Well, at least I think I’m funny.

Coincidentally enough I am in my boxer-briefs alone as I write this ( no air-conditioning at the fam’s place) so the title is very fitting (pun intended).

Anyway, I have been in my hometown, or the most home of the many towns I’ve lived in, for the past 5 days for a good friend’s wedding. The wedding itself was the time of my life and its really interesting to see so many people that you know, or once knew. It brings up a lot of different thoughts and serves up many different drinks which create amazing memories, remind you of some old memories, and generally cause you to have so many stories floating around its difficult not to stop and wonder. So here are a TON of random thoughts I’ve had.

1. I have never seen anyone look happier than my buddy did when he saw his bride walking down the aisle. That is the absolute truth.
2. Holy shit, weddings are expensive. Not just monetarily, but temporally as well.
3. I absolutely cannot make small talk with a woman unless I’m drunk. I have so much to say and ask when I’m drunk, but when sober it seems WAY more difficult. And its not from lack of trying, I have the courage regardless. Thank God I do a wicked robot.
4. People love the robot. I did some dancing in like a circle on the dance floor thrown in with some super-slow-mo moves, and I heard a bunch of people as I was leaving the floor say “That guy in the pink is a good dancer!”
5. Purdue is an awesome school.
6. People really appreciate music and they really CAN’T tell when you don’t play it perfect. It has taken me tons of performances for this to really hit home. But its a lesson well learned. I can’t wait to take jazz piano lessons.
7. I am going to take jazz piano lessons. I already know a basic amount, but Bill Evans being in my mom’s car CD player was an amazing reinforcement of my love of jazz piano. I’m also amazed at how he and a piano fit in that little slot.
8. I am not going to buy a crappy car as my first car. Its going to be a nice, used car of German make. I will negotiate with the owner entirely in German.
9. Total amount of money spent on alcohol in State College so far - 50-65 dollars. I have paid for so little it is still blowing my mind.
10. For some reason I have not been hung over for more than 30 minutes. I don’t know why. Usually I can’t drink that much and not suffer the consequences.
11. I am better at Ultimate and am no longer intimidated to play with the old Spank people. Its nice.
12. I would rather live and work in NYC than in the DC metro area, but I only have an interview in DC. But I still like DC, I just hope to get to NYC someday.
13. I need to stop the following activities - drunk-dialing, drunk-emailing, drunk-text messaging.
14. I should write down the thoughts that I have so I remember them all.
15. I am going to be an awesome best-man, but the crazy part is I don’t think I’m a good enough friend to any of my friends to be chosen as their best-man.
16. The pink shirt/tie combo went over well. I only received compliments - not even joking chides!
17. My friends and I are getting older and I’m afraid I haven’t valued them enough and have taken their immediate prescence for granted. TV, Computers, Video games, alcohol, cars, clothes, who cares? I’m so much more entertained, comforted, and enlightened by my friends. Thanks bros and bro-ets.
18. My birthday is in less than a week and I keep forgetting about it. But I don’t really care about it either. It just means, really, that my car insurance will drop and I can’t try out for the Real World.
19. Its nice to not dress like a 7th grader anymore.

That is pretty much it. I may come back and add some more if I remember others.

It is June and in case you haven’t noticed, summer is here. I am completely done with school (at least for the time being - I may or may not go to law school) and am fully equipped with my Master’s Degree.

Bridled with optimism and beaming with pride I began happily sending out resumes in January. I estimate at this point I’ve sent out approximately 8.2 million but its difficult to judge as almost no one responds, not even a rejection letter, and I’ve only had two companies actually call me and have only set up one interview for those two.

At this point, I am mentally trudging through the job-search process everyday and have limited my choices to Everything and my desired salary to Anything. As those of you who know me well probably already know this summer in general has been about the worst summer of my life. My car broke down, my girl friend left me and I have no job and no money - maybe I should be a country singer.

But alas most people are encouraging and say “the job hunt is boring and dejecting” and its nice to know that everyone, well, most everyone, has to go through with it. But the worst part is I really have nothing to do but look for a job and think about getting a job all day everyday. I envy all of my recent law-grad buddies who have the bar to study for - the ones that don’t already have jobs at least have something else to fill up their time.

Often times I sit and wonder what my future will be like and I have decided that when my lease in Miami runs out at the end of July I will just pick up and move. I’m looking at going to either Santa Monica or New York City. I have no friends in either city but friends of friends in both cities. They both are hubs of the music industry and both offer meanial jobs working in an entry level position.

I know you depend on me for writing, or at least attempting to write, humorous things on my blog and this particular post is no exception, you just needed that bit of background. I have come up with some random ideas about job hunting and some predictions about what my future will hold depending on the city to which I end up moving.

Job Hunt:

Hunting for a job should be more like hunting itself. You should be able to get a large gun, find a corpulant CEO and just fire bullets at him until you get what you want. The more the CEO resists by telling you how unqualified and unexperienced you are, the more bullets you get to fire. If you happen to kill the CEO you don’t get the job, but you DO get to keep whatever you manage to scrounge from his corpse before the police arrive.

Unfortunately the closest I can come to this situation is using the mail. That’s right, the mail. My letters are like intensely slow-traveling bullets and the addresses are like the aimers. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a rejection letter shot back at me - usually it hits me right in the zip-code. I can’t say its too pleasant but at least I hear something.

Applying for jobs online is another method of job hunting I’ve been using a lot. To me this is like fishing with a dart. You take a dart and whip it into the sea to in an attempt to hit a fish. If you DO manage to hit a fish, you have to fucking go and get it and try and remember where exactly your dart fell. The only problem is you really have no idea whether or not you hit a fish because the fish don’t respond in anyway.

Networking is the key. Networking is the goal. Networking is how you get a job. You know what the problem with networking is? You have to talk to douchebags. You all know its true - at least when you’re starting out. You have to talk to anyone and everyone and ask if they know anything (which they never do) and then sit there and listen to them talk about random crap you don’t care about for a while. I think I’ve met maybe three people who have provided any useful information during my job search. Let’s all pause for a brief whoop. Whoop.

My Future:

Alright as I said earlier I’m thinking of moving to either Santa Monica or NYC. Both places are awesome but here’s most likely what would happen if I live in -

Santa Monica -

A few days after moving to Santa Monica I get a part time job as a waiter and meet my future wife, Jennifer Aniston. One day Jennifer strikes up a conversation:

Jennifer: Andy I love you and you never have to work
Me: No baby, I’m the man of the house. I’m just gonna TCOB.
Jennifer: What does that mean?
Me: Take care of business.
Jennifer: No I know, but what does that mean?
Me: Well I’m not sure.
Jennifer: Why did I marry you again?
Me: (laughing and shaking head in disbelief) I have no idea. Say, I know what Joey is up to but how are Monica and Chandler doing with their twins?
Jennifer: What? Those aren’t real people.
Me: …what?
Jennifer: That was a TV show.
Me: I love when you try and trick me.
(Jennifer heaves an exasperated sigh and throws her hands in the air)

There would be a lot more making out and sex-having between us but that’s basically what every day would be like.

Anyway Jennifer would introduce me to all kinds of cool people and I’d eventually get a job at a 7-11 while some amusical goon gets the CEO job of the only huge record-label conglomerate that was left over - BM Gunisonemi.

New York -

I’d move in with the friend of my sister and walk her dog and eventually start working at a Starbucks. At starbucks I’d be driven to drinking coffee everyday* and I would be energized like never before. I’d take on several other jobs including street-sweeper, crazy-guy in times square, and host of TRL. Using my underappreciated wit mixed with me** zeal to make jokes in poor-taste I would eventually lose my street-sweeping and crazy-guy job. I would buy an appartment on the upper west-side and run into Jennifer Aniston on the street one day:

Jennifer: Hey, didn’t you use to be a my street-sweeper?
Me: No, you probably recognize me as the host of TRL.
Jennifer: Well, the qualifications are pretty much the same, so whatever. Anyway, would you like to date me? I hate that Brad Pitt and you seem cooler than him.
Me: Sure, say…don’t you live in California?
Jennifer: Yeah but I’m here visiting Monica and Chandler. They got divorced after a crocodile ate their babies and now have apartments across from each other.
Me: Why do the live across from each other?
Jennifer: America loves drama!
Me: What does that mean?
Jennifer: Who cares? Let’s makeout!
Me: Sweet, this is the best future prediction so far!
Jennifer: ¿Que?
Me: I’m sorry, I don’t speak dutch.

After breaking the language barrier Jennifer and I would hit it off and eventually star in the sitcom of our lives which you would watch, not really because its any good, but because you put a lot of effort into reading this post that just rambled on about my infuriated state of not having a job.

*I do not drink coffee currently as I think it tastes terrible. Despite the amount of milk, sugar, fudge, caramel or whatever else you mix it with, it will still be hot bean water to me.

**This was originally a typo but I figured you needed to practice your inner-monologue’s english accent.

Never in my life do I ridicule people I don’t know more than when I watch the NBA Finals. I’m not sure what it is - entertaining my friends, the incredible IDIOTS that appear in the NBA, the fact that I’m really jealous that I can’t dunk a basketball (despite being painfully close at times). Nevertheless, the finals allow me to pick a team to love, and a team to hate. To each player on each team I assign personalities based entirely on appearance and pre/post-game interviews. This year I’m choosing to root for the Spurs.

Typically I would never root for the Spurs. In fact, I don’t even like the Spurs. But holy crap did I want the Heat to be in the finals, and my good Lord, do I hate, hate, HATE the Detroit Pistons.

In order to give you all a good idea of the types of things I come up with when watching the games I’ve decided to profile each player that receives substantial playing time for the Pistons. So ladies and gentlemen, here are your DETROIT PISTONS! (lights go off, lasers shoot everywhere, shitty techno plays).

Center - Ben Wallace

I used to like Ben Wallace and may very well again after these playoffs are over so my complaints with him are few. I will say he slaps like a frenzied italian grandmother when an opponent is anywhere near him*. You can pretty much read his “steals” category as “vigorous, hefty swats which injure players and free the ball from their hands.” The only difference between the two category descriptions is the former is what is called when the Pistons play at home.

Forward - Rasheed Wallace

Have you seen this guy open his mouth? If not, just watch the next time he gets called for a foul. The firth-like hole in this guy’s head encompasses 36 rows of scraggly teeth. I once saw him dunk the ball, then take a bite out of the rim, then get pieces of the rim stuck in his teeth! He also looks like he would be one of those really smelly guys. You know what I mean - these are people you don’t want to get stuck next to on a bus or subway and the reason taking the stairs can be a pleasure. I’m not sure if its his scraggly beard or the fact that he always looks mean. I imagine if my garbageman went crazy** and started killing people he would resemble Rasheed Wallace in appearance and aroma.

Forward - Tayshaun Prince

With complete and utter lack of Power Generation, this is one Prince to which I’ll never bow. Tayshaun gives new meaning to the word “spindly.” The closest thing I can compare him too are these giant muppets from an old Muppet Show. They take up the entire stage and just have incredibly long arms and legs and like a round thing for a head and I think the song they’re doing back up dancing for is Girl from Ipanema***. Tayshaun does have a redeeming factor in that he is paper-thin and is constantly getting knocked to the floor.

Gaurd - Chauncy Billups

Chauncy shoots the lights out. He makes more insane leaning, floating, shots than anyone I’ve seen. Chauncy used to be terrible and never even got playing time but he’s really stepped up his game. I really wouldn’t know how to make fun of Chauncy except that he looks like he just fell off the onion truck, managed to grab hold of the exhaust pipe, inhale deeply for several miles, then hit his head on a rock. His countenance makes it impossible to believe he even passed nap-time in Kindergarten. The following is an advertisement for Nerd Rope I came up with last year during the finals.

An entirely white backdrop features a ton of kids running up to the camera and screaming “NERD ROPE!” Cut to Chauncy in locker room

Chauncy (who’s voice sounds like someone saying “DUUUH”): Hey fellas! I found me some Nerd Rope! It’s great!

Teammate: Oh really? Where did you find it?

Chauncy: It was just sitting in the shower drain!

Teammate: That’s really gross.

Chauncy: What are you talkin’ about! You know its clean! I’m gonna go have some fun!

Cut to Chauncy on white backdrop with a bunch of kids. Film is sped up and Scene features Chauncy lassoing kids and them lassoing him with Nerd Rope. They appear to be having a great time.

Close-up on lassoed child who pauses, sneezes into hands, then grabs hold of the rope again as play continues.

Cut to outside - Kids seen holding nerd-rope as jump-rope for Chauncy who is doing double-dutch and tripping often. Nerd-rope is getting covered in dirt.

Cut to Nerd-rope logo.

Announcer: Nerd-Rope! It’s the candy you put your hands all over, then your friends put their hands all over, then you eat!

End Commercial.

‘Nuff said about Chauncy.

Gaurd - Richard Hamilton

No one in the entire Pistons organization bothers me more than Rip. This cheating jerk of a player becomes more like Reggie Miller with every game. His ability to push, hook, and swipe people sneakily improves 10-fold every game. If Reggie Miller is the Emporer, Richard Hamilton is Anakin Skywalker being trained in the ways of douche-baggery. The craziest part about Hamilton is no matter how many calls are going in the Piston’s favor, no matter how many points they’re up by, he will still complain about every single foul called against him, or no-call against him. He is the whiniest little bitch player ever. The other day on ESPN they made a huge deal about running 3.2 miles per game as opposed to the average player’s 2.5 miles. Listen up assholes. I run 5 damn miles every other day and its not that hard and I do it in 8 less minutes. I also don’t get a half-time break and occasional periods of sitting out. Richard Hamilton is NOT a good athlete. He’s a cheater and a weasel and I hope he gets run over by a bus.

Lindsey Hunter -

Has a girl’s first name. Can’t score points anymore. Makes a face like he’s in pain and making the sound “Eeeeeeeeee” when he gets called for fouls. Doesn’t deserve complete sentences.

Antonio McDyess -

Well I tell you what. I actually like McDyess. He’s cool.

Carlos Arroyo -

I hated you in Puerta Rico and I hate you even more in the US. You miss all your shots and are good for 3-4 turnovers per game. The only time you play well is when your team is already up by 15+ points. I have four words for you: Welcome to the CBA.

As you can see the Pistons roster is filled with jerks, tools, douche-bags, clowns, and morons. I hope you hate them as much as I do now, and that we can root against them together…maybe we can form a fanclub of doom****.

*Don’t touch-a da sauce! (or for my bilingual readers: Non tocca il sugo!)

**Surprisingly, I imagine my garbage man going crazy quite often, though its usually on the dance floor.

***Which by the way is one of so many awesome standards by Jobim. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Go buy a CD and see for yourself.

****If we do, I am the one who gets to be Dr. Doom. How cool does that sound?

The battle has begun and ended before you even realized it occurred. The votes have been tallied, the bodies have been counted, the test results are in. Andys are cooler than Drews, deal with it.

Andrew has two nickname variations - Andy and Drew. Throughout my life I have had people mistakenly call me Drew which just infuriates me as I’m sure people who call themself Drew get infuriated when they get called Andy*. One thing I have always noticed about people named Drew is that they are complete dicks or incredible losers. I have recently corroborated this with people who all seem to agree - they would rather hangout with anyone they knew named Andy over anyone they knew named Drew (ie: The worst Andy over the coolest Drew).

Drews are guys who trip little kids and steal their candy. They can’t spell and have shitty grammar and they are truly incompetent when it comes to higher levels of math (but curse them for being able to do simple math in their heads quite well). Drews are mean to waitresses and leave them shitty tips.

Drews steal your fries. They date your sister and then break up with her. Drews have the coolest new shoes all the time and don’t realize they are making them completely uncool. Drews are completely uncoordinated. Drews drive nice cars, but not cool nice cars like BMW’s, they drive the girly nice cars like Jaguars.

Drews are completely shallow and self-centered. A Drew would fight a woman…and then loose, and then blame it on being sick or something stupid like that. Drews suck. I once saw a kid named Drew eat poop. It was probably this guy:

Andys rule. Andys play bass and trombone and some of us even play bass trombone. Andys are good with their hands. Andys will make fun of people but no one will care because everyone knows an Andy is just being an Andy and not out to hurt anyone. An Andy will send you flowers just because.

Andys can run pretty fast and some can even jump high. I once saw an Andy slam dunk a basketball. Andys will date your sister and marry her. Andys make poop jokes. Andys don’t really like having their name rhymed with Candy, but surprisingly Andys do love Candy itself. Andys know Karate but aren’t very good at it.

Andys are talented but try not to flaunt their talent. Andys will donate money to charity and give it to people on the street, but not all the time, just sometimes. Andys don’t go around looking for handouts. Andys work hard when they need to but generally take it easy. Andys give great advice. Andys rule.

Sorry Drews, you lose. I realize there the possiblity of some cool people named Drew but for the most part I think the guys who get stuck with the second half of the name come in second to the people with the first half. Its science. What do you think? Think about all the Andys you know and all the Drews. Who is a cooler group?

*Though they shouldn’t because its an incredible compliment.

Lately the Florida lottery has aired some television spots that feature a large, red-headed woman with a Wisconsin accent. I have nothing against Wisconsin and surely nothing against red-heads (go Carrot Top!) and large people have never been anything but kind to me but my good Lord. Never have I seen a more unfunny, thoughtless, brainless, witless, moronic, stale commercial in my entire life.

I’m not sure if these ads are aired all over the states and merely changed to suit the corresponding area, but in case you haven’t seen it here’s a brief run down:

There’s a woman in a stand-up setting. Smoky, dark except the stage, spot-lit mic in the middle of the stage. She’s doing her “routine” which consists mostly of the following:

Comedian: What’s with those people that play the lottery when the jackpot is below 10 million?

laughs hysterically at herself

I mean, seriously!

laughs some more, people in the audience are also laughing hysterically

You sir

indicates man in the audience

Do you play the lottery when its below 10 million?

man shakes head no.

Of COURSE not! You probably still live with your mom.
Well we wouldn’t want you to have to leave home would we? I’ll split it [the lottery] with her, she deserves it!

Just typing that made my brain boil and my blood run hot with rage. In order to prove how idiotic and untalented the commercial creators are, I’ve decided to do a few quick script re-writes of how the commercial could have been much more entertaining.

Scenario 1:

We open on the nightclub, we see only the performer and stage exactly how it appears in the original commercial…

Comedian: So what’s the deal with those people who only play the lottery when the jackpot is OVER ten million?!

She laughs at herself hysterically….the audience is silent except for a hollow moan.

Comedian: …uh, you….you sir in the front.

Camera finds man in audience. Man and all others in audience are zombies. Singled out zombie points to himself, tilts his head and moans.

Comedian: Yes, you. I bet you only play the lottery when the jackpot is OVER 10 million!

Comedian laughs hysterically at herself...Zombie looks slightly confused then speaks…

Zombie: Look lady, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re all fuckin’ Zombies. Now get down here so I can beat the hell out of you with my own arm!

Another zombie man, enthused by his response shouts out a “Hell Yes!” Zombie man tears of left arm with right arm, then charges the stage.

We hear only the woman shrieking as the screen fades to black and the zombie audience swarms the stage. The following slogan fades in:

Play the lotto before its too late, and you’re beaten to death by zombies.

Scenario 2:

We open on the nightclub, we see only the performer and stage exactly how it appears in the original commercial…

Comedian: So what’s the deal with those people who ONLY play the lottery when it’s OVER 10 million? Those people are so stupid! What IDIOTS!

Comedian laughs hysterically at herself. No one else laughs.

New Swingline: QUANTOS QUESTAN BITCHES!

There is a sit-com like response for the beloved New Swingline as he makes his entrance.

Comedian: What the…? Who are you?

New Swingline: I’m the richest stapler ever, biyatch! And I wons me the lottery. I only played when it was over me some ten million. And you call me an idiot?

Comedian: Well I….

New Swingline: That’s enough talk bitch. Time to die.

New Swingline drops the comedian with 5 quick pops from his diamond-encrusted, platinum-plated desert eagle.

New Swingline: Play the lottery whenever you want bitches.

The “The more you know” theme song and logo flash. Fade to black.

Scenario 3:

We open on the nightclub, we see only the performer and stage exactly how it appears in the original commercial…

Comedian: So what’s the deal with those people who ONLY play the lottery when it’s OVER 10 million?

Comedian starts to weep and shake uncontrollably. We see from a camera shot that encompasses the darkened audience heads and they are turning to each other with curiousity as the woman breaks down in front of them.

Comedian: I’m sorry. I make fun of people because I’m fat and insecure about my weigh–

Man in audience stands up.

Man: Look lady, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re all fuckin’ Zombies.

Lights in house come up and everyone is a zombie. Comedian curls into a ball on the floor.

Man: Woah Nellie! We are gonna eat your brains!

Fade to black as zombie’s are seen swarming stage and chomping and slurping sounds are heard. The following slogan fades up in white:

Zombies! Play the lottery before they eat your brains!

There you have it kids. That’s my idea to revamp those awful lottery commercials. Nothing would please me more than pulling the horrendous ads off the air and replacing them with something much more comical, violent, or downright preposterous.

In case the lot (read: 6.31) of you that peruse my posts didn’t know, I am, among many other totally radical things,* a trombone player. If you are reading this and are thinking to yourself “What a complete loser” then chances are you are NOT a trombone player and ARE, more specifically, a jealous, non-awesome hoser*. If after reading the statement you thought “Oh, that’s interesting” you would probably enjoy my company. If you thought “Sweet! Me too!” then I’d like you to take your right hand, hold it up like you’re going to take an oath, and then hi-five the crap out of whoever walks by next.

This past year I haven’t played in any ensembles (save for an easter gig) for the first time in about 12 years. No orchestras, big bands, or symphonic bands. In fact I have actually played more bass guitar than bass trombone this year. But I picked up my horn today to practice for a friend’s wedding (God have mercy on their souls*) and was pleasantly surprised at the outcome. If I were a talented graphic artist I would insert an awesome picture I did of a lighting strike zarking the crap out of me but lighting me aglow and thus illustrating me having a bit of an epiphony and electrical sexcapade at the same time* - alas I’m a trombone player so you had to deal with simple words and your primitive imagination. Deal with it. Anyway my thought was this:

I will always be a trombone player.

That’s a really great realization to conjure. I will always be a trombone player. Here’s why:

Person: Hey dude. Find a job yet?
Me: Yeah, I’m a trombone player.
Person: Oh really?
Me: Yes.

You see? Playing trombone I’ll always have a pseudo-job. Granted the pay isn’t steady but I can always say I’m a trombone player. He’s another example:

Mugger: Hey asshole! Gimme all your money!
Me: I’m a trombone player.
Mugger: Shit, I’m sorry. Let me see here I think I have some spare change..
Me: Just toss it in my case. Thanks!

Being a trombone player isn’t lucrative enough for me to have lots of money. Criminals know this - in fact, most criminals are probably out of work musicians OR incredibly talented musicians who have blown their money on drugs and are looking to score more drugs but, since they blew all their money, they have to rob others.

Here’s some proof that I actually play trombone:

I know that was a completely rocky transition but it was getting time in the post to break up the monotony of just straight-up text.

There is one massive setback to being a trombone player, I don’t want to give the impression that I live in a perfect world. Being a trombone player is trying, lonely, and quite nerdy. But despite all the hardship, there is perhaps one thing that sticks out like a b natural in a Cmin7 chord, one phrase that skewer’s a trombonist’s heart, melts his mind, and crushes his dreams. That phrase is the following:

“Oh trombone! That’s the one that goes like this - wah-waaaah.”

This phrase is almost always accompanied by someone making a crude slide motion, typically with the wrong arm. It makes me sad that all people think trombone can do is glissando (wah-waaaah) when in fact it’s used for so many other gr…you know what? Forget it. IT’S THE ONE THAT GOES WAHH WAHHH!

I’ll leave you with one last thing - you should only click on this link if you have like 10 or 15 minutes of free time. It’s a hilarious video that a trombone player did to promote his upcoming recital. Peep it.

Go Trombone!

*including grammar-nostalgia champion

*I’d like to thank Canada for the word “hoser” - its just about the only thing they’ve contributed that is worth while.

*This should be considered an allusion to my terrible playing, NOT the fact that people are getting married.

*Just kidding Suga, I couldn’t have a sexcapade without you.

Alright this absolutely must cease. When did wearing a pink shirt become a crime? These days I feel I live a life of utter solitude due to pink-shirt-hating, but I just won’t stand for it anymore. I’m slipping my binds, bending the prison cells society placed around me, creeping down the hallway ever-so-delicately but accidentally stepping on the twig that no one notices breaking, and sticking the gaurd to my closet with the shiv I manufactured using my Alvin and the Chipmunks lunchbox I still have (just kidding*). Not all people wearing pink shirts are the same. Some of us have a brain, some of us are talented, and some of us DON’T flip the collar up like some cross-eyed goat-masturbator.*

For all of you pink shirt haters out there, I’d like to offer that not everyone of us pink-shirt wearers are complete asses. That being said, a good majority of PSW’s ARE asses. If you answer yes to the following questions, you are a PSW who is an ass:

Am I in a Fraternity?

…

Okay that’s the only question I could come up with, sorry fellas. Jerka Delta Turd just recruited you - and you are in for the social paddling of a lifetime. Stick to your own frat parties and mixers to avoid wearing letters of shame and degradation by girls everywhere.

So, partly to prove how awesome I rock in a pink shirt and partly to please ladies everywhere, here is a photo taken with my phone of me being just a regular guy who happens to be wearing a socially frowned-upon color. Please excuse the beard, I’m audtioning to be a lumberjack*.

*Not really.

*it has been scientifically proven that flipping your collar up, ESPECIALLY if you refer to it as “poppin’ your collar” typically indicates a penchant for masturbating goats…I ad-libbed the cross-eyed part.

*Lumberjack auditions are held annually and include a rigorous week-long camp of beard-growing, flannel-wearing, log-rolling, and break-dancing in flannel.