First thing’s first gang: why do some people say the word “tournament” all weird? You know what I mean. They pronounce it like the “u” comes before the “o.” It doesn’t. You don’t have a speech impediment for your other words, so WHY for Christ’s sake, do you CHOOSE THIS ONE TO START? Yeesh. And another thing: PUH-lease don’t-a-clip-a-your nails in public, or even better: how bout leaving the clippers at home on the bus, eh bub? There needs to be a Barack-Obama-rule on the Los Angeles Metro that whatever the state your fingernails are in when you step on the bus: Guess what: That’s what state they remain while you ride, YOU MOTHER MUFFIN BANDIT! Do you know who I got a problem with these days? Well I’ll-atells ya: Hunter Huston: He’s a prick! Eliot Benjamin: He shit his pants during Cloverfield! Darren Herczeg: Hey pal, why don’t you call me when you got abs like the late GORDON B. HINCKLEY in the prime of his MORMON YOUTH. Mike Zara? You WISH your name was “Hike Zafarai,” cause you don’t get outdoors enough. Wow. And that’s just the half of it (by which I mean everyone knows you’re really Arabian. Admit it). Myles Nye ? Why don’t you brag just a tad more about how your first name is technically plural? Because you’re a DOPE just-a-runnin-out-a-ROPE! Damn, Tim heiderich: Got a killer slam DUNK but too WHITE to know it! It’s a damn shame, but not as much as Harp the “nothing rhymes with ‘Harp’” Pekin: Dude so Turkish his first word was “genocide.” Price Peterson: Everyone knows you’re addicted to them YELLOW SHITS that look like DING DONG GAS STATION PASTRIES! Lily Sparks: Straight up LADY HIPPIE. All fixing-and-weaving Nagchampa incense into her hair buns and tannin' down in VENICE BEACH with BOTTLE CAPS all UMBRELLA-IN' over her shut LIDS. Oh No JUNK: What’s UP with the DEAL with Jon Cannon the man with no MEALS? He has never seen FACES OF DEATH. He does not know DEATH. HE does not know DEATH. What a JUNK-PUD. Helen Harlan? Don’t even do a THING. She holds switchblades where most FEMZ hold tampons. UGGHHHHHHHH. DAMN!
I'm OUT!





I know it’s hot inside Dex, but we can’t have the cops coming here and breaking up the party. If they send everyone home, you can’t trick Becky into drinking your Dex-Double-Beck's-For-To-Make-Sex beer mixer that always helps you score with unwitting young women. I know, I know you’re going to need two bottles of Beck's to make it, just walk toward me and stop shouting at Fat Mike.


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