Deep-Fried Cornbreaded Tuna Chowder Hairpie

After a devastating and heart-wrenching weekend of sports, i have now officially switched into college basketball mode. FYI, my teams are the ville, the cats when they arent playing the ville, and since i need to pick a dark horse from the acc, i tend to follow the wolfpack. teams that i absofuckinglutely hate: blue devils, golden eagles, and bearcat thugs.

I dont exactly have one specific topic today. Rather, a set of hodgepodge that collects in my little cellphone text messages to myself (i am a stoner, reminders are crucial for my existence) until there is enough material to build a blog around. So this weekend started off on Thursday night, where my boy jonny took wingman and joined me in meeting a couple of j's who were out and about in the highlands. the j i was trying to meet up with was real cool, so that is offically 2 cool j's total out of like 300. she burns, always a plus.

On friday i rolled out to the mecca of sexual assault that passes for flirting, East Andrews. as soon as i got there i felt like i was in my own version of Bill Bellamy's 'How To Be A Player'. For those of you who dont remember this stellar oscar winning flick, bill bellamy goes to this party where 5 girls he has been playing all show up at the same time. i was rotating around three groups of j's the whole night, trying for no intersections... of course outgoing cool girls also know each other through jewish geography and at one point i saw 2 j's introduce themselves to each other. bill bellamy saw all the angles. he put the girls in different corners of the party and made succinct rounds to all 5 of them. i, on the otherhand, decided the best way to cope with cross-j'ing was to down shots of tequila and dance my ass off. i guess it worked out ok, since i didnt take any of the j's i wanted back home and instead my 2 buddies convinced these 2 brutus chicks to drive back to my place and smoke my weed. when i say brutus, i am being nice. and i apologize to my 2 roomies (this weekend) for the loud and obnoxious zoo noises coming from downstairs at 4 am.

saturday i went to go see a flick. the original intent was to see million dollar baby at phipps, the only theater its showing in all of atl. of course it was sold out. so we drove 30 minutes out of the way to go to best buy to burn an hour before driving to a totally different theater to see a totally different flick. the good things: i got the new kanye west cd, the jamiroquai cd, and simcity 4. also i was incredibly blazed for the entire 3 hour pre-movie production. saturday night was another naughty night... joined the birthday girl and her buddies in east atl for several shots and pbr's. here is how i roll after a big bowl for myself, 3 shots, and 4 beers:


and yes, that is a burberry scarf in the background. apparently they have gone incognito and strayed from the standard plaid design that makes them so popular
sunday comes around and of course my thoughts are on one thing only: michael vick and the atl falcons. i roll to stanton von giggler's condo of love for some brews, buds, bbq, and chili. you know when youre at a party and there is little to no seat space available? this is where i would like to introduce the concept of "filler". Invented by the great Anthony Shohow Chiu, filler (n.)-- is a term to describe the people who offer absolutely zero to the conversation and yet they still take up a seat while you have to stand to watch your team get their asses kicked. there was some filler at this party, just like i'm sure you all know who the 'filler' is in your click. if you were smart you would just completely cut connections with said filler, but isnt that like the most impossible thing to do? the worst part about filler people is they don't even know they are filler.

there was also someone i ran into this weekend who is the entire reason for the title of this post. She is a hot girl. She has a cool personality. She is wild beyond most girls her age. Sexually advanced. Nymphotic tendencies. And yet her musk, her scent, her 'area', has reportedly been matched with that of fried cornbreaded tuna chowder hairpie. now i know this is a sensitive topic. if i knew that anal beads would set off the buzzer, then certainly the smell of ones vajin would break records in the offensive arena. but how do people not know? i mean i feel like i know when i need to scrub the boys... dont you ladies know when its time to freshen up the flower? the reason i mention it at all is because all last night i was having recurring nightmares of drowning in buckets and buckets, puddles and floods, of goop with smells beyond anything on this earth. smart girls, explain it to the dumb ones. whatever you can do to make it taste like strawberry shortcake, do that for me. and the other men. please.