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Craig the Whipped...


Last year, I let my college buddy Craig talk about love.

Yep, it was truly pathetic. I mean, not as pathetic as my love life has been in the past, but in the vast landscape of pathetic love noodlings, Craig's was the Tower of Babel of love advice.

Somewhere, along the way, though, something really strange happened. A woman actually responded to Craig's overtures. He responded back, sometimes in the language of belch.

And now he's sorta happy. He finally threw out his Metallica shirt and when I go over to his apartment, the pizza boxes that used to litter the place have been replaced by little beer sculptures. And the other day, I actually heard Craig use the word "nurture."

So, here's Craig to talk about his dramatic transformation:



Hey, fuckers.

About last year. Dudes, I'm so fucking sorry. I steered your asses wrong. I was like a bull that had been drinking Red Bull, and was laying out all this bull-smelling bullshit all over the place. And that bullshit STANK!

I've been learning and stuff, and trying to be better about communicating because I found the girl of my dreams. She's pretty, and she's got tits like the Rocky Mountains, and dudes... she puts out. Like at least once a month.

So, needless to say, Craig's happy about this shit. I've never been happier.

To quote the Partridge Family, I'm all, "Come on, get happy!" and shit.

Well, except for when I was 12 and my dad let me beat the fuck out of our dog. Our dog had been peeing everywhere and my dad was all fed up, so he just let me go at the dog with the newspaper.

But, no, this is way better because I didn't get any poonanny that day.

So let me tell you about my girl.

Her name is Kelly, but I call her K. Everybody else calls her K., but I did it before she told me that other people do that, too. So it's special.

One day, i was at the laundromat, making my monthly visit.

So I take off to go play some Tekken 4 next door, and whenI come back, my underwear is in a pile on top of one of the washers. Inside the dryer I was using, there was a bunch of pink panties and thongs and shit.

It was like that Morris Day song where he's all, "FishNET! Black panty hose!" Except without the fishnets or the pantyhose.

And I got pissed off. I yelled, "Hey, who the fuck moved my shit! Whose shit is this?"

And this girl walked up. She had stringy blond hair and she had this big-ass hoop ring in her nose. She was wearing these torn up pants and she was all, "It's mine, motherfucker! You got a problem with that? If you want your underwear with the holes and the shitstains, then you'd better stay here and watch them beause you're lucky i didn't incinerate it, asshole!"

Dudes. I was in love.

I asked her out on the spot, and she told me that if she didn't have anything else to do, maybe she'd meet me at this bar she goes to sometimes.

I got to the bar and she was downing tequila shots with these guys she knows and she had her hand in a bandage. I asked her what that was for.

"I punched a fucking hole in the wall. You got a problem with that, bitch?"

Goddamn, fuckers. My heart was like, beating hard and shit. With love.


More love revelations ==>

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