we start drinkin' together, and pretty soon, we're at her trailer,
and you guys...
Fuckin' C-to the RAIG, fuckers!
was good, too, man. I was riding it like a fucking pony. And not just
any pony, either. I was on the damn Clydesdales and shit! She even
had some hair around her ankles like the Clydesdales. Just remembering
our hot sex makes me want to drink some Budweiser.
she's funny, too.
we woke up the next morning in her twin-sized bed, she rolled over,
grabbed a cigarette and smoked before she even opened her eyes. Then
she rolled over and bumped into me. She opened her eyes. She yelled,
"Who the fuck are you?" I was kinda hurt, but she
told me later that she was just joking and that she knew who I was.
She just didn't remember my name was all.
weird because I was yelling my name out a lot the night before, all,
"Yeah, this is CRAIG'S CLYDESDALE! CRAIG'S PONY!"
she lets me hang out a lot now, as long as I bring a six pack with
me whenever I show up. Vodka works, too.
she comes over to my place too, and she tells me what to buy to make
the place look better. Sometimes, she lets her friends bring packages
over to my house because she says her house gets watched by the cops
love, fuckers. Love, man. I never thought it would happen to me.
I'm learning so much, man. This love shit is like a fuckin' education.
Like when Van Halen is talking about being "Hot for Teacher?"
I finally understand what that song is all about, dudes.
here's what I've learned. It's Valentine's Day. I'm planning on taking
my baby to Bennigan's for their Sweetheart Dinner Special. I mean,
if she wants to leave the Star Bar. You never know. Sometimes she
likes to just stay there and drink all night and just get some Taco
Bell on the way home.
it is. My love wisdom:
Herpes doesn't flare up all the time! Seriously. When that shit
goes into remission, it's fucking party time.
Don't tell your girlfriend that she drinks too much. That's just
how she is and if you can't accept that, you don't really love her.
Like this one time, when she was hanging from her feet outside the
window of the car on the highway while Rufus and Joe were holding
her legs? And I asked if maybe she should drop the tequila bottle
before it made her tip over and roll out at 60 mph? I wasn't truly
loving her at that moment or I would have shut up.
Don't ask her about her scars. That shit's personal.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, she might accidentally burn
you in the arm with one of her cigarettes. Don't take that personally.
It's not a "trailer park." It's a "mobile home community.
Mixing vodka with something else is for pussies.
that's it. I'm the happiest I've ever been. I know y'all are jealous
OK. There's somebody out there for you, too. It's like that one song:
"Oochie Coochie Ya Ya Yaya," or whatever that song about
the marmalade is.
Remember that shit, fuckers.