Grossman's Drunk Ramblings and Cole's Amazing Humor

Unreal
I don’t believe it… 2,001 hits? Nah, get outta here!! Seriously. I’m off to get my eyes checked. When I return from my visual checkup, I’ll hit you with the 2,000th commemorative post if indeed my eyes served me well. I’m more likely to believe that Richard Gere doesn’t have a thing for gerbils and hamsters than I am that we reached 2,000 hits. Ha, I’m out… getting my eyes checked. I wasn’t kidding.

If I were on Mtv Cribs, I’d show off one vehicle that would be the “end all” of all rides. The ride I speak of, a top of the line garbage truck painted midnight, metallic blue with a chrome grill, a hood ornament the size of a midget, hydraulics, a fully functioning trash compactor fashioned of gold, and 70-inch, gold, diamond encrusted, spinning rims. With this vehicle, an insurmountable standard for automobiles would be set, all the other celebrities would be kicking themselves in the ass for not beating me to the punch, and I would forever be known as the most ostentatious star in the continental United States. No, wait… Damn you Diddy! How bout you go marry another girl who loves you for your character and charm. And by “character and charm,” I mean “money.” Honestly though, if I see one more jackass rapper walk over to a car they know nothing about, mispronounce the car’s name, and say, “I got dem 22-inch spinnin’ shoes on it,” I’ll… I’ll… I’ll… probably sit in front of the TV and call them a “jackass,” say “nice car,” and be perfectly content because I can actually complete a sentence without using “ya dig” or “ ‘n shit.” I’m out ‘n shit! Ya dig!

As I lent my ear to my enormous mp3 collection tonight, I couldn’t help but notice how drastically my motivation toward certain activities changed. The first song I played, none other than the theme song to TV’s Airwolf, motivated me to do something benevolent, philanthropic if you will. I wanted to get in my helicopter, fly on campus, and slash the tires of every police unit I could locate on radar, all while wearing this or a black leather jacket, black jeans, and a dated pair of aviator shades. I was intent on carrying out the plan but I couldn’t find the “keys” to my damn chopper. So instead of hoppin’ in the heli and crashing to the ground like a fat kid from a cliff (<--let it slide, I’m tired), I played another selection… Sticking with TV themes for the time being, I rolled with the MacGyver theme song, which I think was made by Duran Duran, or not. Through the course of the MacGyver song, exactly one minute and eleven seconds, I tried to pick my roommate’s lock. Well, almost tried to pick it. I shuffled through my drawer and grabbed the first three items I touched, a paper clip of course, a zebra print thong, and a Bubba Gump’s Shrimp Co. bumper sticker. I then threw the items to the ground and asked myself, “Whose drawer is this?” I guess I acquired someone’s Yaffa stackers one day when I was elsewhere. All right, it was all mine, except for that paper clip. I have no idea where that paper clip came from! Next was “Mr. Wendal” by Arrested Development, a grand song about a homeless man named Mr. Wendal. As soon as I heard the drums I felt guilty. I immediately wanted to drive downtown to tell this one bum that when I flicked him off last night, it was my way of saying “I don’t have any cash on me.” As the song played on, I recalled the colorful and now out of style clothing the group wore in their videos. Shortly after this realization, I threw away my Cool Runnings T-shirt and my Bill Cosby vest… Cool Runnings, hmmm… Come to think of it! What ever happened to Doug E. Doug? You know the guy with dreads on the Jamaican bobsled team in Cool Runnings… He was rather funny. I’d like to think he’s still around. If not, his list of films and shows contains about as many leads as Punky Brewster’s. I'm out like a bulimic girl's lunch…

The day is mine!
Thursday night, I met an SNL icon, one of my favorite cast members, the comedic genius known as Darrell Hammond. Jealous eyes read on… I’ll tell you all about it in a fictional account.

Here’s how the meeting went down. Darrell had just made fun of a heckler in the crowd, who just happened to be the oxlike Anna Nicole Smith, who was wearing a pink shirt with the phrase “I love me some Little Debbie” embroidered in Arial, 86 point, white font. To paint a better picture, this shirt was fashioned out of two queen-sized, fitted bed sheets and the snack cake phrase was arranged in one line that stretched from cavernous armpit to cavernous armpit. She also wore a 24-karat gold necklace, complete with a Clydesdale horse charm. And by horse charm, I mean a real horse. Apparently one of the Budweiser Clydesdales was dipped in gold and shipped via naval carrier to Anna after it died from an allergic reaction to an expired equine suppository. I know… I know… Clydesdales are HUGE! But you have to understand; this seemingly huge charm necklace looks like a damn choker on the whale-esque Anna. She’s a shade under 78 feet tall, so my claim is more than feasible. Arena staff removed a portion of the building so that she could crawl in and sit Indian/Beluga style in the corner. Believe me yet? So anyway, Anna gets hungry halfway through Hammond’s set and starts to weep tears that sound like Daisy Cutters when they hit the ground. Accompanying the tears were roars that can only belong to a T-Rex. Darrell let it slide until he noticed his right ear was bleeding due to the earsplitting clamors. At this time, he pulled out a pocket-sized joke book coincidentally entitled “Fat Jokes for the Washed Up, Hefty, Semi-Celeb.” He then began reciting these jokes hoping that everyone would laugh at Anna until she got so upset she’d crawl out of the building and head seaward. She got pretty pissed. However, to our surprise, she rolled around on her back for five minutes like a tortoise and eventually stood up, shattering the roof of the Arena into hundreds of twenty foot long chunks. [Note 1: We were tickled shitless that she actually got up. For a good four and a half minutes she was really struggling! The roof thing didn’t surprise us at all. We could only expect the roof to crumble like a graham cracker in the grasp of a fat-fingered kindergartner when Anna’s massive forehead struck it. Note 2: We were also tickled shitless because the roof’s debris harmed not a soul.] What Anna-zilla did next was nothing short of a marvel of human/dinosaur strength. Reaching down by her right foot, which was positioned in the parking lot at the time, she began grabbing full-sized SUVS out of their spots and hurling them at the stage. Well, she tried to hurl them. Her fingers kept getting wedged in the windows and wheel wells of the vehicles. Regardless of whether she would have ever thrown an SUV or not, I feared that her reckless actions were a serious threat to the Greater Florida area. Long story a little shorter, I ran out to the parking lot, climbed up Anna-zilla’s immense haunches, hit her in the nuts, rappelled back down, and hastened to safety. Anna-zilla fell to her knees, crawled across the street to the sandlot, and beached herself.

After PETA stopped by and stoned me for killing a whale, Darrell Hammond walked over, helped me up, and thanked me for my courageous deed by giving me a signed glue-on Sean Connery beard, which is now covered with dust because I accidentally mistook it for a feather duster when I was… hmm, dusting my room in the dark… sober.

I’ll post the real, much shorter version later on. Scratch that. I won’t be posting the real story because it would sound too much like a journal entry. Journal entries aren’t very interesting. They’re about as interesting as watching someone else watch paint dry. Journals are for girls to talk about how some girl gave them the wrong look in the gym or to brag about how great their boyfriend is. “Stan is SO GrEaT!! He actually didn’t call me an attention whore today. Isn’t that SWEET? I validate myself with a boyfriend. YAY!!” Yeeeee-ah, so, I’m out like Anna Nicole Smith’s loopy ass cheeks in a leotard.

REMEMBER TO CLICK THAT TOP-BLOGS GEM... it kinda keeps us ranked. There's gonna be tons of posting from now on. Be ready... I will have more time to post starting right... now!

I viewed the page and saw the word "JEW" in all caps, and that's how I knew J Geezy was back. The spelling also tipped me off. "Frekas?" Did Josh post drunk or is he creating new slang for Missy Elliott? I'll go with drunk for $200. I've almost grown fond of Josh's drunken mumblings. Slurred typing is just funny when intelligible. That's intelligible, not intelligent, just for the record. Word has it that Josh will post sober someday, but that's just hearsay.

My reasons for not posting as much are numerous. The main reason being that my teachers decided at their weekly How to Stress Chris Out meeting that they all would give as many quizzes within a one-week period as they possibly could. It's working... However, bemoan I will not. I'll just ace all my shite and return in my usual capacity. I actually had intended to post a lot before the bombs hit. I wrote a few things, but didn't get around to finishing them. So I'll finish those and post 'em, Deo Volente. Hopefully Josh will get sloshed and entertain you as well. Before I get back to the books, I want to inform all that Chick-fil-a has a "Guest Relations" position. Some woman handed me my purchased bag of delectable chicken morsels brandishing a nametag with not only Diane, her name obviously, but also the title "Guest Relations." If you dine in at Chick-fil-a and stay inside long enough to earn the label "guest," you've overstayed your welcome. I'll be posting soon. And remember that lil' "top-blogs" gem on the page. ;) Click it to keep us ranked. I'm out like Speak 'n Spell.

North America without Tequila would be like France without the notion of homosexuality. There would be a bunch of very feminine, extremely confused men walking around dressed funny. Scratch that. I cannot force myself to kick France while they’re down. They lost the one thing they were famous for, and the “Freedom Fry” wasn’t even theirs to begin with. Anyway, this Tequila situation…

Mexico is threatening to cut off all bulk exports of Tequila. Go ahead and let that marinate for a second… Need I further explain? Nay! I need not! I must say, this soon-to-be resolved dispute has me somewhat chapfallen. Granted, the U.S. will eventually patch things up with the Mexicans, but the American people need to know, how soon? We need to know if we should go stock up on Uncle Jose, Casa Noble, Sauza, and Agave Azul. It’s no secret; we enjoy partaking in soirees and weenie roasts, esp. when they involve Jose and the gang. We like imbibing frozen Margaritas, drinking that shot that puts us over the edge, and naming the worm after we drink that shot that puts us over the edge. The U.S. needs Tequila, Mexico does not. Mexico needs some clean water. Ah yes, see where I’m going with this President Vicente Fox? (He’s a frequent viewer) Let’s barter. We will give you huge vats of aqua for continued circulation of Mexico’s finest. Hold on, throw in two sombreros and it’s a deal. There! It’s settled! I could fix this dilemma, but I guess the rulebook states that to act as a foreign ambassador, one must have the equivalent of a high school diploma, two years prior negotiating experience, and a weird ass name. C’mon, Allen Johnson! That is one off the wall last name! [Enter failed attempt at sarcasm, bold-face type, stage right.] … And you chuckled anyway.

I’m done rambling… Mexico, for the love of all that is fermented and extremely dangerous when consumed in excess, please don’t do this. We need what you got. No, not a smog-filled wasteland containing little-to-no sanitary drinking water, we need your Tequila meng! If you don’t comply with our wishes, we’ll nuke you. That is all. I'm out like an albino in flashlight tag.

Let me say just one thing. Now, this one thing will probably elicit a “preach on” from our beloved female readers and a “you’re kidding” from the male audience, but I just gotsta get something off my chest. This may sound similar to an introduction at an AA meeting-- My name is Chris, and I’m over J-Lo! That’s right! I no longer hold her in high esteem… at all. I got fed up with her shenanigans. Despite my attempts to stop her, she keeps making that god-awful noise known as poorly written, poorly sung pop music. Most pop music is poorly written and poorly sung, so the fact that I had to specify is simply pathetic. Her music videos, when muted, were the only things that kept her head above water in the music industry, but she had to go and puncture her floatation device with the video for the theme song from “Gigli.” The video would have been fine without sound had she worn some make-up. I guess she doesn’t realize that when people call her beautiful, they’re only referring to the times when she’s done up properly, you know, by artists and stylists that are so good they can make a troll quasi-attractive. Her acting was once respectable, but she had to ruin that too… She did “Gigli.” The last time I saw acting that bad was when our once-esteemed J-Lo acted like she was in love with a certain Diddy, or was it Daddy at the time? Now, I didn’t actually see “Gigli,” you know, because I bat for the blue team, but I hear it will end up raking in about as much money as “The Adventures of Pluto Nash.”

I’m sure girls everywhere are pleased that Ben kicked J-Lo to the cizzurb. I could care less about the ordeal, although I would’ve found another Lopez divorce rather entertaining. Unlike her, celebrity divorce stories never get old. So, as I said, I’m over her. I think Jennifer Lopez is through. Not even her other flotation device can save her now. ;) Anyway, I’m out like “Gigli” will be when it’s released on DVD next week.

Click the Top-Blogs link to keep us ranked. We’re hangin’ in there like Pauly Shore’s career. I never thought writing could rank so highly among links to porn sites… I’m dumbfounded, really. I used to joke about the small numbers that viewed our site, and now we’re actually getting as many hits as Ludacris’ bong. It’s pretty schweet!

Oh, and Josh, I didn’t know that you were the one on the unicycle, my bad. By the way, has anyone seen him lately?