“People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles. This is the first thing I hear when I come back to the city. Blair picks me up from LAX and mutters this under her breath as she drives up the onramp. She says, "People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles." Though that sentence shouldn't bother me, it stays in my mind for an uncomfortably long time. Nothing else seems to matter. Not the fact that I'm eighteen and it's December and the ride on the plane had been rough and the couple from Santa Barbara, who were sitting across from me in first class, had gotten pretty drunk. Not the mud that had splattered on the legs of my jeans, which felt kind of cold and loose, earlier that day at an airport in New Hampshire. Not the stain on the arm of the wrinkled, damp shirt I wear, a shirt which looked fresh and clean this morning. Not the tear on the neck of my gray argyle vest, which seems vaguely more eastern than before, especially next to Blair's clean tight jeans and her pale-blue shirt. All of this seems irrelevant next to that one sentence. It seems easier to hear that people are afraid to merge than "I'm pretty sure Muriel is anorexic" or the singer on the radio crying out about magnetic waves. Nothing else seems to matter to me but those ten words. Not the warm winds, which seem to propel the car down the empty asphalt freeway, or the faded smell of marijuana which still faintly permeates Blaire's car. All it comes down to is the fact that I'm a boy coming home for a month and meeting someone whom I haven't seen for four months and people are afraid to merge.”

i hate this game

*this is not for a daily hustle task

“But you don't need anything. You have everything,' I tell him.
Rip looks at me. 'No I don't.'
'What?'
'No I don't.'
There's a pause and then I ask, 'Oh, shit, Rip, What don't you have?'
'I don't have anything to loose.”

“There are some guys sitting at tables who all look at this one gorgeous girl, longingly, hoping for at least one dance or a blow job in Daddy’s car and there are all these girls, looking indifferent or bored, smoking clove cigarettes, all of them or at least most of them staring at one blond-haired boy standing in the back with sunglasses on. Julian”

“It’s getting to be toward midnight and someone pays the check and I tell Trent, after Blair’s left for the restroom, that I didn’t have the slightest idea who Walker is. Trent looks at me and says, “You don’t make any sense, you know that?” “I make sense.” “No, dude. You’re ridiculous.” “Why don’t I make sense?” “Because you just don’t.” “That doesn’t make sense.” “Maybe it doesn’t.”

I generally have no issues with dice. I only play for fun, and I've never spent too much money on this game xD

“This is really interesting, I’ve never had anything quite like it before.”

"I'm happy. I'm content. I'm satisfied."

All is completely fine in the world, there's nothing to be worried about. At all. Everything is fine. JUST FINE, OKAY??

I got a lovely bunch of coconuts.  All shrivelled up and brown.   So hairy they get lost in the crowd.  So large they make your hands look small.  Now try to frown.

“There are some guys sitting at tables who all look at this one gorgeous girl, longingly, hoping for at least one dance or a blow job in Daddy’s car and there are all these girls, looking indifferent or bored, smoking clove cigarettes, all of them or at least most of them staring at one blond-haired boy standing in the back with sunglasses on. Julian”

All babies are adorable and should be viewed that way. 

Still one of my favorite lies to tell.  

I had an uncle that designed his own carburetor for his 1968 Chrysler Newport. (This was in 1972)

After a few months of testing he went to get a patent on the carb.

After his paperwork was turned in about 3 weeks later 4 men in suits appeared at his door and asked to see the car.

He took them to his garage and they proceeded to remove the carb from the car. They took his tools and his plans and when they left, they said this:

"If you ever do this again we won't be held accountable to what might happen to you".

“It's hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn't care."
"Yeah?" I ask.
"What do you care about? What makes you happy?"
"Nothing. Nothing make me happy. I like nothing.”

Im a 400 pound man who lives in his mothers basement. And I hate dogs!