There is a ton of evidence stacking up against me and it’s high time I acknowledge it. I’m becoming a piece of white trash human garbage. In the four years since I’ve left High School, I have absolutely let the semi-freedom of college destroy me as a person. While, I’m very comfortable with the latest incarnation of me, I think it’s important to look back at where I came from.
Here’s the earliest picture of me on Facebook:
Look at this sweet boy with his girlfriend enjoying a delicious lollipop after a day at the mall. Oh, look he has a Metallica cap on. You bought it where? Hot Topic? Precious.
I dare you to follow the jump and keep reading.
Oh boy! Spring-time in upstate New York. About six months into college, you can see I’m trying to be a little cooler. This kid’s definitely from the suburbs, but you might see him in a nicer part of the major city of your choosing. Nice stuble, shitdick – that’ll keep ‘em from IDing you.
Look out, ladies! He’s got a cigarette, mirror shades on at night, and a sweet t-shirt from a trendy webcomic. I think this is the summer I really started to lose it. I had a job and was buying tons of Jack Daniels and dark beers – still kinda classy, but absolutely unsustainable.
What would happen over the next three years is a lowering of every single standard one can have. My beer of choice went from Guinness to Killian’s to Miller High Life; I stopped worrying about laundry altogether (which ended up costing me about 10 of my most kickass t-shirts, but that’s a different post altogether); my taste in women was questionable at best; and I literally shit my bed.
This is from Halloween of 2008. Me and Frank were shirtless and drunk. We ended up hitting each other, pouring beer on each other and crying like little babies before finishing a bottle of Jim Beam. Without shirts. In a dank ass basement neither of us owned.
This is from a few weeks ago. Note a few things – my awful NWO t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, my red alcoholic face, the in-your-face horns, the unenthusiastic girlfriend. What you can’t see is my High Life can in a beer cozie, Lynyrd Skynyrd‘s One More From The Road blaring, the broken down truck in the middle of my bedroom, and my three shitty kids whining about Miley Cirus… or some shit.
And that’s just the chronology. For as long as I can remember, I have made a concerted effort to chastise people who do the same pose or make the same face in every picture. (Hope, I’m looking very squarely at you.) But, it seems I’m losing my flare for coming up with interesting poses. After looking through way too many facebook pictures, I’ve collected this gallery of retardation:
I’ll start off by making a case for why throwing the horns or flipping da bird is a hillbilly action:
Alright, now I’ll provide biting commentary on my own inexcusable conduct in front of cameras:
You might be thinking “Fucking idiot used the same pic twice.” Look again. This was taken two weeks after the other one. You can tell because my wallet looks even more empty (spent it ALL on parts for my kickass GTO)
Awesome. “Hey guys, get together, I want to take a picture. OK… Smile! Oh that looks gr- DJ! Come ON! What the fuck?!”
IN YOUR FACE! The second picture I was too drunk to get a real set of horns out there, but that’s alright. I’m pretty sure everyone got it. Note the lack of enthusiasm/passive amusement at my stupidity among the other people in these pictures. How is anyone friends with me?
I’m gonna finish this motherfucker Seuss-style…
I like to throw them two at a time. It makes me look like hayseed slime.
I like to throw them when I’m a mess. I like to throw them in a dress.
To the horns I am no stranger. I’ll even throw them with a Power Ranger!
I do my best to ruin others’ pics. That’s because I’m an irritating prick.
The horns and finger rarely rule. They almost never make you cool.
That’s alright, it’s really OK. ‘Cause I’ll keep throwing them anyway.
Now it’s clear I was born in Georgia. I hope this post hasn’t bored ‘ya.
That last one sucked, I will agree. But fuck you. Write your own blog if you have a problem.