Get Awesome

My cousin told me this story a long time ago, and I really liked it, so I'm going to share it with all six of you.

A while back, we were at a local show, and there was one band there that had these shirts that simply read "Get Awesome". My cousin was perplexed by these, and went to ask the lead singer exactly what it meant. He got something so humorous to me in return.

Apparently one of the band members had been out at a bar and taken some girl home. Things naturally progressed into fornication, but in the midst of all of it, the girl said "Get awesome!" Not knowing what to do, he did a little dance with his arms while he was fucking her, a little like this.

The girl looked up at him, clearly confused by what he was doing, and said "What are you doing, I said Get off me."

Stop it.

Please refer to 0:14-0:16 and 1:57-2:08. That is all.

Class 101

If you don't want to be invited to someone's house again, puke red wine on their dog.
-Whit

An IPHONE WUGHHHHHHHHHAHHHHH

The Six Head

Last night, I chose to go to one of my favorite bars in my town with two of my buddies that I play fantasy football with: Smelly and Louis. The names, as usual, are changed to protect in this case the not so innocent. As I have been doing a lot lately, it's definitely necessary to give you a glimpse into the character of these two, simply because they certainly both have their quirks.

Smelly: This guy is just a little bit younger than me, and was a year below me in high school. The fact remains though, that he tends to have a little bit of a "creepy" streak to him, in addition to a healthy stutter...which we all joke adds suspense to what he says. All these things come together nicely to be some of the important characteristics of my friend Smelly. He's a good kid though, and can take one hell of a verbal beating.

Louis: Louis can be compared physically and racially to Coach from Left 4 Dead 2. He is also a year younger than me, but is probably one of the funniest kids to be around, because he can talk just as much shit as I can...a rare quality. He tends to get into sports related arguments a lot, but the women just loooooove him.

The Events:

• Upon entering the bar first, I took a seat and watched my buddy STCA's band set up for their set later on it the night. I noticed quickly that there were very few women in the bar, and almost an obscene amount of men.
• Louis walked in about fifteen minutes after me, and we quickly started having a conversation about Smelly, and whether or not he was going to hit on the few women there. We had a good laugh about it, actually.
• Smelly walked in about ten minutes after that, and we quickly began to chat about out fantasy teams, their rosters, and how badly I had beaten Smelly two weeks earlier.
• As I walked away to get a beer, they snuck out for a cigarette, and apparently struck up a conversation with a girl a few years older than us...I think around 25 or so. They mentioned their conversation centered around Smelly and the girl loving the New York Giants, Louis hating on them and being a Packer fan, and basically making fun of each other.
• They came back inside, returning to where I was, and then the girl came back in. To describe properly what I thought the girl looked like, I will refer to a conversation I had today about it with my buddy Him Powell.

Jim Powell: Was she good looking at least?

AIA: She was a four; a solid four.

Jim Powell: eh.

AIA: Like if she was a decimal, you'd round her down.

• So the girl came in and immediately went back to her group of friends, across the bar from where we were. I told Smelly that if he was going to get an in with her, now is the time. So he went across the bar, and said that Louis was shit talking the Giants again, and she immediately came over. That's when I saw her up close. In the words of my gay buddy...WOOF. She had a forehead that didn't quit, but the thing that was most obvious was that this girl was absolutely obliterated. Things started to make a little more sense now. Sixhead introduced herself to me and I said my hello. Unfortunately, she said that she dug Louis more than Smelly, which was humorous to me.
• Over the course of the night, I made several statements to this girl, mostly to get her the fuck away from me, which included:
  "I have erectile dysfunction, I'm on Cialis."
  "I have premature ejaculation problems."
  ... and my favorite"My penis just grew by two centimeters, it's three now."
• About ten minutes after that, I was over watching the band, and came back to find her making out with Smelly, in public...much to the dismay of everyone else around the bar. I decided to bullshit with Louis and make fun of the situation. Louis was still figuring that he could steal her away...but it would be a sloppy seconds-ish scenario.
• After a while, Smelly went to get a beer, and she was immediately all over Louis, which was rather humorous...within ten minutes, they were making out. A true lady.
• So after a while, Smelly and the other two went out to smoke another cigarette, and Louis came back in. While they were making out previously, the girl had said she wanted him to come home with her. As he returned, he did not seem so keen on the idea. It appeared that Smelly was making a last ditch effort, and upon his return from his cigarette...he was successful in getting the girl to "take him home".
  
• Unfortunately for us, Smelly was our ride home, and he had promised Louis shotgun in his little purple Mitsubishi convertible. Unfortunately, that did not happen, as Smelly had gotten the in with Sixhead, she was riding shotgun, leaving me and Louis to squeeze our asses into the backseat.
• On the way back, I chose to have a little fun at the expense of the girl. Seeing as how I was the first person being dropped off, I asked the girl if she had ever been to Paris, because she seemed as if she had already experienced the Eiffel Tower in person.
• When I left, the girl would not get out of the car to let me out of the backseat, guess that offended her.
• The next day, the first thing I told my buddy Jim Powell was the following: "Hey man, Smelly got laid last night." His response? "What was his name."
  A proper ending to our story.

Trippin the Light Fantastic

Everyone. Should make out. With Everyone.
People deserve a chance to know exactly what they're getting into before they clip their wings and commit themselves to locking lips with the same person for any extended period of time.
Don't call it a slut spiral; if anything, you're enlightening yourself.
Keep a log, keep a list, keep a mental record.
I say this because I feel like no one else is. Everyone. Should make out. With everyone.
Don't get too serious. You're not supposed to fall in love with the first person who actually reciprocates your tonsil hockey. How are you ever gonna know if he/she is who you really want if you have NO other experience? How is he/she going to believe that they're the only one you want when you've spent most of your life making out with your inner elbow? Are you starting to see my point? Everyone. Should make out. With Everyone.
People seem so obsessed with holding hands... but I'm starting to see it as holding them back.
Let them go.
Let them do everything you're afraid they'll do.
If they don't come back, then they never wanted to be with you anyway. You were just there. It was just comfortable.
But wouldn't it be nice to know that you let them go, know that you let them be themselves, and see that you're still what they want?
Like I said.
Everyone. Should make out. With everyone.

Don't call it a slut spiral.
Call it a Loose Ascend.

-Whit

I Was a Dick

I grew up in a neighborhood where everyone was pretty close, so growing up was pretty easy I suppose. But overall, some good fucking stories came out of that place. I'll tell you one of my personal favorites, and perhaps one of my greatest achievements.

On my street, I really only hung around with three main friends, who shall be referred to in this blog from here on out as Kitty, Taco, and Pollock. Other kids came and went from out group, but we were the constants. I feel that I should probably give some background on these gentlemen.

Taco: Three years younger than me, a Mexican, and probably one of three people in the entire world I am legitimately certain could murder someone without remorse...basically, I wouldn't fuck with this kid unless I absolutely had to. Before he fell into some bad ways with some worse people, he was one of my closest allies in making fun of/torturing people that deserved it. He has a very strange sense of humor, and even though we might not talk as much as we used to, I still call him a friend.

Pollock: What can't you say about this kid? He might not always be the most intelligent person to be around, but his heart is usually in the right place, which I can't really fault him for. For the purposes of this story, it's definitely necessary to know that he randomly had a marker on him at the time of the events that took place. He's also a fisherman...almost to a fault.

Kitty: Ahh, Kitty. Perhaps my oldest friend, and the one kid in the world who has put up with my bullshit for as long as I can remember. Certainly the only person that I know for a fact that I will be in their wedding party. His parents are pretty awesome as well, and they have welcomed me into their home and lives for over a decade now. This all happened in front of Kitty's house.

Now... on to the story!

The Scene: 2005

Me and my buddies were all standing at the edge of Kitty's driveway, smoking cigarettes and shooting the shit. This was definitely towards the end of spring or even early summer because I remember wearing shorts that day. Anyway, these two girls that live up the street from us were both rather young, and pretty scummy if I do say so myself. One of them was a friend of everyone's sister, the other was her friend that was widely known as the ugliest girl any of us had ever encountered in our young lives.

Now, these girls had a penchant for bumming cigarettes off of absolutely anyone that would give them to them, and they ALWAYS knew if you had them or not. It got to the point where I would carry around two packs of cigarettes at all times with me (one full, the other with only one cigarette so that I could get out of bumming to them for that encounter),

Now, on this day I was feeling kind of generous. Partially due to the fact that UglyGirl had called me a scumbag earlier that week. As we saw them walking down the street toward us, I told my friends that I had something up my sleeve for these two. The girls said their pleasantries and quickly were on their way, however...but said they would return shortly from some venture they were making into the woods by our houses.

I watched as they slowly strolled down into the woods and out of sight, and made my first statement regarding my intentions. I said, "I'll bet you that my ass has a nicer smile than UglyGirl's!" I then asked Pollock if he had a pen on him. He only had a marker, which ended up being a funnier alternative. Kitty had a camera phone, so I told him to have it at the ready. I then asked Pollock or Taco (it was a while ago, forgive me) to draw a face on my ass. When that was finished, they asked me what they fuck I was doing, to which I could only laugh. I pulled out a cigarette from one of my packs and stuck it out from the smile that had been freshly drawn on my ass, sticking it out of the crack. It was a rather convincing picture...almost Sarah Jessica Parker-like in appearance. I then told Kitty to take a picture of my pooper in all it's smoking glory.

When all was said and done, we were doubled over in laughter. They knew what was coming next. Seeing as how I hadn't showered that day yet, I chose to wipe the cigarette on and around my scrotum, making sure to wipe up every last bit of its salty goodness.

Literally not 5 seconds had gone by between when I pulled the cigarette out of my pants and when the girls came back into sight. I had to calm us all down so as not to give away our (mostly my) imminent smegma surprise.

The girls walked up to us, and without any hesitation, quickly asked to bum a cigarette. I "reluctantly" agreed to give them one to cut between themselves, which they seemed more than happy with...so were we. As soon as our friend's sister had lit the cigarette, Taco could not contain himself and had to walk away. Everyone else just tried to keep their composure, which became practically unbearable as UglyGirl spoke out regarding the cigarette, saying "This tastes funny." The smiles that I saw on Pollock and Kitty's faces I will never forget, as I bit my tongue so hard it bled so that I maintained as straight a face as I could.

When the girls were done, they went back to calling us scumbags and whatnot. That was the time that we chose to reveal our fromunder facade. The girls, of course, did not believe us. That's where the lovely picture that was taken came into use. I don't think I've ever seen someone turn green that fast, but boy...I was a dick.

TFLN

oh holy fuck, I forgot how much I loved this.
What's really good, world? It's been a minute. It's been about three months since I've updated, but I promise, we will be getting much more acquainted. Had to sort my life out... do the "real world" thing for a minute... you know how it be.
SO.
Let's start simple.
A text from my mother-
"I'm drinking rum buckets at the beach club bar with Fat Freddie of Harbour Island Spa mafia fame. My life is on a downhill slide. Wee!!!!"

....Am I supposed to know who Fat Freddie is? Your guess is as good as mine.
It's good to be back.
Audaces fortuna iuvat,
Whitney St. Paul

Puttin' smiles on girls faces.

I am probably one of the most pro-gay people that you will ever meet, but occasionally, I run into situations that make me question whether or not what I am doing could be considered a homosexual tendency. I am going to recount a story here and let you decide.

• The Dick Tattoo Story
  One of my buddies has one of the more interesting tattoos that I have ever heard of. For our purposes, he will be referred to as Ray. Ray is not exactly the youngest dude I hang around with...he recently turned thirty, has a wife with whom he has two boys. Now, Ray is a quirky guy, and he has always said that he wants to get a tattoo on the tip of his dick. Which I always thought was drunken bullshit...I was wrong.
  A couple weeks later, I was perusing my Facebook news feed, and I saw that he had recently posted a status that read "I love to put smiles on girls face." Normally, I would have shrugged this off, but knowing my friend...I shot him a text asking what he had done. He said he gotten the tattoo that he had previously mentioned. The tattoo? A smiley face...on the tip of his penis.
  My Dilemma: Naturally, this added a whole new level of curiosity on my part. I mean, he has a tattoo...of a smiley face...on his penis. I had at least ten different questions for him, ranging from "Did it hurt?" to "did it have to be hard when they did it? If so, how did they make it hard?" But perhaps the most pressing question for me was "Is it a little gay if I want to see it?" Clearly, I had reached a road(er...cock)block in my mind. Luckily for me, he was more than willing to answer all the basic questions on a really friendly level. No, it didn't have to be hard. No it didn't hurt. Also, the tattoo guy had recently tattooed someone's TAINT. Yes, the grundle...the gooch...the runway. Jesus Christ, this is too much for me to even recount. But that last and most pressing question, I decided that it was in my best interest to leave to fate.
  Resolution...kind of: About two weeks later, after numerous conversations with every good friend that I have regarding Ray's novelty penis, I received a message on my cell phone, I looked down at it, and sure enough...it read PIX MSG. The name on it? Ray. Oh god, is this it? Well, it was the PNS MSG/ DIX MSG that I had been dreading/anxiously awaiting. Sure enough, there it was. His penis...smiling at me. I asked him what made him send it to me. His response? "Just wanted to say hi!"
  Ending 1: What an asshole.
  Ending 2: Welcome to my life.

How I Know You're A Dick: Driving Edition

It's been a while guys, and for that I apologize. Lots of things going on in my life at this time, so the blog has been a back burner item. But today I was driving along a major highway...and got to thinking. That there are so many things that people do whilst the are driving that piss me the fuck off. Hence, I return.

Today I was in a situation where I was being tailgated on a two lane highway by a truck with an obvious height advantage over my car. Now, logically, if one was to have that height advantage, they could see OVER the car in front of them, given they were a smaller vehicle. I drive a Hyundai Accent, so I fit this designation. This douchebag tailgated me for over 12 miles, with an open lane to pass me legally on the left in, seeing that I was obviously stuck behind numerous slower moving vehicles. But no, this gentleman chose to flash his high beams on me three or four times. Of course, brake checks followed. He then attempted to pass ONLY me, cut me off, and generally just be a jerkoff. Seeing this, I obviously sped up so that he had no room to do so, he then caught my eye and began to verbally assault me from behind the wheel and a closed window. A real genius. This is where I use my two favorite actions when I see someone trying to yell at me in their car. First, you simply act like they are trying to say hi and smile and wave. This has proven to be a real winner in pissing other people off. He seemed irked by it. But my favorite was when he tried to pass me again, failed, and then came back to yell at me some more. I blew him a kiss and shot him a wink. He was angered, shocked, and I think a little blood rushed to his penis, because he sped off like a banshee. Success.

I have so many stories that involve my antics behind the wheel that I'm only going to tell you one for now, and possibly develop this into a series. But really this is just an intro to my life of what I like to call "road justice".

Oh Tampa

I think by now the guy would know that there is absolutely market for baseball in Tampa Bay. It's fucking Florida, Fark has an entire category for that state on it's page...that should really speak for itself.

"Time for some unicorn on the cob."

Worst Recordings Ever: Pt whatever it is

Winning my life.

I rarely come across something I find genuinely hilarious on the internet. This, however, might be the single best idea for a webcomic ever. It's called Hipster Hitler, and it will be the new "cool thing" to look at in the very near future. These writer's are brilliant, and their use of puns attests to that (see: Three Reichs and you're out.) I haven't been this excited about a site in a long time. I implore you all to check it out and enjoy your juice while you're at it.

He likes interceptions, not contraception.

Have any of you ever seen the Chappelle Show skit where he discusses how everytime he would shoot something into the trash, he would shout "KOBE". Well towards the end of the skit, you see Donnell Rawlings roll up in a high-priced SUV next to a woman that's holding a baby in one arm and holding another child's hand with her other one. He then proceeds to break the fourth wall, laugh into the camera and announce "EVERY ATHLETE EVER!" and peel off. Well played Dave, well played.

This might be the best thing I've seen in a long time.

teenage dream, lolz.

This past weekend, I went to visit my BFFAEAEAE in Vermont. She hangs out with a pretty liberal crowd so I knew I'd be in for a good time, but as per usual, I was semi-oblivious to what I was actually getting myself into.
So on Saturday we start bar hopping around Burlington, which rules, cuz you can walk EVERYWHERE, and there are bars EVERYWHERE.
The next thing I know, I'm at this bar called "The 1/2," because it's literally half the size of any normal bar I've been in. There was a DJ spinning super hard techno beats, strobe lights, and free flowing beer that I wasn't paying for.
I turn to my BFFAEAEAE's friend who I've been dancing with, who also happens to be named Ricky Martin, is gay, and has a fauxhawk, and ask him if he knows where the bathroom is.
'YUPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP FOLLOW ME."
We march to the back of the bar and I'm presented with a flight of stairs. We "walk" down them, and suddenly we're in this cave-themed basement, with candles and I wanna say that there were people drinking out of goblets, but honestly, my drunk memory probably made that up.
Either way, the music is a little more muffled and I'm relieved, cuz I didn't know how much more of the blasting techno I could take.
Ricky Martin shows me the bathroom; it's only one stall.
'I'M COMING IN WITH YOU. DEAL WITH IT HOOKER."
Alright, now, normally, I'm not that girl who's like 'OMGGG COME TO THE BATHROOM WITH ME, LIKE I DON'T EVEN CARE, LET'S ALL JUST PEE TOGETHER, WOO HOO, GIRLS NIGHT" but I mean, there is only ONE bathroom, and I am with a kid named Ricky Martin, and I have had like 10 drinks, so whatevs, let's go with the flow here.
I close the door to the bathroom and realize that to go along with the creepy basement/cave theme, it's only candle lit. Ricky Martin figures this out too, and decides it's a great idea to blow them all out.
So let me reiterate.
10 drinks deep. In a cave themed bathroom. With Ricky Martin. In total darkness.
We both finish peeing, and I feel a hand on my waist.
"HAHAH, LET'S MAKE OUT IN THIS BATHROOM, WOOOO TONIGHT!"
............what the fuck? Ricky Martin is totally gay right? What is happening?
suddenly I can hear the muffled music from upstairs get louder. I don't care WHAT this song is, it is now my favorite.
"SORRY RICKY, GOTTA GO, TOTES LOVE THIS SONG."

ran up the stairs.
and then danced to this song, and pretended that I loved it.



Thanks Katy Perry!

...that's probably the last time I'll ever say that.

AUDACES FORTUNA IUVAT, H8RS.
-Whit

GUYS

Ok, I know I have the next "Worst Recordings Ever" spot but like AIA said, he raised the goddamn bar, until then I have fantastic news. So remember the girl troll I found in my last post. Well she is now doing this new thing on her youtube channel called "Ask Arielle". Me being me decided that this would be a great time to ask this girl for advice and post her response on here, hopefully she will be doing it soon, I will keep you posted.

-Reese

You're fucking welcome.

texts from last week

(201): hey whitney whats good
(***): im bt a bar talkimg to tjis guy but idk ig i wana houk up with hinm
(201): once upon a time. a man decided he could win the night by being a douche. this is who you're thinking about hooking up with. he hates puppies.

Worst Recording Ever: Part 4

"PhatGayKid" really brings it here. I think most of the appeal of the video lies in deciding if he's being serious or not. The part at the end where he talks about "riffing" is fucking CLASSIC though. Plus, it's Ke$ha, so you know AIA approves of people that actually make the song sound worse than the original version, even though I personally thought it was impossible. I stand corrected. Riff on sir, riff on.

With that I believe it's Reese's turn once again. He can have fun beating this.

--AIA

So Pringles BABY

Really?

Some bitch I used to date posted this as her status following prop 8 being overturned (win).

"A conservative who doesn't believe in God doesn't pray; A godless liberal wants no one to pray. A conservative who doesn't like guns doesn't buy one; A liberal gun-hater wants to disarm us all. A gay conservative has sex his own way; A gay liberal requires us all to watch and accept his perversion. A conservative who is offended by a radio show changes the station; an offended liberal wants it banned and prosecuted."

You see me Trolling

Hey Guys, It's me Reese. After an absent of a month or so, I am back. Confession, I am writing this while watching Shark Week so if I seem a little Jumpy you know wh- HOLY FUCK THAT SHARK JUST BIT THAT WOMAN'S LEG CLEAN OFF... sorry about that. So I was surfing the old interwebs and I saw this video for a "Inception Review". So I decided to watch and what I saw was possibly the greatest video ever.

This bitch knows was she doing. Choosing one of the best movies of the year so far and going "It didn't make sense." TROLL ALERT! But even though it's obvious, she really sticks to her guns making it believable. "Isn't she (Juno) a lesbian?" Classic. She also has a twitter.

Wow this girl just doesn't give up, or do you think that she is actually this dumb? Well my friend Ari Gold from HBO's Entourage has something to tell you then.

-Reese

Rollin'

You ever wonder what it would be like to make every great commercial even better?

Unfortunately I could only find two serviceable ones, I guess it'll be a series.

Tom Kruse baby, Tom Kruse.

WILFOOOOOOOOORD BRIIIIIIIMMMMLLLEEEYYYY

eye for an eye

I've decided as of recently that I need to start making better life decisions. Therefore, whenever I make a terrible decision, I need to counter-act it, with a good one.

The Bad Decision.
I may or may not have made out with someone who was old enough to be balding on Tuesday night. I mean... normally, I'd say it doesn't count, because I don't remember it. No harm no foul. But... What makes it a bad decision, is that I have an entire bar of people who can attest to the two of us playing tonsil hockey.

The Good Decision.
On Thursday, a dude that I hook up with occasionally texted me the following,
"Alright Whitney. Hear me out. Come to my house. I have five shots of Jameson ready and waiting for you to take. We can skinny dip my pool, run around my house naked, totally bone, and in the morning, I'll pretend I don't see you sneaking out the door. I'll even fake snore if it'll make you feel better. Deal?"
I gotta give him credit. The dude knows me well.
But.
I said no.

Audaces fortuna iuvat.
-Whit

Pretentious Asshole.

Perhaps one of the greatest moments in television history.

-AIA

Bonfire Night: The Intro

November 10th, 2009:
The weather was surprisingly warm that day. To celebrate, about 15 of my closest college friends decided to skip our classes and start drinking a little early. We cracked open brews around 5:30pm, toasting to the good weather, and to what we knew would be a good night.
Now, normally, I am not a wine drinker. But earlier that day, I decided that I wanted to be a part of an elitist club called Screaming Zinfidelities, where I'd drink white Zinfandel and critique Dashboard Confessional. No one was game to listen to Dashboard, so I decided to drink the bottle of wine anyway.
Around 8pm, the sun had fallen and some of the boys who had been tossing disc out in the quad came rushing into the apartment where we had all gathered. The following is a conversation that could only make sense after three solid hours of heavy drinking.
Group of Boys: "WE'RE HAVING A FUCKINNNN BONFIREEE!!!!"
Group of Girls: "Wait, what?! Where! That doesn't sound like a good idea!"
Boys: "IN THE FUCKINN WOODS!!! WHO CAN DRIVE, WE NEED MORE BEER!!!!"
Girls: "Okay, the woods? Alright... well that sounds legit. We're down!"

Three boys take off with the only sober person to load themselves into a minivan and make a beer run. I look down at my bottle of wine, and realize that it's empty. As some of my friends start to head out the door, I realize I'm barefoot (a common occurrence, no matter what the weather) and think that I probably need shoes. Okay... who's apartment am I in? Oh right, Bretts.
"Brett, can I borrow your flip flops?! We're going to the woods!"
"Okay Whit, but DON'T lose them. I love those shoes."
"Deal!"
I took two shots and was out the door.
I met up with my large posse of bonfire-going friends and we started walking across campus. After what felt like forever, we started walking through a gravel parking lot where our friends hop out of a minivan with 3 30 racks. I grab one from Dave and start following a trail that most of the boys seem to be familiar with.
Suddenly, that bottle of wine, shots, and beers that I've consumed start to catch up with me. I stumble on the rocky pavement, blaming it on the unfamiliar path, and giant flip flops. Dave, my best friend, smiles at me, takes the 30 rack out of my hand, and puts his arm around my waist, in some attempt to stable the two of us.

This is my last memory of Bonfire Night.
I am only aware of the following events by being filled in from other people, spectators, co-workers, or friends.
My next memory is waking up in absolute darkness, bleeding, and smelling like smoke.

To be continued.

FUCK YEAH HORSES

Being that this video currently only has a little over 50 views, it is my challenge to every reader of this site to bring OPERATION: FUCK YEAH HORSES to life by watching this video 4 times a day, attaching it to emails, whatever.

My professor just mailed me my senior thesis paper.
I forgot that I attached the following as a cited source for "encouragement."



-Whit

ringgggggggggggggg ringgggggggggggg ringggggggggggggggg
I roll over and glare at my cell phone. I stare at the clock... 8:24pm. Alright fine. I guess nap time is over.
"Shawn, what. do. you. want."
I'm always such a lady when I get woken up.
"Whitney, GET. UP. There are fireworks tonight! What, are you still hung over?! We have THINGS to do."
I love Shawn. I really do. But normally he is not nearly this enthusiastic about life. I guess it's sort of my fault. This summer we've gotten closer than ever, since my lesbian of a best friend isn't coming home from Vermont. Sean's become my right hand man. And I guess my enthusiasm for life rubbed off on him... but I mean, come on, I never meant it to work this well.
"Alright fine, what's the plan. Hit me with your best shot."
"Welllll, we could take the train to point pleasant. Pull a high school. Ehhhh?????"
"I love it. When do we leave?"
"30 minutes. Dig?"
"Dig. See you then."
I jump out of bed and head right towards the shower. I turn the water on to ice cold to try and get myself out of my snorlax state. As I stand shivering under the icy water, I try to remember what point pleasant high school trips were like. I eventually start to realize that all of my memories are foggy, and know why. We would get super big gulps from 7/11, fill them half with soda, and then fill the rest with whatever liquor we'd managed to shave off of our parents stash that week. We'd be practically pissing our pants by the time we got to the boardwalk, make fun of the girls taking myspace picture in the public restrooms, and then would hurricane through tourists, the fun house, and maybe roll around in the sand for a while, laughing about how we should do this every night. I loved high school.
I hop out of the shower, into some clothes, and into my car. I head straight for 7/11 and fill a SUPER big gulp up with cherry coke. The man at the counter winks at me before ringing me up.
As I roll back into my driveway I check my texts. One from Shawn.
"Erin can't make the train tonight and she really wanted to go. I don't wanna go without her, so let's just go later this week. I'm still coming over."
Fuck, what the hell am I supposed to do with this super big gulp?!
Shawn rolls up in my driveway and we decide that we don't want to have to pretend to like everyone we graduated with at the Asbury Fireworks, and instead, opt to watch them on top of the highest elevation point in my town...The hill behind Wegman's. We call a couple of our other friends, and drive to our destination, super big gulp in tow.
We park on the street and observe the massive hill we need to scale. It's a huge rocky path, filled with potholes, weeds, and probably big scary bugs. It's dark and we can't see anything. We slowly make our way up the hill, cautiously making sure not to spill our precious cargo...aka... the super big gulp. Still not filled with booze. just cherry coke.
We get to the top of the hill, the woods start to clear, and the ground flattens out.
"Oh my god," Shawn whispers.
"What?" Then I see it too. The super big gulp falls out of my hand and rolls down the hillside.
Shawn and I are staring at a 40ish couple.
Pretty much naked.
On top of a White. Jeep. Cherokee.
We stand frozen, not knowing what to do. We assumed no one else would be up here, but I guess so did Mr. and Mrs. Let's Have Sex in Public to Save Our Marriage.
The Mrs. looks over and makes eye contact with me, and starts laughing hysterically while clothing herself. Mr. looks over and seems a little more embarrassed.
"Lovely night, isn't it?" he awkwardly smiles as he puts his shirt on.
"Gorgeous," I reply back, walking past them.
Shawn is still gawking. He finally catches up to me and we sit in the dirt and watch five different sets of fireworks going off at once.
He eventually breaks the silence, awkwardly trying to stifle the laughter that we both desperately want to get out.
"Some fireworks, eh?"
"Dude, if you don't love fireworks, you don't love America."

The Worst Recordings Ever Part 3

move over boys.
this flipping exists.


Dude nails the french. Just in case you were wondering.

On to the next one....

If I were you, I'd just forward this to 2:00.

You're welcome.
...I think.

-Whitney

BEST. THING. ABOUT. YOUTUBE.

Invisi-lats

YOU'RE HUGE BRO

Why Everyone Should Love the Japanese.

Best part of this? RIGHT HERE.

Monday:

As the air conditioner blasts cold air up my moisturized legs, I look down at my red dress and think "What the hell am I doing again?"
I throw my mother's SUV into park and bite my bottom lip. I flip the visor mirror down one last time to screw in my fake smile as I exit the vehicle. I drag my feet behind my mother and sister, trying to strain my memory all the way back to last year when I first attended this charity banquet.
Now, my mother is NOT mother theresa, but her gay, african american co-worker just might be. Every year, instead of getting us Christmas gifts, he buys us a seat at the Elijah's Promise Dinner: A Fight to Stop Homelessness and Hunger. So the three of us throw on fancy dresses, strap on smiles, and attend.
I am tired, sweaty, hung over, and in no mood to save the world. My mother's friends are seated at two tables. My mom and sister put their stuff down and I take a seat at the other table, since all the seats at theirs are conveniently taken. I look up and smile, realizing I'm the only white girl at the table. No big, shit like that doesn't intimidate me. Besides, I'm friendly enough. I extend my hand to the 30ish year old man next to me.
"Hi, I'm Whitney, it's lovely to meet you."
"WHAT'S GOOD, I'M CHICKEN."
"Chicken?"
"YEA, CHICKEN. SPEAK A WHICH, IMMA GET SOME."
...exit Chicken.
I stare in disbelief as Chicken saunters off, shake my head back to reality, and introduce myself to the other people at the table. When Chicken returns (with a plate full of chicken) I notice that his shirt is unbuttoned almost to the middle of his chest, revealing ridiculously sculpted muscles, maybe appropriate for DJai's in Belmar, but not for a charity banquet.
I excuse myself from the table, on the hunt to find the nearest bar, while at the same time, making sure to glare at my mother and sister. They smirk back. I hate them.
I find an empty bar station in the back corner of the ballroom and eye up the bartender. He looks like he doesn't want to be here, so we already have one thing in common.
"Can I get you something, miss?"
"You can get me out of here." I smile, so he knows I'm only semi-serious.
"How about I make you a drink strong enough to make you think you're in outer space?"
Where have you been all my life, I think to myself. I nod my head in agreement.

I walk back over to my table with my space camp drink in hand, realizing I haven't paid for it. I turn around quickly, making eye contact with the bartender who just winks and waves me on. My day is getting better.

I sit quietly, listening to Chicken talk about the BP Oil spill, how the NBA has gone to hell, and how he doesn't get what happens at the dry cleaners. I clap when someone wins the 50/50. I smile when an ex-homeless person gets up and gives a speech about how Elijah's Promise saved her life. See Jane pretend to be an upstanding citizen.

I get up to get another space camp drink, only to realize my new favorite bartender has been replaced by a 40 year old platinum blond. She must have sensed my disappointment.
"Oh honey, don't you worry, Jeremy's just outside having a cigarette. He'll be back in soon."
"Oh... no, it's not big deal, I'll just take a vodka tonic."
"Ha, okay sure. You know he's been staring at you. You with that gentleman on your left? The one in the pink button down?"
...fucking Chicken.
"Nope, he's just an acquaintance."
"Well, why don't you go on out and say hello to Jeremy. And don't tell him I said to do so! This one's on the house."
I convince myself that I could use the fresh air anyway, and walk out onto a patio, overlooking a giant green lawn, big enough to be a golf course. I see Jeremy leaning over the rock banister, staring out, looking emo. I don't really do emo. I turn around and walk back inside, graciously taking my seat next to Chicken.
The banquet ended, and this time I boarded the back seat of the SUV, letting my mom drive down the parkway.
As she started to tell me that I drink too much, I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

Audaces fortuna iuvat,
Whit

The Adventures of Pat 2: The Legend Strikes Back

The Worst Recordings Ever Part Deux

So now it is my turn to show you the worst recordings ever.

This first one was introduced to me by a friend.

Apparently she saw them live at a festival

and someone had a sign that just said "Stop it"

I Understand that sign now.

Analysis: Seriously? "LET'S GET FUCKED UP!" This pseudo rap with what sounds like the synth from theme song of Beverly Hills Cop is fucking garbage. I hope when they get knocked up and don't realize it (Forget-me-now anyone?) I hope they drink more "Alcohol" and it affects their kids (too harsh?)

*Edit They were on tour with BrokeNCYDE, like misery, shit loves company, like the company of other shit.

And this next one....oh this next one.

Going on the theme of just complete and total idiocy

I Present to you I C Muthafuckin' P

This song takes the cake on complete and utter lack of thought or reason.

Excerpt: "Fire Water Air and Dirt, Fucking Magnets how do they work?

And I don't want to talk to a scientist, Muthafuckas lying and getting me pissed"

Where do I even begin?

Well just like almost a decade ago with Alanis Morissette's "Ironic"

Nothing in this song is a fucking "Miracle".

Not one thing.

In fact they are everyday things.

And they don't want to learn about it because it takes away the mystery of it all.

Except it could actually make one appreciate more.

But they don't intend to do that so...

COME ON Y'ALL TO THE DARK CARNIVAL WHERE NORMAL EVERYDAY THINGS WILL ASTOUND THE SHIT OUTTA YA!

-Reese

Don't make me say, FINE, they finally are on a "mission from god"

Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Well, in a highly surprising move the evil empire VATICAN has decided to Bless the classic 1980 comedy "Blues Brothers". (New York Post Article) I don't know how I feel about this. On one hand, the movie does deal with Catholicism, but on a very small level. If you have never seen this movie (and if you haven't we aren't friends anymore, don't expect to come to my sleepover this Saturday) it is about to brothers, fans of the Blues genre, and they are on a "mission from God" to save the Catholic Orphanage that they were raised in, and that's about as far into the Catholic religion as it gets. If any movie should be blessed by the Vatican it should be Kevin Smith's Dogma, it accurately depicts the Catholic church and it's downfalls and shortcomings. (Although there was no mention of the special time the Priests spend with the altar boys.) And I would personally love to see this man a saint.

wouldn't you?

-Reese

Anticipate This, Bitches.

May 2009:
I am wasted at Bar Anticipation in Belmar (fuck that, Lake Como is not a town, it's a fucking lake.) I am about 80 miller lights into the night and am rocking the truck out in the middle of the dance floor. My friend, Bryan, has been doing loops around me while I dance, making sure the monsters perched at the bar enjoying their gin & tonics can't get close enough to swoop in and dance with me.
Bryan missed one.
I am approached by a man in a pink polo. He introduces himself as Doug and asks if he can dance with me. "FUCK YEA, I DON'T GIVE A FUCKKKK," I eloquently reply, as he takes me hand and we begin to "waltz."
When the song is over, Bryan begins to drag me away, whispering in my ear, "Whitney, you're being a dumb ass, this dude is not sexy, let's make moves." But Doug swoops in once again, asking me for my phone number. I give it to him.

8am-11:30am, the next morning:
I have received 15 text messages from Doug, asking me "what is up?" or "sup?" or "you awake?"
Holy shit. Bryan was right. This dude is nuts.
I strain to remember what he looks like, but the cheap beer has taken over my memory, and all I can remember is his pink polo. Whatever. No big.

June 15th, 2010:
Standing with my group of friends, fully inebriated, I admire the Bar A bouncer standing on the stairs who I've boned a couple times. "Dude, I FUCKEDDDD him," I brag to my friends.
"Whit. We know. Congrats. Have another beer," they sarcastically reply.
I take their advice, and while I sip my miller, my bouncer boyfriend turns around and winks at me. We fought earlier in the day. I wanna spend more time fucking. He spends all his time working, so he suggested I give him a blow job at the bar. I refused his offer, sassily and relatively irritated. Come on, I do have some standards. He winks because he knows I can't stay mad at him.
My focus drifts passed the bouncer and I make eye contact with a man in a blue polo. He walks up the stairs, passing the bouncer and slides next to me.
"Hey. Wanna do a shot?"
I contemplate the idea in my mind; if I have a shot now, I can probably run to the bathroom afterwards and puke it up, come back, and keep drinking.
"Game," I reply.
Dude grabs my hand, leading me down the stairs and over toward the nearest bar. Wait, what am I doing again? Who is this guy?
"Hey, what's your name?"
"Doug."
Suddenly, I have a moment of clarity. I remember the pink polo, and a fog is lifted, and I can see his face. It's him. This isn't just any Doug. This is fucking DOUG.
"Oh christ," I utter, as I let go of his hand while his back is turned, and RUN back to my group of friends.
The bouncer is pissed. I forgot he was even there. He's watched the entire thing.
"HIDE ME," I scream to my friends.
Doug approaches the staircase, and Bouncer blocks his way.
Fuck. Yes.
The two exchange words in an epic transaction of alpha male dominance. Bouncer comes out on top. Doug walks away with his tail between his legs, off to drink another gin & tonic and find his next dance floor victim.
Bouncer turns around and glares at me. He's defended my honor, but not happily. I'm too drunk to give a fuck. I drunk text Bouncer 80x more than I should have, leave the bar, walk to a convenience store, and steal a King-Size Reese's. I sit outside on the curb, feasting in defeat.
I walk home and sleep naked.
Hello, my name is Whitney St. Paul, and I am a train wreck.

This guy's IQ might not be over 90, but his sperm level is OVER 9000!!!!!

A New Weekly Series!!!

The Worst Recordings Ever: The Series.

Analysis: This sounds like someone literally took an autotuner into an abortion clinic. "Let's get messy girls" What the fuck are you talking about? I wish abortion was retroactive so we could handle this band properly.



Analysis: I think I found her drug of choice.

Here's a picture

This is a Ke$ha song. Enough said.

What we do in our spare time.

womp womp

Some guy that I purposely bit in the face has started texting me again.
Did I mention I BIT THE DUDE IN THE FACE?

Oh, I guess not.
Trying to drop zeros and get with heroes is a hell of a lot harder than it looks.
Trust me.

-Whit

BP Was supposed to have a dry run but it looks like blew their load and now they have a mess on their and our hands.

Have you been under a rock tarball lately? If so, you might have missed that BP has done a marketing ploy to get their name in all the headlines. So far it has been going swimmingly... For them not for anyone in the Gulf of Mexico. (But with crappy water in Mexico already, does this cancel it out and make it ok to drink?) They have had a bit of controversy with this and some people are upset, even fictional characters are pissed. Below are just some of them who may have a few words with BP.

-Reese

(Via Geekologie)

Winvestigative Journalism

There's a lot of writing to be done on this, but I'll do it in the morning.

Wanna see someone who isn't funny at all?

riddles, roofies, and ring leaders

The other night I went out to a bar with some friends to celebrate some one's birthday. A staple in our group of friends who could not attend that night sent me a text:
"You have one hour to solve this riddle. If you can't solve it, you need to go up to the creepiest guy in the bar, buy him a drink, and do a toast in my honor. Do you accept this challenge?"
Psh, of course I accepted, mother truckers.

The Riddle:
The person who makes it does not know the person who uses it. The person who sells it does not know the person who uses it. The person who buys it does not buy it for themselves. The user does not know that they are using it.
The Correct Answer? Coffin.
My Answer? Roofies.

He accepted my answer.

But...
After everyone left....

I went up to the guy who my friends deemed "creepiest dude in the bar." I bought him a drink. He bought me a drink. I gave him my phone number.

....whoops???

Audaces fortuna iuvat,
-Whit

Still the Greatest Line in Cinematic History.

I know this is four years later, but if you can find a single line thats better, post it.

MDW? LOLZZZZ

I remember the first time I laid eyes on this video around four years ago...simply LOVED it. Still funny? Yep.

One of these things is not like the other things...

IT'S RELEVANT NEWWWWWSSS.

Oh Yeah?

...everywhere?

The Wedding: Part II

I SAID COPS.

As I was running towards Gia's back fence all I could think was one thing: There is no way. in hell. that I can hop this fence.
Shit dude, I should have jumped hurdles in track. Slap a varsity jacket on this mother fucker, because I scaled that fence with ease. All of the party guests 5 at a time hurdled the fence in desperation to get away from the four pigs behind us yelling "DON'T RUN!" Running through the neighbor's backyards was like running through a civil war battle field. I saw the bride, face planted into a shrubbery, some dude I didn't even know trying to help her get up and keep running. I came across another fence that had been trampled into the dirt; and entire white picket fence destroyed by a stampede of underage drinkers. Take that, American Dream.

People started to disperse and I started to realize I was seriously on my own. It was clear that the pigs had called for back up, because I could see search lights of other cop cars driving up and down the streets. I was barefoot, phoneless, and still in my junior prom dress; I needed somewhere to hide.
I wedged myself between a fence and a row of bushes. I got down on the ground, pressing my chest into the dirt, hoping it would keep my heart from pounding right out of my chest. I rubbed dirt on my face to try and "camouflage." ...In retrospect, that was probably the Bacardi Razz's idea.
I watched three cop cars drive by my hiding spot. They hadn't seen me, but each car that drove by scared the hell out of me. I needed to get the fuck out of there, but my car was still at Gia's and there was no way in hell I was going to go back there and give myself up. Suddenly, a white VW Beetle drove up to my hiding spot and parked. The window rolled down and I heard a familiar voice yell
"WHITNEY, I SEE YOU, GET IN THE FREAKING CAR YOU IDIOT."
Kelly. Davis.

If there was one person in this world who didn't like me, it'd be Kelly Davis. I mean... she has every reason not to like me. A summer beforehand I had been hooking up with this dude who was her boyfriend... If it means anything,I didn't know that they were dating at the time, but also... when I found out, I still didn't give a shit. When homegirl said that she was going to key my car because of it, I found a copy of her eating a sandwich, made 400 copies of it, and threw it all over the front lawn of my high school. You don't fuck with Whitney St. Paul.

I froze. Is this a joke? Am I dreaming? Is Kelly Davis really offering me a ride out of this mess I've gotten myself into? Before I could think of anything else, Kelly screamed "MOVE IT, HOOKER, IT'S NOW OR NEVER."
Kelly Davis, you are my savior.

I hopped into her front seat and she sighed, seeing that I was covered in dirt.
"First of all, I'd like to say that you are a freaking hot mess. Second of all, I would like to mention that you've clearly gotten fatter since you wore that dress to prom, cuz it looked better then. Lastly I'd like to say that I knew this party was gonna get busted, but when I saw you running around like Rambo in my backyard, I figured I'd help. Think of it as charity."
"Thank you, Kelly. You seriously saved me."
"Well whatever, I was on my way to 7-11 anyway. I'll drop you off there."
"Can I at least get a ride to my house?"
"Ew, like I said, CHARITY. Take what you can get. I'll buy you a slurpee. Or maybe some baby wipes. You look like a train wreck."

We rolled up to 7-11 where we ran into some kids on the football team that I knew. What the hell is it with football kids hanging out in 7-11 parking lots? I never understood it. Dudes will literally chill there from 11pm to 5am. Just hanging. Either way, with little convincing, I managed to get one of them to drop me off in front of my house. My face hit the pillow at 4am.

I rolled over and stared at the clock. 1:06pm. Without really thinking, I got into the shower and stood under the hot water, letting the steam gather around my ears, helping me remember the events that took place the night before. "I wonder what happened with Gia... I don't think she wound up running...," I thought to myself as I ran down the stairs for lunch/breakfast.
When I turned the corner into my kitchen, I froze. My dad was sitting at the table reading the newspaper, and the front page was facing me, with a huge picture of Gia's house in the dead center. The headline read "TEEN KEGGER BUSTED, FAMILY ARRESTED."
"Oh my god..." I muttered aloud.
My dad put the news paper down on the table.
"Fun night, Whit?"

Audaces fortuna iuvat,
-Whit

a text from last night

"but for the record, the correct grammatical phrasing would be "you're drunk." lemme know when you wanna bone! hopefully my tits are worth it. I mean, let's face it, they are. k talk to you soon! ps, literally no sarcasm intended :) :)!!!!"


....I'm never getting ass again.
On to the next one.

Audaces fortuna iuvat,
-Whit

Anonymity in Action likes when your hands fall off so you can never use the internet again.

So there's this girl that I'm friends with on the Facebook machine. She kind of has this thing where she tells everyone every little thing about her personality so that she can never tell anyone anything interesting about herself without them already knowing.

....SEE?

LOOK HOW FUCKING INTERESTING I AM EVERYONE!

--AIA

o.0

My favorite quote that comes from all of this, "Gangs are just posers looking for attention."

--UM, EXCUSE ME SIR...YEAH, YOU WITH THE FUCKING STUFFED TAIL.

Seriously, what is the world coming to? All I kept thinking about was the episode of South Park where the goth kids are upset that the most conformist kids are beginning to dress like them, calling themselves "Vamps".

Speaking of vamps, let's take a look at this fat piece of Twilight-loving shit.

Welcome to the World of The Plastic Beach

"My name is Whitney St. Paul. And I think I have a problem. Maybe it's the fact that I'm a people person...maybe it's because I'm a little more adventurous than the average person... maybe it's because I have great hair... but either way. Things happen to me. And because of these things, I have stories to tell. Too many, to be quite honest. It's about time I start sharing them.

The Wedding:

I pull up to Gia's house around 7pm. I know I'm already late, but hopefully the excitement of today will surpass my tardiness. I step out of my car and into the July heat. My junior prom dress sticks to me like glue, green and glittering in the sun. I walk up Gia's front porch and notice that some of her high school graduation decorations are still hanging on the rocking chairs. "We're gonna have to ditch those before Sarah gets here..." I think to myself. After all, we already had our high school graduation parties... What sort of decorations do you need for a mock wedding?

Bart and Sarah were our group couple. They started dating after they vomited on each other at a party... and for a while... that was as far as their intimacy went. Neither of them had ever been in a serious relationship. Sarah didn't communicate, and Bart was oblivious. As you can imagine, their relationship was awkward and far from perfect. So, during one of our last days of high school lunch, Gia started talking about how she wanted to have one last party before we all went away so that we had an excuse to wear our old prom dresses and get hammered. A perfect combination. Gia whipped around to face Bart and sarcastically screamed, "ASK SARAH TO MARRY YOU SO WE CAN HAVE A MOCK WEDDING!"

Bart was down. Gia was stoked. It was agreed that we wouldn't mention a word of it to Sarah. The rest of us thought it'd never happen.

The next thing I know, it's the end of July and I'm walking into Gia's front living room, and there are bacholorette party decorations hung every where.

"You're late, you bitch! Bart just proposed to Sarah in the middle of Food Town. Apparently, Sarah can't tell if he's serious or not, and hasn't spoken a word in over five minutes. Now pour Shawn another drink so he can prepare to strip! Did you bring Sarah's dress?"

"Yea, I have it." I hand Gia a bag with a white crumpled strapless dress that Sarah had worn under her graduation gown. I snuck it out of her house the last time I was there. Just call me 007.

"Whit-I don't know if I can do this." I meet Shawn's gaze and can see that he's halfway to drunk and terrified. He's been elected to be Sarah's stripper, but I doubt Shawn has ever danced in front of anyone or anything...maybe a computer monitor after he cracked some internet code or made out with his external hard-drive. I pour out two shots of Bacardi Razz, the ultimate drink of my graduating class, and down one simultaneously with Shawn. "You'll be fine, broseph." I pat him on the back and walk away.

Sarah arrives, speechless. Shawn strips (honestly, it was sort of hot... but...sort of weird). We all move into the backyard for Mad-Lib wedding vows ("You may now kiss the tampon..."). Someone has made a four tier cake, we watch the bride and groom dance, everything is going well. That is, until the groom leans over to Gia and whispers, "You know.... it's okay that this party sucks..."

Well. That was all Gia needed to hear. There were probably about 15 of our closest friends at the party. We had incredible amounts of alcohol and good music. But Bart was right. It was sort of lame. And Gia didn't plan this mock wedding to be lame.

"Whitney. Call everyone you know. I want this party to be balls to the walls ridiculous. Got it?"

At 9pm, I break out my LG flip phone and start texting people... At 10pm, there are 60 people in Gia's backyard, doing kegstands in business casual. This party is seriously taking off. It's gonna be a good night, tator.

Around 11, I walk out to Gia's front yard and pop a squat, Indian style in the middle of her dead end street. I take out of my phone to spit some game at the newest dude I've been hooking up with... he was supposed to come to the mock wedding as my date, but wound up having to ditch out due to family commitments...so you know...I'm calling to make sure that's what he's really doing. And to remind him that I'm tan, in a dress, and tipsy. That might change his mind on the whole "family commitments" thing. As I'm sitting in the road, I see an unfamiliar car rolling towards me. "Hold on one sec Joe...I'm gonna call you back in a minute..." As the car passes under the nearest street light I can make out the outline of red and blue lights strapped down to the top of the car. I slowly get up and make my way into the backyard, looking at the ground, and shuffling my feet faster and faster until I break out into a run...

cops... cops... cops... cops.... COPS!!!!!!!

to be continued.

Audaces fortuna iuvat,

-Whit