On October 31, 2009, I may or may not have flicked a lit ciggarette into a girl's purse as she left the Cha Cha patio.
Life is good.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Assholes Lie. Fact.
A little something I've learned: Saying you work for Vice Magazine will always get you laid. Always.
Two years ago. Capitol Hill. For you foreigners, that is the part of Seattle where all the wierd people are- gays, people with a lot of holes in their face, etc. I'm out with another crew of law students at the cha cha. they were fish out of water. We come up on these two wannabee Williamsburg Hipsters- seriously, belts and leg warmers and all that bullshit. On a whim I say "You girls are definitly DO's..." (couldnt be further from the truth) "huh?" they reply. and then out it came..."have you heard of Vice?" "hehe, yeah". Well im a photographer for Vice, and we're doing a Seattle Issue. Im taking pictures of Do's and Dont's. "ohhhh", and it was all over. It took some convincing, but my faithfull wing men were happy to corroborate. I may or may not have taken an actual picture of one of them. cant remember. Went home with the slighly less cute one. she was too drunk to be decent in the sack, but whatever. It's the thrill of the hunt.
Since then I've pulled the stunt a couple of times, and it usually works. The problem is it only works with stupid ass insecure hipsters. My least favorite genre in the female gender.
Two years ago. Capitol Hill. For you foreigners, that is the part of Seattle where all the wierd people are- gays, people with a lot of holes in their face, etc. I'm out with another crew of law students at the cha cha. they were fish out of water. We come up on these two wannabee Williamsburg Hipsters- seriously, belts and leg warmers and all that bullshit. On a whim I say "You girls are definitly DO's..." (couldnt be further from the truth) "huh?" they reply. and then out it came..."have you heard of Vice?" "hehe, yeah". Well im a photographer for Vice, and we're doing a Seattle Issue. Im taking pictures of Do's and Dont's. "ohhhh", and it was all over. It took some convincing, but my faithfull wing men were happy to corroborate. I may or may not have taken an actual picture of one of them. cant remember. Went home with the slighly less cute one. she was too drunk to be decent in the sack, but whatever. It's the thrill of the hunt.
Since then I've pulled the stunt a couple of times, and it usually works. The problem is it only works with stupid ass insecure hipsters. My least favorite genre in the female gender.
Adventures in Pioneer Square
This happened a couple of weeks ago, a tried and true asshole moment. A couple of friends from law school and I went out in Pioneer Square for a change of pace, or as mike put it "To prove we aren't afraid of black people". If you dont know what or where the fuck Pioneer Square is, a brief rundown. it is a corner on the south tip of downtown seattle. Its the part of town that only has sports bars, clubs, and more clubs and sports bars. It is perhap most famous for the time Ken Hamlin, then a starting safety for the seahawks, was knocked out with a lead pipe in the middle of the sidewalk. So there you have it.
It was some time in the middle of the week, so things were slow. We were posted up at some place that I dont remember the name of. We plop down in a corner, and five minutes later this hoeish hispanic girl comes up to us, and in painfully broken english, asked "who is buying me a drink?" Now, I've spent a lot of time at bars, and I have picked up a lot of women at bars, and never in my entire life has a relatively attractive chick walked up to me and two equally average looking men and threw out a line like that. Red Flag Number 1. Mike immediately blurts out "ill buy you a driiiiiink!" before I can even finish laughing at this girls busted grill. shit she had bad teeth. I said, "good thing we have mike with us. I'm not buying you a fucking drink". She then tried to give me this lecture on how to be "nice". mike is nice, I am not. noted. I think at some point my conscience reared its ugly head and I bought her some bitch-shot. Which in hindsight I dont mind. I had no intention of digging this one out, and the drunker she got, the more fun we all had.
Somewhere in there, and this night is foggy- we'll get to that later-she tells us she "used to be a stripper". RED FLAG NUMBER 2. I know this from working the door at a strip club for about a week. A) any stripper at a low rent dive like the ones in Seattle will fuck you for the right price. B) "I used to be a stripper" only means three things: First-You graduated college. not a chance in hell. this chick had shit for brains and could barely speak english. She kept rambling over and over as she got drunker and drunker, and I kept smiling and nodding. all I could discern was that she thought I looked like a "rocker", and well, that she thought I was an asshole. Second- You do porn. not hot enough for porn. not even close. THIRD AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, "I used to be a stripper" almost ALWAYS means one thing. "I am a prostitute". This was painfully evident about 20 minutes into the encounter to me and our cohort, but mike wasn't getting the idea. at some point she fell out of her chair. Mike was totally oblivious to the whole damn thing, just enjoying his drunken bump-and-grind lap dance. Just to prove her whorehood, I sealed the deal with this. she went to the bathroom, I should say stumbled. She left her purse and cell phone at the table. Naturally, being a stupid girl, she had been texting all goddamn night. I was out for the goods. and of course, who had she been texting? Her fucking pimp! the last one she sent was something like "I think he iz dwn. cn u be here soon?" or some shit. We bolted while she was gone, probably puking, and I left her a note. one sentence, four words. YOU ARE A WHORE.
You probably know what happened next. we found ourselves further north at the Taphouse. seriously, 160 beers on tap? Tucker, they do in fact serve beer in hell. It's located at the Seattle, Wa Taphouse. All I remember is getting shitface drunk, trying to drive, realizing I couldnt, mike driving me back to his house, and waking me up at the ass crack of dawn.
whatever, Me-1 Seattle Hooker- 0.
It was some time in the middle of the week, so things were slow. We were posted up at some place that I dont remember the name of. We plop down in a corner, and five minutes later this hoeish hispanic girl comes up to us, and in painfully broken english, asked "who is buying me a drink?" Now, I've spent a lot of time at bars, and I have picked up a lot of women at bars, and never in my entire life has a relatively attractive chick walked up to me and two equally average looking men and threw out a line like that. Red Flag Number 1. Mike immediately blurts out "ill buy you a driiiiiink!" before I can even finish laughing at this girls busted grill. shit she had bad teeth. I said, "good thing we have mike with us. I'm not buying you a fucking drink". She then tried to give me this lecture on how to be "nice". mike is nice, I am not. noted. I think at some point my conscience reared its ugly head and I bought her some bitch-shot. Which in hindsight I dont mind. I had no intention of digging this one out, and the drunker she got, the more fun we all had.
Somewhere in there, and this night is foggy- we'll get to that later-she tells us she "used to be a stripper". RED FLAG NUMBER 2. I know this from working the door at a strip club for about a week. A) any stripper at a low rent dive like the ones in Seattle will fuck you for the right price. B) "I used to be a stripper" only means three things: First-You graduated college. not a chance in hell. this chick had shit for brains and could barely speak english. She kept rambling over and over as she got drunker and drunker, and I kept smiling and nodding. all I could discern was that she thought I looked like a "rocker", and well, that she thought I was an asshole. Second- You do porn. not hot enough for porn. not even close. THIRD AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, "I used to be a stripper" almost ALWAYS means one thing. "I am a prostitute". This was painfully evident about 20 minutes into the encounter to me and our cohort, but mike wasn't getting the idea. at some point she fell out of her chair. Mike was totally oblivious to the whole damn thing, just enjoying his drunken bump-and-grind lap dance. Just to prove her whorehood, I sealed the deal with this. she went to the bathroom, I should say stumbled. She left her purse and cell phone at the table. Naturally, being a stupid girl, she had been texting all goddamn night. I was out for the goods. and of course, who had she been texting? Her fucking pimp! the last one she sent was something like "I think he iz dwn. cn u be here soon?" or some shit. We bolted while she was gone, probably puking, and I left her a note. one sentence, four words. YOU ARE A WHORE.
You probably know what happened next. we found ourselves further north at the Taphouse. seriously, 160 beers on tap? Tucker, they do in fact serve beer in hell. It's located at the Seattle, Wa Taphouse. All I remember is getting shitface drunk, trying to drive, realizing I couldnt, mike driving me back to his house, and waking me up at the ass crack of dawn.
whatever, Me-1 Seattle Hooker- 0.
Hello, Welcome, and Fuck You.
This is a blog about being an asshole. Just the day to day of one of the world's hugest, most inconsiderate assholes.
three things inspired me to start this blog. The first was reading The Complete Asshole's Guide to Handling Chicks. Half way through I set it down. I could have written that book.
The second was another book, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. I fucking hated this book for three reasons. First, I make Tucker Max look like a fucking nun. Second, I could have written it if I had just thought of it first. Third, Now Tucker Max has a goddamn movie deal and I'm a broke ass "blogger".
The Third thing that inspired me to start this blog? Well, sometimes, every once in a while, if you get just lucky enough, you can get rich and famous over having a blog. Like Perez Hilton only less gay, or The Sports Guy, without a wife and family.
I hope you enjoy the ride.
-The Asshole
*edit, a member of this entorage wanted me to point out that this was the same night said member "went psycho on his ex girlfriend", who will now "never talk to him again"
an ex girlfriend who will never talk to you again? The Asshole approves! fine work, my friend. Even though you cant spot a prostitute a mile away.
three things inspired me to start this blog. The first was reading The Complete Asshole's Guide to Handling Chicks. Half way through I set it down. I could have written that book.
The second was another book, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. I fucking hated this book for three reasons. First, I make Tucker Max look like a fucking nun. Second, I could have written it if I had just thought of it first. Third, Now Tucker Max has a goddamn movie deal and I'm a broke ass "blogger".
The Third thing that inspired me to start this blog? Well, sometimes, every once in a while, if you get just lucky enough, you can get rich and famous over having a blog. Like Perez Hilton only less gay, or The Sports Guy, without a wife and family.
I hope you enjoy the ride.
-The Asshole
*edit, a member of this entorage wanted me to point out that this was the same night said member "went psycho on his ex girlfriend", who will now "never talk to him again"
an ex girlfriend who will never talk to you again? The Asshole approves! fine work, my friend. Even though you cant spot a prostitute a mile away.
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