What’s up, twats? It’s me! I’m back! Since Akolade has apparently fallen off the face of the blog-earth, I thought I’d chime in with some of my wisdom and blow some minds, while I blow my wad. Ya, writing blog posts gets me half-wood. But that’s probably because I always have a window open with porn. So basically anytime I’m at the computer I’m aroused. Makes it weird when I’m Skyping with mom.

My Windows desktop on a typical day.
So, summer is over half over now, and I’ve had a busy one! I got a job working for the city, tarring roofs!

Stinky hot tar!
I’ve got one of those tans that make white-men look like some sort of Caramel Golem; a healthy shade of brown, like seen here:

This is what my balls look like right now (yes I tar pantsless)
You can literally smell the skin cancer! I thought I was being safe and responsible by putting tons of suntan oil on, but apparently that’s used to GET a tan, not prevent it. I’m a golden god right about now; seriously I’m blacker than Obama over here.

"Miss July" in the 2011 Roof Tarring Aficionados Calendar.
Tarring roofs has its perks: you get to work outdoors, you get the previously mentioned killer tan, and lots of fresh air. I mean, when you aren’t inhaling toxic TAR fumes that is. So actually, not much fresh air really. Also the risk of horrible burns if you aren’t careful with all that TAR you’re lugging around. I dropped my sandwich in the tar bucket once and it tasted AWFUL after it cooled off.

Ex-coworker (R.I.P. Tim Mclusky)
It is fun to hang out on rooftops though. It’s a great vantage point to whistle at chicks. You can see RIGHT down their shirts, and when you holler obscenities like “where’d you get those massive bongos?” they can’t do shit cuz you are way up on the roof staring at their massive cleavage and they are way down on the street trying to get to the library or purse store or some shit. It’s a win-win. They get to feel good about their bodies, and you get to imagine them naked. Win. Win.

"Quit staring down my shirt you perv!" - Kathy O'Parry
Ya, working for the city is pretty good. Like, you don’t wake up in the middle of the night worried about “tar” or any shit, like a banker might wake up and scream something about stock markets. What I mean is, you don’t take the job home with you. No, when the clock strikes 3:30 (I work for the City remember), you hang up your tar gloves and head for the local sports bar for some some brew-daugs, and just chill. Get drunk, eat some prettzies, make lewd comments to the waitress, and by 6:00 you puke in the bathroom and then head out for some Micky-D’s McRibs, AKA supper.

Why yes, I WILL have two, thank you.
It has pretty much been the perfect summer.
I’ll try to post some more summer adventure tales soon. I just renewed my library pass so I basically have Internet for awhile now! Fucking-A.