I'm a Pepper
i sat in root beer today.
no, not on purpose. jeez. it was just, you know, hanging out on the seat of the muni car. being root beer. so i sat in it. i know it was root beer because i smelled my ass.
don't you wish you were me, with an ass that smells like root beer? the best part is that i've got a doctor's appointment today. i hope he notices!
doc: excuse me. does your ass smell like root beer?
me: i thought you'd never notice! i think you're soooo dreamy!
also, my johnson smells like dr. pepper, but that's another story.
i didn't have a straw.
in completely related news, my brother and adam have officially kicked off bachelor party planning season.
they sent out some email about schoolgirls, lime green, tequila, and asscracks.
i am afeared.
i was at adam's bachelor party. to say that i got drunk would be like saying that the sun is warm. to say that adam drank tequila poured down the crack of some young woman's heiney-ho would be like saying that he drank tequila poured down the crack of some young woman's heiney-ho. 'cause he did. then his mom saw the pictures.
this is not, i believe, recommended by the FDA. i am not sure how heiney-ho fits into the food pyramid.
what do i want from a bachelor party, you ask?
good question. do i want to be smothered by strippers while pickled in gin? do i want to go into the woods to beat drums and hunt bear? do i want to explore space with my trusty sidekick, torpol the talking tuna fish sandwitch?
maybe.
from the initial email my brother sent out, i would suspect that it's not going to be so much up to me. perhaps the bachelor party isn't so much for me, as it is for my male friends to mourn the loss of my bachelorhood?
i've stipulated that i'm not keeping any secrets from my fiancee. other than that, i suppose it's fair game. i will just have to trust that they have my best interests in mind.
my liver already hurts.
and my johnson smells like dr. pepper.
you got your pepper in my heiney-ho.
two great tastes that...i wanna go to the bachelor party.
First of all, that was not an actual crack. It was prosthetic. And sterilized in advance. Second of all, how do you know you don't want to drink tequila off of a crack until you've tried it?
i can't remember. i know there's a reason...
hmm. let me ask your mother.