Married Life looking for Bachelor Party Plan by Sebastian Maniscalco

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When I first met my wife, I had some secrets. I couldn’t share. Everybody gots a secret in the room, everybody. Everybody here has a secret, especially that lady. My secret: I couldn’t digest dairy. Ok. Something you can’t share on the first month of the date like, “Hey listen, I can’t have any dessert. I’m gonna shit the bed tonight. Alright.” 

Naw, you just eat the dessert. And you deal with the consequences later on. Alright. I went back to her place. We started to watch a movie. Half way through the movie, the diary starts dancing. I asked her real cool, “Hey listen, do you have a bathroom or something like that?”

I don’t know why I asked, “you got a bathroom or something like that or something I can use?”

Hoping she would say, “Yeah, down the hall to the right, and then you go outside.” 

She was like, “No, it’s just around the corner. You want me to pause the move?” 

I said, “No, actually can you turn it up a little bit. Turn it up. I want to hear the acoustic in the bathroom.” 

So I would lock the door. I would put the water on in the bathroom. Get some noise going. I later told her, “Yeah, I had a dairy problem.” 

“Dairy? I thought you had OCD. I thought you were constantly washing your hands.” 

Washing my hands? I was farting into your towel. Anything to muffle the sound, “phhhhhh.” I hope she don’t wash her face with that. I can’t go back out there. It’s rancid. But it’s fun. 

It’s fun being married, sharing my life with a beautiful woman. All my friends got married when they were real, real young. In the early 20s, they all started families. They were popping out kids. I was the last guy to get married. They were excited for the bachelor party. You know married guys with kids. They are looking for a prison break, right. The phone started ringing off the hook, “We gotta plan your bachelor party or I am going fake my own death soon, alright. I’m six weeks away from starting a fruit stand in Nicaragua. I gotta get out.”

So my buddy, they go plan a Miami weekend. We go Miami for the weekend. It happen to be urban weekend. It’s a black weekend in Miami. So we look like 4 mozzarella sticks at the pool.  My friends still thing they are still in their 20s. My buddies were like, “let’s go to the pool. Let’s go start talking to some chicks.” 

I’m like Steve, “you have tits. It’s over Steven. You have a c cup with a beautiful areola. No ones looking for that Steven.”

Cheap Strippers: Is it worth it? by Sebastian

Guys do not go to Vegas for a bachelor party with 10 of your cheapest friends. I get there, and all of us are staying in one room.  The best man is bragging, “We got strippers coming up in the room man. Strippers. 2 of them. Everybody got to buck up. The total is 29.95.” 

30 dollars? Who the hell we are getting for 30 dollars? So we are all sitting there, waiting for the knock to come to the door.  They come up. I open. They are naked already in the hallway. “Get in here. You walk down the hallway like this?” 

We got the runaways. You know, the 18 year olds. The one that don’t know what the hell they doing in there… They just walking. I look at one of them.  One of them had one implant. They had a 36 D over here, and 32 B roped off, “under construction.” 

Captain America vs Captain China Trade War Tariff

 Thank you. My name is Jinx Yeo. I am from Singapore. As you can see, I am a Chinese guy with African lips. My friends always make fun of my lips. They say my lips look like Angelina Jolie that had a secret love child with dale lam. And it really sucks because if a Chinese guy can get one body part and large African size. Why must it be the lips? And I am a nerd. I like super hero movies like the avengers or captain America. But I wish there was a Chinese super hero. Maybe like Captain china. You see. Captain America: he has a shield that he can throw. Right? So I thought maybe Captian china can throw pirated DVDs. And captain china super power would be lending money to captain America.

Chappelle is back on the Road No One Home Depot

You know how I am getting old. This is embarrassing but… I was in my hotel room. I’m not going to lie. I was jerking off. And I was really sweating it out.  This is when I knew I was old. I gave up in the middle like nothing ever happened. I don’t like to look at my wee wee anymore. My wee wee look distinguish. It’s old, old looking wee wee. It got salt and pepper hair on it, all around it. My wee wee look like Morgan freeman in the 90s, without the dots. My wee wee narrates, “Dave pulled me out and start jerking me around. Jerking me around. We both knew it was not coming out.”

I see my age in my children.  I came home from the road, not long ago. I was gone for weeks, and weeks. When I cam back nobody was home. Not one family though that the… maybe I would like to see them when I got back. Like they knew I was coming back, but they just… just weren’t home. That sh** was a wakeup call. You know… when my kids were little, and tour bus pull up the house, those mother f*** would spill out, “Dad is home! Hoorayyyy!”

They would hug me and kiss me. And then when the years got on, they got less interested, “Look everybody. It’s Mr. Promises back from the road.” 

An empty house is some cold sh**.  I went to my oldest son’s room, “Hello hello.”

He was gone. 

Jo Koy's Lunchbox Crybaby on Netflix Bit

You scared of your mom because she yelled at yah. That’s all my mom did with me was yell at me. That’s the only language spoke was yell, “Ha? What? Say it again. Say it again.  Say it. What did you say Joseph? What did you say? Turn around. Turn around Joseph.”

“Wahh wahhh ahh..”

That’s the only language that my mom talked, yell, “ah? When? Where did you do it? Where? Where did you go? Ha? What? Did you lose your lunchbox?”

I remember when I lost my lunch box one time. Holly sh**.  That’s how my mom discipline. Like she never physically touch you. She verbally attacked you. That’s how she went after you. She breaks you down in words, interrogation, 2 hour and half yelling, “What? Where’s your lunchbox Joseph? Where did you put it?”

“I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know? Where? Where did you go? You go from house to school, school to house. Where the puck you lose it? What? You just take your lunchbox anywhere? I don’t know where? I don’t know where anything is? I don’t know where? Where is your lunchbox Joseph? Where? Where did you put it?”

“I don’t know.” 

She will repeat what I said in stupid voice, “I… don’t… know… How do you don’t know Joseph? How?”

“I don’t know. What do you want me to say?” 

“Just tell me where it is.”

“I don’t know.” 

2 hours of that, “Where?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Ha?”

“I don’t know.” 

She wants me to have snot coming out of my mouth and breathing it in the same time. That’s when she is happy. That’s how I know when she got me.

“I don’t know… arrr arr arr..”

That’s when she walk up to me, “Oh oh ok breathe Joseph. Breathe. Breath my…”

“Aarrr roar..” 

“Breath… my gawd… Breathe… “

“arrrrr.”

“It’s just a lunchbox.” 

She gots to embarrass me.  She put my lunch in a Tupperware container. That’s how she embarrass me, “I’m going to put your lunch in a Tupperware.” 

And I cry more, “Why… I don’t want to go to school.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want to go to school with my lunch in one of your Tupperware.” 

That’s sh** is embarrassing.  If I send my son to school with a Tupperware container, he goes to school with a clear bowl and it gots a blue lid. And it says Tupperware on the lid. My son would be proud to go to school with that sh**.  My mom’s Tupperware is usually an empty cool whip container, country crock. One time she put it in a Neapolitan ice cream container. It has the red handle. She put my homework and my lunch. It looks like a f**** briefcase. She put my lunch in a cool whip container. That sh** was so embarrassing. She’s like, “Grab a sharpie, so I can put your name on the lid.” 

Like someone has a cool whip container as a lunch box. I am pretty sure I am the only one with a cool whip container lunchbox.