"No More Mr. Nice Guy. Let the Carpet Bombing Begin…" by Joey Boats/Pitbull Joe
So it’s Day 4 of Idol Week and listen: I’m not a fucking idiot. In fact, I’m a relatively self-aware person (which isn’t a luxury in a competition like this); therefore, I understand my feet are an Asian cock’s length away from the wood chipper right now. Last night, I put my foot in a bear trap and I’ll need to take the governor off today if I want to embarrass myself tomorrow.
For the record, here are my current power rankings for tonight’s chopping block:
- Mantis
- Marty fucking Mush
- Rocky (smoked his standup set last night)
- Joey Who Gives a Fuck at This Point
- Dylan
So yeah, I’m stressing a little. My phone’s basically overheating from all this Twitter shit. I’ve averaged roughly 3 hours of sleep per night. I’ve drank more Fireball and Jack Daniel’s than water. I almost fought some guy at 7-11 yesterday over a Cliff Bar incident. I want to dig a pitching wedge into the temple of the next homeless dude that gives me shit for not giving him free money (at least offer me a blowjob or something). I’d rather give myself a colonoscopy with a rusty screwdriver than navigate public transit. I’m pretty sure I’m still digesting those hot dogs from Tuesday. My blood stream is most likely 30% Adderall at this point. I haven’t had sex since Gerald Ford took office. And all of my family and friends turned into comedic geniuses overnight and have been gracious enough to pump my Messages app full of suggestions and criticism as if I’m operating with even the slightest degree of competence at this point.
But guess what? I’m still fucking here…
While I was doing prep in the second floor boardroom during the initial auditions, I was informed there were roughly 10,000 people who applied. We had a couple kids from Upright Citizens Brigade, a few guys making the rounds on the late-night talk show circuit, a guy who fought Denzel Washington in The Equalizer, a guy who was 3-0 in video competitions (whatever the fuck that means) and all of them ate the buzzsaw. Meanwhile, some dickhead in cargo shorts who eats balogna from South Shore, MA, is still losing sleep in Brooklyn.
Now, I’ve thought a lot about what I’ll do today. I could’ve published the blog version of Kendrick Lamar’s “Control” verse where I just carpet bomb everyone left in the competition but I’m not going to do that because I’m a man of integrity who refuses to roll in the mud. I could’ve, but I didn’t…
Throughout the competition, I could’ve said that Michigan Man looks like inbred Jeremy Piven. I could’ve said the Make A Wish farm system prospect looks like he got Polio twice. I could’ve said that underdeveloped fetus-looking mothafucka Marty is a neurotic, big-nosed sloth who’s about one inner city little league team away from Keanu Reeves in Hardball. I could’ve said Rocky looks like a poor man’s Jason Segel if a poor man’s Jason Segel was the “hold me back” guy in every bar fight ever. And I could’ve said that Dylan looks like a cottage cheese-eating, country club cuck who took his permit test in a Range Rover. I could’ve, but I didn’t…
While I’m on the topic of avoiding contentious behavior, I want to let all the current employees know that this agenda applies to them as well. Yesterday, someone told me that in order to get this job, you need to impress Kmarko but he’s tougher to get a hold of than Trent’s 5th-grade grammar teacher. Not to mention, I generally don’t condone all the incessant hate that brews in the depths of comment section but the “cyclops” comparisons carry weight. The truth hurts, and I could’ve said Kmarko’s eyes look like they’ve prepared the divorce, but are keeping a close relationship for the sake of the children. The good news is that if he needs any advice on the process, I’m sure there’s someone in the office he could talk to. Also, I could’ve said that Feitelberg dresses like a sexually confused substitute teacher but nah. I could’ve, but I didn’t…
So yeah, I could’ve came in here today with an axe to grind. I could’ve rationalized that my chances of winning are incredibly slim and my best shot at immunity is to just carpet bomb the field and hope no one brings it up at elimination. I could’ve brought up I was under the impression Barstool was founded and perpetuated through blogs and the “common man” mantra, rather than through 12+ dickheads shamelessly clamoring for the most camera time to push their schtick. I could’ve, but I didn’t…
So yeah, I could’ve sacrificed a significant amount of time on a blog that may not even reach Barstool’s actual site in a shameless attempt to generate empathy instead of creating more video content that is guaranteed to get some play later in the night. I could’ve, but I didn’t…
Sincerely,
Pitbull Joe