Atheistjustin Talks About Last Night

You know, its been a few weeks since I tossed up a blog, so I figured I’d better get back into it.

Eat my ass.

I was going to write a piece on going to the Philadelphia Eagles parade, but that was almost 2 weeks ago now, and I pretty much said everything I wanted to on the podcast.

Philadelphia is a wonderful, terrifying, lawless place. I couldn’t recommend it more.

But, I really don’t have much going on at the moment- well, actually, I have a lot going on and thats part of the reason why my blogs are coming in a little later.

I’m still taking a full 16.5 credits, so its not as if the classroom stuff is anything to ignore or just mull over. I’m still a full-time student with more on his plate than Amy Schumer.

You can read that last line however you want to. I’m putting it on you to be the asshole, for once. Does it feel nice? Do you enjoy the responsibility? Do you also have a bad relationship with the rest of your family?

But in addition to all the classroom nonsense, I’ve not only just been sponsored/promoting De Viginiti and Vinchio Vaglio-Serra, I’ve actually now got a job working in sales for them. That’s right assholes, I’m a salesman now.

Long story short, my buddy is getting so popular and doing so well, that he’s asked me to come on board and get into the sales department with him. So now, I spend my few spare hours driving around Jersey trying to find liquor stores ready to take a chance on me.

It’s bizarre to say this, but I am now a bartender-wine salesman-podcaster-blogger-college student-stand up comedian who does MMA and plays 8 instruments. You can do truly amazing things when you don’t get laid.

It’s all getting pretty crazy. There’s a lot going on all the time and it’s hard to find moments to just settle down, now. I’ve always got a million things to do, or that I have to do. Is this what being an adult is like?? FUCK!!!

I finally understand what Chris Rock meant by a job V a career, and the whole ‘not enough hours in a day’ kind of thing. But, here I am now, you beautiful slut you, writing you some words for you to disregard all your priorities with. Hope you enjoy.

Here’s a little recollection of what happened to me last night:

So, I was invited to this formal event, a fraternity/sorority kind of thing where everyone was in suits and dresses and yada yada yada. For these kinds of things, the pregames are always the best part because people are boozing, not too drunk, not doing anything dumb, and everyone still looks nice.

By the time you actually get to the venue at these kinds of events, people have died, suits and dresses have been ruined or covered in semen, girls are crying, guys are fighting, people have lost their minds while sorority girls can’t find their purses, and I’m just standing around going, “does anybody want to read my blog?!?!”

So, with this night, it was more or less the same kind of thing. The pregame was fun and I enjoyed myself a few glasses of Macallan 12. Yes, I drink scotch at presumes and am going to die alone.

But, eventually we headed over to the venue which was so unorganized and unable to get their shit together that they had to vet 200+ people to figure out 1. whose 21 or not and 2. whose actually on the list.

So we’re standing outside, cold as fuck, and all my friends decide “you know what, we really don’t want to be here, we’re going to the bars.”

To which I said, “fuck it. I’ll stick around and check it out, it can’t be THAT bad.”

While I was left there online, I noticed pretty much everyone around me was acting like shit. I mean, people were doing blow in the open, people were fighting about money, and then I was standing there like, “does anybody want a copy of my book!?!?”

Finally we make it in. And then there’s another line.


After waiting on that second line, I actually made it in, in and realized that this was going to be an absolute shit show. I mean, the place was fucking packed and everybody was sweaty as fuck as their bodies were trying to expel out all the poison they had been drowning their insides with at the pregame.

I make my way over to the bar, while hoards of under-21’s were bothering me “yo, can you like get me a drink and I’ll venmo you back?”

Like no, Beverly, I will not do that. I’m sorry your dad took another year to close the deal and fuck your mom before mine, but I am getting myself a fucking whiskey sour and going to mumble to myself in the corner for 2 hours and not get laid, thanks.

So now I’m at the bar, and like I said, I had been drinking scotch all day, so I wanted to keep with the whiskey. I asked the bartender, “can I get 1 whiskey sour?”

She replied, “We’re just doing wine and beer.”

I looked behind her: full bar. Like, there’s a full fucking bar. I can actually see the fucking whiskey right behind her.

So again, “I want a whiskey sour, though. I’m 21 and I see you have a full bar.”

Weirdly, this lady didn’t pause in her smile at all. The entire time we were having this conversation she had this weird, overtly disingenuous smile like she was a fucking emoji. Listen, Claire, I know you’re not happy about this, either. There’s no reason to fucking lie to me like this.

She said no, while maintaining that really creepy and bullshit smile. So, I said, “alright, no tip for you then,” and I just walked away.

So now, I’m in this sweaty AIDS bar, with no whiskey, no friends, and no idea who any of these broads are. I said, “fuck this” and dipped.

I lasted a total of 9 minutes.

I’ve had sex that lasted longer than the time I was there.

I ended up going to the Olive Branch, my home, pounding a whiskey sour and some chicken wings, and passing the fuck out, only to wake up again at 12:30 and hit Kelly’s Korner.

I’d call that a successful Friday night. Meanwhile, I have 108 pages of reading to do, 2 online forum discussions, bits to write for Wednesday, a podcast to record, a blog to write, and a paper to start. But I did none of that, and as I write this at 10:15pm on a Saturday, I still have not started.

I will leave you all now with a picture of a dolphin, because I like dolphins.


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