Search This Blog

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Jimmy's 'gina

(Yeah with my feet on the trap and my head in the noose I got five more minutes to go
Wont someone come and cut me loose I got four more minutes to go.)


[Dial Tone…..]
Misc person:
Heyyyyee letsss call Jimmyjimmychimmyjimmyjimmy-gina!
Jimmy answers the phone: Hey man.
Anyone who happens to have the phone: JIMMY! Jimmyjimmychimmytimmyjimmychimmy-gina, Dude, we need some ‘gina. Can you give us some of your ‘gina?
Jim: What the hell?
Misc. Person: Jimmychimmyjimmytimmychimmyjimmyjimmyjimmy, dude, don’t be bogaarding the ‘gina. We need you to hook us up or you’re gonna be fired-gina!


It seems that whenever us guys get together and have a ‘drunk-fest’ we always call up the gov’ner’s nephew, Rat boy, or we end up calling this Jim dude that Hog knows. This strange urge seems to come at about 2am and I can’t imagine that he actually stays on the line terribly long.

Just the typical weird shit that comes when a bunch of goofy guys get drunk.

Last weekend during the (what is it Hog?) the third or fourth annual Christmas party in St. Peter, we were definitely in a different state of mind.

This isn’t a traditional type of Christmas party with eggnog and peanut brittle; this is usually a damn good time.

Gifts have traditionally been:
-Caulking gun with a tube of caulking
-Inflatable sheep
-DVD of MVP: Most Valuable Primate
-gay porn
-Mr. Potato Head

This year was no different with gifts like:
-a ‘grab box’ of goodies like a shoe, scotch tape, coupons from 4/03, and a clothespin
-A melon complete with a bottle of lube
-buttfloss
-a bowling ball that someone stole from a bowling alley. The ‘house ball’ was actually wrapped in it’s form without a box

And I received a collection of records (LP’s) ranging from some guy named ‘Woody’ to some crazy Tom Jones album.

The disappointing part of the records is that all day I was praising the likes of Andy Williams because I grew up on his Christmas music. I never usually talk about Williams that much, but apparently, Nick, who bought the records, was thinking of purchasing an Andy Williams album before he saw ‘Woody’. Thus I was Williams-less.

Damn! It could’ve been the best Christmas ever!

There was, however, a very startling theory that came out as a result of this party.

(Warning this may not be appropriate for all the lil’ Billys of the world)

Women believe that guys have tasted their own –ah how shall we say--spooge.

When this info came out all the women were like,
“Shaaaa yahh!” and all the guys were like,
“What…..The…..Fuck?????????”

So as our jaws were on the floor the women were like,
“Don’t even lie about it, we know you’ve all tried it!”

Again, WTF?

Why…. how…when… ??

(blink:blink)

Well, I don’t know! Stumped the ‘ole Berg on that one. I have once tried to understand women, but that theory was proved wrong when the cops came over and ‘billy clubbed’ the shit outta me (and I’m white!).

This was indeed the enigma us, guys, were trying to figure out after about ten beers a piece, 3 white Russians, and a bunch of other crap Hog had lying around.

Just something to mull over as you’re going through your day.

In fact, go up to the first woman you see and ask her,
“Why do you believe guys have tried their own spooge?”
Then come back here and tell me what she says. I just hope to god that it will make sense, but I’m not betting on it.


Man, how 'bout the Dolphins beating the Patriots!
I believe a 'fuck you, Ricky' is in order.

'til tomorrow

No comments: