Rats are gross. Do not grab them by the tail. Their skin will fall off.
An easy way to gauge your intoxication is by the questions you ask. “What are we doing tonight, guys?” means you’re sober, perhaps buzzed at most. “Who invented the octagon?” probably means you’re hammered.
Jurassic Park… that end scene where the T-Rex totally macks on the velociraptor… blew my mind as a child.
A guy wearing no underwear is referred to as “going commando.” A woman in the same scenario is “free cootching.” If you free cootch, avoid the cootch scootch. In other words, that wedgie isn’t going away, the draft won’t get any less invasive, and you’re pants aren’t actually going to fall, so stop walking in a manner that let’s everyone else know you’re experiencing those discomforts.
Road rage peeks when one driver shoves the car into reverse and slams the gas peddle. If given enough space, the other driver will get out of the way. This is how I find a parking spot in the first weeks at Sierra College.
There is much debate whether drinking at high altitudes allows one to get drunk easier. I’m going to have to say: it totally does. After sharing the heart attack concoction of vodka and Rockstar with a friend, we were faced with the threat of a flight of stairs. Blankly gazing, I was clearly more intoxicated then he was. “Zach, I have to take these stairs seriously.” I told him with a wry smile.” One step. Two steps. RUN. And I fly down the stairs. “Seriously? That’s taking them SERIOUSLY? You just RAN down them!” He hollers as he parades down to meet me. I bound down the final three steps, “I got intimidated!”
Sierra College: suddenly I remember why I hate 95% of the population as a kid dressed up like a pirate strolls by and sits next to a rainbow Mohawk. I wanna grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and yell, “you’re not special; if anything you’re retarded!”