Dude, the octo mom? She’s amazing. Someone wanted my opinion on the octomom, and I’m so thankful you asked, Buddy, because I’ve been dreaming, praying, hoping for a forum where I could be a one way conduit of truth, judgment and righteousness to a captive audience regarding the octomom, but I couldn’t quite figure out how. NOW, days later, the world has turned and no one gives two fucks about the octo mom anymore. She’s as passé a piece of news as when the Everliegh club actually allowed that negro prizefighter upstairs (look it up….great story) and here I am, toilet paper hanging off my heel, running in at the last possible minute to throw my two cents into the ring of punditry, shaming, and internet holier than thousisms! Here I am motherfuckers! Let me at that fucking octomom!
Okay, she’s gross. Have you seen her before her surgery? Gross. Have you noticed that she has had a complete new face put on in hopes of looking more like Angelina Jolie? Gross x2. Did you perhaps glean that she had EIGHT FUCKING KIDS AT ONCE? EEEEW. I don’t know what to be all disgusted about first, her garbage-bag-in-the-wind of a birth canal, her disgusting stomach (the pregnancy pictures of her were so unnaturally twisted…it looked like she was standing in front of a scale model of the earth of the future, once overpopulation has completely wreaked havoc on our environment and our landscape becomes nothing but disgusting red veiny highways. Also, this metaphor continues to her uterus, which was, of course overpopulated…how clever.), her obsession with celebrity, her cluelessness or the way her fridge (and underpants) absolutely must smell. Awful. Just awful.
And the kids look like bats. Oh, sorry. God forbid I make fun of those kids. They’ll get used to it pretty quick, I think. AND finally, I love her smeagol impersonation that she does when the paparazzi are chasing her and she growls “I’m not a celebrity!”
Thank god that someone has finally realized their place in the world…Fuck, man. Yeah, all you did was spend over a million dollars you didn’t have to attempt to recreate the face and family life of the most famous woman in the world. But, it’s true, you’re not a celebrity. You’re a grotesque dunce with kids that are going to grow up and look VERY little like either Angelina or Brad, unforch for you.
Oh, and octomom’s sponging off the system. Yawn. So’s everyone. So’s united airlines and GM, and they’re taking a lot more than some stamps for sixteen people to eat grilled cheeses with, man. Whatever. I actually don’t care about the octomom. I think she should just give tours of her spacious vagina to get the money to raise her bats with…that’s what I think. Also, she’s been offered a porn contract…which is gross, for sure. What are they gonna fuck her with? An automatic door?
Okay, I searched through the advice and this was probably the best question. It’s Friday and it’s warm and I’m not really interested in expending any energy this morning, so here goes:
hey brendan, long time reader, first time advice seeker. So, a few months ago I met a girl about my age (25) and following a brief courtship (a few hours) we consumated our relationship. I've never really been into this girl, but over the course of the past few months I answer her phone calls when I'm drunk and we inevitably bump. This happens about once a week or so, the problem is that I'm a real dick for never answering calls or texts when I'm sober, and while normally I wouldn't mind being a dick, this girl is a single mother of a two year old and head over heels for me (although I've made it pretty clear there is no relationship on the horizon). I feel like (maybe?) I'm taking advantage of the fact that she may be a little insecure about being a 24 year old single mom (she shouldn't, she's incredibly hot), so do I shamelessly continue laying drunken pipe or am I truly a fuckin prick?
Hmmm…All right, firstly, you do NOT need to answer the phone when you’re sober, and you do not need to stop banging her IF the part where you said made it clear that there’s no relationship on the horizon is true. If she knows that’s how you feel, and she’s continuing to want to bang you when you’re drunk and be ignored in the day, well, that’s her gig. She’s not a kid, she’s 24 with a kid. That makes her responsible for herself, among other things. Perhaps she thinks she’ll wear you down. Whatever. Maybe she will, maybe she wont. The fact is, your ‘prickish’ behavior, for better or for worse is what’s getting you laid. I promise you this chick has a friend who listens to all her sob stories (probably some about you) who is trying so desperately to fuck her and be all things to all women for her and raise her kid and all this, and you know what? She’s never gonna fuck that guy. She’s got a better chance of turning you into a different guy than that dude does of getting laid. It’s not pretty, but it’s true. Look, who am I to tell you that you need to treat this chick with kid gloves? She’s a grownup. She’s got a kid. If you’ve really been honest with her, then your relationship, however dysfunctional, is fine. Does it feel kind of shitty? Maybe. Is it more exciting or more shitty? I’ll tell you for sure that for her, at least now, it’s more exciting. Drunken fuck flings never last too long anyway unless they turn into relationships, so whatever. Have fun, be honest and that’s about all you can really do.
Oh, and on another topic I don’t feel I really owe this dude any explanation, but I figured since he just wouldn’t let it go, and it became a topic in itself in the comments, I’ll comment too. Regarding us saying we were leaving the fest so we (specifically chris…who is NOT me, by the way) couldn’t play some house party and then playing a wharehouse after we were supposed to be gone…What gives bro? WHAT. GIVES? Well, did you talk to anyone at the warehouse show? No? That’s odd…No one told you how our set was? Really? At the whole fest? You didn’t talk to ONE SINGLE PERSON who attended our warehouse show after chris told you we were gonna be gone? Hmmm…that’s because WE WERE GONE, ASSHOLE. We were never gonna play a warehouse show. I can’t be responsible for what a bunch of drunk assholes convey to each other in a ten thousand man game of wasted telephone. No show. We were gone. That’s why. However, I wish he had lied to you about it and we had played a great warehouse show, because at least then your irritating insistence would have been A) somewhat justified and B) properly dealt with. Ah courtesy…It’s gonna kill Chris one day.