Posts Tagged "weekends"
Got nothing to do on this particularly beautiful Saturday? Crushed under the looming disappointment of another weekend wasted? Dedleg’s here to help with the latest in our renowned series, “What To Do On The Weekend When You’re Poor and Stoned,” (series may or may not actually be renowned, or even actually actual). Dedleg, the number one trusted source in debatably useful ideas.
What To Do On The Weekend When You’re Poor and Stoned Tip #38: Eat a Taco!
What? Don’t try to act like it isn’t good advice. Got any better ideas? I didn’t think so.
God, I love the weekend.
It’s the weekend!
One time in like 5th grade, we were playing Prison Ball or some shit in gym class — it was one of those games where two teams assemble at opposite sides of the basketball court, and then proceed to throw soft, fuzzy balls at each other. If you get hit by a fuzzy ball, you’ve got to go to jail, behind the opposing team’s basketball hoop. The team with the last man standing wins.
So anyway, I was in jail at the end of the game with some of my comrades. Nonetheless, after a very heated showdown, our team pulled through. Then, drunk with the excitement of our victory, one of my very eager teammates exclaimed “WE WON!” and bit me on the butt cheek. Teeth marks, right through my gym shorts and everything. At the time, it really blew my mind. I couldn’t understand why he would ever do that as a response to winning a game. But now, knowing that it’s the weekend, and seeing this shark eat the fuck out of that seal, I can kind of understand how he must have felt.
In light of yet another summer weekend flushed down the toilet, I thought some photos as dark as Friday and Saturday’s black out attempts would fit the bill.
Thought this little piece of wall art might help increase our apartment’s resale value.
In other news, the arachnid invasion of Chicago has really gained momentum in the past month. At first I kind of liked having the little guys around, but the thing is… now they’re not so little anymore…
Maturity flows like beer at most bars. Bodily fluids do too, apparently.
Speaking of “oh shit!” moments… act cool — it’s the fuzz.
In protest of that bill or whatever that they passed in Arizona, the only liquid I’m allowing into my body is Corona, and my diet has otherwise subsisted almost exclusively of canned refried beans and José Olé’s mini-tacos. My guts feel… mad. But I’m doing what I can.
Things take a turn for the gross here.
I found this… graveyard of cigarette butts and vegetables? and trash and street slime outside one of Chicago’s many fine, flatscreen-wallpapered drinking establishments. I may barf just looking at it right now. Put this shit on the side of cigarette boxes, fuck those necrotic lungs, for real.
Edit: The longer I look at this, the more convinced I am that there’s a dead bird in there. Those damn cancer sticks truly show no mercy, my god.
Unfortunately, I’ve got some real life to attend to (gasp), so I’ll have to be brief. It’s Friday morning, you might be hungover from “Thirsty Thursday” … I think you know what to do.
That’s right, I’m here to recommend that you try this AMAZING ALL-IN-ONE HERBAL REMEDY!!!
So get lickin’…
And listen:Jaylib - The Red
Have a retarded weekend, everyone. This track from the 2003 collaborative album, Champion Sound, by legendary producers J Dilla and Madlib should get you halfway there. I’ll leave the other half up to your delivery guy.
Or perhaps just mouthwatering samples to get you craving for the next one already.
I like to keep it green. It’s good for the environment, and it’s good for making art. And I’m talking about two things at once!
But man can not live on herbs and beer alone — that’s what Party Party Party Mix is for. You can’t see the label in the photo, but that’s actually what it’s called. It includes off-brand Cheetos — I think that’s what warrants the extra “Party Party” preceding “Party Mix.”
This was a scattered post, but I’m kind of a scatter-brained type of dude. Figure that one out.
It’s a Saturday, and that means somewhere, sometime soon, somebody will be dancing. But it won’t be me, because I’ll be getting drunk and fucking some serious Koopa ass in Mario Kart like all the truest pimps and macs do.
What’s in a weekend? Hm, looks like about 41 beers and a bottle of red wine, according to the refuse collected on my kitchen counter.
Another one burnt to a crisp, which is appropriate phrasing considering I feel about the same.