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E R N I E ' S H O U S E O F W H O O P A S S
LET'S BRING EM HOME 2018 HAS COMPLETED 99 TICKETS SO FAR!
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June 2, 2018 | ||||||||
Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.
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May 26, 2018 | ||||||||||
Around Here We Don't Joke About Memorial Day Weekend.
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May 19, 2018 | ||||||||
Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.
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May 12, 2018 | ||||||||
The Iranian Nuclear Deal As Explained By Breaking Bad.You and your spouse are the parents of Jesse Pinkman, reputed meth dealer. Over the past several years, Jesse has been in and out of rehab after repeatedly setting your house on fire while cooking meth, nearly blowing up your neighbor's house more than once. Jesse is due to receive a sizable inheritance, but before you give it to him, you want to make sure he's not cooking any more of that chili pepper meth he's famous for. So you make him a deal: you'll give him access to his inheritance if you can inspect the two places he's cooked meth in the past: the basement of his house and the old beat-to-hell RV that he drives around town. Eyeing the inheritance check and licking his lips, Jesse agrees. You give him the check and he drives off in his RV, cackling as he goes. A few days later you tell Jesse it's time for a surprise inspection. A red eyed, hazy Jesse agrees, and gestures towards the cellar door. "I have nothing to hide," he says. And sure enough you walk down the cellar stairs and the entire basement is completely empty. "See," he says," I promised to stop cooking meth and so I did." "Okay, now we'd like to check out your RV." "What?" "Your RV. We'd like to walk through your RV to make sure you're not cooking meth in there." Jesse's eyes narrow, "Three weeks." Now it's you asking, "What?" "Three weeks," comes the reply, "you can inspect my RV in three weeks." "That's ridiculous. Three weeks is more than enough time to hide any evidence of--" "--sorry, i've got a lot of personal stuff in my RV that I need to keep private. Love letters from my girlfriend Jane, research for my chemistry thesis, underwear laying about, that sort of stuff." "But we need to inspect your RV now to make sure you're staying clean." "Sorry, no can do. Three weeks." "Well okay then, see you in three weeks." Three weeks later Jesse Pinkman rolls up in his dilapidated old RV and you enter. Sure enough, every cabinet, every counter top, every storage bin has been scoured completely spotless. "See," he sneers, "I told you I stopped cooking meth." "Well I guess you have." A giggling Pinkman speeds off in the direction of the nearest home improvement store, mumbling incoherently about hydrofluoric acid and polyethylene. You turn to your spouse, "boy, this agreement is really working out well." "Yep, it sure is."
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May 5, 2018 | |||||||||
So Ernie, Where The Fuck Did You Go And Why No Update Last Week?In short, I did nothing. I did absolutely nothing, and it was everything that I thought it could be. Allow me to explain. For the most part, everyone sees being self employed as very romantic. You are your own boss, you make your own hours, you can write off a shit ton of your living expenses on your taxes, you can drink while you work, and best of all it was a short ten second commute from my bedroom to my office. All absolutely true. But as anyone who shuns the employer/employee life will tell you, there are also some down sides. Not the least of which is this filthy little secret: you never really get to go on vacation. Sure you can take time off, do some travelling, see some friends. But you've always got that weight in the back of your mind. How is my business doing? Did anything fuck up? Am I making enough money to survive while I'm gone? And when you add the cost of the vacation itself to the income lost during your absence, shit gets expensive quickly. And so you pack a laptop or a tablet with you and then when it's 6am and you're sitting one some shitty hotel room chair with the a laptop glowing in your face, it hits you. You're not really on vacation. At least not to the extend that other 'regularly employed' people are. And so this past week I did something I haven't done in over twelve fucking years. I packed up The Boss Lady and we left our troubles at home and we went on vacation. A real honest-to-fucking-goodness vacation. To Las Vegas, in case you were curious, where I finally got the chance to eat at In-N-Out Burger. And with all due respect to you west coast motherfuckers, that shit doesn't hold a goddamn candle to Five Guys. We also ate at the Heart Attack Grill and rode the High Roller -- with open bar -- to the top of the city. I played a little video blackjack at Frankie's Tiki Bar where I did much better than I did at casinos on the strip. I got the opportunity to test out my ankle -- which I am glad to report is doing pretty well -- with some hiking around Red Rock Canyon with Bacon and Mamasan and then later had a big fucking steak dinner at Las Vegas's iteration of NYC's famous Gallagher's Steak House for my birthday, and it was fucking GLORIOUS. Oh, side note. Does anyone know what kind of cactus this is? About a two feet tall, a foot in diameter, and the spines were stiff as fuck. Oh, then before heading back we picked up some Las Vegas casino souveniers for some friends and other souveniers for other friends. And I did it all without my fucking laptop, and yes, it was everything that I thought it could be.
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