouth. Dos Equis on draft makes colors brighter, water clearer, and puts hair on your chest.
Anyway, Bill and I strike up conversation with a girl who we found out bartends at another bar. She was obviously uninterested in her friends enough to ignore them and chat with two blatantly touristy people. Since Big Kahuna is as empty as a Nickelback concert, we ask where the local hot spot(s) is/were. The consensus: Fat Cat's. Fat Cat's was about 3-4 miles away, but we were told that there's drunk shuttles to and from out area and downtown Fort Lauderdale, where Fat Cat's is. We wait at the corner we were told, but nothing came. We decide to walk down the road it was allegedly on - Las Olas. We begin our trek, hoping to spot one of these drunk shuttles.
We walk a mile and run into zero drunk shuttles. How there were no drunk shuttles available to kids on spring break is beyond me. Bill and I decide to attempt to flag a taxi. We walk another mile or so before we even see a taxi, however, and the first two drove right by us/almost hit us. We did see some nice yachts though! We finally flag down a taxi and it drives us another 3ish miles to Fat Cat's. Had we not have found a taxi, we may have been wandering around downtown Fort Laudy aimlessly for who knows how long, which will become ironic shortly.
Finally, we arrive at Fat Cat's and enjoy a local beer. This is now drink three for the night. Remember when we said we were getting a single drink? Yeaahhhh..... We sit down at the bar and grab a shot of the bartenders choice, which ended up bring straight liqour. Great, as if Bill and I weren't bad enough. We meet this local weirdo and are instantly attracted to him. After bullshitting with him for a bit, we find out it's his birthday. Celebration drinks are in order.
Now, anyone who knows me that there is one liquid that I refuse to put in my body. This devil drink always leads to my downfall, and anyone who can stomach this terrible, terrible substance is admittedly a better person than myself. I put this drink with other things I hate the most, including drivers from Chicago, pop-up banners, Facebook duck faces, and the University of Michigan. This drink is the one and only Jagermeister.
So what other drink would we get when we decide to get celebration drinks for this birthday weirdo? Of course. A shot of Jager is put in front of me, and this is the point of no return and where the story picks up. I can't say no to a drink someone else bought me because of a birthday, so I reluctantly throw this dose of Satan's piss down my throat and make a face that could scare away anyone. I am not happy.
This is one of the last two things I remember from that night, with the second thing me conversing with the DJ and buying him a drink since it happened to be his birthday too. I can only imagine how sloppy that conversation was. That DJ birthday drink put our total at 7 drinks for the night. So much for one drink. This is on top of the gratuitous amount already consumed within the confines of the luxurious Hilton. Much like aluminum foil and Clorox, this is a recipe for disaster.
The last time I remembered seeing a clock was around 2:30am, so let's fast forward 4 and a half hours.
I finally come to, already on my feet and walking around what I assume is still Fort Lauderdale. I realize my feet hurt and look down. I'm missing my shoes. What a disaster. I put my hand in my right pocket to grab my iPhone and call my friends to come find me. I'm missing my iPhone. Great. It's really bright out, especially for what I think is 7am. I'm missing my sunglasses, although my croakies are still on me... Alright, after somehow remaining calm, I decide I'll just grab a taxi and have it take me home. I reach in my left pocket to grab my wallet. I'm missing my wallet.
Within 270 minutes, I manage to lose my wallet, iPhone, Sperry's, and sunglasses while "waking up" in the middle of walking around Fort Lauderdale. Oh, I threw up on my shirt too. Forget to mention that. Bill is nowhere to be seen either. I put the "walk of shame" to shame, and still didn't get any. (That I know of.....) I literally have no clue what to do, so my still intoxicated self decides to continue walking. I walk forward and all of a sudden, things look up - the road in front of me is Las Olas, the road we took to get to Fat Cat's! I turn a right and begin walking.
I realize that turning right was in fact a terrible idea, as I later found out that had I turned left, I would have walked right onto the beach our group was as the day before, and could walk back to the Hilton in no more than 15 minutes. Instead, I'm walking straight towards downtown Fort Lauderdale AGAIN without realizing it.
I kept walking.... and walking... and walking. My feet were so raw at this point that I began walking through every puddle and grass patch to give my feet relief. I probably did look homeless at this point. I walk a total of what I later found out to be 3.5 miles barefoot. After a few blind turns, I end up at the outskirts of a neighborhood walking about 50 feet behind a man who was probably legitimately homeless. All of a sudden, a cop car pulls to the side of the road. The female officer/angel/savior shouts at both myself and the man in front of me. She later signals for me and we begin conversing.
She asks what I'm doing and all the typical police things. She asks for ID which I obviously can't prove. I come to find out that the officer stopped me because she thought I was homeless. Awesome. After convincing her I was not homeless but was instead visiting from Ohio and staying at the Hilton, she utters the best seven words I've ever heard. Even better than "You. Me. Back seat of the cruiser." These words were "Let me give you a ride back." I wanted to collapse and sing, except I had lost my voice as well.
We chit chat as I'm riding in the back seat of a cop car, which is a first for me believe it or not. All the cop talks about are other bars in the area. I don't think she realized how insulting she was being to me as I was missing my ID to get into aforementioned bars, but I was too exhausted to care. After driving for 20 minutes, I arrive back at the Hilton and the cop drops me off. I begin walking through the lobby of the Hilton shoeless and covered in vomit. I can only imagine what everyone was thinking when I walked in the lobby, or why security wasn't called on the homeless man that looks like he escaped from the insane asylum. I ride the elevator up and bang on the room door. I walk right in, take the newspaper, and chuck it at Bill, who was sleeping conveniently in the middle of the floor.
I never did find my sunglasses, wallet, iPhone, shoes, or dignity. What I've pieced together is that Bill and I actually took a taxi back home and when it parked, I decided to jump out the taxi and bolt away from the taxi, hotel, and Bill. Apparently Bill entered the hotel room without me on the verge of tears, as he probably thought I was out getting molested by a pack of hobos, which at this point is a total possibility.
Here's the shirt I was wearing. Note that this is the back of the shirt. I still have no idea how or why my stomach contents ended up on the back of the shirt and not the front.....
And thus concludes the story of how I lost anything. Expect more stories, opinions, and other noteworthy articles in the future.
