The Not That Great Podcast

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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.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Atheistjustin Hosts the New Year

This past semester was a bigger pain in my ass than the dementia-ridden old man in the middle of the intersection not sure of why he's in a car in the first place or where his wife is (even though she had died 15 years ago). Was that too specific? Welcome to

Anyway, to relieve the anxiety of being Vice President of a Fraternity, working 3 jobs, taking 16 credits, reading more books in a week than the average human reads in a lifetime, and dealing with my chronic laziness and semi-alcoholism, I decided it would be a good idea to host New Years Eve.

As you may recall, if you're a frequent reader, last year I attended one of the most baller New Years of all time. There was literally a Champagne Fountain. And I don't mean that poor people term where theres a bunch of glasses stacked on top of each other and someone pours a bottle on top to let it flow to the rest- no, no. I mean, this was an actual fountain that continuously poured out champagne.


I was inebriated by 10:59 while wearing a pocket square.

Fun side note- while at this shin dig, I tried getting it in with some girl I met, only to lose to a man who would eventually come out as gay. If you're reading this, hey RJ.

But, this year there was no baller shindig and so I decided to throw a banger at my off-campus house.

This was a terrible idea.

To put it simply, the word had gotten out that this was a thing. And though I anticipated some people coming, it turned out to be a lot of motherfucking drunk people in my house. I would argue that at the height of the evening, there were at least 200 people in my house.

Who was there watching everything? Who was checking people at the door? Who was making sure nobody got too drunk and died? Who is my real father?


I was the only one.

I began the night sipping on a little Jameson. Yes, I am a functioning alcoholic, but as long as I'm in college, nobody cares. Anyway, I was about 2 glasses deep when people finally started pouring in. I lit up a Romeo & Juliet (a cigar for you children), and began asking people who they were and who they were with.

My initial plan was to do this for an hour or so and then have fun time.

This did not go according to plan.

There was a sea of people- a mass of drunk college kids all trying to swarm into my house. My house. The place I pay rent and electricity for. The place where I take my sacred shits. The place I go to make macaroni and cheese while drunk.

Eventually this got out of hand to the point where I knew I wouldn't be consuming ANY alcohol until the night was over.

So there I am, in this alleyway checking to see who the hell is coming into my house. One of my buddies brought 20 people, literally 20 people, and 1 of them decided, "Hey, this guy looks really stressed out- like there's 200 human beings in the place where he keeps glass objects and nobody is helping him. Maybe I should assist."

To that sweet boy, I thank you dearly as he was one of the only people legitimately helping with the situation. Including him, the only true support I received was from my long-dicked amigo Alfred. Ti voglio bene, Alfredo.

So here I am. Checking all these people: "who are you? who are you with? how many? Your dress looks nice. Why do you smell like shit? Guys pee outside, girls pee inside. My dad should have pulled out."

On top of that, every 15 minutes I would go in and check to see if someone was puking- and usually there was. I counted about 3 different women all throwing up. In addition to the ladies that couldn't quite handle their alcohol, I must have calmed down 5-6 different intoxicated men all of whom were trying to break people and things.

Finally, the ball drops and I got to enjoy about 9 seconds of remembering that this isn't a horrible nightmare but actually the last day of 2016.

After spending 5 minutes with people I have never seen before in my life in my living room, I went back outside to watch the flow of humans and also make sure I didn't get arrested.

While heading back to my position, I noticed the neighbors all crowded together in their back yard. What could this be?

My neighbors are hispanics- most likely not US Citizens- but they are nice from what I can tell. Perhaps they are doing some Mexican ritual for the New Year. Maybe they're just standing together, enjoying the crisp air and enjoying the solemnity of beginning a year with a fresh start.



The God damn Mexicans set off fireworks.

Motherfucking cocksucking ball draining whore fucking shit bird on a Jew. Fuck.

There are explosions in the air, lights all around, drunk people screaming. My buddy comes up to me, very drunk, and screams "EVERYBODY SHOULD GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE NOW. THERE ARE DEFINITELY GOING TO BE COPS HERE."

I thought for a second and realized that I had not seen a single police vehicle pass down my street this whole evening. However, considering there were just loud explosions, it seemed likely that New Brunswick's finest would come to my area and see 200 drunk people in my house. Ultimately, this would not be a good situation for me.

So, following his advice, I told everyone to kindly go fuck themselves and get out of my house.

I cut the music off and very nicely told everyone to leave.

There were so many motherfucking people in my house that it took AN ENTIRE HOUR AND THIRTY MINUTES for everyone to leave.

One girl lost her phone- another lost her ID- many lost their dignity. Guys couldn't find their friends. Girls couldn't find their shoes. It was a train wreck and it had only been going on for an hour and a half.

By the time everybody cleared out I was dead. I was so drained from constantly checking up on people that I felt like I had just been gang banged. In many ways, I was.

I remembered that I still had 1 last cigar left so I grabbed it, pulled up a chair on my porch, poured myself another glass of Jameson, and sat there watching the cars move like a divorced 56-year old man.

It was the greatest New Years ever.

A few minutes later, some guy came out of the alleyway beside my house and told me that he had been in the attic while everyone was leaving. What was he doing in my attic? Oh, you know, the usual: having sex with a random woman.

I didn't know him or her. All I knew is that the carpet upstairs would be sticky and this guy's name was Brad.

He sat and talked to me for about a half an hour until stumbling away down the streets and, to this day, probably has no idea who I am or where he was at 2:35 AM on January 1st 2017- but I know I do.

Anyway, Spring semester begins in just a week- and as you can imagine it will be some time until my next post.

But, as soon as I have the time, energy, and the story to tell, I will.

I will leave you now with a picture of Dog, the Bounty Hunter.

Spring Break Bod 2017.

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Atheistjustin Checks in on You

Haven't had a lot of time during the school year to post a lot. But, with the election, the Holiday Season, finals week, and all that shit, I just want to let all of you know that everything's going to be okay.

So chill out. Stop fearing the end of the world.

Our new president looks like a cross between a carrot and a scare-crow, but everything is gonna be okay.

I'll get back to you sons of bitches with more posts about my exciting life in a few weeks when this conundrum that we call college is over.



Saturday, October 8, 2016

Atheistjustin Has Some Visitors

It was a regular ass day. Nothing out of the blue.  didn't do any of the reading I was supposed to, argued unsuccessfully with my woman, and pretended to care about baseball.

At the end of the night, however, I had a 2 unexpected, uninvited guests.

First and foremost, if you don't already know, I live in the shittiest Fraternity House known to mankind. And that is really saying something. 

This historic death trap will one day kill me, and has already taken a toll on my liver, soul, and anus, but boy has it given me some fucking stories. 

And no, this isn't a frat 'lodge.' I don't wear a bowtie and stick things up undergrads' assholes. This thing is a part-time Crack Pipe Haven part-time Fetty Wap Flagship. 

As a part of being in this flagship of AIDS, there are always people strolling in on a regular basis. Sometimes someone is just dropping by. Sometimes people lose things from the night before and are trying to recover them: phones, wallets, ID's, virginities, self-respect, dignity, etc. 

Anyway, as my housemates and I were gathered in the loving room around the TV, it was nothing out of the ordinary hearing a knock on the front door.

Door opens, we hear footsteps up the stairs, someone yells, "yo!" A regular occurrence.

It was a little surprising, however, when the footsteps belonged to two 40-year old men. 

One greeted us by promptly informing us that he belonged to our same Fraternity at another school and the other told us that was a Rutgers Alum but from another Fraternity. 

Well, that's nice guys but its 10:45pm and we're just trying to watch baseball without our dads right next to us. 

They took a seat and proceeded to drink beer that didn't belong to them. I figured they'd stick around for like 10-15 minutes. 

Well, a full 1 hour 20 minutes later they were still in my fucking living room. 

After about 5 minutes, we quickly realized they were both hammered having just come back from seeing Andrew Dice Clay at the Stress Factory. Most strangers who enter my house are usually under the influence of something, so I was unfazed. 

Hickory Dickory Dock, These Drunk Bastards Didn't Even Knock. 

If you don't get the reference you can go fuck yourself. 

Anyway, I got to talking to them and asked them what they did for a living. 

They then proceeded to pull out 2 guns.

I'll repeat.

They then both pulled out guns. 

This turned out to be an interesting story right??? Aren't you glad you stuck around?

Questioning why they both had semi-automatic weapons, they began to explain they were both off-duty cops and one of them was even a Narcotics officer. 

As he was telling us this there were 2 bongs and about a half an ounce of pot on the living room table. There were just enough drugs for us all to get arrested. 

Someone asked if they ever shot or killed anybody. One said, "Yes, there's a video on YouTube. Look up 'unjust Somerville Shooting'"

That's nice.

After watching the video, I have to be honest, the shooting was pretty just. 

The night proceeded for AN HOUR AND A HALF of them telling us about college in the 90's and how gay we are for not having enough beer for them to drink as though we are responsible for fueling their alcoholism and inevitable divorces. 

If you're reading this and want to know when your welcome has been expired, ITS AN HOUR AND A HALF. 

After enough awkwardness had ensued, and I didn't feel like being the one to politely ask them to leave, I went into my room to go back to my usual routine of not doing my homework. 

Eventually they left leaving us to wonder when the next incredibly unwelcomed and awkward guests will show up. 

Who IS Atheistjustin?

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