Besides having two left feet and a strut as smooth as Frankenstein, I’m pretty sure this guy likes to party. I know it’s always a doozie when you see a video is ten minutes long, but believe me, you don’t want to miss this unicorn of a YouTube video. Rob Zombie looks like he decided to chug a handle of Kentucky Gold, pop some mescaline, and eat twelve xanax bars before deciding to make a morning trip to the convenience store for some much needed Budweiser. Either that, or he’s made out of jello.
The extent of this guys drunkenness is fucking amazing. I wish I was there to buy him that Bud Heavy and see where it takes him.
Here’s an abbreviated list of things I wish I could see this guy perform following his trip to the gas station:
- Ride a bicycle
- Play on a moonwalk
- Enter a limbo competition
- Run with the bulls in Pamplona
- Win a game of jenga
- Eat a meal with a fork
- Spell his name
- Do the stanky leg
I always love going to parties, raves, concerts, and puppet shows where there are photo booths to get ridiculous in. Nothing like capturing the moment, eh? You know what else I love? Looking at random photo albums on Facebook from parties that I never attended or heard of. Some call it creepy, some call it inquisitive, I call it hilarious. All the following people came to party, but ended up getting ripped on by some random kids blog.
This guy is stuck at the nexus of Mortal Kombat and ecstasy. Not only does he look like a raging douche, but he also epitomizes how skewed one’s percepion of “cool” is while on drugas. This rookie rolled to the party solo. That is a Men’s Warehouse guarantee.
This pack of lesbos keeps it real. The girl in the middle is essentially an all-star. She came to party and she didn’t over do it with rookie antics like glowsticks or some hardass face like her linebacker friend to the left. She painted herself to look like a robot, then, she wrote “Fucking Machine” on her shirt. Point taken. Rage.
My gosh I’m scared of the girl on the left.
This fangbanger just got done reading the last of Twilight series and saw some humans to prowl on. When he’s not working at Hot Topic, he enjoys being the person everyone looks at during a party and wonders what the hell they’re doing there without a cape and a fake sword. This guy definitely dabbles in Dagorhir.
Look at this crew, they just rolled up to the party in a lifted Dodge Ram. These guys are killing it. Homie up front did drugs for the first time and decided it was worthy enough to break out his little hippie brothers tie dye shirt. Redneck Jim in the back left broke even out his hemp necklace. These guys drove all the way from Dawsonville to rage. Props to Sigma Wexicon.
Say hello to the drug dealer at the party. Tip to the custies, the bookbags these guys carry at concerts aren’t filled with overnight clothes and a toothbrush. If they are wearing a grill and a chain, you can put your life savings on the fact that this guy has a bag full of felonies. Props on the grill, that thing probably gets you laid on the reg.
Nice flair, dog. Besides working at Flingers, this guy listens to electronica while not shaving. Apparently, he’s so emo that it’s not even gay when he hooks up with dudes.
Until next time, have a weekend worth writing about and avoid being a douche on camera.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnns! We all missed you and hope you didn’t subsequently die of an overdose after this picture was taken. I’m pretty surprised to see Beans with a female. I was under the impression that this guy mated with grizzly bears but apparently he dabbles with retarded girls, too. Look at her face, there is no way she doesn’t have a lisp and speak with a deaf persons voice.
I’m not even sure what to say about the red shit.
This picture is awesome. If I could have this pic blown up to at least 24″x36”, it would be hanging on the wall in my place. How can you not love a pregnant redneck woman holding a watermelon and a glock. Crazy white girl isn’t even smiling, which means she’s serious, which is scary.
“Dadgummit, I knew we were supposed to get our glamour shots taken today for our Daughters of the American Revolution scrap book, but I lef all ma props at the house. All I had in ma truck was a big ‘ol watermelon and this here pistol.”
Everyone say hello to Pizza the Clown. This picture straight up gives me a bad feeling. It’s like a creepy version of a picture that you’d see on the wall at Chili’s. Who the fuck becomes a clown anyways? It’s definitely the creepiest of all professions. You dress up like a fag, you name yourself something ridiculously stupid, and your job is to be with kids all day. Sketchy. I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve always hated clowns with a passion. Talentless hobos, all they have to do is sit there and look stupid. My dog can do that. I would feel a lot safer if a dog were around my kids instead of this fucking douche with a testicle as a nose.
If you watch this clip from “Hot Rod” and don’t laugh, then you probably are about as much fun as a quadriplegic at a dance party.
This guy enjoys getting his penis slobbed on by cows. Not just any cows, but little baby ones. Say hello to the rightfully suspended police officer named Robert Melia. Stop thinking about how much this guy looks like the owl from the Tootsie Roll “How many licks?” commercials and start thinking about how far you want to stay away from this creep. In 2006, Melia was charged with animal cruelty for sticking his purple headed yogurt slinger into the mouth of FIVE different cows in Burlington County, New Jersey and the charges were just recently dropped. Apparently, bestiality is still legal in New Jowsey. WTF!?
There is something seriously wrong with our legal system if someone can walk away from something as perverse as this. Also, how the fuck is bestiality not illegal there? I mean honestly, it literally means having sex with animals. How is that possible? I know plenty of people that have gotten drunk and made some bad decisions, but I’m yet to hear a story about someone waking up next to something that isn’t human. To be honest, I would probably bang a mermaid, but that’s about as far as it goes. Besides, the laws are a little blurry when it comes to supernatural creatures anyways. Seriously though, how do you even get to that point where you decide to start having sexual relations with an animal? I mean, it just seems like a lose-lose situation.
New Jersey hasn’t gotten around to outlawing bestiality yet, so this guy gets to use the same water fountains and public playgrounds that your darling children get to use. Really? This guy walks around sticking his wanker in live beef and gets to live a normal life while people are going to jail for marijuana. If you did a poll in your local community and asked everyone if they would rather have potheads or cowfuckers in their town, what do you think the outcome would be? My faith in mankind wants to think potheads would win by a landslide.
I know this is a shocker, but this COP is also accused of sexually assaulting three young girls and one little boy. Let me get this straight. This guy molests litte girls, little boys, little cows, and he’s not in jail getting raped by Bubba yet? That’s a crying shame. Can’t wait to see the YouTube video of this guy burning in hell.
Check out Robert Melia’s girlfriend. If I were him, I would’ve told the judge that I was just confused and thought the cows were my girlfriend.
I wasn’t aware that people were still down with doing ether but you can always count on the blue collar, old school grunge hippies to break out the good stuff. Honestly, I don’t what this guy is on but I think everyone needs to steer clear. Anybody seen the show Eastbound and Down? This is quite reminiscent of the dance rendition Kenny Powers put on at the middle school dance. These bong fuckers are literally on their own planet and I love it. A couple observations that you might find enjoyable. Please note:
- The main guys Ramone’s shirt that was redesigned by Spiderman. That shit is awesome. Tucked in with the black belt and black jeans makes me want to go buy a pack of Doral’s.
- The guy in the back with the mustache’s striking resemblance to the Monopoly man. All he needs is a monocle. P.S. Sick cycling shoes. I bet you feel like a robot.
- The fact that both of these creeps are rocking those bandana-ish hats that you can only find at truck stops along the highway. They obviously rode together. Or shared a space ship.
- The extent of the obliviousness of the peope that are surrounding them. Apparently, not many people noticed the epicurian dance party that was going down. I can guarantee you Don Francois would be right in the middle of this rager.
Props for going to the edge you crazy fuckers, but I think I’ll stand a few steps back and just watch you guys make fools of yourselves.
A quick mental image to get you through the weekend: Imagine these guys 5 hours AFTER this video was taken. I don’t know where they’d be, but I bet it involves an alleyway, alcohol, mescaline, broken glass, and a whole lot of lonesomeness.
Hey good looking American’s. Another yachty weekend is in the books and my gosh was it a doozie. I’d like to thank a lot of people, but most of all, I’d like to thank my friends Ryan and Kerry for falling in love and having a wedding so we could turn Chateau Elan into a jungle gym.
The weekend started out great. We did the whole “Let’s go out for a beer or two on Friday, wake-up early and make an early tee time.” That never works.
Once the good times start goin, we said “F the tee time”, and the next thing I know I’m waking up on my buddies couch with a crick in my neck and a mouth dryer than Lake Lanier circa 2007. Fast forward to 3:30pm and we’re arriving at Chateau Elan, barely missing our 10am tee time. After taking our time and drinking a few cold beers, we were ready for a fantastic night of drinks and dancing with old friends… and their Moms (ow ow).
I walk into the wedding ceremony smoother than Bill Clinton at a single mothers fundraiser. Everyone is all smiles and enjoying the old friends and faces that we haven’t seen since high school. Right after being seated, I get a phone call from a randar number. The person on the other line sounds like a female crying, and I’m thinking to myself this can’t be good. She claims that she is my ex-girlfriend and that she had something very important to tell me. I step out of the room and the girl on the other line that sounded like recycled death tells me that she is pregnant. As you can imagine, my face turned white and my jaw smacked the floor. I apologized repeatedly as I racked my brain wondering how the hell this happened. I assured her that I was willing to do anything to help and told her I called her back immediately following the wedding.
I got back to my seat and told two of my best friends the most devastating news of my life. My anxiety is higher than Jack’s beanstalk and I’m sweating like Chris Farley on a 3 day bender. I was contemplating how f*cked my life is and how the hell this happened because I hadn’t been “talking” to her recently. I then get a text from a certain asshole named Matty Barnwell reading, “Call me now. It’s bad. Everyone knows.” As you can imagine, my anxiety jumped ten fold to the point where I was shaking and about to puke in the middle of a wedding ceremony. FML.
After the “I do’s”, I run outside the room and call the dickhead back that had texted me. He answers and says, “You got punked.” WTF!
I don’t know who the fuck raised this kid, or whether or not they even showed him where “the line” was, but he most definitely crossed it. I wanted to be mad, but I was so damn relieved all I could do is laugh and feel the sensation of my anxiety come falling back down as if I had eaten 13 zanzibars. Honestly, those ten minutes seem like an eternity and probably the worst sixth of a hour I’ve ever experienced. Fuck you Mat, that may have been funny in your fucked up little brain, but I was pregnant for 10 minutes and I didn’t like it. Kudos for the planning though, you knew when the wedding started and where I was at the time. Bad choice of subject matter.
The rest of the night was a reward. We went on to the reception where the yachtiest band in the world was playing. Yacht Rock was there to keep the wedding A-squad, and boy did they keep things smooth. Everyone was dancing like madmen with class, and I managed to drop about 6 Crown and gingers on the dance floor, which always means things are going well. Shout out to Chateau Elan staff for swiftly cleaning up the glass everytime. No one was phased though, they just kept on dancing like they were born to do. It was just like the closing scene of “Slumdog Millionaire”, minus the Indians and the choreography.
Post-reception, the wheels really started turning. The bride and groom sped away in their “Just Married” golf cart, with soup cans following closely behind. My genius self, and one of my most esteemed high school friends, decided it would be totally legit to steal the golf cart. We managed to high-jack the vessel and boy was that a good decision. We ripped up the Chateau like Lindsay Lohan at a table piled with cocaine. We were giving joy rides and we managed to get the golf car on two wheels multiple times. All the while the cans were jingling and the Chateau staff was chasing. I even managed to throw off one of my friends that I really don’t even like that much. WIN!
We marched on to Paddy’s Pub where Jager bombs and freshman year of college antics ensued. We all thought it would be a great idea to go nuts– and we did. One friend of mine puked all over himself and his beautiful girlfriend. She was about as glossy eyed as Latrell Sprewell and was letting us all know that he’s ok “because she’s a nurse”. One friend got escorted home in a wheel chair. Another one of my good buddies even broke his nose, compliments of Don Francois himself. I would go into detail, but all you need to know is that it was in good fun, and that the littlest of paps in the nose can break it. We then put a night cap on the evening by ordering room service– to the lobby. It was like a scene off of Planet Earth where a pack of lions are tearing into a wildabeast carcass, except for it was a group of young men in their twenties hovered around an appetizer sampler. Classay.
I think a text from my friend, whose nose now resembles Owen Wilson’s, sums up this past weekend. It read, “I woke up in my car, I pissed myself, and I have a broken nose…. but I had a great time.” That a boy, way to keep shit positive.
Weekends are for winners, and we won. If you take away anything from this pointless story, I think one might benefit from learning how to pull a prank that is appropriate. Pranks about death, suicide, pregnant ex’s, or rape are probably crossing the line, so prank accordingly.
This guy has managed to actually be more stupid than he looks. I saw an article about this dude in a stall in Florida when I was down there last weekend and I knew it was blogworthy.
This dumb fucker must be one of the stupidest people on Earth. Two weeks ago in Tallahassee, Florida, this man genius went to the drive-thru teller and deposited $200 cash, a deposit slip, a bag of weed, and a small bag of cocaine into the bank. WTF? Are you kidding? This dude must have been whacked out of his brain or just literally the dumbest person to ever drive a car. Honestly, how fucking stupid can you be to put that shit in the canister, look at it, not think anything of it, and then shoot it over to the bank teller?
The teller tipped off the local police that a fucktard driving a white SUV had deposited a misdemeanor and a felony. The really smart guy realized what he had done and went BACK thru the teller line to get back his ganja and nose candy. Much to his surprise, the police were waiting there for him. When asked about it he replied, “If you said that I did it, then I did it.”
Way to play your cards there home slice.
I pray this guy doesn’t have kids.