My Penis Must Be A Genius
Yo dudes, what is? I gotta say before we go any further that I don't buy into all that "Men are from Venus, men are from Mars" bullshit, but if the saying that "men think with their penises" is true, then mine's a fucking prodigy. A genius. I'm happy to sit back and chill in classes like intro to communications and all that kind of deal-io, but take my Johnson and put it in AP.
Example: I'm kicking it yesterday in class (don't worry, fellow partiers -- I'm not nerding out, it's just that I accidentally wandered in there on account of my hangover! Sweet!) sweating over some shit that the professor tried to tell us about marketing or selling products or some other shit, and I said, "Stop in the name of drugs (I know, it was a good one)! I don't need to know how to sell crap, because I'm the one that's buying the first round after I leave this pussyfest, and that's all I need to know!" Of course this chick, being impressed by my sexy partying philosophy, started pickin' up what I'm puttin' down (nah, I got it from a movie, but thanks for noticing), and moves just a little closer to me. I could tell that she was digging my vibe – people tell me I look like Brad Pitt when I'm bored, and this time it was obvious. I only dig on the finest girls, and though she wasn't Jennifer Aniston or anything, she did have a few of those "special somethings", if you know what I mean. And I mean her boobs!
Anyway, class got out, and I said, to anyone around me who was listening because The Party is like some kind of swirling strong pulling thing that people get sucked into (somebody call the science lab, right! Haha, don't worry dudes, I just punched myself for that one), "Damn, what was that bullshit? They expect me to remember that?" I don't know what it was…something about math, English, Indian bead jewelry...something that involves me doing work at home that I'm not going to do (some people call that "homework", but I call that "no work" – damn, that's hot!). "I've remembered beers more interesting than that class!" That was more of a smart joke, since you don't remember beers so it's like iromic, but you gotta throw one out every now and then for the brains out there! They like The Party too, unless they don't!
You get the picture, dudes: I'm just throwing this game everywhere when this chick, who probably wanted to give me a lap dance right then only society wouldn't let her, started trying to say something. Almost right away, my brain was like, "Unless you're going to talk about partying, get away from me bitch!" I was about as pre-emptive as a strike against Iraq! Haha, BURN ...uh ...somebody!
What she said was: "He gave us too much work to do over the weekend," and dudes, that's when I thought I smelled trouble. I mean, no shit! That's too much work to do in a lifetime! Life is too short to waste it not partying, and so my brain starting telling me to stay away from Brainiac, when out of nowhere, my Johnson starts making conversation. "Ease up, brain," it told my brain as I stood there with my mouth hanging open and my eyes halfway closed, waiting for one of them to win. "I got this." And then, somehow, Little Party (actually it's Big Party, haha, no seriously, dudes, it really is no matter what you've heard, especially from Gina because she's a fucking liar bitch) to say the magic word: "Party."
"There's going to be a big party and a really good band," she told Johnson. "You should be there." Hell yes, I'd be there! But what I should have said was, "I'll come over to this thing you call a party, but it's not going to actually be a party until I get there!" Ha ha ha, if only I could go back in time and lay that one down on her, she would've probably sat on my face right away.
That's when I realized it, dudes: my brain works so hard during the day, trying to sit through class and keep me awake by imagining flying pink butterflies and inventing new ways to say that I party, that sometimes it just has to relax and let the Johnson take over. The moral of the story: if I had let my brain get in the way, I might have been partying by myself and pretending my clothes hangers were bitches again, but I didn't. My penis has led me down the road of success before, and once again it got me what I needed most -- not books, not a stupid job, but a sweet honey. You should of seen this honey, but of course you didn't, because I'm the one that got her, not you! B-FUCK-URN!