The Expensive Weekend Fuckshow

Posted: June 18, 2009 in contest, motorcycle, rants, wife, wtf

Before I start:

Don’t forget the BIIIIIIIG contest that I started yesterday.

You can win an authentic “Mental Poo” Mug!

Which, you know…

…you can also buy at my store.

Fine.

Contest ain’t that big.

No more entries will be accepted after Monday, June 22nd.

Sorry…I have to do it…remember…I’m a dumbass.

At least that’s what Bloo thinks.

Now…ONWARD!!

***********************
Alternate title to this post:

How to be a friggin’ moron for three days straight.

How, you ask?

Well, my horde of large nippled brethren…

…let me show you.

By the way:

Put a fucking shirt on, will ya?

That shit’s nasty.

Dinner-plate sized nipples only look good on giant female dinner plates.

Great.

Now I want to have sex with King Kong’s wedding china.

No different than usual, really.

Here’s how my long Memorial Day weekend went and how YOU TOO can reach the precipice of suicide in the short span of a three-day holiday break.

Good times…good times.

Not really.


Step #1: Drop your motorcycle on the ground

Yep.

Just let the thing flop right the Hell over.

Twice.

Oh…look.

A dent.

Oh…look again.

I’m crying hysterically.

Awesome.

Replacement gas tank cost plus labor: $1125.

For comparison sake:

Cost for a hooker the size of a tank with bad gas and dinner-plate size nipples (includes labor):

$50/hour depending on location and how long she’s been off the crank.

Just sayin’.


Step #2: Destroy a pair of jeans

You must destroy said pair of jeans while TWICE trying to upright your now dented fucking motorcycle.

Hold on…hold on…

Yep.

Still crying.

Replacement cost of jeans (501 Button Fly, only): $40


Step #3: Destroy another pair of jeans. Really? ANOTHER fucking pair?!

Yep…one weekend, two goddamn pair of jeans down the great brown shithole.

I managed this by staining my deck on the very same weekend.

At one point, my wife popped her head out of the door as I was pouring a gallon of stain into a paint tray.

Wife: “I’m going for a walk with Sarah..”

Me: “Oka…OH NO!!”

Because God apparently hates my cute little guts, he decided to let the paint NOT go into the paint tray…

…and instead go all over the right leg of my jeans.

Hooray for me.

Shit like this is why I pay people to come to my house and do handywork shit like hang pictures and put thumbtacks in the bulletin board in my kitchen.

Replacement cost of A SECOND goddamn pair of jeans: $40


Oh…

….did I mention I was wearing my good Columbia sandals at the time?

Step #4: Ruin a pair of good Columbia sandals

Me (upon pouring a half-gallon of stain on my leg and foot): “AW SHIT! SHIT!”

Wife: “What’s the matter?”

I raise my foot up so she can see that my entire right leg and foot is now covered in thick “Cedar Naturaltone” deck stain.

Wife: “HAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

She’s awesome to me.

Moooooog35: Accidental fodder for hilarity since what seems like fucking eternity.

Ugh.


Replacement cost of my Columbia sandals: $70

Yes…$70 to replace footwear that has less material in it than a Carrot Top performance.


Step #5: Can you hear me now? Blurgle blurgle blurgle.

After I finished staining the deck…

(read: got tired of staining it 1/10th of the way through because my XBox isn’t just going to play itself)

…I threw my jeans in the wash to see if I could get the stain out.

About 20 minutes later, I realized my hand was killing me.

I needed Bob.

I searched everywhere for Bob

…but he was nowhere to be found.


Then..it hit me:

BOB WAS BEING WASHED!!

I sped down the stairs to the laundry room…

…with the image of Bob…silently drowning in my pants pocket…quickening my every step.

Sure..he’s a sponge.

But he’s family now.

Don’t judge.

I opened the top of the washer, which came to an ubrupt stop.

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Um…???

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Something in the washing machine was…

…was…

…buzzing.

I reached into my pants pocket…

BUZZZZZZZ

Oh. Of course.

My cell phone.

Yep.

I washed my fucking cell phone.

Brilliant.


On the bright side…

Bob was fine.

Wife: “How much money do you actually plan on wasting this weekend?”

Me: “Not sure…it’s only Saturday. Got two more days to go.”

* blink

Me: “But, hey…look. Bob’s okay!!”

My wife took no solace in that.

Jealousy is not pretty.

So, how much money did I blow that weekend?

Well…if you add in the $50 replacement fee for my phone

…the tally that Memorial Day weekend was about $1300.

$1300.

You know how many tank-sized hookers with bad gas and dinner sized nipples that would get ya?

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