Oh yes, I return tonight!

I made this because I don't think I've ever had two posts in one day. I'm sure this probably rocks your world. That's not my fault. If your world didn't need rockin' you shouldn't have come a schnockin'. I refuse to end that with "knocking". Or knockin' in the urban tongue. That's when you take stuff out 'cause you so hardcore, SONNN. The fact that two postifications will exist when this night is over is beyond acceptable. It is supercceptable. If I was you, I'd read the post directly below first, and this one second. Because you don't want to miss out on all the inside jokes that I make in this one. Because, shit son, if you didn't get a handle on all the asianess in the last one, you won't get this. Let me tell you a secret. I have six beers left tonight. And this post isn't going to be published until I finish them. I'll document what I'm doing whilst consuming every one. Sometimes I think my life sucks. You reading this will make me count the number of people who think that more often than I. Haha, suckah bitch. Unlike the last post, the enter button will be used quite often. See, that's a joke. You didn't get it 'cause you didn't read the last post yet. I'm six deep already, so add six to each number, and you'll get the amount of times I don't care what you're doing reading this.

Beer 1 + (secret number of addage we talked about)

Beer opened decent. Nice crack-hiss. Contemplating walnuts. Why are they so oddly shaped. God, that's crazy. Word of insight, almost packed it down the stairs descending to the fridginator for beers 1 through 3. Need to arc one into roommates urinstrator. Why would I do that? Because women are crazy about their bathrooms. I think I'll leave the seat up for good measure.

...

Alright, back. Didn't leave the seat up, lost motivation. Felt like crashing it back down. It made a satisfying loud noise in the empty house. Fat shit cat, a.k.a. "meatball" looked at me. I hate that cat. And it hates me. Shits in my room whenever possible. Hence me having to keep my door shut when I'm off the premises. Also, many pieces of tinfoil were found in the trash receptacle of said roommate. Most likely stupid slash hair related. Hair related metal pieces can be found very often around this house. Having one roommate that is a certified hair mangler and another that apparently eats leftovers in her bathroom. Things get left around. This typing is not assisting my drinking. Getting through all six of these is going to be quite a challenge. I forgot to mention before I started on these twelve I had already been drinking somewhere else. Vodka, and I think something that resembled a mojito. Drinking these fast to try to get through this typificaition might not be the best idea. But it's already 1:30AM retarded westside time. So I've gotta get some sleep before Pats v. Colts tomorrow. I'm doing my darndness. P.S. did any of you see Bourne Ultimatum? That movie was pretty sweet. At the end I thought he was dead, and would have been fine with that. But then he came back to life. God damned Matt Damon. Where does he get off. God dammit this stupid beer is taking forever to drink. If I had the orange rhino, I could've done this think in in 4 seconds. For those of you who know the orange rhino, god bless, but I think TOR is dead. Palmer lost slash destroyed it I think. I fear this may be too great a task for even me. BUT I WILL NOT FAIL YOU. I will give it my all. If I pass out saliva smeared across the keyboard and have to hit the post button sometime tomorrow morning, so be it. I'm making the fucking five star effort. My god, finally... One down.

Beer #2 (plus coldness of throat and previously mentioned consumables)

Beer opened. Kind of sprayed some into face. Shouldn't look so hard next time. Listening to crazy music to try to motivate. Gotta motivate your drinksculation factor muscles. Without them you'd be lost in your drinking quests. And by you and mean me. And all my musculations. Observation, I should apply for federal relief due to my room being a disaster area. On second thought, I don't want FEMA in my room. Unless they're the one's paying for the booze next time. OH SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT THE FUNSIZE SNICKERS I HAVE. Why didn't you gorramn remind me? I TOLD YOU TO READ THE OTHER POST. If you had, we'd both be enjoying them right now. And by you I mean not you. Because you don't deserve any. You didn't read the other thing first, and now you're snickerless. You'd be snickerfull if you had. Fatshit cat is trying to get into my room. I just threw an empty beer can at it. That'll teach it. I can't believe this is only two of six in the goalification of tonight. That's a fairly lofty goal, imo. I saw someone once build a beer can chandelier. I should do that. At least then I'd be making something of my life. P.S. It's only Saturday. I have all day to sleep in tomorrow. You honkies on the east coast might get up and read this before I'm done typing it. It's almost 5AM your time. If you're on christmas break and semi-hate your life, you just may. That reminds me, one time I worked at this christmas tree farm back east. It was called the Rocks. The reason it's called that is because working for them is as much fun as having sharp rocks shoved in your underpants. I walked around with some r-tard masshole family for almost an hour so they could find the perfect tree to put in their fucking loft apartment in east Boston. And cut it down, dragged it all the way out, wrapped it up, and put it on their car. And they just left. No tip, whatsoever. And then as I'm walking back to get another "customer" and this guy is having trouble putting his tree on his car. So I go over and help him get it tied down... total time, 30 seconds. And he gives me ten bucks. I extend a large middle finger towards the other family that recently left. Because they blow. Hang on, drinking break. Typing too much. But you can see how that's like sharp rocks in your FTL's. Also, I think I lost the sweater I was wearing that day. How could it get any worse. This one went pretty fast. I think we've got at the most a quarter beerage left in this section. Make that an eighth. This is difficult, but I have faith. Ha, psych. No faith. P.P.S. There goes #2.

Beer #3 (Plus your mom's weight divided by previous consumables)

If telethons were also related as "burpathons" I would have just saved numerous kids from an unimaginable disease. But as those two relations are unlikely, let's just relate that I've cracked number three. It's looking at me funny. As if to say, "You won't go to JC Penny tomorrow and buy two matching nitestands". And I'm all like "BITCH BEER CAN YOU KNOW I AIN'T BUYING SHIT 'TILL I MOVE TO MY NEW PLACE". And it's all like "GOD I HATE YOU, YOU'RE SUCH A PUSSY." And I'm all like "I'M GONNA DRINK THE SHIT OUT OF YOU." And then I do it. Minus the shit part. Sick. Pretty hammered right now. The typing thing is still a mystery. How can it come out so perfectly? Who knows. Beer #3 is being made into my bitch. I'm not even fucking around with this one. It was talking shit about my bedroom furniture. How can I not fuck it's beer life up? Exactly. Somehow, putting on a sweatshirt is easier than closing my window. Due to my energy-sapation calculations, I will do that at this time. Also, beer #3 is reaching it's end very quickly, due to it talking and incalculable amount of shit. Sweatshirt, back in a jiffy.

...

Oh man, where were you? I put on a sweatshirt, arc-ed one, and beer #3 is no more. I put it's sorry ass to rest. Also, threw it at meatball. Meatball is the worst cat of all time. I like cats, I hate fat shit cat. All it does is be worthless. If being worthless was a paid position, this cat would be Bill Gates. Seriously. Also, if extra income was granted for shitting in my room, it'd be higher than Bill Gates. God this is going to be an adventure. I need to maneuver the staircase down to the refrigerator to get beers 4-6. You better damn well appreciate it. God dammit, I know you don't. You never appreciate anything. I don't even know why I write shit for you. My mom hates you! We're never getting married.

Beer #4 (in addition, hurt myself down stairs, plus consumables from previous convo)

God dammit, beer #4 had a fucking attitude. Wouldn't open. I had to smack it upside the head. Also, still thinking about walnuts. Their shape is quite odd. Most nuts have a fairly regular shape. Theirs is like the misshapen person you find after you date them for a few weeks. They have a cute shell, and then "what the fuck? did you have some horrible accident?". And I mean that mentally. Right now, there's some fuckhead outside my open window with his fucking harley revving. Are you serious, it's 4:15AM east coast people time. Where do you get off? Oh, apparently right now. Because his bike is probably shit. Hence him shutting it off and going into one of many asian neighbor's houses. I just sneezed no less than 8 times. Usually it's once and someone's thinking about you, more than three someone loves you, and as many as I did, plus I just sneezed five... make that six, more times... that means you have dick cancer. I should get that checked out. Also, I'm still sneezing. I think that was 13 total. Shit, still going. 15 now. Dammit make it stop. 16. It's hard to type and sneeze at the same time. 17. 19, and flipping 20. Wow, I'm not even close to joking, here comes another one... Also, apparently drinking beer makes you not sneeze. I've averted my sneez-fest 2007 with beer. Nose still kind of tickles. Sneezing may not be out of the question. I'll just drink beer until it stops. Holy shit, speedy speed boy. It's like I need to sneeze, but I can't. I think I'm allergic to stupidity. Suddenly, speedy sped boy, a.k.a. harley boy came over, and I started sneezing forever. I'm trying to put this beer to bed. Seriously, but it's hard. Probably due to too much typing, not enough drinking. I'll work more on the drinking portion. For science. Peace, son is done. Over.

Beer #5 (plus you know. you've been here. suckah.)

Also, I just found this. I don't know what it is.



God, I hate people. Don't even watch half of it. You'll want to kill people.

I'm 90% sure the next generation is fucked. Over.

After watching the end, so you don't have to. I'm 99% sure the next generation is fucked. So, don't even bother with them. Also, this beer is getting crushed.



HAHA! I found that too. So now you have to watch it. Why does it exist? The world may never know. But fucking-A! WHAT THE HELL?

Are you glad beer #5 is finally almost finished? Shit, I would be.
And it's done.


Beer #6 (Electric Boogaloo.)

Opened with a crisp sense of "my god, it's almost finally over." Still have the sniffles. Still sneezing for no reason. Why is this happening to me? Thank god I don't have to watch anymore r-tarded youtube videos. I could, but I choose not to.



PSYCHE, WATCH CRAZY TONGUE LADY.

Shit, it's after the video. Well, watch it anyways. MY GOD THAT'S TERRIFYING.

She could audition for Alien 5: Crazy Tongue Psychoness. MY GOD HOW DOES IT EVEN FIT IN THERE? Could you answer that for me please?

This is sad. It's my last beer. I'll be sleeping after this one. It'll be early morningness for the eastcoast people when I finally pack it in. I don't have very much left to go. I really didn't think it would happen. I thought I'd pass out far before I reached my goal. But I guess it proves that you can do what you want. Seek out your dreams! Even if your dream is to drink more beer than necessary and write asinine shit. Because that's what matters... probably. Righto.

BEER #6 (PLUS YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKIN' 'BOUT) COMPLETED

You and I have journey'd. That's not a word, there's a better way to type that. But that's not important. You know what you must do. Lament yourself for reading this. Seriously, there's a life out there. And you need to get it. Why did you read this?

OVER!