The Stall

So last night, just hanging out, having a few beers at the bar. Normal Wednesday (I always frat hard). After about 4 beers and no dinner it was time to let the trouser snake breath. This is the point of the story where I need to you to visualize what I describe.

Walking into the restroom, there are 4 urinals directly in front of me. To the right, along the same wall, there are 2 stalls. I don’t know why they put those there because no one poops at the bar. Except, that one time at Galletts. It was life or death, trust me.

Back to the story. So, I walk in and I’m the only person in the restroom. I choose the urinal that is to the far right directly next to the stall. I chose this one because I am courteous and went to the furthest one down the line so no one has to walk past me as I hold my Cyclops. As I start to let loose and read the ad for a reality company, that clearly chose a random blond with fake boobs off the street for their ad, I hear the door open. I was there alone so I knew that it was no one I knew so I had no need to look over my shoulder. The guy takes 4 steps into the bathroom. Then he paused.

What the fuck was he doing. I started to strain hard. Pee splashing off the back of the urinal onto my hand because of the powerful flow I was producing. I didn’t care. I needed to get out of there. Then it got really weird.

Man law states that you must skip a urinal between users. Even if there are 3 urinals only 2 people can go at the same time (this means that 3 urinals are just as useful as 4, only 2 can go at a time). Well this mother fucker walks up and stands at the urinal next to me and unzips his pants. He stands there for about 2 seconds, zips his pants back up and walks behind me to go to a stall…I am tripping the fuck out. Was this some kind of secret code that let a man in the ceiling know that it was ok to jump out and pound me in the ass? The guy continues into the stall and begins to pee. Now, I have learned over the years there are 3 kinds of people you don’t trust.

1. First and foremost: Poor People
2. The man at the mall that says he will give you $7 if you follow him into the back hallway and show him your wiener (I should have seen that coming from a mile away. Oh well I was 21, young and stupid).
3. The guy that pees in the stall.

What the fuck is wrong with the stall guy. Did he have some crazy experience where a man peeing in a urinal killed his family back in 89? Was he the victim of wandering eyes? Or does he simply think that standing next to another man while touching your wiener is weird. What a loser. One of the best things about being a man is that I can talk to the man peeing next to me at a truck stop about the deal I can get on a CB radio. I can talk to the guy at the bar about that skank that just walked to her car alone and if I should follow. It is a beautiful thing. The man that pees in the stall is no friend of mine nor is his friend that is hiding in the ceiling.

So Much for Survival of the Fittest

The orthodontist said it was because your jaw was not wide enough. Your mom told you it was, “because you got your dads smile.” Your grandmother told you that no one even noticed. If you want the truth come to me.

I know why you had braces. Are you ready for the answer?

Bad breeding.

Somewhere down the line, you have a little bit of poor in you. Some more than others. You are probably blind to the fact that, due to you crappy genetics, you have several other very obvious features that let me know your family probably share cropped for my family:

1. Your facial hair is red. There are two problems with this. 1) Your hair doesn’t match 2) Besides Ron Howard, who has red hair and is rich?
2. You have hair that grows on your back. Questions?
3. You know that mousy kind of face that poor people have? Trick question! If you answered “no” you are poor and you probably have one of those mousy faces.
4. You are prone to sun burn. Jesus loves rich people so he allows them to become golden brown and beautiful. Is it a coincidence that hell is hot and poor people burn? I think not.


How does it feel now that you know your father(6) was a serf back when my father(6) was eating over sized turkey legs in his castle. NO….not the over sized turkey legs that you buy at the fair (I saw it in a movie once). The fact that you just thought of the fair is another sign you are poor.

Note: Glasses are acceptable. The print is very small in The Wall Street Journal.

You Can't Be Me

OK…before I get started, did anyone realize that they are now printing $100 bills with big faces on them. All of mine have small faces….weird.

So the other day I was walking around the grocery store while on the phone with the girlfriends sister…yeah, high five! We were talking about our careers and shooting the shit about what the other was picking up for dinner. Wondering around, I noticed that the South Charlotte store was full of FratStars.

Wha?

I will not be out done…every move I make is strategically planned to make me better than you. You will never be on my level.

Freaking out, I immediately looked down into my basket.

“Do I have any off brand food? Was that on sale?”

Not a chance. There is a reason California Pizza Kitchen makes a pizza….it is not because their frozen pizza taste better than the rest. It is strictly for image. That pizza is very similar to a Louis Vuitton bag in the mall. Yeah, any old bag would work. But news flash, IM NOT FUCKING POOR.

That is exactly the message that my pizza sends.

I continue to walk around. “Oh, great news, Burberry makes waffles. I’ll get some of those with Vineyard Vines syrup. Scratch that, no one wants to smell like the fat kid in elementary school (put the syrup back).”

As I check out I glance around at others in the checkout lanes (never use the self checkout line. Who uses the self check lane? All together now….POOR PEOPLE).

“Ha ha ha…that girl is buying Deer Park water.”

If it isn’t in glass or a square plastic bottle it doesn’t touch my hand.

Two lanes down a guy handed his keys to the check out girl. She scanned some plastic card that gave him discounts. I squinted to look harder. Nope, he was not 87. Therefore this is unacceptable FratStar behavior. Be 100% sure that if ever hand someone my keys I fully expect them to pull my fucking car to the door.

Now that I have given myself a chance to observe these fake fratters, I slowly begin to calm down.

I am better than them. They love me. They want to be me. All is right in the world.

Yeah, I Hate You Too

Oh Hey! There he is...the guy who brought the Olive Garden to-go box to work. I would like to thank you. You, sir, are yet another person whom I hate. I can just hear the conversation now.


Ass Clown from Work -"A to-go box? Sure that sounds super!"
Pimply face waitress named Fendi- "I'll bring that right out."
Ass Clown (in a joking voice )- "Bring out some more of those delicious bread sticks."
Fendi- "I love those too...I'll bring a few extra out for you to take home"

Actual Conversation:

Ass Clown- "Damn right I want a box. This shit cost me $6.99."
Fendi- "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Ass Clown-"I'll steal some bread sticks...I bet she would sleep with me"
Fendi- "Why the fuck did I not get an abortion? I could be in college."

So lets recap:

It is never OK to get a to-go box.

1. Nothing cost too much to leave behind.
2. You look like a fucking idiot carrying a box.
3. How many guys carrying a box have gotten laid.
( answer: NONE.)
4. There is a high probability that you are poor.
5. You are probably wearing a short sleeve button up. You saved enough money buying that douche bag shirt to afford another meal.

Reminder:

I hate you.

Tuesday Night

Everyday after work I get home and do the same thing. Sit on the couch, think about dinner and drink four fingers of Scotch. So tonight was just another boring night. After dinner I sat in the living room and watched a couple 16 year old girls jump around on mats and hug each other. It was amazing how their bodies could bend and flex. Their legs were able to reach high into the air with crane like balance. With every success I could hear the chant: USA! USA! USA!Their small frames allowed them to fly high into the air coming down to hit the perfect spot.

After that their parents picked them up and I turned the Olympics on.

Another Person I Hate

So its Friday again, after a week of strenuous work I have let myself relax, had a cup of coffee or two and just returned from relieving myself. While standing at the urinal staring at the tiled wall I had time to think (it takes a lot of time for urine to pass though my long urethra). Glancing down to make sure my aim was on, I noticed about 7 or 8 pubes just sitting on the rim of the porcelain waterfall…Granted this is not the first time for me to see this, this is just the first time I have given it any thought.

Who is this person that has pubes this long?
More so, how do they have such an abundance of pubes that they are bursting from their pants?
Is it the fact that they are so long and their weight so massive that their body can simply no longer hold on to them?

After at least 3 minutes of deep thought I knew exactly who it was, and I immediately started hating them. Are you ready? Ladies, you need to know this too. You don’t want a chance run in with sasquatch.

It is that guy who wears the fucking short sleeve button-ups every day. You know who I’m talking about. That guy that goes to Stein-Mart and buys every fucking item with a polo horse on it. It doesn’t matter at all that it looks like Big Bird took a shit on it then gave it to a bunch of blind 4 year-olds to color on. Congrats, you got a Ralph Lauren shirt for 6.99! The only reason that shirt was ever made is so people like me could easily identify you. Does it not occur to you that it is located in the back of the store, on a rack that includes silk shirts that have dragons on them, for a reason? Why even buy a button up shirt that has short sleeves in the first place. It is like buying a BMW without leather….”Yeah, high-five you drive a BMW”…fast forward 10 min…”my legs are itchy”…..You are ultimately going to be upset with your purchase and everyone will see you for the douche bag you are. So do us all a favor, next time you want to spend your lunch money on an a gay shirt, think to yourself, “are my pubes getting too long?”

Writers note:

There are too acceptable occasions to wear a short sleeve button-up:
1. You are Mormon going door to door giving away bibles.
2. You are a mailman

Letter to my Future Self

Sometimes I lie awake late at night and wonder about the future. Where will I be? What job will I have? What will be the name of my robot dog? These are a few of the questions that scare me the most. I have decided to write my future self a letter. Being that the interweb is going to be around forever, I figured that posting it here would secure the fact that future Patrick reads it.

Dear Future Patrick (2011),

Let me start this letter by saying no, you are not gay, even if you did happen to finish at the same exact time they zoomed in on the male porn stars face. It was once....and they tricked you. Now that we have that out of the way......

So right now I'm dating this chic "J".....yeah I know, 1987....I bet you're dating some chic that was born in like 1995 (learn from the past, check her ID). Is she a freak? E-highfive! We are amazing. Is sex the same on the moon? Is zero gravity a form of birth control? WHO CARES we never use that shit anyways.

I'm sure you have a really awesome robot dog that that cooks chicken pot pies for you all the time. Man I love chicken pot pie....I guess you know that though. Is it illegal to have sex with a robot dog in the future? Just wondering.

I bet you make tons of money now. I have a little suprise for you. Here in my time (2008) I put about $157 into an off shore savings account. By offshore, I mean that I gave it to a guy in the Bahamas to hold and invest. I'm sure he has been making that money work for us. His contact information is as follows:

Goff Ukyurself
+ 001 911-867-5309

YOU'RE WELCOME.....we're loaded now I'm sure.

Well you are probably busy doing something really cool. Can't wait until I'm you.

Best,

Present Patrick (2008)

PS. If you could write back I'd really like some confirmation on that whole porn accident thing....It only happens once right?