Rule 69: If you put it in her butt, your automatically dating.
-Gentlemen, follow this rule and not only will you get a girlfriend, but the process will cost you a lot less. Instead of taking your girl to a nice steak dinner at fridays, or a fajita dinner at chilis, or even to outback for a bloomin onion (you aristocrats), all you have to do is put it in her butt. This will save you all kinds of money in the courting process. Now for you guys out there that put it in the butt of an ugly chick (cause you were drunk or hadn't gotten any in a long time), dont fret. You just have to break up with her the next morning. She might be confused when you say your breaking up the morning after a one night stand, she might not even know you guys were dating, but she will catch on.
Stay classy gentlemen.
12.02.2009
11.22.2009
Damn Kids
This past week, I found out how old I was. This is not only a warning to all of those re-entering the "real world," but also to those who have not realized this predicament occurs so quickly in one's life. Let me first begin by stating that I am a twenty-something year old male about to enter the professional world. While this may not be important to you, the fact of the matter is, I still feel like I have a strong grasp on the popular culture references of our time and generation. This past week, however, led me through so many loops and trials of this belief, and I now feel as if this strong grasp is a dangling pinky finger hanging onto the edge of the seal while my other hand struggles to reach for the holy grail.
Although some may know this, I am fortunate enough to be allowed to stand in front of a room of ninety fourteen and fifteen year olds each day and mold their minds so they don't become fucked up rejects like me. If that doesn't make any sense, than you're like me. After being in this position for some time, the only way I see the education system changing is by hiring the aliens from Independence Day to destroy the entire US. With Windows 95 obsolete, there is no way Jeff Goldblum can stop the nation's imminent doom. While I'm making this reference, let me just say that this movie brought about the Bush administration. People are dumb enough to believe that their President can make decisions, be witty, and kick ass as a fighter pilot. "Eagle One, Fox Two!"
Sorry to digress, but the point I'm going to make is simple. People of my age are now too old to make references to pop culture that relate to fourteen and fifteen year olds. Here are some things that I have found out over the past couple weeks, leading me to believe that I am older than I think:
1. Kids know Limp Bizkit, but not Led Zeppelin.
2. Kids write in text format.
3. Kids think The Cleveland Show is funnier than South Park...and The Simpsons.
4. Kids don't know who Bill
Cosby, Chris Farley, or Christopher Wallace is.
5. Kids think that the prequels are better than the original trilogy.
While these kids are certainly idiotic, fuck-brained twats, they did make me realize how generations just don't mesh. My parents think my taste in music, movies, and television is simply fucked up, and I'm not even going to say what my grandparents thought. But now I understand that not only do old people die, but so does pop culture. While only certain people continue to bare the useless mantle of pop culture knowledge for their generation, the rest go on to live their lives, not realizing that they are demolishing a bridge between two generations.
I just don't want to die like that crazy fuck in Big Fish.
Black Out
As I awoke this morning, i came to realize I did not remember getting home last night. I do enjoy the drink, also I usually remember what I do when I am on the drink. I have only blacked out one time before this, that was a horror story. Clearly, a feeling of fear washes over about what I could of done last night. My car is parked in its usual parking space. I put my slippers on and go immediately outside. I walk by my parents who are sitting in the living room watching Sunday Morning. I go to my car, it is fine. Something just does not feel right, mainly because I feel perfectly fine and everything seems perfectly fine. I call a companion from the night before, they do not answer I immediately think they are dead. They shortly return my phone call, and add to my nightmare by telling me I didn't do anything out of the norm. At this point I feel like Jason Bourne, I am solving a mystery. As I go on my Facebook I discover I wrote a comment/comments on everyones status. Yet known of them were negative. I slowly come to realize my last memory of the evening before. I was with my boss and I went to the bartender, who had an amazing rack and said "can I have 2 jager bombs please..." , yes, please was said.
11.21.2009
Hello Folks...
Hello there fellow Lazy Eyed Girlers. I’m Mr. Jibbers. I’m going to be writing about music and other fun stuff for this “blog” that all the kids are going so crazy over. First, a little about who Mr. Jibbers is.
Well, to start off, I am NOT Paul Shirley. Not trying to pick on the dude too much here, so let me give you a little background here. I don’t read many blogs about music. Usually, I just take a few bong rips and try to figure out what Bootsy Collins was doing on the bass on that one James Brown recording instead. So, when your friend and mine, Halfacrian Canadian, asked me to write a little bit about music, all that bubbled up in my head was that one Paul Shirley article. If you are part of our target demographic of 16-35 year old males who hit the refresh button on ESPN.com every five minutes, you may be familiar with Mr. Shirley’s work. A basketball player who has on opinion on music and pop culture? How trite! I’ll start you kind folks off with this little ditty:
Oh man, so many red flags popped up in my head when I re-read this paragraph, much less the whole article. Lets just dig in, shall we? First off, I had to look up who exactly White Lies were. Now, I will admit that I do not stay as up on all the contemporary alternative white boy bands as well as people like Paul Shirley do. But, my ignorance of the genre aside, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?!?! I don’t think you could even come up with a list of songs from all of the bands that Shirley mentions that even comes close to anything on Abbey Road, much less the whole Beatles discography. OASIS???? The most “entertaining” thing about them is how those two little Brit brothers just cannot seem to get along. “Wonderwall” was decent enough song, but over anything on Abbey Road? Does not pass the smell test. Let’s continue:
Much like a novelist or musician, I'll learn which argument worked and which argument didn't. By the time I draw my last ragged breath, I'm sure I'll have figured out something more about the right way to argue about music.
At this point, Shirley does us a favor by telling us who he really is. He, in his own words, is NOT a musician. In my own half-baked opinion, 95% of musicians probably appreciate the Beatles more then Mr. Shirley does. People who know things about music, unlike Mr. Shriley, can draw entertainment from the Beatles. Hopefully, by the time he draws his "last ragged breath", Mr. Shirley will have learned to appreciate the Beatles a little more. I do not really care all that much about Paul Shirley. Journeymen NBA players that cannot hook on with any teams do not tend to hold my interest for all that long. My only problem with this dude is that he has been given the platform to spout this drivel to the whole world wide web. So, in the coming months, I will be talking about good music that interests me. Those of you who share Paul Shriley's opinion of the Beatles will probably not be enjoying my writing. Plan accordingly. Until next time, Jibbers out.
11.20.2009
Family Fun Night - How to Cook Crack
Happy Friday! I hope you started your weekend in style last night, or plan to do so today. With Thanksgiving fast approaching, it's time for all of us to start thinking about tradition and togetherness, to discover new and exciting ways to reconnect with our relatives. If you've got some spare time on your hands this holiday season, why not spend it with your family on a nice arts and crafts project? If you're so inclined, I've got just the activity to keep you and your loved ones going for hours.
In my personal opinion, meth was soo 2005. You know that things have gone too far when you're at the club, macking it with Jenny, and your boy yells "Yo, don't kiss Jenny, she got meth mouth." Everyone will turn and look at you and know that you're into boning addicts, and damn, that ain't fly. So it's time to ditch that tweaker and her embarrassing little habit and move on to something else, and I've got just the thing for you: everyone's favorite cocaine derivative, crack.
Obviously, you don't need a whole lot of technical expertise or an IQ over 100 to cook up a solid batch of rocks, but you do have to know what the fuck you're doing. You're liable to burn the fucking house down if you're not careful. And that brings me to the first step of the culinary art of crack...
1. Safety First. No one wants to lose an eye or set the kitchen ablaze accidentally. That's not cool at all. So get a fire extinguisher handy, and throw some safety goggles on your domepiece to protect you from molten crack particles. Otherwise you might end up looking like Slick Rick.
2. Get the essentials. Get a decent frying pan, preferably one that's teflon-coated (like your bullets!) or of the non-stick variety. Steal one of your mom's Calphalon ones if you can, because those babies are fucking choice (and I own stock in Newell Corp.) You'll also need a tablespoon, a measuring cup, and some water. Oh yeah, and an ounce of cocaine. Don't forget that.
3. Mix it up a bit. Pour out the ounce into the measuring cup. Add a tablespoon of baking soda (For more crack, use more baking soda. That's the G thing to do.) Add 3/4 of a cup of water, and mix that shit up. You can let your children or elderly relatives get in on this step; you can make them feel included, it's hard for them to fuck it up and you can make sure they're not skimming off the top.
4. Heat the pan. Yeah, heat the pan. When it looks good and hot (you can feel the surface of the pan with your tongue to determine this), go ahead and pour your new potion into it. Use a metal spatula or a butter knife to even it out. Isn't Home Ec fun?
5. Keep it flat. That shit is going to start to boil. As it bubbles up, it's going to spit and fizz in your face like crazy. Hopefully you've remembered Step 1. Make sure you use that butter knife to flatten out the crack--it's going to start bunching up into rocks at this point. It's a lot like making rock candy with your grandmother, except you won't go to hell for that.
6. Turn that shit white. Continue to cook these newly formed rocks until they turn a pure, solid white. This will ensure that you burn off any impurities and leave yourself with the most potent final product possible.
7. Freeze! Once your rocks have become a solid, clean white, dump them onto a thin cloth or paper towel to drain. Take this towel, rocks and all, and throw it in the freezer for 15 to 20 minutes, hardening your product and ensuring strong ionic bonds between the crack molecules (chemistry in action!)
8. Pat yourself on the back. You've bodly gone where many, many aspiring rappers have gone before you. Get out on the street and start slangin'. Get your paper. Hustle and Flow. Or something like that.
This recipe has met the quality standards of Ol' Dirty Bastard
In my personal opinion, meth was soo 2005. You know that things have gone too far when you're at the club, macking it with Jenny, and your boy yells "Yo, don't kiss Jenny, she got meth mouth." Everyone will turn and look at you and know that you're into boning addicts, and damn, that ain't fly. So it's time to ditch that tweaker and her embarrassing little habit and move on to something else, and I've got just the thing for you: everyone's favorite cocaine derivative, crack.
Obviously, you don't need a whole lot of technical expertise or an IQ over 100 to cook up a solid batch of rocks, but you do have to know what the fuck you're doing. You're liable to burn the fucking house down if you're not careful. And that brings me to the first step of the culinary art of crack...
1. Safety First. No one wants to lose an eye or set the kitchen ablaze accidentally. That's not cool at all. So get a fire extinguisher handy, and throw some safety goggles on your domepiece to protect you from molten crack particles. Otherwise you might end up looking like Slick Rick.
2. Get the essentials. Get a decent frying pan, preferably one that's teflon-coated (like your bullets!) or of the non-stick variety. Steal one of your mom's Calphalon ones if you can, because those babies are fucking choice (and I own stock in Newell Corp.) You'll also need a tablespoon, a measuring cup, and some water. Oh yeah, and an ounce of cocaine. Don't forget that.
3. Mix it up a bit. Pour out the ounce into the measuring cup. Add a tablespoon of baking soda (For more crack, use more baking soda. That's the G thing to do.) Add 3/4 of a cup of water, and mix that shit up. You can let your children or elderly relatives get in on this step; you can make them feel included, it's hard for them to fuck it up and you can make sure they're not skimming off the top.
4. Heat the pan. Yeah, heat the pan. When it looks good and hot (you can feel the surface of the pan with your tongue to determine this), go ahead and pour your new potion into it. Use a metal spatula or a butter knife to even it out. Isn't Home Ec fun?
5. Keep it flat. That shit is going to start to boil. As it bubbles up, it's going to spit and fizz in your face like crazy. Hopefully you've remembered Step 1. Make sure you use that butter knife to flatten out the crack--it's going to start bunching up into rocks at this point. It's a lot like making rock candy with your grandmother, except you won't go to hell for that.
6. Turn that shit white. Continue to cook these newly formed rocks until they turn a pure, solid white. This will ensure that you burn off any impurities and leave yourself with the most potent final product possible.
7. Freeze! Once your rocks have become a solid, clean white, dump them onto a thin cloth or paper towel to drain. Take this towel, rocks and all, and throw it in the freezer for 15 to 20 minutes, hardening your product and ensuring strong ionic bonds between the crack molecules (chemistry in action!)
8. Pat yourself on the back. You've bodly gone where many, many aspiring rappers have gone before you. Get out on the street and start slangin'. Get your paper. Hustle and Flow. Or something like that.
This recipe has met the quality standards of Ol' Dirty Bastard
Vampires Vs Zombies
First off I want to say all Anne Rice, Richard Matheson, and Bram Stoker vampires do not apply. Because of this I will take out George A. Romero, to make it even. The reason I took out the first three is because they stuck to the basic Vampire guide lines: Cant go out during the day, steak through the heart...etc. I also apologize if this seems one sided because I have a dick, not a vagina.
Seems like zombie movies have always stayed on the same guide lines. Well how can one really change it up with zombies besides making them fast? It seems to me that as of lately people are changing it up way too much with vampires. Making these people extreme douche bags. If vampires could go out during the day in The Lost Boys, the movie would be over in five minutes. The whole mysterious and awesome part about vampire is because they have a dark night time feel to them. I know for a fact that every guy knows exactly what they would do during a zombie invasion if/when it happens (thats right). I really cannot see why people are obsessed with vampires recently, do you want to be one? That is not going to help you during a zombie invasion.
I am going to stop there for now, there will most likely be a part two. I don't want to come off pro-zombie (which I am). I will leave you with some topics you can comment on:
Edward Cullen, Twilight Vs. Lestat, Interview with the Vampire
Catherine Hardwicke, Director Twilight Vs. Danny Boyle, Director 28 Days Later
11.19.2009
Thirsty Thursday Pep Talk
Yes my friends, it is Thursday. The day of the week that drinking every other night this week has led up to. No one knows why Thursday is the international party day. In fact, scholars maintain the reason was lost years ago, however, everyone knows that tonight they will most likely make a regrettable decision. So lets get down to it, shall we? Go get fucked up tonight. I mean go get fucking wasted off your ass tonight. Sleep with that moderately ugly chick (just make sure you leave before it's light out...no need to see what she really looks like you moron). You only have a certain window in life where you can get away with getting so shitty on Thursdays, so by God do not disappoint me. I want you to have unprotected sex with that girl who may or may not have a VD. I want you to get into a fight with the "my new hair cut" guido that thinks he's the shit. Hell, I want you to fight with yourself (see: Film Character of the Week). Whatever you do, don't give a shit. I mean seriously don't give a fuck. As my colleagues and I on this Blog can attest, not giving a fuck is the most liberating quality you can have, so when you're out tonight doing something you will definitely regret, don't regret it. Just remember all of those stuck-up book worms doing "important" life-things and laugh at them. They'll never know how painfully uncertain it is to wonder if that bitch is pregnant. They'll never have to wonder if their bud was laced with PCP but by God it's the best feeling in the world. So onward, LEG communinty! Crack open that 30, pop that bottle, chop a line, pack the bowl and start this Thursday off right.
11.18.2009
Film Character of the Week
Very much like Plato's allegory of the cave this character has seen the light. Probably the biggest fictional role model for future generations. The true definition of an anti-hero. The character is very relevant today, having to do with consumerism and capitalism. If you live under a rock and have not seen Fight Club before, I suggest you go out and buy the 10 Year Special Edition. I also suggest you go out and get the book, it is a pretty good read.
"Self improvement is masturbation. Now self destruction..."
I made Tyler the character of the week because of the movies 10th Anniversary, therefore I want you all to know that Bob came in a close second.
Rule #1
1. You only get one senior year.
-this rule applies not only to senior years, but to any year in your life in which it is your last in a certain place, job, etc. after whatever year it may be, you will not be around, you will have moved on to something new. so whatever it is, job, school, relationship? you only have one year, so live it up!
-this rule applies not only to senior years, but to any year in your life in which it is your last in a certain place, job, etc. after whatever year it may be, you will not be around, you will have moved on to something new. so whatever it is, job, school, relationship? you only have one year, so live it up!
Douchebag Of The Week - Col. Mustard
It's Wednesday, so that means it's time for everyone's favorite segment, "Douchebag of the Week." As the title would imply, we will find one relatively famous and generally well-liked individual from the entertainment, media, sports or political arenas and drag them down to our level of douchebaggery, where they undoubtedly belong.
So, down to brass tacks. Fuck you, Colonel Mustard. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Let's face the hard facts here, Colonel: The Civil War is over, and you fucking lost. End of story. Pushing aside the obvious fact that you're a cold-blooded murderer (in the library, with the candlestick no less), you're a tobacco plantation owner, and that's just downright wrong. The practice of sharecropping is little more than modern feudalism, and as you sit in the shade of your cypress trees sipping your mint julep, about fifty of my ancestors are looming behind you, sharpening their pitchforks, waiting to gorge your fat aristocratic ass at the drop of a hat. Why don't you go out in the fields for a change, you cracker-ass hatemonger? And shave your mutton chops too, this isn't a Martin Van Buren lookalike contest. The monocle? It's fucking lame. Only Mr. Peanut and The Monopoly Guy can pull that shit off, so find a hole somewhere and fucking bury it. Just about the only cool thing you've ever done is rail the shit out of Miss Scarlet's fine ass, but so has everyone else east of the Mississippi. And you know what else? Clue sucked ass, I always cheated, and no one saw that shitty movie. Case closed, Colonel.
So, down to brass tacks. Fuck you, Colonel Mustard. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Let's face the hard facts here, Colonel: The Civil War is over, and you fucking lost. End of story. Pushing aside the obvious fact that you're a cold-blooded murderer (in the library, with the candlestick no less), you're a tobacco plantation owner, and that's just downright wrong. The practice of sharecropping is little more than modern feudalism, and as you sit in the shade of your cypress trees sipping your mint julep, about fifty of my ancestors are looming behind you, sharpening their pitchforks, waiting to gorge your fat aristocratic ass at the drop of a hat. Why don't you go out in the fields for a change, you cracker-ass hatemonger? And shave your mutton chops too, this isn't a Martin Van Buren lookalike contest. The monocle? It's fucking lame. Only Mr. Peanut and The Monopoly Guy can pull that shit off, so find a hole somewhere and fucking bury it. Just about the only cool thing you've ever done is rail the shit out of Miss Scarlet's fine ass, but so has everyone else east of the Mississippi. And you know what else? Clue sucked ass, I always cheated, and no one saw that shitty movie. Case closed, Colonel.
(Un)Welcome to the Mall
Dear valued, yet completely derelict lazyeyedgirl community:
Nothing is better than saying fuck "real life" responsibilities like taking a pointless trip to the mall. I particularly enjoy going to the mall to make me feel better about myself. Now it's hard to come across someone who gives less of a fuck than me, but when i go to the mall i feel like an Einsteinian David Beckham. As you pointlessly roam those tile floors one can observe all a walks of life....from the jailbait you want to fuck but can't because some hot teacher had to fuck a 13 year old somewhere, to the fat white girls hanging all over Lil' Wayne wannabes to the countless pregnant teens. Our society is pretty fucking gross and if you want to remind yourself of how you stack up, take a trip to the mall. As my friends and I shamelessly laugh at the faggots in Hollister and humiliate the pizza-faced dweebs in Gamestop, we relish in the fact that despite how cruel and childish we may seem, at least we're still capable of getting laid. Something those fucking "nwbs" in Gamestop may never get to say. Listen, asshole, im no bully. I don't get pleasure from other people's shortcomings, but I swear to God im going to get a label maker and start sticking "walking stereotype" on the backs of all those mall-rat douche-bags.
Yea the white trash girl with pants that allow a full cascading of her gross-ass stomach to be shown to the world is gross, and yea the racially confused white kid who has more of an identity crisis than Lady Gaga is amusing, but nothing is more ridiculous to me than what I observe upon every entrance and every exit in my mall-going adventures. Yea, I am talking about the group of hug-deprived Goth kids who seem to cluster around the only ways in and out of the building. You know who I am talking about...the group of kids wearing bondage gear, listening to Hawthorne Heights playing hackysack and sharing stories about how their mom is a crack addict and their dad is in prison for kiddie porn. Someone give these kids a fucking spanking. Noone cares about your problems and goddamn it I don't like wondering if this moron in a trench-coat has a sawed-off under that attention-craving attire. Vampires are made up and the devil isn't going to love you either so get a fucking grip. If you're going to be all Sabrina-the-Teenaged-wannabe-reject-witch, do it in your own house with the rest of your cult. And while your at it, carve a pentagram into your arm with your mom's dirty needle. Dont't forget your copy of "the crucible" and light some candles. I heard a Ouija board is pretty trippy. I'm sure you'll get a long fine with the evil spirits you conjure up. I know how apathetic and non-conforming they all are, but they're faking. If they were really apathetic and non-conforming they would sit by themselves, not with a group of similar looking idiots, and they wouldn't be doing "magic." They would be plotting how to make some money off of daddies old videos and maybe direct their own. Hey Goth kids at the Mall, stop ruining my entering and exiting experiences or I will throw that hackysack into traffic and string you up with all those stupid chains attached to the parachutes around your legs.
11.17.2009
Good Excuses
I assume that you, reader, are as unapologetic about your laziness as I am. I fucking hate doing anything that wasn't my idea to begin with: school work, actual work, cleaning, showering, pulling out, etc. I will do anything to get out of an obligation. In the sixth grade, I intentionally broke my fucking wrist in gym class to get out of a social studies essay (kids have no clue what the hell insurance co-pays are). I will febreeze my nuts for a week if it means I don't have to bathe. I throw a toothbrush into a bottle of Listerine for hygenic multi-tasking. And so should you. The best weapon in the slacker's arsenal is a good excuse, the validity of which bosses or professors wouldn't dare question. So we here at LazyEyedGirl have compiled for you fat, lazy wastes of life out there a comprehensive list of excuses that no deadbeat dad should be without.
I. Mildly Apathetic
"I thought I sent the e-mail... It must have gotten stuck in my outbox" Standard. A shitty wireless connection can keep that essay or TPS report stuck in electronic limbo for the rest of fucking eternity. I use this one about twice a week, but teachers and assholes get suspicious after a while, which is when you need to up the ante...
"I've got Pink Eye" You might as well have the plague. Tell your boss you have pink eye and watch how fast he backs the fuck away from you. But no, you lazy piece of shit, you don't want real pink eye, that's fucking foul. This one is actually deceptively easy, not to mention it's a fun bit of slacker multi-tasking. Get some good weed, or a fuckton of shitty weed, and hit the bong until you'd consider intercourse with Minnie Driver. The next step is tricky: Throw some visine into one eye, but not both eyes, you silly stoner. And boom, instant pink eye. Feel free to rub it and then touch your roommates, just to milk the scenario. (props to Big Poppa for the tip)
II. Technically Illegal
"The Marcus Williams" A time-honored college classic. Take a butter knife and scratch up the area around the lock on you dorm room (or apartment) door. Really dig in there and make it look authentic. File a false police report, telling the cops that someone took a bunch of your DVD's or some other small, relatively unimportant shit. The key is to keep the value of (allegedly) stolen items low, preferably under a hundred bucks. You just want to have a record of your shit getting ganked. Then, you send an email to your professor or boss, and tell them your laptop got jacked, probably by one of those delinquents on the basketball team. Hell, they can even check with the police. And voila, you have a week's worth of reasons not to hand shit in. (Disclaimer: Lazy Eyed Girl does not encourage the falsification of police reports. But we don't condemn it, either)
III. Hell-worthy
"I felt a lump in the shower..." Sorry ladies, this one might not work for you unless you're Chastity Bono or some other post-op tranny. The testicular cancer line is the hydrogen fucking bomb of excuses: you can only use it once, and you may have to keep up appearances for a while. Just tell your boss you felt a lump in the shower this morning and you're going to get a biopsy done later in the day. Note the look of genuine horror and concern on their face as you deliver this sob story. Not only will you get the day off, but they'll forgive you if you seem a bit distracted and don't hand your next ten assignments in on time. God might actually fuck you over with this nut-eating disease some day, so you might as well reap the benefits before you actually get sick.
I. Mildly Apathetic
"I thought I sent the e-mail... It must have gotten stuck in my outbox" Standard. A shitty wireless connection can keep that essay or TPS report stuck in electronic limbo for the rest of fucking eternity. I use this one about twice a week, but teachers and assholes get suspicious after a while, which is when you need to up the ante...
"I've got Pink Eye" You might as well have the plague. Tell your boss you have pink eye and watch how fast he backs the fuck away from you. But no, you lazy piece of shit, you don't want real pink eye, that's fucking foul. This one is actually deceptively easy, not to mention it's a fun bit of slacker multi-tasking. Get some good weed, or a fuckton of shitty weed, and hit the bong until you'd consider intercourse with Minnie Driver. The next step is tricky: Throw some visine into one eye, but not both eyes, you silly stoner. And boom, instant pink eye. Feel free to rub it and then touch your roommates, just to milk the scenario. (props to Big Poppa for the tip)
II. Technically Illegal
"The Marcus Williams" A time-honored college classic. Take a butter knife and scratch up the area around the lock on you dorm room (or apartment) door. Really dig in there and make it look authentic. File a false police report, telling the cops that someone took a bunch of your DVD's or some other small, relatively unimportant shit. The key is to keep the value of (allegedly) stolen items low, preferably under a hundred bucks. You just want to have a record of your shit getting ganked. Then, you send an email to your professor or boss, and tell them your laptop got jacked, probably by one of those delinquents on the basketball team. Hell, they can even check with the police. And voila, you have a week's worth of reasons not to hand shit in. (Disclaimer: Lazy Eyed Girl does not encourage the falsification of police reports. But we don't condemn it, either)
III. Hell-worthy
"I felt a lump in the shower..." Sorry ladies, this one might not work for you unless you're Chastity Bono or some other post-op tranny. The testicular cancer line is the hydrogen fucking bomb of excuses: you can only use it once, and you may have to keep up appearances for a while. Just tell your boss you felt a lump in the shower this morning and you're going to get a biopsy done later in the day. Note the look of genuine horror and concern on their face as you deliver this sob story. Not only will you get the day off, but they'll forgive you if you seem a bit distracted and don't hand your next ten assignments in on time. God might actually fuck you over with this nut-eating disease some day, so you might as well reap the benefits before you actually get sick.
The Saga Begins...
We've toyed with the idea of throwing some of our shit against the wall of the internet for some time now, just to, you know, see if it sticks. Our idea is to expose the soft white underbelly of these e-waves, blow some minds, and rant about crappy, over-hyped movies and esoteric baseball anecdotes. Like Carl Everett, for instance. We think the world needs more of Carl's particular brand of insanity. The ability to hit to all fields (well, not since 2003) and adamant disbelief in the existence of dinosaurs are exactly the sort of talent and irrational thought that find a home here at Lazy Eyed Girl. In the coming weeks and months, we hope to distract, entertain, and disturb you with our profound truths. Sit back, guzzle some industrial strength grain alcohol, and enjoy the ride.
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