tysonthebitcher

[tysonthebitcher]

Socializing as an adult sucks

Growing up is scary. Here are 10 things I hate doing as an adult… It’s amazing I have friends. 1. Making entrances and exits   When someone you kind of know comes over to your house, do you shake their hand? If you do, do you do a formal hand shake, a bro hand shake—do you fucking hug them? What about girls you just met? What about extended family members that you don’t know that well. What the hell do I do? If you are leaving a family reunion? Do you have to tell everyone you’re leaving, even if you haven’t talked to them in a hour? Is showing up for 20 minutes and leaving rude? Is staying the whole time rude? Making entrances and exits is stressful enough to convince me to stay in my underwear at home. 2.Going to family or business events Appropriate. Professional. This one is only hard for me when I don’t know the people well. I have to act like I have my life together. They say to be yourself—only thing is, my humor is inappropriate, and my small talk is based around inside jokes and the many ways to refer to male and female genitalia. What do I talk about with adults who are actively adulting? The weather? Sports? How long do I talk to each person? What do I say if I really don’t know them? How real should I get? Should I tell my Uncle I see once a year that I hate my job? And my life has been pretty shitty lately? Or do I just pretend everything is okay?  He says he likes his job. Is he just bullshitting me, too? 3. Seeing people I kind of know in public You’re at the grocery store. You see someone you kind of know. Do you give them a wave and move on, or are you stuck in a tractor beam and have to move towards them? How long do you sit there and talk? Once again, do you shake their hand, stand there like an idiot? I met them one time at a party 3 years ago. Do they remember me? Do I just ignore them? 4. Being with a friend, and they run into a friend. You are at the mall with a friend. They see someone they know. They stand there for a while and are talking to them about something you know nothing about. They didn’t introduce you. Do you interject? Smile and nod? Stand there like a big piece of jewelry? 5.Texting My sarcastic and dumb humor doesn’t translate well through texts. It comes off as sincere, which makes me seem like a total asshole. 6.Silence with a stranger, or in a group. There is some talking, then 10 minutes of silence. Is it awkward to just start talking again? Or you are in a group and a couple people start talking about something.  You sit there for 5 minutes without saying anything. Can you just jump back into the conversation? 7. People with good eye contact There is this inner dialogue where I am always hoping I don’t have something on my face. And what do I do while they are talking? Do I just lock eyes with them the whole time and stare into their soul while they are talking? Isn’t that fucking weird? What if I just look at them in the eyes for a second, then take a sip of water, and look around. Will that look normal? Why do I feel like an alien trying to fit in with humans? 8. Hearing long stories that you aren’t interested in. Get to the point, dude. I can’t just look at you for 10 minutes nodding and repeating, “Oh yeah”. At a certain point, my acting skills begin to falter, then fail. I look away for a bit too long. My mind wanders, and when I come back to reality I notice the dude is staring at me like I’m supposed to be smiling or laughing or saying “Oh no, I’m so sorry to hear that”. Only problem is I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about anymore. 9. Hanging out with your friend’s friends you just met, and your friends leave you. *Awkward silence* So….how do you know John? (Kill me.) 10. Being sober at parties Do I look as awkward as I feel? Am I allowed to talk to girls if they’re drunk and I’m not? What the fuck am I doing here, anyway?

[tysonthebitcher]

How not to look like a college freshman

“You’re a freshman, right?” You’re going to hear it a lot if you’re new to college. But you can avoid it. See, I don’t like stereotypes, but people generally can recognize freshmen at a glance. Freshmen just dress a certain way, period. But by listening to some sage advice, you might actually pass for not-so-green...until you open your mouth, of course, but that’s for a different article. Of course, like everything else you’re about to cram in your head for the next four years, you probably won’t listen. No, you’ll probably get called out for being an ignorant freshman a bunch of times. Then, you’ll run into this article again, look at yourself in the mirror, and say, “Damn, Mr. Internet guy was right.” But for the ten percent who will listen, here you go: 1. Chuck that lanyard out the fuckin window Warning: when you arrive, you will be given a lanyard with a dorm key attached. You will get it and think, “Hey, this is cool—it’s got my college name on it and everything.” You will want to feel proud. Resist this desire. The next time you find yourself near a trashcan, drop your lanyard into it. Do not hesitate, or risk looking greener then that kid who still wears his high school letterman jacket. 2. Don’t give on-campus bookstores your money. The blonde is a lie. (You’ll understand this statement soon.) There’s no other way to say this: the bookstores on campus are price-gouging criminals and the only people who don’t know this for a goddamn fact are the newest of the new. The people in these places do not give a fuck about you. They know you’re new. They want to exploit it. So they offer to pick out all your books based on your schedule, and shit the cute girl might even take you on a little tour and show you where all your books are. So nice, so convenient. You even will thank them by the end of it. They are fucking you, and you will thank them.  The smiling blonde? She is lying to you. Listen—I get it: you have a penis and this chick is being flirty and you’re new and it’s convenient, so you buy the books. You’re an idiot, but I understand. So if you do end up buying the books from them, at least absolutely do not sell it back to them. They’ll buy your books back? Maybe, and if so only at a small fraction of what you paid. Of course, you’re a drunk asshole freshman who needs money like most third-world people need water, so you’ll take whatever pittance they throw your way. And since you bought the books months ago, you will almost feel like you are getting free money. You aren’t. You just—aren’t. You’re getting fucked. If you’re actually ambitious enough to sell your books after school’s out, check out Chegg Buyback. They are one of the only places I’ve found that actually buy textbooks back at a good price. There are no blondes winking or giving you sultry looks, but they make it simple as shit to do and at times I found myself actually surprised at how much they offered. But if you want to go full retard in the first place, don’t buy the books from the goddamn bookstore. Either go through one of those places that lets you use the books you need and then give them back. Again, Chegg offers this in textbook rental and I’m sure some others do as well but Chegg was the main go-to for my dorm. You can do it hungover in your room and you can buy the books used or new, or you can rent them. If you had to buy a book new or used they will most likely buy it back at the end of the year with their buy back program.  Since Chegg isnt just selling books at one college, they actually can buy a lot more back to resell. They remind you before they are due, and you just drop them off with the postage they paid for and that’s it. But why were we buying textbooks to begin with again? I have never met anyone with a really badass textbook collection. Textbooks aren’t a status symbol like a new car. Just rent it, suck the knowledge out of it for long enough to pass your finals, then get rid of it. Just don’t go to the campus bookstore. The blonde does not like you. She never did. The blonde is a lie. 3. Don’t post things like “I love college” online It’s kind of crazy how quickly people realize they are living the best years of your life. And I mean, it makes sense: you can now party without having to tell your parents you’re sleeping over at your responsible friend’s house. You no longer have to ask your co-worker’s friend’s brother to buy you alcohol. Drugs and alcohol will be the easiest they ever have been to get your hands on—many times absolutely free.  You can now relate to those college drinking songs. But don’t post “I love college” to your Facebook or twitter. I mean, we get it. But everyone loves college. That’s like saying “I love having sex.” Everyone does, and the only people who announce it are first-timers. 4. Don’t drink Skol or Kamchatka. This is a big one. It’s a hard one too. Drinking Skol or Kamchatka is almost a freshman requirement. You will soon realize that you can get half gallons of shitty bottom-shelf vodka for $10.  You most likely will be drinking a lot, and you will probably be broke, so it will look like a good idea.  But just spend the extra couple dollars to get something better. These bottles of bum piss will leave you feeling extra hungover the next day. If you are at a party with people other then freshman, as soon as you bring the plastic bottle of skol out, people will gag. You’ll be embarrased as the people you thought were nice refuse to even make eye contact with you because they subjected themselves to the same liquid punishment when they were a freshman and now the sight of it makes them want to throw up. Of course, you can always put it in a water bottle like you did in high school.  But that is almost worse—then people will know you are underage. No one over 21, in the history of this earth, has ever thought, “Huh, I wonder if maybe this alcohol will taste better in a water bottle?” 5.   Get help when you need it. I honestly sucked at this one. Being at college you sometimes forget what you are really there to do: Get that degree.  After months of “loving college” and drinking your skol vodka I said not to drink, you will soon realize you are failing every class. To make it tougher, most classes don’t take attendance which makes going to class that much harder. Awesome, right? Wrong. Not awesome. Every morning you wake up—possibly for the first time in your life—without the threat of bad things happening if you don’t go to class. “Nah, I’ll just go to class.” Sure, buddy.   All of this sets up the perfect storm for an unfuckingbelievable amount of stress for your average college virgin. A ton of work, almost nil understanding, and everything on the line. Your stoner friend can’t help you, and the professor who hasn’t seen your face in months won’t want to help you, either. You will then remember seeing stuff about college tutors on campus.  But you’re lazy and don’t want to go (remember, that’s the whole reason you’re in this mess). Listen, I know: college tutors don’t care. They’re usually just students like you. Probably don’t even get paid—most are doing it for some dumb college credit and so just want your dumbass out the door. They’re probably as hungover as you. You have to make an appointment. You have to wear clothes. Ugh, right? Then, hooray, awkward chat with a stranger about a subject you’re failing! Thankfully for your lazy ass, you live in the magical world of the future where anything can be done online. There are a lot of online video-chat tutors. Again, I’d suggest to check out Chegg for their online tutoring. It seemed to be of a way higher quality than the dumbasses I ran into on campus, and –this is huge for me—you don’t even have to do video chat: you can be straight-up lazy, anti-social, and totally naked, and do a tutoring session through text chat. Best part I found about that is then everything is easily searchable—no panicking through scribbled notes, and no “walk of shame” out of the tutor’s office. 6. Don’t go home every weekend. ​I never really got this one. When I was a freshman I knew people that went back home all the time. You’ll probably find yourself moving back in with your parents after you graduate anyway I understand you will feel homesick. It is normal to want go back home. College is a big change, and at times you will feel lost or anxious.  Going home is comfortable and familiar, but save that for the holidays.  Because here’s some real talk that you’ll realize after the first time you go home: I promise you, you will be bored after 2 hours, and have to hear about all the stuff you missed from your smart friends who didnt go home..   College is the best years of your life. Everyone says it. It’s true.  Don’t run away when things get tough. Embrace it all. All those feelings will be cherished one day.  You’ll be looking back after you graduate and wishing you could just have one extra day in that college bubble, free from real problems and real life. So fuck home for now—go spark up a conversation with Cute Blonde Girl from the campus bookstore when she gets off shift at eight and see what happens. Maybe she really did like you after all.

[tysonthebitcher]

The Piss Pebble from Hell

My experience with kidney stones Let me preface this by saying I have never been a fan of hospitals. I think it’s because as humans, we like to forget that millions of people are dying and suffering from illness but it’s easier to just not think about all the pain and death.  When you have to go to the hospital, shit gets real. Whoever said ignorance is bliss, probably died before 30 from something curable. I woke up this last Thursday with a stabbing feeling in my left side.  I don’t mean a single stabbing. It felt like I was getting stabbed by a pack of wild bums wielding sharpened spoons. I laid there in bed squirming and moving my legs back and forth trying to find some sort of position that didn’t hurt so badly.  I imagine I looked like a fucking flounder out of water the way I was flopping around my bed. It was that intense pain that you can’t just “try not to think about it honey.”  The kinda in your face pain like a brain freeze, that if continued your whole life, you would have no choice but to hang yourself with a belt. After a significant time of flopping around, I decided mobility was my next best move to attempt pain relief. After about 30 minutes of pacing back and forth to the bathroom, my roommate asked what I was doing. Like a natural, my roommate was stoned on the couch watching TV. Timestamp: 6:00am. I told him how much pain I was in, and like most everyone does, he claimed to get it but I knew he didn’t understand. He said some shit like “well I’m sorry,” and blew it off. I knew he couldn’t have said nor done anything to help me. But when you are in that much pain, you are looking for sympathy. You are looking for your mother’s hug, damnit. I knew I couldn’t go to work, so I called off and continued to lie in bed for a while, trying to convince myself I was dying. I went through every imaginable funeral scenario. A hour later, the pain stopped like nothing had happened. Was I crazy? How can something so fucking painful just stop like that? The next couple days, if I hadn’t looked down and saw my dick, I would have sworn I was fucking pregnant. I had these on and off “contractions” that would come and go every few hours. Something was definitely wrong and I probably should have just gone to the doctor, but instead, like the lazy sack of shit adult I am, I decided to Google my symptoms and self-diagnose my condition. After doing some research, I had come to the conclusion that it was a kidney stone. It didn’t make sense though. Wasn’t that something that middle-aged bastards got? I’m 24.  Granted, at times I treat my body like a dumping ground. I’d say I’m in decent health. But I guess now with the daily intake of processed foods and chemicals, people as young as 10 are getting them. Fuckin America. I instantly understood the pain a friend from college went through.  He had some kidney disease, which meant he got kidney stones multiple times a month. He tried committing suicide multiple times; at the time I really didn’t think anything of it, and just thought the kid was being dramatic.  But in hindsight, I genuinely feel it was cause of the stones. Shit like this, really just makes you appreciate your health, knowing that there are people that are in crippling pain. People actually are living with handicaps every day. Yet most of us think our lives suck when we don’t get enough likes on our Instagram photos. After the weekend, I felt somewhat normal again and thought maybe I was cured. I went back to work and thought maybe I had pissed out these devil stones without knowing, and my dick was now clearer than a window after a thorough windexing. I got into bed that night, and outta nowhere my contractions started again. For the love of fuck, was I pregnant again? I manned my labor station in bed and fought through my child birth labor pains, hoping it would stop again like it did before. The pain sure as fuck did not stop.  In fact, it got worse and worse. It was like the grand finale of the biggest fireworks show ever. My kidney was lit.  This time I felt like throwing up, while simultaneously urinating over everything in my direct vicinity. So I sat on the toilet pissing, and clutching the trash can between my knees, vomiting up the cold shitty leftovers I had heated up for dinner. The only thing that gave me even the slightest bit of relief was laying on the dirty-ass apartment ground in the fetal position. I knew it was getting worse when I caught myself praying, and bargaining with God; could somebody up there save me?! Nope. He sure wasn’t any help; He didn’t know this broke-ass stranger lying on the floor, with nothing on but his boxers. After 3 hours of bargaining and lying on the floor with toe nails and grass clippings I decided I couldn’t do it anymore. I had to go to the hospital. I knew I couldn’t drive myself and my roommate was shockingly at work. He has two DUIs so he wasn’t going to be of any help anyway. So, I had no choice. I had to call my parents. My mom answered the phone, and after I told her I had to go to the hospital she knew this was serious. After 20 minutes my parents picked me up, and we drove to the hospital.  Like another “fuck you” from God, we quickly find out the highway was closed for night. There I was on a leisurely Sunday drive through country roads laying down, moaning in the back seat of my parent’s car. It’s like I was on the highway to hell, yet I wasn’t on a highway. I was going 30 mph. By the time we got to the hospital, the pain had diminished, and although it didn’t feel like I was giving birth like octomom, I still felt like I was having triplets.  When I finally got into a room, the nurse asked my symptoms and my pain level, which I said was around a 9. It almost seemed like she thought I was lying, and this was some type of grand scheme to score some pain meds or some shit. I was there with my middle aged white parents on a Monday night. Do you really think this is a lie? Did she think I brought in paid actors to pretend to be my parents, for some pain pills? After 30 minutes of chit-chat, she finally mentioned something for pain, which made me perk up.  Let’s face it, pain medicine is the only good thing about a trip to the hospital. She then mentioned something like “ibuprofen” so I wouldn’t feel loopy. She said it like it was a good thing? Was she serious?! I immediately just stopped listening after I heard the word “ibuprofen” She doses me up with might as well been a fucking baby aspirin while I wait 30 more minutes for a CT scan. Another half a decade later, a nurse comes in with a wheel chair to take me down the empty quiet hospital corridor in my hospital gown. Since she didn’t say a word, it felt like I was just rolling through some nightmare scene in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest through this hellish dark hallway, in silence. After another hour I finally got my results. Indeed it was the devil himself that had made home in my kidney. A 3mm stone. If you aren’t familiar with kidney stones, you probably saying “Wow, this guy’s a pussy” But this sharp stone is tearing through all your insides that are meant for piss. They eventually send me home with some piss strainers and some pain medicine and told me to look for the piss rock. They wanted me to sift through my piss like it was gold. Then told me when I pissed it out they needed it for tests. What else did they expect me to do with this stone, make it into a fuckin wedding ring? Put it into a silver locket? They can fuckin have it. That next day, I gave birth to my first son, Keith Stone. Fucking little shit. The doctors said that a kidney stone is one of the most painful things a human can go through. Worse than child birth and “animal attacks”…I could understand it.  In a way, it did feel like a bear raped and impregnated me, then I was forced to give birth to his bear cub son through my penis.   So, I guess moral of the story, stay out of the woods at night, and drink water.

[tysonthebitcher]

The time i got arrested in Florida

*Names have been changed When you picture getting arrested on spring break, you picture things like getting in a fight, having sex in public, getting too drunk, or better – all three. But this wasn't anything like that; the time I got arrested sums up my life. When I was 17, I got arrested on Spring Break in Florida. I don't even bring this up when people talk about getting arrested. It’s by no means a "bad ass" story. But when I do tell people I was arrested, they automatically want to know why.  This isn’t your cool and normal Spring Break “who outdrank who” story. This is a random and "uncool" arrest story. I don't even like to tell people. Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m telling you now…but fuck it In high school, I went on Spring Break with my friend, John. Because I was 17, it was one of those “high school” Spring Breaks. We’ve all been on these “all-inclusive vacations.” You know, the trips where you just go with your friend’s family because you are too broke, too irresponsible, and just slightly too underage for your parents to let you go anywhere by yourself. So this is the best you are going to get.  But hey, don’t let the details get in the way of the facts, you get to tell people you went somewhere. This was going to be the first time I was on my own: It was a huge deal for me. My parents always thought I was too "irresponsible" to go anywhere or do anything, let alone wipe my own ass, by myself.  I had gotten caught in a few minor fuck ups, but I was right at the tipping point where I was starting to gain their trust back and things could go one of two ways: I could be the son they’ve always wanted, or I could go with John and be a 17 year old on Spring Break.  It took a lot of convincing but, the choice was obvious. My parents ended up letting me go.I was going to be with John’s family…what could go wrong? . Well...actually a lot can go wrong. ​ When Spring Break rolled around, John, his parents, and I drove down to Navarre Beach, Florida. I had never even heard of the fuckin’ place, but it was Florida. How horrible can it be? Wrong. It’s more than slightly horrible. It might as well be located in Satan’s asshole, and renamed to Dante’s 10th Circle of Hell. Like all naïve high schoolers, we were expecting rivers of beer, and mountains of topless college chicks. Wrong again. Upon arrival, John and I instantly realize there is a reason we had never heard of this place. It is one of those near death retirement communities, where the only women you will see are wearing a one-piece and a foam golf visor. It was one of those quiet, dust-farter destinations for the old people who came to Florida for long walks on the beach, and to watch the sunset. Throughout the week, we did boring touristy shit with John’s parents, like visit museums and sight-see. I'll admit it wasn't bad. Then again, at this point in my life, shopping at a Walmart in a different state would have been fun for me. Prior to entering this hellish wasteland in sunny Florida, John and I got some irresponsibly awesome 21 year old to buy us liquor before we left. We hid the vodka in a couple of water bottles and smuggled it down with us. Even though the place sucked, we still were excited. Our standards were still low; getting drunk in someone's basement was still considered "new and fun.” Drinking in Florida was more than good enough for us. Throughout the week, we made sure to conserve and ration the gut-wrenching warm vodka. When nights rolled around, we took shots and wandered aimlessly around the deserted hellscape, looking for any sign of human life. The whole week we hadn’t seen anyone that hadn’t been born when Richard Nixon was still in office, but on the last night we were there, slightly buzzed on warm water bottle vodka, we went wandering desperate to do anything. That’s when the warm vodka Gods spoke to us. When we got down to the pool, there was a small glimpse of hope. We saw some kids our age, so we approached them and started talking. Turns out they were 15 and from Indiana too, and in the same situation as John and me.  There was our glimpse of hope: two girls, and a douche. The brother, the douche, and sister looked inbred. But their friend, Jennifer, caught our eye with her big melons. John and I were so desperate, we looked past inbred Jack and Jill so we could hang with this girl and her big cannons.  There wasn't really anything for us to do so we started walking around, bitching about this shitty paradise we were in. ​ John and I were content; we were kinda drunk, and since we were in high school, just walking next to a hot female got our penises hard. While we were walking, Jack was telling us about how they were playing ding dong ditch earlier.  That stuff stopped being fun for me in 4th grade, so I instantly knew these fucking kids were even lamer than John and me. Feeling nice, or drunk, or bored, maybe all three, I chalked it up as they were probably just bored like us. We continued to walk, and Jack started to play ding dong ditch again.  I felt like I was babysitting this giant pecker.  I felt like I was too cool to be hanging out with these incestual people, and for me to think that is a huge red flag. John and I laughed and went along with it. Fuck it, I even joined in a couple times. Here we were, playing ding dong ditch in fuckin’ Florida. Other teenagers our age were on Spring Break having sex and lasting a whole two minutes. Or getting limp wristed hand jobs.  Either way, I was envious. Instead we were ding dong ditching condos of old fossils who probably couldn't even hear it. Although lame, John and I were glad to be doing something. But then shit got weird. Like one of those "you had to be there moments". These things happen for some strange reason, and when they do, and you really don't what the fuck you were thinking. A string of bad luck happens, and it's almost like it was meant to be. At this point, we are acting like a bunch deranged toddlers who escaped Chuck E Cheese, laughing and acting like reckless buffoons. The more we laughed and fucked around, the more of that reckless teenage "fuck it" chemical got pumped into our little bird brains.  We gave no fucks and just wanted to have fun. It was almost like we took a back seat in our bodies while some crazed maniacs were manning the control stations. We continued watching Jack ding dong ditch until we got to the garbage room where you throw trash down the chute. For some fuckin’ reason, Jack opened the door to look inside.  He flings the door open, and in the process, breaks the garbage room door. The metal rod snapped right off the door, and fell in front of his guilty feet. We look at each other…then like most teenagers, we just start laughing. I don't know if it is a phase or what, but fucking stuff up was just fun in high school. I don't fuckin’ get it now. But it was. It seemed like everyday something got fucked with. If something could be broken, it was.  Luckily ,I don't think it was just me; teenagers just like fucking with shit when they’re bored. Teenagers are just shitty selfish individuals who don’t even think about consequences. It's almost like that part of the brain isn’t developed yet. If you didn’t go through that "break shit" phase, this whole story will leave you even more shocked. When the door broke, and we all start laughing like a pack of wild hyenas, Jack got egged on even more. The difference between a teenager and an adult, is the adult stops, and the teenager keeps fuckin’ going to make his friends laugh. Then out of nowhere, Jack hurls this metal rod off the 14th floor and it hits the ground. We laugh at his Olympic javelin throw , and start going to the other floors to break other garbage room doors as we now know how much fun this teenager pastime is... The harmless game of ding dong ditch quickly turned in a category five shit storm. We were on a vandalism rampage. We broke three or four more doors and tore down some paper signs. Shortly, the storm was over.  We decided to go walk around outside and cool off. We walked around for an hour and headed back to our condo. While walking back we run into this 20-year-old dick bag with roid rage, wearing a pink polo. He stopped us to tell us that the cops are coming because that metal rod that came sailing off the 14th-floor balcony, almost hit someone.  Also, turns out that throwing anything off a balcony is considered a felony. Who would have thought? This butt fuck in the pink polo pointed to the condo behind him, and asked if we knew anything. John and I play dumber than my parents were for letting me go on this trip. Meanwhile, the other 3 dumb fucks go on to explain to this guy that we weren't doing it in the building he pointed at but we were in another one.  Like that fuckin mattered?! The guy then starts flipping out talking about how the cops thought he might have done it and if he gets arrested "hes going to crack our skulls." We then saw the cop cars parked in front of the condo. We decided we best just get the fuck away from the whole situation – a real ding, dong, ditch. We decide we probably should head to the beach and lay low until the cops left. We waited at the beach for a good half hour. Continuing on with the night like nothing happened; we walked to the lone gas station by our condo. As we got to the gas station, we saw three cop cars leaving the condo and driving away. They drove past the gas station. Suddenly, all three cruisers pull a U-turn and head back our way. The worst part is, if we would have waited at the beach one more minute, we would have been in the clear from all the shit that was about to rain down on us. They stopped us and told us that someone told them to look for a "red-haired kid" and someone with a blue hoodie on. The red-haired kid was John, and Jack was the hoodie wearing bastard.  We had figured the skull crusher ratted on us. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize we were fuckin’ guilty. One by one, they talked to us to hear our stories. They knew they had caught us with our pants around our ankles. They hit us with all that cop bullshit, which if you aren't familiar with, you might as well just put the handcuffs on yourself. They said they knew the truth and were trying to break us. They actually didn't have any evidence, so if we would have just denied everything we could have walked away again. But we didn’t have a consistent story so we got fucked – and not in the envious limp wrist handjob type of way. After the brutal bloodbath,the cops told us to get in the car and we headed back to the condo, while they continued to mentally butt fuck us even more. We were grade A fucked, there was no getting out of this one. When we get to the condo there was a fuckin’ platoon of cops waiting. You would have thought we were clubbing puppies and not breaking door hinges. We get to the police circle jerk and notice there is a different group of kids in trouble too. We then found out they were skinny dipping when the cops came to investigate the garbage door massacre of the 14th floor. They saw them and arrested them. Lady Luck must have been sucking dick somewhere in a corner, because she wasn't with any of us that night. The cops continued questioning us and Jack started lying, saying I was the mastermind behind this circus show. It was every man for themselves at this point. I wasn't going to jail for that inbred fuck. I would have been home free again, but John "did the right thing" and told them I broke a door too. He really just wanted to save his own ass because he was going to be joining the Air Force – what a dick, but hey John, thanks for protecting our country. Jack and I got blamed for the doors, and Jill got charged because she ripped off the paper signs in the elevator.  John really should have been there with us, because he ripped some paper signs too, but I didn't want to ruin his chance at the Air force.  The only innocent one was Jennifer. I thought committing acts of vandalism was the best way into her pants, but she wasn't impressed. It was now 3 am, and the cop said she had to call my parents since I was a minor.  The cop put the call on speaker phone and called my house   A call from the cops is the last thing any parent fucking wants, let alone at 3 am during Spring Break. My dad picked up the phone half asleep and heard, "Hi Sir, this is Sergeant Kelly from the Navarre Beach Police Department. I am calling to inform you that your son is getting arrested."  There was a pause, where I could almost hear the brick my dad was shitting fall right out of his ass. They talked for a second, and then he did that white dad thing, where he thanked the officer and said he was glad I was at least safe. Glad I was safe? It probably would have been better if I was in a coma. The three of us on the freelance demolishing team, got corralled into the back of the cop car and made the 40-minute maiden voyage to my new home, jail. I was in and out of sleep most of the way there.  At one point, I woke up and the two cops were fuckin’ talking about Disney World. Here I am on the shittiest night of my life, and these guys were just calmly talking about visiting Disney World. Dicks. It wasn't really until I got to jail that it really hit me. There I was, in some random fuckin’ jail in buttfuckville, a thousand miles away from home. Everyone watches those cop shows and everyone tells themselves they are never going to jail. So, now being here, it felt surreal, and it was a total nightmare. They told me I was getting charged with "criminal mischief", and Jack with a felony for throwing the garbage room rod over the balcony. Jill got charged with "criminal mischief" for tearing paper signs off the wall…. I wish I could make this shit up. They took my belt and gave me some rubber slippers. I got processed and got my mug shot, and new Facebook profile picture taken, and thrown into a holding cell with Jack. If they hadn’t taken my belt, I most likely would have strangled him. Jack was acting like some big bad bad ass earlier. Now, he was laying on this concrete slab, bawling his eyes out and crying about how he wants his mommy. It's like I was in some stereotypical jail movie.   I was furious at that mosquito dick for getting me into all this, so I wasn't the most sympathetic to his river of tears drowning the cell. I told him to go cry on the ground so I could sleep on the concrete slab we called a bed. He continued his blubbering on the floor while I tried to get some sleep. When morning rolled around, John and his family came to pick me up. We were leaving that day, so the car was already packed up. We headed straight back from picking me up from Jail. You can only imagine how fuckin awkward the whole car ride was with John’s parents. Especially since John didn't get arrested, and this was really the first time I had met John's parents. They took me on vacation with them, and I get arrested. Apparently that’s frowned upon. The whole car ride I played back the whole situation and thought of all the things I could have done differently. We pulled into my driveway, and my dad was standing there.  He told me to go to my room, while he talked to John's dad. My dad came up later, and was surprisingly calm. Which made me more scared. I was wishing he would have yelled at me, so I could yell back. But instead, he took the other road. He was "disappointed" in me which made me feel even worse. To no surprise, I was grounded. This wasn’t my first rodeo, I knew the routine. I had just got ungrounded, and there I was grounded again. This time around, I was grounded for six months, and I had to pay $3,000  for a lawyer in Florida. Luckily, my lawyer was able to get the charges dropped. Worst part of the night? I didn't even get to see Jennifer's titties; all I got was an "I got arrested for breaking a garbage room door" story from Spring Break. At least Jack was a felon.                  

[tysonthebitcher]

I work with Jeffrey Dahmer’s Brother

There are some people you meet that almost feel like they could be some wacky character in a movie.  My coworker takes this form in my life.  I work with this creepy looking guy that could pass as Jeffrey Dahmer’s brother. I work in a low-level of government, taking care of public parks and schools. It’s a fairly easy job to get,  so it attracts a lot of bizarre humans who are looking for insurance and paid time off. On the bright side, I work with this 50 year old guy that looks like he stepped right out of outdated math textbook. Almost like a celebrity right? Wrong. He drives a tan mini–van, and sports a mullet hybrid hairdo. He’s bald on the top though, so it’s more like a skullet. I don’t watch that truck racing league, but if I did, I feel like he would look like that type of driver. He is a short little man, who wears thick, large framed glasses that take up half of his face. The type of glasses that stopped being popular in the 80’s, and really never started again.   He talks like Napoleon from Napoleon Dynamite. Everything that leaves his uneducated cock hole, sounds like the dumb sounding  voice of your ex-girlfriend when you tell her you want to see other people. The dumbfounded “huh?!” sound.  He has this quirky yet curious personality of a 10 year old who is always stating the obvious.  He is amused by everything, and always asking pointless questions that no one cares to hear nor answer.  He starts conversations with, “What’s that doing there?” as he points to the boulder in the ground.  It’s like he feels the need to talk, and even if makes him sound like a complete idiot. He enjoys the sound of his own pipes. He is observant to the point, where he feels the need to talk about everything he sees whether it is a cell tower being built, or the fact that this lady walks around the park every day, and does it in 18 minutes. These are the things I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night without knowing – or so Dahmer’s brother thinks. Each day, I have to hear him talk about the ice cream flavor of the day on the billboard of the restaurant we drive pass. Riding with him, you constantly want to say “WHO GIVES A FUCK”, but he is such a nice, innocent guy, that you catch yourself talking about the mattress that was left next to a dumpster, the empty soap dispenser, or how the McDonald’s hand dryers are better than the Wendy’s ones. At work he is constantly picking up worthless junk at the park then telling us about it. Whether it is an old baseball, a broken chair, or a bag of dog shit, he admires, and then proceeds to ask if we want them, like we own some kinda trash collection. When he wasn’t talking about things like the fast food industry and his hand dryer preferences, he was talking about outdated movies from the 70’s, that he has rented at the library. And when he’s not at work, he’s sure to be at that fucking library because he doesn’t have cable. Because he’s a tight ass and doesn’t want to spend the money.  Since he is stuck in the stone age, he has no cell phone either, so to get a hold of him you have to drive  across the massive park.  If he drives somewhere by himself, he tells you, you can reach him on the radio. Until recently, he didn’t even own a watch. We took care of that real quickly, and  ended up finding one on the ground and giving it to him because we were tired of him being late for lunch. No worries, he’s still late because he doesn’t wear it, but carries it around in his pocket since he doesn’t think it’s cool.  And since we found it on the ground, and it’s likely a broken piece of shit, he doesn’t know how to work it, and he has to add 5 hours and some change to get the current time. He’s the most Jewish non-Jew I have ever met. He won’t spend a dime unless he has too. Every day, his lunch consists of one peanut butter and jelly sandwich that he carries around in his pocket along with his busted up watch. He acts like some kinda PB & J connoisseur and insists that Jiff and Welch’s are the best.  You don’t want to get him started on his spreads. Peter pan is “alright” and he only buys it when its on sale. Smuckers is “overrated.” Walmart brand has a “strange after taste.” He swears by Jiff and Welch’s, and if he is feeling ballsy, he will toast it on the stove and eat it with a fork.  But you have to make sure you don’t cook it for too long… He rarely buys his lunch, but when he does, he only goes to a few places. Because Taco Bell raised the price of their tacos 25 cents, he can no longer go there.  He only goes to places that take the handful of coupons that he has acquired through the mail. Then when he receives the food, he turns into some amateur food critic, complaining how he can’t believe they charge 10 cents for cheese, and how he should just get it without cheese and put his own cheese on at home.  Maybe the watch was a bad idea, while the good idea was to let him be later, and later for lunch, every fucking day until he never showed up again. He makes dinner every Sunday, and eats those leftovers for the entire following week. He lives by himself with his dog that he does everything with. It’s unsure if this is a romantic relationship, but he does everything with that dog. Like take it in the car to look at Christmas lights, and to get ice cream.  And to give him road head I’m sure too on the way. He has never drank or smoked, and  hasn’t sex since 1984. If he had a dating profile, his interests would be “sandwiches, and masturbating once a week on Saturday”….I wish I could make this shit up.   The more I tell you, the more you would think he is mentally challenged. This is just his normal. He just is a fuckin’ weirdo. He is the best worker I have ever met. He is 50 but runs and jumps like some kinda fuckin’ spider monkey. He takes so much pride in the job, when a normal person would say “fuck it, not my problem”. This guy does it all, and makes a mean piece of toast on his stove. He doesn’t cuss, and rarely complains. He is the nicest and weirdest person you will ever meet. He has bountiful useless and harmless information. But sometimes, you can’t help but wonder if he has a flesh chamber in his basement, where he hangs the skin of all the people that don’t listen to him talk about how excited he is for his coupons to come this Sunday.

[tysonthebitcher]

The time my manager at taco bell got high and went crazy

Everyone has a few of those stories. You know? Those ones that just sound fake when you try to tell them. Whether it be having a threesome with your girlfriend and her mom,  or whatever.  It happens, and you think to yourself is this real life? And you realize it’s too weird and you’ll never be able to tell anyone because no one will believe you. But fuck it. Here’s one. Back in high school I worked at Taco Bell.  This Sunday morning started with me unloading the truck with two guys—Julio and Brian. Brian was this really gay 17-year-old kid I worked with.  His license was suspended and he always pulled up to work on this really shitty moped. He had some 50-year-old sugar daddy and was quite the fucking character, but he was fun to work with. Julio was the assistant manager. He was this shady silver-toothed Mexican who I just assumed was here illegally. He spoke broken English, and always referred to me as “Playboy”. The general manager wasn’t there that day, so Julio was in charge. Fucking Julio. So us 3 were working like dogs with all these boxes in the truck. It took us about an hour to unload. While I was finishing up stacking the last boxes on the shelves, I looked out the back door and notice Brian and Julio had gone outside.  Julio was just standing there watching Brian roll a blunt. I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the only one working, so I headed out to see if Brian was getting promoted to customer for smoking weed at work. I get to them and hear Brian telling Julio it was spice, and how he can’t smoke weed anymore because he is getting drug tested soon.  So he has been smoking spice. Now, if you don’t know what spice is, it’s some shitty synthetic weed knock-off sold at gas stations, or at least was at the time. Now I think it is illegal but at the time you could buy it at any shady gas station.  It really gave you a strange high, and some people went crazy on it. Think along the lines of “bath salt” without the urge to chew on someone’s face. So Julio let Brian light up his blunt of spice.  He then asks me if I want to smoke some. Up to this this point I had only heard of it. I had smoked weed a few times before this so I gotta admit I was pretty curious, you know? On top of that I had heard it was actually going to become illegal next month so yeah, fuck it, I agreed to do a drug I had no real knowledge of. After Brian told us about it, Julio was as curious as I was, and said we couldn’t smoke it in the parking lot but we could do it behind the dumpster. Acting like that would be less sketchy. So, we went to go smoke behind the taco bell dumpster. I honestly don’t think we could have picked a more stereotypical place to get high. We sneak over to the dumpster all incognito. I took a hit, and then Julio takes it out of my hand and decides to take a hit. A few minutes, we head back inside.   Once we’re back inside Julio looks at me and says  “Maaan, Playboy, I can feel it for real. Damn.”  I laughed and said, yeah, me too. But I knew he was already really fucked. And even though I knew shit all about this drug, I figured that wasn’t the best sign. I was feeling it too, but it wasn’t the same feeling as smoking weed. I had this feeling where my heart was beating out of my chest, and working was impossible, even from just the couple hits I took. My brain wasn’t worth a fuck, and I couldn’t do simple things like walk without having to think about it. At this point customers are starting to come in. I head over to make an order that popped up on the screen. Here I am trying to keep my own shit together, when a customer comes up and asks for the manager. Just straight up, “Can I see the manager?” I scuttle into the back. I try and find Julio and sure enough he’s in the office.  He is just sitting there like shit on a daisy, drinking milk, with a worried look on his face. I had never seen him act like that. He then looks at me and keeps saying “I don’t feel good, Playboy” while rocking back and forth. He was speaking real fast in broken sentences, and sounding like some kinda possessed crackhead. Then? Fucking Julio asked if I should call 911, for fuck sake. I got him some water and told him to chill out and told him he was just high and paranoid. I asked him if he had smoked before and to my surprise he said he never had, which surprised me considering he was the one giving us tips on “how to really take a hit” in the parking lot about 15 minutes ago. And if I had known that he was new to this world, I would not have volunteered to be the first one to get this guy high. So I try to comfort him. He kept asking how long he would feel like this. Over and over again. And I didn’t have a fuckin clue, but I just told him 10 more minutes and blew him off because he was freaking me the hell out. I left him in the office, like, not my problem, right? So I had to tell the customer that the manager was busy, and wouldn’t be able to talk for a while because he’s on a conference call. When in reality he was 50 shades of fucked up and actually losing his damn mind in the office. I then hear Julio call Brian into the office. Brian comes out a bit later and tells me Julio is now shaking his head up and down like a retarded monkey with Tourette’s. So he tells me to get him some food ASAP. I make my delusional manager a burrito and we tell him to stay in the office. 5 minutes later we hear banging.  We look in the office and see him hitting his head on a shelf, and punching the door. Obviously, he wasn’t getting any better. The other Mexican working, Maria, hears it and goes to see what’s going on and sees Julio acting batshit insane. This lady was like 60 years old and straight off the boat, and couldn’t speak a lick of English.  So she started freaking out and crying and yelling at me and Brian like we were heathens.  You would have thought we called Immigration on her. All we could understand was the word “possessed.” She actually thought Julio was possessed! We tried to explain to her that he was just high, but that didn’t make it through the language barrier.         Me and Brian left them in the office. Then a few minutes later, we hear Julio on the phone. All I heard was “ I just smoked something, I don’t feel good, I feel like I’m going to die. Bring all the police.” While he was on the phone Maria was giving Julio what looked like a full-blown exorcism. Seriously, holding a fucking cross with some religious card in the other hand and speaking in tongues and praying over him while crying hysterically.   Both of them suck at speaking English so it was a giant clusterfuck of yelling and broken English like some Spanish soap opera. At this point, Brian and I knew we were fucked. There was voodoo witchcraft being performed in the office. We no longer could play this thing off. 10 minutes later we had a whole fuckin platoon rolling up to Taco Bell. An ambulance, firetruck, and about 5 cop cars ended up showing up for this guy. My manager ended up being taken away on a stretcher, and we ended up having to call the general manager to tell her we didn’t have a manager anymore because he got too high and was at the hospital.

[tysonthebitcher]

The Doctor’s Visit

I went to the doctor the other day for the first time in 6 years. The main reason being that my mom stopped scheduling my appointments on the account that Im fucking 24 now. So I  just have been saying  fuck it, and hoping I don't drop dead. In my family you got both sides of the health spectrum. You got my grandma who died of lung cancer, who never smoked a cigarette in her life. And then you got her husband (my grandpa) who smoked like a chimney, and was a raging alcoholic for 40 years, who is 90 now and as healthy as a fuckin ox. Then with my mom having breast cancer a couple years ago I thought I maybe should just go to the doctor considering I treat my body like a trash pile. Since my old doctor retired years ago, I had to go to this new doctor and really didn't know what I was doing. I am still pretty new at this "adult" thing. So everyday bullshit like calling the doctors office or filling out paperwork can be kinda fuckin scary. Not like scary-scary. Like scary-I dont know what the fuck I am doing scary. I get to the office, and am greeted by the receptionist who hands me a pile of papers to fill out. The shitty thing about growing up is you have to actually fill these papers out, and cant force your poor mom to do it. After 15 minutes, and  3 trips up to the receptionist to ask “what do I put here?” I finally was done, and was pretty sure I didn’t do any of it right. I sit there for 10 more minutes before I get called back by this hot nurse. She greets me with a short and bitter “hi” before she weighs me and takes me back to the exam room.  When we get to the room, she takes my blood pressure and tells me its high for my age (150/90). Then asks if I am stressed out or nervous. Fuck,  I'm sitting there shirtless with my fat fuckin gut out while you are staring at me, of course I am nervous.   She then asks a couple of those dumb doctor questions that you answer with a lie and she left. 10 more minutes later the doctor steps into the office. He shakes my hand and gets right to business. He asks me a list of questions, and gives me some “doctor advice” which could have been found on google.  He checks my reflexes and my breathing. Which I think is just something doctors started doing so you think they are actually doing something. They hit your knee with a hammer and then act all intrigued.  Like hitting your knee with a hammer will tell them that you're dying.  He then tells me to work on eating better then leaves to go feel up a grandma up in the next room or something. Really Doc? I waited a hour for you to just say "eat better." You're not going to take my blood or even fondle my sack? ​I head back out the room and the receptionist asks when she should schedule my next appointment. I tell her to fuck off the nice way,  “Ill have to check my schedule and ill call back later." I think ill wait another 6 years.

[tysonthebitcher]

Quarter Life Crisis

I don’t think it’s always been like this. Actually I think it’s gotten shittier as I’ve gotten older . Life, I mean. I think life got shittier for me when I realized happiness is just a random shot of single moments, not a state of mind or anything like that. Now it’s just seems like a constant depression, like being caught driving in a downpour with only the odd bridge here and there making it seem like the rain’s gone. Of course, it’s not. Facebook—Instagram—Periscope—all a bunch of masturbating bullshit where we can pretend to be happy. 

I’ve got a job, great friends, an education. I’m a normal and successful dude. Society’s saying, “Be happy.” But I’m just not. The crazy thing about depression is you know you should be happy. You know, but you can’t be. Knowing doesn’t change jack shit. As evidenced by the hundreds of Buzzfeed articles about it, our generation is completely fucked when it comes to dating. We don’t date each other. We date fake normalized versions of our real selves. You don’t want to walk into a room and say you’re not feeling good because you saw a homeless man and you guys locked eyes and you wondered what it was like to be sitting outside the mall this near to Christmas but when he muttered “Spare change?” you still just walked by and shrugged even though you could feel the change burning a hole in your pocket. We don’t want to talk about how our relationships are confusing us, how classes are killing us. About how you lost that feeling of happiness around 11 and just figured it would come back next week and then here you are ten years later and you’ve forgotten what it looks like. I’m depressed. And if you’re saying you’re not, I bet you’re the type to say they don’t piss in the shower, either. 

I don’t want to have any more generic bullshit conversions. What ever happened to a stimulating conversation? We’ve lost ourselves,we’ve put on this fake persona that’s usually the opposite of how we feel inside. Then, to add to the fuckery, we bitch about not finding someone like us. In a generation where we share everything, we don’t share our feelings but we’ll share a tit pic. We’re living in a time where we all want to say so much, but we end up not saying anything at all. We all want to be on stage but most of us are terrified to write our own scripts.We live in a time where we share so much, but at the same time we don’t share shit. Nah, none of that is exciting. Let’s talk about weather. I’m sure you’ll find your soulmate by discussing the weather and Kim K. I don’t want to talk about the fucking weather and Kim K all the time. Just forget about your "swag," and take off that mask. Talk to someone real. Be the kid you were in grade school. Do you remember that person? How they loved to run out the doors to recess? To press the elevator button and watch the world move around them? Give another adult a high five for fuck’s sake. I'm just saying, we all need to drop the selfie-stick and the act and as cliché as it might sound, be our fucking self.