I do not understand the Krispy Kremes phenomenon. Whenever a company-wide email goes out regarding the mere presence of Krispy Kremes, herds of gluttonous fucks stampede into the company break room and lay waste to the donuts as if they were Georgia during General Sherman’s March To The Sea. In my opinion, Krispy Kremes donuts taste like the sugared sweat of a donkey’s balls.
After reading this, I love the Costco even more. I usually roll up into that bitch every other week for some steaks, a case of Orbit chewing gum, assorted fruits and vegetables and two gallons of non-fat milk (and just because I have not said it lately and it has been on the tip of my tongue: Fuck Wal-Mart).
I am a big fan of stories that involve human beings with more girth than a large sea mammal having to be cut out of their homes via the jaws of life and taken to the hospital by way of cherry picker. Unfortunately for this poor bastard, he was frothing at the mouth and perished in the ordeal because medics could not get his gargantuan ass through the front door.
During my lunch hour I headed to the Super Target to procure a cheap AM radio so I could listen to the NCAA Tournament games in my cubicle (as I post this, I am number two in the office pool. Stanford Cardinal all the way, baby). I follow a young woman (approximately 20 years of age) into the retail superstore and am horrified to witness to one of the most unsettling views in contemporary American society: low-rise jeans, a bare midriff and back fat. Rolls and rolls of mushy back fat. With a butterfly tattoo right in the middle of it. I should have reprimanded the young woman for not only showing off her obesity but also accentuating it with a stupid fucking tattoo. Ladies, if you have a handful of flab hanging over the side of your pants you do not look like Gabrielle Reece. You look like chain smoking gutter trash that takes their dirty bastard children to the flea market to purchase cheap jewelry and black market name brand clothing.
One of my favorite all-time Jerry Springer episodes is when he helped an 800 pound tub of shit get to the hospital to lose weight. The show highlighted the many complexities of a fat pig’s life like wolfing down a 12-piece bucket of chicken from KFC in one sitting or needing a bed pan to defecate due to excessive weight keeping her bedridden. The show concluded with a team of emergency personnel cutting open the side of a double wide with an industrial saw and extracting Jabba with a forklift.
Friday was Colorado Rockies opening day, and attendance is an annual tradition amongst my circle of degenerates, er, friends. Once a year, we brave the concrete jungles of lower downtown Denver and binge drink like it was a Kennedy mixer. In the fuzzy haze that was Colorado Rockies Opening Day 2003, here is a list of events that may or may not have occurred:
- I consumed six beers and a hamburger before the game began. During the game I consumed three beers, one foot long hot dog, a bag of peanuts and a tub of nachos.
- At one point in the game, the intoxicated gentleman sitting in front of me (who was rocking a rat tail) got up and hollered, “Fuck you Walker! You fucking suck!” to right fielder Larry Walker. Larry Walker has a career .316 batting average and has won seven Gold Gloves.
- It was discovered by Nels and I during Colorado Rockies Opening Day 2002 that Hooters does not serve hard liquor. That fact, however, did not stop us from attempting to order a Jack and Coke at Hooters this year.
- I can throw a baseball 60 miles per hour while heavily intoxicated.
- Magnetic schedules make excellent missiles to hurl at the opposing team’s outfielders.
- An ex-stripper showed half of the bar her breast implants during post Colorado Rockies Opening Day 2003 revelries at Swankys. We happened to be sitting next to her at the bar when this occurred. One member of our party claims to have been instrumental in talking her into the flash.
- Within our immediate group two fights almost broke out. Reason for fight number one: One party comments on how amazing it was to supposedly talk an ex-stripper out of her shirt. Another party (me) comments on how easy it is to talk any ex-stripper out of her shirt. Reason for fight number two: One party comments half-jokingly that Nebraska would lose to Colorado State in football if they played this year, thus desecrating Nebraska football and its entire history and tradition. Another party, who happens to be a Nebraska fan, was heard yelling, “Don’t judge Big Red, motherfucker.” Unfortunately, one party of our group was involved in both potential skirmishes.
As if the idea of a gang bang was not disgusting enough, the porn industry has defiled Western Civilization even further with the filming of a heavyweight gang bang. The concept: men weighing over three hundred pounds will hop on top of a porn queen and do their fat, sweaty business. If I wanted to see a bunch of perspiring pigs getting their rocks off, I would wait in line for the early bird special at Country Buffet.
Christmas was nice and fattening. Between an amazing all-you-can-eat buffet at the Adams Mark Hotel, heaping platefuls of homemade raviolis and more cookies than I can count, I estimate I gained seven pounds over the holiday. Luckily I have the metabolism of a 16 year-old girl on cocaine. I received some decent booty: assorted hats, fleece sweatshirts, books, video games and various kitchen appliances.
I am on vacation until January 6. Yesterday, I awoke at 11:00am and met She Who Will Not Be Named for lunch. I came home and caulked my shower, played video games for six hours, made some dinner and read for a few hours before going to sleep. Today I awoke at 10:30am, ate a bowl of Peanut Butter Crunch, watched Heathers on cable, played video games for three hours, went to Home Depot to buy a plant and touch-up paint, applied said touch-up paint to various areas of my town home and, finally, shaved for the first time this week.
Last night I purchased my new oven-range combo. My mom and dad floated me the cash for an “early” Xmas present and I blew it all at Sears. I would have rather spent the Xmas cash on lap dances and whiskey but I am grateful nonetheless. I am taking off work next Monday because Sears will deliver said appliances between 10am and 4pm (thanks for nailing down a time, jerks). When everything is installed and ready for use, I am going nuts right out of the shoot. I intend to simultaneously fry bacon, cook a pot of chili and make some scrambled eggs on the burners, throw a twenty five pound turkey and a Totino’s Party Pizza in the five cubic foot oven and make an industrial size batch of Top Ramen in the microwave.
Hockey is one of the greatest spectator sports. The speed, intensity, bone crushing body checks and phenomenal one-time goals, however, pale in comparison to a naked fan that jumps onto the ice in the middle of a game. Calgary hockey fans are rabid. Earlier this year, my cousin Nels and his wife attended a hockey game in Calgary during their honeymoon. During a brief stoppage in play, an obese gentlemen sitting in the front row saw himself on the Jumbo Tron, lifted up his shirt and pressed his fat belly on the glass before the puck was dropped for a face off.