Fetal Alcohol Syndrome...my bad
by Tom Sunnergren September 25, 2006
If a mother wrote a letter to her estranged son aplogizing for having given him fetal alcohol syndrome, this is how I imagine it would go.
Dear Eric,
I'm really sorry about your having fetal alcohol syndrome, or I guess now that you're bigger teenage alcohol syndrome. Or do they still call it fetal alcohol syndrome? I'm not sure.
I bet it's been really hard on you being retarded and weird looking. If it were just one or the other you might have a shot at a normal life, but I guess the Lord works in mysterious ways; in your case, me drinking heavily while I was pregnant with you and you now being retarded on account of it.
I can't help but feel guilty about your "situation," even though I know it's not my fault I didn't realize I was pregnant with you until the third trimester. I just figured I was gaining weight from all the drinking I was doing. Imagine my surprise when I found out that I was pregnant, and that you were going to be retarded to boot. Having a normal kid would have been a real shit sandwich, but one like you was way more than I could have handled. That's why I "forgot" you at the mall when we went for curly fries that summer. I hope you're doing well, though I know that's probably not realistic.
I'm doing really good. I met this guy named Chris who is real cute and he treats me really good too. His parents own a laundry mat and we stay upstairs. We're thinking about having some kids of our own, once Chris leaves his wife and we get clean. It's gonna happen real soon, I know it.
I wonder if you ever got to meet your father. He was a pretty nice guy untill he found out I was pregnant. He had my name tattooed on his forearm, though I think he may have had it before we started dating. Either way it was nice. He took off when he found out I was pregnant. I was just wondering if he had gotten in touch with you.
Anyway it was nice chatting. I'd like to hear back from you, but since I can't leave you a return address (I know how those child support lawyers are. lol:) I'll just assume that my special little guy is doing ok.
I hope you could read this.
Love,
Mom
Dear Eric,
I'm really sorry about your having fetal alcohol syndrome, or I guess now that you're bigger teenage alcohol syndrome. Or do they still call it fetal alcohol syndrome? I'm not sure.
I bet it's been really hard on you being retarded and weird looking. If it were just one or the other you might have a shot at a normal life, but I guess the Lord works in mysterious ways; in your case, me drinking heavily while I was pregnant with you and you now being retarded on account of it.
I can't help but feel guilty about your "situation," even though I know it's not my fault I didn't realize I was pregnant with you until the third trimester. I just figured I was gaining weight from all the drinking I was doing. Imagine my surprise when I found out that I was pregnant, and that you were going to be retarded to boot. Having a normal kid would have been a real shit sandwich, but one like you was way more than I could have handled. That's why I "forgot" you at the mall when we went for curly fries that summer. I hope you're doing well, though I know that's probably not realistic.
I'm doing really good. I met this guy named Chris who is real cute and he treats me really good too. His parents own a laundry mat and we stay upstairs. We're thinking about having some kids of our own, once Chris leaves his wife and we get clean. It's gonna happen real soon, I know it.
I wonder if you ever got to meet your father. He was a pretty nice guy untill he found out I was pregnant. He had my name tattooed on his forearm, though I think he may have had it before we started dating. Either way it was nice. He took off when he found out I was pregnant. I was just wondering if he had gotten in touch with you.
Anyway it was nice chatting. I'd like to hear back from you, but since I can't leave you a return address (I know how those child support lawyers are. lol:) I'll just assume that my special little guy is doing ok.
I hope you could read this.
Love,
Mom
"This is heavy Doc"
by Tom Sunnergren September 25, 2006
Instead of bragging about how many girls you sleep with each semester, I think it would be more fun to brag about how the total weight of the girls you've slept with each semester.
ex).
dude 1- "I banged like 900 pounds worth of bitches last semester."
dude 2- "Sweet. Let's drink some brewskies."
A fringe benefit is that fat girls would become a positive rather than a liability.
ex).
dude 1- "I banged like 900 pounds worth of bitches last semester."
dude 2- "Sweet. Let's drink some brewskies."
A fringe benefit is that fat girls would become a positive rather than a liability.
Comedy of the mind
by Tom Sunnergren September 21, 2006
We've spent two weeks in philosphy class talking about Plato and nobodies even brought up Gak.
One for the ladies...
by Tom Sunnergren September 19, 2006
Getting raped by a guy with premature ejaculation would be a real mixed blessing.
Midgets: co-written by Adam Mccrory
by Tom Sunnergren September 17, 2006Midgets, man or myth?
Actually neither.
Midgets are a unique species of animal from whom much can be learned. Since their rediscovery in 1982, midgets, and their disproportionately large heads, have been a wonder of the animal kingdom.
This week I had an opportunity to sit down with the world's foremost expert in both midgets and stealing DVD's from Blockbuster, zoologist Dr. Adam Mccrory, and get some answers on what makes midgets so simultaneously funny and pathetic.
Q. Dr. McCrory, in your mind what is the most phenomenal aspect of the midget?
A. What a ridiculous question...definitely their ability to perform magic.
Q Are all midgets magical?
A. Only midgets who still live in the wild.
Q. Wow, that's offensive. Tell us about the natural habitat of the midget.
A. Midgets, like most marsupials, sleep in trees and survive on a diet of small insects, tree bark, and granola bars.
Q. What is the brain of a midget like?
A. In some ways, it's like that of an actual person.
Q. I find that hard to believe.
A. Well Tom, midgets are, in fact, one of the more intelligent members of the animal kingdom. They are able to mimic both language and behavior, like a parrot. They also have low-level problem solving abilities. In intellectual ability, they lay somewhere between dolphins and retards.
Q. Well, thank you for your time Dr. McCrory.
A. I'm not sure what you mean by that, you just made me up.
Q. Hmmmmm...
After speaking with Dr. McCrory I learned some more fun facts about midgets. Originally, they were thought to have become extinct in the late 17th century, but the release of Risky Business in 1982 uncovered the existence of a breed of good looking and effeminate midgets known as actors. Led by Tom Cruise, these "actors" fought bravely to secure a place where midgets could flourish, a place where idiocy and bizarre behavior is not only tolerated, but expected. After settling in Hollywood, midget leaders like Robin Williams, Danny Devito, and the actor who played Rudy, established the SAG, and the rest is history.
Most midgets are very friendly, but some midgets who work at 7-11 down the street from my house might card you for cigarettes and then not sell you any because you forgot your I.D. even though you are clearly older than 18 because 1.) you are in college and 2.) you have a really cool and masculine goatee that makes you look dangerous, but still sexy. These midgets might call the police if you throw eggs at their store window later that night and you might get charged with disorderly conduct and have to pay a $400 fine.
Anyway, it's impossible to overstate the contribution midgets have made to the American zeitgeist. Without them, we wouldn't have Willow, The Last Samurai, or a refreshing everyday reminder of how good the rest of us have it. In conclusion, midgets not only exist, but make great pets.
Slavery, why not?
by Tom Sunnergren September 17, 2006
A couple days ago I was watching re-runs of Family Matters, and it got me to thinking about one of the great evils of our great nation's history. I'm talking' bout' slavery. One of my first thoughts about it was whether I would have been a slave owner. Not the "me" as I would be if I existed in the early 19th century, where I (presumably) may not have known any better, but me if I borrowed my buddies Delorean tomorrow and went for a spin back to the future. The me of now who would be fully aware of the moral and ethical repugnance of enslaving a race of people. The me who watched Roots last weekend. The me who once ate 27 chicken McNuggets in one sitting (?). Like most things, the answer is I definitely shouldn't, but I probably would. Here are some reasons why"
Easy Sex-
I'm not a handsome man. Because I'm not a handsome man I need to rely on my personality to get women, but because I'm the type of person who admits he would own slaves if it were possible, my personality is pretty lousy too. Do the math, and it's clear I suck at girls. Fortunately for the slave owner, it doesn't matter what a girl thinks about you if you own her. Imagine this hypothetical (and highly arousing) scenario.
Me: Have sex with me woman slave.
Her: OK
Ten minutes later"
Me: Thank you for the sex
Her: Would you like some pie.
Me: What a slut.
Booya grandma, booya.
People Do Stuff for You-
This is one of the biggies. I'm not a lazy type of person, but lots of times when I have stuff to do I don't feel like doing anything and I think to myself, "Tom, wouldn't it be great if you had someone to do this stuff for you." With slaves, that dream would be a reality. Imagine being waited on hand and foot- it'd be like having a girlfriend you're better looking than, except you'd never have to say "thanks" or "I think you look really nice today, seriously." Every task you would have begrudgingly slopped through would be done for you. The only hitch I can see is that since a lot of the slaves didn't go to college back then they probably wouldn't be very good at doing taxes. You'd have to get jew-slaves for that. I'd keep around a few more slaves that were different ethnicities too, so I wouldn't seem like I was a racist. They'd still be mostly black though. It'd be about the same ratio as an NBA team.
I've Always Wanted Black Friends-
Sometimes when I'm with a big group of black people I feel like I don't fit in. Saying usually benign stuff like "these black lights are giving me a headache, " I hope I don't black out," and "I wish there weren't so many black people here, I'm afraid someone might take my wallet" makes me feel uncomfortable. The remedy for this problem is simple though; befriend a bunch of black people. But wait a minute- why not just buy some instead!
Once I bought a whole bundle of them (I'm not exactly sure how many would come in a bundle, but I thought that saying "boatload" would sound racist" since they're not very good swimmers) I'd be really nice to them, but not so nice as to make them think that I was a white dude who tries too hard to be down with black people, the kind they laugh at when he's not around. I'd be more like Robin Thicke. I'd throw them barbecues and break-dancing parties and that sort of thing.
Easy Sex-
I'm not a handsome man. Because I'm not a handsome man I need to rely on my personality to get women, but because I'm the type of person who admits he would own slaves if it were possible, my personality is pretty lousy too. Do the math, and it's clear I suck at girls. Fortunately for the slave owner, it doesn't matter what a girl thinks about you if you own her. Imagine this hypothetical (and highly arousing) scenario.
Me: Have sex with me woman slave.
Her: OK
Ten minutes later"
Me: Thank you for the sex
Her: Would you like some pie.
Me: What a slut.
Booya grandma, booya.
People Do Stuff for You-
This is one of the biggies. I'm not a lazy type of person, but lots of times when I have stuff to do I don't feel like doing anything and I think to myself, "Tom, wouldn't it be great if you had someone to do this stuff for you." With slaves, that dream would be a reality. Imagine being waited on hand and foot- it'd be like having a girlfriend you're better looking than, except you'd never have to say "thanks" or "I think you look really nice today, seriously." Every task you would have begrudgingly slopped through would be done for you. The only hitch I can see is that since a lot of the slaves didn't go to college back then they probably wouldn't be very good at doing taxes. You'd have to get jew-slaves for that. I'd keep around a few more slaves that were different ethnicities too, so I wouldn't seem like I was a racist. They'd still be mostly black though. It'd be about the same ratio as an NBA team.
I've Always Wanted Black Friends-
Sometimes when I'm with a big group of black people I feel like I don't fit in. Saying usually benign stuff like "these black lights are giving me a headache, " I hope I don't black out," and "I wish there weren't so many black people here, I'm afraid someone might take my wallet" makes me feel uncomfortable. The remedy for this problem is simple though; befriend a bunch of black people. But wait a minute- why not just buy some instead!
Once I bought a whole bundle of them (I'm not exactly sure how many would come in a bundle, but I thought that saying "boatload" would sound racist" since they're not very good swimmers) I'd be really nice to them, but not so nice as to make them think that I was a white dude who tries too hard to be down with black people, the kind they laugh at when he's not around. I'd be more like Robin Thicke. I'd throw them barbecues and break-dancing parties and that sort of thing.
Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pizza Place (named Allie)
by Tom Sunnergren September 17, 2006
Last Friday night myself, my roommate Mike, and my former roommate Adam, went to a party at a frat house that we spend too much time at. After a few hours of drinking and chain smoking and telling freshman we were on the lacrosse team we decided it was time to head back to the home front. On the way out the door Adam invited two girls to come to my apartment and watch movies. Unaware that we were not actually on the lacrosse team, they accepted his invitation. After watching most of Sahara and smoking all of my cigarettes I passed out on the couch.
When I woke up the next morning the girls were still there. This didn't arouse my suspicions until I looked at my phone and saw that it was 4pm. Confused and hung over, I said good morning and went into my room to shower and change. When I went back in the living room the girls were ordering food and brushing their teeth in the kitchen sink. What was going on? I didn't know these girls at all, I hadn't even slept with any of them, and they were ordering food Chinese food like they were in this thing for the long haul. What were their intentions? They didn't seem sexually interested in either me or Mike, so if they weren't looking for lovers what were they looking for...friends? Terrified, I hid in my room for most of the next two days and kept a journal of what transpired, in hopes that younger generations can learn from my struggle.
Sat. 5:30pm
I've awoken to find that they are still here. If I stay quiet maybe they'll think I'm asleep and leave. Oh god, they've heard me. It's too late to hide. Maybe one of them will bum me a cigarette.
Sat. 7:15pm
They've asked me to come to the living room and drink with them. I think the safest option at this point is to keep my mouth shut and cooperate.
Sat. 11:15pm
I've become intoxicated, as have they. I am concerned that the now lack of clarity in my thought processes will impede my efforts to force them out...oh my god I love this song.
Sun. 10:45am
I think I've had intercourse with one of them. I suspect this because I awoke next to her in the nude. Currently she's in the shower. Now that I've forged a "relationship" with one of them, our only hope for them to leave is the dearth of supplies. The war of attrition has begun...I only hope I have the strength to wait them out.
Sun. 5:15pm
They've exhausted all of our supplies and just rented Fever Pitch on demand. I've resigned myself to the fact that they may never leave, that I may never leave. I'm quite enjoying Fever Pitch though.
Sun. 9:15pm
The skinny one that I hooked up with last night is kinda cute, If I play my cards right I might be able to swing that again.
Sun. 9:18pm
That was awesome, I seriously wish they would leave now though.
Mon. 10:30am
My prayers have been answered. The two of them left this morning, quietly and unexpectedly. It's all over. Despite the horrors that I have seen and felt over the last 72 hours, I still think people are generally good. Good night and god bless.
A full week later, it still pains me to look back on those events. Even when I do, it doesn't seem like they were happening to me, rather I feel like a detached observer, an omniscient narrator of my own experience. This makes it a little easier for me. People often ask me if I feel I'm a better man for what I've gone through, what I've endured. Better man...I'm not sure, but am I a changed man, yes.
What I'd hope people take from this is the unalienable truth that even at those times when one's faith in humanity is shook to the very core, you must hold firm to the belief that the dynamic human spirit can and will overcome any injustice and hardship that is thrust upon it. And at least I didn't hook up with the fat one.
When I woke up the next morning the girls were still there. This didn't arouse my suspicions until I looked at my phone and saw that it was 4pm. Confused and hung over, I said good morning and went into my room to shower and change. When I went back in the living room the girls were ordering food and brushing their teeth in the kitchen sink. What was going on? I didn't know these girls at all, I hadn't even slept with any of them, and they were ordering food Chinese food like they were in this thing for the long haul. What were their intentions? They didn't seem sexually interested in either me or Mike, so if they weren't looking for lovers what were they looking for...friends? Terrified, I hid in my room for most of the next two days and kept a journal of what transpired, in hopes that younger generations can learn from my struggle.
Sat. 5:30pm
I've awoken to find that they are still here. If I stay quiet maybe they'll think I'm asleep and leave. Oh god, they've heard me. It's too late to hide. Maybe one of them will bum me a cigarette.
Sat. 7:15pm
They've asked me to come to the living room and drink with them. I think the safest option at this point is to keep my mouth shut and cooperate.
Sat. 11:15pm
I've become intoxicated, as have they. I am concerned that the now lack of clarity in my thought processes will impede my efforts to force them out...oh my god I love this song.
Sun. 10:45am
I think I've had intercourse with one of them. I suspect this because I awoke next to her in the nude. Currently she's in the shower. Now that I've forged a "relationship" with one of them, our only hope for them to leave is the dearth of supplies. The war of attrition has begun...I only hope I have the strength to wait them out.
Sun. 5:15pm
They've exhausted all of our supplies and just rented Fever Pitch on demand. I've resigned myself to the fact that they may never leave, that I may never leave. I'm quite enjoying Fever Pitch though.
Sun. 9:15pm
The skinny one that I hooked up with last night is kinda cute, If I play my cards right I might be able to swing that again.
Sun. 9:18pm
That was awesome, I seriously wish they would leave now though.
Mon. 10:30am
My prayers have been answered. The two of them left this morning, quietly and unexpectedly. It's all over. Despite the horrors that I have seen and felt over the last 72 hours, I still think people are generally good. Good night and god bless.
A full week later, it still pains me to look back on those events. Even when I do, it doesn't seem like they were happening to me, rather I feel like a detached observer, an omniscient narrator of my own experience. This makes it a little easier for me. People often ask me if I feel I'm a better man for what I've gone through, what I've endured. Better man...I'm not sure, but am I a changed man, yes.
What I'd hope people take from this is the unalienable truth that even at those times when one's faith in humanity is shook to the very core, you must hold firm to the belief that the dynamic human spirit can and will overcome any injustice and hardship that is thrust upon it. And at least I didn't hook up with the fat one.
Make Love, Not War
by Tom Sunnergren September 14, 2006
Unless you have AIDS. In that case you should do neither.
How to be awesome at a strip club
by Tom Sunnergren September 13, 2006
Going to a strip club is a right (on!) of passage that bridges the gap between boy and man and 300$ checking account balance and 25$ balance. Here's how to do it right.
Drive Drunk-
Drunk driving is an absolute must for any impromptu strip club trip. The best way to go about doing it is to get really shitty drunk before you get in the car, and then keep drinking once you're in it. But what you say, it's dangerous? So is finger banging an exotic dancer named Destiny then smoking a cigarette. At a strip club danger is relative" she's also a Portuguese chick with two kids who can stick a whole whine bottle in her pussy.
Spend Early-
Upon entering the club you must immediately identify yourself as a big spender. When one of the girls comes up and asks if you're tipping say "you bet yer sexy ass I'm tipping," then shove a five in her sexy ass. The word will spread like syphilis in Baltimore. Before you can say," how much would I have to pay to mouth fuck you" you'll have every girl at the club in the palm of your awkwardly sweaty hand. If they think you'll spend big money for a trip to the back room, they will pull some very serious shit to make sure it happens. While your dumbass friends are throwin' crumpled up singles at the girls on stage, you'll be getting quasi hand jobs and negotiating high risk behavior, at no immediate cost.
Sell Beer-
Once the girls realize you aren't going to give them money they will quickly disappear. You should disappear for a while too" to your car to get the icy-cold beer you have in a cooler in your trunk. The beauty of strip clubs is that the seedy ones, which are the only strip clubs real dudes go to, are almost all BYOB. BYOB, for those of you who are too drunk to figure it out, is an acronym that means Old Drunk Dudes Will Buy Beers Off You For Twice What They Are Worth Because They Will Still Be Cheaper Than The Shit They Serve At The Bar. What it means for you is cold hard cash that you can use to sin.
Drink More Beer-
This one is pretty self explanatory.
Well, I'm usually blacked out at this point, so you guys are on your own from here. Good luck.
Drive Drunk-
Drunk driving is an absolute must for any impromptu strip club trip. The best way to go about doing it is to get really shitty drunk before you get in the car, and then keep drinking once you're in it. But what you say, it's dangerous? So is finger banging an exotic dancer named Destiny then smoking a cigarette. At a strip club danger is relative" she's also a Portuguese chick with two kids who can stick a whole whine bottle in her pussy.
Spend Early-
Upon entering the club you must immediately identify yourself as a big spender. When one of the girls comes up and asks if you're tipping say "you bet yer sexy ass I'm tipping," then shove a five in her sexy ass. The word will spread like syphilis in Baltimore. Before you can say," how much would I have to pay to mouth fuck you" you'll have every girl at the club in the palm of your awkwardly sweaty hand. If they think you'll spend big money for a trip to the back room, they will pull some very serious shit to make sure it happens. While your dumbass friends are throwin' crumpled up singles at the girls on stage, you'll be getting quasi hand jobs and negotiating high risk behavior, at no immediate cost.
Sell Beer-
Once the girls realize you aren't going to give them money they will quickly disappear. You should disappear for a while too" to your car to get the icy-cold beer you have in a cooler in your trunk. The beauty of strip clubs is that the seedy ones, which are the only strip clubs real dudes go to, are almost all BYOB. BYOB, for those of you who are too drunk to figure it out, is an acronym that means Old Drunk Dudes Will Buy Beers Off You For Twice What They Are Worth Because They Will Still Be Cheaper Than The Shit They Serve At The Bar. What it means for you is cold hard cash that you can use to sin.
Drink More Beer-
This one is pretty self explanatory.
Well, I'm usually blacked out at this point, so you guys are on your own from here. Good luck.
How to Make America Safe: by a foul mouthed conservative who is inexplicably unaware that we are already at war with Iraq
by Tom Sunnergren September 13, 2006On this, the five year anniversary of 9/11, I, like many others, find myself thinking not only about the tragic losses of that tragic day, but about how we can best prevent future tragedies. Unfortunately, the means we should employ to prevent such future tragedies has become a point of much contention across our great land. There are however, some things we, as Americans, can all agree on.
There is only one way to provide this security- declaring war on Iraq. I said it; I think we should go to war with Iraq.
One would have to be completely ignorant to foreign affairs and the unstable situation in the Middle East to dismiss the threat the Arabs pose to our God-given freedom. You would have to be equally ignorant to suggest that there is any other way to squash this threat. Iraq is at the epicenter of the terrorist hotbed. The only way to stabilize the area and neutralize the threat is to overthrow Bin-Laden and Saddam Hussein. Their evil dictatorship and brainwashing of the savage, God-less Iraqi people must end. We need to grab terrorism by its balls and bomb the shit out of it. We need to shit down the throat of terrorism until it relents and becomes American.
The terrorists are gunning for us; there is no doubt about that. They hate us for our freedom, our Christian god, and our straight, white teeth. The Iraqi won't stop until they destroy America and Christianity. The only way to stop them is an invasion of the Iraqi gooks.
If we don't act now where will the senseless violence stop? When all of our buildings are knocked down from airplanes flying into them and all of our airplanes are destroyed from having crashed into buildings? Will we wait until we have no more buildings or airplanes because they are destroyed from crashing into one another? How can a country function without airplanes and buildings? We cannot ignore this threat any longer.
We need to invade Iraq now and put an end to Bin-Laden's reign of terror
Some critics charge that an invasion of Iraq would be pre-emptive. The reality is, an invasion would hardly be pre-emptive; we would simply be hitting them before they hit us- possibly with another airplane, maybe even a tank airplane. What would the liberals have to say after our cities are reduced to rubble by a tank-airplane? It would be devastating. Imagine the damage that would have been done to New York had the terrorists flown in on tank-airplanes rather than regular ones. We need to turn the tank-airplanes on them before they do the same to us.
Rather than pick up a remote control, or a bottle of abortion pills, we need to pick up arms, and use those arms to shoot people who are Iraqi. We cannot burden the younger generations with an unstable middle east, we must go over there and restore order; overthrow the leaders and butt-fuck the hate out of the Arabs.
We need to stop putting American lives at risk for absolutely no reason whatsoever. War makes heroes out of young men, and in this dangerous time heroes are exactly what we need.
a "stroke" of good luck
by Tom Sunnergren September 10, 2006
Death Comedy Jam
by Tom Sunnergren September 06, 2006
Fall is the time of the year when things die; graduation plans, drunk driving homecoming kings, and leaves. Also, many rich old people refer to the time right before they kick it as the autumn of their life (autumn is protestant for fall). For this, and other less humorous reasons, fall is the time of year when we're compelled to contemplate death, and what comes next.
Personally, I do a lot of thinking about life and death. I also do a lot of really, really, drunk girls. Sometimes I think I feel guilty about this, but then I realize my guilt is actually the fear of going to hell that the priests at my Sunday school forced upon me (fyi, that's the only thing anyone of them ever forced upon me. Except for their penises).
Despite my catholic roots, somewhere in the back of my mind I've been counting on hell being an old wives tale, like "if you sit too close to the TV you'll go blind" or "if you sit too close to the TV you'll go to hell." I guess the problem with that thinking is if there's no hell there's no heaven, so it's kind of a double edged sword. Nobody wants to just sit in the dirt when they die, except for little kids I guess...they like dirt.
If you're a fuck up you're definitely better off if hell doesn't exist. Luckily, even if it's real they probably draw a bigger crowd than U2 and sell out like three months in advance. Then you'll get sent to the good spot anyway, like an airline putting you in first class after they over-book coach. Some people might think that's blasphemous, but what's anybodies idea of heaven and hell based on anyway? All Dogs go to Heaven, Little Nicky? The fact is, none of us has any idea what that whole thing is about; all we can really do is be good enough to make not going to hell a possibility.
Personally, I consider myself a contender for going to the good place. I've never killed or raped anybody, and I'm not gay, so I've managed to steer clear of the big three. I guess stealing is a no-no, but since I do it pretty regularly I'll discount it. You probably get one throw away anyway, like dropping your lowest test score in psych class.
You can probably do extra credit too, if you're borderline pass/fail, like helping the Angels win the pennant or something. I like baseball, so that wouldn't be too big of a deal. Most extra credit assignments are easy anyway, and the Angels were pretty good this year so it wouldn't take much, maybe better starting pitching.
I bet God is probably pretty lax on letting people in too. If what they say is true, he's a real dude's dude. If you were to go out partying with him I guarantee he'd buy the first round, and if one of your boys hooked up with a fat chick, he'd razz him for a little, but then buy him a beer. If he walked some chick home from the bar and she tried to get him to come in he'd say "no," no matter how drunk or how much of a sure thing she was. He'd be like, "I think you're really special and that's why I don't wanna go too fast," and he'd mean it. The next night he'd buy her dinner and tell her how much her respects her. I heard he's just that kind of a dude.
Anyway, the only snag I can really see is a limit on how many people they let into the good place each year. In that case, you could probably avoid going to hell just by fucking other people up. You could be like, "Jim, you know what's great" painkillers," or "phew"12. Whatever, age is just a number." If you fuck enough people up you could probably get into heaven by default. On a slow year they'd have no choice. It's all about numbers.
Personally, I do a lot of thinking about life and death. I also do a lot of really, really, drunk girls. Sometimes I think I feel guilty about this, but then I realize my guilt is actually the fear of going to hell that the priests at my Sunday school forced upon me (fyi, that's the only thing anyone of them ever forced upon me. Except for their penises).
Despite my catholic roots, somewhere in the back of my mind I've been counting on hell being an old wives tale, like "if you sit too close to the TV you'll go blind" or "if you sit too close to the TV you'll go to hell." I guess the problem with that thinking is if there's no hell there's no heaven, so it's kind of a double edged sword. Nobody wants to just sit in the dirt when they die, except for little kids I guess...they like dirt.
If you're a fuck up you're definitely better off if hell doesn't exist. Luckily, even if it's real they probably draw a bigger crowd than U2 and sell out like three months in advance. Then you'll get sent to the good spot anyway, like an airline putting you in first class after they over-book coach. Some people might think that's blasphemous, but what's anybodies idea of heaven and hell based on anyway? All Dogs go to Heaven, Little Nicky? The fact is, none of us has any idea what that whole thing is about; all we can really do is be good enough to make not going to hell a possibility.
Personally, I consider myself a contender for going to the good place. I've never killed or raped anybody, and I'm not gay, so I've managed to steer clear of the big three. I guess stealing is a no-no, but since I do it pretty regularly I'll discount it. You probably get one throw away anyway, like dropping your lowest test score in psych class.
You can probably do extra credit too, if you're borderline pass/fail, like helping the Angels win the pennant or something. I like baseball, so that wouldn't be too big of a deal. Most extra credit assignments are easy anyway, and the Angels were pretty good this year so it wouldn't take much, maybe better starting pitching.
I bet God is probably pretty lax on letting people in too. If what they say is true, he's a real dude's dude. If you were to go out partying with him I guarantee he'd buy the first round, and if one of your boys hooked up with a fat chick, he'd razz him for a little, but then buy him a beer. If he walked some chick home from the bar and she tried to get him to come in he'd say "no," no matter how drunk or how much of a sure thing she was. He'd be like, "I think you're really special and that's why I don't wanna go too fast," and he'd mean it. The next night he'd buy her dinner and tell her how much her respects her. I heard he's just that kind of a dude.
Anyway, the only snag I can really see is a limit on how many people they let into the good place each year. In that case, you could probably avoid going to hell just by fucking other people up. You could be like, "Jim, you know what's great" painkillers," or "phew"12. Whatever, age is just a number." If you fuck enough people up you could probably get into heaven by default. On a slow year they'd have no choice. It's all about numbers.
A dialogue between a man and an insightful talking dog
by Tom Sunnergren September 06, 2006
Man: You're a stupid dog
Dog: You drink to compensate for your insecurities
Dog: You drink to compensate for your insecurities
Freestyle rapping? More like freestyle crapping!
by Tom Sunnergren September 01, 2006
Freestyle rapping is the newest sweet-ass dumbass thing to hit the streets. It's especially popular in places where there are a lot of black people, like prisons, and places where there are no black people but lots of BET, like your dorm room. Freestyle rapping is fun and not at all weird if you do it constantly while you're drunk. Here's a fun guide to get you started you wack-ass fucknuts.
-Start with "I'm talkin'..."
This opens up a plethora of lyrical possibilities. Try this opening, then throw in a celebrity name and see where it takes you. Here's a little diddy I heard the other day. "I'm talkin' VInce Carter, I'm talkin' flavored water." From there you can take it anywhere. You can take it to the bank. Bling bling you stupid bomb-ass homeys.
-Rap a lot about oral sex
This is a great way to close a freestyle, because not only is getting oral sex from girls awesome, but "shoot a load on her face" rhymes with tons of stuff. "They call me ace; I make deposits in the bank, then on your bitch's face." You can talk about regular sex too, "I fuck mad bitches, I flip mad switches..." The important thing is that you say derogatory things about women...err, bitches
-Mix in some current issues
Everybody knows current issues are important, but not everybody knows what they are. By rapping about these issues you are being cool and educational, and that's stupid cool.
You-"I get bitches panties dropping like Bush's approval ratings"
Other person-"wow, I didn't know that. I'm going to read a book."
You could have just saved somebody's life, all while committing a lyrical homicide on their faggot ass.
-Make sure you talk about how much you smoke pot
Freestyle rapping is about being cool, and there is nothing cooler than smoking tons of that bomb-ass diggity. When you rap about pot the most important thing to know is that you shouldn't call it pot, or weed for that matter. Call it dope. And rap about how the other person smokes bad weed (when you talk about their pot you can, and should, call it weed). This shit is pretty much common sense though.
-Talk shit on people
There is no better venue for bringing problems with people out in the open than a freestyle rap-off. Do you think Eric's girlfriend should know he hooked up with that slut Alexa from ASA? Do you want people to know that John from down the hall is a dick? Freestyle rapping is the new public bathroom graffiti.
-Don't worry about making sense
"Blacker than a blackjack, critically acclaimed like Backdraft." That was a nice little riff, or "beat piece," as they call it in the hip hop community. The only problem, as a "square" would see it, is that it doesn't make sense. You can address this problem by ending each questionable beat piece with "fuck y'all, I don't even give a fuck." Problem solved scout! The only sense you've got to make when you rap is that stupid dope money. I'm talkin' dollars and cents y'all.
-Start with "I'm talkin'..."
This opens up a plethora of lyrical possibilities. Try this opening, then throw in a celebrity name and see where it takes you. Here's a little diddy I heard the other day. "I'm talkin' VInce Carter, I'm talkin' flavored water." From there you can take it anywhere. You can take it to the bank. Bling bling you stupid bomb-ass homeys.
-Rap a lot about oral sex
This is a great way to close a freestyle, because not only is getting oral sex from girls awesome, but "shoot a load on her face" rhymes with tons of stuff. "They call me ace; I make deposits in the bank, then on your bitch's face." You can talk about regular sex too, "I fuck mad bitches, I flip mad switches..." The important thing is that you say derogatory things about women...err, bitches
-Mix in some current issues
Everybody knows current issues are important, but not everybody knows what they are. By rapping about these issues you are being cool and educational, and that's stupid cool.
You-"I get bitches panties dropping like Bush's approval ratings"
Other person-"wow, I didn't know that. I'm going to read a book."
You could have just saved somebody's life, all while committing a lyrical homicide on their faggot ass.
-Make sure you talk about how much you smoke pot
Freestyle rapping is about being cool, and there is nothing cooler than smoking tons of that bomb-ass diggity. When you rap about pot the most important thing to know is that you shouldn't call it pot, or weed for that matter. Call it dope. And rap about how the other person smokes bad weed (when you talk about their pot you can, and should, call it weed). This shit is pretty much common sense though.
-Talk shit on people
There is no better venue for bringing problems with people out in the open than a freestyle rap-off. Do you think Eric's girlfriend should know he hooked up with that slut Alexa from ASA? Do you want people to know that John from down the hall is a dick? Freestyle rapping is the new public bathroom graffiti.
-Don't worry about making sense
"Blacker than a blackjack, critically acclaimed like Backdraft." That was a nice little riff, or "beat piece," as they call it in the hip hop community. The only problem, as a "square" would see it, is that it doesn't make sense. You can address this problem by ending each questionable beat piece with "fuck y'all, I don't even give a fuck." Problem solved scout! The only sense you've got to make when you rap is that stupid dope money. I'm talkin' dollars and cents y'all.
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