STICKLER'S WORLD of EURO-YODELING
"Our close personal pal, Stickler, of that sassy-saugage-filled breakfast burrito of a blog, Stickler’s World, was to been sent to Europe on behalf of Rivalfish for some on-site coverage of an age-old Austrian Pickle Sheathing Festival. We asked him to cover the World Cup. We couldn't offer him plane fare, salary, or an apology for the stain on his parents' bathroom sink, but we thought he'd do it out of his love for us, er, the game. But now he hates us and writes spiteful e-mails to his co-editor (his foxy sister) over at Stickler's World. But we know a guy that banged her, and we get his e-mails anyway! Isn't counter-spite spite a beautiful thing?!?!?! :) ;)" - Rival Room Editorby Josh Stickler, www.sticklersworld.blogspot.com, sticklersworld@gmail.com
Sooooooo, where to begin? Well I'm in Amsterdam, hundreds of miles and 420 lightyears away from any competitive soccer. Last night 3 girls from my tour group went with me to a one of those coffee shops my history teacher used to tell me about when he was trying t
o get in my Bugle Boys. I assumed they all had smoked before. In retrospect, I think maybe one of them had, but not the other two.
We legally purchased this stuff called Harlem Diesel because one of the girls wanted something that would wake her up, and that’s what the barista recommended. Well, I have never been as stoned as I was from one hit of this joint. Guys, I was totally fucked, so imagine the three girls.
As I sat there trying to make conversation while not exposing the fact that I was, indeed, a baked moron, I instead drooled like Terri Schiavo with an active salivary gland. Anyways, I started listening to the conversations of the people around us and I swear this entire group of stoned guys at another
table was giving the play by play of what was happening at my table. It had to be because the three girls were attractive, and I was rendering myself a non-factor. I was, in fact, definitely blowing it.
At some point, the conversation took a lethargic but deliciously prurient turn when the girls announced, “we have to go make our purchases before it gets to late.� I asked what they were headed to buy. In unison, they replied “vibrators.�
So I asked which kind. Like a moron. They said they hoped they could test some first.
The guys at the other table started talking about me again.
The girls all started to look at me all weird and shit and began to laugh. Then they started whispering about something, only to subsequently look at me and laugh. The “laughing at� kind of laughing, not the “with� kind.
We never made it to the vibrator store, but man wouldn't it have been a better story if we had. Instead, the moment I stood up, I knew I had to go to bed. The entire walking back to my hostel, unprovoked people were directing me there by passing by and saying things like, “the train to Central Station is this way, follow me.� Another guy told me to follow Rajinavhjrejh street straight to the apocalypse. I must have looked like an asshole with the drool-stained trousers to prove it.
I can't wait to see what happens on shrooms tonight!
"Wow Stickler, thanks for the amazing soccer insight! Your penis should be taken away from you like an infant from a crack-addicted negligent mother!" - Rival Room Editor
Sooooooo, where to begin? Well I'm in Amsterdam, hundreds of miles and 420 lightyears away from any competitive soccer. Last night 3 girls from my tour group went with me to a one of those coffee shops my history teacher used to tell me about when he was trying t
o get in my Bugle Boys. I assumed they all had smoked before. In retrospect, I think maybe one of them had, but not the other two.We legally purchased this stuff called Harlem Diesel because one of the girls wanted something that would wake her up, and that’s what the barista recommended. Well, I have never been as stoned as I was from one hit of this joint. Guys, I was totally fucked, so imagine the three girls.
As I sat there trying to make conversation while not exposing the fact that I was, indeed, a baked moron, I instead drooled like Terri Schiavo with an active salivary gland. Anyways, I started listening to the conversations of the people around us and I swear this entire group of stoned guys at another
table was giving the play by play of what was happening at my table. It had to be because the three girls were attractive, and I was rendering myself a non-factor. I was, in fact, definitely blowing it.At some point, the conversation took a lethargic but deliciously prurient turn when the girls announced, “we have to go make our purchases before it gets to late.� I asked what they were headed to buy. In unison, they replied “vibrators.�
So I asked which kind. Like a moron. They said they hoped they could test some first.
The guys at the other table started talking about me again.
The girls all started to look at me all weird and shit and began to laugh. Then they started whispering about something, only to subsequently look at me and laugh. The “laughing at� kind of laughing, not the “with� kind.
We never made it to the vibrator store, but man wouldn't it have been a better story if we had. Instead, the moment I stood up, I knew I had to go to bed. The entire walking back to my hostel, unprovoked people were directing me there by passing by and saying things like, “the train to Central Station is this way, follow me.� Another guy told me to follow Rajinavhjrejh street straight to the apocalypse. I must have looked like an asshole with the drool-stained trousers to prove it.I can't wait to see what happens on shrooms tonight!
"Wow Stickler, thanks for the amazing soccer insight! Your penis should be taken away from you like an infant from a crack-addicted negligent mother!" - Rival Room Editor
posted by Rival Room Editor at
12:00 AM
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