I had off from work this morning so I figured I'd do some shopping today at my local mall. As I was shopping, I felt the 3 redbulls I drank begging to leave my body and I rushed towards the bathroom.
I was at the urinal peeing, minding my own business, when I heard grunts and a light plopping noise from one of the stalls. I immediately stopped peeing, mid-stream (no ordinary task). Something didn't sound right.
I heard another grunt and another light plop and I realized this grunt was no ordinary grunt. Thankfully, I had recorded all the grunts on my phone, and I quickly ran them through an app I had downloaded a few days ago, Male Vocal Pattern Analyzer Lite (I'm not going to buy the full version lol). I analyzed the pitch and tone and realized that something was a little off - it did not match up with the voice patterns in the database.
I immediately put away my penis and sprinted over to the stall. I kicked in the door with all my might and the door swung back, hitting the side of the stall with a huge THUD. "DUMP POLICE!" I hollered, forcing my way into the stall. On the toilet sat a man taking what looked to be squeezing out a very hard BM, probably due to weeks of poor hydration and fiber intake.
"I'm sorry sir," I said to the man, sheathing my tanto and bowing in respect. "I noticed your vocal patterns were a little off and I-" I stopped speaking mid sentence. As I went down to gaze at his penis, I noticed that there was nothing there. Nothing.
My blood ran cold and the color drained out of my face. It all made sense now. This was no regular man - this was a trans man. I had heard rumors of these men years ago, hushed stories around the campfire of people biologically born as one sex who experienced a different gender identity. I remember laughing it off, thinking that there could never possibly be anyone different than me, since, as many of you know, I am a huge Amiibo collector.
But here I was, face to face with a transman. The men's room, a room I once called a restroom, no longer was a safe space where I could freely and openly communicate with my fellow man about how much corn was in our bowel movements - the restroom had become perverted, morphed from a safe haven for men to just a place where people pee and poop and then leave when they're done to go about their day.
I turned to run, but the man had blocked the exit to the restroom. I tried to unsheath my tanto, but the man utilized his whip-like tongue to knock it out my hand. He stood over me, prepared to deliver the killing blow.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a shot rang out and the man dropped to the floor and disintegrated into a green slime. Emerging from the last stall was none other than Jeff "Puff Puff I'll Pass" Sessions. He rammed another silver bullet into his rifle, fired at the goo to ensure his kill, and then helped me up.
"You did a great deed here, Mr. Shinobi," Jeff said. "Your policing of this bathroom has allowed me to peacefully take one of the most powerful BMs of my life. The poop hit the water with such force that the toilet water acted as a sort of makeshift bidet, allowing me to take a messy shit but not even have to wipe. A dump like that comes once in a lifetime, and your good deed will not go unnoticed."
Jeff "Puff Puff I'll Pass" Sessions reached into his fanny pack, pulled out a $25 Best Buy Gift Card, and handed it to me. "Use this on anything you like at over 1,900 Best Buy locations worldwide, or on their website, which offers a convenient shopping experience from the comfort of your own home." With that, Jeff gave me a kiss on the cheek and left the mens' room. I ran out to remind him to wash his hands, but like that, he was gone.
Anyway, it was a really interesting experience this morning!
Friday, January 27, 2017
Sunday, January 15, 2017
Applebees truly is an experience like no other.
Applebees is more than just a restaurant, it is an experience.
When you step through the door of the restaurant your first time, you are transported into a world unlike any other. The low light of the restaurant casts shadows on the knick-knacks adorning the walls, and the translucent hum of the various screens through the restaurant create a sort of ethereal presence in the restaurant.
Right off the bat, you know you are in for a dining experience like no other.
"Welcome to Applebees!" a cheerful host says to you. "How many are in your party?" You hold up two fingers. "Right this way!" She responds. As you walk to your table, you wonder how she can deal with so many customers, yet remain so chipper, but shrug it off as another wonderful mystery caused by the splendor of Applebees.
The waitress takes your drink order and for a moment, your head is spinning. Do you want a soda? Do you want iced tea? You look at the drink menu and you see a litany of alcohol beverages you have only dreamed about - Bud Light, Coors Light, Miller Light...
The waitress offers a helpful suggestion of an Oreo Shake, and you say that sounds great. She asks if you'd like a round of water for the table as well. You smile. This is the kind of attention to detail that you expect from Michelin Star rated restaurants, not a Neighborhood Bar & Grill!
As the waitress goes to fetch your shake, you peruse the menu. The pages are jam-packed with the names of delicacies that you can only imagine. Fiesta Lime Chicken? Shrimp N' Parmesan Sirloin? You shift in your seat; you suddenly feel very self-aware that you do not belong in this restaurant. Your palatte does not feel sophisticated enough for these cuisines, and you worry that you will not do these delicacies justice when you enjoy them.
Just at this moment, the waitress comes to your table and all your fears are dissuaded. You order the Chicken Tenders Platter (a local favorite). You take a sip from your Oreo Shake and breath a sigh of relief as liquified Oreos slide down your throat. You lean back in your booth and relax.
Suddenly, you hear a chorus of heavenly voices rise from behind you. You turn around to see all of the Applebees wait staff coming towards you, singing and clapping their hands. "Happy happy birthday, from Applebees to you," they cheer. "We wish it was our birthday, so we could party too, hey!"
As soon as they arrived, the employees scatter, leaving you to dwell on the beauty of it all; the fact that Applebees treats you with such precise, special attention, the five-star cuisine, the exotic decor, and the fact that the wait staff is so eager to share in your special moments with you.
When you step through the door of the restaurant your first time, you are transported into a world unlike any other. The low light of the restaurant casts shadows on the knick-knacks adorning the walls, and the translucent hum of the various screens through the restaurant create a sort of ethereal presence in the restaurant.
Right off the bat, you know you are in for a dining experience like no other.
"Welcome to Applebees!" a cheerful host says to you. "How many are in your party?" You hold up two fingers. "Right this way!" She responds. As you walk to your table, you wonder how she can deal with so many customers, yet remain so chipper, but shrug it off as another wonderful mystery caused by the splendor of Applebees.
The waitress takes your drink order and for a moment, your head is spinning. Do you want a soda? Do you want iced tea? You look at the drink menu and you see a litany of alcohol beverages you have only dreamed about - Bud Light, Coors Light, Miller Light...
The waitress offers a helpful suggestion of an Oreo Shake, and you say that sounds great. She asks if you'd like a round of water for the table as well. You smile. This is the kind of attention to detail that you expect from Michelin Star rated restaurants, not a Neighborhood Bar & Grill!
As the waitress goes to fetch your shake, you peruse the menu. The pages are jam-packed with the names of delicacies that you can only imagine. Fiesta Lime Chicken? Shrimp N' Parmesan Sirloin? You shift in your seat; you suddenly feel very self-aware that you do not belong in this restaurant. Your palatte does not feel sophisticated enough for these cuisines, and you worry that you will not do these delicacies justice when you enjoy them.
Just at this moment, the waitress comes to your table and all your fears are dissuaded. You order the Chicken Tenders Platter (a local favorite). You take a sip from your Oreo Shake and breath a sigh of relief as liquified Oreos slide down your throat. You lean back in your booth and relax.
Suddenly, you hear a chorus of heavenly voices rise from behind you. You turn around to see all of the Applebees wait staff coming towards you, singing and clapping their hands. "Happy happy birthday, from Applebees to you," they cheer. "We wish it was our birthday, so we could party too, hey!"
As soon as they arrived, the employees scatter, leaving you to dwell on the beauty of it all; the fact that Applebees treats you with such precise, special attention, the five-star cuisine, the exotic decor, and the fact that the wait staff is so eager to share in your special moments with you.
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
When was the first time you saw a black person irl
I was 24 years old. I was at Olive Garden (my favorite restaurant), when a man I now know as a black man approached me.
"Hi," he said. "My name is Mike. I'll be your server for this evening. Can I start you off with breadsticks?"
I looked at the man, confused. I saw clothes and glasses on a man, but for some reason he appeared dark. I figured it was just the lighting in the room, so I took out my phone and shined the flashlight on him. To my bewilderment, he stayed dark and did not get lighter.
I figured that the man just needed more light, and pulled out my second phone (reserved for calling my high school ex girlfriend to leave her seductive voicemails late in the night) to shine a second light. Nothing. Still dark.
"Excuse me, sir," the waiter replied. "Can you please stop shining these bright lights into my eyes? I am very sensitive to light and I just want to take your order."
I apologized. "I'm sorry, my friend," I said. "I have just never seen a dark, chocolate-y gentleman such as yourself, and I wanted to confirm that I was not just living in a world of darkness, and that it was your skin."
The waiter nodded, understanding. I told him to bring me breadsticks, on the double, and if I saw him stop at another table on his way to the kitchen, I was going to fucking lose it. As he went to fetch me my breadsticks, I reflected on what I had witnessed. "A black person! Wow, what a concept," I thought to myself.
The waiter arrived with the breadsticks. I dumped them into my trashbag and immediately asked for more, saying "yum yum in my tum tum, I just ate all those nummy breadsticks, load me up buddy." He brought back more, I loaded up my trash bag, and then I decided it was time to go.
I asked for the check. "All you've had is water and free breadsticks," the waiter said, confused and a little annoyed. "So I don't think you have anything to pay us."
"Thanks a lot," I added. "Looks like I don't owe anything, so I'll give you a 15% tip of $0, which is nothing. Sorry, Mike."
I grabbed my trashbag and got up to leave. Before I was out the door, I turned to the waiter.
"But it's not because you're black."
"Hi," he said. "My name is Mike. I'll be your server for this evening. Can I start you off with breadsticks?"
I looked at the man, confused. I saw clothes and glasses on a man, but for some reason he appeared dark. I figured it was just the lighting in the room, so I took out my phone and shined the flashlight on him. To my bewilderment, he stayed dark and did not get lighter.
I figured that the man just needed more light, and pulled out my second phone (reserved for calling my high school ex girlfriend to leave her seductive voicemails late in the night) to shine a second light. Nothing. Still dark.
"Excuse me, sir," the waiter replied. "Can you please stop shining these bright lights into my eyes? I am very sensitive to light and I just want to take your order."
I apologized. "I'm sorry, my friend," I said. "I have just never seen a dark, chocolate-y gentleman such as yourself, and I wanted to confirm that I was not just living in a world of darkness, and that it was your skin."
The waiter nodded, understanding. I told him to bring me breadsticks, on the double, and if I saw him stop at another table on his way to the kitchen, I was going to fucking lose it. As he went to fetch me my breadsticks, I reflected on what I had witnessed. "A black person! Wow, what a concept," I thought to myself.
The waiter arrived with the breadsticks. I dumped them into my trashbag and immediately asked for more, saying "yum yum in my tum tum, I just ate all those nummy breadsticks, load me up buddy." He brought back more, I loaded up my trash bag, and then I decided it was time to go.
I asked for the check. "All you've had is water and free breadsticks," the waiter said, confused and a little annoyed. "So I don't think you have anything to pay us."
"Thanks a lot," I added. "Looks like I don't owe anything, so I'll give you a 15% tip of $0, which is nothing. Sorry, Mike."
I grabbed my trashbag and got up to leave. Before I was out the door, I turned to the waiter.
"But it's not because you're black."
Monday, November 21, 2016
I remember when I first introduced drunkmuggle to my grandfather.
I remember when I first introduced drunkmuggle to my grandfather.
"Careful," I said quietly to muggle. "My grandfather is very old. Please honor him, and be gentle with this old fella's brittle bones."
Drunkmuggle approached my grandfather and extended his hand. "How do you do, old eye-talian," he said to my grandfather (who we call Peep Pop). I held my breath, hoping that introducing my Peep Pop to drunkmuggle would not be a mistake. Peep Pop extended his bony, quivering hand to meet drunkmuggle's, but all of a sudden I noticed a mischievous look in drunkmuggle's eyes.
"Don't do it, Peep Pop!" I howled, but it was too late. Drunkmuggle grabbed his hand and crushed it, breaking every one of Peep Pop's decrepit fingers. "Ya snooze ya lose, old man!" Drunkmuggle exclaimed, giddy with power.
He ran over to my Peep Pop's bookcase, where he began wildly looking through his books. He eventually found my Peep Pop's baseball card collection in its trading card book and took it off the shelf.
"Let's see," drunkmuggle mused, as he flipped through the pages. He stopped when he saw Peep Pop's prized possession, a rare Hank Aaron baseball card. "Who is this dusty old geezer?" drunkmuggle said, as he tore the card in half.
At this point, I was paralyzed with fear and disbelief, and my Peep Pop was in the deepest pain I had ever seen. He began to smash his left hand to match his broken right hand, and was screaming out "Hank, my boy," in memorial of his ruined card.
"Muggle, that's enough," I said, fighting back tears. "This dirty old man has learned his lesson to exist in the same room as you. Please spare him." Drunkmuggle looked back at me with a delirious smile.
"I'm not done yet."
He ran over to my grandfather's candy dish and pulled out all the Werther's Originals and cough drops and other things that old people consider candy and shoved them in Peep Pop's mouth. He then grabbed my Peep Pop's Congressional Medal of Freedom (which was awarded to him for killing the most civilians in the Vietnam War) and beamed it at Peep Pop's head, sending my Peep Pop to the Shadow Realm.
Drunkmuggle then left, making me have to take care of my own Peep Pop's funeral pyre and forge my name into his will all by myself.
tl;dr - drunkmuggle does not resepct elders
"Careful," I said quietly to muggle. "My grandfather is very old. Please honor him, and be gentle with this old fella's brittle bones."
Drunkmuggle approached my grandfather and extended his hand. "How do you do, old eye-talian," he said to my grandfather (who we call Peep Pop). I held my breath, hoping that introducing my Peep Pop to drunkmuggle would not be a mistake. Peep Pop extended his bony, quivering hand to meet drunkmuggle's, but all of a sudden I noticed a mischievous look in drunkmuggle's eyes.
"Don't do it, Peep Pop!" I howled, but it was too late. Drunkmuggle grabbed his hand and crushed it, breaking every one of Peep Pop's decrepit fingers. "Ya snooze ya lose, old man!" Drunkmuggle exclaimed, giddy with power.
He ran over to my Peep Pop's bookcase, where he began wildly looking through his books. He eventually found my Peep Pop's baseball card collection in its trading card book and took it off the shelf.
"Let's see," drunkmuggle mused, as he flipped through the pages. He stopped when he saw Peep Pop's prized possession, a rare Hank Aaron baseball card. "Who is this dusty old geezer?" drunkmuggle said, as he tore the card in half.
At this point, I was paralyzed with fear and disbelief, and my Peep Pop was in the deepest pain I had ever seen. He began to smash his left hand to match his broken right hand, and was screaming out "Hank, my boy," in memorial of his ruined card.
"Muggle, that's enough," I said, fighting back tears. "This dirty old man has learned his lesson to exist in the same room as you. Please spare him." Drunkmuggle looked back at me with a delirious smile.
"I'm not done yet."
He ran over to my grandfather's candy dish and pulled out all the Werther's Originals and cough drops and other things that old people consider candy and shoved them in Peep Pop's mouth. He then grabbed my Peep Pop's Congressional Medal of Freedom (which was awarded to him for killing the most civilians in the Vietnam War) and beamed it at Peep Pop's head, sending my Peep Pop to the Shadow Realm.
Drunkmuggle then left, making me have to take care of my own Peep Pop's funeral pyre and forge my name into his will all by myself.
tl;dr - drunkmuggle does not resepct elders
Thursday, November 3, 2016
Would you give up your seat on the bus for a pregnant ISIS Operative?
Scenario:
It is 2017. President Hillary Rodham Clinton, in her first act in office, has instituted a law enacting a nation-wide ban on White Men, in order to reclaim more land for the PoC and Non-Cis Americans. White Men, displaced from their homes, have turned towards the underground, where they now live in a vast system of subterranean tunnels, forced to siphon power from the various HRC Pleasure Domes enacted over every major city in the US.
For sustenance, the White Men survive off of algae and rats that are native to their new sewer home. For other supplies, the White Men must make monthly trips to the surface, where they routinely will perform high-risk raids on the various HRC Storehouses. These trips are very dangerous, and getting caught can have dire consequences for the White Men; captured White Men are sent over to Overlord Dunham for processing, followed by a swift execution performed by President Hillary Rodham Clinton herself.
You are a White Man on one of these surface raids. Your goal is to scout out the location of a Storehouse in the Atlanta area, as records (provided by Alt-Right Resistance Force) indicate that the Atlanta HRC Storehouse contains a cure for a certain strain of mold growing in the subterranean tunnels.
However, while on the bus traveling to Atlanta, you notice a young, visibly pregnant Muslim Womyn getting onto the bus. You also notice that her dress contains the insignia of ISIS - after President Hillary Rodham Clinton's inauguration, Clinton revealed herself as an agent of ISIS, allowing in all 650 million ISIS refugees (as fortold by the Prophet Trump).
The other seats on the bus are taken, and you can tell this young woman is visibly uncomfortable. Would you give up your seat for this pregnant womyn, even though she has aligned herself with one of the deadliest terrorist groups in the world?
Manspreading has been outlawed by President Hillary Rodham Clinton within her first week in office. All newly born White Men, before being cast down into the tunnel system they now call home, have their hip joints surgically altered in order to allow White Men to only open their legs to about a 45 degree angle.
This operation greatly reduces the mobility of White Men, leading many White Men to forgo a risky operation once they reach the underground: have their legs removed altogether and replaced with enhanced prosthesis legs that enable them to run and jump at 5x the normal rate of an unaltered White Man. This ability is one that will greatly come in handy during raids on the HRC Storehouses.
It is 2017. President Hillary Rodham Clinton, in her first act in office, has instituted a law enacting a nation-wide ban on White Men, in order to reclaim more land for the PoC and Non-Cis Americans. White Men, displaced from their homes, have turned towards the underground, where they now live in a vast system of subterranean tunnels, forced to siphon power from the various HRC Pleasure Domes enacted over every major city in the US.
For sustenance, the White Men survive off of algae and rats that are native to their new sewer home. For other supplies, the White Men must make monthly trips to the surface, where they routinely will perform high-risk raids on the various HRC Storehouses. These trips are very dangerous, and getting caught can have dire consequences for the White Men; captured White Men are sent over to Overlord Dunham for processing, followed by a swift execution performed by President Hillary Rodham Clinton herself.
You are a White Man on one of these surface raids. Your goal is to scout out the location of a Storehouse in the Atlanta area, as records (provided by Alt-Right Resistance Force) indicate that the Atlanta HRC Storehouse contains a cure for a certain strain of mold growing in the subterranean tunnels.
However, while on the bus traveling to Atlanta, you notice a young, visibly pregnant Muslim Womyn getting onto the bus. You also notice that her dress contains the insignia of ISIS - after President Hillary Rodham Clinton's inauguration, Clinton revealed herself as an agent of ISIS, allowing in all 650 million ISIS refugees (as fortold by the Prophet Trump).
The other seats on the bus are taken, and you can tell this young woman is visibly uncomfortable. Would you give up your seat for this pregnant womyn, even though she has aligned herself with one of the deadliest terrorist groups in the world?
Manspreading has been outlawed by President Hillary Rodham Clinton within her first week in office. All newly born White Men, before being cast down into the tunnel system they now call home, have their hip joints surgically altered in order to allow White Men to only open their legs to about a 45 degree angle.
This operation greatly reduces the mobility of White Men, leading many White Men to forgo a risky operation once they reach the underground: have their legs removed altogether and replaced with enhanced prosthesis legs that enable them to run and jump at 5x the normal rate of an unaltered White Man. This ability is one that will greatly come in handy during raids on the HRC Storehouses.
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
Every time drunkmuggle is suspended, I feel sick to my stomach.
I have a custom script running on my PC that I commissioned a computer science student back in college to write, where it constantly refreshes GameFAQs to check the status of drunkmuggle's account. If the script detects the status has changed to "Warned" or "Suspended", it will send a text alert / email (in case I don't have my phone) and I can immediately react.
This evening was an evening like any other. I was hanging out at my crib (street vernacular for "house") with some of my friends and we were watching Wednesday Night Football (we tape Monday Night Football and watch it on Wednesday) and drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade.
Let me tell you boys, we were are completely Hard (slang for drinking many Mike's Hard Lemonades) the entire time. I looked over at my buddy and I could see he had a Hard one right in the front of his pants! I thought that was funny because normally we put them on coasters on the table. I realized my own Mike's Hard was getting low and I said to my buddy "hey, can you toss me another Hard one?"
He informed me that we were all out and I'd have to get more Mike's Hards. I figured I could just have a swig of his and asked if I could put my mouth on his Hard one. He laughed, because we were both drunk and would normally never do this (because of germs; sharing a drink is disgusting), but eventually he gave in. I grabbed the smooth shaft of the bottle and just as I was about to put it in my mouth, my phone rang.
drunkmuggle was Suspended.
I howled. I let out a howl so loud and piercing that it woke up my son. I normally make him go to bed on Wednesday nights at 5:30pm partially because I don't want him to see me getting Hard with other men (the kid doesn't need to be exposed to heavy drinking at his age) and also because he's an annoying little shit and is usually asking questions about football, as if he were a nerd or something.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn't know what to do. I kept refreshing the GameFAQs page, hoping that this was some kind of mistake. Maybe some moderator was intending to remove a post praising the KKK but had accidentally clicked on the innocent drunkmuggle link. Alas, this was not the case.
By this point, my friends were all visibly upset and I noticed they were trying to leave, even though we were only part of the way through the game. "No!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I was inconsolable. I began thrashing about, throwing my collection of decorative throwing knives all over the crib (apartment). One knife struck my Native American friend, Big Bear Jim, in the neck. Blood gashed from his open wound, staining the carpet a deep red and splashing the walls. A sickly iron scent loomed in the air as Death claimed Big Bear Jim.
My son knew he needed to act quick. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small crucifix. "Dad!" He yelled. "Remember how Christ died for your sins? Well, drunkmuggle did the same thing. He will live in our hearts forever, and hopefully in 3 months he will rise again from the depths of purgatory and post wonderful stories about Japanese culture on CE again."
At that moment, I knew my son was right. My rage quelled. I tossed Big Bear Jim's corpse into the dumpster and put my son into the Punishment Closet, as he had broken one of my most important rules of the house (never make eye contact with me).
Anyway, I really just miss drunkmuggle and I think the mods should reconsider his suspension.
tl;dr - free drunkmuggle
This evening was an evening like any other. I was hanging out at my crib (street vernacular for "house") with some of my friends and we were watching Wednesday Night Football (we tape Monday Night Football and watch it on Wednesday) and drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade.
Let me tell you boys, we were are completely Hard (slang for drinking many Mike's Hard Lemonades) the entire time. I looked over at my buddy and I could see he had a Hard one right in the front of his pants! I thought that was funny because normally we put them on coasters on the table. I realized my own Mike's Hard was getting low and I said to my buddy "hey, can you toss me another Hard one?"
He informed me that we were all out and I'd have to get more Mike's Hards. I figured I could just have a swig of his and asked if I could put my mouth on his Hard one. He laughed, because we were both drunk and would normally never do this (because of germs; sharing a drink is disgusting), but eventually he gave in. I grabbed the smooth shaft of the bottle and just as I was about to put it in my mouth, my phone rang.
drunkmuggle was Suspended.
I howled. I let out a howl so loud and piercing that it woke up my son. I normally make him go to bed on Wednesday nights at 5:30pm partially because I don't want him to see me getting Hard with other men (the kid doesn't need to be exposed to heavy drinking at his age) and also because he's an annoying little shit and is usually asking questions about football, as if he were a nerd or something.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn't know what to do. I kept refreshing the GameFAQs page, hoping that this was some kind of mistake. Maybe some moderator was intending to remove a post praising the KKK but had accidentally clicked on the innocent drunkmuggle link. Alas, this was not the case.
By this point, my friends were all visibly upset and I noticed they were trying to leave, even though we were only part of the way through the game. "No!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I was inconsolable. I began thrashing about, throwing my collection of decorative throwing knives all over the crib (apartment). One knife struck my Native American friend, Big Bear Jim, in the neck. Blood gashed from his open wound, staining the carpet a deep red and splashing the walls. A sickly iron scent loomed in the air as Death claimed Big Bear Jim.
My son knew he needed to act quick. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small crucifix. "Dad!" He yelled. "Remember how Christ died for your sins? Well, drunkmuggle did the same thing. He will live in our hearts forever, and hopefully in 3 months he will rise again from the depths of purgatory and post wonderful stories about Japanese culture on CE again."
At that moment, I knew my son was right. My rage quelled. I tossed Big Bear Jim's corpse into the dumpster and put my son into the Punishment Closet, as he had broken one of my most important rules of the house (never make eye contact with me).
Anyway, I really just miss drunkmuggle and I think the mods should reconsider his suspension.
tl;dr - free drunkmuggle
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
How do you handle your white guilt?
Since a young age, I have experienced frequent episodes of extremely explosive, violent white guilt. Some days, it is so bad that I can do nothing but stare at the wall and sob. I shut down emotionally and am just a very difficult person to be around.
I've been dealing with this white guilt for a very long time and in the last few years, I figured enough was enough. As many of you know, I am a huge Amiibo collector, so I created a plan to deal with this guilt in a way that is productive and beneficial for all parties involved.
What I've done is created a sort of mult-racial coalition that gets together to work out race issues together. I have a few friends that I will invite out once a month to go over issues of racial sensitivity and repairing the damage my people have done towards them for decades.
Typically, we will meet up over a casual dinner - I prefer going to Olive Garden, as that is an inclusive dining experience that is neither too casual nor too formal. When we get to the restaurant, I will typically ask the waitress for extra breadsticks, under the guise that our party is exceptionally hungry from the long drive.
As soon as the waitress brings over the breadsticks and leaves, I will dump them into a trash bag I have fixed under my shirt. A lot of people don't know this, but Olive Garden actually offers you free breadsticks for life, assuming you do not leave the restaurant. When the waitress returns to the table to take our drink order (water, of course), I will howl something like "NUMMY NUMMY. ME WANT MORE BREADSTICKS NOW. LADY GIVE!" and begin pounding on the table. She will be thrown off her guard and rush back to the kitchen to provide more breadsticks.
This is the most important part of erasing my white guilt - I will subtley take the trash bag of breadsticks outside (under the cover that I need to go smoke a cigarette - to build this illusion, I will tussle the hair of any kid waiting and go "don't start smokin', buddy. don't be like me") and empty the bag in the footwell of the passenger seat of my car. I will then return to the table and repeat this process about two or three times.
Eventually, the waitress will start to catch on and begin delaying the delivery of breadsticks. This is my cue to leave. I will ask for the bill, which is (of course) $0, and I will leave her a 20% tip ($0). I will then drive home and use the breadsticks to make sandwiches for the month.
How do you guys handle your white guilt?
I've been dealing with this white guilt for a very long time and in the last few years, I figured enough was enough. As many of you know, I am a huge Amiibo collector, so I created a plan to deal with this guilt in a way that is productive and beneficial for all parties involved.
What I've done is created a sort of mult-racial coalition that gets together to work out race issues together. I have a few friends that I will invite out once a month to go over issues of racial sensitivity and repairing the damage my people have done towards them for decades.
Typically, we will meet up over a casual dinner - I prefer going to Olive Garden, as that is an inclusive dining experience that is neither too casual nor too formal. When we get to the restaurant, I will typically ask the waitress for extra breadsticks, under the guise that our party is exceptionally hungry from the long drive.
As soon as the waitress brings over the breadsticks and leaves, I will dump them into a trash bag I have fixed under my shirt. A lot of people don't know this, but Olive Garden actually offers you free breadsticks for life, assuming you do not leave the restaurant. When the waitress returns to the table to take our drink order (water, of course), I will howl something like "NUMMY NUMMY. ME WANT MORE BREADSTICKS NOW. LADY GIVE!" and begin pounding on the table. She will be thrown off her guard and rush back to the kitchen to provide more breadsticks.
This is the most important part of erasing my white guilt - I will subtley take the trash bag of breadsticks outside (under the cover that I need to go smoke a cigarette - to build this illusion, I will tussle the hair of any kid waiting and go "don't start smokin', buddy. don't be like me") and empty the bag in the footwell of the passenger seat of my car. I will then return to the table and repeat this process about two or three times.
Eventually, the waitress will start to catch on and begin delaying the delivery of breadsticks. This is my cue to leave. I will ask for the bill, which is (of course) $0, and I will leave her a 20% tip ($0). I will then drive home and use the breadsticks to make sandwiches for the month.
How do you guys handle your white guilt?
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