Who doesn’t leave the cup in there when they’re done? If you abide by that policy then “bring your own k-cups guy” can’t annoy you because everyone has to open the thing up to toss out the old to brew their cup.
I’m assuming you’re referring to my Twitter picture. It’s a classy photo from my first semester of college in the fall of 2005. I attended a party in a warehouse, at which there were thousands of tubes of paint that everyone threw all over each other while consuming unsafe amounts of alcohol. Afterward, I returned to campus in a truck driven by a friend with three other passengers. When we exited the truck inside the parking garage of a dormitory, I began urinating on the wall. A police officer pulled into the garage and hit me with his spotlight mid-piss. I barrel rolled over the side of the parking garage to avoid arrest, thinking we were on the first floor. We were not. I fell for a while and then landed on the sidewalk, cracking a couple ribs and surprising another police officer who was unfortunately parked roughly five feet from where I landed. He arrested me for public intoxication, and I was taken to Hays County Jail covered from head-to-toe in multicolored paint, wearing nothing but a bathing suit (no shoes, no shirt, 99 problems). Once in jail, they hosed me down in a half-successful attempt to cleanse the paint from my body, gave me a jumpsuit, took the mugshot that is now my Twitter picture, and threw me in the drunk tank where I passed out on the floor and pissed myself in my sleep. It was totally worth it and I stand by my decision to pee in public. I really had to go. Unfortunately, everyone I was with received “Minor in Possession” (MIP) tickets because of my escape attempt. Fuck the police.
Read more at https://pgparchive.wpengine.com/manic-monday-mailbag-8/#fAXVpMQdud4bup31.99
“Not eating before a night of drinking is like not breathing before diving to grab the beer that rolled into the deep end during your hometown pool party.”
I don’t know what kind of beer you’ve been drinking at your hometown pool parties, but I guarantee it ain’t sinking.
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Who doesn’t leave the cup in there when they’re done? If you abide by that policy then “bring your own k-cups guy” can’t annoy you because everyone has to open the thing up to toss out the old to brew their cup.
At least Social Security drops off… but only when you hit the higher tax brackets.
Nope. They know you need serious paper for two out of three, so you’re going to put in work.
Love this question. I always answer: Austin. “Why?” Blonde girls, boats, and bud light.
Can’t go wrong there.
If I ever work for a giant corporation, on my last day, I am fucking over productivity in epic fashion, just like this, but with a high priority tag.
“Dogs are everything. Dog parks, dogs in restaurants, dog themed stores. Denver is a very pet friendly and especially dog friendly city.”
Ugh. Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs, specifically my dog, but 99% of other peoples’ dogs I want to punt into a volcano. DOGS ARE NOT PEOPLE!
I’m assuming you’re referring to my Twitter picture. It’s a classy photo from my first semester of college in the fall of 2005. I attended a party in a warehouse, at which there were thousands of tubes of paint that everyone threw all over each other while consuming unsafe amounts of alcohol. Afterward, I returned to campus in a truck driven by a friend with three other passengers. When we exited the truck inside the parking garage of a dormitory, I began urinating on the wall. A police officer pulled into the garage and hit me with his spotlight mid-piss. I barrel rolled over the side of the parking garage to avoid arrest, thinking we were on the first floor. We were not. I fell for a while and then landed on the sidewalk, cracking a couple ribs and surprising another police officer who was unfortunately parked roughly five feet from where I landed. He arrested me for public intoxication, and I was taken to Hays County Jail covered from head-to-toe in multicolored paint, wearing nothing but a bathing suit (no shoes, no shirt, 99 problems). Once in jail, they hosed me down in a half-successful attempt to cleanse the paint from my body, gave me a jumpsuit, took the mugshot that is now my Twitter picture, and threw me in the drunk tank where I passed out on the floor and pissed myself in my sleep. It was totally worth it and I stand by my decision to pee in public. I really had to go. Unfortunately, everyone I was with received “Minor in Possession” (MIP) tickets because of my escape attempt. Fuck the police.
Read more at https://pgparchive.wpengine.com/manic-monday-mailbag-8/#fAXVpMQdud4bup31.99
I was until I moved back to the country, seeing this resulted in a PTSD flashback.
LinkedIn is the new myspace of friend whoring. Fuck LinkedIn, and fuck me for not being able to deny a friendie from a hot recruiter.
Wasn’t me, but now I will. You can’t tell someone you’ll fuck them in the ass until they love you and then call them gay as an insult.
Look at all those fucking sardines; I dare you to tell us how great your dirty, overpriced city is now.
Mario Kart 64, going strong as the only game to grace my N64 since freshman year of HS and played every week. I love you Mario Kart.
It’s called drunk driver.
“Apparently, the place in your brain that makes your memories goes into overdrive post-orgasm.”
Didn’t work for me last time I was blacked out.
Let’s be honest, if you were a tall girl you wouldn’t date a short guy. And hey, as someone over 6’2″, I ain’t gonna complain.
Multiply by two for beer water only excursions.
You’re doing it wrong. Buy the blue box of Bud, not the red. Light beers float, they were invented for pool parties and water sports/river floats.
“Not eating before a night of drinking is like not breathing before diving to grab the beer that rolled into the deep end during your hometown pool party.”
I don’t know what kind of beer you’ve been drinking at your hometown pool parties, but I guarantee it ain’t sinking.
Except your job prospects are a different type of depression.
Tucker Max stories are more than welcome in my workplace. You just picked the wrong career/company.