I can't decide what to title this thread so you guys can decide. Pick between:
"I'm Going to Hell"
or
"How I am Making My Fat Friend Rich By Getting Him to Screw Fat Chicks That Are About to Die."
Ok, so a few months ago my roommate, Phil brought a buddy of his (also named Phil) down from Virginia because the guy was having a hard time finding a job, paying the bills, etc. Phil is "heavy set" so to avoid the confusion between my roommate Phil and the other Phil, we just call the other Phil "Fat Phil." It works out rather nicely.
Fat Phil has a drinking problem. Roommate Phil gets Fat Phil a place to live roommating with some geeky dude across town. He also gets him a fairly decent job where he works. Basically, he's helping this guy start his life over. But Fat Phil still drinks. A lot.
I don't typically drink on weeknights, but Roommate Phil and Fat Phil told me that it was $3 Jim Beam night down at this local dive on the island I live on. I'd been working all day and night, so I figured that it couldn't hurt to have a couple of Beam and Cokes so I joined them.
Now, a little about this bar: It's a dive, plain and simple. But it's a very popular dive with good people and hot women on Thursday nights. Last night was not Thursday night, however. It was Tuesday. So the entire population of the bar consisted of me, Roommate Phil, Fat Phil, the owner of the bar, the bartender, and three drunk rednecks arguing over a game of pool.
The owner is a mid-thirties woman who's parents are so incredibly rich that they bought her that place just so she'd have something to do. I've only spoken to her twice...maybe three times because she's horrendously ugly and disgustingly fat. Now, I'm not above speaking to ugly or fat people at all, but she has an ugly personality to match and everyone knows that if you're ugly on the outside you better be a fucking Care Bear on the inside or NO ONE is going to want to talk to you. That, or be obscenely rich. Which this ugly bitch is. But I don't care how wealthy someone is, if I don't like you I can't associate with you.
And I'm not talking "kind of" rich, either. Her parents have "old southern money." And if you've ever lived in the South (particularly in Charleston) you would know that means pre-Civil War cotton and tobacco money. The only reason that I know that her parents are like this is because it's all she ever talks about. So in the two or three conversations I've had with her, she's told me all about it while I tried to escape.
Ok, long story short...
So we're sitting there at the bar having a couple of Beam and Cokes and the owner bitch starts talking to Roommate Phil and Fat Phil. I'm avoiding any type of contact altogether because she smells a lot like really dirty feet or really good cheese; I can't decide exactly which but I don't care.
But she eventually decides to leave to go home. On her way out, she jokingly asks both Roommate Phil and Fat Phil if one of them would like to join her. They both laughingly decline and she splits.
The three rednecks eventually get tired of arguing over their pool game and they decide to head for the door to receive their obligatory DUI's for the evening. So that leaves just us three and the bartender having some more drinks, swapping stories, and bullshitting about the owner.
As it turns out, she's one of those heifers that the ability to drink almost any man under the table, but if she gets a guy in her sights, she will act very drunk and ask him to take her home because she "can't drive." The bartender is telling us all these stories about her taking "regular-looking" guys home and getting them to do her because she got them shitfaced until 5 a.m. drinking free booze from her bar. So we're all having a good laugh about that until...
He lowers his voice and says, "Yeah, well...the other night she told me that her parents are about to die and she's going to get everything...millions. Then she went on to tell me that she has cancer and that she's not going to live another 10 years."
Well, needless to say that took the laughter out of the conversation. I said, "Oh shit. I'm sorry to hear that." You know, the obligatory pity talk.
But I could tell that the gears in Fat Phil's head were spinning. I kept glancing over at him as he listened to the bartender talk. He was scratching his chin thoughtfully and dabbing at a lime in his drink with his straw.
Here is a guy that hates his job, hates his roommate, and LOVES to drink. If he dated her, he'd be able to quit his job and drink for free every day until he just keeled over dead...and fat.
So, of course, he gets her number from the bartender. After all, it's a shoe-in that he'd be able to pull this off. This chick just wants some lovin'. But he's not quite convinced it's the greatest of ideas...
Until we start in on him.
Bartender: "Dude, think about it. No more working. She would just have you helping her run the bar and living in her million-dollar house."
Fat Phil nods silently, still deep in thought.
Roommate Phil: "Yeah, and she's not going to live that long. She's going to die, Phil. And if you married her and just stuck it out for a little while, you'd get everything."
Shit like that.
I tried to stay out of it as much as possible because I have somewhat of a conscience, but it was just too messed up of a scenario to miss out on helping him make his decision.
And made it, he did.
He called her today. They're meeting up at her bar later tonight "for drinks." What I had thought was an innocent (albeit very morbid) joke is actually blossoming into a very disturbing reality.
Just thought I'd share this with the WF members because most of you have just as much of an evil sense of humor as me.
And oh yeah, I don't need to hear about how fucked up it is about picking on someone with cancer. #1 I'm not picking on her for that. It's just an interesting plot twist. And #2 go eat a dick. It's funny and you know it.
"I'm Going to Hell"
or
"How I am Making My Fat Friend Rich By Getting Him to Screw Fat Chicks That Are About to Die."
Ok, so a few months ago my roommate, Phil brought a buddy of his (also named Phil) down from Virginia because the guy was having a hard time finding a job, paying the bills, etc. Phil is "heavy set" so to avoid the confusion between my roommate Phil and the other Phil, we just call the other Phil "Fat Phil." It works out rather nicely.
Fat Phil has a drinking problem. Roommate Phil gets Fat Phil a place to live roommating with some geeky dude across town. He also gets him a fairly decent job where he works. Basically, he's helping this guy start his life over. But Fat Phil still drinks. A lot.
I don't typically drink on weeknights, but Roommate Phil and Fat Phil told me that it was $3 Jim Beam night down at this local dive on the island I live on. I'd been working all day and night, so I figured that it couldn't hurt to have a couple of Beam and Cokes so I joined them.
Now, a little about this bar: It's a dive, plain and simple. But it's a very popular dive with good people and hot women on Thursday nights. Last night was not Thursday night, however. It was Tuesday. So the entire population of the bar consisted of me, Roommate Phil, Fat Phil, the owner of the bar, the bartender, and three drunk rednecks arguing over a game of pool.
The owner is a mid-thirties woman who's parents are so incredibly rich that they bought her that place just so she'd have something to do. I've only spoken to her twice...maybe three times because she's horrendously ugly and disgustingly fat. Now, I'm not above speaking to ugly or fat people at all, but she has an ugly personality to match and everyone knows that if you're ugly on the outside you better be a fucking Care Bear on the inside or NO ONE is going to want to talk to you. That, or be obscenely rich. Which this ugly bitch is. But I don't care how wealthy someone is, if I don't like you I can't associate with you.
And I'm not talking "kind of" rich, either. Her parents have "old southern money." And if you've ever lived in the South (particularly in Charleston) you would know that means pre-Civil War cotton and tobacco money. The only reason that I know that her parents are like this is because it's all she ever talks about. So in the two or three conversations I've had with her, she's told me all about it while I tried to escape.
Ok, long story short...
So we're sitting there at the bar having a couple of Beam and Cokes and the owner bitch starts talking to Roommate Phil and Fat Phil. I'm avoiding any type of contact altogether because she smells a lot like really dirty feet or really good cheese; I can't decide exactly which but I don't care.
But she eventually decides to leave to go home. On her way out, she jokingly asks both Roommate Phil and Fat Phil if one of them would like to join her. They both laughingly decline and she splits.
The three rednecks eventually get tired of arguing over their pool game and they decide to head for the door to receive their obligatory DUI's for the evening. So that leaves just us three and the bartender having some more drinks, swapping stories, and bullshitting about the owner.
As it turns out, she's one of those heifers that the ability to drink almost any man under the table, but if she gets a guy in her sights, she will act very drunk and ask him to take her home because she "can't drive." The bartender is telling us all these stories about her taking "regular-looking" guys home and getting them to do her because she got them shitfaced until 5 a.m. drinking free booze from her bar. So we're all having a good laugh about that until...
He lowers his voice and says, "Yeah, well...the other night she told me that her parents are about to die and she's going to get everything...millions. Then she went on to tell me that she has cancer and that she's not going to live another 10 years."
Well, needless to say that took the laughter out of the conversation. I said, "Oh shit. I'm sorry to hear that." You know, the obligatory pity talk.
But I could tell that the gears in Fat Phil's head were spinning. I kept glancing over at him as he listened to the bartender talk. He was scratching his chin thoughtfully and dabbing at a lime in his drink with his straw.
Here is a guy that hates his job, hates his roommate, and LOVES to drink. If he dated her, he'd be able to quit his job and drink for free every day until he just keeled over dead...and fat.
So, of course, he gets her number from the bartender. After all, it's a shoe-in that he'd be able to pull this off. This chick just wants some lovin'. But he's not quite convinced it's the greatest of ideas...
Until we start in on him.
Bartender: "Dude, think about it. No more working. She would just have you helping her run the bar and living in her million-dollar house."
Fat Phil nods silently, still deep in thought.
Roommate Phil: "Yeah, and she's not going to live that long. She's going to die, Phil. And if you married her and just stuck it out for a little while, you'd get everything."
Shit like that.
I tried to stay out of it as much as possible because I have somewhat of a conscience, but it was just too messed up of a scenario to miss out on helping him make his decision.
And made it, he did.
He called her today. They're meeting up at her bar later tonight "for drinks." What I had thought was an innocent (albeit very morbid) joke is actually blossoming into a very disturbing reality.
Just thought I'd share this with the WF members because most of you have just as much of an evil sense of humor as me.
And oh yeah, I don't need to hear about how fucked up it is about picking on someone with cancer. #1 I'm not picking on her for that. It's just an interesting plot twist. And #2 go eat a dick. It's funny and you know it.
)or some exotic location - i mean they have booze and girls throughout the whole world. they can do a small wedding and invite you two, parents, and a couple of friends. you can get drunk in vegas anytime man - like at asw next year! try to get some pics too - even crappy cell phone pics?
