Grossman's Drunk Ramblings and Cole's Amazing Humor

Normally, most of you would skip a post that started with “My friends and I hit up an outlet mall yesterday,” but today is different because this’ll be worth your while. The last time you heard someone say something will be “worth your while” an elderly woman probably gave you a silver dollar for mowing her lawn… Just read on and your silver dollar will arrive in three days via express shipping.

So we’re walking up to this outlet mall and I happen to cast my gaze upwards from the ground towards a rather large specimen of a teenage girl, who honestly resembled a mid-sized rhino. Keep in mind that an average sized rhinoceros looks a lot like a mid-sized grey sedan. Yeah, that’s a big girl! As my eyes climbed her slack physique faster and faster, the nausea set in. I felt like I was eating on a full stomach after being kicked in the loins. There was something distinctive about this girl. She made my heart skip a beat, in an impending heart-attack sort of way, not in the loving sense of the term. I avoided looking at her stomach because something told me that she had poured herself into a tight top not fit for someone with a 19-inch neck and a bellybutton that could take in a racquetball. At this point, you’re probably asking yourself, “Chris, why the hell did you even look at this fat girl?” Simple. I just wanted to observe a real rhino in its natural habitat. I felt like Steve Irwin. The experience was a grand one indeed. Well… it wasn’t too revolting until I saw the “breast hair.” Yes, people, ingrained within this girl’s cleavage was a mighty mat of hair rivaling that of Robin Williams. OMG!! Seriously! Would it be SO wrong to mandate the cloaking of morbidly obese people? I mean, some shit need not be seen… I know you’re with me. I’m okay. I survived the ordeal, but only because I dismissed what I saw as a “nursing silverback gorilla.” I know silverbacks can only be male; the label is just my way of coping. Women don’t have hair there!! I’m still troubled. Crikey! That was no lass! Anyway, I’m out like my belief that no woman has more hair on her chest than I do… I’m no hairy guy, but this girl had more hair on her chest than Ice Man. If anyone is into the hairy gals, I’m SURE she’s single. Lookers like that are unapproachable.

Side note: Friends in line 1- Ken, The Nichof, and Jr. An unnamed party wanted a "shout out."

I was surfing the English Channels today (Ah Ha! Get it?), when I came up with this brilliant idea for a reality TV show. There’s these guys right, single guys, and they wear masks, and vie against each other to wed a bachelorette. Each guy wears a different color mask. The masks are cheesy, like they’re straight out of a low budget sci-fi flick. Since these guys wear masks, the woman has to select her suitor solely on account of his personality… Eh, eh, you like? Oh dammit!! You mean there’s already a show like that? Exactly like that? No, seriously, where do people come up with the ideas for these shows? Primetime TV is riddled with poor reality shows. It needs to stop. These wannabe American Idol shows are ridiculous too. The ladies like American Idol and that Fame show, so let them be. But, in the name of everything holy, these teen idol and most talented toddler shows are ridiculous. I know I wanna see some kid do yoyo tricks for 3 minutes. It’s so enjoyable to watch some whiny-voiced little girl try to belt a teenybopper tune. Here’s what I want to see—I want to see a show that shows large crowds of people getting REALLY scared. For example, there’s a high school pep rally in progress, when all of the sudden a man walks in with a bomb strapped around his waist and sits down in the center of the gymnasium. The guy acts likes the batteries aren’t working in the detonator, then says, “Haha, just kidding. You’re all on Frightened Biatch TV!” Or something like a caretaker announcing to a roomful of seniors that there’s no more cottage cheese left in the kitchen of their nursing home. That’s TV!! All right, so the bomb bit may be somewhat excessive, but anything is better than these shows on now. Anyway, like the “oh so” honorable Jesse Jackson once said, “Bitch, the kid ain’t mine!” Sorry, I really don’t know where that came from… So, I’m out like Muhammad Ali in Jenga… ouch

I was seriously going to hit up the Pub last night for once. I swear! I’m gonna start going again as long as there isn’t an abundance of wiener there. You have my word. I tried to convince my comrades I was with at the time to come with me, but they declined, so I stayed behind as well. My apologies… I will be there next week unless I’m out of town. Anyway, I’ll let Josh do the posting about Pub. He’s a regular. Anyway, my bed is looking mighty sexy right now, so I’m gonna hop in it and do that sleep thing. Nite.

I’m just gonna go ahead and say it… I find it disturbing that nearly every male my age wants to mount the Olsen twins as soon as they turn the big 18! Sure, they’re gonna be knockouts someday, but could a guy really suppress all images of the two girls on Full House in his mind whilst doing “the deed.” If the men (boys) that court these two girls have never seen the show, then I say this, “hit it like the angry hand of God.” However, if they used to tune in to ABC’s gift to television (TGIF) back in the day, and can recall the toddlers distinctively, they should refrain from the physical aspects of intimacy. If the young men actually go through with it, and give them a jolly good rogering, then that’s their business. But if you asked Leon, he’d say, “Yee-ah, that is disgusting.” Some may not see my point, but it’s like this, could a girl straddle the Jerry McGuire kid when he turns 18. I don’t think so. They’d be rolling in the hay until she pictures him as a little kid saying, “Did you know my neighbor has three rabbits?” She’d laugh and probably lose all interest, unless she’s got Mary Kay Letourneau syndrome. Anyway, I’ll leave the Olsen twins on the back burner for the other fellas, I’d much rather have Daisy, Roselyn, or Tyra. Ah yes, they are goddesses indeed. I got things to do (sleep), so I'm gonna split like a fat kid's gym shorts. Good Morning...

I’ll opt for the small post tonight. I have such an immense quantity of quality posting I wish to present to you, that I haven’t the slightest idea as to where to begin. Actually, I know where to begin, and will do so tomorrow morning at about 6 a.m. “Chris time,” which is about 1 p.m. Eastern time, which will end up being 5 p.m. ET. Got me? Bottom line is, I’ll post “the funny” tomorrow sometime.

As an up-and-coming rapper I would like all you aspiring MCs to know, “there are no accidents in rhyming. Ya see, rhyming is a god-like force that chooses people for stardom. It happened to Bubba Sparxxx, and it can happen to you.” I’m out like Keds… Peace outside

Mentioning anything remotely close to the subject of Christianity "pisses" Josh off, dually noted. I really was talking about Jack Daniels, but ok, if you want to drag the "J" man into it, that's fine. I mean, your name does come first in the site's title... Showoff. Jus' playin' son. On a grave note, as of late, my Ethernet connection has been about as stable as Oprah Winfrey's weight over the past 4 years. No offense "O-Dubs," I know you're reading. ;) Sure... I really have nothing against the woman. It's 4:50-somethin' and the weight simile was the first thought to drop. Seriously, I would have posted, but the net gods wouldn't have it. Anyway, I'm rather tired, so... basically, Imma (Eye-muh) go to bed now. I have a borrowed closing for this here post-- "I'm out like Day-Glo fanny packs."- Ashly

I saw a van today with a WWJD bumper sticker and thought to myself, “Hmm, what would Jesus do?” I don’t know what he’d do, but I’m damn sure he wouldn’t cut someone off and immediately brake. Just a thought… I’ll post later tonight. Until then, I’m gone like a scrawny kindergartner’s lunch money.

Well, well, well... I'm back like the clap and proud to say... I'm under the influence of the mind-altering substance known as alcohol. I just want to bestow upon yo' asses a little advice. Party and study, live it up while learning people. Live life while in pursuit of knowledge. It's a good way to roll. Just don't party to the point of wearing beer goggles. Ladies, if you find this guy hot, and guys, if you find this girl bangin', you've gone too far and should consult your closest friends before acting upon the liquid attraction. Trust me, you don't want to wake up and have to do the "Coyote Ugly" or "Rodent" (Coyote Ugly - also known as "the Rodent," Waking up with a nasty one night stand, you realize you have to give her/him the slip. You realize your arm is wrapped around them. You would rather gnaw off your own arm than risk waking them). Such encounters may lead to consequences such as having a kid that grows up to look like this. And that my loyal visitors, is all I have to write about. Let me know if my spelling is sub-par when I commit a P.U.I. (Post Under the Influence). Keep your noses clean. I'm out like Lil' Kim's fake D-cups at the VMA's. G'night all...

Here's what I don't get. P. Diddy gives B-Af and J-Lo His and Hers Rolls Royce Corniches, brand new of course, as wedding gifts. Yes Diddy, we know you're worth $293 million; you needn't flaunt your tremendous wealth. Why Corniches? If Ben and Jen each really wanted a Rolls, they would've already purchased them with their own $365,000. I mean the luxury sedans would be a terrific wedding present for a couple not blessed with millions, but Ben and Jen? C'mon dude. Their pool tiles are probably fashioned out of gold and diamonds. How much thought did Diddy put into these gifts, really? I can picture the instant when the gift idea hit him. He was sipping Cristal in his parked Bentley with the 23' wheels spinning while smoking the finest of cigars when he said; "I know what'll win J-Lo back. I'll give she and Ben some fly rides with deuces on the side and act like I'm over her." Congratulations Diddy, you're a jackass. You're a cool jackass, but a jackass nonetheless. Diddy, I have a proposition for you . If you want me to withdraw this post in which you are referred to as a "jackass," buy me a luxury sedan or exotic super car made within the last two years. That's not asking a lot. It's like a middle class man buying an impecunious hobo a candy bar.

In entertainment news, I've broken off from Wu-Tang, changed my name to C. Fiddy, and started working on my solo album. Anyway, I'm out like pogs...

I honestly don't think your post- "Cole you're a dumbass!!!!" warrants 4 exclamation points or 4 ha's. I corrected the "your" which is a possessive pronoun to "you're." Josh, keep an eye out for the verbs and keep swingin'. You'll get 'em champ. At least I got you to post... eh heh

Side Note: I have joined the Wu-Tang Clan under the name of "Nappy Shizzle" and will begin touring in September.

I just got back into Jamlando at 10:30 and guess where I'm not... That's right! The PUB! I'm not a fan of the PUB, mostly because it's a shithole. I don't frequent any establishment where 9 million swinging wieners get together to gawk at about 10 girls while drinking cheap beer. It's just not my thing. Write that down.

The true post
The previous post was segment 2 of the ongoing, unnecessary, and for the most part fictitious saga entitled Someone Thinks it's Funny to Put Hefty Personals in our Advertisement Bar. The post is also the result of little sleep the night before due to taking care of drunken people who think 6 double shots of Skyy Blue Vodka within a 10-minute period is a good idea after already drinking 5 beers fairly fast. Yeah, not a heave-free good time last night. But... It was funny as Hell!! It's fun to mess with drunken friends, esp. when they don't heed your warnings. Here's a morsel of what went down on the fourth.
Yours Truly: "Dude, slow down, you've had 3 double shots in four minutes. It's gonna hit you like a train hits a fresh inmate."
That Guy: "Stop F-ing nay-saying!"
Yours Truly: "Sure pal..."
... That Guy imbibes the double shot thrice more within said 10-minute period.
Yours Truly: (while the last shot is being downed) "I give you twenty minutes till you drop... or die."
That Guy: "Sure mom, thanks for lookin' out."
Your Truly: "Ha, indeed..." (Mumbles "dumbass" under breath)
... 19 minutes and 57 seconds pass...
Yours Truly: "3...2...1...and...."
:ENTER YOUR OWN SOUND EFFECT HERE: (That Guy takes a plunge toward the balcony rail and hits it face first."
That Guy: (Moaning) "Ahhh! NO WAY!! (5 second pause) I think I'm gonna yack."
Yours Truly: "Damn son, what'd I tell ya?" (Walks around slowly in a taunting manner to show the downed drunk how much fun walking can be, all while shouting, "you should try this walking and standing shit, it's great!!")

So, it didn't go down quite like that, but that's the gist of the story. Yeah... I'm out like Dunkin' Donuts' supply of glazed donuts after a visit from Oprah...

Sorry... I don't steal stuff so I guess I'm not cool enough to post.
Fine! Fine! In all honesty, I stole some Peeps from some blog employee who continues to place certain dating ads for the husky on this site. "Hey ad person! I said 'certain,' which contains cert, a name brand mint. Does that make you long for a cert? Keep rotating the plump personals in our ad bar... I'll steal those pure white, spearmint-flavored discs of oral freshness from you as well. I know you miss those little marshmallow birds. I also seized and scanned your before snapshots taken at Fat Camp '87 and tossed the after shots in the wastebasket. How 'bout them apples? Oops... APPLES!"