No joke, I’ve been rejecting calls from a particular client for like three weeks. That’s how I keep her in check. I probably won’t call her back until the beginning of next week, and she’s probably going to read this before then. Why do I routinely have to put my clients on time out? Well, I like recruiting clients directly from Client Hell, which is right in between Tijuana and Rosarito in Mexico.

In my earlier days of freelancing design and development work, I would take any project that would end up on my desk. Regardless of how random a client’s project was, or how much of a douchebag the client was, I would take his piece of shit project because I was, and am, completely addicted to money. After a while, I realized that I’m not the fucking hospital, and I can reject anyone who I don’t want to give amazing results to.

Currently, I am fortunate enough to have most of my personal internet projects doing very well, which leaves me with a good amount of money and the ability to reject client calls and randomly dump shitty clients whenever I feel like it. Trust me, there is nothing worse for workflow or cashflow than a client who is directly from Client Hell. How can you spot these douchebags? Allow me to list a few of my favorite client types from hell:

Your ‘Only’ Client

This is the fuckface who has convinced himself that he is your only client. Accordingly, calls you regularly, blows up your AIM, ICQ, Yahoo!, and MSN messenger accounts late at night, and floods your email box with emails that usually start off with ‘Oh I forgot…’ This guy is tricky because, on the surface, he will acknowledge that you have other clients, but subconsciously he really believes that he is the only one of value. You will look forward to the ‘Ineffective Emailer’ (see below) if you are currently dealing with the ‘only’ client because this client type from hell hardly ever expresses his thoughts in the form of email. Instead of cutting to the chase, he will leave you cryptic voicemail messages. The ‘only’ client also loves calling you repeatedly from multiple numbers to see if you are screening for his call before leaving a voicemail. Quite a tricky guy to deal with.

Stingy Motherfuck

You have to pay to play. It’s as simple as that. If a project comes across my desk less than 10k I’m not taking it. It’s just not worth my time. If the project is less than that amount, and the client isn’t a hottie, I will bid it up to 10k and not be concerned about whether or not I get it. I am sick of dudes who want a pornsite designed for three hundred bucks because some kid down the street just downloaded a bootleg copy of Photoshop CS and claims that he is a web designer. Adult is just like any other business; you need to have money to make money. Get together a solid amount of capital and do it right the first time by hiring someone who knows what the fuck they are doing. Trust me, you will get rich off a good website.

The Stingy Motherfuck is great because he has the time to dispute every line item on every invoice that is mailed to him regardless of how much the line item in question is valued at. He also has no clue as to what is involved in quality consulting work and expects to pay roughly 20% of the actual cost of his project. Watch out for this pennypincher.

Ineffective Emailer

I fear the Ineffective Emailer more than any other client from hell. Perfect example: this blog entry was inspired by what I encountered upon opening my email program a few minutes ago. I noticed thirty new messages. It had been a few hours since I checked my mail so this seemed normal. Upon downloading the messages, I noticed that sixteen of the thirty messages were from the same client with the same subject regarding the same issue. The client I am talking about is the client on time out whom I mentioned earlier, and she loves titling all of her emails with ‘Hey.’ What the fuck? How about writing the subject of the email in the subject field? Sometimes she’ll switch it up on me and title her emails ‘Hey Simon,’ or ‘Hey Simon Question.’ All are equally ineffective. She also has the tendency to shoot me between ten and fifteen emails regarding the same issue every day. I am thinking about writing an email to her with the subject line ‘Hey if you notice you are writing multiple emails to me in the same day why not send me one email at the end of the day with all of your thoughts in it so I don’t have to paste together your thought process throughout your work day?’ That’s a fucking efficient email subject.

Problem is, I have actually had a conversation with her about both of the issues that I just noted and she promised that she would change her ways. I just did a search to bring up every email she has sent to me, and I noticed that every one contains ‘Hey’ in the subject line.

Microsoft Paint Artist

This fucker is great because he thinks he is really cool. He’ll send you over a bitmap image that he made in Microsoft Paint and tell you about how it is much better than the design that a professional image designer made for him. I don’t know if you have used Microsoft Paint lately, but it really sucks. When I say that it really sucks, I mean that it sucks worse than Windows. Microsoft Paint even sucks worse than Internet Explorer and Outlook, and a hybrid Internet Explorer / Outlook program, should one ever come into existence.

Let’s talk about the kind of images you can produce with Microsoft Paint. Well, it doesn’t support anti-aliasing of fonts, so you are going to get some pretty nasty jagged edges on any text, and color is going to look like complete shit. Normally, I would say to each his own because I’m not really a designer, but the ‘Microsoft Paint Artist’ is unique because he wants to pay you to let him design his own site which will surely fail. He will waste your time with phone calls and emails requesting a progress update on his own design, and you can forget about promoting his shitty site in your portfolio.

The best way to deal with any of the clients from hell that I have just mentioned is to drop them completely. Eventually you will work out a sweet mix of cool clients who will sit back and let you do your thing without bugging you, improperly titling emails, sending you shitty bitmaps, or disputing invoices.

In the field of consulting, in my experience at least, project selection is just as important as project completion. If you select a client from hell, you are in for several months of torture, which is not going to be cost effective. When you produce solid results for your clients, you are going to have no problem recruiting more. I had to learn this the hard way by dealing with a few shitty clients, but now I am relatively happy with my client mix. Except for the client currently on time out. She’s probably getting dropped next week unless she gives me some bomb dome in my office like she did at her initial consultation meeting.

About six months ago, I bought a bag of blow. As of last night, I am completely convinced that this bag possesses magical qualities. I would like to share the story of this bag with you. Parallels between this story (which is completely true) and the Loaves and Fishes story should be obvious, and the only conclusion I can draw from these parallels is that God wholeheartedly supports my recreational drug use.

I think I bought this magical bag of nose candy for one hundred dollars. I don’t know the quantity inside of the bag, but I am guessing that it was just shy of an eight ball. Obviously, I have bought much more since this bag, but somehow this bag has managed to stick around through many crazy experiences. Basically, I don’t always like ’showing all of my cards.’ When a hottie expresses interest in riding the white horse, I am not always quick to break out the whole supply. That’s why I like having smaller quantites available for situations that run the risk of turning into me listening to some chick talk for hours about really boring stuff that I don’t care about. So I like keeping smaller bags around just in case. One of these small bags has lasted much longer than the rest, and I cannot explain why. It must be magic.

Exactly how many experiences has this bag been with me for? Allow me to give you the bag’s life story.

Like I said, I bought this bag about six months ago. It was fairly small. Actually, the night that I bought it, I ended up using it to fuel an all-night coke binge that wrapped up around 10am when my nose, and the noses of everyone else involved, were way to sore to continue. That night, we hit some massive rails out of this bag, and I was sure that the blow would run out before our noses. I was wrong. I had a bit left, but I was sure that the bag was only good for one more session. I was wrong again.

The next weekend, I went out and did the house party circuit. I ended up breaking out the bag with some random chick and doing lines off the sink in some dude’s bathroom. I remember trying to use the remainder of the bag sparingly, but we ended up doing a bunch, and each time I would pour out more, I’d be like ‘Shit, that’s a lot of blow.’ We emerged from the bathroom after about forty-five minutes and got some really mean looks from the people in line.

I was amazed when I woke up the next morning and examined my right front pocket to discover the large amount that remained in this bag. The next night, I went out to dinner with some friends. I remember picking up the bag on my way out and thinking that this would be its last night. We ended up hitting some fairly large lines in the middle of a sushi restauraunt, but the bag simply would not die. Amazing.

Then we had a party at my place, and for some reason everyone thought that I was a drug dealer or something. Random people kept rolling up to me and trying to be all covert about knowing that I had blow on me. Some chick was like ‘Um hey I heard that you are really having a good time tonight.’ I think that was supposed to prompt me to offer her some (I wasn’t even high at the time), but I was really confused, so I was just like ‘Actually this party sucks.’ She walked away. Later in the night, a semi-hot chick came up to me and gave it to me straight. She simply asked for some nose candy, and I was quick to give my standard ‘Well, I don’t really have that much, and I don’t really want to do any,’ response. I was lying. I had a lot, but I didn’t know this chick, so I broke out my magical bag and poured some out on my desk. She did like five lines and was like ‘Coke makes me so horny.’ Then she started rubbing my penis. It was kind of weird, but I let it continue.

Ahh, and then there was the night that I ended up doing blow from this magical bag off some chick’s boob in the VIP room of a Hollywood hotspot. Quite interesting. Most recently, I hit some lines from this bag at another house party with a friend.

So the bottom line here is that this bag has somehow managed to multiply itself. After the last experience, I was sure that it was done. Then I got drunk last night, and I was feeling a little lazy, so I figured I would finally kill this bag before going out in order to get a little ‘pick me up.’ I was completely sure that I would finally kill this bag. Actually, when I pulled it out and looked at it, I wasn’t even sure that there would be enough for a couple lines. The bag looked pretty barren.

Imagine my surprise when I turned the bag inside out and dumped its contents on my desk to produce a massive pile of snow. I was completely amazed. As the bag’s contents were emptied onto my desk, I didn’t think that the stream of blow would end. After looking at it, I decided that I couldn’t even do all of the blow in front of me. I ended up only doing a couple lines and then dumping the rest back into the bag for later use. And you better believe that this story is going to repeat itself many more times.

While thinking about writing this entry, I realized that it would make me seem like a complete drug addict, but I couldn’t resist. The story is too amazing to keep to myself. I need to share it with the world.

Yesterday I woke up on the floor of my living room.  I realized that my head was in a pool of my own vomit.  After getting up, I also realized that I had wet myself.  I didn’t remember anything from the night before, but typically when I pass out on the floor, wet myself, or puke on myself, I have had a good night, so I was pretty confident that some cool stuff had happened.

Basically, the moral of the story is that I am really good at drinking heavily, and drinking heavily makes you really cool.  I’m always trying to give back to the community, so I decided help everyone by sharing some advice about drinking heavily with you.  You’re welcome.

Laying a Foundation

When a construction company starts building a skyscraper, do they just show up at the site and start building at ground level?  Of course not, silly!  Sometimes it’s years before they make it to ground level.  There is tons of work that has to be done below ground.  In the industry, it’s called laying a foundation.  Without a solid foundation, the building is going to suck, and someone’s getting sued.

Drinking heavily is exactly like building a skyscraper.  Actually, a lot of construction workers drink heavily before showing up to build a skyscraper.  When you know you are going to be drinking heavily, you need to do some planning.

First, you can’t eat dinner.  Why?  Well, if you have a big dinner, it’s going to take more alcohol to get drunk.  No one wants that.  You should always be trying to get drunk as soon as possible.  This is why we need to build a solid foundation in your stomach to support a night of heavy drinking.  I recommend having a light lunch late in the afternoon.  Preferably something you won’t mind puking up later (see below).  Meat… probably not a good idea.  Salad or pasta are great going in and coming out!

After your light lunch, you are ready to continue laying your foundation.  The foundation for getting really wasted is made out of several beers before you head out to your destination.  Here’s an example: last night I knew I would be heading out to a bar around 12am.  Thus, I had a light lunch around 2pm and started drinking beer at around 9pm.  I drank steadily until around 12am, and upon leaving my place I was about eight beers deep and starting to feel a little tipsy.  That’s exactly what you should be going for.  You want to drink steadily (no need to push yourself early in the night) for a couple hours and fill your system with alcohol so you can get completely hammered once you are at your destination.  If you are not relatively wasted when you head out you are way behind the game.

Karaoke

When some guys really want to get laid at a bar, they may resort to pick up lines or some bullshit about how they’re really rich.  This never works.  When I want to get laid, I do karaoke.  You need to pick an old school hit that the party people are going to like.  Some of my favorites include anything by the Cranberries or ‘Push It’ by Salt N’ Pepper.

I did karaoke a couple nights ago and I didn’t sing a single lyric from the song.  Instead, I just heckled the audience and did some sweet dance moves.  The crowd loved it and I had like fifteen fat bitches hitting on me as soon as I walked off the stage.

Fat Bitches

If you are into fat chicks and you live in LA, I recommend going to Zanzibar, where about 90% of the chicks are over two hundred pounds.  If you aren’t into fat chicks, you need to learn how to use fat chicks as stepping stones for getting with the hotties.

I don’t know why, but fat chicks love me.  I used to be all weirded out by this, but now I have realized that fat chicks always give really good dome and sometimes some really funny stuff, like not being able to fit through a hallway or a doorway or consuming really large amounts of food, happens when I am getting hit on by a fatty.  The trick is, you have to steadily work from the fat chicks to the hot chicks.  It it’s a fact that all fat chicks have at least one super hot friend.  You just need to put in some work at the bar talking to the fat chick until she introduces you to the hottie and you’re in.

Develop a Gauge

You need to be able to know how drunk you are at all times and compare it to how drunk you want to be.  You should be working towards being too drunk to know how drunk you are, though, so developing a guage for how drunk you are (especially late in the evening) is going to be a little tricky.

My gauge is whether or not I am drunk enough to tip the bathroom attendant.  Every night, I’ll roll in a bar, pee, and be pretty upset that the bathroom attendant is in the bathroom because it’s really awkward and I prefer getting my own soap and towels.  However, as the night progresses, I feel more and more sorry for the bathroom attendant (with the help of alcohol), and when I am really wasted I have even been known to throw him a dollar.  By ‘throw him a dollar,’ I do literally mean that I crumple it up and throw it in his face.

Your gauge can be something like whether or not a particular member of your group looks hot.  I used to use that a while back.  I would go out in a group containing a pretty nasty chick, and I knew that I was wasted when I started seriously considering boning her.

There Is Always Room For More

A few nights ago, I had about ten drinks at home, passed out, woke up, went out to a bar, had twelve drinks, puked, had two more drinks, went home with a hottie, passed out again, woke up, drank more, cut up some lines, drank more, had anal sex, drank more, and then rounded off the evening with an all-night blow binge.  I got home around 7am.

The moral of the story is that there is always room for more booze, sex, drugs, or all of the above.  Don’t feel bad about using the ‘puke and rally’ method, and don’t call it a night after passing out for a couple hours.  When you wake up after passing out, God is telling you that he wants you to drink more.  So do it!

Develop a Plan

You shouldn’t just be going into a bar and ordering some random hodgepodge of drinks.  Personally, I like to plan out my progression of drinks early in the night.  Usually it is best to start out with some Red Bull / Vodkas, get into some Tequila-containing drink, move onto mixed shots (ie Jager Bombs, lemon drops, redhead sluts, etc), and finally finish strong with shots of hard alcohol.  On some nights, I just say fuck the bullshit and pound between four and six Jager Bombs within ten minutes of arriving at the bar.  This will get you fucked up, but Jager Bombs are always really expensive and it’s kind of weird to drop like two hundred bucks on your tab immediately upon arriving at the bar.  I would still recommend it, though.

It’s Not Over Until It’s Over

On my 21st birthday, I had my last drink (Mickey’s) at 10am.  I routinely finish drinking around five or six.  Don’t let last call slow you down.  The recurring theme with all of these pieces of advice is that planning is key.  Plan ahead and buy enough booze to hold you and the hot bitch you brought home with you until at least noon the next day (longer if any stimulants are involved).

Some families like to stock up on bottled water in case there is an earthquake or some natural disaster.  I like to stock up on booze in case it’s after last call and I need to be drinking.  A round of heavy drinking can begin at any time, and it’s always better to be safe than sorry.

Back in the day, after waking up from being passed out in a random location, I would be all weirded out about not knowing what happened the night before.  Now, I don’t really care, and I don’t get hung over.  The fact of the matter is that I actually feel best in the morning after a long night of heavy drinking.

During the week, I have a hard time waking up before noon when I don’t drink.  I stay up all night working and I kind of just want to sleep all day.  When I drink heavily I don’t sleep well, so I’m always up at like eight or earlier and I feel great!  Yes, sometimes I am covered in my own urine, but that is a small price to pay for feeling great.

The bottom line is that you can do anything that you set your mind to.  If you put in your time at local bars and drink as much as possible, you will be as good at drinking as me.  I’m really good, though, so it’s going to take a while.

Obviously, I got down with some crazy shit for the Fourth of July, but I’m sure that you’re wondering why you didn’t hear about it. The reason, my friend, is that I don’t remember most of what happened during my Fourth of July celebration. Actually, I remember everything that happened on the Fourth of July; I spent most of the day walking around with my mouth open while mumbling incoherent jibberish. I was so fucking worn out after my Third of July night that I couldn’t even bring myself to hit it hard again on the Fourth.

I started my Third of July at a bar for happy hour, where I downed between twenty and twenty-five drinks. I was completely blacked out, but still made it back to my place. I actually regained consciousness while I was cutting up lines on my desk with a friend, and I was pretty disoriented at first, but I quickly got my head back in the game and finished the night strong.

Like I said, I was completely blacked out, and before I ended up at my place, I was at my friend’s place, where I apparently passed out on the floor for several hours. Oh yeah, and I puked in my friend’s roommate’s sink.

Yes, I puked in a sink. This is never a good idea, especially when you don’t know the person whose sink you are puking in. It turns out that my puking episode caused some minor drain blockage, and a liquid drain cleaner product had to be purchased. I only had a Subway sandwich prior to my puking episode, but I guess they don’t make drains like they used to.

Anyway, this chick’s roommate was not so happy about my puking episode, and understandably so. I felt really bad about it, so I had to scramble to try to make things right because I will probably be back over at her apartment hooking up in the near future. What did I come up with? A homemade card that could melt anyone’s heart.

In case you drink as heavily as I do, and you find yourself puking in someone’s sink, here is how I made things right after my puking episode.

Step 1: A Bomb-Ass Excuse

Ok, so I didn’t come up with a bomb-ass excuse, but I should have. If I had come up with a bomb-ass excuse, the subsequent two steps would not have been necessary. After roughly twenty-five drinks, it’s hard to come up with a bomb-ass excuse.

Nonetheless, I came up with a pretty sweet excuse. While I was running around the bathroom trying to clean up (I was told that I was in the bathroom for roughly an hour), I was confronted about exactly what was going on. I yelled through the bathroom door that someone else had puked in the sink and I was just cleaning up. In a setting where a lot of drunk people are around, this excuse can be successful; however, there were only two other people in the apartment at the time — one was completely sober, and the other was asking me if I had puked in the sink. Thus, my excuse must have just sounded like drunk jibberish, and also must have served as further evidence that I had, in fact, puked in the sink.

Pick a better excuse than that. If you can’t, keep reading.

Step 2: Go To An Arts And Crafts Store

This is the fun part. It’s almost like you are getting rewarded for puking in someone else’s sink, but not really. You are going to have to get a lot of shit because you are going to be making a really sweet card (see below). I pretty much went crazy and bought about $50 worth of arts and crafts supplies because I got increasingly excited about doing an arts and crafts project as I was shopping. I hadn’t done an arts and crafts project since like second grade, so I figured that I would make up for lost time.

Here’s what I bought:

1. Construction Paper - Multicolored is best. I found a pretty sweet multicolored package of construction paper that contained pink, blue, yellow and green, so I was pretty much set on the paper front.
2. Novelty Scissors - You know, those scissors that cut in odd angles. It’s best to buy as many as possible. I opted for the 20 pack because I am a baller and, like I said, I was really excited about this project.
3. Crayons - I went for the 60 pack. Crayons are essential in any arts and crafts project.
4. Markers - I wanted to place more emphasis on crayon illustrations than marker illustrations, so I only went with a twelve pack of markers. Actually, I never used them, but I have a feeling they are going to come in handy one day after I puke in someone’s bathtub.
5. Glue Sticks - I bought like five glue sticks. Why? Well, aside from being one of the greatest inventions of our time, glue sticks are essential for this arts and crafts project.

Buy all of that shit, and prepare yourself to make a really sweet card that is your ticket out of the mess that you made in someone’s sink.

Step 3: Make a Sweet Card

For your convenience, here is a picture of the card that I made:

You’ll notice that I used the novelty scissors extensively in my design. I told you they were important. I also drew the cover using exclusively crayons. The cover illustration is complete with a picture of me puking into the sink. I did this to remind the recipient of the card of exactly what happened to her sink.

The most important part about your card is that it has to look like a 10 year old made it. Why? Because that’s the way arts and crafts projects are supposed to be.

I went pretty wild with my card. All in all, between drafts and the final product, I spent between eight and ten hours on it. I suggest you do the same. You should follow my outline, because my card was pretty much a big hit.

So what did I learn from this situation? Well, most importantly, I learned that arts and crafts projects are really fun. I also learned that a homemade card can get you out of just about any trouble you find yourself in. I probably should have also learned that I shouldn’t drink so much, but drinking is so fucking fun and cool stuff always happens when I drink, so I am going to continue drinking heavily. Fuck, I’m drunk right now.

True Story: Last summer, one of my friends worked at an Italian restaurant specializing in pizza which offered delivery. One night a couple friends and I went by and she comp’ed our meal which was pretty fucking sweet. I think their pizza delivery guy was mildly retarted and/or an alcoholic because he left early or something and we decided to help out by delivering a pizza on our way home. It sounded like a pretty good idea and I figured we would get a pretty sweet tip because the pizza was going to a pretty nice house in Beverly Hills. After approximately forty-five minutes of trying to find the fucking house, I was thoroughly over the pizza delivery thing and we received a thirty-five cent tip from the douchebag kid who ordered the pizza.

The moral of the story is that delivering pizzas sucks balls. Seriously. So, if you are a pizza delivery guy by trade, you better find a way to make it cool.

Shortly after my experience with pizza delivery last summer, I got really high and started thinking of ways to turn the job of pizza delivery guy into something cool. I was sure that the job would be much better if all deliveries went to hot chicks, and, rather than paying for the pizza in cash, the chicks would offer up their vaginas in exchange for the delicious pie. I immediately beat off while thinking about this amazing concept.

Lucky for me, an amazing site, appropriately named Big Sausage Pizza, is built around my idea. I’ll give you the rundown on the set up for the images and videos on this site. Amazingly hot chicks order a pizza and the delivery guy arrives. But the delivery guy isn’t delivering just any pizza. No, my friend. The pizza has a hole cut through its center, through which the delivery man has put his penis. The delivery man has brought a Big Sausage Pizza. But the chicks are always trying to watch their weight and they are never down with the Big Sausage Pizza, so they confront the delivery man about the incorrect order. This confrontation always ends up with the delivery man getting sucked off through the hole in the pizza box, and then some hot fucking.

Big Sausage Pizza might, in general, be my favorite porn website. The set-up for every scene is funny as hell, but arousing as hell. I challenge anyone to find me something more fun than watching a hot chick sucking a dick through a pizza. Also, the level of acting on this site is quite possibly the best I have ever seen. I hear that some of the actresses are recruited at Shakespearean festivals. The way that they say ‘what the fuck is that’ when the delivery man reveals the Big Sausage Pizza he is toting is pretty fucking sweet.

Oh yeah, also the chicks on Big Sausage Pizza are hot as hell. Seriously, every one is smoking hot and they all know how to fuck. All of the action is hot as hell, and you know it’s high quality if your boy Fat Dick is masturbating to it. Fat Dick don’t play the low-quality, low-resolution video game.

Anyway, enough about me. I’m sure you would like to see some free videos from Big Sausage, and you know I have the hook for you, so here you go. You’re welcome.

Danielle
Danielle is a pretty slutty chick. Just look at this bitch. I hear the uncut version of this video features the fifteen minute segment where the delivery guy had to wait outside for Danielle to finish up fucking her black repairman, but can you be mad at a chick with boobs like that? I think not. Apparently she was hungry, because she didn’t even fuck with the crust on the big sausage pizza; she went straight for the sausage and tried to fit as much in her mouth as possible.

Angelique
As a rule of thumb, I don’t fuck chicks with names longer than two syllables. Thus, unfortunately, I wouldn’t be able to fuck Angelique even though she is pretty hot. At least the pizza delivery man gets to fuck her. I like Angelique because she stays at cheap motels (look at the scenery in this video) AND she answers the door in her panties for the pizza delivery guy. I wish that douchebag kid who I delivered a pizza to last summer had been wearing panties. Fucking hot.

Candy
As a rule of thumb, I’ll fuck anyone named Candy. I don’t give a fuck; guy, girl, shemale, whatever. If you are named Candy, I’ll fuck you. Why? Because some stripper named Candy gave me a bomb ass handjob at a stripclub a couple years ago. Obviously, all chicks named Candy are mad sluts, and obviously, Big Sausauge Pizza features a hot blonde bitch named Candy who doesn’t mind sucking cock through a large cheese pizza. Fuck, she’ll eat the jizz-covered pizza afterwards, too.

Madison
Madison is another hot blonde, but her boob job is infinitely worse than Candy’s. Don’t tell her I said that, though, because I would bone her in a second. I like Madison because she’s just like ‘Oh shit there’s a dick in that box. Oh well, I’ll just lay back on my couch and get fucked by it.’ I have a feeling that the douchebag kid that I delivered a pizza to last summer would not have been so cool.

Ava
Ava knows how to ride a dick regardless of whether or not the dick she is riding is surrounded by pizza or not. That’s really all I have to say about her. Oh yeah, and she is pretty hot, and (surprise surprise) I would bone her for hours. Fuck, I may even make a pizza for her if it meant that I could bone her like the pizza guy in these videos. I don’t even know how to cook.

For me, there’s nothing better than seeing a chick suck a dick that is surrounded by pizza. I like pizza and I like blowjobs. I have a recurring fantasy where I am eating a pizza (cheese) while getting a blowjob, but it is really sloppy and tomato sauce keeps dripping on the bitch’s back. Damn, that’s hot, right?

Anyway, check out Big Sausage Pizza for the hottest pizza delivery guy action around.

On my way home tonight, I came to the conclusion that my weekend pretty much sucked balls. I was way too busy mourning the loss of my beerbong to even attempt to have a good time and/or get drunk. I did, however, manage to have an interesting night last night filled with many interesting characters and occurrences. For your convenience, I have described some of these interesting events below.

Interesting Event #1: CHP Sobriety Checkpoint

I was out at a bar last night, and, around last call time, gossip about a CHP sobriety checkpoint down the street started spreading. I love seeing the CHP all up on the surface streets. It’s exactly what our taxes are supposed to do: put the California HIGHWAY Patrol on surface streets doing sobriety check points.

I’ve gotten two speeding tickets. Both were from California Highway Patrol officers. Both were on motherfucking SURFACE STREETS. Why is it that I always see CHP officers giving out bullshit tickets on surface streets? It seems like the highway is a much more dangerous place considering that it allows for much greater speeds. Perhaps a sobriety checkpoint on the highway would be a better allocation of California Highway Patrol manpower. Call me crazy.

So everyone is freaking out in the bar, and I’m not driving so I’m all good regardless, but I started thinking about the setup that the CHP had worked out for the checkpoint, and realized how easily avoidable it was. Granted, the checkpoint was going down on a major street, but in order to avoid it, all one had to do was take another major street directly parallel to it for a couple blocks. Of course, I don’t advocate drunk driving, but here’s how I would have avoided the checkpoint if I were a drunk driver:

See? No need to freak out! Problem solved.

Interesting Event #2: My Shirt

My plans were pretty last minute, and I was running low on clean clothes. Resultantly, I had to wear my last clean shirt. It was a cowboy shirt that makes me look pretty gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Once I arrived at the bar, my new best friend, Hollywood Park Mark, complimented the shirt. I thought he was going to segway into some homosexual banter, but I got the vibe like he was really serious about it… or at least he is a really good liar.

I was chatting with a fly honey at the bar, and she, also, complimented my shirt. I’ve always thought that the shirt I was wearing sucked (I would post a picture if I hadn’t spent an hour in Photoshop making that diagram above), and I was really unsure as to whether people were genuinely complimenting my shirt or if everyone was just being really sarcastic. I mean, I’ve worn much nicer shirts out before, but I’ve never received the same amount of compliments.

But it gets stranger. I went to a condo in Santa Monica after the bar for a little afterparty action (see below) and got yet another compliment from the super hot chick that lived there. I was really confused, though, because she was like ‘Nice shirt,’ but I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to mean ‘Nice shirt,’ or just ‘Nice shirt.’ See the difference?

All I know is that I am wearing that shirt again.

Interesting Event #3: The ‘Fake Jacuzzi’ Trick

As if the ambiguous shirt compliment from the hottie in the condo was not strange enough, after getting a brew at this afterparty and sitting down on the couch to listen to techno music, the residents of the condo emerged from the room and said they were going to go prepare the jacuzzi. We never saw them again.

I really have no clue what happened. All I know is that I was sitting in the living room with the rest of the crowd talking about all of the antics I was planning for the jacuzzi. We were even negotiating nudity offers. Then we realized that we had not heard a status update regarding the jacuzzi. Then we realized that we did not see a jacuzzi and could not figure out where a jacuzzi would fit.

Again, I have no clue what happened. Maybe the residents of the condo were upset that there were a bunch of people at their place drinking heavily. Maybe the residents of the condo decided that they wanted to have hot sex in one of the bedrooms. The bottom line is that they sounded pretty serious about the jacuzzi thing, so it became the focal point of the night, and then they disappeared. I hope nothing bad happened to them because they had a pretty sweet place and one chick was super hot. Also, she liked my shirt, and I am going to be wearing it next weekend so maybe we can fuck.

Interesting Event #4: Homeless Guy In A Puma Sweatsuit

All I’m going to say is don’t ask me for spare change if you are looking really comfortable in a brand new velour Puma sweatsuit. I never even have any spare change on me, but if you ask me for spare change while wearing a full velour sweatsuit, I will pretend that I have pockets full of change and am simply unwilling to give it to you.

I attempted to make up for the shitty weekend by rolling out to a really sweet pool party this afternoon, but it did not take away the pain of losing my beerbong. There were, however, plenty of hot bitches, so thank you to a special someone for the hookup on that savage recurring bash that will be happening throughout the Hollywood Hills over summer.

The Fourth of July is here, which means that I can fix all of my problems with yet another round of heavy alcochol consumption and drug use which I am quite excited about. Hopefully I will have a sweet story for you.

I’m not a violent person. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll be quick to tell you that Fat Dick is a lover and not a fighter. That being said, someone stole my beerbong on Friday night, and if I ever find out who it was, I will literally beat him to death.

I’ve always heard stories about people who, after losing an arm or leg, claim that they feel as though the limb is still intact. I thought that these stories were complete bullshit and just another way for amputees to make me feel sorry for them by providing yet another excuse to bring up their missing limbs. ‘Oh, hey Fat Dick. I went to move my arm, but then I realized that it wasn’t there! Silly me!’

However, after losing my beerbong, I know exactly what these fuckers are talking about. For the last twenty four hours, I have been staggering around my apartment with a beer in one hand prepared to pour it down the funnel of my beerbong in order to consume it in record time. Sometimes I am upstairs in my room and I think something along the lines of ‘Hey, a beerbong would really wet my whistle now! Let me go fetch my trusty beerbong!’ Then I head downstairs fully prepared to pick my beerbong up from where I left it. Unfortunately for me, some fucker decided to steal my beerbong on Friday night.

Although my beerbong was only given to me as a present a couple months ago, I had some really good times with it. It easily held two beers, and feeling the cool liquid rush down my throat from the beerbong’s beautiful tube was better than sex. I always thought that my beerbong would be there for me because sipping on a brew really isn’t where it’s at. With my beerbong, I could easily go through a twelve pack in a matter of minutes.

I don’t know if the feeling that I do, in fact, still have a beerbong will ever go away. On the one hand, I want to remember the beerbong for the many good times we had together. On the other, I want to move on with my life and continue my alcoholism. Only one thing is for sure in this situation: if you stole my beerbong, prepare for a long and painful death.

I want to beat the person who stole my beerbong with an object that doesn’t lend itself to beating someone with. I feel like the death would be much more painful that way. Perhaps, if the beerbong is still in good condition when I recover it, I will beat the thief with it. If not, I will most likely use a garden hose, a large piece of wood, and/or a matress. In the case of the matress, I would simply repeatedly throw the matress at the thief while he is tied to something. I would need help throwing the matress, so let me know if you are interested.

The theft of my beerbong continues the recent trend of my most prized possessions being either stolen or destroyed. Previously, it was an object in my room that fell victim to a gay wrestling match. Now it is a beerbong that was given to me as a present to commemorate an event. My beerbong was hands down the best gift I have ever received, which definitely means something coming from someone who returns 80-90% of the gifts that he receives.

This situation is quite curious because it was not the result of a burglary at my estate or a gigantic party with random people. Fuck, I wasn’t even drunk on Friday night, so I have no clue how my beerbong slipped through the cracks. I saw a fat chick holding it early in the night, so I am somewhat curious as to whether she ate it later in the night. We had a small get together at our place and a friend of a friend of a friend must have stolen it if that is not the case.

I’m pretty upset about this whole situation. Not only is it cutting into my beer consumption, but it’s like losing a child. Everyone who sees me knows that something’s wrong.

So I am pledging right now to track down the thief, murder him, and then take back my beerbong. And then drink heavily. I will use all evidence available at my place, make phone calls, and talk to the authorities if necessary. My only concern with getting the authorities involved by filing a police report is that this situation is ultimately going to end with me murdering someone, so I feel like it might not be a good idea to have them involved with the matter.

If you have any information about my beerbong, please let me know. I am prepared to give a reward for any tips leading to the recovery of my beerbong.