His Dingle was Danglin'
SHOW US YOUR TITS! read PepperoniNip’s sign. It was his idea to display it against the window when we passed girls on the highway. Some laughed, some slowed down to get away, and none of them flashed us.
We were on our way to Charlotte, North Carolina, to visit a couple friends. SHOW US YOUR TITS! seemed like the proper way to begin. We hoped the girls were of legal age, but nowadays there’s no way to tell. On that note, PepperoniNip should probably be in jail.
After arriving, the alcohol quickly accumulated in HollaAtYoBoy’s veins, though he wasn’t the only one. WassupMuhfucka got kicked out of the bar for lying down (passing out) on the booth. Three 40s in three hours just as a pre-game will do that.
HollaAtYoBoy showed early signs of disaster. He spoke to a homeless man in loud, random noises before telling him to “scoot.” He ate half a pizza with his eyes closed. He repeatedly called PepperoniNip a “Ja Rule soft bitch,” and serenaded him with, “Where would I be without my baby?”
HollaAtYoBoy’s 30-hour rise in BAC peaked our second night in the Queen City. WassupMuhfucka woke up to the stream of HollaAtYoBoy’s urine flowing into WassupMuhfucka’s bag of clothes, at which point WassupMuhfucka said, “What the fuck!”
I was asleep on the air mattress several feet away, but not for long. HollaAtYoBoy collapsed on me and rolled onto his back. I looked over at my sleeping (passed-out) friend, only to see his one-eyed monster staring back. After peeing in his “toilet” he took three steps and fell on his “bed,” without zipping or even tucking it in.
WassupMuhfucka was furious. I was nauseous. The image burned into my retinas and still randomly appears. I may need electroconvulsive therapy.
The following morning we went to Bojangles’ for breakfast. We made puns with the restaurant name.
“This employee is bojanglin’.”
“This jangle’s the jam.”
“His dingle was danglin’,” I said. I wasn’t much in the mood for Famous Chicken ‘n’ Biscuits. I saw far few tits and one too many dingles to have an appetite.
We were on our way to Charlotte, North Carolina, to visit a couple friends. SHOW US YOUR TITS! seemed like the proper way to begin. We hoped the girls were of legal age, but nowadays there’s no way to tell. On that note, PepperoniNip should probably be in jail.
After arriving, the alcohol quickly accumulated in HollaAtYoBoy’s veins, though he wasn’t the only one. WassupMuhfucka got kicked out of the bar for lying down (passing out) on the booth. Three 40s in three hours just as a pre-game will do that.
HollaAtYoBoy showed early signs of disaster. He spoke to a homeless man in loud, random noises before telling him to “scoot.” He ate half a pizza with his eyes closed. He repeatedly called PepperoniNip a “Ja Rule soft bitch,” and serenaded him with, “Where would I be without my baby?”
HollaAtYoBoy’s 30-hour rise in BAC peaked our second night in the Queen City. WassupMuhfucka woke up to the stream of HollaAtYoBoy’s urine flowing into WassupMuhfucka’s bag of clothes, at which point WassupMuhfucka said, “What the fuck!”
I was asleep on the air mattress several feet away, but not for long. HollaAtYoBoy collapsed on me and rolled onto his back. I looked over at my sleeping (passed-out) friend, only to see his one-eyed monster staring back. After peeing in his “toilet” he took three steps and fell on his “bed,” without zipping or even tucking it in.
WassupMuhfucka was furious. I was nauseous. The image burned into my retinas and still randomly appears. I may need electroconvulsive therapy.
The following morning we went to Bojangles’ for breakfast. We made puns with the restaurant name.
“This employee is bojanglin’.”
“This jangle’s the jam.”
“His dingle was danglin’,” I said. I wasn’t much in the mood for Famous Chicken ‘n’ Biscuits. I saw far few tits and one too many dingles to have an appetite.