15 Steps To Be An Ungrateful Dumb-Ass

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  1. Get liver cancer
  2. Have two major surgeries to get the liver tumors removed
  3. Once your health gets back on track and you’re feeling well, start making poor decisions
  4. Get drunk several times during the month
  5. Wake up the day after a drinking binge at 1 in the afternoon
  6. As soon as you get on your feet, vomit while trying to piece together how you got home
  7. Find several pictures in your phone you don’t remember taking
  8. Check Snapchat and see all the snaps you don’t remember posting
  9. Find your pants in the shower
  10. Come to the realization you drove home drunk
  11. Waste most the day sleeping on the
  12. Spend the few waking hours of your day laying on the couch, smoking weed, eating pizza and beating off
  13. Watch The Big Short and think about ways you too can conquer the stock market
  14. Fall asleep and wake up feeling shitty on Monday morning
  15. Piss part of Monday away as well.
There you have it.  The steps to being an ungrateful dumb-ass

Can We Share a Port-o-Potty?


I’ve been known to ruin New Years Eve for my best friend.  Two years in a row I completely trainwrecked his night as a matter of fact.  One year I was so drunk he had to drag me from the party and through the streets of Philadelphia to our hotel room.  As people passed us on the streets I wished herpes on them as I mumbled other derogatory phrases.

He carried me to our hotel room, put me in bed and went back to the party.  When the rest of my friends returned to the hotel later that night the stench emanating from the room hit them like a truck.  I had thrown up all over the ground and inside of one of my friends brand new pair of shoes.  The picture he posted of his shoes on Myspace became something of legend among my friends.  I wish I still had it.

The room was ruined.  No one could bear the stench.  Except for the guy who’s shoes I threw up in, he braved the night in the disgusting room.  Luckily for the rest of us, one of my friends was sober and drove us home.

The next morning I woke up on my friend’s floor.  I was miserably hung over and smelled terrible.  I wasn’t sure what the smell was until I went to the bathroom.  I had shit myself.  Not a lot, but more than a shart.

But that’s not the night I want to discuss.  That was a drop in the bucket compared to the previous year.  This also took place in Philadelphia.  A group of us went to a to bar with an all-you-can-drink special.  Needless to say I got horrendously drunk and made poor choices.

The bar had port-o-potty’s set up outside for men.  All of the bathrooms inside were only available for women that night.  The overflow of women waiting for a bathroom spilled outside to the port-o-potty’s.

Towards the end of the night I was in line waiting to take a piss.  A rather plump girl was ahead of me.  We made small talk for a couple of minutes.  When it was her turn to enter the port-o-potty she turned and kissed me.   (more…)

Cops Hate Pit Beef

“I’m really not going to drink much today.”

I spoke those famous last words around noon on St. Patrick’s Day in 2005.

I was working in sales for a fortune 100 company at the time.  Since our region was above plan at that point in the year we all left work before lunch and headed out in Baltimore to partake in the St Paddy’s day festivities.

CantonSquareScunnyTributeWe went to Canton Square, which is an area in Baltimore with bars up and down both sides of the street.  It was jammed packed with people and the lines for the bars were very long.  Even before noon.

A friend of mine was bartending at the bar we went to.  As soon as I saw him I ordered drinks and shots for everyone.  It was on the company tab so I ordered several rounds.

About an hour after getting there I was struggling to keep it together.  I don’t know how many shots and drinks I had in that hour.  But I’m pretty sure it was too many.

My memory of the next 2-3 hours is pretty foggy.  This was during a period of my life where I blacked out about 50% of the times I drank.

Apparently I left the bar around 3:30 in the afternoon (My memory about the day kicks back in around this time). I found myself sitting on a bench in the middle of Canton Square eating a pit beef sandwich.  There were cops out everywhere patrolling the area to make sure drunk people, like myself, weren’t causing too much trouble.

One police officer rode past me on his bike while I was sitting on the bench.  I decided it would be a good idea to throw the rest of my pit beef sandwich at him.  The sandwich bounced off his bike helmet and he stopped immediately.  He looked around for what hit him and who had thrown it.

Unfortunately for me, my St. Paddy’s day shenanigans captured the attention of another cop who watched the whole incident unfold.  He quickly rushed up to me and pulled me off the bench.  He informed the other officer what I had done.  They weren’t very pleased with me to say the least.

They put me in handcuffs and escorted me through the square in front of thousands of people.  Including several of my co-workers.  That was fun explaining on Monday morning.

I kept asking the officers why they were detaining me.  “What did I do wrong?”  They told me I was going to jail for assaulting an officer.  My only reply was, “With a pit beef sandwich.”  This reply was met with an even greater level of contempt for me.

They threw me in the back of the police car and were about to take me to lock up for the night.  Fortunately for me, a more serious situation arose that needed their attention.  They released me with a criminal citation and told me to go home.

The mile or so that I  stumbled back to my house was brutal.  I’m not sure why I didn’t take a cab.  I tripped over a curb, smashed my chin off the ground and bled for the rest of the walk.

I woke up the next morning to find the criminal citation on my nightstand.  It was all crumbled up and I couldn’t quite make out what it said.  However, I did recognize the words “Pit Beef Sandwich.”

I ended up having to hire a lawyer and go to court for the incident.  Luckily for me The criminal citation had the wrong statute number on it and the DA didn’t want to go through the hassle of getting it changed.  My lawyer squared things away and all the charges were dropped.


KRS’s Drunken Fun Ride into The Cornfield


My 1989 Chevy Beretta screeched out of the McDonald’s parking lot as the flashing lights followed behind me.  I was 16.  I had just received my drivers license 4 months prior.  I was extremely intoxicated; speeding down side streets in my little suburban town trying to outrun the police chasing me.  I had no seat belt on, but the party ball sitting shotgun was buckled up safely.

I was speeding recklessly.  But I obeyed all other traffic laws.  I stopped at stop signs.   I used my turn signals.  Not the best plan to elude police.

I approached a bend in the road and lost control of my car.  I ended up driving straight into a cornfield.  My car stalled and died.  Luckily no one was injured.

I started to exit my car and the police were on me immediately.  I was struck in the face with a flashlight and slammed to the ground.  The police claimed I was resisting arrest.  At 16 I wasn’t a very menacing looking character.   I was 5’9, 150 lbs and hammer-time drunk.  Drink Beer

When the police searched my car they found some odd items inside.  First, and most obvious was the party ball they found sitting shotgun with a seat belt around it.  Then they found a marine K-bar knife under the passenger seat and pair of nunchucks under the driver side seat.

When they got me to the police station my face was bloody and bruised from the flashlight.  I had brush burns from my chest up to my face and onto my ears from when the police had drug me across the ground.  I cursed out all of the officers using every bit of profanity I knew.

I made a lot of worthless threats about how my father was going to get me out of trouble.  He had zero pull.  I’m not sure why I would even say something like that.  I guess being extremely drunk and having been hit in the head with a flashlight could have had something to do with it.

The police antagonized me and got me to act out more.  I asked them to let me out of the handcuffs so I could wipe the blood off my face, but they refused.  So I spit the blood off my face towards them.

When the police finally drew my blood I had a blood alcohol level of .27.  Almost 3 times the legal limit (Back then it was .10 in Pennsylvania).  I was charged with DUI, eluding police and numerous other offenses.  They wanted to keep me overnight but I was released to my father.

After my father picked me up from the police station he did something very odd.  He took me to a diner to eat at around 2:30-3 in the morning.  We met his degenerate friends who liked to hang out at there all night.  I was bloody, bruised and drunk; and he thought it would be a good idea to go meet his friends.

The next morning I woke up with my face sticking to the pillow.  The blood from my cuts dried to the pillowcase causing me to be glued to it.  I was praying the previous nights events were just a dream.  But they were not!  Facing my family and friends was extremely embarrassing.  Especially showing up to high school with bruises all over my face and everyone knowing what had happened.

In the end I was convicted of DUI, eluding police and resisting arrest.  There were about 12-13 other charges that were dropped. I lost my license for 18 months and was on probation until I graduated high school.  Part of my probation stipulated that I had to attend outpatient counseling for alcoholism.  My parents sold my car to pay for my fines and lawyers fees.

Not driving for the remainder of high school really put a damper on my social life.  I had to constantly bum rides anywhere I wanted to go.  High school wasn’t a shining moment in my life.  My poor choices made it even worse.



KRS…Unwanted Party Guest (Part 1)

In my early and mid-teens, I was a very awkward, scrawny and unattractive young man.  Like many at that age I was very obnoxious, disrespectful and sought attention in all the wrong ways.  I was a mediocre athlete for my diminutive size and lack of strength.  Getting bullied by older kids, while bullying those that I could actually scare, was the dichotomy of my daily life.

At 12 years old I started drinking with my friends on the weekends.  Unlike most of my friends I drank quite heavily.  Drinking until I blacked became a regular occurrence.

It started out with my friends and I drinking 40’s on the train tracks and in the woods.  Then It upgraded to party balls, bottles of shitty vodka and SoCo.  The alcohol intensified all of my worst qualities.  That’s when KRS showed up.

KRS was my sauced up, slurring, offensive, drunken alter ego.   My friends gave me this nickname in junior high.  My signature look became a blank stare with nothing going on behind my eyes.   At first they thought it was hysterical when I got that drunk.  They would encourage my behavior just so they would have something to break my balls about later that week.

Whenever we had left over alcohol from the weekend I would always volunteer to hold it for my friends.  When I said hold it, what I really meant was drink it.  Every week I had a different excuse about what happened to the booze.  It got to the point where they would just hid the alcohol outdoors rather than give it to me.

I used to love to drink before my intramural basketball games in high school.  I would show up reeking of liquor.  It would just ooze out of my pours when I would sweat.  All of my friends could smell it on me.  I would be out on the courts drunk as hell, running and gunning, refusing to pass to my teammates.  The first year our team, The Specials, didn’t win a game.

One night I recall (vaguely) drinking the majority of bottle of really shitty vodka.  It was a plastic bottle of Vladimir Vodka if I remember correctly.  The bottle was supposed to be shared among five of us.  I had other plans for it.

binge_npI bounced around that night from party to party drinking cup after cup of Vodka and lemonade.  At one point I found myself asleep in a bush.  By the end of the night I was laying in a friends bath tub projectile vomiting.  I had to be carried out by my arms and legs, down three flights of stair out of his house and into a car.  My head banged off numerous steps on my way out .

As time went on my antics became worse.  My behavior became less appealing to my friends.  Before long I was banned from most parties.  Which meant my friends were banned if they brought me.  It was high school and everyone lived for house parties.  Needless to say my unwelcome status led to me getting dropped by my core group of friends rather quickly.