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Story Time with EG - ***OFFICIAL THREAD*** (The "Magnum Opus" is complete 5/17/18) (3 Viewers)

How did you explain to the girls why you ran off? Did they notice you were wearing different clothing?

 
NREC34 said:
How did you explain to the girls why you ran off? Did they notice you were wearing different clothing?
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I didn't see the other 3 until Monday, the one in the hot tub never asked. When the others asked me on Monday, I pretended I didn't remember and just said something to the effect of : "God, I don't know, I was so hammered, I probably thought you were cops or something." I'm sure they were puzzled and knew I was full of crap (pun intended) but they didn't press it further.

 
Sticking(no pun intended) with the sh@#$#@ your pants theme....."pound of sugar free Haribo gummi bears" needs to be here, dude.

 
5-ish Finkle said:
Sticking(no pun intended) with the sh@#$#@ your pants theme....."pound of sugar free Haribo gummi bears" needs to be here, dude.
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I ate an entire bag of these AND a bag of sugar free Jelly Belly over the course of a movie about a year ago. I barely made it home. My rectum was like a popped fire hydrant for the next 24 hours. I was guzzling water like I was stranded in the Kalahari desert trying to stay hydrated. Think you'll just counter it with some Imodium? Think again. Normally one or two of those little pills will stop me up for a day or so, but the sugar alcohols in those candies swatted them aside as if they were gnats on Godzilla's nose. Except in this case, Godzilla was non - stop diarrhea. There were no Japanese people around, but if there had been, the reaction would have been the same; panicked fleeing and abject horror. The noises alone would have emptied Tokyo, it sounded like a band comprised of a meth tweaker whaling on a xylophone, another opening and slamming the world's creakiest door, and yet another strangling a wildcat.

 
Join me for a trip down memory lane as we paraphrase a conversation between a drunk EG, a drunk Yams (again from the eating contest videos), and a drunk nudie-bar employee out in front of Teasers on Duval St. in Key West, FL. This exchange was prompted by an older (mid-40s) woman who had obviously been around the block a few times and was sitting in front of the staircase up to the go-go bar, attempting to lure customers inside. We'll call her "Barker", since that was, in effect, what she was doing, and also is quite apropos vis-a-vis her appearance.

Barker : "Come on up ! No cover, 20 all-nude females ready to entertain ! Guys, you want to come upstairs?"

Yams : "Are you representative of the quality of women employed by this bar?"

EG : "Ooof."

Barker : "What do you mean?"

Yams : "I mean... are there a bunch of buffalo chicks in there?"

Barker (now getting annoyed) : "What the f--k do you mean? You trying to say I look like a buffalo? You..."

EG (jokingly, trying to defuse the situation) : "Heh heh.. no, he means chicks from Buffalo aren't very attractive..."

Barker : "I'm from Buffalo !"

EG (sighing) : "Of course you are......."

Barker : "I rode a motorcycle down here after my parents kicked me out of their house.."

EG : "What is this, a f--king A&E biography?"

Yams : "Look, are the girls in there good looking or not?"

Just then, two dancers come down the stairs.

Barker : "See for yourself, this is Destiny and Amber....."

Yams : "Those chicks are very, very..................average."

EG (doing announcer voice) : "Teasers !! Home of 3 dollar Bud bottles and the world's highest concentration of herpes sores !! Look, she's got one right there...."

Yams : "Listen, let's cut through the BS. Has anyone ever taken a dump on your chest?"

Barker : "What? No......."

Yams : "What if I slide back here when you get off work? I think I can hold this monster back until then. What time do you get off?"

Barker (actually seeming interested in Yams at this point) : "2 AM. You're really going to come back for me at 2:00?"

EG : "Holy s--t... is she even listening to you?"

Yams : "She's drunk. That's right, toots, I'll be back at 2:00 and I'm going to hit you with a Cleveland steamer. I might even do a chili dog - you know what that is?"

Barker : "You won't come back at 2:00 - you're full of s--t."

EG : "He IS full of s--t - that's what he was just saying. You'll see-"

Yams : "I am f--king coming back. I'm going to take you back to my hotel."

Barker : "Yeah, right..."

Yams : "I'm serious. You're coming back to my hotel tonight." (EG and Yams start to walk off)

Barker (calling after Yams) : "I'm sure I won't see you again !"

Yams : "You heard what I said. I'll be back at 2:00 and I'm going to take a huge f--king DUMP right on your chest. Bet on it !!!!"

Barker : "I'm not going to hold my breath !!!!"

EG : "I'd recommend you do........."

We never went back. In fact, a few short hours later, we were packing up our hotel room after being ejected from the premises. An hour prior to this exchange, our friend Barry passed out standing up in a different bar and wiped out an entire table of young women, spilling drinks all over them and taking one of them to the floor. After he was thrown out of the bar, we stuck him on a bike taxi and sent him back to the hotel, but apparently, he pissed himself on the way back and was kicked out of the bike taxi as well. Urine-drenched and wasted, he managed to find his way back to the hotel, but not all the way to the hotel room. Near as we can figure, he laid down in a chaise lounge by the pool, pulled out Mr. Johnson again (presumably to whiz on the pool deck) and then passed out COLD. That's exactly how the owner of the hotel found him the next morning - soaked in piss, penis flapping in the breeze, in full view of the entire establishment. To make matters worse, Yams and I got back around 4:30 and couldn't find Barry, so we decided the best thing to do was to start shotgunning beers and blasting Motorhead at max volume on our boom box. I don't remember this, but we have videotape of it, so I know we were guilty. Yams is also bleeding from the ear in this video, we never figured out what happened there. By 8 AM, we were unceremoniously banned for life from this hotel.

I still have the videotape somewhere (which also includes us smoking a joint my brother rolled using a page from the conveniently supplied Bible - thanks Gideons! - as well as all three of us vomiting in tandem for about a minute straight the following night in our new hotel), along with our breakfast check from the morning we were kicked out -

Wings

Wings

French Toast

Jager

Jager

Jager

Jager

To this day, we still call Willie T's bar & restaurant "Wingswingsfrenchtoastjagerjagerjagerjager" whenever we refer to it or go there.

 
Found this one from when I first got my new phone/number and some jagoff texted me, thinking I was the girl who previously had this #

I decided to have a little fun and text the guy back, pretending to be whomever it was he was trying to reach, but then quickly make it obvious that I wasn't the intended recipient. However, this guy just keeps hanging in there and will not let go. A couple of times, I was sure it was over, but...nope. It took a long time to confirm what I suspected - he thinks I'm a female and he's trying to wet his beak. However, how he would still think I was female after this, I'll never know.

Here is the entire exchange, copied verbatim. I'll call him RT for random texter.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

RT : This is (name redacted), formerly of chops, I'm selling real estate again and I just wanted to say hey in case you were up there recently. I'm on a normalish schedule now !! LOL. Hope you are well.

EG: Not bad. Non-stop diarrhea for the last few days though.

RT: Wow. Didn't expect to hear that. I hope you feel better soon. Eat rice. it'll help.

EG : I tried that already, went right through me. I sprayed my shorts right on the sidewalk. It looked like pork fried rice. Some Chinese lady behind me yelled : "Ohhh ! Who orda a numba 12 ?!"

RT : That's messed up.

EG : I was mortified. I could have #### myself, except that I already had ! lollolollolololol

RT : I had a major malfunction of the bowels back in 2004. Long story.

EG : Tell me about your bowel malfunction. Spare NO detail. Omit NOTHING.

RT : The story is way too long to text

EG : Great, now I'll have to go punch my grandma to calm myself down. Thanks a lot.

(next morning)

RT: Sorry, has to go to clients house and talk them through the process. Are you better today?

EG : Not really. Crapped myself again last night in the car. I went home, threw my undies away, put on some Slayer and masturbated into a fern.

RT : I'd have liked to watch you do that. (Editor's note : Uh oh)

RT : Why a fern?

EG : Because it was there. Whatevs. Hang on, I have to go pistol whip that vagrant I have chained up in the back yard.

RT : Pet or human?

EG : Human of course. Midget. After I kill him, I'll eat him. The perfect crime AND the perfect snack.

RT : Well, I'm not a midget. What would you do to me? Are you thinking or planning my demise?

EG : Can't. This damn diarrhea is taking up all my time. It's not even an illness anymore, it's a lifestyle.

RT: Can't what? Think or plan? N wouldn't you rather masturbate with a #### in your mouth?

EG : That would be super-gay. (Ed: I'm straight-up telling him I'm a guy.)

RT : Why do you say Cindy?

RT : This is Cindy, right?

EG : Yeah, just kidding. I gotta run cuz I gots da runs. get it? Lolollllolol. Ooof. Uh oh, OK, gotta go right now, no joke. Oh... ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh... too late.

EG : FML. GD it, how do you get feces out of suede?

RT: What suede, the couch? Try rubbing alcohol.

EG : Plus, I just found sphincter prints on my bedroom window. How does that even happen?

RT: Who are you showing your holes?

EG: Gotta go, I'm having a live salamander for lunch and then I have to go rob the old age home. Lates !

RT : Maybe it's your diet.

(Day 3)

EG : Hey, remember my friend Bob?

RT: No, actually.

EG : He got arrested for raping llamas. I have to go bail him out. Plus, I just sprayed and prayed. You know, sprayed the bowl and prayed for God to intervene on this diarrhea. It's out of hand.

RT : Ummm.

EG : I've been eating a ton of Arturo's Beans. Refried.

RT : Maybe ease up a bit.

EG : Come on guy, it's Arturo's Beans man.

RT : Well, this conversation has gotten a little too strange for me. let me know when you are well.. lol.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At this point, I let it die, but I suspect I could strike it up again at any time. Ladies, this just shows you how much it takes to get a guy who's hot for your chili to back off.

 
RT: Sorry, has to go to clients house and talk them through the process. Are you better today?EG : Not really. Crapped myself again last night in the car. I went home, threw my undies away, put on some Slayer and masturbated into a fern.

RT : I'd have liked to watch you do that. (Editor's note : Uh oh)

RT : Why a fern?

EG : Because it was there. Whatevs. Hang on, I have to go pistol whip that vagrant I have chained up in the back yard.

RT : Pet or human?

EG : Human of course. Midget. After I kill him, I'll eat him. The perfect crime AND the perfect snack.
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:lmao: This part is still one of the funniest things I've ever read on this board.

 
Evilgrin 72 said:
Yams : "I'm serious. You're coming back to my hotel tonight." (EG and Yams start to walk off)

Barker (calling after Yams) : "I'm sure I won't see you again !"

Yams : "You heard what I said. I'll be back at 2:00 and I'm going to take a huge f--king DUMP right on your chest. Bet on it !!!!"

Barker : "I'm not going to hold my breath !!!!"

EG : "I'd recommend you do........."
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:lmao:

 
Evilgrin 72 said:
Imagine if you will....

It's early December of the year 2000. My brother (the Ox from the eat-off videos) and I are living in a 5th floor penthouse apartment in downtown Salt Lake City, UT. Ox is moving back to New Jersey to be with his then-girlfriend (now wife) after about a year of complete drunken debauchery (yes, in Utah) and we're having one last send-off bar crawl for him. About 25-30 people have assembled at the apartment and we're striking off to hit 10 bars before last call. Everyone has been equipped with maps, the bars have all been contacted and are expecting our group and providing drink specials for us. Everyone is in festive spirits - everyone except me, that is. No, I'm not experiencing intestinal distress, I've just noticed my ex-girlfriend standing in the corner of the living room. An aside, for some brief backstory.

This gal, we'll call Kerry, is someone I met at a bar some 6 months prior. Not long afterward, we began a passionate but tumultuous "relationship" that lasted about 2-3 months before I was able to admit to myself that the girl was a raving loon with whom I certainly had no sort of future. The novelty of the new p---- had worn off by then, and I ended things. Without providing all the gory details, let's just say she didn't take it well. A couple of her close friends still hung out with my brother and me, as well as the rest of our group of drunken pirate friends, so every once in a while, she'd be around when we convened at certain bars and house parties. Always made for some uncomfortable moments, especially when she'd had too much to drink, but nothing too bad. There were a couple of nights where she ended up back at my place and despite my locking myself in the bedroom, she'd pick the lock and starting barking about this and that until I threw her out of the apartment. So, yeah, she was a little bit batty.

Anyway, she's lurking in the corner, but I don't mind all that much. There are so many people coming out that I figure it won't be too difficult to keep my distance from her. We all strike out and begin imbibing. For a couple of hours, everyone's having a great time, but then things start to take a turn for the worse. By about bar 5 or 6, Kerry is actively soliciting attention from basically every bartender and male patron of every bar we enter, in a futile attempt to make me jealous. The problem is that I GENUINELY do not give a rat's ### and further, am thrilled that she's devoting her attention elsewhere so I don't have to deal with her at all. Naturally, my indifference is fueling her fire and eventually, she starts handing out my address to these dudes, inviting them to a non-existent after party at my place. When I catch wind of this, now I'm actually annoyed, not because she's going to hook up with one or more dudes, but because she's now inviting throngs of people to my apartment. I live in perhaps the nicest building in the city, and the neighbors aren't going to take kindly to a 2 AM parade of horny guys marching up and down the hallway trying to get into my apartment. I pull her aside and tell her that no one is coming back to my place after the crawl, and kindly ask her to stop f---ing giving out my address and phone number to random strangers. Now, she's grinning ear-to-ear because she finally got under my skin. Awesome.

Flash forward about two hours. We're at bar 9 and suddenly, I feel a rumbling on my bowels. Nothing urgent, I think, but definitely something to keep an eye on. About 15 minutes and another beer later, I start sweating. Just as I'm questioning the wisdom of eating a burrito from the guy with the cart on the corner, it hits me. I go to DEFCON 1 faster than I even thought was possible. It's gone from troublesome to extreme desperation in the blink of an eye. My sphincter is spasming in rhythm with the strobe light in the bar as it desperately tries to hang on to this avalanche of diarrhea with which it's suddenly been confronted. I put my beer down and sprint to the bathroom........ only to see a line 12 deep to get in. Knowing I can't possibly wait, I begin to just walk past everyone on line, figuring I can always resort to the "it's easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission" adage after the fact. However, even as I shove my way through the line, I realize the situation is hopeless. There's 1 urinal and 1 toilet in the bathroom, with someone urinating in each. Add to this, the toilet has NO barriers around it of any kind, and is facing the bathroom door directly, which is being propped open by the line of people waiting to get in. So, if I'm going to do this, I'm going to have to drop trou and then drop wolfbait in full view of a line of disgruntled customers, whose places in line I just usurped. This isn't going to work, and I have mere seconds to figure out what to do. I turn on my heels and run out of the bar onto the main drag of downtown SLC as I contemplate my options.

I run out and the plaza outside the bar is mobbed with people, as it's roughly 11 PM on a Saturday night downtown. There are people everywhere. I start frantically looking around for somewhere to leave this ungodly deposit and I see nothing. Not a restaurant, a public toilet, anything I can access quickly, and I have no time to think it through. I choose a direction and begin walking and it happens. I feel a blast of liquid escape into my boxers. I realize now that all is lost and my motive shifts from finding a bathroom to finding someplace that will simply shield me from the gaze of my fellow barflies so I can crap on the sidewalk. In full panic mode, I run behind a large concrete structure that looks like a big salad bowl, about 4 feet high, in which are planted about 6-7 trees. This gets me at least out of sight of the vast majority of the crowd, but there's one guy and his girl standing back there smoking cigarettes. As I stare at them, trying to figure out what to do, the floodgates open and about a gallon of liquid s--- pours out into my slacks. The girl turns around and I'm staring right into her eyes as molten lava runs down my legs, onto my socks, and into my shoes. At this point, all is lost, so in order to relieve the unbelievable pressure in my abdomen, I abandon all dignity and simply stop fighting. All I have left is the relief that comes when the mother lode makes its way out. It's now pooling around my feet and at this point, the happy couple figures out what's going on. The girl shrieks in horror and runs away while the boyfriend begins laughing harder than I think I've ever seen a human being laugh. He looks at me, and all I can muster is : "Dude...." before he runs out after his girlfriend and starts yelling : "Hey !! Some guy's s--tting his pants back here !!!!"

Now, the deed is done, and the pain is over, but I have no idea what to do. I'm standing in the epicenter of a fair-sized US city with a load of s--- in my pants, dripping out onto the sidewalk, and Tom Brokaw here is spreading the word at top volume into the street. I have no choice but to get the hell out of there, so I quickly get my bearings, figure out in which direction my apartment is located, and simply begin sprinting home, splashing feces behind me as I go. The whole block had to have looked like a Jackson Pollack painting. I ignore the catcalls of those who have seen me and pieced together the fact that I'm the guy who just s--- himself and manage to get away from the bright lights of downtown and off to a side street, which at least gives me a modicum of cover. I'm running as fast I can towards home base, when the unthinkable happens.

Just when I think I might get away, a car pulls along side of me and slows down to match my running pace. Praying it isn't a cop, I turn to the left and realize it's four of my female co-workers who are leaving the crawl a touch early and are heading home. All of them are hot, by the way. I hear a window rolling down and a voice saying : "[EG] ! What are you doing ?!" Having no idea what to say, I yell out : "I just have to run home for a minute !" They pull over in front of me and say : "Well, hop in, we'll give you a ride..." I have no clue how to respond to this; for what reason would I decline a ride? It's about 14 degrees out to begin with. My only saving grace is that I realize they couldn't possibly have noticed the giant brown stain that covered the entire back side of my lower body. I can't run by them now, otherwise they might see it, so I stop and angle myself so they can only see the front of me. "Ahh, no, that's OK, I didn't get a workout today and I kind of like this cool air. I want to run it out.." "Don't be silly, come on" Brandy says as she scoots over in the back seat, leaving room for me to park my crap-soaked buttocks. Now, I'm really at a loss, so I do the only thing I could think of. I take a few sideways steps away from the car and then sprint down the nearest alley to get away. I can see the looks of sheer confused disbelief as they watch me do this, and then I'm gone. As I reach the end of the alley and prepare to double back and get home, I can see the car full of broads now creeping down the streets, looking for me down the alleyways. I duck behind a dumpster and wait for them to pass before springing out and heading back in the other direction. I feel like Emilio Estevez in "Judgment Night" as I duck and dodge, trying to get away from a car full of babes, while spraying diarrhea everywhere.

Eventually, I lose them, and figure I'll come up with an excuse for my behavior on Monday; it's not my primary concern at the moment. After 15 minutes of cat and mouse, I get back to my building, eschew the elevator (too risky) and begin the sprint up 5 flights of stairs to my apartment. I get in undetected, jump into the shower with all my clothes on, and turn it on. While in the shower, I strip down, kick everything I was wearing into the corner of the shower, and scrub my body, gagging and retching the entire time. Ultimately, I get cleaned up, climb out of the shower, find a garbage bag, and scoop up all my soiled, wet clothes with it. I change and run down the hallway to the garbage chute and throw everything down it.

A few minutes later, my cell phone rings. It's the Ox, wondering where I went and why I left my expensive wool overcoat in the bar. I ask him to bring it to bar 10 and I meet the group there, having wolfed down two Imodium tablets and run back to where they were headed. My brother notices I was wearing different clothes, so I make up a story about the guy next to me in the bathroom throwing up and it splashing onto my shirt and slacks. That, you see, is why I had to go home and change ! He buys it, no one else says a word, and I'm home free.

To complete the evening, this girl that I work with who had a crush on me for months was loaded out of her mind and openly flirting with me when I get to bar #10. She's climbing all over me, and I'm having to essentially hold her upright. Just then, I notice that Kerry is still with the group, and now she's pissed. She thinks I'm doing this to aggravate her and make her jealous, and she goes off in the middle of the bar.

"How DARE you hook up with that f---ing SLUT in front of me, you piece of s---, rotten SOB !!!" blah blah blah.

She's so loud and so angry, that at this point, I notice a circle of about 20 strangers has formed around us, watching the goings-on. I'm trying to tell this lunatic that this girl is falling over drunk, and that the reason she's in my arms at the moment is because I'm keeping her from hitting the floor. She's not having it and then endless stream of epithets is unbroken until...

***WHAM***

She slaps me across the face as hard as she can. It was enough to make my eyes water. The crowd gasps : "Ooooooooh !" as Kerry storms off, out of the bar, and out of my life forever as it turned out. I never saw her again. The girl in my arms looks up and says at conversational tone :

(slurring) : "That bithc.... just take me back to my hotel, I want to (assorted sexual things I can't type at FBG)" I clamp a hand over her mouth and look up to see some random bloke standing next to me, staring at me as if I'm Jesus Christ.

"Dude........... niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice..................."

He shakes my hand as I begin to head for the door, and suddenly, the crowd begins to applaud and whistle as I reach the exit. The applause builds and I'm literally walking out to a standing ovation. I extend one hand over my head and give a thumbs up like an injured football player being carried off on a stretcher as the cheering reaches a crescendo - then out into the night. I drag this girl two blocks to her hotel and get her up to her suite, when I realize she's sharing the place with the 4 girls that offered me the ride earlier. As I fumble for something to say to them when they invariably ask me what the hell I was doing, I walk into one of the bathrooms and realize that one of them is in the hot tub, naked. She spins and looks up at the two of us. I turn to exit, when drunk girl in my arms grabs me and stops me from leaving. "It's cool..........." she purrs.

That's right, boys and girls, I ended up having one of the VERY few 3-ways of my lifetime that night. In the hot tub, near the hot tub, in the bed, on the table, etc. etc. Not more than 60 minutes after I stood in the road unloading a waterfall of crap into my own pants. It just goes to show that a little resourcefulness and a lot of alcohol can turn a nightmare into a dream come true if you just ride it out.

Every single detail of this story is true, the names have simply been changed/obscured to protect the innocent.
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:singleclap:

:slowclap:

:roaringapplaus:

 
Bob Sacamano said:
Thread needs some Black Giant Penis imo
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[SIZE=15pt]Black Giant Penis to the tune of Smoke on the Water[/SIZE]

You were all out of condoms....

Cause you go through them like tissues

It didn't stop you from riding his d-ck

It wasn't even an issue

You asked him to pull his pecker out

But he came just a little bit sooner

Now you'll have a surprise in another 9 months

When you meet little Leroy junior....

Blaaaaaack giant penis..

It's probably just your size (your tw@t's enormous)

Blaaaack giant peeeeeenis....

(riff)

Your parents wouldn't let him inside

So he f--ked you on a warehouse floor

I can't say that I was very surprised

Since you're a low-class whore

Did he even take you out to eat?

Did he ply you with wine and bread?

Maybe you asked for an italian sausage

But you got a black one instead...

Blaaaaaack giant penis..

Unzipped and let it fly

Blaaaack giant peeeeeenis....

 
Been waiting on this thread for years, EG dont fail me now. :towelwave:

I started reading the poop in the ceiling thread but after a few pages when I realized it went 19 pages deep, I thought it was best to get out before I was knee deep in ####.

 
I started reading the poop in the ceiling thread but after a few pages when I realized it went 19 pages deep, I thought it was best to get out before I was knee deep in ####.
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That one's totally worth reading the whole way through. You need to go finish.....and then read that thread.

 
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Evilgrin 72 said:
Bob Sacamano said:
Thread needs some Black Giant Penis imo
Click to expand...
[SIZE=15pt]Black Giant Penis to the tune of Smoke on the Water[/SIZE]

You were all out of condoms....

Cause you go through them like tissues

It didn't stop you from riding his d-ck

It wasn't even an issue

You asked him to pull his pecker out

But he came just a little bit sooner

Now you'll have a surprise in another 9 months

When you meet little Leroy junior....

Blaaaaaack giant penis..

It's probably just your size (your tw@t's enormous)

Blaaaack giant peeeeeenis....

(riff)

Your parents wouldn't let him inside

So he f--ked you on a warehouse floor

I can't say that I was very surprised

Since you're a low-class whore

Did he even take you out to eat?

Did he ply you with wine and bread?

Maybe you asked for an italian sausage

But you got a black one instead...

Blaaaaaack giant penis..

Unzipped and let it fly

Blaaaack giant peeeeeenis....
Click to expand...
For anyone wondering what this is, a girl I was dating when I was about 16 or 17 broke up with me. I found out soon after that she was banging a black dude and that her parents (who were super-racist old school Italian) wouldn't allow the guy in the house, so he was porking her in the warehouse of the company he worked for and had the keys to. There were rumors that she'd been knocked up by doing the guy bareback (never found out for sure if this was or wasn't true) but I penned this little ditty for my band at t he time to the tune of Deep Purple's "Smoke On the Water."

Hopefully no one is offended by the couple of stereotypes perpetuated here, in my defense, I was young, angry, and POSITIVE that this guy was packing more heat than I was.

 
Kenny Powers said:
Been waiting on this thread for years, EG dont fail me now. :towelwave:

I started reading the poop in the ceiling thread but after a few pages when I realized it went 19 pages deep, I thought it was best to get out before I was knee deep in ####.
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sbonomo said:
EG easily the best poster on this board!
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Love you guys.

If there's anything you want to cut & paste in here, go right ahead. I honestly can't remember half of the crap I've posted here.

 
I need a story to explain to the people who sit in the cubicles outside my office why I was laughing so loud a moment ago. I don't think EG's "I don't remember because I was so drunk" is going to work in this situation.

BTW, :thumbup: for this thread!

 
Evilgrin 72 said:
Sit back, crack a beer, and enjoy. One night well, WELL after Warrant's heyday, a friend of mine and I were drinking in a bar in Southampton. On the other side of the bar, someone was being relatively loud and belligerent. Come to find out it's Jani Lane, lead singer of Warrant.
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I'm sure I've told the story about basically slamming a bar door in the face of one of the guys from Warrant (Joey Allen?) back during their heyday. Not as good as your story but it would seem, shockingly, that Warrant was a band full of dootchbags.

 
I'll call this the advice post :

----------------------------------------------------------

Wolf, I am Jersey born and raised and spent MANY summers in LBI, Manasquan, Bradley, etc... so I know where you're coming from with the whole beach house thing. Having a full share is like a golden ticket - and you need to parlay that into as much tang as possible. Here's what you do, and it really is this simple.

If #2 is there this weekend and #1 isn't : Grab #2 and commence banging like a screen door in a hurricane. Hope it never gets back to #1. If it does, tell her you were really bummed that she (#1) didn't show up, and so you got really drunk and don't remember anything after that. If that works, hit #1. If not, to hell with her and spend the rest of the summer stuffing #2 like a Thanksgiving turkey.

If they both show up : Try to hook up with #1 early on in the night, and out of sight of #2. Obviously, you prefer #1, so see if she goes for it. If so, grab #1 at the end of the night and yodel in the canyon. If she tells you to go scratch, immediately launch an all-out assault on #2. Invite her to a tubesteak festival in your room. This will have one of two effects. Either #1 will get all pissed off and want nothing to do with you, in which case, your decision is made, or, #1 will get jealous. Then, hopefully, you can parlay that jealousy into at least some oral from #1.

Some observations :

I'd go with #2. I think Julianne Moore is hotter than Andie McDowell, but that's just me. Also, you say #1 has to "have sex differently" because of a hip injury. I suppose there's a chance that would be a good thing, but I'd bet against it. Also, you say she needs to be in love with a guy to have sex with him. DO NOT, under any circumstances, tell a girl you love her in a beach house in June. This will ruin your summer, GUARANTEED.

Also, in case I didn't mention it, DO NOT TELL EITHER OF THESE GIRLS YOU LOVE HER unless you want to spend the rest of your summer sitting on the beach at sunset holding hands while the rest of your friends are doing beer bongs off the balcony and getting ready to go out and chase trim. Don't be that guy. Don't be a dork.

That is all.

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Tell her that now that you're a single guy, your "new things" are porking hookers in the living room and zapping your room-mate with a cattle prod every 20 minutes or so. A couple of hookers and a cattle prod can't cost more than a few hundred bucks. She'll be gone by sundown.

If you don't have the heart to blast away at her with a cattle prod, try this. The second she gets home, start following her around the apartment doing your loudest, most obnoxious Arnold Schwarzenegger impression.. "COME ON !! GET OUT !! DO IT, DO IT NOW !!! GET OUT OF HERE !!" and just keep that up incessantly. No matter what she does, do not stop. If she goes into the bathroom, stand outside the door and bellow. "WHAT ARE YOU DOOO-EENG? TAKING A DOMP ?!?!? COME ON, PINCH IT OFF AND GET OUT !!! GET OFF THE CRAPPER !!!" You have to just be prepared to be relentless with it. She'll never be able to take it more than an hour or so before she loses her #### and leaves.

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You should send her only one more text. Ever. And it should be this : Stage a succession of photos that make it appear as if you are abusing the dog something awful. Of course, you won't be, but let's make her think you are. Some suggestions :

1) Hold the dog up in front of a white wall, holding him by his back leg, face down, out at a 90 degree angle from your body. Then, take a picture of a particularly steep and rocky cliff. Shouldn't be hard to find in the bay area. Hell, use the Golden Gate Bridge. A little Photoshop magic and you're dangling that mutt over his ultimate demise. Ahhh... mental torture. Now, let's step up the insanity.

2) A picture of you naked behind the dog, but using the dog to cover your genitals. Hold the dog facing the camera, as you will be, waist-high. Have a joy buzzer mounted to your abdomen and use it to shock the dog's posterior right as the camera snaps. That should be sufficient to get the dog to make the surprised look that will make your ex think you're sliding good ol' Mr. Johnson right up little Frisky's s--t shooter. Of course, you throw your head back in "ecstasy" at the same time. Voila - you're banging the dog! But not really. Next....

3) Get a few different colored paints. Dab some cotton balls in the various colors and then blot them on the dog's side, head, etc. Then set the dog down and have someone off-camera call for him. As he runs through the frame, snap a photo of him running, while you are your friends stand around pointing (empty) paint ball guns at him. Now she thinks you're inviting people over and blasting away at the dog with paint guns. Now for the piece de resistance...

4) Put on a wrestling unitard, or whatever they call those stupid things. Give the dog a bowlful of hydrogen peroxide with some red food coloring in it. The dog will drink some of it, which will cause him to throw up not long afterward. It won't hurt him, it's actually what vets recommend you do if the dog accidentally eats chocolate or something harmful. But the red food coloring is key. This way, when the dog does spew blood red foam from its mouth, you pick it up and hold it around the stomach, wearing the unitard. Make your best Hulk Hogan-esque face as you gently hold the dog around its midsection and it will appear as if you're squeezing the hell out of it. The red foam and mist coming from the dog will make it look like you're crushing its internal organs.

Now, send those 4 photos in a slideshow to the ex. The SECOND you send them, put through the call/text/e-mail block so she can't get a hold of you. She may call your folks' house, so immediately put an outgoing message on their phone, something like : (creepiest, most sinister voice you can muster) : "Sorry, we're not home right now. I've got some..... business to attend to...... MWUHAHAHAHA !!!" At this point, play the sound clip of a whimpering, injured dog you pulled off the internet. After you leave that outgoing message, take the dog out for a fun day in the park.... but not before dipping its feet in the red paint and leaving a few "bloody footprints" on the front walk, just in case she comes by. Game, set, match, No. 16.

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Here's what you do.

1) Begin texting her a lot. Abandon all dignity. "I'm so sorry, I was confused and not sure how to respond to you." "I'll do ANYTHING you want to spend more time with you. Just hurry back." Anything - whatever gets her to see you again after she's done with PT.

2) Get an STD test done while she's gone. You'll need a clean bill of health to show her when she gets back.

3) When she returns, invite her over and tell her that you had a lot of time to soul-search and you now realize that most of what went down was your own fault. Vow to be a better boyfriend. Tell her you want to marry her and make her happy for the rest of her life if she wants, but that she can have all the time she needs. Be shameless.

4) When you've sufficiently convinced her that you'll be her life-long doormat, commence seduction. Get to the physical act of love. Use a condom that you've pre-swabbed with just a bit of menthol rub. Right as your humping is about to reach its crescendo, unleash the beast, remove your jimmy hat, and project your bliss in her hair. As she recoils, attempting to process this turn of events, grab all her clothes, run to the front door, and fire them out on to the lawn.

5) Return to her, strap a pair of boxers on and exclaim, in your best Andrew "Dice" Clay voice... "NOW GET THE F### OUT OF HERE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Send her out on to the front lawn nude with a head full of your conditioner. A gentle kick in the tuchus on her way out the door will serve as a punctuation mark. Right before you slam the door, tell her the VD test results were a fake, and that you've been banging hookers and the dog. In fact, tell her you poked the dog right before her and didn't wash up in between. Have at least that one picture I recommended where it appears as if you're railing your furry friend and text that to her about an hour after you kick her out.

Results : You finally and permanently gain hand in the post break-up relationship. You will become an absolute legend both here and among your RL friends. You will regain all your dignity and self-confidence. You will assure Alyssa will never talk to you again, so you don't have to avoid her. You get one last bout of sex with her. She'll think she has some weird Hawaiian or canine VD for weeks afterward. The menthol on the rubber will add a decidedly visceral component to this fear. There's no downside. She's walked on you long enough. It's time to become the darkest chapter in her diary.

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One night, engage her in playful sex. Roll over, switch positions, pound her up against the wall (watch out for bacon strips on the paint, though.) At some point, "attempt" a romantic, acrobatic maneuver in which you toss her on to the bed or roll her over on top of you. As you do so, squeeze some bubble wrap you had hidden under the bed and then toss it aside and grab your back, yelling violently at the same time. As she watches your erection fade as you writhe around yelping "my back... my back !" she'll get the message. This works doubly because :

1) You don't have to tell her she's fat.

2) The "revelation" as it were will come while you were really into her physically, so she won't feel inadequate.

Sure, you'll have to fake limp around for a little while, but you can probably parlay that into no housework, some massages, and a BJ or two. Bonne chance !

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Find a picture of an overweight chick flashing her beaver on the internet. Make sure it's close enough to your wife's weight to be at least somewhat believable, but the less attractive body, the better. Make sure it has out-of-control pubic hair. Now, photoshop your wife's face onto it from another picture. Swipe the wife's cellphone, put the picture on it, then text it to the guy you suspect is using your wife as a ####-holster. Wait for response.

1) "Ummm, why are you sending me this?" - You're in the clear. Not only that, you've damn near guaranteed the guy will never make a play for your wife going forward. Answer back - "OMG, I can't believe I did that. Please delete that photo and don't ever mention I did this, to me or anyone else. Let's pretend it never happened." Then delete the whole conversation. He'll start acting weird towards your wife at work and she'll never know why. Slowly, whatever relationship they have will deteriorate as he acts oddly and shows no interest in invading her panties.

2) "Damn, you let that get out of hand. Get the pruning shears ready." - They've had sex, but not for a while. Text back, "Come by and take care of it for me." Then, when he does, stab him in the throat with pruning shears. Hopefully, he'll appreciate the irony as his throat fills with blood.

3) "What? That isn't you...." - he is actively banging your wife. Just drive to his house and set it on fire.

4) "Sweet !! I love 70s bush ! That is too funny.... I'm going to go fap to this now." He's not banging your wife, but is clearly cooler than you are. You should just bow out gracefully.

 
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