User:The Woodburninator/ArticleOfTheDay

So, you tried to throw a dinner party

You can feel you are laying on something soft. It must be your bed; you can feel the hard, rigid back of your wife laying on the other side of you. You refuse to open your eyes, your head is pounding. Actually, now that you think about it, you do think you might have had a little too much to drink last night. Unfortunately, you can't seem to remember anything about it. That's not a good sign. Whelp, nothing to do about it. Maybe things will piece themselves together for you throughout the day. Still, at least you ended up in your bed. You feel pretty great about this part actually. It's like playing with house money. No matter how badly you fucked up last night, it wasn't bad enough to get kicked out of bed. With this new-found confidence, you get out of your bed as you always do: by putting all your weight on your nightstand, and pushing yourself up. As you tumble to the floor, you realize something went wrong in your deductions.

You finally decide to open your eyes; Jesus it is light outside. Where are you? Slowly things begin to become clear. That would be the wicker couch from your back porch, but it is here with you in your front yard. You had placed all the padding below you when you went to sleep on it, leaving the wicker back exposed, but making for a nice comfy bed to be sure. Looks like you didn't lose all of your mental faculties last night. Still, something seems off. You glance up to the sky. The sun is shining brightly (Jesus Christ, brightly!) directly above you. Must be about noon. Which places you around four hours late for work. Shit. You sigh as you drop your head down to the ground. And that is when you realize you are completely naked. Shit! With those conservative neighbors right next door and everything! What the fuck happened last night?

Well, I'm glad you asked. I saw everything, for you see, I was there. Who am I, you ask? Hahahaha! Simple man, I am the narrator! I can take you through all of the events last night, because, you see... You tried to throw a dinner party.

Oh Yeah, I remember preparing for that!

Well not only did you prepare for it, but you threw it and everything! Truly it was a rousing good time for everyone. Well, almost everyone. A few people might have.... Alright, fine! No one liked it.
What?! You are a terrible party planner. I saw everything last night, and as the narrator, I am to truthfully recant those facts, not make you feel better about your inability to sustain everyone, or your constant telling of the one awful, awful joke you know. Also, you kinda-sorta beat your daughter in front of everyone.

WHAT?!

You know what, I'm skipping ahead here. How about we start at the beginning. The beginning: When you invited 35 people to your house for a dinner party, and only ordered 2 pizzas.

Well, in your defense, you had been drinking. A lot.

Will Work For Food is a phrase that was popularized during the Labor Union Strikes in the United States in the late 1800s. The phrase was short-lived during that time, but made a comeback during the hippie and post-Vietnam periods of the 1960s and 70s respectively. Since then, however, it has taken off, becoming the most popular phrase in homeless and hobo cliques today. However, the origins of these 4 simple words have been taken out of context, and their true meaning from the 1800s all but lost.

UnNews:Racist gives money to charity

This article is part of UnNews, your source for up-to-the-picosecond misinformation.

18 January 2014

MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA - William "Willie" Abbot, philanthropist, lawyer, father, and virulent racist, was announced to have left his entire, vast fortune to various charities upon his death early last week. Abbot, who friends and relatives described as "unapologetic" of his views on race and equality, was worth no less than $300 million at the time of his passing, all of which will be going to the Susan G Koman Foundation, Alzheimer's Association, and The American Red Cross, among others.

"That was dad, always trying to do the right thing," says his son, Jessop. "He taught all his kids at an early age that money isn't what life is all about. You have to do what your love, and the money will follow. Dad got into the law game for that very reason. Because of this, I can say his family supports him wholeheartedly in his decision to help those in worse situations than his own."

Abbot started his career as a lawyer in Mississippi, arguing for the continuation of Jim Crow laws throughout the state and country, and later got his vast fortune as a slumlord. Abbot would, according to an affidavit, "...buy rental properties in mainly poor black neighborhoods and provide little to no maintenance on them. He would require tenants to pay in cash so as to avoid reporting all of his assents to the government, and would often hold out his deteriorating building in gentrified neighborhoods until the city or local resident would agree to buy it far above market value." He also played the stock market.

"Just one more piece of evidence of Dad doing the right thing,"another son, Robert, said. "I can honestly say that I am privileged for having him as a father."

Upon receiving the 50 million dollar donation, a representative of the American Red Cross was quoted as saying "Wait, isn't that the lawyer who argued that

My friend committed suicide, and I hadn't even realized how much danger I was in

So there I was, listening to my Juice WRLD cassette on my walkman, enjoying my evening at home, when suddenly I got a call.

So it turns out my friend Dave had committed suicide

And I'm like, WTF?!

Dave and I have known each other for almost 4 years. We happened to be taking a few classes together, and we hit it off pretty quickly. He and I would hang out with our boys PJ, Tobin, and Squee. I got free pot out of the deal, and he would call me old and he and the rest of the boys would laugh at me trying to dance on his glass table. It was a pretty great time, and we bonded over the years talking about girls, classes, and just life in general.

I remember when the rest of the guys had the flu, so Dave and I were alone at his place that night. We started out doing the normal, but eventually we moved to communicating on a level I'm not sure either of us had ever communicated with anyone else before. Things got very real. He told me all about his dad who died in Iraq, and I told him about my dad, who died somewhere in the pacific during World War 2. He told me all about this girl he liked, but who he barely talked to anymore after a fight they had a few months prior. He said he had fucked up, and nothing would ever be the same between them, and it was tearing him up inside. He even brought up how he felt apart from the other guys we hung out with. I told him I always saw him as the leader of the group, and the glue who would keep us all together moving forward, but he just shook his head. "Nah," I remember him saying, "We've been friends for like 3 years now, and I feel like I barely know those guys, and they sure as hell don't get me. Nah, man. To be honest, you're like the closest friend I got in this world, as fucked up as that sounds when I say it, it's true. You're a real dude. I ain't never let my guard down with anyone else man, you're a good dude." I wasn't sure what to say. I was honored and wanted to reassure him that the people around him loved him and that he had worth as a person, but then he said something that looking back on it now, should have sent chills down my spine- "FUUUUCK MAN! Sometimes I just wonder if I should just stop all this suffering, you know?" At the time, I thought he was talking about the bowl of hot nacho cheese he had just dropped on his foot, but now I'm not so sure.

When I got that call from Squee, I had to think a lot about my relationship with Dave

I didn't realize just how dangerous of a person Dave could be. If he was willing to take his own life, what was to stop him from taking mine? Was I in danger every single time Dave and the boys tossed chips at me while I shimmied and shook my way across his living room? These were the thoughts that blasted through my mind in the moments and weeks after Dave's passing.

Dave had died on a Monday evening. Normally we would have gotten high and played some Call of Duty on a Monday night after supper at the dining hall, but it was a week before finals and we all wanted to study, Dave included. Squee was sobbing when he told me, and I'll admit I cried a little too. In that moment, we shared the coming to terms with our own mortality.

"What if one of us had been there with him, man," Squee asked between cries. "Would things have gone differently?" I didn't know what to say. All I knew was that I was happy I wasn't there to find out. Dave had put a knife into his carotid artery. That could have been my carotid artery! Thank goodness I wasn't there when he went on his murderous rampage.

Looking back at some of our earlier conversations

How close was I to death some of those nights, when he had gotten me alone with him? "Do you ever wonder what it's like to die? Do you think it'll hurt?" Chills. Was he threatening me? I guess now I'll never know, but... I know.

"Do you ever cut yourself just a little bit? I don't do it just for the pain, but it's nice just to feel that control. Like I was the one who made that hurt, no one else," he told me one night over a fat blunt we were sharing. I was too fucked up to think too hard about it at the time, but now? Now I see that Dave was truly a sadist. Was he practicing for what could have been his later victims? Was he seeing my reaction, hoping to watch me squirm under the psychological torture he was trying to put my ignorant self through? God, I have so many questions. If Dave were still here, he could answer them for me, but thank goodness he isn't. I would be in some real danger.

That final night

Did Dave want me there that night? Well too bad for him. When he finally snapped, and he had no would-be victims around, how terrible that must have been for him. "Friend" he called me, but now I see that he was just grooming me for the slaughter. I'm still alive, and I plan on keeping it that way.

PJ, Tobin, Squee, and I are meant to be pallbearers at his funeral, but I guess they'll be down two friends on that day. I surely won't be there to honor my would-be killer. And now I have to wonder, are the rest of them just like Dave? Are they just biding their time before they strike someone down like him? Well as we tell our DOTA teammates when we play with a rando and they fuck anything up, "Cyka Blyat. I fuck your mom, pussy. I hope you kill yourself."