I lost

I lost. Shit!

Looks like I'll be eating shit sandwiches for the rest of the year. Shit!

How I plan on celebrating my fantasy football victory

This is a glorious week for me people. Why? I'm finally in a position to win something. Through out my life I've been competing in various games, sporting events, claw machines and the occasion family reunion potato sack race and have always come up short. But this week my fantasy football team actually has a chance to put me at the top of the podium.

Can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Once the clock hits zero and the country has declared me the greatest of all time, the first thing I will do is burn my apartment down. If laker fans can burn L.A. every year when the Lakers win, I can burn my apartment; totally justified. Second, I plan on calling the person I just beat (in this case Nick) and just scream into the phone for no less than 5 minutes. Then call his mother and explain to her how pitiful of a fantasy football player her son is and that she should disown him. From here on out, I will be taking his place at Thanksgiving.

My house! What have I done!

Finally, I will move what's left of my belongings in to his basement so he can be reminded of how awesome I am at fantasy football for the rest of the year...and because I burned down my house. I may have lost at the game of life, but I'm a champion at fantasy football.

Oh Christ...

Me, Zac and two other people we don't know made the fantasy football playoffs. It's the first round right now. I'm playing the one of the unknown guys. We each have one player left. Well, he has a player, I have a defense. I'm only up by 6 points. There is only one quarter to go in the game in question. If you know anything about fantasy, you know this is a scary fucking thing. See, typically, defenses lose points as the game progresses, while actual players, you fucking guessed it, gain points. So, I could lose while I'm typing this if the player on his team scores a touchdown or gains 60 yards. Both are totally doable. I'm shitting myself. Fuck.

On a positive note, if I win, I get to play Zac next week and beat his ass. So, GO MEAT!

~Jumbo

Graduation

10 years - 6 months - 5 days - a number of hours

What's with the tally, you might ask? It has been that long since high school graduation. Why do I care about that? Well, I will tell you, curious Curt: It is because it has taken me that long to graduate from college. College usually takes 4 years. It took me like 10.5209 years.

But seriously, who gives a shit? I finished college for myself and for my family. And, since you are likely not my family, why should you care? Well, Curt, you should care because your lazy ass needs to drop the Xbox controller and do the same. "Fuck you, Jumbo. Why do I need to do what you tell me?" Well, Curt, someday your stupid ass will want to get a job that has nothing to do with licking balls. When that day comes, you won't be able to retire from your famous ball-licking career unless you have a degree that will allow you to not lick balls.

Anyway, Curt, you fucking douche, tomorrow (actually, it's later today because I'm up all late getting drunk on vodka I stole from Curt's mother) I will walk across a stage and shake a hand. Somehow, this act will make me more valuable to potential employers. I don't get it, but it's necessary. So, pretty soon, I will have a sweet job where I check FB and MS and Tweet about my job, but don't actually do anything different from what I do now on unemployment.

Fucking system. Whatever. I will post pics of the event tomorrow.

Despite my cynicism, I am kind of excited. Not sure why. Yep.

(Oh yeah, nobody is friends with Ronnie anymore. Not sure why for that either. Just thought you would want to know.)

3 Reasons Why Buying Your First House Sucks

Here's the setting: You haven’t slept in days. You’re an asshole to everyone. The interns at the architecture firm that built your apartment have opted to skimp on wall thickness and, you know, making sure the fucking bedrooms from one unit to the next aren’t butted right up against one another in favor of putting a granite counter top on the built-in computer desk that never once got used in three years for anything other than storing phone books that never got opened. The neighbors fuck from dusk to dawn and howl like hyenas circling a corpse. Oh, and they also fuck from dawn to dusk on days divisible by 1. Oh, and when you confront the rabid animals, they threaten to forcibly make you part of … whatever the hell that was. At this very frightening moment, the idea of renting has sort of gotten old, and buying your own house seems not only like a good idea, but the only way to avoid getting bummed/fisted by a duo with a combined height of 13 feet. Not so fast, because…

1. They Will Sell Your Information to Absolutely Everyone

From the moment you sign the mountain of paperwork and take the keys, the clock starts ticking. Set your phone on the ground next to a stopwatch and watch in amazement at how little time it takes for that fucker to blow completely off the hook.

The first onslaught is from the security companies. These people do a very good job at making you feel like you moved in to the shittiest neighborhood in the galaxy, and that the only way to avoid getting shot in the face by one of the many gangs in the neighborhood is to buy their Premium Gold-Plated Platinum Wipe-Your-Ass package. Just wait until you can finally fit a word in edge-wise to tell them no. Holy fuck. You will think you have just told them their children are ugly or that their mother was a whore. They get so bent that they send people over to council you on why you would want to jeopardize your life by not buying their product. Try closing the door on these fucking characters. They will peer into your window, shouting through the glass at how you can receive “free upgrades” or “I won’t stab you if you sign up now.”

And for only $19.95, I won't stab you later either.

Next come the phone, Internet and TV people. These people are less pushy, but have more material to send your way. These things include political ad-like jabs from one provider to the next, fliers with people’s hair blowing backwards at the AMAZING NEW (fill in the blank service), and coupons featuring ONCE IN A FUCKING LIFETIME DEALS!!! Of course, all of these efforts are moot because you likely just transferred services from your last place, which, by the way, just had the wall broken down when the neighbors fucked themselves right through it without missing a beat. What sucks about this wave of solicitations is if you decide to get a home phone. Antiquated, I know, but it seemed like a good idea because of the what-ifs. Whoever our home phone provider is (Q followed by a direction on a compass) took our new phone number, printed it on a bunch of little bits of paper with the heading “These people probably have money”, and dropped them from a zeppelin right over a crater in Hell where all the telemarketers work. The phone never, ever stops ringing. When there actually is an actual human with an actual soul on the other end, I am usually so bent from all the “May I speak to the head of the household?”’s that I greet them with a warm “Take me off the fucking list!” only to have my mother shudder in horror at the monster her son has become.

I don't even know who you are anymore.

Finally are the weak wave of mail-based campaigns distributed by local dentists and insurance agencies. Every single day the mailbox is loaded with personal greeting cards from people who know me intimately that I have never met. For example: Dear Ron, (or current resident) it’s that time of year again to get your teeth cleaned. Can we expect the pleasure of your visit Ron (or current resident)? How the hell did they know I haven’t been to the dentist? Oh right, because nobody goes to the fucking dentist unless the bleeding in their mouth has spread to their eyes. And by that time, you just skip the dentist and go right to the hospital. Ergo, dentists are useless.

Yeah, I'm looking at the same thing as you. What's the problem?

2. The House Immediately Disintegrates the Moment You Are Given the Keys

You’ve toured every home in the city. You’re tired, cranky and starting not to care where you find a house as long as you find a house fucking soon. Every single house has been ugly or has been graffiti’d or has shit in every toilet in the house (bad way to get people interested in your house if you’re selling, by the way). Time is running out in the day. You’re ready to raise the white flag, when, suddenly, it appears. The neighbors wave. There are no automobiles in anyone’s front lawn for blocks. The paint is exactly the shade you envisioned in your dream of dreams. It’s perfect! And you haven’t even been inside yet. 10 minutes into the tour, you are mentally placing furniture and repainting rooms. And, yeah, the price is a touch higher than you wanted to pay, but have you seen this kitchen??? Fast-forward to closing day, aka the biggest day of your life. Blah fucking blah, just tell me where to fucking sign so I can get the fucking keys to my fucking house right fucking now, COME ON! Fast-forward again to turning the key and opening the door.

“Did you notice that enormous stain in the carpet when we toured? And what the fuck is that smell? Was the paint this same color? I think the paint is different. And what happened to the kitchen? It was so big and, you know, not ugly as sin. I think I should call someone. I need to get this figured out straight away.” Put the phone down. Don’t waste your breath. The bastards are already in Mexico on your dime. So you move in and you start getting settled little by little. On day four the toilet breaks, but you have another one down the hall… whatever. Day 15, a woodpecker drills right through the wall and into your brain, but walls are easy fix and you were stupid anyway… whatever. This shit keeps piling up and up until the pristine house you toured only a month ago looks just like a Before picture from any show on HGTV. Remember the apartment? Some guy in a shirt came to fix your toilet and your brain there. He’s the one that got to go get frustrated at Home Depot because nobody that works there knows a god damn thing about anything even remotely related to working on homes. All the while, you got to kick back and listen to people fucking while enjoying a tall glass of Everclear. And guess what else? You pay more now than you did then. Much more.

This cozy 2b 2ba has a rustic log cabin feel. Move aside the dead hooker to access the crawl space.

3. Your Friends Will Think You’re a Douche. They Will Be Correct.

Since I have never had children, I can’t really say if the two are the same, but I know that everyone who has recently had a kid is a total douche. All they ever talk about is their kid and all the shit their kid did today. “Dude, what the fuck happened to you? We used to throw rocks at shit and play Xbox.” So when I bought a house, I had no idea that nobody would give a shit about it. Yeah, people are “happy” for you and they “like the paint colors” but they really don’t give a shit.

This is actually the look you will get, sans the honest comment.

This won’t sit well with you. After all, this is the biggest decision and commitment you’ve ever made in your life. And not only that, there’s a bench in the garage for when I grow into a real man! Start talking about your garage to someone at a party and time how fast it takes them to tell you they need to take a piss. It’s like 25 seconds tops. So, just like those proud, douchey parents, you will keep trying to ram your hilarious house anecdotes down your friends’ throats and they will stop returning your calls.

Just wait though, because yours is coming. Soon, your stupid friends who, for some reason, couldn’t appreciate the hilarity of incorrect air filter sizes will come running to you with questions and hilarious house stories of their own. Strangely, though, when they tell you about their house stories, the stories always suck and you will almost always have to take a piss like right away.

So, if you’re thinking of leaving that nice, plush apartment, all I can do is grab you by your fat stupid face and say Don't you say that. Don't you ever say that. Stay here. Stay here as long as you can. For the love of God, cherish it. You have to cherish it.

This fat little prick probably rents an upscale flat on Central Park, paid for solely by this fucking scene.

3 Reason why you shouldn't leave food out when I visit

It's a no brain-er that people love food. I love food just as much as the next guy and I'll go to the ends of the earth to make sure my fat gut is fed. So when you decided to invite me over for your kids birthday, don't blame the dog if the cakes goes missing, it was probably me who stole it.

"I'm in a dog costume, eating your cake!"

REASON #3 "I hate sharing"

Don't get me wrong, I like the concept of sharing but if I have the chance to sneak an extra piece of cake, or 3, then I'll take. All I'm saying is that you should just probably eat before I get there because let's be honest, I just don't care about your feelings or how many kids you have to feed.

If you bought your dog a cake, don't be surprised if I eat that too. Besides, who throws birthday parties for dogs...wait..I know someone...moving on. If you also have enough cake to feed Genghis khans future generations just laying around then maybe it's you who has a problem, not me.

REASON # 2 "I'll complain about a free meal"

I don't care if your kitchen is a small whole foods with a spread of food from around the world. I'll eat it all and claim it wasn't good to guilt you in to being a good host and offering me something else and the circle will continue. I know what you're thinking, if it's not good why do you keep stuffing your face with it? All I can say to that is, fuck off, don't judge me.

"I ate my elbow and knee pads already"

REASON #1 "I have explosive bowles"

I will clog your toilet. It's a natural progression of eating all your food. You can't fault me for this because guess what? You poop too, I don't care how hot you are." But what you can do, is blame me for allowing the toilet to over flow and get undigested corn all over your new carpet. Like a terrible guest that I am, I feel that you picking up my poop is the nice thing to do as a good host. Remember you don't want to embarrass your guest because if you offend me I won't be your fourth when it comes time to play twister.

"Artist rendering"

Where's the cake?

'Tis the season

It's that time of year everyone. The season of bad gifts and empty new year's resolutions. It's a happy time of year for most and a living hell for others, and I fall in to the category of living hell. This year I'm trying something different. I'm embracing the holiday cheer and all the bull-shit positivity that comes with it. So, I'm going to ask Santa for one thing this year to help put a smile on my face...

...I want to be transformed in to a hipster...

"too much...?"

I'm not to sure how Santa is actually going to turn me in to a hipster, besides maybe bring me pants 4 sizes to small, a year supply of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a stuck up sense of entitlement, but I'll leave the details up to him.

So in the spirit of Christmas here is my letter to Santa.

Dear Santa,

Despite the fact you promote obesity and breaking and entering I think you're pretty swell. On that note, I want you to dig deep in to your bag of tricks to help me this Christmas season. I want to be a hipster! I hope you're not laughing in the face of a needy child, Santa. Anyway here's my list.

Jeggings- I don't exactly know what these are, but I'm sure it will help me raise my hipster status by +35 hit points and +12 agility to hit on hipster women.

Year supply of cucumbers-I need to fill out those jeggings. Because I'm sure hipsters over compensate for the size of their dicks.

Reebok pumps-These are just cool.

Giant beard-Please give me advice on beard growing techniques. Yours is so impressive.

Good health insurance-Because once my transformation is complete, I'll need regular check-ups to help make sure I don't have STD's due to all the hipster sex I'll be having.

"they set a new world record for STD's"

Attitude-Because I'm not normally a douche bag and a half, I'll need the confidence to walk around as if only eating vegetarian and drinking P.B.R. is a good nutritional lifestyle. I'll also need this because I'll instantly be better than everyone else and everything everyone else does, sucks.

Gift card to ARC thrift stores- I'll need a new wardrobe.

That's it, Santa. All my dreams wrapped up in a neat list for you to bring me.

I can't wait for Christmas this year!

If I wore this I would be "King of the Hipsters"...I hope my ARC gift card will cover this, looks expensive.