this is a blog-post by Wade Randolf. (original) (raw)

this is a blog-post by Wade Randolf.

Is what I wish I could type in my phone then hit “send” to tens of people around me. But I don’t. Because 99% are asleep, 1% are busy and 100% would call me an alcoholic. Can’t I have a 24 oz. Steel Reserve at work and come home and enjoy your fucking conversation while I drink your alcohol without you looking down your God damned nose at me?

I’m boozeless. I have this little shot bottle of “Vilmos.” It’s Hungarian. My buddy gave it to me, he’s one generation removed and got it on a trip there with his family. I’ve lived in Los Angeles for nearly eight years and that amount of time is not lost on me. I’ve got a fucking Ph.D in jealousy.

At some point during these eight years I worked with a guy named Thomas who gave me a bottle of Vilmos. I should have drank it by now… for some reason I thought that I was supposed to keep it around as like, I don’t know, a trinket. Tonight I realized that’s fucking retarded and opened it up.

It reminds me of once in college I made a six-pack of beer bet with a guy and lost. When I showed up at his house to give him his winnings, he graciously handed me one of the six bottles. Not understanding anything, because apparently I’m the dumbest person who’s ever lived, I took it, didn’t open it, drove home and put it in my fridge. Any real person knows that in that situation, you open the beer and “have one” with the winner to validate that you’re both good sports. Who knew.

So anyway. I just opened this little bottle of Vilmos. It smelled like whiskey, then scotch, then I looked up online what it is because we live in 2009 and nothing is a fucking guessing game anymore. Fucking shit. FUTURE. Welcome to it! We can fucking find out anything we want in about ten seconds. Also, we’re all petty assholes who can anonymously say whatever the fuck we want below other peoples’ uploaded videos!

What was I saying… oh, so turns out it’s Pear Brandy. Yeah mother fucker. Deal with that shit Lil’ Weezy. I’m fucking way out classing you. You’re not any tha’, til you sippin’ on P-Brande’.

Eight Years. Eight years. eight years. eight years. Fuck. Good luck. Listen. Here’s the thing. I’m upset because I have the most talented friends in the world. And that’s a really stupid thing to be upset about.