The Not That Great Podcast

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Friday, December 1, 2017

Atheistjustin Has 10 Minutes

Hey assholes.

Been about a month since my last post. What can I tell you? I'm a drunk. Anyway, I've got about 10 minutes before I go off to work at the bar and I figured I'd throw something up.

Christmas time is fast approaching and while I am also Jewish while also not believing in God or religion, I fucking love Christmas. The sweaters are great, the food clogs your heart, Santa and Jesus are both a lie, and people give you free shit.

Is there anything better than that?

While I love the holidays and having an excuse to listen to Michael Buble for a month straight, I cannot help but feel my age creeping. For anybody thats ACTUALLY an adult- you know- 30- you're probably laughing that a 21 year old is starting to feel old.

But its true. My anus is doing that thing where I haven't shit in 8-10 hours, but for some reason I still feel as though I need to wipe. Additionally, I'm tired all the time and my love for Dewars white label has become more of a necessity than a pleasure.

There is a chance I'm just experiencing the early stages of alcoholism. Which, as I discussed a month ago, is probably the case.

Moving on- the Holidays when you're a kid are totally without conditions. You just GET shit. Its dope. From all sorts of people in your family. Even from people you have a vague understanding of being related to you- like, was that really my uncle or was it just some guy who molested me? I don't know. Either way the Lego set he gave me before he left was pretty cool, though.

But now at this early adult age, I am feeling the pressures of having to get dozens of people gifts. Friends, family, housemates, etc. The list adds on and the amount of money in my bank account diminishes.

I'm already busy paying off my credit card bills from leaving absurd amount of tip money at New Brunswick bars- which is like me being in the Christmas season all year long- so how am I supposed to start paying the holiday szn bills? This is why people in America trample other human beings for Walmart Black Friday deals.

In some other news about my life, I've written a screenplay and am currently in the works of trying to get it somewhere. Some exciting stuff may be happening in the near future. If anything comes to fruition, I'll let all my beloved fans know promptly.

Most likely, nothing will happen and I'll end up living in a cardboard box soon after college. A cardboard box, however, would be considered a luxury studio apartment compared to the living conditions of my frat house.

The front glass of our front door has been missing for 1 month and the ability to rob us blind has never been easier.

I love New Brunswick!

Anyway, that's about all the time I have left. Gotta go to the bar and cut limes. Wouldn't want those people to take $4 tequila shots without chewing on a piece of bar fruit.

I will leave you now with a picture of an alcoholic santa.

Fuck you.

Merry Chanakwanza.

Sunday, October 22, 2017

Atheistjustin May Be An Alcoholic

Welcome, children.

As I write this I am overcoming a WICKED hangover from the depths of Hell. My soul and liver may never recover. As I pondered what I was going to do today: shower, straighten up my life, find Jesus, do homework, exercise- I ultimately decided to write a blogpost about the liquor and masturbate.

Things have been going great. I mean, holy shit, senior year of college is almost as big a joke as senior year of high school. The only difference is that instead of 5 days of avoiding school work (HS), there's only 3 days (college).

But, since I've had so much excess time, I've had a lot of time to booze and become a full-on alcoholic.

Today, I'd like to tell you about how each liquor effects me and maybe you'll find similarities between you and I. Hopefully not, for your sake.

1. Vodka

Oh, you Russian whore, you.

Vodka. What is there to say that hasn't already been said? I feel like for most people, vodka is one of the first spirits that teenagers steal out of their parent's liquor cabinets. Because it's clear, able to be hidden in water bottles, and able to set your insides on fire, there is a universal love for this evil drink.

How do I feel about vodka? I fucking hate it. Vodka is like an ex-girlfriend: I can't fucking stand it and I talk shit about it regularly, but when I see it at Old Queens for $2.50 I'm going to say hello and take it home for the night. 

I refuse to do shots of this fucking ass-juice, but if you mix it with Cranberry juice or Red Bull I'll take it for the whole night.

Unfortunately for me, the past 3 times I went with vodka for the night, I've blacked the fuck out. Last week I passed out at 10pm. The week before I passed out at 9pm. 


I went to bed at 9pm. Wearing a full suit and tie. I woke up at 5am ready to start the day with a boiling hangover. 

I remember one time my best friend and I went 'shot for shot' of Grey Goose in the city. We both got so fucked up that we had to call out of work the next day. 

2. Whiskey

Oh, you beautiful angel.

Whiskey, specifically Irish or Scotch whiskey, is my absolute favorite. 

Whether I'm arguing with my own reflection or beating my wife, there is nothing better to enjoy my time with than a glass of whiskey on the rocks.

Something about that wonderful flavor- the smoke of Pete in a Lagavulin 16- the tenacity and the power in a shot of Jameson- I don't know man, it's just the drink for me.

What does it do to me? Well, while I may have made a joke about domestic violence (very popular in this day and age), whiskey actually doesn't make me violent but instead makes me sleepy. Usually, if I spend the night drinking whiskey not only is my dick not getting up but neither am I tomorrow morning.

Whiskey is my absolute drink of choice and I don't use it to party but usually to unwind, relax, and look forward to my divorce (I'm not even married yet). 


Oh, you fucking piece of shit.

Me and Jose do not get along. We are like Peter Griffin and the chicken. We are like Chinese convenience store owners and minorities. We just don't belong together.

Every time I've had tequila my head has ended up in the toilet. Though I can maybe enjoy an occasional margarita, if someone starts offering my tequila shots, my night is ending off with me wishing for death while I'm covered in my own bile. 

You know an alcohol is shitty when the only way to enjoy it is to immediately bite into a fruit and lick a line of salt off of your dirty hands.

Fun fact- my friend Shannon drank so much tequila and ate so many limes one summer that her doctor told her she was causing near-irreversible gum and enamel damage. She's an amazing woman.


Oh, you asshole, you.

I'm a frat brother and as a frat brother I have stereotypically drank 3 times my weight in beer each semester. Keystone light? The blood in my veins. Natural Light? My reason for waking up each day. Guinness? What I dream about at night. 

Favorite beer is probably Guinness but since I am poor, I can't recommend Land Shark lager enough. 8 dollars for a 6 pack can't be beaten. Pretty good beer too.

Earlier this year my housemate and I got into an argument over beer and he told me that there are basically no laws about what can or cannot be put into American beers. I didn't believe him, but after looking up the actual alcohol laws in the US, he wasn't far off. 

Turns out in Germany, you are legally only allowed to make beer with water, hops, and barley. Since then, I've been on a big German beer bend. I really, really recommend Hofbrau if you can find it near you.

Am I an IPA guy? Eh, fuck you. I guess I kind of am. I mean, if you were to offer me a pint of Miller or a pint of Dogfish Head, I'm gonna put on my skinny jeans and hipster glasses while I sip that craft brew.

But, as a college boy I'll drink any beer. And usually, when I do drink beer, my penis is on the prowl and my time with the boys is cut in half as I attempt to find a mate.

I usually fail, and instead, make love to my sweet drink.


Oh, you old friend you.

I haven't had gin in a long time. I learned a few years ago that a lot of gins are made with almond ingredients and as a fella thats allergic to nuts (not the male anatomy) I have strayed away.

That being said, I recall in my high school days that if you gave me a few glasses of gin and OJ you were gonna watch Atheistjustin bust a fucking move.

I can't explain it. I can't explain most things. But my Lord does gin make me want to get up and shake my ass. I do not dance, usually. I am a Jewish boy from the suburbs and therefore, am not a great dancer. But, all that goes out the window once 'Slippery' by Migos starts playing and a few splashes of gin are in my system. 


Oh, you Real Housewife of Alcoholism.

Listen, I am not a sommelier. I even had to google how to spell that. I doubt you even know what a sommelier is, drunk Sorority Girl reading this in the bathroom. 

See, most of the wine I drink comes out of a bag and is slapped in my face. Nothing better than a fine bag of Franzia to kick off my Thursday night. I don't know a whole lot about wine, but I know that if I like the taste of the bottle, I'll end up killing the whole thing. 

Usually, wine also means my dick is out to play and every woman is a 10/10. Tinder swipes only go to the right after too many gulps/glasses of wine for me. I have made many, many mistakes due to Franzia sunset blush. 

The only downside to wine is the horrible fucking hangover in the morning. I don't know how Tyrion Lannister deals with it, but holy fuck do I feel like absolute dog shit the night after drinking wine. 

The day they invent hang-over proof wine is the day I drink myself to death. 

All, in all, I am a fucking drunk and as I wrap up this post, I'm gonna go pour myself a scotch on the rocks and watch my life go down the drain.

Oh, and some news: after school is over I will be spending a year out in New York, living most-likely in Brooklyn attempting to pursue the stand-up comedian thing. Gonna continue to bartend on the side to help pay the bills but I'm gonna bust my ass to try and get the name 'Atheistjustin' on everybody's Netflix account. 

I will leave you now with a picture of a Matthew McConaughey drunk as fuck. 

Thursday, September 7, 2017

Atheistjustin Moves Back In, Is a Senior, Hates Life

Well, well, well. It feels good to be back.

Took a hiatus from this site to focus on being a camp counselor (yeah that's right, they let me work with children) and move myself back into my beloved home at Rutgers University.

My final year, the last call, the cherry on top of the pile of human shit.

21, broke, average-looking, white, Jewish- this is going to be the greatest year of my life. For those whom are in the similar situation as me, you know what I'm talking about.

This is the apex of everything I've wanted in college- in life itself. Do you know how great it is to get out of class at 6pm on a Wednesday and just say, "fuck it; I'm gonna buy a six-pack and get buzzed while I watch Rick and Morty."

Why do I do this? Because I can. This is the last year of my life that I can be inappropriately intoxicated on a regular basis and there are NO CONSEQUENCES. Do I have a wife or children to care for? Do I have a family that loves me? Do I have ANY responsibilities other than wiping my anus and brushing my teeth?

Absolutely not. Sometimes I even get those last two mixed up.

Living back in the Fraternity house is always a great reminder of how disgusting the human body truly is. Classes haven't been going on for a full week and there's already been vomit in my shower twice.


You forget just HOW disgusting New Amsterdam is until you drink it with Natty Ice as a chaser. I also forgot HOW disgusting Natty Ice is. The only way to actually enjoy a Natty Ice is if its so cold that the beer has turned into a slushy-like substance and there are chunks of actual ice IN the can.

Hence, Natty ICE.

God that beer is fucking horrible.

Anyway, we've done some remodeling of the house and by that I mean we've made a 'guest room.' The 'guest room' is an old mattress with pee stains on it covered by some bed sheets that we (found???) in a closet that hasn't been opened since 2006. My buddy Jimmy, a 23-year old alcoholic who blacks out regularly, has claimed it as his room, for good reason.

Among other things, I placed a box of tampons under the sink of the 2nd floor bathroom and left a sign above the toilet bowl advertising for THIS WEBSITE with a note that says, "new tampons under sink i love you."

It has been a great hit.

I wish I could provide pictures but as I type this I am actually in the computer lab at Rutgers because my Mac refuses to turn on. It does this awesome thing where the screen will start up and then it will freeze as it turns on. It's really great. I hope they keep this feature on the new models.

Supposedly they monitor people while they're using these computers so I hope nobodies watching when I write this-


Hope the guy next to me also doesn't decide to 'monitor' this computer. Actually, I don't need to worry. He's Chinese. He has no idea what an 'African Children' is.

Okay so, literally as I just typed that last sentence a black RU Computer Lab employee walked over and I was genuinely very fucking nervous. We good though, he was just pushing in a chair.

What are they even gonna say to me, "sir, your typing is very offensive?" Like yes, I know- did you read the banner of the fucking website? This is a place for people to laugh whilst they shit. This is not a PG website.

This site was actually blocked on my old high school library computers because I say 'nipples' and 'anal' so often that the security system thought it was a porn site. True story. Shout out Manalapan.

I am literally never going to get a job as a teacher. I don't even know how I was a camp counselor. Jesus Christ.

In addition to being an alcoholic, for those that don't know already I have been doing Open Mic Stand Up at the Stress Factory in New Brunswick. I'll be there next Wednesday, September 13th. Not trying to plug it or anything. Nope. Don't come.

But, doing the Stand Up thing has been going pretty well and I enjoy doing it. Maybe one day I won't have to worry about this website existing and I won't have to work with children. Instead I'll just talk like this on a stage surrounded by depressed adults and say 'nipples' regularly.

I've also stuck with the MMA stuff and signed up for the UFC gym in North Brunswick about 15 minutes from Rutgers. Pretty lit and pretty exciting and maybe one day I'll finally not be an out of shape fuck.

Oh and for any listeners or fans of my Podcast, I decided to give it up. Frankly, it took a lot of effort for a very minimal gain and though I continue to talk to myself for hours and hours about unnecessary bullshit, I will subside from sharing it relentlessly on the internet.

Maybe one day the Not That Great Podcast will make its return. But, for now, I will stick with the blog.

I leave you now with a picture of a platypus because someone asked me how I don't believe in God recently and this was the first thing that came to mind.

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Atheistjustin Shaves, Compares Dollar Shave Club and Harrys

Good evening dick faces,

How was your July 4th weekend? Did you drink too much, call your ex, fight a loved one, blow off a limb, and drive drunk? If you didn't answer yes to all of those, you're a pussy. But at least you're alive.

Anyway,  as many of you might know, I have been through a lot with my facial hair. I blossomed early and had my first awkward mustache at 12. Being that I lived with my mom, I would borrow her electric razor and shave it off once every other week. Thanks for nothing dad.

Finally at 13, I remember my mom looking at me weird and pointing out that there was 1 single dark beard hair coming out of my face. It was all over from there. I had been so excited- so looking forward to the day I would have a beard, Now, I fucking hate this bullshit daily hassle.

At 14 I had a chin-strap. My town was full of guido assholes and that was the appropriate and popular facial hair style for high schoolers that couldn't quite grow a full beard but wanted to look intimidating to that senior named James with the huge triceps.

I had that same look for a while and it with my Mac Miller obsession, it seemed as though that was just how I was going to look for the rest of my life. 

Thankfully I decided against that.

As a young man, I experimented a lot with my facial hair and briefly (2 days) had a mustache. If you look through this site, you'll find the 'about me' section and stumble across THIS gem

Just a 17 year-old Atheistjustin with a mustache eating yogurt seductively.

Most recently was my commitment to a massive, full beard in which I did not shave for 1 year.

 'Twas impressive to some extent and some girls were into it. A lot of guys came up to me and rubbed it. A lot more women cowered in fear and avoided me.

Now, in my age of 21 and no longer needing to look older, I have gone back to my roots as a clean shaven chicken.

Shout out to that beer wall and my sarcastic frat boy costume. 

Anyway, while maintaining this youthful glow, I have continued to experiment to find the EXACT right razor and cream combo. Let me tell you something bitches, my days of Gillette and Barbasol are LONG GONE.

I went and tried both Harry's and Dollar Shave Club.

Here's finally the point of this blogpost- a review.


The packaging was pretty cool and the trial package was only $3 and shipped a week earlier than DSC. The shave gel was really creamy and is made with aloe, so it smelt fantastic and honestly felt really nice to put on.

However, the actual razor blade itself was pretty disappointing. With the fresh blade I nicked myself a few times on the neck. The handle was pretty plain and cheap looking. It also just broke as I picked it up to look at it again. What a piece of shit.


Packaging was made out of cardboard and some weird hay-looking bullshit. Not as impressive, but it did come with this little handbook including some info on July 4th and cosmetic advice. Weird combination.

The handle was incredibly superior, very good looking and sturdy. The trial set was 2 dollars more expensive than Harry's, but included 4 razor blades. Not just 1. The blades were incredible and got a very, very close shave. I did end up nicking myself by my sideburn, however, trying to use the straight edge.

The Shave Butter was FUCKING NUTS. Shit is bomb bro. It was weird not seeing that cloudy mass of white foam on my face as I have grown so accustom to, but like Kramer in that episode of Seinfeld, I got an incredible shave with this butter.


Order Dollar Shave Club. For real yo. As a broke college kid, saving money in ANY WAY is a huge deal. Any dollar saved by using DSC over the Gillette and Barbasol life goes directly into my alcohol consumption- a very heavy expense in and of itself.

If you do end up trying it out, use my personal referral code and help me save even more money to blow on Jameson.

I will leave you all now with a picture of Bill Burr.

Monday, June 5, 2017

Atheistjustin Visits Upstate NY, Gets Speeding Ticket, Hates Life

Yeah you're fuckin right he hates life.

I actually already wrote this blog post and uploaded it a few weeks ago- but guess fucking WHAT- that shit didn't save. So now I've disappointed myself, my fans, my mother, and my own anus.

Does that make ANY fucking sense? No. Welcome to my shitty blog- nearly 6 years old.

Anyway, we have a lot of catching up to do. I am now a legal 21 year old adult so when I write stories about me being profanely drunk in public, its no longer illegal. Now its just funny.

However, I must say one of my favorite blog posts on this site comes from when I was 16 years old. My friends and I broke into a stranger's house to play beer pong underage. That is a true story and one of the most absurd situations I ever found myself in.

My parents did a great job.

But, as wonderful as my 21st birthday was, like all good things that happen to you, there are some shitty ones that come along and fuck you right in your dirty, hairy asshole. Everybody knows this: your neighbor, your grandma, even your priest.

Eventually, everyone gets fucked in the asshole.

And in the same fashion, everyone gets a speeding ticket.

So, I was driving back from Upstate NY. What the fuck was I doing in Upstate NY? Don't fucking worry about it, I was going to get to it. Just sit the fuck down and take that shit already. Don't forget to wipe. Please flush twice. Be courteous to the next shitter.

Okay, so I have a job where I sell flowers and graduation items/apparel at various graduations across the country. It is a phenomenal job and a very unique, continuously expanding company, I have to be honest.

One of the interesting aspects is you get to travel and I had the pleasure of spending 3 consecutive days with the same man. Shout out Matt B. Shout out to our podcast.

Anyway, not that spending 3 days sleeping, eating, driving in a minivan with a guy ISN'T the straightest thing ever, I was in a rush to get home to feel the warmth of my bed and a home cooked meal. I was also really looking forward to masturbating.

We were making GREAT time. The itinerary said we wouldn't make it back until 11pm but the GPS said 9:32. My dick was harder than an SAT test for Kim Kardashian. I was in the left lane, cruising in our totally-not-gay minivan going a solid 90.

I was on the interstate highway- and, as a guy from Jersey- I assumed this was like the Turnpike where you can basically go as fast as you want as long as you're not black. In New Jersey, 65 really means 80 and 70 really means, "we don't care anymore; you die, that's your problem, buddy."

I figured as long as I was under 100 mph, I was in the clear. Turns out, I was fuckity fucking wrong.

I passed by a cop hide-out on the left hand side of the highway. Don't forget, I was in the left lane so I was basically fucked. They saw me and as I continued down the highway I checked my rearview to see the officers' vehicles peel out.





Those god damn lights came on and I was cool as a cucumber with sunglasses. I had been pulled over before and have had plenty of family and family friends who have served in Law Enforcement on various levels. I have a ton of respect for all officers and knew the proper way to handle the situation.

Plus I'm white.

Anyway, the cops come over and I had my license already out as well as the registration for the rental car. I explained to the officers what we were doing and where we were headed. Surprisingly, they had NO QUESTIONS about 2 guys selling flowers and boxes of bears at graduations.

If I was a cop and saw a bunch of buckets and cardboard boxes, I would search THE FUCK out of that car and probably the anuses of both the driver and passenger.

but then again I'm white so.....

I thought MAYBE I'd be lucky to get a warning. I came clean, admitted I was speeding, treated the officers with respect, and tried to be as efficient as I could be.




When I got home I got a chance to fill it out and there was a 2 line space on the citation where I could explain myself. The lines were about as long as my nipple hairs.

I simply wrote, "speeding was foolish but I was in a rush to get home. Much respect to Officer _____"

I thought, "hey. I was nice to those cops. I was nice as fuck. And they kind of seemed like they DIDN'T want to give me a ticket. Maybe if I drop the cop's name, they'll reach out to him and he'll put in a good word so my fine won't be as much."

In reality, what probably happened was some poor, sad asshole who works for the county municipal office opened up my ticket, and said, "this little faggot thinks he's gonna get off by dropping 'respect to Officer ____? Fuck this piece of shit. Here's an extra $90 to pay, dick face."

So I ended up with a $283 ticket. When I went to pay it, there was a stellar 3.5% service fee. How am I paying for a service by paying for a ticket? No idea. But hey, I didn't have to go to court i.e. drive 5 hours to NY.

Since then, I must admit I've been far more mindful of my speed and have vowed to save my speeding of 90mph to ONLY the New Jersey Turnpike, America's Autobahn.

Well, that concludes my post. I hope to get back to you guys soon.

I'll leave you with a picture of one of the most respected men in law enforcement.

Lt. Jim Dangle

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Atheistjustin Has Time Off

Hey fuckboys

Been busy getting railed by a 15-20 page paper that decides my fate an English major. As you might imagine, the last thing I want to do after working on that bullshit is to write  more bullshit, so I've been spending my leisure building up my alcoholism and starting a mild smoking addiction. 

College is great. 

I'm currently sitting in the warehouse of one of my 3 jobs- waiting for some fucking truck to show up and deliver anal beads or whatever it is this job is actually selling. 

Since it's been a while, I actually have a few little stories and tidbits to share. I don't think I wrote about Atlantic City, so let me enlighten you. 

It was my hetero-sexual-life-partner's birthday, the big ol' 21st. So, we, as a friend group, decided to hit Atlantic City. As a newly single man, I thought I'd blow an absurd amount of money at the club and leave with a busted-up prostitute who happens to be a mother of 3 and have severe foot fungus. Was that too real for you? Welcome to I hope you're enjoying your poop. 

Anyway, the pregame, as the kids called it, began with a high grade, quality, top-shelf bottle of New Amsterdam Peach. As a man who likes whiskeys- rich, dark bourbons, scotches, and blends- this melted candy cane ass milk was about as enjoyable as a love song written by Adolf Hitler. 

I drank it anyway. I drank a lot of it. I drank absolutely too much. 

The night before, for whatever reason, I had a shitty night of sleep. The mixture of lack of sleep and candy cane ass juice led me to passing the fuck out at 11:30

I am a disappointment to my family and to myself. 

Yeah, yeah. Call me a pussy or a lightweight or just a plain old Jew. But I assed the fuck out. 

Apparently, so too, did Joe the Birthday Boy. Well, somehow or another, between the time I assed out and 3am, Joe was able to get his fuck on because I woke up to the sounds of very aggressive fucking in the bed next to me.

I turn around and Joe is getting his shit ROCKED. My eyes and mouth agape, I turned over on my other side facing the wall and pretended not to listen to this woman holler out sex noises. I think at one point she may have said the N word. 

My kind of gal. 

At some point they finished and she started running around the hotel room completely naked and, though I didn't initially have any intention of seeing this lady's landing strip and asshole, I got a pretty good view. Not bad!

I realized there was a gang of people in the room and some of the other girls helped her not run around like a naked chicken. 

During this excitement, I realized I was pretty hungry. Whenever I drink, even if it's beer which is supposedly a very filling beverage, I get FUCKING HUNGRY. Like insatiably hungry. I think I could adequately finish one of those chicken wing challenges or some of that bullshit if I was severely hammered. I eat like Oprah Winfrey off-air when I'm drunk. 

So, I order room service. I saw a turkey club was available for 16 fucking dollars. 16 dollars is an absurd amount of money for any sandwich, but it's a hotel in AC and I'm a drunk fuck, so I had little to choose from. 

I placed the order and roughly a half hour later a divorced old man brought me a platter and I did my best to drunkenly hand the bellhop (is that what a bellhop is?) a $5 and after he left I realized my penis was out during the entire interaction. For me, this was a blog-worthy moment. For him, it was just Friday. 

Turns out that Shit WASNT 16 dollars by the way, it was 26. Apparently the stupid cunts at this hotel secretly add some "delivery" fee and "tip." Which is bullshit because I already tipped this divorcee with cash- so what's this other shit for? I bet it was because of my penis. 

Well, when Joe was trying to figure out the hotel bills, I told him I bought a $16 dollar sandwich and we battled over this extra 10 for about 2 weeks. 

I felt unjustified! Fuck that hotel! It should have said directly next to the sandwich 26- not kept some bullshit fine print in the front of the menu that my drunk ass is incapable of reading. I told Joe he should tell the hotel to take a hike but as it turns out Joe is a huge pussy and did not do as I requested. 

I basically refused to pay Joe that extra 10 until he hit me with that "fake friend" line which hurts. It hurts. It really hurts.

Well, soon enough my incredibly arduous semester will finally come to a close and I can get back to working more passionately and intimately with my podcast and site. I miss blogging the way I did as a young bean and I am going to try and grow that in these upcoming months.

 Also, considering my 21st is a few weeks away, I can start posting more content without the worrying fear of being called out for some unlawful shit.

Until then, I will leave you with a photo of some fat fuck

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Atheistjustin Hates You and Says 'What Up'

I fucking hate you. What's up?

I have been pretty busy lately avoiding my responsibilities and shooting off into a dirty sock but I found a little time and energy today to write a little.

I have another tattoo since we last spoke. Something that I always daze and wonder about is what it must be like to have a father that truly loves you. But sometimes I wonder who the first asshole was that decided, "hey, let's take this sharp, metal object and put it into some ink and then take that same sharp, metal object and stab it right into my fucking body."

This asshole, probably a Chinese guy, invented tattooing and now hipsters like myself get quotes from a shitty poem they read in 10th grade on their ribcages or stupid fucking anchors by their ankles. I'm talking about YOU, skinny white bitch.

Anyway, I'm sorry for yelling at you, but yes I got another tattoo. This makes #10 and makes it the 10th time I've severely upset my grandparents.

For whatever reason, probably because I was hammered the night before, I kept bleeding horrendously out of my shoulder, which then was wiped off and tattooed over again. It was like rubbing my shoulder against an abrasive wall over and over again while Barbara Streisand licked my nipple with a corn dog.

Do you have any idea what that means? I don't. Go ask your English professor.

Speaking of English professors, I've got a lot I want to go on a tangent about. So buckle up, tell your mother you love her, and let's go deep into the anal of my mind.

I am an English major- so I will be poor my whole life- but additionally, I take a litany of English courses. Hey, look! I used the word 'litany!' I went to collage.

Anyway, in this field there are 2 kinds of English teachers: the bulls and the bullshitters.

What I mean by that is this: there are some professors who are genuinely insightful and intelligent and actually add to my overall knowledge of the world. There are some professors who really have enlightened me into the world of art, the history of the world, and fastened my understanding of the human condition.

Other teachers are a bunch of smelly cunts that have gone bloody and unwashed. Did you like that reference? No? Welcome to

One professor I currently have  is one of those teachers that says, "Hm, Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I get what you're saying. Yeah. Yeah." This guy says this about every foreseeable sentence that could ever be created.

I could say, "hey, Abraham Lincoln inspired Hitler," and this guy would say, "Ah, yeah, I see what you mean by that. That's interesting."

English as a major is very interesting because, again, there are some classes and writings that I genuinely feel make me a smarter person and then there are other texts that may as well have been written with human shit and have taught me that I hate everyone.

Perhaps the worst thing about being an English major is other English majors.

I'll tell you right now, it is hard to find a normal, male English major. By 'normal' I mean someone that doesn't have: dyed hair, a severe smoking habit, stupid tattoos, a poor relationship with their parents, doesn't vape, doesn't wear beanies inside, and shuts the fuck up every once in a while.

For the most part, every other English major is a stupid cunt- and I don't mean cunt in the derogatory feminine way. I would never call a woman a cunt. Unless she was being a cunt. In all honesty, I reserve the term cunt for males because, really, only men can act like cunts. Women have cunts and therefore, vicariously, are expected to behave in a certain way that is affected by their cunts. So, in my opinion, cunt can really only be applied to males who are cuntless. Does that make any sense? Have I severely offended you yet? Am I making any sense? Where is this guy's post going??????


Anyway, in addition to getting ¥atted and getting angry at other people with my major, I have also come to the conclusion that I hate partying.

If you really break down a party, what's going on here?

"Hey, wanna stand around in a circle and say things?"
"Yeah, sure. Are we going to avoid all other friend groups that are there?"
"Oh, absolutely."
"Will there be music?"
"Will it be good?"
"Absolutely not."
"Is there booze?"
"Keystone Light and 8 dollar vodka."
"Sounds horrible."
"Oh it is."
"Are we going to get laid?"
"Most likely not."
"Well SIGN ME UP!!!!"

The whole purpose of a party is to invite that girl in your philosophy class with the big tushy so that hopefully after 6-7 drinks deep you've said to yourself, 'fuck it,' and went to talk to her- avoiding the obvious fact that you're ugly and going to die alone.

But, if you're wifed like me, parties seem pretty pointless. At best, you're going to watch someone get super fucked up and do something dumb and break a thing. Or break themselves. Or eat their own ass.

That one Bar-Mitzvah got weird.

Just last week, I was at a party during the day, or as the kid's call it: 'daging.'

As I was standing there, drinking a shitty cup of Keystone Light, I thought to myself, "Why am I even here?"

Am I trying to make friends? Fuck no. I already have too many. 3 friends is enough. You don't need more than 3. And it's not like I'm really going to bond with another man while I'm 6 beers deep. After a few drinks, I start to forget even the most basic shit. Here's a conversation with a drunk me:

"What's your name"
"Whats your major"
"Oh that's interesting, what do you wanna do with that?"
"Ah, so what does your dad do?"
"Cool, cool. I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

And then this circle of alcoholism and mental retardation just keep perpetuating themselves on and on and on until I've left to refill my cup or the cops have come and broken up the party or I have taken my penis out and it's already too late to save myself.

Am I still going to attend parties? Yeah, I guess. But it's for the stupid reason of the 'fear of missing out.' But really, what the fuck am I missing? You're singing 'Closer' into your Snapchat? Cool! Really sad I missed that! Darn!

This has been one of the more angsty blogs I've put up but since nothing crazy has happened to me of late, I'll just have to make due with what I've got. Lots of Angst.

I will leave you now with a picture of Betty White.

PLEASE. Tell your friends about this website.

Who IS Atheistjustin?

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I am Never Wrong. I am Awesome. I do NOT eat ass.