Call me piss pants.
OK, so I'm stuck in traffic. It is flowing at like two miles per hour and I am in the center lane. Everyone is ticked and honking and acting like asses. And Senor Len X need to piss like a mother fucker or a race horse or whatever. No one lets Len X over. No one gives a fuck about Len X. I had just got done boxing and I drank a bottle of water and a big jug of gatorade. So my blatter is close to explosion. My kidneys are hurting and my eyes are turning yellow. So I grab the Gatorade bottle and attempt to urinate in it. I'm not having much luck though because I have a small shriveled up dick (He's average or so I tell him to keep up his confidence. And I grow not show, which I prefer because he stays out of the way until called upon for action.) So I'm hitting the top of the Gatorade bottle and my zipper and my hand and peepee is flying all over the place. Hits the dash, the windshield, the sterring wheel, Oklahoma, etc. but especially my hands, seat and pants.
So the traffic picks up and I need gas. Yep. So I pull into a gas station and it is the only one in the entire United States that doen't have pay at the pump. So I go in to pay with a piss stain the size of a frisbee, a big fucking frisbee. The counter guy is holding in a big chuckle and two Hispanic gentleman are giggling and saying something in Spanish. They might as well have been pointing. And my conclusion is that the Gods must hate me, and I am now going to turn to the dark side.
The End.
Why am I telling you people this? I must really love you.
Hasta la vista, Lenny Xcreta
OK, so I'm stuck in traffic. It is flowing at like two miles per hour and I am in the center lane. Everyone is ticked and honking and acting like asses. And Senor Len X need to piss like a mother fucker or a race horse or whatever. No one lets Len X over. No one gives a fuck about Len X. I had just got done boxing and I drank a bottle of water and a big jug of gatorade. So my blatter is close to explosion. My kidneys are hurting and my eyes are turning yellow. So I grab the Gatorade bottle and attempt to urinate in it. I'm not having much luck though because I have a small shriveled up dick (He's average or so I tell him to keep up his confidence. And I grow not show, which I prefer because he stays out of the way until called upon for action.) So I'm hitting the top of the Gatorade bottle and my zipper and my hand and peepee is flying all over the place. Hits the dash, the windshield, the sterring wheel, Oklahoma, etc. but especially my hands, seat and pants.
So the traffic picks up and I need gas. Yep. So I pull into a gas station and it is the only one in the entire United States that doen't have pay at the pump. So I go in to pay with a piss stain the size of a frisbee, a big fucking frisbee. The counter guy is holding in a big chuckle and two Hispanic gentleman are giggling and saying something in Spanish. They might as well have been pointing. And my conclusion is that the Gods must hate me, and I am now going to turn to the dark side.
The End.
Why am I telling you people this? I must really love you.
Hasta la vista, Lenny Xcreta
VIEW 12 of 12 COMMENTS
mulhollanddrive:
ROCK ON, PISS PANTS!!! That truly kicks ass. You are my hero.
invisigirl:
yes, i have had those same exact thoughts many times. i'm always wondering why the cute/cool guys who seem to like me a lot don't seem to want to take it any further. what is it about me that makes me only a "cool friend" to the hot guys? sheesh.