Thursday, September 27, 2012

To Those Who Don't Know About Me

TO THOSE WHO DON’T KNOW ABOUT ME

My steeze is the shit, my dance moves legit. Haters roll out or they wigs get split. Chicks feel my style, Steve get them wild. My money’s so young, my bank pedophile.

TO THOSE WHO DON’T KNOW ABOUT ME AND AREN’T TOO INTO HIP-HOP AND/OR DON’T KNOW MUCH MODERN SLANG

My style is very good and my dance moves are comparatively good. Anybody who disagrees with either or both of these things is not my friend and they better not talk to me or I’ll probably strike them or use weapons on them that I am most certainly hiding in my over-sized clothing. Again, on my style, it’s very good and it particularly quells the interest of the female gender. My name is Steve by the way, if I haven’t mentioned it before and in addition to my clothes and the way I carry myself, other attributes I possess make girls very pleased to be in my general area. I’m rich but it is not through inheritance or family money. The money in my name is very new and I earned it all myself. It’s so new, you might even say (now this is only pretending that money and organizations that deal with money, such as banks, have genitals and are human) that it is below the legal age limit in which to participate in consensual sex. So, if an organization that were around for awhile, were to start holding my money, you could make the connection that said organization could be viewed as someone who has an unhealthy brain that is very attracted to others who are very young.

TO THOSE WHO DON’T KNOW ABOUT ME AND THINK A HIP-HOP IS WHAT SENT THEIR FRIEND MILES BACK TO THE HOME FOR THE THIRD TIME AND WHO DON’T KNOW A THING ABOUT MODERN SLANG AND HAVEN’T EVEN SEEN ONE SINGLE PROGRAM ON MTV SINCE IT BECAME “MEDIA” TELEVISION

Consarn it, the chicky babies think I’m the most and I can dance almost as good as the fella with the hair in that Grease movie. Anyone who disagrees, well I’ll just have to pretend you’re one of the PRs and I’m one of the Jets and we can rumble in the alley if it’s going to come down to brass tacks. Conflab it, if you didn’t hear me the first time well then get the wax out of your ears and listen up! Girls think I’m swell! They like the keen clothes I wear. They go nutso when they see me! Pleased to meet you, I’m Steve. I got a quarter. This should get me a cherry coke and a cheeseburger, right? Damn hippies...

Monday, September 24, 2012

How I Spell Success

I spell SUCCESS - Finally beating that level of Angry Birds I've been working on.

I spell EFFICIENCY - Finally beating that level of Angry Birds I've been working on while taking a #2.

I spell BREAKTIME - Finally beating that level of Angry Birds I've been working on while taking a #2 in the bathroom at work.

And with that I'd like to say - Welcome to Steve's Monday, 4:00 p.m. - 4:30 p.m.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Steve's Club Etiquette: A Flow Chart

SETTING - My Place.

WHO'S THERE? - My Friends. They just showed up and want to go to boujee Hollywood Club.

ENTER - My Brain.


I don't need to tip a guy to pump my soap and pull my paper towels for me! I can do that myself! Dickhole!

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Come Get Your Haircut At "Tits, Snips And Singleback Trips!"

The most awkward part about getting your haircut is not knowing where to look. For the most part you’re facing a giant mirror. You don’t want to appear so vain as to make the hairdresser think this haircut is about you, don’t you? Right Carly Simon? I’m not gonna spend the whole time checking out my chiseled self while she services my head. I can only spend 5 minutes total looking at my reflection just to make sure she ain’t fucking shit up like adding Miracle Grow to my scalp. So, what do I do? Where do I look? I can’t look at her/gay him. I’ll appear to be a perv/gay-guy-hornball. This is a problem almost everyone deals with (minus the sightless and the bald) and I have finally come up with the solution.

A new establishment needs to be created. So far, I have only catered this establishment to men. If enough women complain about their situation I can alter the blueprints. Currently, it goes like this. You walk into this place to get your haircut and as you are walking to the station you will be sitting at you notice lots of TV’s everywhere playing football and lots of naked women dancing to shitty music you wouldn’t ever listen to if there weren’t naked women dancing to it! That’s right! A hair salon/strip club/sports bar! No more feeling awkward because you don’t know where to look. Now - feel awkward because you are looking exactly where you should be looking and you are pitching a tent in your little hair cape. No worries, your hands are still underneath it and cannot be seen just as always. No one knows what you’re doing with them down there.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Fantasy Football Criminals

Fantasy Football is weird. It makes you root hardcore for Tom Brady, Peyton Manning, his retarded little brother, and a bunch of people who would be in prison if it wasn’t for their amazing ability to run fast, catch a ball, throw a ball, or tackle a guy who has a ball.

I still do it, but it’s weird. I have never rooted for this many Should-Be-Criminals ever! I feel so anti-police and anti-law when I do it. Like I’m an accomplice to their crimes.

If you were to write down all the players on your fantasy team and hand it to a police officer who did not follow football at all, he’d probably think you just handed him a list of suspects to the most recent crime he’s been solving. "Let me just enter this into our database. Yup, we have all repeat offenders...and one guy who supposedly dumped Jessica Simpson on her birthday."

Still don’t know if that’s true. Whatever. Go Romo! And Go People-Who-Happen-To-Stay-Out-Of-Jail-Because-They-Have-Enough-Money-And-Free-Tickets-To-Slip-The-Judge!

Friday, September 14, 2012

No One Ever Wants To Game-STOP

No one ever wants to Game-STOP.

People want to Game-Keep-Going-Until-All-Their-Extra-Lives-Are-Gone-All-Their-Bullets-Have-Been-Fired-All-Their-A-Bombs-Thrown-All-Their-Red-Shells-Have-Been-Shot-Til-They've-Been-Shrunken-Down-To-Baby-Size-Til-Their-Health-Bar-Is-Red-Til-Their-Jet-Dog-Is-Too-Tired-Til-Their-Special-Is-Gone-Til-Their-Head's-Been-Uppercutted-Off-Til-They've-Skated-To-The-End-Til-They've-Saved-The-Princess-Til-They've-Caught-Them-All-Trained-Them-All-Took-Pictures-Of-Them-All-Til-The-Sun-Is-Rising-Til-They-Can't-Help-But-Yawn-Til-Their-Blue-Shirt-Has-Turned-Orange-Due-To-Cheetoh-Dust-And-Cheezit-Crumbs-Til-Their-Mom-Is-Yelling-At-Them-From-The-Top-Of-The-Basement-Stairs-Saying-They-Have-To-Shower-And-Get-Ready-For-Their-Job-At-GameStop.

Oh.

I guess this is just for people who work at GameStop. I suppose other mere mortals have the ability to stop.

Monday, September 3, 2012

It's A Golden Girls Weekend

I think it’s time to reevaluate my life. Just the other night I caught myself laughing at a joke in The Golden Girls...because I genuinely found it funny! Even more scary, I was watching The Golden Girls.....alone.....on a Saturday night!

Now, it’s kind of unfair to myself to only present you with this information. Yes, I was watching The Golden Girls alone on a Saturday night, but the past 5 or 6 Saturdays have been very different stories. Nothing like that. Quite the opposite in fact. So much so that they have lead me to this horrific, geriatric Saturday night. How?...you ask? I’ll tell you.

Too often I go out and spend too much money on the weekends. I’ll do it 5 or 6 weekends in a row. Maybe I drop a Benji one night ($100 US dollars), a few A. Jacksons another (He’s on the American 20 dollar bill!), I can never be content with just spending.....well no one knows who’s on the 10.....the point I’m trying to make is I can never control myself and just spend 10 bucks. It’s always more. And I do this over and over until I have a weekend where I realize, whoa, it’s time to cool it on the spending. My ass cheek has a burn mark from pulling my wallet out too many times in a row. The fly that lives inside my wallet is totally ready to fly out at any moment, and they only do that when there’s no cash left! So, what do I do?