I didn't want to write this ad.
No, not because I'm shy. More like now everyone will know I wasn't actually invited to any Derby parties.
Sure, I understand completely the hesitance to request my presence. I mean last years fiasco was kinda my fault. Ok, maybe mostly. But how I was supposed to know public sex with a paraplegic was so frowned upon? What year is this? 18 fucking 13? The tang was great. No lie. In fact, I gave new meaning to the phrase "spinal tap".
If I had friends, we would still be high five-ing.
But humping the invalid right in front of the Kosair Childrens Hospital tent while flashing gang signs towards the in field was truly my undoing.
I'm fairly certain she enjoyed it though we'll never know for sure. My intense pelvic thrusts crushed her joystick/keypad.
(If your reading this girl, I still have your voice box. That things the bomb. No offense Bostonians).
Or the year before when I got drunk with reporter John Boels. Started off with a hand job from Dawn Gee in a backside port-o-john but ended with John and I getting pulled over. Sure, John likes to say that sobered him up but I was there. And it wasn't the DUI that set him straight as much as the assault later in the drunk tank. Yep, nothing says maybe its time to get a 12 step program and reevaluate your life like a fisting from a hairy mexican who calls himself "Jackhammer Guitererrez". However, thats enough of fond memories.
So here I am, pushing a stolen 49cc scooter in the drizzle down Cane Run because its out of gas and I'm penniless having wagered all my dinero on a private bet with Black Onyx.
YES. Goddammit, I am well aware *now* that Black Onyx didn't even run as it scratched on Friday. What can I say, I've been on a bender since late Thursday (of 2006) and am just now piecing things together.
Which brings me to this ad: To the cute gal who I met while mud sliding and who then, apparently, lifted my debit card while I was vomiting next to Emelio Estevez in the bushes somewhere around Wathen lane, please (and I mean this sincerely) go fuck yourself. Ha! The jokes on you because I stole that card earlier from an elderly guy who said his name was Tiki Barber. May you get anally probed by the entire Jockey clubhouse and cunt punted back to whatever sewage drain spawned you. Or... if your willing, maybe we could hook up, have an ice cream and take the kids to the chow wagon. I have this cool ass voice box...
Your call.
N.
No, not because I'm shy. More like now everyone will know I wasn't actually invited to any Derby parties.
Sure, I understand completely the hesitance to request my presence. I mean last years fiasco was kinda my fault. Ok, maybe mostly. But how I was supposed to know public sex with a paraplegic was so frowned upon? What year is this? 18 fucking 13? The tang was great. No lie. In fact, I gave new meaning to the phrase "spinal tap".
If I had friends, we would still be high five-ing.
But humping the invalid right in front of the Kosair Childrens Hospital tent while flashing gang signs towards the in field was truly my undoing.
I'm fairly certain she enjoyed it though we'll never know for sure. My intense pelvic thrusts crushed her joystick/keypad.
(If your reading this girl, I still have your voice box. That things the bomb. No offense Bostonians).
Or the year before when I got drunk with reporter John Boels. Started off with a hand job from Dawn Gee in a backside port-o-john but ended with John and I getting pulled over. Sure, John likes to say that sobered him up but I was there. And it wasn't the DUI that set him straight as much as the assault later in the drunk tank. Yep, nothing says maybe its time to get a 12 step program and reevaluate your life like a fisting from a hairy mexican who calls himself "Jackhammer Guitererrez". However, thats enough of fond memories.
So here I am, pushing a stolen 49cc scooter in the drizzle down Cane Run because its out of gas and I'm penniless having wagered all my dinero on a private bet with Black Onyx.
YES. Goddammit, I am well aware *now* that Black Onyx didn't even run as it scratched on Friday. What can I say, I've been on a bender since late Thursday (of 2006) and am just now piecing things together.
Which brings me to this ad: To the cute gal who I met while mud sliding and who then, apparently, lifted my debit card while I was vomiting next to Emelio Estevez in the bushes somewhere around Wathen lane, please (and I mean this sincerely) go fuck yourself. Ha! The jokes on you because I stole that card earlier from an elderly guy who said his name was Tiki Barber. May you get anally probed by the entire Jockey clubhouse and cunt punted back to whatever sewage drain spawned you. Or... if your willing, maybe we could hook up, have an ice cream and take the kids to the chow wagon. I have this cool ass voice box...
Your call.
N.
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