Big Trouble, In Little China

Thursday morning, 6am. I knew I shouldn't have drank Wednesday night. But see, when you have people who like to drink like I do, then ask if you want to go out for a drink, how the fuck are you going to say no?

Today's story isn't about the shit show that was Wednesday evening, rather, it's a story about what happened ON Thursday. In Chinatown. At my massage appointment. With my masseuse, we'll call her, Ming-Li.

I woke up on Thursday in a haze. I called into work "sick" because what transpired on Wednesday night was something out of J-Wunder's play book. All bad with nothing good coming out of it...not even a hook-up. Just booze, shit talking and A LOT OF TACO TRUCK. Oh, hey Ghetto Genius, if you're reading this, you're an asshole for not hanging out. Where was I???? Oh yeah, my massage.

So I get to Chinatown, still drunk and wait for my appointment to start. I get called up and walked to one of those rooms with the tranquil-ass music, candles and scent of strippers and Zen. I need this. I need something to kill this feeling of death because right now, I want to puke and shit my brains out. I strip down to nothing, wrap a towel around me and wait for my masseuse to arrive. Then enters Ming-Li.

Here stood 4 foot 2 inches of Asian. Feet looked like two bricks with the bottoms looking like they were dipped in broken glass. Hands looked like they went through 5 World Wars. Face was something you'd only see on Animal Planet. This was the woman that was suppose to take my stress, "self-inflicting flu" and pain away. To be honest, I was actually glad the broad wasn't smoking hot. Otherwise, I probably would have slipped her a five dollar bill and asked for a reach-around after.

And then the conversation begins:

ML: YOU. Lay down here. Face down now.

Me: Oh, I don't even get a handshake first? *failed joke*

ML: *blank stare* Don't waste time. Lay now.

Me: Alright, baby girl. Easy...E-Zeeeee.

ML: Where it hurt?

Me: EVERY.WHERE. Do what you Asians do, Ling-Ling.

ML: It's Ming-Li!!! So you want full body special?

Me: YEEEEESSSSS!

Now, what one would expect, would be getting rubbed down from head to toe. Not with this crazy ass Asian lady. Hell no! What this woman did surprised the shit out of me...mainly because I was super hungover.

As I'm lying face down, with my eyes closed trying not to puke and shit myself, I suddenly feel like a gorilla jumped on my back and was ready to put the beat down on me. I turn the fuck around and what do I see? Motherfucking Ming-Li, standing on my shit like she's representing China on the balance beam at the goddamn Olympics. This is the truth people.

Me: What the fuck are you doing, Jackie Chan?

ML: Ming-Li I say! Full body special. Make you feel goooooooood. Head down.

I put my head down and all I can think to myself was, "This bitch better not try some freaky shit. My days of hooking up with ugly massage therapists just to get it for free are OVER." Ming-Li starts whatever the fuck she's doing and within seconds, I was digging what the fuck she was doing. People, I don't know if you ever had an Asian midget massage you while they were standing on your back and if you haven't, you better get on that shit ASAP. I've never in my life felt something so exhilarating yet, relaxing. It was like this bitch was doing the River Dance (but to Chinese techno music) and just fucking me up in ways that loosened up every inch of my body.

Don't get me wrong though, this broad's feet were tougher than sandpaper and brillo pads put together, but for fucks sake, how feet like that made me feel so good was anybody's guess. Then it all turned for the worse 20 minutes in...

Relaxed and feeling my Chi in this motherfucking place, I began to get the hangover sweats. Like, really bad. Dripping with every ounce of what I drank the night before, I stop Ming-Li and ask her if she can give me some water. I take two drinks, lay my face back down and start to become ok again. I start to breathe really slow and start to count backwards from 100 because what I think is about to happen next, probably won't be good at this goddamn moment in time. Ming-Li is fucking me up like a boss and I'm enjoying every second of it...well, that was until she did some Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu shit that made this moment one I'll never forget.

As I was right fucking there shaking my hangover sweats off, this bitch takes both my arms (as if she was about to crucify me), then jams her heels in my mid back. As she's doing this, she's saying, "Ok, this the fun part." Fun part my ass, people. What happens next, I'll never be invited back to this place ever again...

Ming-Li goes to town on me in this position while her feet move from my neck, down to my tail bone and back up. While this is happening, my stomach is beginning to speak and it was at that moment, I knew I had to focus on breathing and talk myself into not puking or shitting myself. For 27 seconds it worked, then the pre-puke saliva came coming...

This crazy bitch says some shit in Chinese, repositions my arms, pulls me up from behind like that scene from Titantic, digs her heels right above my ass cheeks and then all fucking HELL BROKE LOOSE.

I PUKED AND LET IT FLY.

THEN I SHIT MYSELF. LIKE, A SHART THAT TURNED INTO A SHIT, SHIT.

The pressure on my body was too much. Puke was coming out like that scene from the Exorcist. Shit was coming out of me like that scene in Bridemaids where Melissa McCarthy is shitting in the sink and her butthole was creating lava. I'm trying to tell Ming-Li to stop but this bitch has me in such an awkward position that I can't even talk. Puke is just flying out as well as all the shit I drank and tacos and hot sauce I consumed on the late night. Don't even get me started about me shitting myself in the towel I'm wrapped in. This was like a Quentin Tarantino movie gone wrong, but oh so right. It was like I couldn't stop. It was like Ming-Li was actually cleansing me of my demons. It was like she was giving me an Asian private exorcism her damn self.

Ming-Li finally stops, jumps off and then stops screaming at me in Chinese as tears are running down my face, puke is splattered on the floor and walls and shit is pretty much running down my leg and ball sack. Side note: Definitely had too much hot sauce the night before. But I digress.

Me: Fuck. Why? Why did you do that, Ming-Li? Who the fuck massages someone like that? You're evil. Sooooo evil. *tears still running down face*

ML: Ching, chang, bo-luk, sing lai cho. (not sure what the fuck any of this means but I'm pretty sure it was something along the lines of "You're a dead man and now the Triads will be on the hunt to kill you and your family, monkey mouth bitch."

I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know what else to say. That said, I did what any other person would have done in my situation...

I rolled the fuck off the table, grabbed my clothes, threw a hundred dollar bill at this bitch and darted towards the door, still wrapped in a shit covered white towel that I could have given zero fucks about. The worst part was that as I was speed walking, what I left behind me was a trail of dookie and size 11 footprints.

Lightheaded, ashamed and pathetic I head into an alley to gather my thoughts and figure out what the fuck just happened. I take my towel off and use the clean parts to wipe whatever poo is still on my body. At this point, I don't even care if I get it all off since I drove here. I put my clothes on and have a seat on the curb to calm my nerves. It was then that some little ass Asian dude walks towards me with a dead fucking chicken in his hands and says, "You look like you had long night. I sell you this chicken for five dolla. It's good luck chicken. Get you pretty girl." It was then and only then I could only laugh about what just happened. I look at this cat, hand him a ten dollar bill, he hands me the dead chicken, I get in my car and take off.

Once I got home, my roommate looked at me and said, "What in God's fucking name happened to you and why the FUCK are you holding a dead fucking chicken?!"

My reply: "Life choices and bad decisions, bruh. Life choices and bad fucking decisions."

Lost Boxers, The No-Hitter, Four Drunks and The Strip Club Visit

It was a Wednesday I'll never forget. Not only because I witnessed history, but the events before and after that historic moment, I'll always remember...ok, try to remember.

The Giants were playing the Padres in an afternoon game. My buddy and I met up, while my cousin and other buddy were gonna meet us a little later.

We head to Red's Java on the Embarcadero for a few beers to get us going. Beer after beer, we're sitting there just chillin', enjoy the scene and talking about all kinds of bullshit that dudes talk about. Money, bitches, food, bitches, sex, bitches, money, beer, sex and crazy bitches. About 2 hours in, I head to the port-a-potty to take a leak.

I'm in the honey hut and I start to take a piss, and while I'm whistling some tune from a porn I was watching on my phone the night before, I say to myself, "Damn, I gotta fart. Need to let this shit out." I spread my legs a bit to give my ass cheeks some breathing room and with one big deep exhale, I fart. That's when shit got R-E-A-L.

When I farted, I shit myself. And when I say I shit myself, I mean, I literally shit myself. No sharting here. Oh no. Shit literally came out of my asshole as if I was planning on taking a shit. Now, a lot of you are probably saying, "Jesus, ANOTHER fucking shit story, J? How can a grown ass man not control his bowels? Fuck." Well, there's a simple answer to that question.

SRIRACHA.

See, the night prior, I decide to douse the living fuck out of my dinner with half a bottle of this stuff. And as I've gotten older, any time I eat anything with a hint of spice, the next day, my stomach gets all fucked up. Even though I know this is the case, I'll do it anyway. But hey, sometimes a motherfucker gots to do what he gots to do. Know what I sayin'?

Anyway, so there I am in this port-a-potty with my boxer briefs covered in dookie, corn and I think arugula. Trying not to panic, I start to curse the Sriracha Gods and at the same time, turn to my right to grab some toilet paper. Just my fucking luck, there's 4 squares on this goddamn roll and I need to try and get rid of all the dookie that's in my boxers as well as my whole butthole and ass crack. Of course, I think I can do it and end up getting shit all over my hands. My life is ending as I know it. Especially since my buddy is wondering what the fuck I'm doing and there's a hot chick who is waiting in line, to use the bathroom.

I saddle the fuck up, pull up my pants with the only two clean fingers I have and decide to go inside to the real bathroom they have and deal with waiting in that long ass line. I get in line with my butt cheeks clinched so tight you couldn't even stick a dime between my ass. That's when I hear, "Hey Susie, did you step in dog poop or something? Smells like someone is covered in shit."

FUCK MY LIFE.

Here I am trying to be all fucking cool with tight ass butt cheeks and shit covered hands that I don't look at anyone, keep my hands as low as I possibly can and try not to make any sudden movements so that any slight wind can catch the scent and waft that shit everywhere.

After 15 minutes, I FINALLY get into the bathroom, take off my shoes, jeans and boxer briefs. I look up, see myself in the mirror and realize, "Am I really half naked in a public fucking bathroom with dookie in my goddamn drawers right now?" Yes, yes I am.

I literally washed my hands for 5 minutes, wiped my ass with at least half a roll of toilet paper and made sure no dookie got on my jeans. All was good! Thank you leg day for giving me the strength to keep my ass cheeks so tight no shit seeped through.

As I gather myself, put back on my jeans and shoes, I realize my boxer briefs are lying on the floor. I had to think fast so I pick up my shit drawers, make room towards the middle of the trash can and ditch them there. Mission accomplished and I'm free balling the rest of the night. What is it with me and shitting myself at bars? FML.

We get to the game, I tell my buddies what happened and of course, they look at me as if that has never happened to them. FUCK YOU GUYS, btw. More drinks are flowing, the crowd goes wild and Tim Lincecum throws a no-hitter to beat the Padres. What a goddamn way to end the game, right? Well, all was pretty bad ass until we left the stadium.

It's about 3:30pm when the game ends and we head to a bar to eat and drink more. This time, we start ordering shots along with our beers and I can tell something is gonna go down. We have this awesome idea to go to the strip club and within minutes, we're in a cab and on our way to the Crazy Horse.

People, I have been to some of the best strip clubs and I've been to some of the absolute worst. The Crazy Horse in San Francisco, CA is probably the worst fucking place I've ever been to in my life. Why? Well for starters, it was a $20 cover charge and us guys along with two dudes who looked homeless, were the only assholes in there. Second, the stripper who we all thought was the only fucking stripper there, had a vagina that smelled so bad, I almost threw up on her. My buddy thought it was funny to throw a few ones in front of me so she can do an ass to mouth booty bounce for 30-45 seconds. You would think it was her ass that was foul. Oh no. Her ass smelled like cocoa butter. It was when she did a 180 turn and her vagina was in my face that I felt like I dipped my head in a sewer. I almost thought she shat through her cooter. Yeah, it was that fucking bad. Bitch stained my nose with that scent. No joke.

AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!!!

The trip there was short lived. I'm talking, after I almost threw up, argued with the cashier I wanted my money back for a vagina smelling like a decomposed body, short lived. She wasn't having it though because we were all so drunk that we made no sense when we were talking. Truth.

We leave, head on out to the Gold Club and drink even MORE. The talent there was eons better than the shit we saw at the Crazy Horse. So much better that within the first 10 steps of walking in that joint I got a dance from a girl who I'm pretty sure could kill me with her thighs if she wanted to. LEGS FOR DAYS!!! Anyway, as the drinks were flowing and we were making it rain ones and hail quarters (btw, don't throw change at this place...they will want to fucking kill you), I look around after 30 minutes of being there and notice all my buddies are fucking gone.

Drunk, dazed and confused, I close my tab and decide to run to the BART train since I have no idea of time and think I'm gonna miss the last train. My ass finally gets to the station and come to find out, it's only like 9:30pm or some shit like that. Mind you, we've been going at it since 10:30am. That's a long fucking day of drinking and fuckery.

Right as I get to my train, I spot my buddy, drunk as shit and scarfing down a TON of McDonald's. He sees me, shares some Chicken Nuggets and fries then I roll the fuck out like a BOSS! Not really, just needed that shit to sound dramatic.

I finally get to my stop and see there are no cabs around. I'm too drunk to call a cab so what do I do? I take my ass to my car and crash in the back seat. 3am rolls around and I wake up all scared and shit. For a minute I thought I was in jail but I was just a drunk fuck, like usual. I get home, take off all my clothes and wake up the next day, still drunk with my ticket to the game a few one dollar bills from the strip club, next to me. WINNING.

If you ask me, I gotta say it was a day well spent. Then again, it was also fucked up.

I'm too old for this shit.

Cheers, bitches!

The CREW, Booze, Strip Clubs, Poor Decisions and A Bulldozer

It was something no one from The CREW could prepare for. All I knew was that everyone had some idea, but at the end of the day, had no fucking idea...AT ALL. Thanksgiving weekend wasn't just about family and friends getting together, but The CREW meeting face-to-face FOR THE FIRST FUCKING TIME. EVER.

Me, Flo-Rich, Anonymous, H-Bomb who were part of the present six, joined RoMo, K-Piddy and The Boss (who have been around for days and are still considered part of the posse) for a weekend of pure and utter fuckcitement (new word, you're welcome). The Boss however, she's the broad that kinda manages shit, but during this weekend, she wasn't even trying to manage the fuckery that was about to go down. Could you blame her?

As planned and promised, we got fucking drunk. From beer to vodka to tequila to whiskey to angry, the mission was set and accomplished. Fools were getting faded, Flo-Rich was glued to her fucking phone Facebooking, Twittering and Instagraming so much that Anonymous pulled her ass to the side and said she was two posts away from a goddamn intervention and an old fashioned Bukaki feeding. Yeah, she's on her phone that much. But hey, she's important. Important people do important shit. Whatever.

Night one was nothing more than hanging out at the Horseshoe, a few other joints that I can't even recall and me getting angry because I have no idea. I've come to find out that if I mix whiskey into my little buffet of alcohol intake, I turn into an angry man. For no apparent fucking reason. There was a point in the night where I became so angry I just started yelling at inanimate objects and telling H-Bomb I was going to jackknife her in the tits if she didn't find me an Asian masseuse who specialized in reverse cowgirl riding and sandwich making, simultaneously. That shit all came to a screeching halt after she told me she'd do a drop knee and dick punch me if I didn't stand the fuck down and stop acting like someone who just drank alcohol for the first time. Bitch may be small but she packs a punch like Tyson.

AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT...ASS KICKING.

No stories on night one are worth talking about because to be quite honest, we all played the conservative drunk card...well, except me because I just don't give a fuck. Onto night two...

We meet up with K-Piddy and my boy Shapiro at Northstar Bar and start the night off drinking. Right out of the fucking gate it's shots of Fireball, Fernet, some fruity gay shit and every other kind of alcohol you can think of. At one moment of the night I took a step back, looked around and realized someone in this group was going to die or get into some shit. It was probably going to be me. Mother fuckers were ready to get down, to get down. When that shit happens, watch the fuck out.

K-Piddy: "So we're going to a strip club tonight, right?"

Me: "You ask me that question again, I will slap the fuck out of you then piss on your face. Of course we're going."

Flo-Rich: "So J, you know you can't tell me we're going to a strip club and not go, right? Don't think I won't embarrass your ass on Facebook come Monday."

Me: "Does it look like I would tease a woman who likes strips clubs and not go to a fucking strip club? Stop that shit, go Instagram something and keep drinking your tequila."

The rule of the night was simple:

No one goes off on their own tonight. No one dies. 

More drinks are flowing, more shit is being talked to one another and by this time, everyone in The CREW is ready. Ready to do some fucking damage. I've never seen more intense looks in peoples eyes. Looks that say, "I'm ready to do some shit that would make a goat throw up. Real talk." Not gonna lie, I was a little scared. Scared that I had the ability to take this shit Hangover style and not feel bad about IT or anyone who was willing to follow my lead. So we drank even more. The best and worst idea ever planned. 

Shot after shot, drink after drink, I made sure before we went to the strip club we were fucking drunk to the point that if we were gonna do damage, why not do it in style. We close our tabs and head to the Condor Club. This is where it all went downhill. 

I'm not gonna bore you guys to death with all the nit-picky shit, so I'll just get down to the details. 

While standing in line, 4 of my co-workers see me on their way to a bar, stop, stare and say, "At it again huh, J?" That right there should tell all you folks how the fuck I roll. Or not. Who gives a fuck.

The cashier chick was the only woman in that club who made my night. Why you ask? Because of this conversation:

Me: "Yeah, I'm paying for myself and those two big breasted chicks behind me."

Cashier: "Wait, what?"

Me: "Me and those two hot broads behind me. I'm paying for us."

Cashier: "Wait, what?"

Me: "Three people. I'm paying for one male and two fine ass females to look at some strippers."

Cashier: "Wait, what?"

Me: "I know the music is loud up in this bitch but listen...I just want to pay for three fucking people. Are you fucking deaf lady?"

Cashier: "Wait, what?"

It was then and only then that I realized this chick wasn't deaf but was reading my shirt and smiling the whole fucking time because she was digging it. As I look like a complete fucking fool, RoMo and The Boss just shake their heads and tell me to sit the fuck down and have another drink. Well played, cashier lady. Well played. 

From the moment I walked in this joint, it fucking sucked. Actually, it was straight up depressing. You would think for a place that was filled with an even amount of men AND women, wall to wall, that this place was bound to have some bad ass bitches. 

WRONG. 

There were two cute girls and that was about it. One chick was about 4 months pregnant and was so fucking awful that Anonymous crumbled up a dollar and threw that shit on the stage like he was skipping fucking rocks on the lake. BTW - that was the only fucking dollar she got for her two song dance. And it wasn't even a dance. It was more like a jiggle and a few tummy rubs like the bitch was starving. Then there was the girl who did nothing more than hip check the pole. Like her body went into a seizure and her ass cheeks wanted to fight something. Around this point, Flo-Rich downloaded Angry Birds on her phone because it wasn't even worth looking at. She even tweeted about the shit. Never mess with Asians when it comes to strip clubs. They love strip clubs. Just not shitty ones.  


Then there was the "pole dancing champion". One would think this was going to be fucking epic, right? Again...WRONG. This chick had mad skills on the pole but other than that, she didn't do shit. When she wasn't climbing the fucking thing like Spider-Man and sliding down that bad boy like a group of firefighters from Ladder 49, she just stood there and checked herself out in the mirror. Trying to  catch her breath and shit. No dancing whatsoever. Maybe a couple of heel clacks but that's about as far as this bitch got. CLICKETY CLACK CLACK! That's it. And she did this for two fucking songs!! Get the fuck outta here with that shit woman! Pole technique - A fucking +. Execution, enthusiasm and dancing ability - GO FUCK YOURSELF. If you thought that was bad, after her "dance", she booed the fucking crowd then gave everyone a thumbs down...literally. Well, except for the one chick by the stage who was rockin' the tightest fucking mullet west of the Mississippi. Bitch had some hefty ass mud flaps and was proud of it. Matter of fact, her White Snake ass smelled like a whole can of Aqua Net but no fucks were to be given by her. NONE. Mad props to you, Rosie O'Donnell. Mad props. 

I could see the disappointment and sadness on everyones faces when I looked around. It was so bad that I started to apologize because I had no idea that the Condor Club was more like a topless bar with women who would more than likely pay their patrons to fuck THEM then the other way around. It got to the point where Anonymous hit up Cat Woman ('memba her?) and bounced the fuck out (story to be told by the man himself). That's how bad it was...that Anonymous would rather go hook up with a chick who smelled like potpourri and mayonnaise then to see strippers not do shit that strippers do. 

H-Bomb drank more and decided the only way to see how bad this place was, was to get a private dance. 10 minutes later, she was kicked the fuck out. Why? I won't go into all the details (I'll let her tell you guys this shit in a column), but from what I was told, she took a roll of nickels and made it hail on Strip Tease Magee. If that wasn't enough, she tried to negotiate the lap dance fee because "Bitch looked broke as fuck and danced around like she had one leg, T-Rex arms and three titties." True story. 

That's how the night was going...so we left, drank a shit ton more then I blacked out. Around 3:30am, I woke up in one of those bulldozer lifts on an empty street by a homeless man. He didn't wake me up because he was trying to help but, apparently I took the fuckers spot where he sleeps at night. When I came to, I checked my phone and all I saw were 6 text messages...all from different people. 

Flo-Rich: "J, see this picture? That's you passed the fuck out inside of a bulldozer thingy. We left you because you told us you were still drinking. Hope you're not dead."

The Boss: "Jesus fucking Christ. Never seen a man eat pizza so fast then tell a whole line of women you are giving oral exams for shots of whiskey. I think that chick you made out with in that bathroom you took a pic in had something. Go get checked please. Oh, hope the cops didn't arrest you for sleeping in that bulldozer. LOL."

K-Piddy: "Sorry I missed you guys. I was upstairs at the Condor. Don't ask how much money I spent. We don't talk about things like that."

H-Bomb: "Pussy."

Anonymous: "Dude, I just got a foot job from Cat Woman. Hey, is it true The CREW found your ass in a bulldozer passed the fuck out? See you back at the hotel if you're not in jail. Drunk fuck."

Mom: "I hope you're not dead, son. I know how you get with your friends. Call me when you get this."

I don't know what happened after the strip club. But apparently it was good enough to take a picture and document. I didn't get arrested, I didn't get in a fight, I didn't fuck a stripper but I did do something that I just remembered...after the homeless guy told me to get the fuck up, he went into a port-a-potty that was near the bulldozer...I got so pissed for him waking me up as I was leaving, I thanked him by drop kicking the port-a-potty while he was in it. Wait, what? 

I'm going to hell but tell me something I don't know. 

Just remember...if you don't stick together, fucked up things will happen. Specifically to you. 

Open Door Policy in San Francisco

When you have to hold onto the side rail, you're in trouble!

Gone in 60 Seconds

As I sit here, hung the fuck over, I wanted to tell all of you what happened to me this weekend. First off, a majority of you are all aware I was at my good buddies bachelor party in San Francisco. So if you're looking to hear some story about it, it ain't happening. At least not right now it ain't. Just know that I drank my life away from 10:45am til 2-3am (I think). It started with the a 12 pack of Coors Light and some shots of tequila at the golf course. That was just for me. I was fucked up by the time the round was over and well, the rest was fucking history. Never thought the man they call "J-Wunder," could drink for a goddamn party of 10 people. But shit, that's how I fucking roll. Go big or go home, right? One thing I know, is that Charlie Sheen would have been proud of me. But I digress...

What I wanted to let everyone know, was that I was fucking robbed. Not like "at gunpoint" robbed. Just robbed...whatever the fuck that means. And not by some big and bad, intimidating mother fucker either. Oh no. I was robbed by a goddamn female crackhead bum. You read that correct. I.WAS.ROBBED.BY.A.GIRL.BUM. Right before my very fucking eyes too.

There I am with my buddy at Carl's Jr. @ 10:45am. Hungry, still drunk, 1/4 hungover, smelling like jager bombs and wanting to die from the massive Charlie Sheen-ing I decided to take on last night (minus the briefcase full of cocaine). How I didn't throw up, is a goddamn mystery to me because if 72% of Americans drank the shit I did Saturday night, they would be in the goddamn ER getting their stomach pumped or fucking dead. I'm no alcoholic but when you combine Booze + Bachelor Party in the same sentence, I go out like it's the last fucking party on earth. The funny thing about this Carl's Jr., is that it's located in the Tenderloin. For those of you that have no clue what I'm talking about, let me tell you about the place I like to call "The T-L."

IT'S FUCKING G-H-E-T-T-O. Combine the craziest mother fuckers on earth that are homeless, drug addicts, alcoholics and psych-ward escapees and you have - THE TENDERLOIN. I can honestly say, this area of San Francisco is one place if people don't know where the fuck they are, don't bother walking through it. However, if you want to get stabbed or mugged by a gang of homeless people, then have at it. The mother fuckers in this area are bigger than the mafia. More gangsta than gangsters. Crazier than your vato friend they call "Little Puppet". Mother fuckers in "The T-L" just don't give a fuck and will kill for cheeseburgers and milk shakes. They smoke rocks like the shit is a pack of Marlboro Reds. That's how these crazy fools roll. And it scares the living shit out of me, folks.

So now that you have the picture set in your head...

As my buddy and I are eating in this lovely establishment in a very fucked up area, we noticed one thing: BUMS. Lots and lots of fucking bums just cruising in and out of this goddamn place like it's a fucking homeless shelter. In about 15 minutes, my buddy and I witnessed a bum in an electric wheelchair stealing soda and putting that shit in his big ass coffee mug, one bum talking to himself and plotting on how to kill the non-English speaking cashier, and two other bums trying to steal other peoples food. This is what I witnessed all in 15 fucking minutes people. And in the 16th minute, I was greeted by a most crackheaded female bum the world has ever seen...

Crackhead: *approaching me very slowly* "Excuse me sir, can I ask you a question?" *She begins to lean over as if she's about to kiss me*

*I shoot up like a cock rising with my hands up ready to fight*

JW: "Bitch are you crazy?! What the fuck?!"

Crackhead: "I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry." *She leaves and goes outside*

I go back to my seat, finish my burger and fries, grab my phone to send a text then say, "What the fuck?! That bitch stole my phone. That mother fucking bitch stole my phone!" At this point, I'm heated, get up and yell to the Carl's Jr. employees, "CALL THE MOTHER FUCKING COPS RIGHT NOW! THAT BITCH STOLE MY FUCKING PHONE!" After I said that, all you heard were fucking crickets in a busy ass Carl's Jr. No one did shit. No one said shit. Just blank ass stares. Mouths wide open as if they were waiting for me to pull out my dong and start jabbing it in their mouths or something. They looked at me as if I wasn't speaking English. Here I am yelling that I got robbed and they do nothing but look at me as if I was a goddamn alien with a small pecker. Within seconds, I go outside and chase this bitch down. The madness ensues...

JW: *At the top of my lungs* "Bitch, give me my mother fucking phone or some shit is about to get fucking real."

Crackhead: "I didn't take nothing. I don't know what you're talking about."

JW: "Fuck you bitch. Give me my mother fucking phone or I'm gonna get Jackie Chan on your ass."

*Meanwhile inside Carl's Jr. *

Worker: "So what happened?"

Buddy: "The bitch stole his fucking phone. Did you not see him yelling this shit two seconds ago?"

Back to the confrontation...

Right at that point of yelling at this crackhead, I realized something. The louder I was getting, the more crazy homeless people were coming out from under newspapers and goddamn cardboard boxes. It was like I was finding myself in a really fucked up nightmare where I'm about to die. As if they were going to unite as one big ass Voltron Bum and attack me. I then said to myself, "Man, I need to chill the fuck out right now. No phone is worth getting stabbed with a dirty ass needle and contracting AIDS by tomorrow." I mean, my phone has a password and the battery was about to die, what's the worse that could happen? I guess the more interesting question is, what the fuck was this bitch going to do with my phone? Sell it + her vagina for $25 and a hit of crack?

I got taken by a pro. Did I deserve it? One of my good friends says it's Karma for all the shit I talk about people on this blog. So if that's the case, I'll keep talking shit because my ass ain't gonna stop. I do it for my readers and I ain't trying to disappoint you guys. All I know is that I'm phoneless until fucking Tuesday and it's going to suck big fucking donkey dick.

Having no phone is like wearing a condom...it just doesn't feel right.

A bum stole my phone. A female fucking bum stole my phone right before my very eyes. And I think that bitch took 3-4 french fries as well. This is the story of my life. Having the most random shit happen to me so I can talk about it. I guess this was a good ending to a bachelor party weekend.

WTF Clip of the Day - 80's Style