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Today, I’m 26. I’m seriously beginning to dread this one number added to my age every year, and for good reason. I’m now entering this stage in life that people lovingly refer to as “late 20’s.” I hate that. It’s like I should look at these other 20 year-olds and be this guy who’s pensive and shit and guide everyone through this hazardous wasteland called “the 20’s.” No, seriously. I can imagine myself smoking a pipe as I dispense advice to confused twenty-somethings about life, love, taxes, and the dangers of smoking.

But here’s the kicker: I am in no position to give advice to anybody. I should be happy, successful, and all that shit by this time, but as you can see, I log on to my interweblog thing every week to post dick jokes, which you people devour with such ferocity I sometimes wonder if anyone of you guys will devour my actual, physical dick with the same fervor. (to be perfectly clear, I was talking to my female readers. The hot ones who’d willingly get into bed with me without the aid of date rape drugs.)

Bah. This isn’t really the easiest thing to deal with, if you ask me. You know the feeling when you wake up, you realize that you’ve fucked up majorly and there’s probably no way to fix your life? Yeaaah, that’s the feeling I get every morning. Really not the happiest thing, if you ask me.

The strange thing about adulthood is that it’s when all these real-world problems come crashing on you. And in most cases, you’re not ready to deal with them, and nobody’s there to bail you out. It’s so fucking overrated. I oughta find the guy who told me that adulthood is probably the most awesome thing that’ll happen to me, second only to growing pubic hair (that also didn’t turn out too well, by the way).

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Okay, I’m seriously running low on brain juice here. And I don’t want to force myself in writing another half-baked lame-ass blog entry that’s only half funny (see, I’ve been doing that for months now). So now I’m gonna do a Chickenmafia when they run out of blog ideas: run a caption contest.

So all you have to do is to stare at that picture below, and post a caption via a comment! Like seriously, it’s that easy.

Best caption wins a million points. I don’t know what those million points can do, but it might help you get laid. I don’t know.

So, comment away and give me your captions!

Hey guys, remember Schmade? You know, that dude who gets laughed at while he buys condoms and he is so totally not me? Yeah, that loser. You see he was talking to Schnoelle (who is so totally not Noelle) just a while ago and the following conversation ensued:

SCHMADE: is it just me or is Maria Ozawa’s butt kinda… unreal?
SCHNOELLE: what if she isn’t even a real person? LOL
SCHMADE: you mean that butt I’ve been staring at all this time isn’t real?!:O
SCHMADE: and i fell for that?!:O
SCHNOELLE: you stare at buttS?
SCHMADE: I… I don’t.
SCHNOELLE: yeah, right.
SCHMADE: Look, she probably gave God a boner when he sculpted that butt ok?
SCHNOELLE: ok, filing that away for later blackmail.
SCHMADE: a butt of lies.
SCHNOELLE: it would be funnier if you said “a butt… OF LIES!!!”
SCHMADE: fine. Here goes.
SCHMADE: a butt… OF LIES!!!111one

Butt of lies?

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Last Saturday I went to Kublai’s Katipunan for my band’s gig, all hyped up and ready to rock. But with one major problem: I had a splitting headache. You see, I haven’t been getting enough sleep as of late because I like to stay up late and download all sorts of porn. But yeah, let’s stay on topic: porn. No, wait. I meant sleep deprivation.

So it was pretty obvious I can’t really rock out if my head feels like it was going to be split in two because of the pain. I just wanted to just finish the set and go home (and wank off) because of the goddamn migraine. But yeah, I wanted to rock off, right? So I just had to find a cure. I mean, what’s the perfect cure?

And there’s no better way to get rid of a headache than beer.

… right? (more…)

Know what scares me? I’ve been getting these awesometastic bouts of depression lately. I know that you’d probably either go “Oh, look, there’s Ade, overdramatizing again about his trivial problems. Let’s laugh at him!” or “Ade, here’s some Xanax. Please overdose yourself ktnx.” or “Ade, you need to get laid. Hey that rhymes!” or “Look, a pink unicorn!”

 
And I’m getting pretty scared because it’s coming on to often. But I just usually try to shrug it off by saying “Meh. I shall handle depression like a MAN!” and I’ll hide in my bedroom, burying myself in pillows and sobbing my eyes off while eating my second bucketful of KFC Chicken.

But to make me feel better I kinda had long talks with Kring and Sorsi (yeah, yeah, Sorsi’s the girl who makes me depressed and suicidal everytime I talk to her, yadda yadda. I was desperate.) and thanks to them I was able to cheer up. Also, I think Sorsi would make buttloads of cash if she ever does choose to take up life coaching as a career. (more…)