Just About How Funny and Clever I Am

                 I’ve written about college speech before but I finally just got a video of my speech at Nationals! I got third place but it really felt like first because I didn’t poop myself (I had done that twice already that week from nerves) and I didn’t go crazy. Sometimes when I’m in front of a bunch of people who let me talk for a long time, I go crazy and start telling my favorite necrophilia jokes or my best black joke. And then after that happens people don’t think I’m as funny anymore because they’re “best friend is a necrophiliac” or they’re “black” and then they get “angry” and then I have to be “sorry.”

                Also, I wrote this speech in January 2012 with a pretty funny Dick Clark joke. Then, Dick Clark died on the first day of the tournament. The same day, I got a horrible text from this guy who I used to be in love with that made me more anxious than a pigmy horse surrounded by seven regular sized, drunk horses.

Pigmy horse: Hey guys, let’s be cool. Let’s be cool.

Drunk horse #1: Look at his tiny legs! I- I bet we can fit him in my little sister’s dress up clothes!

                The people sitting at the table in the middle of the room are the judges. The kid with the gay voice talking about gay things is me. Lalalalala here’s a third place speech. 

             

U Stoopid

                 I like to think that I’m a smart person. I’m not. I create these imaginary scenarios in my head where I think that everything will just work out. Like just last December I was like, “I want to be home for Christmas so I’ll just quit my job and drive across the country and it’ll be fine.” So my friend, Nelly and I decided to do just that. And everything was fine except that my credit card declined in Tennessee and we stayed at Motel Ratchet with axe murderers on the loose.

 Or later on the drive when I was writing checks to pay for my gas and beef jerky, I would say to myself, “Oh. I had to prepay $30 for this gas but only $26 will fit in my tank. I’ll just squeeze the rest into my car.” Gasalloverme.

                My best friends from Disney were Nelly, Airielle, and Jen. Jen is one of THE MEANEST people I’ve ever met. She’s seems all nice and sweet and then when your metaphorically dressed like you’re asking for it, she pounces with her words and is all, “Whaaat? I’m not mean. But fo real doe, Brad, you look like a hunchback.” And she doesn’t let you get away with anything. The second you make a mistake Jen pops up like some horrible, Hispanic leprechaun to inform you that, “You stupid. No but seriously doe, you duuumb.” So the other day when the stove caught on fire and I said to myself, “What a great photo opportunity!” a little Jen in the back of my head scoffed, condescendingly poked my nose and said “Stoopid stoopid.”

                     Megan just watches the fire. I take a picture. 

                And I say to myself, “These jeans look so great on me. When is my credit card payment due? You don’t even have to worry about whether your boss wants to sleep with you.” Jen, “Brad, your butt looks good. You gotta ba-donk! Seriously doe, your butt is big."

       I just found out the other day that I had to file taxes. My parents and I were eating lunch and the conversation went something like this-

Me: Oh, so my taxes…

Dad: Yeah you gotta take care of those.

Me: I don’t know how. So maybe I’ll just skip them this year. I’m not going to get that much money back anyway.

Step-mom: You realize that the government isn’t a bank. You realize that you have to file your taxes. You realize that I didn’t give birth to you so your idiocy has no reflection upon me or my wicked plot to rule the kingdom.

By that last part I was checked out and trying to figure out how to use my chopsticks in a way that accentuated my slender Ethiopian arms.

                So I say to myself, “Nobody will notice this zit. Everything about me is stunning and radiant.” Jen says, “Whoa, Brad is that a huge zit on your face? You need to take care of that. No fo real doe. That thing’s gigantic.”

                 One time I went to Barnes and Noble and the wind caught the door of my car and it totally busted up the door of the car next to mine. So I call my dad and he tells me to go inside and ask one of the employees to announce the plate of the car over the intercom. Well that’s not the answer I wanted to hear so I called my mom and she goes, “Well did anybody see it?” And I said “no” so she told me to just park my car in a different spot and pretend it didn’t happen. So I do and I’m on my merry way just drinking a mocha in the café thinking, “Everybody wishes they could be me. I get away with everything. My hair is the best.” Then, my dad calls and asks what happened.

Me: Oh, hey, yeah. I talked to the people and they were totally cool with it. They were really nice and they totally didn’t care.

Dad: Brad, I am so proud of you. You did the right thing and it all worked out.

Me: Yep.

                Just a few days ago, I ran out of gas when I was only five miles outside of the city. I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW THAT HAPPENED! One minute I was like, “Ugh, why is this drive so long. I have plenty of gas. Only my right butt check hurts.” And the next minute I’m stranded with %6 battery left on my phone. So I pulled off onto the exit and decided to take a nap until someone called me back to come save me. Ten minutes later two cops and an ambulance showed up being like, “Are you dead?” And I was like, “No.” Apparently, someone drove by and was worried about me but not worried enough to stop and check themselves. Officer Dennis is nice enough to drive me home and on the drive I’m all, “See! You have the best luck! The police are awesome! You’re so lucky. Mwah. Love you.” But when I get back I realize that I had locked my keys in my car.

So once I say to me, “Be yourself.” And Jen says, “You dumb.”

 A couple weeks ago I decided that I had to get off my fat ass and do the dishes so naturally I put on some music. Then, the drain clogs and I get really anxious because I hate the garbage disposal so much. I think it’s dark and scary and it’ll hurt me. It’s like the house’s vagina. So I turn it on and I hear this horrible noise. I look and there’s a fork being blended by the vulva. So I’m like, “Stop being an idiot. Just reach inside and pull it out and it will be fine. Everything is fine. Nothing can hurt you because you’re a white, male, American. You’re fine.” I reach inside and I try pulling it out and discover that the fork is somehow wedged and stuck. And just as Whitney Houston starts belting, “AAAANNND IIII-EE-IIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOOUUUU,” I realize that I hadn’t even turned off the garbage disposal. I hadn’t even turned off the fucking garbage disposal. Whatthefuckiswrongwithme. A labia almost ate my hand.

What can we learn from the mentally challenged, delusional gay kid? And I say, “I don’t know. It’s not a big deal. I’m so thin. Everything will work out. Let’s just go to Vegas! Omg I just threw up in someone’s bed. Oh, well!”

RATCHET

                I checked out a guy at work for a good five minutes before I realized he was mentally handicapped. I was mortified… That I didn’t get his number. I feel like most people know what the word “ratchet” means. Black people think to themselves, “Obviously. She ratchet.” White people think, “A socket wrench, duh. I’ll stop by Menards on my way home from Panera and pick one up.” Well, I’m white and I didn’t know what it meant for some time and I spelled it r-a-c-h-e-t until I looked up the proper spelling on urbandictionary.com right before I wrote this example.

               My life the past four months has been the embodiment of this word. Hence, making sexy eyes at a hotty with an endocrine imbalance. I can’t help it. I want to celebrate. I mean, I’m graduated (basically). I’m young (36 in gay years). I have a good job (nope). I have a job (nope). So I should be able to do whatever I want whenever I want. *He opens the top of a box of wine, pulls out the bag, and squeezes the rest of the Franzia into his mouth like Frodo on the dry slopes of Mount Doom.

                One example of what I’m talking about is the night I spent some quality time with my neighbors. My friend, Nelly was with me and we were out of alc so we stopped by their place to “catch up” and “be friends.” So I have a straight raspberry vodka (straightest thing about me) and I’m playing entertainer and saying offensive and horrible things and I say, “Just let me know if anything I say is over the line.” And the apartment in consensus says, “It’s all over the line but you’re hilarious!” And I’m like, “I know.” So then, these girls walk in and they’re talking to the boring roommate, Bryan, so I’m not paying attention to anything they’re saying. Keep in mind these girls are wearing tube dresses and six inch gold hooker heels. So then the girls leave and I don’t remember saying this but apparently I shouted, “You guys paid for prostitutes and didn’t even have sex with them?” Bryan looks at me and says, “That was my sister.” Then, I say, “Oh. How big is her pussy?” RATCHET. I can’t believe I didn’t get beat up that night. But they encouraged meeee!!! No big. Got smashed. Didn’t get my face smashed. Got kicked out, though.

                People are always like, “You can’t drink alcohol and lose weight.” I keg to differ. Just eat two packets of Raman a day with Diet Dr. Pepper and a handful of peanuts. Then you can afford the calories and the drinks! Seriously, it works. I lost fifteen pounds.

                I went to a Christmas party this year and the party was themed, “Gay Christmas.” I wanted my friend Ryan to be Joseph because Joseph was obviously gay. He was! Mary was the chosen one, right?  And she was a virgin her whole life, right? And then God had to work his magic just to get her pregnant, right?! Just sayin’. Anyway, there are only homos and girls at this party so it was a psychologist’s wet dream. We’re having a good time and after everyone’s had a couple drinks this couple walks in. I know Matt but I hadn’t met his new boyfriend, Taylor yet. Taylor is one of the thinnest people I have ever met. He looked like a Kaminoan from Star Wars. But in a good way!

They make the proper introductions and they’re there for only about five minutes before I shout, “LET’S PLAY A GAME!” And everyone’s like, “Ok.” And I say, “I think we should all take bets on how much Taylor weighs!” Then, another homo, Stephen yells at everyone to wait and he runs to grab a scale. And then we actually made him do it. AND I WON THE GAME! I was only four pounds off. He was 5’11 and weighed 125lbs. It’s not bullying if it’s funny.

                I watched a kid pee into a plastic bag in front of me. When he was done, he handed the bag to his mother and she put it in her purse. That’s how people roll at Disney. I hope the bag broke open while she rode the ride.

                My friends and I went to the gay bar a couple weeks ago and Jen got kicked out. Isn’t that the most embarrassing? How do you get kicked out of a gay bar? I’ll tell you, she fell asleep leaning against a wall.

                I saw Steven Tyler at work. He was short. And ratchet.

                I accidentally sprayed a little girl in the face with silly string at Wal-mart.

Nelly and I went to a paint party in November and that night may have been the most ratchet night of my life. We began by taking the party bus to this bar in downtown Orlando. By the time we arrived we had successfully shared a bottle of cake vodka. We received four free drinks thanks to Nelly’s persuasion. We only enjoyed two of them because we kept falling over. The floor was slippery with paint, rum, and regrets!

I woke up the next day with green pubes. Every hair follicle on my body was encrusted with a rainbow selection of paints. I discovered later that I had a terrible cut on my arm that I told everyone was a zombie bite. I tried to start a fight with a stupid girl and then pretended that it was her fault and then everyone was on my side. I made out with Nelly while she peed up against a wall. Twice. (The cops were out to play so we were keepin our bladders on the DL).

What have we learned about being ratchet? You lose all sense of discrimination. Not only have I checked out that mentally handicapped guy, I’ve also been more open minded to sleeping with cab drivers, clowns, boring people, sleeping people, dead people, Flava Flav, and horses. 

What To Expect From The Disney College Program

          The other day I woke up to find my entire bathroom covered in vomit. This was after one of my roommates shit himself but before I watched a three year old pee into a bag while waiting in line to ride Soarin’. Let me back up. Before all of this, eight people from my apartment complex were terminated because they decided it would be a good idea to have an orgy in the Vista Way hot tub. I’m sorry, let’s go a little further back. The Disney College Program is magical. I’ve written several blogs (keep in mind, blogging is still totally hip) about Disney but this is the ultimate What To Expect When You’re Expecting Something Completely Different Blog.

                First of all, the application process for The Disney College Program is redonkulous. Applying for the CIA is easier than Disney. Believe me, I’ve applied for the CIA. They didn’t accept me because I was too well known with my blog getting at least 14 hits a day. So. After you apply you’ll get an e-mail saying that you’re an idiot or a phone call from a Disney Princess saying that you’ve moved on to the interview round. Then, after you’re phone interview you’ll get an e-mail saying that you’re an idiot or a Disney Princess will congratulate you for becoming a slave for a fortune 500 company.

                Don’t get me wrong. I love working here. I wouldn’t have done a second program if I didn’t. But I see a lot of people asking about the program on the Google and the Facebook and I am now performing my duty as a Disney slave to let all future CPs (college program students) know how this whole process works.

                So now you are one of the 6,000 that was accepted of over 60,000 applicants. Awesome! Feel good about yourself? Don’t! You are going to be working with some of the dumbest people you have ever met. Imagine working with the invalid from The Goonies, the invalid from Glee, and the invalid Nicholas Cage every day for four months. Imagine going to work and having these people as your bosses. You have now made a journey into your imagination. Welcome back. The Disney College Program website will tell you all of the things you should bring with you. The Disney College Program website fails to mention things like pillows, sheets, your fleshlight, and other essentials. Think of coming here like your freshman year at the dorms. You wouldn’t start your freshman year without your gravity bong would you?

                That brings me to the next topic of discussion. Termination. Don’t actually bring your gravity bong. And if you do, keep it in your car. And if you keep it in your car, use your That’s So Raven eyeball zoom to predict when the drug dogs come and sniff out the place. You can literally get fired for anything. ANYTHING. My roommate literally just got termed because he was deemed “too unstable.” Granted, he did act like an arthritic elephant nearing its final days but still. Just the other day two CPs got fired because they tried to ride the rides during magic hours with expired hotel key cards. If you get termed, you have basically 24 hours to pack up your shit, call your parents, and book a plane ticket home. Then, Disney leaves a card for you congratulating you on your experience!

                So you get to Orlando, you’re nervous, you have to go to someplace called Vista Way but it doesn’t really show up on your GPS, you’re probably overdressed and you’re probably gay. Most of the men who work at Disney are indeed homosexuals. Strangely enough, the company gets lots of Mormons as well… You’ll show up, see a lot of other kids your age, and you’ll spend the next two hours waiting in line getting your housing processed. It could be really boring but my favorite game to play is Spot The Closeted Kids! Or another good game is Spot The Unfortunate Girls Checking Out The Closeted Kids! It’s fun. While you’re standing in line, you will have the option to live in a 1, 2, or 3 bedroom apartment in either Vista Way, Chatham, or Patterson. Vista is where the party’s at, Chatham has the biggest rooms, and Patterson is the nicest. If you’re reading this now, you’re probably thinking, “Well duh, I should pick Patterson.” Beware, the kids who do research like you’re doing now are probably antisocial, introverted, and gay. Everyone who lives in Vista didn’t do their research so they’re probably not-so-smart, really social, and gay.

Vista Way-

Chatham-

Patterson-

                After you unpack your things and meet your roommates, you get to stand in another line! You will be going to the Casting building to get all of your paper work filed and your work location. They say it lasts two hours. Expect four. I like to call this process the WE NOW OWN YOU process. They take your fingerprints, do a background check, photocopy your IDs, and probe your anus to test for a positive or negative reaction.

                Phew! Day one is over and you survived! Time to go home, get to know your roommates, and call your parents to say that everyone you live with seems pretty nice. Come three weeks you’ll be calling them crying because Brittany keeps accusing you of stealing her Pringles. In the next couple days, you’ll go to the All The Different Ways You Can Get Fired Meeting, Traditions (where they teach you the history of the company), and Discovery Day (where they tour you around the park and you finally find out what your role is). As I’m writing this, a four year old girl with a Jew fro is tap dancing next to me in Starbucks.

                Before we conclude, let’s wrap up this whole gay business. 80% of the men who work here are gay. Nearly all of the women are straight. It’s a sad, sad world for the girls here; surrounded by princes who are only interested in other princes. If you are straight and a boy, you are in luck. With just these two features alone, you can save seven dollars on your Axe Body Spray. Imagine throwing thirty female cats in heat in one box and then adding two male cats. One of the boy kitties is impregnating all of them and the other boy kitty is clinging to the top of the box saying, “Icky.” People come to Disney to come out. They may not know it yet, but when Darth Maul gives Tigger sex eyes in the changing rooms, you can bet that they will be overcome by the Dark Side.

                 What can we learn from today’s lesson? Brittany is bitch. All you need to do is call housing and tell them that she keeps talking about how she wants to kill herself. They’ll fire her because they don’t want to deal with hassle of a death and they’ll say that, “she clearly isn’t happy here and needs professional help.” Then, before she leaves, steal her fucking Pringles.