Archive for November, 2012


Smoke There’s Fire

So this is gonna be a short one. I’ve had a recent experience that must be shared, seeing as it is FUCKING JOKES.

So here’s the deal. Friday night I’m out with a couple of my buddies for some drinking and drinking and like. More drinking and stuff. It was good drinking.

The night itself was decent, nothing outrageous. So the whole night doesn’t make a blog entry. Getting drunk and stumbling around doing random fucking shit isn’t all that interesting on paper. Though in practice it’s fucking sweet as shit. Shit isn’t that sweet. I should probably say. Sweet as marshmallows.

Anyways. We’re at a random bar. I don’t remember where. And when I’m drunk I do enjoy a nice cigar. So Aces and I step outside for a smoke.

We’re standing there next to an alleyway, and this fucking drunken large ass Asian guy stumbles down the street and turns toward the alleyway. It actually means nothing that he’s Asian. And doesn’t forward this story at fucking all. But he’s Asian, and I’m very meticulous with my details. So fuck you.

As he’s passing us he gets mad fucking close and sticks his face right in our faces, and just stumbles on. Aces and I think this is fucking jokes, so we watch him stumble. And he stops mid alleyway and starts pissing. Facing the other way, obviously. We saw no shaft. Don’t worry.

And when he’s finished he stumbles back and stops at us. Now this guy is FUCKED. Fucking TrainWreckFucked. He stood there fucking staring in our faces, eyes barely focusing on the two of us standing there. I could literally see his pupils dilate as he tried to look into our eyes or whatever shit this motherfucker was trying to do.

Rooster: Yo man. You okay there? You havin a good night?

LargeAsian: MMMMMMMRRRGMMGGMMMGGGG

That’s what he fucking said. I swear. Mmmmmmmrrrgmmggmmmgggg. It was fucking elaborate.

He looked at us a few more seconds and then tried to walk away. But instead he kind of just, stood in place and did some kind of fucking feet shuffle. Which didn’t get him anywhere. And he looked back up at us with this look of surprise on his face. Like he thought he walked away, only to realize he didn’t fucking go anywhere.

Aces and I are silently dying. Trying not to laugh.

Rooster: You don’t look so good man. You feeling alright?

LargeAsian: NNNNNMMMNNNNGGGGMGRRRRG.

This guy was a fucking conversationalist. I kid you not.

Rooster: Here man. I bet you could use one of these.

I handed him my half finished cigar. Cause I’m a decent motherfucker. And this guy needed my aid.

And I swear to you. He fucking grabs the cigar from my hand. Continues looking in our faces, and without even glancing at it, puts it in the pocket of his hoodie.

My fucking lit cigar. He fucking put my lit cigar into his hoodie. And he did this like it was the most fucking normal thing he could have done. Like he was just checking the time or some shit. That’s just what he does with fucking cigars. Obviously.

Aces and I fucking cracked the fuck up. It was unavoidable. Did this just actually fucking happen?

And when we laugh he looks at us like he wants to kill us. But that quickly passes. He mumbles some more nonsense. And he just ambles away into the darkness of Montreal.

As you can see. This had to be shared. I really hope he enjoyed my cigar. He deserves it.

An experiment in baking

Alright. So. It’s 4:20 right now which is fucking appropriate. This is an experiment. We’ll call it a social experiment. This entry may be a complete fail. Or it may be entirely fucking brilliant. Personally, I’m hoping for the latter.

So right now, I’m sitting with the bossman Remicks. And the plan for tonight? Edible marijuana motherfuckers. We are currently in the beginning stages of making a nice batch of fucking pot brownies. Hurley, FlipSide, and two new faces, Sink and Greek , will be joining us a little later. And we’re gonna trip our balls out of our sacks.

Now to do this properly, you gotta extract the THC from the ganja. As you can see below, one method to do this, is to simmer your pot in vegetable oil, and use that shit to make your fucking glory cakes.

  

We’ve done this in the past, I’ll tell you about it sometime. But for the sake of this blog, I’ll tell you it was not much of a success. Seeing as we made the mistake of baking our weed straight into the brownies. Which is a no go if you wanna do this properly. So here’s hoping for success.

So the experiment? It’s simple. To see if I can successfully document this night, throughout, while it’s happening. Obviously you can see the possible fuck ups here. If the brownies work. We’re gonna be hiiiiiiiigh. But I will do my best to keep returning to this page. And by tomorrow morning, I will either have the jokesest fucking shit I’ve ever read. Or not.

Whichever way this goes, it’s still going up. So don’t judge too hard motherfuckers.

So, it’s 4:53 now. We’re gonna put these fucken brownies in the oven, and get back to you in a few hours.

7:28 – The brownies look fucking legit. I’m mad down. I’m just back now from a birthday dinner with the fam, and Remicks, FlipSide, Hurley, and his girlfriend Domo are sitting in front of me. Eating a fucken crazy Mexican Fiesta.

Fucking remicks has been hitting bong while I’ve been gone. The guy fucking used the weed leftover from straining the vegetable oil. Which is fucking stank as shit. And to my fucking hilarious surprise, the motherfucker has changed into super hipster Remicks.

8:33 – It is now go time. Sink and Greek have arrived. And these fucking brownies are going into our mouths, down our throats. And directly into our fucking MINDS.

Remicks interlude here.

So my buddy Aces texts me yo I want some “genoux brun” and I show it to Rooster.

Rooster: yo wtf is genoux brun.

Remicks: what is genoux?

Rooster: I don’t know.

Remicks: Genoux is knee

Rooster: brown knees? what the fuck is brown knees?

Remicks: are you fucking serious?

Interlude finished.

9:30 Yes. I fell for that shit. I don’t think I’m that high yet. Actually. Maybe I am. This is a difficult decision to make.

No. Ya. I’m totally high as shit. I came to this computer so I can type something super jokes that just happened. I think Greek was doing something weird. Wait. Here.

Rooster: Dude. What are you doing?

Greek: Tickling Sink.

And then we collectively died.

But my mind isn’t working on 100% right now. Some gears are blocked or some shit. I don’t even know what I’m saying.

What the fuck?

I’m tripping balls.

And as I’m writing here Hurley starts narrating my life or some shit. And upon realizing this, I fucking laughed to shit, and fell over. His words?

Hurley: Rooster just died in a mess of THC and sexstasy.

1051: Ya. I don’t feel like doing this anymore. Exeripment failed. I don’t feel like doing this anymore.

Im fucking high as shit. And other stuff happened that makes a story, but I can’t recall it at the moment. Do to highness.

Signing out.

Rooster is lost to us. All he has left is the desire to write this blog.

42.7 minutes earlier.

Rooster: Yo Remicks, can I have another brownie?

Remicks: Yeah sure why not.

Rooster fought the desire and tried not to eat for a total length of 12 minutes.

He ate the brownie

Now, 54.7 minutes from then, ten minutes since i started writing. Rooster yelled out how he wanted to write all of it down on his blog.

I leave you now, when he see’s this he will freak out and you will see the consequences. Out.

I’M TRIPPING SO MUCH BALLS. FUCK. Woah. Remicks. You’ve destroyed me. Everything is so amazing. FlipSide seranades my soul. Friendship trips my fuck. 

Out.

A WEEK LATER

Okay. So I had to give it a while to sink in.

Friendship trips my fuck??

What the fuck is that?

As you can see, the experiment was a fail. But totally also not. It’s fucking hilarious. I can say that without being fucking cocky. Cause this blog entry fucking kills me. Best way it could have possibly turned out. I hope it wasn’t too incomprehensible.

My Disasterpiece

So it’s a beautiful rainy ass day here in Montreal. And today, I am going to take you on another adventure. So let’s hop in our fucking tricked out time machines and jump back a year or so. I’m gonna tell you a fucking jokes story and you’re gonna shit laughter out your ass.

So I’m taking us back to a certain birthday event that I am fucking never gonna live down. I am rather embarrassed about my behaviour this night. I was a complete goddamned disaster.

So the birthday girl. Princess. You’ve been introduced to her in a previous story. For her 20th birthday, we all go out to a place called Candi Bar. This place is trippy as fuck. When you walk in, you’re fucking overwhelmed with pink. And I’m not talking about vagina.

The place is like an overdose of estrogen. All the tables have gumball machines. The stools are modelled after women’s legs. The urinals in the washrooms are open lips with bright red lipstick. And as I mentioned before, there’s pink everywhere. Pink walls. Pink ceiling. Pink lights. And lot’s of fucking women. Everywhere. It’s one of the only places I’ve ever fucking been where the men were out fucking numbered by female presence. So I suppose in that retrospect, “pink everywhere”, also applies. Allow me to example you.

So we have a reserved table in one of the corners. And we all get settled in. Some of the usuals are there. Granola, FlipSide, and PornStar, Princess’ boyfriend. As well as a few of Princess’ friends.

So we get two bottles. Which, given that we’re not at the fucking liquor store, costs fucking 200 dollars fucking each. Fuck. And a number of people had bailed on the night, so paying this amount was fucking incredibly difficult. And this lead to a few of us having to pay 80 bucks or 100 bucks or whatever. I won’t speak for any others, but I was fucking pissed. And to make matters more fucked, I was recently the victim of a huge relationship fail. So, emotionally, I was kind of a disaster.

So needless to say, I fury drank up a motherfucker in that bitch.

And I wasn’t the only one. The group of us drank that shit like water. Shot after shot. Drink after drink. So fucking fast that the entire group of us just got smashed as shit. Well, at least I did. And a lot of it is a big jumble of memory.

This fucking place fills up like crazy on a good night. The layout of the place is like a bar, but by 11 it turns into a fucking club. The entire floor of the place becomes a dance floor. And moving through it is like trying to push yourself through a brick fucking wall.

And this is Fucked up Rooster level 1: TipsyButNotDrunk

So we’re all fucking moving around, girls are dancing, and I’m fucking screaming. As many of you may know, I’m known as the loud one. Even when I talk my volume knob is turned to fucking full. I can’t help it. I wish I could, but no matter how hard I try, I revert back to my standard volume level. It’s totally my fault. I’ve raped my ears with enormously loud music over the years. But I enjoy it that way, so consider is statutory rape. If you please.

And when I’m drunk, I have no control over the level of my voice. None whatsoever. So being at level one, I’m fucking tipsy as shit. And I’m sitting next to FlipSide, and some guy that’s part of a group next to us. Now I’m a fucking lovable drunk. And I have no problem with making gay jokes towards friends of mine. On occasion it can be too much to handle for certain friends. But this time it was not directed towards one of my friends.

So I’m not sure what happened, but I’m pretty sure I drunkenly bumped the guy next to me. And he made some joke about it. And I responded with something along the lines of…

Rooster: Sorry man. I couldn’t help myself. I mean, look at you!

I don’t even know why I said it. I basically hit on this guy that I’ve never met before. It was like a fucking go to response. And I thought nothing of it at the time. I didn’t even fucking realize what I had said. But I remember this look coming over his face. He was completely stunned by this response. And I just turned away as if nothing happened and started screaming towards my people once again.

On to level 2. FlakJacketFucked

At this point I’m fucking all over the place. Spilling drinks and knocking glasses over. Essentially breaking these glasses which I AM FUCKING SURE WERE PLASTIC. So I don’t understand that at all. I’ve even been back there since, and all the fucking glasses were plastic.

Princess is trying to calm me down. Cause I’m being fucking loud as a Motorhead concert. Fucking obnoxious as fuck. Her critical self also being accentuated by the consumption of alcohol. And on a good day this girl can tear a person apart at the seams if she feels so inclined. She could make Obama unravel. Robert Downey Jr. would start taking drugs again. She could get Axl Rose to apologize for his crimes. I don’t exaggerate.

But her shots at me are bouncing off the bulletproof armor that is Captain Morgan. Because I am a fucking pirate.

The waitress comes back around with another bottle for us. Fucking bad news. FlipSide starts pouring the vodka straight into PornStar’s mouth. Princess and the girls are dancing at the side of the table. And, being invincible, I don’t foresee any possible downside to the action I’m about to perform.

Rooster: I can fucking take it!!!

And I straight up grabbed one of the sparklers that came with the bottle. While it was still burning. I wrapped my whole fucking hand around the motherfucker, and being drunk, held on until I actually felt the thing searing my flesh.

And then proceeded to regret doing it with all my fucking heart. I had a nice 2nd degree burn all along the inside of my hand for a while. And that’s not my only injury from the night. But I’ll get to that.

Level 3. CloudNineFucked

So this is where my memory starts fading in and out. I am completely oblivious to many of the things that occurred past this point. I was fucking drunk as fucking fuck and fuck. Its fucked.

I barely know what I was saying. What I was doing. What I was fucking thinking. I was in a state of mind where I was doing whatever the fuck I wanted, regardless of the effect it had on those around me.

Fuck everybody else, I’m Rooster.

I say that with confidence, but really. I was a piece of shit fucking hurricane of disaster and chaos. But at the time. I was in the fucking clouds. I didn’t feel embarrassed or bad about my behaviour. I was fucking living that shit like nothing in the world mattered.

I assure you. I did not need anymore alcohol. I did not need a beer. At all.

But. I super fucking really did. So Granola and I steamrolled through the crowd to the bar. And at the bar next to me, there’s two chicks. I really don’t remember if they were hot. Their faces are photoshopped into my memory as pink fucking smudges.

I nudge Granola, and turn to the pink smudge next to me. And this is what I say.

Rooster: Sooooooo. Should I be hitting on you right now or what? (Yes. Those were my exact words. No fucking joke.)

PinkSmudge: Je ne pas parle anglais. Desole. (Which, in french means, I wanna fuck your face off. Slash not. It means I don’t speak English)

Rooster: Good.

I turned back to Granola after this exchange, eyes fucking wide as fuck. I was so happy that these women didn’t understand my terrible attempt at a come on. And Granola was dying laughing. Understandably.

So from here we transition into level 4. We’re stumbling around. Crazy ass motherfucking smashed to shit. At one point we’re all standing on our benches drunkenly dancing to Paper Planes by M.I.A. Shooting our hands off like pistols with the song. Which will forever be burned into my memory.

And then we’re making our way through the crowd to leave the bar.

Level 4. TrainWreckFucked

This is where I become the worst drunk I’ve ever been. The kind of drunk people want to talk about but don’t want to remember.

Upon reaching the outdoors, I’m hit by the realization that I have left my sweater inside. This is unnacceptable. I have lost too many sweaters while out drinking. And being the completely oblivious drunk, I turn around without a word and find myself faced by a lineup outside the bar. Totally unexpected. And without even thinking about it I lift the fucking wire and climb under in front of the entire line. I have no idea how these people reacted, because I am completely in my own brain.

And then I find my way blocked. The bouncer. A fucking monster black dude. Huge. But this didn’t faze me.

Rooster: I left my sweater inside.

The bouncer looked at me. And he must have seen how fucking gone I was.

Monster: I can’t let you inside.

Rooster: I was just in there. I need my sweater.

Monster: I can’t let you inside.

And I fucking snapped. I still cannot believe I reacted the way that I did. Never in my life have I been this furious. And never have I been the angry fucking drunk. Sure, everyone knows I’m fucking loud, and fucking clumsy. And I can be a relatively angry guy, easily provoked. I’m Irish. Go figure. But the anger never comes like it did that night. And I am genuinely embarrassed about how I acted. But at the time I did not feel that way. It’s like a was a fucking man possessed. I was the fucking Incredible Rooster. And I was fucking ready to smash. First temper tantrum I’ve had since I was fucking 10.

So I snap. Next thing I know I’m screaming my fucking brain apart at the bouncer, right up in his face, jabbing my finger towards him.

Rooster: YOU FUCKING GO GET IT THEN! YOU GONNA FUCKING STEAL MY FUCKING SWEATER YOU FUCKER!? YOU CAN’T FUCKING STOP ME.

This guy’s a fucking bouncer. And I was the fucking dumbass white guy that everybody hates. And he had fucking patience.

Rooster: IF YOU WON’T LET ME IN. FUCKING PAY ME. EITHER GO FUCKING GET IT YOURSELF. OR FUCKING PAY ME. CAUSE NOW YOU OWE ME MOTHERFUCKER.

Monster: If you’re fucking friend doesn’t get out of my face, I’m gonna knock him out.

Rooster: FUCK YOU YOU’RE GONNA KNOCK ME OUT. I FUCKING NEED MY SWEATER.

I really loved that sweater.

This whole time my friends are trying to calm me down. The only one I remember was Princess. But to no avail. At some point this random guy, who to this day I remember being super chill about it, comes up to try and calm me. He puts his hand on my shoulder gently and says some nice words.

RandomGuy: Yo man. It’s all good bro. You gotta calm down.

Rooster: FUCK OFF. GET THE FUCK AWAY.

I actually responded that way. Buddy. If ever by chance you stumble across this blog. I am so sorry. You will forever hold a place of sorrow in my heart.

So now something had to be done. I had to be fucking stopped. Or I would have got the fuck destroyed out of me. And it’s Princess that got it done. I dunno if she worked some crazy Princess magic or just asked the bouncer. But she’s telling me she will go look for the sweater if I just wait outside.

And I shut the fuck up immediately. And I waited. I stood there off to the side glaring at the bouncer. Fucking boring holes through his fucking face. It was the most intense standoff you could possibly imagine. Except that the bouncer was not glaring back. A couple times he’d shoot a look of “What the fuck is this guy doing?” But I didn’t give a fuck. This guy fucked with my drunken mind. And stood in the way of me and my sweater. That’s a relationship you don’t get between. Apparently.

And then I got the bad news. Princess comes out and walks over to me. And as soon as she says it. She cannot find my sweater. My entire demeanor just dropped. Anger gone, energy gone, and utter fucking depression takes over.

Without a word, my face went completely blank, and I turned around and stormed the fuck away.

Level 5. HumanDisasterFucked

So here I am. Alone. Fetal position. In a dark alleyway. Completely and thoroughly broken. All because I lost my sweater. For sure there’s more to it than this. But I won’t tell you that this was after my ex peaced the fuck out, destroying me in the process. That totally didn’t happen. No no. I just lost my sweater. And MonsterBlackBouncer happened to be the unfortunate soul in the way.

But at this point in my night, I don’t even think I remember that happening. I’m the fucking drunk guy who’s almost completely unresponsive. You know that guy. We’ve all been there. And we all fucking hate it. But most of us are likely good friends, so we push past that, and nurse the emotions of the poor depressed soul that is, in this case, Rooster.

Everyone keeps calling me, and of course, I’m ignoring the calls. And then, out of the dark drunken haze that is my mind, FlipSide appears. Stumbling down the alleyway towards me. He’s somewhere between FlakJacketFucked and CloudNineFucked.

FlipSide: Rooster! I fucken foooooound you! Come on man, we gotta cab.

Obviously I don’t respond, because I’m a human disaster. I somehow manage to get up and stumble away with him. And sure enough, there everyone is, waiting for me with a cab.

Now you’d think this is where it finishes. But no. I can’t just fucking stop disastering. As I’m walking to the cab, while basically nobody is looking, I step into a pothole. And twist the everloving fuck out of my fucking ankle. And I hit the ground fucking screaming. A curdling fucking death scream.

And the only people that saw it, were Princess, who was laughing so hard that she couldn’t even speak, and the cab driver. And he’s tripping balls, and madly gesturing.

Cabbie: HE FALL! HE HURT! LOOK!

I don’t remember anything after this. I don’t remember getting into the cab, getting out. None of that shit. But I do remember the cherry on top. The ultimate fail ending of this disasterful night.

On the walk home, I cut through this unbelievably dark park down the road from my house. I’m on the phone with FlipSide. It’s 4 in the morning. And I have fucking no clue why we were talking on the phone. And a ways into the conversation, I disappear off the other end of the line, and all FlipSide hears is a yell, a thump, and cries of pain.

FlipSide: Rooster! Yo Rooster! What the fuck?? What happened?

Rooster: Dude. Oh my god. I fucking faceplanted the sidewalk.

So here I am. Leaving the park. And I fucking trip on lord knows what. And smash my face into the edge of the fucking sidewalk. And this, is how I end my night.

The Aftermath.

Waking up the next morning was fucked. I didn’t remember shit at first. So I completely tripped balls when I woke to blood on my face and pillow. From my fucking FACEPLANT OF GLORY. I look at my hand, burned to fucking shit. And then, as I put my feet on the ground, I fucking go right to the floor. My dead ankle completely giving way. And I had fucking no clue what was happening.

And this is my embarrassment.

P.S One of our buddies that was there that night filmed a decent portion. Fortunately he stopped before I died. But the video is sick. And it was used to promote the bar. Which, also, is rather sick. Check out his channel here. https://www.youtube.com/user/alexxpacificifilms?feature=watch

And check out the video below. Doooooooo it