The best part about having a dusty ass house is that it makes a bottle of Charles Shaw look real fucking classy. Like, "Excuse me, I just have to go fetch another bottle from my wine cellar."

Who would win in a fight: Cape Cod or Martha's Vineyard? I wish I knew anything about either of them, but since I don’t, I am going to have to go with Cape Cod. I will base my analysis on the titles.

Martha's Vineyard. Right off the bat, MV starts off with a bad tone: Martha. That doesn’t get me hot at all. I've never met a hot chick named Martha (though I do know a hot Margaret). When I think of going to "Martha's," it sounds like I might as well be going to visit my grandma. Let's just say it's not a hot slutty name. Then there is vineyard. Plants. So we can schlep out to see someone else's grandmother (for fuck's sake, it's not even my grandmother) with her plants. That sounds fucking awesome. Psyche. I mean, I like plants, but I would want something more out of my vacation spot.

On the other hand, we have Cape Cod. Right off the bat, Cape Cod acronyms to CC, which you know I gotta like; I'm from CC. Culver City. Take the word "cape." Cape is tough. A cape is something on the ocean or something wet, and we all would have to agree that vacationing wet is greater than vacationing plant. I am going to take the double entrendre on cape and say that a cape is also something someone wears--usually someone mysterious. Cod is the easiest one of them all. Cod is one of 10,000 slang terms for dick. A dick with a cape. It's like Zorro standing on the edge of some bluff from far away. Except instead of Zorro with his mask, it's my dick inside of the cape. Cod can also be a fish. One of the best bites of sushi that I've ever had in my whole life was black cod nigiri. That shit was so good, it was better than your mom. Plus, if you say it this way, it just sounds more natural: "The Cape is truly mightier than The (Vine)Yard."

In summation, your mom is not as good as black cod sushi and Cape Cod is greater than Martha's Vineyard. Thank you.

Speaking of grandma, I went out with her to see Sicko (her choice) yesterday and there was a clip of one of the Bourne Identity movies with Matt Damon as Jason Bourne. She turned to me, in the theatre, and said, "He really is Jason Bourne." Which made me feel weird. Then she brought him up again when we were having lunch afterward. Then she "accidentally" called me Jason when I was making out with her. She said that she stops whatever she's doing when she is at home and one of the Bourne movies is playing on TV. I think I should buy her the box set. Also, it's weird knowing who your grandma would do it with. With whom your grandma would do it.

Don’t you just hate when you go to listen your voicememos and you can't understand what half of them say cause either you're talking about another senior citizen sex dream that you left for yourself at 4:00 in the morning in a tone deeper than RR's, or you're indecipherable because of how drunken-mumbly you were. And then when you're listening to them, trying to figure them out, you're all, "Fuck. I bet that was a really good one." But in your heart of hearts* you think: "How great could it have really been if I was that unintelligible at the time."
*You pussy

In my nutrition class I learned that the average body fat for a man is 17% and the average body fat for a woman is 27%. Do you know why? I'll give you a hint: fat tastes hella good. Yes, you guessed it. Boobs. They are so worth 10%. Probably not ironically, when a man starts to get more than 10% above average, he starts to get boobs too. But not the good kind. Merits mentioning that my nutrition textbook makes a clear distinction between how overweight men usually fall under the category of "apple-shaped," while overweight women tend to gravitate toward the "pear-shaped category." The textbook even had drawings of men and women with the outline of the appropriate fruit superimposed over their respective fatty regions.

I was with Sage at the beach and he was rubbing suntan lotion on my back and I asked him what he wanted for his wedding present, since RR informed me last November when he and Sweet P wedded that guests have a one year grace period. Sage's response was, "Man, that's so nice of you. We've really been into Crate and Barrel." I shit you not. And he wasn’t even being sarcastic at all. When I finished laughing (thanks for the ab workout, Sage), of course I said, "We might go to Bed, Bath, and Beyond...I don't know if we'll have time."

We were also talking about how it used to be cool to date emotionally fucked up chicks when we were younger, but it isn’t cool anymore. We talked about their enormous sex drives. I said that their vaginas were cavernous emotional holes that needed to be filled. Thank you.

RR's in Seattle and I am in Culver City, and yesterday I realized that I missed the guy so much that I was even wearing his standard lounge uniform: shants and a Stephen Baldwin tank-top. I'm sentimental...Plus, they were sweatshants.

Only in LA do you see a lady that's like 55 years old with giant fakies. It is just so fucking weird looking; when the lady was walking, she was all over the place, but her tits barely moved at all. And they were enormous. I guess that is one way to get rid of chest wrinkles--pull the skin so taut from stuffing silicone in there that the wrinkles get pulled away...Seriously though. If you were a 55 year old guy and you were dating her, could you tell your friends that you were dating a younger lady? Well she's my age, but her tits are about 3 years old. I just think that the difference of how awkward fakies can look is especially accentuated by the old. When you are 55 years old, your boobs should be fucking swaying to and fro, not floating buoys 100 yards out from the shore.

One of the awesome things about having a moustache, strategically speaking, is that I think perhaps it lowers people's expectations of me. Then when I wow them with my wit, intellect, and charm (or at least wit and intellect), they are more than just pleasantly surprised. This got me thinking: what else do we see that underwhelms with the possible intention of setting you up to be pleasantly surprised? Now I'm thinking that the chicks that dress slutty aren’t sluts at all; maybe they are closet academics who are tired of people liking them for their brains. Or maybe they are of average intelligence, but by dressing slutty, standards are lowered and they can jump out of their slut-image with a resounding "ta da" and pawn off their mediocrity as brilliance. Just throwing it out there...

I think I figured out the difference between someone who is a clean person and someone who keeps it clean. I keep it clean. Every single day piles of shit grow in my room; most days I clean it all up toward the end of the night. Sometimes I don't at all. The piles grow like hydroponic tomatoes or something. I have to attend to these piles, which I generally do, and I keep my room neat. I think a genuinely, innately clean person is someone for whom the piles and their maintenance is a non-issue. There are people who just do it all neatly the first time around. I throw stuff and deal with it later. Although I do like to hang up my Friday night shirts straight away after taking them off.

Since RR has been away, out of town, I have to regale you with a RR story from the valuts. RR was "dating" our neighbor's daughter, who was a young adult (nothing pervy--both of them in their early 20s). She was around (her mom's place) a fair amount and they started hooking up. The problem was that she had this retarded dog. Just a week or 2 into it, they were hanging out in front of her mom's house (heh) and the retarded dog jumped through the bay fucking window. The dog was all laying there on a pile of glass, convulsing and bleeding The girl was understandably upset. Since RR's car was parked right in front of them and the dog needed medical attention, she hysterically screamed for him to help her get the dog in his car so they could take it to the vet. He said something like, "Uh, that dog is bleeding pretty bad." She didn’t get the hint, and cried out again for him to help her get the dog in his car. Here's the tough part. Before him he saw that he had a tough choice to make. If he took the dog in his car, he would get retarded dog blood all over his upholstery. If he told her he wouldn’t take the dog for the aforementioned reason, he would probably never get to do it with her again. Now we would all be assholes and make the same decision, but the odds of us getting put into a position like that in our lifetimes is like .2%. It's just funny that RR was actually put in that position. Sure it could be like when they shot Caine in Menace II Society and MC Eiht's character didn’t think twice about bloodying up his pristine convertible for Caine's sake. But for some semi-random chick's retarded dog? Rhetorical.

I will now pick the 3rd word from the 3rd paragraph and play the game. I will give myself 2 minutes.

The Right Stuff
Right as rain.
Right hand man.
Break right.
Go right.
*When you're right, you're right.
Right of way.
Do the Right Thing
Republican right.
Go right at the corner.
Right on.
Right hand left hand.
Right off the top.
Right off the bat
Right up your alley
Right up your ass
*It's always the right time for a Guiness.

*Good ones.

Note that I consciously choose to skip write because right should be a good enough one on its own.

by Justin
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