I Hate Kids

I don't like little whiney squalling slobbering bastard kids. I never have. I despise parents who try to please their kids in every way possible. buying them everything they possibly want and they're still squalling, or they're happy for two seconds until they see something else they want.

I don't stay in resturants where a squalling little turd is making everyone's meal a living hell. I walk away. I want to go over there and smack the shit out of the kid and the parent who is letting this happen.

When I was a kid, I got the shit kicked out of me, and I'm more functionial in society because of it. It is unacceptable to throw a fit in public. The parents don't deserve it for bringing this little shit into the world. But, if they're not going to correct their kid, maybe they do. I'm serious. Parents need to strike their kids, they won't resent you as long as you tell them why you're doing it. Now, if you tear the shit out of them in a drunken stupor they might resent you a little, but it will be minimal.

I will have some well-behaved ass kids.

Dad Tells A Story

I was riding in the truck this morning with my dad. We were moving a table from his office downtown to our location. As we were driving back and forth, I got to telling a couple funny things that had happened over the past few weeks. I was also telling him about the frio-trip bachelor party I will be attending and how much fun we'd had on the last river trip. Anyway, I told him about the gay guy incident at Wardlaw's ranch, he cracked up.

I'm fairly open with my dad about my drinking. He knows I go out and raise hell every now and again and get into some compromising situations, but he's pretty mellow about the whole thing. I'm pretty sure he and I are one in the same when it comes to past drinking escapades. We've swapped drinking stories before, but not our best ones, if you know what I mean.

After I finished my story about the gay guy, he began to tell me a story about when my uncle Dave had his bachelor party at my dad's house. My mom and dad had been married about a year when this took place, but Mom had graciously made herself scarce during the festivities. He told me he'd gone and picked up a keg about 2 in the afternoon and had been drinking on it all day. When the party started he was already pretty drunk. Around 11 or 12 he was pretty "toasty" and was ready to go to bed. At 1 or 2 my uncle's friends invite some girls over to the house to give uncle Dave a good send off. Both my uncles and their friends thought my dad should be awake for this, they went in his room and tried to mess with him in order to get him to come back and join the party. Dad waved them off and they went on drinking and partying. A little while later, someone decides to send one of the girls into the room to lay down next to dad in order to get an incriminating picture. She agreed and the picture was taken.

I thought fucking with somebody when they were asleep was a new thing... I guess it's not.

Lab Partner's "Party"

Lee, Fretty, and I were at Buffalo Wild Wings on Friday watching the basketball games and enjoying some wings. If you've never been to Buffalo Wild Wings you're selling yourself short. It's a paradise for men. Big beers, hot wings, multiple HD televisions, smoking section, and the trivia game, just to name a few of the accoutrement. Anyway, as I was digging into my wings I got a call from my mineralogy lab partner. It was difficult to understand everything she said, but I did hear "party" and "you're invited." I have never hung out with Lab Partner outside of class, other than to exchange notes, so I thought it rather odd that she would invite me to a party.

We left Wild Wings a little while later and I began to worry about this "party" I had been invited to. The details she left in a subsequent message revealed that she was "having some people over to play games." I assumed the "games" were going to be drinking games since it was Saturday night and surely no one gets together and plays board games on Saturday night.

The next day I became more and more worried. I debated making up an excuse and just not going, but realized I told her I was going to go and I always feel real guilty when I back out of things. Still holding out for drinking games, I called her and asked her if I could bring any drinks, with a heavy emphasis on drinks. She told me that I didn't need to bring anything but myself... I knew then that it was going to be a dry party with actual board games.

Kicking myself for agreeing to this, I headed over to Lab Partner's apartment at La Mirage. I pulled in and saw a family of sparkling wiggles sitting on their porch making a bunch of noise and running around. One little wiggle had another pinned down while the big mammy wiggle fanned herself with a newspaper and yelled at the two liggle wiggles. Another wiggle was looking at me and my truck. I looked at him and locked my truck, making sure he knew it was locked and I would end him if he stole anything from me. For those who don't know, my truck got broke into by some sparkling wiggles and I am tired of their shit.

I found my way to Lab Partner's apartment to be greeted by a small crowd of peole I have never seen before and hope to never see again. There was a gay guy who greeted me with an overly gay "HI! BEN!" There were three chinese guys, one wore a black cotton glove with no fingers in a shitty homage to the matrix... or something. One chinaman was so quiet I couldn't hear him, and the other was a pre-med major (surprise). The rest of the crowd included a guy with gray hair, a pair of homely twins named Joy and Grace, and Lab Partner. I smiled as I met everyone and tried to look happy, eventhough I was rapidly dying inside.

So there I was, at a lame-ass party by myself with all these strangers whose idea of a fun Saturday night activity was getting together and playing board games. Did I mention that I was the third "Ben" to show up? You can't fathom the shitty jokes that flew around... you just can't. I contemplated sprinting out of there and never turning around.

We played a game called "Loaded Question." The game consisted of someone rolling a dice and drawing a card with a question on it. The group then each answered the question on a piece of paper and the answers were read to the person who rolled the dice, who had to guess who they thought wrote that particular answer. It couldn't have been a worse choice. The questions were completely retarded. One question was, "if there was a dictionary term to define the person on your left, what would it be?" Oh fucking great. Well, let me think, I've never met this person in my entire life and I'm supposed to define them with a dictionary term...fuck you game, and fuck you Lab Partner for inviting me to this crapfest. I had nothing to say so I wrote "a twin," because I sat by one of the twins and that was the only defining characteristic I knew about.

About an hour into the game, I was ready to go. Luckily another wave of people showed up, along with another "Ben." So I decided this was a great time to get my ass out of there. As they were pulling out another game to play, I stood up and said, "I actually have to go...it was nice to meet all ya'll." I'm pretty sure they heard me peeling out of the parking lot.

After that debacle, I went to George's in an attempt to forget the past hour and a half and move on with my life.

Lab Partner is lamer than I thought.

An Open Letter To Surly Bartenders

Dear Assholes,

I am terribly sorry the other night about the events that transpired in your fine drinking establishment. I am sorry for being so rude as to order a drink from you and break you away from the important task you were trying to finish, namely the bar trivia game. I know now I should have waited until you were through and waited quietly by the bar for you to acknowledge me. And I should have tipped you because you are working so hard and your drink prices give me a couple extra bucks in my pocket that I can afford to do so. I seriously had no idea you didn't apply for this job but you were, in fact, forced to do it by a man with a gun. It must have been my mistake for ordering a Bud Light, I could have sworn I ordered a Coors Light since that is the only beer I ever drink. I can't apologize enough for ordering multiple drinks in one order. I had no idea it would piss you off, you rolling your eyes should have tipped me off. It will never happen again.

Apologetically,
Ben T. Shepperd

Poem: The Half-Eaten Burrito

Hispanic treat tightly wrapped in flour
You light my day from dim and dower

From the nights of intoxication
Gives awaking justification

Oh the beans, oh the cheese!
Makes me buckle at my knees

Now I add a little sauce
Dancing like Baryshnikov

Why did I only eat the half of you
When my night of drinking was through?

Did I pass out, did I bump my head
Why was I not fully fed?

It doesn't matter it's nearing noon
I'm eating like a starved baboon

Now pain my heart must undergo
I finished my half-eaten burrito.

No Sparkling Wiggles Read This Blog

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rfilLgPB5Sk

I tried to post this video directly to the blog, but the new Google blogger format does not allow for it yet.

My favorite is "There's too many sparkling wiggles at this party"

I would refrain from watching this at work.

Rudius Media Not Impressed

About two months ago, I submitted some of my writings and stories to Rudius Media. Rudius is an Internet publisher of sorts. They take writers and bloggers with interesting content and give them websites in which they can reach a wider audience and make a little scratch on the side. They host the the quasi-famous tuckermax.com and my personal favorite tard-blog.com, along with others of interest.

I had submitted stories that I found to be the most entertaining, but apparently were not. In the submission section of the website, they claimed that a reply would follow in two to four weeks. It has now been six weeks and I guess they didn't see anything they liked.

I am taking this opportunity to poll readers of this blog (if there are any left) for their personal favorites which I will re-submit to Rudius and see if I can't get a response.

Swampbeast Victim Comes Forward

Swampbeast could not be reached for comment

Shep Meets A Gay

This past weekend we all went to Wardlaw's ranch in Clifton to meet with his brother, Cody, and his friends from Dallas. The trip started out OK. We got there about 6:30 and started a brush fire so we could sit around and drink beer. A little while later Cody and his friends got there, and we went up to the house to meet them.

Soon after arriving at the house I was informed one of them was gay. Now I know it's 2007 and everyone is preaching tolerance and respect for these people, but I'm an old school guy and think they should be ashamed of themselves. I long for the days when they just stayed in California and gave themselves A.I.D.S. So here I am hanging out with a gay guy in my midst and starting to get drunk...I fear for my ass.

I couldn't believe they had brought a fag to a perfectly decent weekend getaway.

As the night progressed, I had gotten too drunk and decided to go find a bed. I went upstairs and found a nice bed and crashed. I woke up the next morning to find to my horror that the cock polishing, butt pirate had decided to bunk up with me. About the time I realized who he was, his leg reached over and touched mine. It was like I got shot out of a canon the speed I flew out of that bed. I was hungover and pissed off. I went downstairs and yelled at Cody. I also realized someone had drawn on me with a magic marker. The artist had decided on a penis and an inscription that read "little boy's penises here." I rolled my eyes and hopped in the shower.

Legend Of The Swampbeast

For years cryptozoologists have been investigating a mysterious creature described as a drunk two-legged hominid with an affinity for whataburger. Many claim to have witnessed the creature known only as the Swampbeast. Eyewitness accounts say he is as mobile on land as he is in water, and will attack a boat unprovoked. Like Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster, the Swampbeast is the subject of much scientific controversy. Some claim he is some kind of missing-link neanderthal, others believe he is the cro-magnon man, while some contend he is simply a figment of over-stimulated collegiate mind.

One particular Swampbeast incident occurred on a ranch outside Clifton, Texas. A group of friends were out drinking on a pond. They had gone into the water to cool off and some had convened in a boat. About halfway across the pond, the men in the boat felt like they were being watched and smelled what they believed to be wet sulfur. All of a sudden they felt the boat rock. Trying to reestablish the boat's equilibrium, they saw the back of the Swampbeast as he dove deep for his final attempt at tipping the boat. Seconds later the boat sustained a lethal blow to the bow and took a titanic type spill. The men resurfaced to hear a faint laugh and a belch, the call of the Swampbeast.

Another incident happened while a group of friends were on a trip down to the Frio River in hopes of celebrating the 4th of July while floating down one of Texas' most beautiful natural landmarks. They had been floating for a few hours when they came to a rural part of the river. The entire trip had been littered with fellow river goers, but this part was completely empty. They thought they heard a belch, but wrote it off as a passing plane. Just then they began to smell the tale tell wet sulfur. The river began to gyrate and the smell became more potent. All of a sudden Woody was taken under the water and never seen again. Some claim he was not killed but once he resurfaced everyone was gone so he went to Mexico and is now known as Pasquale Benvinedes P.I. He is most famous for his single handed genocide of chihuahuas.

An Ode To Spring Break '06

With Spring Break approaching I thought I might do a little blog slide show to commemorate my last spring break.

Part 1: New Orleans

It was my birthday and we had stopped in N.O. for some of the local culture. I got drunk

I drank too much and passed out. My "friends" thought it would be funny to tip my bed over. I woke up with an ironing board in the bed with me.

Part 2: Destin

We arrived in Destin Fl. and started drinking... I gave the finger a number of times.

We met a lot of pretty girls, I creeped this one out.

Part 3: St. Patrick's Day

I also creeped this girl out. Drank many green beers.

On the way home Lee pooped a green turd in a Louisianna Wendy's and made me look at it (no photo available.)

p.s.- I know I post in waves

The One Year Anniversary Post!

I just realized I've been blogging for a little over a year now. I went back into the archives and found it's the one year anniversary of 'Drunk Chicks Don't Like Me'. I decided, since it's one of my favorites, that I would do a re post for those who missed it.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Drunk Chicks Don't Like Me

While at Scruffy's this past Saturday I had a revelation. Amongst a haze of smoke and red bull induced mini-strokes, I realized drunk chicks don't enjoy my company. After coming home and pulling the trigger in Jake's yard (which I am still very much against, Edgar), I began to wonder why girls under the influence of alcohol seem so appalled by my presence.

When we were at Scruff's, Keene and I were standing at the bar talking to two girls who were obviously hammered. They seemed to think Keene was quite charming. I, on the other hand, could just as well have been the guy who killed their family dog. After I ordered up a round, I noticed one of them was looking a little ill. She had her head in her lap, and was rocking back and fourth. I felt concerned enough to ask her if she was alright. Instead of an audible response I've become familiar with over the years, all she could muster was a resounding middle finger right in my face. I wasn't trying to hit on her, I didn't touch her, and I certainly had no sadistic motives in mind. So what's the damn deal? All I was trying to do was help her drunk ass avoid the embarrassing public vomit.

This isn't the first time this has happened. Refer to "Shirtless Dub and the Wrongful Bitch-Slap." She was more than ready to slap the shit out of me. But when it came to light Wardlaw was the ass-grabber, she skipped her happy ass over there and gave him a Sonny's quality booty rub down.

What the hell? I wear cool clothes, I watch "I Love the 80's," I own 3 seasons of "Curb Your Enthusiasm," my hygiene is ok, my goatee is kickass. So why do drunk chicks hate me? I guess it's kind of like the same reason people don't like thunder. It won't do anything to you, unlike lightning, but it's pretty loud and will rattle your windows at night and wake you up. A trait I share.

I think from now on I'll just be a bastard. I will grab asses. I will hit on them. They can throw up in their hair all they like with their thong hanging out. And who will be there with a camera phone? Me bitch. ME!

Shep Evades Arrest

Quite a few years ago I was attending a party on 10th street. At the time I was about 19 and was drinking illegally. This was back in the day when 10th street was the place to be, not the shit stain it is today. Anyway, I was having a great time drinking and bullshitting with other party goers when the police came by. It looked like a pile of roaches scattering after someone turned on a light.

I hauled ass back into the ally amongst 10 or 12 others. Everyone executed a scatter formation which is essentially protocol. I decided to head as far south as I could...which didn't end up being very far. As I came to a fence, I tried to hurdle it but caught the crotch of my jeans on a loose chain. When I fell shoulder first into the damp earth I heard my jeans rip. I laid there writhing in pain. Just then I saw a police car turn down the alley close to where I had attempted my hurdle. I thought fast and situated myself under a small shrub in an attempt to hide from my would be MIC.

The ally the cops were heading down was about 5 feet from my current hiding spot. I thought for sure I would be caught and considered getting up and running again. I held fast and hoped for the best. The car creeped down the ally with its spot light scanning the bushes and trees. As it got closer and closer I became more and more nervous. I saw the car passing my position, damn it was close, I could hear the police talking to one another. I laid as still as I ever have or possibly ever will. The spotlight passed over the tree I was hiding under, and the cops proceeded down the ally.

When I felt the coast was clear, I inched my way out from under the tree to see what had happened to my jeans. A large tear from just below my dangle to the middle of my shin was what I saw. It was a cold night and I felt the chill on my newly exposed leg. I crawled completely out and cautiously headed back to the house to see what the situation of the party was. Apparently I had run for no reason, because the party was in full swing. I asked someone what the cops did. He told me they drove off after they saw everyone run and didn't even hassle the folks who stayed back. He saw my jeans and had a good laugh.

I had no laugh, only a pair of torn jeans and a sore shoulder.

Emily's Coming of Age (A.K.A.- T.J. and the Fat Chick)

A few weekends back, my sister Emily turned 21. She turned 21 only in terms of legal drinking. She has been moonlighting as a 25 year old for many years, and has enjoyed barhopping in College Station since she began going to A&M.

The weekend after she turned 21, she and her friends rented out a bar on the outskirts of campus near Northgate. Her previous birthday had been spent with me and my group of morally casual friends in Waco. Beer and jagerbombs flowed, bunt cake and cupcakes consumed, cigarettes burned, and an impromptu square dance was held in the den. Emily had such a good time, and because were family, she invited me down to her 21st.

I woke up Saturday morning and felt like run over dog shit. This was the morning after I had broke my Big O chug record (as mentioned below), and had to pull the trigger the previous night. I made my usual Saturday pilgrimage to Mazzio's to eat hangover curing pizza and a big salad. Afterwards, I started making calls and trying to round up Lee and Matt. We shoved off around 2 and headed for College Station.

I'd say 70% of Aggies are shit asses, which is pretty good because 90% of Baylor I would like to put in a potato sack and smack up against a barn. This being said, I usually feel the need to prove myself not in the usual stereotype of hair gel and use of the phrase "what up, bra?"

I knew one way to do this was to challenge people to beer chuggin contests.

We arrived at Emily's apartment to meet her and her boyfriend T.J. loading beers in an ice chest. Minutes later we were waist deep in a game of drinking hockey and jamming out some good tunes. T.J. and I won the first two games, but Matt and Lee rallied back. Beginning to get drunk, it was time to put the series away. It came down to T.J. needing to play one card that Lee didn't have. T.J. threw down his choice, a King of diamonds, the entire table looked at Lee to see if he had the final King and the win. His head sank and I knew we had won the series. It sounds pretty dramatic, but in my inebriated state it was pretty damn dramatic.



















After a sound victory and Emily finishing her 3 hour preparation, we went to the Dixie Chicken (or "the Bird" as the Ags call it) to get some food and continue to drink. T.J. bought a load of beef jerky and a pitcher of beer. We sat down and waited for our order to come out. As we poured our beer, Lee told T.J. he should whip me in a chugging contest. T.J. shrugged and agreed to do it. I winked at him to let him know I was going to destroy him. I did. And several times afterwards. Our food arrived and we tore through it.


We left the Bird and headed for the Salty Dog to commence to party. By the time we got there, I was already blitzed. The rest of the night was fairly uneventful, except when T.J. was confronted by a fat chick. He had put the jerky he bought in his big pink jacket. He was dancing by himself when a big ol' gal came up behind him and started dancing behind him. He turned around to see this girl and immediately pulled out the jerky and waved it in her face. She stopped dancing and glared at him . Her slimmer sister saw and ran over there to bitch him out, we all got a good laugh out of it.

The Spooning Incident

A few weeks ago we went to Scruffy's to shoot a little pool and do some general boozing. When we walked in a good looking girl turned around and yelled at me like she knew me. My interest peaked, I began to search my mind for vital information, such as where I met her and what the hell her name was.

I talked to her for about an hour and wasn't gaining any ground on finding out who she was. I was, however, getting pretty drunk and loose tonged. It had become apparent in my drunken haze that she defiantly wanted to pursue extra-barly activities...or so I thought.

I'm not very well versed in how exactly to close the deal at the bar, especially when I'm drunk. When it came time to make or break the deal, I said the first thing that came to mind. I asked her if she wanted to come back to the house and spoon with me. It didn't work.

Her smiles and laughter were replaced with wide-eyed fear. She looked around in stunned bewilderment at the request I had made. She finally looked at me and said, "I don't go home with guys from the bar." I rolled my eyes and thought to myself "those double nose rings tell a different story."

I didn't think much of it at the time. I did run into her at Wild West the other night and she insisted on sitting next to me and making it incredably awkward. Everytime I see her, she feels the need to say 'Hi.' I still don't know how or where I met her.

If she's not going to put out I'm not going to talk to her...dammit.

The George's Chug

Here is a video Trail Boss posted on YouTube. It's from about a year ago.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJKKLJi7Bm8



Here is a funny picture from Hederman's shower after-party at the White Elephant you can see the sweat pouring off my forehead.