I'm a man who lives his life by the 3 B's: Bar-b-Que, Budweiser, Babes, Brown Liquor and Blackouts. If you've got a problem with that being more than three B's, then move to Russia. It's my Bio and I can write it any way I want to...America's about freedom.
“Ohh your sister’s wedding is during Masters weekend? I know you’ll make a beautiful bridesmaid, but I’m afraid that Plus 1 box is gonna need to remain unchecked. Send my warmest regards though.”
And that’s why I slept on the couch from Dec. 3 until Christmas Eve.
Well Veronica, I didn’t think anyone on this website could be more universally hated than JayTas, but as per usual, I’m proven wrong. I’ve absolutely hated you and considered you as a joke of a human being ever since that “Ma’am” article you penned over a year ago, but this article really does just ice the cake. As you can tell by now, the greater part of the readership absolutely reviles you and everything that you stand for, so go ahead and do yourself a favor and refrain from ever penning another article in our lifetime or any lifetimes in the future. I award you zero points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
The only people I want to hear articles such as these from are Big Mac, THE Knox, or 5oclockshadow. I don’t care what Nationals said, these fellas are the heart and soul of PGP.
I feel sorry for your state (and any other parts of the country that are like it). Anything less than a cold Budweiser to wash down a Bloody Mary is an insult of the highest sort, and also grounds for a fist fight.
I’d like to know where the man went. Catie’s a beloved condiment, but Brian was the proverbial Ribeye Steak that gave readers the satisfied feeling when visiting this website. Whomsoever unearths this mystery deserves a special on the History Channel.
Holy shit! I tapped Reply on the wrong post. That quip was meant to be for the jacking off comment you made just before this one. I’m incredibly sorry if this came off as being antisemitic in any way. I’m even sorry to you, JayTas. It was an error in thumb placement on an Android phone.
Where in the hell has McGannon gone? Has he pulled a Hemingway and dipped out to Havana? Was he kidnapped by masked thugs in the dead of the night and forced to chronicle the seedy adventures of Dan Bilzerian? Did he walk through a creepy wardrobe and wind up in Narnia? Is he being held for ransom by the Kansas City mob over a debt from an overconfident NCAA Tournament bracket? We’d like answers. So long as he hasn’t taken up painting, moved to the south of France, sliced off an ear, and started calling himself “Vincent”, I think he’ll be ok. But we’d still like to know.
This recycled article is like pouring the last sip of beer in every Natural Light can on your living room table into a glass and drinking it the day after the party.
SavTown does indeed “go hard” for St. Paddy’s. While you’re down that way, take a quaint 40 minute trip up to Statesboro, GA on Wednesday to see how GA Southern students drink like it’s St. Paddy’s at least 6 days a week. If you don’t like it then stay in Boston and freeze.
Tommy Bahama is pretty much the cocaine of men’s lounging attire…You try it once, because you’ve heard it pairs well with whiskey drinking. That first time let’s you know that you like it. You like it a lot. It just feels right. Then you start to dabble with it a little bit on vacations. Soon it becomes an every weekend kind of thing. Before you know it, you and your buddy Derrick are hanging out in your car during your lunch break trying to use the same coupon code for a TB sale at an outlet mall 3 hours away. Finally, the shit hits the fan when your boss calls you out for wearing a goddamn short-sleeve linen button-down to a quarterly sales meeting with corporate on a Tuesday morning. It’s a lifestyle that just seems to suck you in. But in all seriousness, Tommy Bahama shirts really are fucking awesome for doing cocaine and drinking liquor in.
I’d write for your team any day, O Captain, my Captain. Perhaps one day we’ll pull our Sun Trackers alongside one another, nod our Straw Party Hat topped heads at each other in a gesture of mutual respect, and proceed to finish our ice-cold Bud Heavys (cleverly disguised by Coca- Cola koozies) whilst our 19-year-old bikini-clad compatriots depart our vessels for the evening bonfire party. Maybe we’d even make some small talk…
“Yours an ’08?”
“’09.”
“Very nice. Engine ever run a little hot?”
“Occasionally, but I own a couple of Twice-The-Ice’s, so I just cool ‘er down as need be.”
“Smart man. You ever thought about sellin’ her?”
“My wife?! Of course! Highest bidder! Nah man, I’m just pullin’ yer leg. I put ole “Shiela” up for sale on the eBay a couple of months ago, you know, just to see what she’d fetch monetary figure wise. My sum-a-bitchin’ brother-in-law, D-Wayne, offered up 9k for ‘er, so I threw a rock at one of his kids, you know, as a way of sayin’, “Serious Inquiries Only.”
I assume you’ve had the elastic band torn out of your underwear at least twice since you graduated college, because even the real world can’t protect nerds like you.
Actin’ like elected officials should be subject to DUI laws, shame on you! Shame! Everyone who wins seat in Congress should be completely exempt from any such law for the tenure of their service. That’s the beauty of why Ted Kennedy can scamper away from a car wreck and leave a young lady to drown in his ride while his team conjures up some “plausible deniability.” He oughta be strung up by his thumbs for that.
I always assumed Brian was an Idea Man, not a Numbers and Figures Fella. You can’t further burden a genius with payroll. And by genius, I mean Brian’s column on the 22 ft. Sun Tracker Party Barge. That column changed my whole perspective on shit, much like bathing with spider monkeys off the coast of St. Bart’s for 2 weeks did for Hansel. Until then, I had always assumed that a long, black Caddilac car was the universal symbol for “I’ve Arrived!” But now my dreams seem much more attainable. I’ll purchase myself a fine pontoon boat, attach my 14′ aluminum john-boat to it, promote myself to Admiral, and then go straight to war with a case of Budweiser. Heroics and gore, followed by glottony, that’ll captivate an audience.
Advertise
“Ohh your sister’s wedding is during Masters weekend? I know you’ll make a beautiful bridesmaid, but I’m afraid that Plus 1 box is gonna need to remain unchecked. Send my warmest regards though.”
And that’s why I slept on the couch from Dec. 3 until Christmas Eve.
Well Veronica, I didn’t think anyone on this website could be more universally hated than JayTas, but as per usual, I’m proven wrong. I’ve absolutely hated you and considered you as a joke of a human being ever since that “Ma’am” article you penned over a year ago, but this article really does just ice the cake. As you can tell by now, the greater part of the readership absolutely reviles you and everything that you stand for, so go ahead and do yourself a favor and refrain from ever penning another article in our lifetime or any lifetimes in the future. I award you zero points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
Don’t you play coy with me, JayTas.
The only people I want to hear articles such as these from are Big Mac, THE Knox, or 5oclockshadow. I don’t care what Nationals said, these fellas are the heart and soul of PGP.
I feel sorry for your state (and any other parts of the country that are like it). Anything less than a cold Budweiser to wash down a Bloody Mary is an insult of the highest sort, and also grounds for a fist fight.
Twist the knife, Brutus, twist the knife. All this Big Mac talk only further saddens our hearts over the departure of the real Big Mac.
You take that back! If I had leather gloves with me right now, I’d slap you with them and challenge you to a duel.
I’d like to know where the man went. Catie’s a beloved condiment, but Brian was the proverbial Ribeye Steak that gave readers the satisfied feeling when visiting this website. Whomsoever unearths this mystery deserves a special on the History Channel.
Holy shit! I tapped Reply on the wrong post. That quip was meant to be for the jacking off comment you made just before this one. I’m incredibly sorry if this came off as being antisemitic in any way. I’m even sorry to you, JayTas. It was an error in thumb placement on an Android phone.
I just call it, “Fighting the good fight.”
Where in the hell has McGannon gone? Has he pulled a Hemingway and dipped out to Havana? Was he kidnapped by masked thugs in the dead of the night and forced to chronicle the seedy adventures of Dan Bilzerian? Did he walk through a creepy wardrobe and wind up in Narnia? Is he being held for ransom by the Kansas City mob over a debt from an overconfident NCAA Tournament bracket? We’d like answers. So long as he hasn’t taken up painting, moved to the south of France, sliced off an ear, and started calling himself “Vincent”, I think he’ll be ok. But we’d still like to know.
This recycled article is like pouring the last sip of beer in every Natural Light can on your living room table into a glass and drinking it the day after the party.
SavTown does indeed “go hard” for St. Paddy’s. While you’re down that way, take a quaint 40 minute trip up to Statesboro, GA on Wednesday to see how GA Southern students drink like it’s St. Paddy’s at least 6 days a week. If you don’t like it then stay in Boston and freeze.
I’d say it’s more likely that these specimens will have name tags on their shirts after they “graduate” from University of Phoenix.
Tommy Bahama is pretty much the cocaine of men’s lounging attire…You try it once, because you’ve heard it pairs well with whiskey drinking. That first time let’s you know that you like it. You like it a lot. It just feels right. Then you start to dabble with it a little bit on vacations. Soon it becomes an every weekend kind of thing. Before you know it, you and your buddy Derrick are hanging out in your car during your lunch break trying to use the same coupon code for a TB sale at an outlet mall 3 hours away. Finally, the shit hits the fan when your boss calls you out for wearing a goddamn short-sleeve linen button-down to a quarterly sales meeting with corporate on a Tuesday morning. It’s a lifestyle that just seems to suck you in. But in all seriousness, Tommy Bahama shirts really are fucking awesome for doing cocaine and drinking liquor in.
I’d write for your team any day, O Captain, my Captain. Perhaps one day we’ll pull our Sun Trackers alongside one another, nod our Straw Party Hat topped heads at each other in a gesture of mutual respect, and proceed to finish our ice-cold Bud Heavys (cleverly disguised by Coca- Cola koozies) whilst our 19-year-old bikini-clad compatriots depart our vessels for the evening bonfire party. Maybe we’d even make some small talk…
“Yours an ’08?”
“’09.”
“Very nice. Engine ever run a little hot?”
“Occasionally, but I own a couple of Twice-The-Ice’s, so I just cool ‘er down as need be.”
“Smart man. You ever thought about sellin’ her?”
“My wife?! Of course! Highest bidder! Nah man, I’m just pullin’ yer leg. I put ole “Shiela” up for sale on the eBay a couple of months ago, you know, just to see what she’d fetch monetary figure wise. My sum-a-bitchin’ brother-in-law, D-Wayne, offered up 9k for ‘er, so I threw a rock at one of his kids, you know, as a way of sayin’, “Serious Inquiries Only.”
I assume you’ve had the elastic band torn out of your underwear at least twice since you graduated college, because even the real world can’t protect nerds like you.
Actin’ like elected officials should be subject to DUI laws, shame on you! Shame! Everyone who wins seat in Congress should be completely exempt from any such law for the tenure of their service. That’s the beauty of why Ted Kennedy can scamper away from a car wreck and leave a young lady to drown in his ride while his team conjures up some “plausible deniability.” He oughta be strung up by his thumbs for that.
Slick Willie Clinton.
I always assumed Brian was an Idea Man, not a Numbers and Figures Fella. You can’t further burden a genius with payroll. And by genius, I mean Brian’s column on the 22 ft. Sun Tracker Party Barge. That column changed my whole perspective on shit, much like bathing with spider monkeys off the coast of St. Bart’s for 2 weeks did for Hansel. Until then, I had always assumed that a long, black Caddilac car was the universal symbol for “I’ve Arrived!” But now my dreams seem much more attainable. I’ll purchase myself a fine pontoon boat, attach my 14′ aluminum john-boat to it, promote myself to Admiral, and then go straight to war with a case of Budweiser. Heroics and gore, followed by glottony, that’ll captivate an audience.