Thursday, April 17, 2014

The Kickball Team Email: Please Don't Fuck Your Teammates Yet




"Good morning gentlemen,

I'm assuming that when this is read, you'll all be waking up, hence the greeting.

I hope we all had a good time tonight. I certainly did. We have a very talented team. We're most likely going to win out the season, and if not, we'll buck up and win the tournament at the end of the season. We're really that good.

But it's time that I introduce you all to a very important rule, which if we don't follow will cause us the season. It's called the five-week rule.

You'll notice that only the men of [team name] are receiving this email. It's because this rule only applies to you. I know, it's sexist. It's not fair. But it's the way it is.

Winning on the kickball field is based on three things. How well the men play, how well the women play, and if the women show up. Literally, leagues are won and lost on whether or not enough women show up towards the end of the season. Everyone thinks kickball is a great game, they all want to play, then towards the end of the season, attendance tapers off, and you're begging and pleading for people to show up to fill out the team, and it doesn't happen, and you forfeit, and you're pissed, and it sucks. SUCKS.

The main reason for this, is screwing. No joke, you bang some chick, she's ashamed, maybe you sucked at it (none of us, obviously) and she doesn't want to see you, therefore she doesn't show up again.

So, this rule has been created, not to hinder us, but to help the team. Think of it as an extended challenge. The slow roll. The long con.

YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FUCK ANYONE ON THE TEAM UNTIL AFTER WEEK FIVE.

Is that clear enough? I can say it again if necessary, but I think it was pretty clear.

YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FUCK ANYONE ON THE TEAM UNTIL AFTER WEEK FIVE.

There, I said it again anyway.

Failure to adhere to this rule will result in your exclusion from the lineup, public hatred and disdain, death, dismemberment, ball-kicking (not kickballs), and, on the good side, getting laid. I don't think the latter is worth the former.

Please be a team player, wait a few weeks. If you're that good, it won't matter anyway. Don't break up the team because of your dick.

Thanks,

[redacted]"

via - Dead Spin

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

What The Fuck Were You Thinking When You Got Dressed This Morning Vol. 3: The Spring Music Festival Edition

There is really not much I love more than getting white girl wasted, while swaying (fuck you, box wine, FUCK YOU) to my favorite jams, with my favorite people. Thank fucking HAY-ZEUS I happen to live in South Florida and one of my favorite peeps just also happens to be a marketing director for one of those fancy-as-fuck companies that puts on big shows. No more blowing dudes for .38 Special tickets under the 595 overpass for me! I get to see awesome bands, from good seats, pretty much on the regular. Being H-Bomb has its advantages.

However, there is a major fucking disadvantage to all of these awesome concerts. For many years, there has been either a significant lack of full length mirrors or a significant decline in bitches who keep it real when their friend asks, "Does this outfit make me look like a busted can of biscuits?" Either way, I have spent the last few years not-so-silently suffering from the fashion crimes against humanity that these bitches inflict upon me whence I am out with my crew listening to music, getting crunk-face and watching a 2 day montage of, "What not to Wear: The Bottomed Out Edition."

The fashion fox passes (faux pas, for you Downton Abby bitches) I saw this past weekend were mostly a collection of fat girls in clothes I wouldn't have worn when I was actually a size 2, in addition to girls in shorts so far up their chochas, my vag hurt looking at them.

I really need to know who-in-the-1990's-fashion-hell decided to bring back the mom-jeans and more importantly, the mom-jean-shorts. No really, I bet some sadistic motherfucker at Urban Outfitters decided to have a laugh at the expense of all the dumb twats who will buy anything if it looks like it was actually from Goodwill and possibly was in a Joey Lawrence video. I am a child of the 90's. Floppy hats? I rocked them shits. Z Cavariccis? You bet your fucking coochie-lable-tag I had those. Knee High Socks? More like thigh highs on my borderline midget ass. And most of those things have come back in style, much to my chagrin, but none so much as the goddamn mom jeans. I did my time in high-waisted-mom-jean hell and I am all set now, thanks. And just in case any one dared to question just how much of a 90's Fashion Icon I am, I submit to exhibit A. Suck it, Trebek.
1990's H-Bomb.  Sweet perm, stylin' vest, and some acid wash mom jeans
No one loves the 90's more than this bitch. Trust. Any Saturday/Sunday that I can bogart some cable and watch 90210 reruns on The Soap Network, you had better believe I am watching that mess. The hair! The Fashion! The Drama! I am all about it. If I was 20 years younger, and this was the style, I would be all over it like I am on your mom on $2 Jaeger night. But I am not, so I wear my fly as fuck outfits from Ann Taylor Loft and The Gap, and I sit back and watch these bitches who have no idea that there was an original 90210 rocking the same shit I did 20 years ago.

This past weekend, I went to a 2-Day festival at the beach. I knew I was gonna see some shit that would make me feel hella old, but I was hella stoked because I was going with some awesome chicks, to drink drinks and jam out with our clams out. But not literally. However, some chicks missed the memo about keeping your kibbles and bits in your clothes, because bitches were literally "bottoming out" of their mom-jean-shorts. I give you example B.


Mos Def said, "Ass so fat, you could see it from the front." NOT, "Ass so fat, you can see it from the bottom of your shorts." I was almost drunk enough to go up and try to pull her jeans out of her cookie, because my cookie was feeling sympathy for hers, but I didn't want to catch a case over some broad in shorts that probably looked like she was peeling apart a grilled cheese when she took them off. Fuck. That. Shit. 

And don't think I am hating on chicks for wearing busted ass shorts, because they are skinnier than me. I was also snapping pics of bikini-clad-bottoms and sending them to my friends to show off chicks who had all the business in the world wearing that itsy-bitsy-bikini. I love a good ass, especially in a bikini. I do not like to look at an ass that looks like it has been in a panini press all day. 

The other issue I had with the chicks this weekend were the ones that didn't understand that not every fashion trend is for them. I am not a skinny chick. I rock between a size 10-12 on a good day, but the difference between them and me, is that I know it. I dress for what looks good on my frame, not what looks good on a 6'2" vietnamese size 2 mannequin at Forever 21. And if these chicks feel great rocking their outfit, good-for-fucking-them. But guess what? I am pretty sure many of us don't want to be subjected to your flabalanche hanging over your shorts or watching your cottage cheese sizzle in the Florida sun. I give you exhibits C and D:



Just because you can get into a size 4 or an itsy-bitsy-bikini, doesn't mean you should wear it out. Ever. And to these girl's friends: shame on you for wanting her to look like a sea-beast in a bikini so you could look better. SHAME THE FUCK ON YOU for not pulling her aside and saying, "Boo, you think maybe you want to put on some shorts that might fit a weensy bit better or maybe don't borrow my bottoms?" You are not being mean by gently letting your friend know that she looks like a condom filled with mayonnaise. Ok, maybe don't use my exact phrase, but feel free to use the Cliff's Notes version. No really, feel fucking free to let a bitch know what is up. Ain't nobody got time to look like 10 lbs of crazy in a 5 lb bag. Ba-leed-dat. 

Besides being too fat to breathe in your shorts, too big for the junior section bikini, or having an ass that looked like someone squeezed the wrong end of the toothpaste, the other thing I saw a lot of this weekend was, what I like to call, the "kitchen sink" look. Where you take a bunch of different clothes and accessories and put them all on at once. I get that is fucking called "layering." I still hate it. Why the fuck do you want to look like a homeless person who has to wear all their clothes at once because they have nowhere to store them? The irony of this outfit is that it supposed to look so effortless and carefree, like, "Oh, look at how whimsical I am, I just put on whatever is in the closet, matching be damned." Fuck you in the field where you think you live, wannabe-woodland creature. You spend more time trying to look like you spent no time putting together an outfit than I do looking like I turned the lights on when I got ready - and I had time to shave my beaver, because if you are going to wear shorts where your punanni hangs out, you had better have tamed your bush. I saw this chick when I was watching Train and felt like I wanted to run a train... on her outfit. I present to you, Exhibit E:


I call this ensemble: Fanny Packs Across 'Murica! Now, I own a fanny-pack. It's Gucci. For years everyone said that my fanny pack was wretched and my argument was and always will be, "IT'S FUCKING GUCCI, BITCH."My fanny pack is the epitome of grace and elegance and usually filled with fine booze. Not Molly, generic cigarettes, my sister's fake I.D., and broken promises. And for fucks sake, the "overjorts" are almost as bad as the mom-jeans. If the only farming you have done is just straight up being a hoe, then do you really think that overjorts are the look for you? At least she had both straps snapped. ThankfuckingGod.

I know, I probably sound like a crotchety old hag, and I honestly could care less about that than your brother after I bang him. I had to make mention of this shit because it seems like the older I get, the uglier clothing gets. And I know, some of yous guys are saying, "Well, isn't that what your mom said?" And the answer to that is NO. Phyllis was pretty fashion forward, because I was fashion forward. In my pic from my High School graduation, she is wearing a dress that she borrowed from me. Covered in daisies, because like I said, I am the ultimate 90's bitch. 

Good fashion is timeless, trends and fads are just that - trends and fads. I thank my lucky stars there was no Facehole when I was growing up, mostly because of the slutty/drunk things I did back then, but more because of all the busted-ass outfits I wore. And OG's mullet. Which was pretty fucking sweet. 

And just to show you all that I am not hating on the youngins because I am jelly school, I will leave you with these parting pictures, to cleanse your eyes from all the aforementioned fashion fuckery. You are are very fucking welcome. 



Azzzzzzzzzz N Titties. And Big Booty Bitches.

H-Bomb

Monday, March 24, 2014

30 Hashtags Every Thirtysomething Actually Needs


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via - BuzzFeed