This made a lot of my day when i saw it lol. this is a real place, and they sale fantastic fake shit #527
Dear Sir, I just saw you pass someone from the fast lane to the shoulder, back to the fast lane; on the 101 fwy of all places. I’ve always wanted to try that. Salute! #527
Took it back to 95 on niggas lol. I got 2 pairs. #527 thats a #tbt for yo ass lol. except they on my feet right now lol
Another awesome link from one of my favorite friends! This shit here is way too fucking funny. Awesome narration. It needs to be taken to audio; by Morgan Freeman, if at all possible!! lol I cried my own actual tears reading this shit around the 1:15pm mark. I couldnt hold it in any longer. I was at work laughing hard as fuck; openly not working lol.
Yoga mat for sale. Used once. – $1 (Bellevue)
Yoga mat for sale. Used once at lunch hour class in December 2009. Usage timeline as follows:
Register for hot yoga class. Infinite wisdom tells me to commit to 5 class package and purchase a yoga mat. I pay $89.74. Money well spent, I smugly confirm to myself.
Open door to yoga room. A gush of hot dry air rushes through and past me. It smells of breath, sweat and hot. Take spot on floor in back of room next to cute blonde. We will date.
I feel the need to be as near to naked as possible. This is a problem because of the hot blonde to my left and our pending courtship. She will not be pleased to learn that I need to lose 30 pounds before I propose to her.
The shirt and sweats have to come off. I throw caution to the wind and decide to rely on my wit and conditioning to overcome any weight issues my fiancée may take issue with. This will take a lot of wit and conditioning.
Begin small talk with my bride to be. She pretends to ignore me but I know how she can be. I allow her to concentrate and stare straight ahead and continue to pretend that I don’t exist. As we finish sharing our special moment, I am suddenly aware of a sweat moustache that has formed below my nose. This must be from the all the whispering between us.
Instructor enters the room and ascends her special podium at the front of the room. She is a slight, agitated Chinese woman. She introduces me to the class and everyone turns around to greet me just as I decide to aggressively adjust my penis and testes packed in my Under Armor. My bride is notably unfazed.
Since I do have experience with Hot Yoga (4 sessions just 5 short years ago) I fully consider that I may be so outstanding and skilled that my instructor may call me out and ask me to guide the class. My wife will look on with a sparkle in her eye. We will make love after class.
It is now up to 95 degrees in the room. We have been practicing deep breathing exercises for the last 8 minutes. This would not be a problem if we were all breathing actual, you know, oxygen. Instead, we are breathing each other’s body odor, expelled carbon dioxide and other unmentionables. (Don’t worry, I’ll mention them later.)
It is now 100 degrees and I take notice of the humidity, which is hovering at about 90%. I feel the familiar adorning stare of my bride and decide to look back at her. She appears to be nauseated. I then realize that I forgot to brush my teeth prior to attending this class. We bond.
It is now 110 degrees and 95% humidity. I am now balancing on one leg with the other leg crossed over the other. My arms are intertwined and I am squatting. The last time I was in this position was 44 years ago in the womb, but I’m in this for the long haul. My wife looks slightly weathered dripping sweat and her eyeliner is streaming down her face. Well, “for better or worse” is what we committed to so we press on.
The overweight Hispanic man two spots over has sweat running down his legs. At least I think its sweat. He is holding every position and has not had a sip of water since we walked in. He is making me look bad and I hate him.
I consider that if anyone in this room farted that we would all certainly perish.
It is now 140 degrees and 100% humidity. I am covered from head to toe in sweat. There is not a square millimeter on my body that is not slippery and sweaty. I am so slimy that I feel like a sea lion or a maybe sea eel. Not even a bear trap could hold me. The sweat is stinging my eyeballs and I can no longer see.
This room stinks of asparagus, cloves, tuna and tacos. There is no food in the room. I realize that this is an amalgamation of the body odors of 30 people in a 140 degree room for the last 55 minutes. Seriously, enough with the asparagus, ok?
140 degrees and 130% humidity. Look, bitch, I need my space here so don’t get all pissy with me if I accidentally sprayed you with sweat as I flipped over. Seriously, is that where this relationship is going? Get over yourself. We need counseling and she needs to be medicated. Stat!
150 degrees and cloudy. And hot. I can no longer move my limbs on my own. I have given up on attempting any of the commands this Chinese chick is yelling out at us. I will lay sedentary until the aid unit arrives. I will buy this building and then have it destroyed.
I lose consciousness.
I have a headache and my wife is being a selfish bitch. I can’t really breathe. All I can think about is holding a cup worth of hot sand in my mouth. I cannot remember what an ice cube is and cannot remember what snow looks like. I consider that my only escape might be a crab walk across 15 bodies and then out of the room. I am paralyzed, and may never walk again so the whole crab walk thing is pretty much out.
I cannot move at all and cannot reach my water. Is breathing voluntary or involuntary? If it’s voluntary, I am screwed. I stopped participating in the class 20 minutes ago. Hey, lady! I paid for this frickin class, ok?! You work for me! Stop yelling at everyone and just tell us a story or something. It’s like juice and cracker time, ok?
It is now 165 degrees and moisture is dripping from the ceiling. The towel that I am laying on is no longer providing any wicking or drying properties. It is actually placing additional sweat on me as I touch it. My towel reeks. I cannot identify the smell but no way can it be from me. Did someone spray some stank on my towel or something?
Torture session is over. I wish hateful things upon the instructor. She graciously allows us to stay and ‘cool down’ in the room. It is 175 degrees. Who cools down in 175 degrees? A Komodo Dragon? My wife has left the room. Probably to throw up.
My opportunity to escape has arrived. I roll over to my stomach and press up to my knees. It is warmer as I rise up from ground level – probably by 15 degrees. So let’s conservatively say it’s 190. I muster my final energy and slowly rise. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. Towards the door. Towards the door.
The temperature in the lobby is 72 degrees. Both nipples stiffen to diamond strength and my penis begins to retract into my abdomen from the 100 degree temp swing. I can once again breathe though so I am pleased. I spot my future ex wife in the lobby. We had such a good thing going but I know that no measure of counseling will be able to unravel the day’s turmoil and mental scaring.
Arrive at Emerald City Smoothie and proceed to order a 32 oz beverage. 402 calories, 0 fat and 14 grams of protein — effectively negating any caloric burn or benefit from the last 90 minutes. I finish it in 3 minutes and spend the next 2 hours writing this memoir.
Create Craigslist ad while burning final 2 grams of protein from Smoothie and before the “shakes” consume my body.
Note to self – check car for missing wet yoga towel in am.
I’ve never heard the full, real version of this song. And now, thanks to this awesome reading, I will never have to. And if you havent heard the real song, dont worry about it. Just sit back and let the best Morgan Freeman impersonator read the lyrics as if they were an elegant poem.
I really wish it was the real Morgan Freeman would have put this out. It wouldve been way too awesome!!
Id point out some choice lyrics in this reading, but the whole thing is just……………………….. HA! I really dont know what else to say lol.
THIS IS MY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So Im minding my own business here at work. … Working and shit like that…. or something like it lol. Out of no where, this song pops in my head. I had to search it. Bumped it, and now Im sharing it with the world; because Im awesome like that. You might have to be from LA to know about this though. I wish I could break dance lol. Id take it to Hollywood BLVD with my boom box and fuck shit up! Everybody would love the nostalgia lol. Hopefully that would result in extra dollers lol.
Lets file this shit right here under videos you shouldnt watch at work. Even with ear buds/headset or what have you. This is classic lol.
My homegirl sent me this earlier, and im not going to lie, i wasnt going to watch this shit at all lol. My friends send me tons of shit during the day, some of it I actually find funny, some of it is YEARS old, some of it…. just… lose my gotdamn contact information asshole.
But this shit right here; I hit play and one of the first things I saw was “it contains the word ‘cunt punt.’” … I stopped to read the commentary and watch the video. Thank God!
Remember when you were a little kid and completely insignificant things seemed like the most important events in the entire world? Well, that same logic applies to some students in college too. For whatever reason, a certain percentage of dudes in frats and chicks in sororities tend to obsess over social events, and earlier this week, we were all reminded of that via an absolutely hysterical email from a sorority member from Maryland who was furious at her sisters for acting like shy weirdos and whiny little bitches at recent events during Greek Week. It was later leaked to Gawker, and it’s since been making the rounds.
Given how serious it takes itself and how brilliant much of the phraseology is, the geniuses over at Funny Or Die recognized its hilarious potential almost immediately and enlisted Premium Rush and Boardwalk Empire star Michael Shannon for an overly dramatic reading. Not surprisingly, it wound up being hysterical, and it’s trending on its own merits now.
Shout out to: CinemaBlind.com where I snagged this text and got the link from. Good times at work!
Lastly, the limited use of the word “Bitch”, “Bitches” and “Ho’s” is a sign that this letter was not written by a Black person. So theres that lol.
This fucking killed me lol.
This is an LA thing lol. People dont give a fuck about the Filming notice sign. they will just walk through your set, like fuck you, I have some where to be at right now. Deal with it, this is happening.
I’m just sittin’ right, in my class at a quarter to ten right?
Waiting patiently for the class to begin right?
Teacher says “open up your texts and read the first paragraph on
I said “Oral sex!, what kind of class is this?!”
The girl next to me said “what’s wrong with you miss? This is a lesson that
Makes you feel fine, kinda ease your nerves and relax your mind!”
I said “Don’t try to use no hypnotic spell!”
She said “Be my assistant, I’d show rather tell!”
My knees buckled heart started to drop
My dick grew to a size that my nerves couldn’t stop
I tried to run! She yelled out “freeze!”
Pulled down my draws, dropped to her knees
Ripped of my draws as if she had claws
Broke the rules that defined sex laws
She responded quick, with a slick, welcoming kiss and a ice cream lick
Oooh I begged, I begged, “Easy on my balls, they’re fragile as eggs.”
Part 2 coming up…
lol this is my shit
Its a Finger Trap!! #527