February 29, 2008
The Dopeman Better Get His Ass Here - Fast!
Guest editorial by Patrick Sellik,
Boise State Class of 2009
Yeah, I know that Tino is your bud and all, and I know that he always gets his pokey ass here eventually. But I start work in a half-hour at the cafeteria, and there is no way in hell I'm going to get though a four-hour shift without some herbage.
So call him, text him, or do whatever you gotta do, Kyle, to get that stupid fucking dopeman here, and pronto!
I don't mean to bust your balls, dude, but have you ever actually worked in food service? How about in a mindless job like busing tables at the Student Union? Time in that shit-hole goes slower than book hour in special ed class, and the only way I'll make it through is if I am crunked out of my fucking skull.
And no: I am not going to settle for your last two Valiums, dipshit. I can eat those like Skittles and not get a buzz, even if I wash 'em down with cheap whiskey. Besides, the only way the rancid food in that place is edible is when I blaze up a wickedly fat Blunt. That, and Melissa at the cash register will probably give me a hummer if I split a joint with her.
24 minutes, mister, or else I am fucked worse than a blond-haired boy in a state penitentiary. Don't let me down, or Tino will have to meet by the front door or some shit, and that half-retarded, mongoloidal douchebag is about as as subtle as a fart in an elevator: "Hey, man, I got your weed, you got my money?"
Might as well get me a neon sign for campus police to arrest my ass when Tino's around.
Boise State Class of 2009
Yeah, I know that Tino is your bud and all, and I know that he always gets his pokey ass here eventually. But I start work in a half-hour at the cafeteria, and there is no way in hell I'm going to get though a four-hour shift without some herbage.
So call him, text him, or do whatever you gotta do, Kyle, to get that stupid fucking dopeman here, and pronto!
I don't mean to bust your balls, dude, but have you ever actually worked in food service? How about in a mindless job like busing tables at the Student Union? Time in that shit-hole goes slower than book hour in special ed class, and the only way I'll make it through is if I am crunked out of my fucking skull.
And no: I am not going to settle for your last two Valiums, dipshit. I can eat those like Skittles and not get a buzz, even if I wash 'em down with cheap whiskey. Besides, the only way the rancid food in that place is edible is when I blaze up a wickedly fat Blunt. That, and Melissa at the cash register will probably give me a hummer if I split a joint with her.
24 minutes, mister, or else I am fucked worse than a blond-haired boy in a state penitentiary. Don't let me down, or Tino will have to meet by the front door or some shit, and that half-retarded, mongoloidal douchebag is about as as subtle as a fart in an elevator: "Hey, man, I got your weed, you got my money?"
Might as well get me a neon sign for campus police to arrest my ass when Tino's around.