Inappropriate Civil War Sex Humor!

Clover:  I went to the D & A show at the New Mart this afternoon and was inspired by these boots with shiny old fashioned buttons and decided my new look should be Sexy Confederate Soldier.  I felt like you would be behind this.

Male Friend: Wow, I guess I'll have to oust Stonewall Jackson, my long-standing Sexy Confederate posterboy.  If you can work in a long gray beard somewhere you got the gig.

Clover: Stonewall?  And here I thought you liked to hate cum on Ulysses S. Grant's face.  Shows what I know.

Male Friend: Now I gotta jerk off to that.  Thanks a lot!

Clover: No no.  Go back to antebellum hoop skirts with no panties underneath and delicate fainting at the sight of large "members".

Male Friend:  Too late I just bukkaked a 50 dollar bill.

On Kolaches. I think.

Rs27: "I'm at the mort prentdniour bar in la. it stinks. wherf the kadhes at?"

BWP: "Kalaches?! Those have meat ew im eating rice w one eye jvst saw a racoon its weird"

On Mental Health

Clover: If seratonin could talk to me it would say "I want no part of your life, bitch." or at least that's what I think it would say since i haven't seen it around these parts since 'Nam.

BWP:  Seratonin?  Happiness?  Not crying alone in bathroom stalls?  Im not familiar with these fairytales of which you speak.

Clover: Weeping over the steering wheel to a shitty Fray song?  This isn't everyone's afternoon ritual?

BWP: Fact: I have actually done that.  Fact: It was yesterday.  This message will self-destruct.  Just like me!

Clover: If we were rappers we could spit "Ima self-destruct like a message" and that would sound more bad ass/less cry for help-ish.

BWP: I say we do it.  It will be number one on itunes.

When I get that feeling, I want Textual Healing.

Don’t let anyone fool you; the Great American Pastime isn’t baseball. It’s booze.

It’s no secret that some of the greatest pieces of literature were penned after the writer drank a generous amount of "firewater". Just take Bukowski, Poe, and Hemingway, and that's only naming a few. I mean, you can’t possibly tell me that you think Macbeth was written while Shakespeare was stone-cold sober, can you? Please.

However, we now live in a world where wit is often limited to 140 characters or less. Text messaging is an integral part of our lives and, while most of us have lost the urge to handwrite ten page letters, we still haven’t shaken the overwhelming desire to connect with those near and dear to us through the written word.

This is where drunk texting comes in.

You’re walking home from the bar, inebriated and alone, when suddenly you have an epiphany about why Donald Duck never wore pants. But who can you tell? Who, I ask you?? You pull out your cell phone and type out a text message to a friend you know will understand. Sure, you use too many exclamation points and spell a few things incorrectly. Never mind. All that matters is that your Very Important Thought was not lost on the desolate city streets at 4 in the morning, to be forgotten by the time you rouse from your drunken slumber the following afternoon.

When we first began e-mailing each other a few months back, we hit it off instantly. Bonding over a mutual love for happy hour, funny Jewish guys, and antiquated jargon, it wasn’t long before we exchanged numbers and started text messaging on a consistent basis. As a result of our shared appreciation for The Booze, many of our text messages were scribed while under the influence of a few glasses of wine or occasionally an entire pitcher of margaritas. (Kidding. Maybe.)

Throw a few other bloggers in the mix and suddenly every night we were makin' it rain like Lil Wayne at a strip club. We decided it was high time to share these precious little gems with the world. They got so lonely by themselves in the inbox. And there's no need to have a lonely inbox when you've got textual healing.

And so this blog was born.

Charmingly,

BWP and Clover