Txts to an Asshole 3

Another installment of "Txts to an Asshole," a reoccurring thread documenting my adventures of fucking with people who randomly txt me. Click here to read the first, and here for the second. Also, here's a disclaimer to hopefully prevent the avalanche of hate mail: this thread was originally inspired by a great blog called "Emails from an Asshole." P.S. I've never gotten hate mail. Would love to get hate mail. So. Lonely.  


As you'll soon discover, this txt conversation happened quite a while ago, a couple weeks before Halloween of 2011, to be exact.  But I have chosen to hold onto it until now because I'm selfish. There. I said it. 



Her on 10/16/2011 @ 10:46pm: Hey guys, Its A**********! My party is this Saturday Oct 22! LET'S GET IN THE SPIRIT AND WEAR YOUR HALLOWEEN COUSTMES! If you havent gotten the invite on face book or havent RSVP's this is the time to do it! Rember its a *Double keager *600 jelloshots *two beer pong tables, *DJ QUEEF JONES! & his turn tables! *4/6 Bottles *Fog machines *black lights so bring your white! It's $4 at the door And $2 for close and friends and homies! UNDERSTAND! IF YOU DO NOT R SVP OR +1, +2, +3 etc FOR WHO YOU WANT TO BRING or YOUR NOT GETTING IN! If you rsvp +2 and bring 3 your third person is NOT GETTING IN!! Were doing this oone HUGE! I leave for cali the 27th SO WE GOT TO! Rsvp :)  <3

Clearly you don't need to be good at spelling to make 600 jelloshots. "COUSTMES," "keager," and "oone."


Me @ 10:49: Do I have to wear a costume? 
Her @ 11:00: Hey guys, Its A**********! My party... (same exact txt she had just sent me)
Me @ 11:05: I no, u sent it already. But do I have to wear a costume? Not sure if i'l have 1 by then
Her @ 11:26: You dont have to but it would be nice

The next night...


Me on 11/17 @ 7:57pm: What do u think I should wear? 
                                        Picking out a costume always makes me nervous, lol
Her @ 8:07: Idk im debating between a bee lol and a school girl lol
Me @ 9:00: School girl for sure
Her @ 9:03: Lol but bees are so cute
Me @ 9:45: Right? 
                    Ur call
Her @ 9:52: Lol yeah, i have tomorrow off if you wanna go buy one
Me @ 10:40pm: Can't. Busy tomorrow. 

I was totally busy and pissed that I didn't get to go shopping with her. It would've been M Azing!

Her @ 10:41: Aww well i hope you get a coustome soon , are you coming to the party

Still having problems with "coustome."


Me @ 10:44: Of course I'm coming
Her @ 10:45: Yay
Me @ 10:47: Woildnt miss it
                      Whoops!
Her @ 10:48: :)


Three days later...


Her on 10/20 @ 10:54pm: Hey guys! It's A********** Here is your heads up! Tomorrow at 2pm is the LAST! Time you can rsvp someone else or yourself! Again IF YOU HAVE A +4 and BRI NG 5! IM SORRY BUT YOUR FITH PERSON !!!WILL NOT GET IN!!! If you didnt rsvp yourself your NOT getting in! So make sure and RSVP :) And don't forget to w ear your coustomes! :) House rules will be sent out tomorrow before 2! DO NOT RSVP IF YOUR NOT COMING.. Thanks guys this is going to be great :)! 

"Costumes," not "coustomes." This is just frustrating. Try a mnemonic device like "Sex is better when you're dressed in a serial killer costume. Make a little fake blood with red food coloring and corn syrup. Put it on a blade, take off all your clothes,  and smear it all over your naked body. It doesn't Cost U or Me a lot of money. Costume."

The next day...

At this point, because the party sounds pretty badass and it would be a great capper to a great blahg entry, I convince a friend to go with me.

Me on 10/21 @ 5:41pm (past her 2pm deadline): Hey sorry for the late reply, but is it a biggie if I bring a friend? 
Her @ 5:44: noo ive been so busy i havent even made the list yet ill put you down as a +1

And now I try to figure out who she thinks I am. Unfortunately she doesn't take the bait :(  :(  :(  :(!!!!!!!!


Me @ 5:45: Yes! Thanks a bunch. Make sure you spell my name right :)
Her @ 5:46: Lol okay

The next day (Party day!)...

Her on 10/22 @ 11:24am: Hey guys! The house rules are pretty basic! They will be told at the door! If you don't know my adress ask! Cant wait to see you guys! Dont forget to we ar your halloween coustmes!

Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!! "coustmes"!!!!!!! 

Me @ 11:27: Sweet! what costume did you decided on? Just so I know what to wear. And what's your address
Her @ 11:40: I'm going to be a school girl   3*** (her address)

Said party is about 30 mins away from my place in Denver, too far for my ridiculous friend (who doesn't want to be my naked serial killer victim). 

Four days later...

Me on 10/26 @ 1:17pm: Sorry I missed the party. J******* was being a douche. How'd it go? 
Her @ 1:43: Lol its okay.. it was good 
Me @ 1:49: Can we bang before you leave for Cali? 

NO RESPONSE!?!?!


To read the other "Txts to an Asshole," head to the corner of Fist and Balls where you'll meet a man in a yellow slicker. Show him your left breast. He'll give you an envelope. Do not open it until you are back in your car, and yes there will be people watching. Mainly the guy in the bushes who took some photos of your left breast and immediately posted them on this blahg. Me. I'm the guy taking the photos. Anyway, once you get in your car head— fuck it. Click 1, 2, and 4.

The Bistro of Beast

Apologies for not getting this posted sooner. I've been a bit busy with my new restaurant. Surprised? Well, I can hardly blame you since you may remember reading about my incompetence in the bedroom—KITCHEN! Well, I'd be lying if I said I haven't had help from an old friend: the Beast. If you don't know him, read this before going any further. Then, if you're not too vomitty, you may give this a look-see. And if you don't want to go through the insane pain of reading 500+ words, the Beast is what I call the seemingly insatiable being that overtakes me when I smoke pot. 

Copy and pasted from www.rockymountainnews.com/restaurants/bistroofbeast

Dining Out: Bring your ravenous appetite, The Bistro of Beast will tame it

By Chet Willis

Rocky Mountain News

Denver’s newest delishitessen has been slaying the competition. The Bistro of Beast, located a few blocks from Coors Field on the corner of Broadway and Larimer, has been enjoying waves of popularity since opening in December. Its secret? We don’t know, and we're not alone. 

“I’m as shocked as anyone,” Brad, the owner, told the Rocky after a lunch rush last Thursday. “I basically put the menu together a couple days before we opened and about once a week—if I remember—I come up with new dishes, depending on what I have in my cupboards.”

Brad’s blasé attitude may just be the driving force behind why over three hundred people visit the Beast everyday, some waiting up to an hour to plop down in a beanbag.

“I’ve been coming here since late December,” said Pete Jenkins, who eats lunch and dinner at the Beast. “It’s always packed, but well worth the wait.” His favorite dish is the Peanut Butter, Jelly, and Corn Chips sandwich, which is served with a bowl of Cheerios.

Tasha, Pete’s wife, chimes in: “The service is crap, the food’s terrible and lacks variety, but we love it.” Her favorite dish is the Peanut Butter, Jelly and Cheerios sandwich, also served with a bowl of Cheerios.

Brad says his strategy “isn’t brain science”: he keeps the dishes simple and relies heavily on inexpensive ingredients.

“A lot of places use a ton of stuff for their dishes, sometimes more than 10 ingredients." He pauses to thank a group of business women for coming in. “Can you believe that? Ten! That’s f------ bonkers.”

His dishes are so simple that new customers often wonder why they even bothered eating out.

“At first glance of the menu,” wrote Sandi R. on the Beast’s Yelp.com page, “I was like, ‘Plate of Shredded Cheese?’ But my friends said it was amazing. And they were right. Best plate of cheese I’ve ever had.”

Certain dishes even include eating directions. “Bell Pepper Town,” for instance, isn't served with silverware because the raw green peppers are "to be eaten like apples.”

The Beast’s head chef, Louie Vitella, has a theory on why Brad has struck a note with Denver’s foodies. Vitella, who came to America from Italy in the 80s to work for a five-star in New York, is a veteran chef with almost 50 years under his large belt. “Brad is very passionate about his dishes,” said Louie with an accent as thick as the pasta he grew up on. “I mean, one minute he’ll be going on about metaphysics and robots, and then suddenly he'll break off mid-sentence and you can’t hear yourself think over the sound of crunching Popchips.” 

And that passion seems to be paying off. Not only is The Bistro of Beast destroying sales records, it has even won over the President of Colorado. Tomorrow Governor Hickenlooper—a former restaurant owner himself—will be awarding Brad and his staff of seven the coveted, “Best Business in Colorado.” The Governor's office did not reply as to why the yearly honor, usually awarded in December, is being given away in February. 

"Oh, yeah," Brad said when we asked him about it. "That is tomorrow." 

But like Brad's memory, not everything has run smoothly since the Beast’s self-titled “Mediocre Opening.”

“We’ve had a few hiccups,” he admits. “Sometimes Louie’ll finish an order and something’ll come over me and I'll black out. When I come to, I'm tied up in the freezer and my face is covered in Nutella."  

Louie shakes his head. “I used to have to tie him up in there four or five times a week. But I can’t even do that anymore because then the popsicles disappear and do you know how expensive licorice rope is?" 

The Bistro of Beast

Nearly-bare-pantry food with a redundant twist

2415 Larimer St. 303-555-5555 website to come (when he gets around to it)

**** I'm in love! 

Atmosphere: cozy space with random clothes strewn about

Service: friendly, knowledgable, inconsistent

Beverages: Rice milk, water, Orange Juice (occasionally)

Plates: Starters, $0.79-$1.60; salads, ha!; "entrees", $2.20-$5.78

Hours: Monday-Friday, Lunch: 11a.m.-2p.m., Snack: 3:07-3:52p.m., "Dinner": 5-10p.m., Late-
Night Snack: 11:37-11:38p.m. Saturday and Sunday hours are sporadic. Brad recommends calling to make sure they're serving other people. 

Details: street parking, visited twice

Our system of the stars: 

****: I'm in love!  

***: Does Planned Parenthood offer food baby abortions? Cuz I want more.  

**: Are you gonna finish that?

*: Haha! But seriously. Are you gonna finish that? Cuz I will totally eat the fuck out of it if 
you're not. So, hungry. 

Now do I have your attention? Read the original 

Beast blahg post here. And the second here. 

I Wrote A Book

These days, I get a number of people in my mind asking me what it’s like to have written a book. “Wow, Brad,” they say. “That is an amazing accomplishment. Tell us more!” These people are tiny and sit nestled in my brain around a card table. Their long-winded statements waft of my awesomeness. And they are not to be trusted.

But occasionally I appease them. I play short clips. One is of me at a book signing where a woman tells me her name and I write, “Brad, Your mouth smells like chickens. –Karen.” In the second my agent calls to tell me two things: 1) bookstores usually have a kids’ section so start wearing more clothes on the book tour and 2) a movie studio wants to buy my book. Clip three shows my wife pulling me down the red carpet in a wagon at the premier of my flim. (Don’t worry, she thinks it’s as funny as I do and we’re taking turns).

Honey? No. I'm thinking a red wagon, like in that 

movie "Radio Flyer," except without all the flying 

and child abuse.

And then other times I find that the “what’s it like?” questions are being echoed by real people, people outside of my head, people who don’t just sit and complain about being hungry and the noxious smell of brain.

It is then that I write a blahg post.

I Wrote A Book

By: Brad

I finished the first draft of my first novel last week. And it’s crazy to think about. I wrote a 404-page experiment in fiction. I did that. And I’m a little bit proud about it.

Last July I decided to start working for what I actually want instead of wallowing in the disappointment of not having it. I chose a career: being a writer. So I started with a book that’s been bugging me since college. A Creative Writing professor had us write a short story and when I handed it in I thought, “That should be a novel, not a short story.” The four above agreed, and brought it up at least once a month since. So at the beginning of July I found it on an old hard drive and started working on it, finding the perfect name for the main character, tweaking the beginning, and writing the story.

I was pumped. I told my friends of my new goal and one friend, one who I miss to peaches, brilliantly suggested I give myself an incentive (she also said she was going to make me 347 lbs. of chocolate chip cookies upon her return, so I have that going for me (which is nice)). But the incentive idea! What better carrot to dangle in front of a poor person’s mouth than a fat dick —money! I mean money. Where the hell did I get "fat dick"? 

So during a party I pulled another good friend aside, one who wasn't moving away, and said, “How about this: if I don’t write 70 pages this month I give you $100. And it renews every month until my book is finished. Speak!”

"Yes, but can you stop breathing on me?" 

And so the incentive was born. I withdrew five $20 bills, splayed them out and tacked them into the wall above my makeshift desk (a floor speaker).

“Why would you need an incentive to do something you love?” Maybe you should just shut the fuck up and go pose your questions to a blogger that gives a shit. It’s because those four tiny people I opened with rarely shower me with praise. Most days they love to reinforce my worries and insecurities: you’re actually a shitty writer, your hair is too coarse, you’ll never get published, and your breath smells like chickens.

Every writer deals with the equivalent of my four little people, which is why a lot of writers drink or do drugs before or while they write: to blanket those thoughts in a nice, thick, warm layer of booze, pills, crack, ice, boom and/or pow.

The incentive, the five Jacksons that watched me while I slept, served as a daily reminder of the goal I had set out to accomplish and what I could lose if I didn’t sit my ass down, ignore my brainmates, put fingers to keys, and write the fucking thing. 

Also staring at me while I sleep.

And it’s amazing the shit you’ll occupy yourself with to steal time from what you actually should be doing. I loathe cleaning. But I became an eager beaver on writing nights, dusting, sweeping, rearranging my closet, researching female breast shapes and sizes on the Internet, washing dishes, folding laundry, anything so that I wouldn’t have to write, because the four come alive when I write. But it was that nagging feeling of letting $100 slip through my fingers that produced the first wave of my book. I’m sure it had a bit to do with actually accomplishing such a feat. But it was that damn money that kept me on point.

I didn’t miss a single month, but there were times I came close to falling short. On or around day 23 you could usually find me on my bedroom floor in the midst of a melt down, blubbering like a teenage girl, spouting things like, “I just, I just wish he liked me,” or “Ya know? Just, like, really liked me for me.” November was a toughie. It’s a shorter month, my birthday cuts it in half, and of course: Thanksgiving, which, like a true American fat ass, I celebrated twice. On November 30^th I wrote all fucking day, a total of 13 fucking pages, (up just a titch from my usual three) to meet my fucking quota. Afterward, I weighed some options: death by booze or bullet. Both sounded like way too much work so I settled for smoking myself stupid.

You've come a long way, Milk Am Sam.

Right now I have eleven bank slips nailed to my wall. They come in deposit/withdrawl pairs except for the last one. Near the first of the month, after every successful writing purge, I’d deposit my $100 then withdraw another $100. My visit brought the bank tellers much joy, if under “joy” your thesaurus includes words like “confused,” “scared,” and “irritated.” I was intentionally vague in my reasoning just to see their reactions. Common question: “So you want to deposit these $20 bills, and withdraw five different ones?” Common actions: teller looks at me with suspicion, teller examines bills and holds one up to the light, teller keeps one hand under counter at all times, either touching herself or the panic button. I couldn’t tell.

One visibly-nervous woman asked if there was anything wrong with the bills. I said no and when she counted out five new ones her OCD took over as she became obsessed with giving me the most beautiful and crisp of the lot. I told her repeatedly it didn’t really matter what they looked like, then dreaded my words on the ride home as I couldn’t get past the orange mark on the corner of one of the bills. “I have to look at that all month?” Shudder. Because, afterall, I also have OCD tendencies.

I am not naïve. I know the first draft is the easy part. You just write what makes you laugh, or what keeps you on the edge of your seat, or whatever shuts those four people the fuck up (impossible, by the way. And I swear to God they’re eating chips right now!). I told a few friends that writing this book was my marathon. Editing it will be my Iron Man. Sticking with writing in general until I can give and take a wagon ride down the red carpet, my Everest. I imagine in April when I begin the editing process, my avoidance tendencies will come back and I’ll be volunteering to clean my roommates’ rooms. There are only so many breasts on the Internet.*

Wow, Brad, thanks for ruining it for me.

So here, as promised, is a brief write up of my book, similar to what you’ll find on the inside flap, but probably worse:

Nyle Briggs hates his life. He hates his cold and germ-riddled city, his domineering boss, and even his two cats. Then a lucid dream —a dream where he can control everything and everyone without consequence— changes it all. Nyle escapes nightly into a world without limits, sleeping with any woman, bending the laws of physics, and creating and destroying anything he desires. But his dream life of luxury and power turns into a nightmare when Nyle loses control… of himself.

So yeah, that’s the teaser. My time line is: edit in April (with fresh eyes), send it to a few friends for some feedback in May, retweak in June, and hopefully by the end of July I’ll have it in front of some literary agents. Yeeee haaaa! (Gun shots)

*Completely false. There are an endless amount of breasts on the Internet.†

†Or so I hear.

To read a prior post about some more fantasies

about my future career as a writer, click here.