The shtick continues. First off, this post has nothing to do with tits, but if I just put a picture of me backhanding an elderly Indian, nobody would read this, so fuck it, fake it til you make it, bro. Actually, everybody would read this, but I don't have that picture. Anyway, I've dropped some tweets recently about the owner at my corner packy, specifically the fact that every time I pick up a thirty, he says, "Big party today?" and makes me feel like an asshole. No, bro, 30 is just the number of beers I drink on a Sunday. Today was the icing on the cake. Sunday fun day, so I snagged myself an eighteen, and yet, still with the "Big party" line. The fuck? Ya, I'm throwing a real hoe-down with my 18 natties, gonna rage like it's 1999 you combed over snuffleupagus testicle-looking beer peddler. So, I finally told him, "Just me, actually, I'm not a big party guy." This ends now. There is no party. There never was a party. Get off me.
UPDATE: Picked up a 24 with nothing but a "nice weather today." Smells like...victory.
No comments:
Post a Comment