I enjoy updating my website, and I enjoy updating about meaningless pieces of my life. It's something I do that won't turn into anything, but I like to update and talk about whats on my mind. This way, you fuckers will get to see what I'm like, and think "oooh, I'd like to sleep with that guy".
I've been in college for 6 semesters now, and after about halfway through the first one I was a pizza connoisseur.
Now, there is a strange phenomenon about pizza. And it is this. Say you order a pizza, regular pepperoni will do, and you eat about half of it. Mmmm, good, warm, cheesy pizza. Well, this is where the magic happens. Let that fucker sit anywhere from 3-12 hours and it takes on a taste all its own.
Aged pizza is its own culinary masterpiece complete with exquisite taste and aroma completely different of that of a fresh pizza. They are two completely different dishes, I feel.
Some prefer to microwave the aged pizza, some like it straight from the fridge, with that cold taste, but as Ted from Queer Eye has taught me, "throw that leftover pizza in a frying pan and keep that crispy crust crunch!"
What the fuck makes me such a pizza goddamned know it all you ask? Well well well, my friends, Let me take you on a journey through mystical realms of wonder, sorostitute night, shaved pubic hair, long nights of ping pong, and of course, a freshman dorm.
In my freshman year, my best friend Ken and I had pizza so much, that we shit out pizza rolls and sold them to other friends. Ken actually had a stack of pizza boxes about 5 feet high in his dorm room. We would generally stay up late playing "ping mother fucking pong" because we were (are) hard pipe hittin niggaz. And let me tell you what, after so much thrusting and diving on the ground and skinning our knees and knocking balls back and forth, we'd then play ping pong for a few hours, and order a pizza.
Actually on the day I moved out of my dorms, I found a slice of cheese pizza behind my fucking computer. That my friends, is the epitome of freshman year in the dorms.
Whoever has their local pizza delivery service number committed to memory has a gigantic cock. 579-7900, how it rolls off the tongue.
I, ladies and gentlemen, have one gigantic cock. KEN TOO!
I'd also like to talk about mowing the lawn while I'm here.
The good part about winter is that my grass doesn't grow, so that means I don't have to mow the fucking thing. The good part about last summer is my father lived 20 miles away, so I'd call him and he'd mow my lawn for me.
The bad part about this summer is that my father moved away, and my lawnmower broke. So I get a call from my ancient, decaying landlady bitching at me about my jungle in the backyard. I mentioned something witty about how her vagina probably has a jungle of pubic hair, but she didn't hear that.
So inbetween my 35 hour work week, my 2 presentations due, studying for finals, masturbation time, and time spent raping women in the nearby park, I have almost zero free time to mow the lawn, and this old lady is busting my balls about it?
So I mowed the fucking thing, to appease this relic of antiquity, and while I was mowing, it reminded me of this cool story from high school, in Shitomingo.
I was forced into drudgery then too, to mow the back lawn. So I'm mowing like a happy mother fucker, and I am going through some grass about 8 inches long (like me!) and I hear some ruckus. No, I cannot describe the ruckus. I look at the lawnmower, and I see it spitting out turtle colored slices of roast beef.
A few slices of a turtle ooze out of the side of the mower, so I lift it up, to see this turtle, well, actually half of a turtle. He's completely opened up, his shell is gone. It reminded me of an anatomy book, when they show pictures of a human body cut in half, and you can see all the organs.
That's only a mere fraction of the possum story. Perhaps I'll post that! Tee hee!
Quote of the Day: "I better get to sleep before I start giving somebody some gay man-head" -- Alex
It's not ping pong--it's brotherhood of the paddle. You better remember that nigger cock or I will be forced to insert the business end of a shovel into your anal cavity.
Posted by: Genevieve at April 29, 2004 07:12 PMthat poor turtle! i mourn for him
Posted by: jane at April 29, 2004 09:31 PMI had a turtle once....he ran away. thats why we called him speedy.
Posted by: John at April 30, 2004 06:23 PM492-4777. if i call before 5, becky will answer and i only have to say is "kenny" and she will say "see you in a minute" and put in my order without even asking what i want, because she already knows. that, my friends, is elite pizza ordering.
Posted by: ken at May 8, 2004 06:11 PMPETA will rape you for the turtle story alone, if you value the sanctity of your asshole you won't post the possum story. (or is it opossum?)
Posted by: cati at May 20, 2004 05:37 PM