BONER PARTY!!!
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WRITERS:
Head Writer: Ned Hepburn
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sunday mornings are the new saturday nights. lets just get that out there. its all fun and games drinking liquor until you talk like a baby but the real winners out there - the real Vince Lombardi’s of awesomeness - know that the next day really seals the deal. you won’t meet the girl in a bar, you’ll meet her the next day when her mascara is all rubbed off on the sheets because you had a rad night with her the night before.
there will be Bloody Marys and BLT’s and you can keep your sunglasses on when you walk her dog later and pretend you’re a celebrity when you keep your sunglasses on while you’re ordering your cafe con leche (por favor) at the coffee place. its cool. just remember you won’t meet the real her at the bar.
Taylor Swift sounds like a fancy bird. A bird of prey. A wild and exotic creature that could possibly defeat a mongoose, or worse, a fleet of mongeese (or mongooses?). Taylor Swift arrived at the American mainstream and drank liberally from it, and spread her wings, and now flies around the country preaching her song as any songbird should.
the more i think about it, the more i realize that the relationship to my boner is a lot like the penultimate scene in The Lion King where Mufasa goes “Simba, this could all be yours” and i reply “fuuuuuuuuucking shiiiiiiiiiit shes wearing knee high sockkkkksssss”.
(via thathipsterporn)
basically i want to be able to look at my son one day - right in the eye - and say “your mom was fucking hot”. and then we high five, me and the kid. or something. i haven’t thought all this out yet.
no seriously
SOMEONE in los angeles must be able to make this happen. we’ll make web videos where i spoon various actresses and we eat pizza and i ask them 10 questions. or i just emit high pitched noises only dogs can hear because i’d be very excited to spoon them.
seriously. web videos. THE INTERNET. it would be good for your client, mister or misses agent person.
(photo via undercoverhipster:bohemea)
i would coax her down from that tree and we’d spoon and eat pizza. god i am such a fucking romantic. sure, its a one note kind of thing. spooning and eating.
one time i went home with a 10, and we did the deed, and afterwards i was all tryin’ to get up on that spoon action, and she said “i dont like spooning”.
dear reader, i was SHOCKED. i left soon after. i assume Rashida would let me spoon her (someone in this godforsaken city of angels can make that happen, right?).
ok, so this is a bad joke, but its true. one time i was at a bar where there were not many women at - it was like 6pm on a wednesday and you’re there to just drink in solace. and then this guy walks in wearing a trenchcoat and sunglasses. he takes a look around the room and says (to everyone) “THERE IS NO POON” and then somehow gets a spoon out of nowhere and makes it bend with his mind. or his thumbs. and then he just walked out.
it was fucking hilarious. the world needs more people like him.
what’s fucking great about cultural gentrification is, like, fifty years ago i’d have to go to Appalachia to bang chicks like Joanna Newsom. and even then i’d have to arm wrestle a bearded guy for her under a full moon while the whole village clapped.
now all i have to do is hop on a train to Brooklyn and PRESTO. i’m *THIS* close to moving out there and just putting a bottle of Charles Shaw and a Smiths record on the end of a fishing pole and dangling it out my window.
i could tell you how to have a good evening, orrrrrrr i could just show you pictures like this.
sometimes i wish i could just drop the computer and walk away, Def Jam Comedy style.
Per the Tumblr-poll request… I was Molotov Cocktease.
tumblr after halloween is like a veritable fucking Boner Safari.
Oh and heres my halloween costume
if i was the big blue anthropomorphic chair i would totally let you sit on me and tell me what the secret word of the day is. HA HA.
An Excerpt from my Romance Novel
With my nude, floral-painted body pressed firmly against the wall, I could only stand still and hope that it would blend seamlessly with the floral wallpaper, hiding me completely.
“She can’t divorce me if she can’t see me,” I thought.
