Gawt pix? ... Nup, got horse tranq?

omg wtf?!

Good question. A few years ago, me and my cousin went on a fucked up rampage trying to get photos of as many people as possible wearing the above hat and glasses while pulling the eastside sign. We got photos of 17 different people (including a cat) in a variety of poses before we came to our senses. The whole tard-fest was dubbed "The Eastside Niggas Collection".

I put this photo (along with a couple more from the ENC) on facebook ages ago with one delightfully fucked up caption which I just re-read a few minutes ago. Nothing reminds me how much I need professional help more that reading stuff I forgot I wrote.

The caption

[Based on a true story]

Once upon a time me and Eden were in the lab after hours, slaving like little man-sluts at the latest programming assignment. The assignment was painful but interesting. Everyone put your hand up if you've ever guzzled motor oil then tried to set fire to your own urine. You know who you are. COSC assignments are like that. Painful, but sort of fascinating. But mostly painful. Your nerves are strung tight and squeaky --- violin stylez, while the demonic lecturers play covers of gay boy-band songs on them with their hacksaws.

Anyway, we were alone in the lab and Eden was in a bad state. I could tell he'd been ingesting the glue again, and the crack, and the horse tranq --- South Park style. He was in the zone, raving about how he was gonna crush the testicles of the next lecturer who told him it wasnt cool to name instance variables after barely legal porn stars. It was a great story. I cant resist the ones with happy endings. But it was getting old.

I looked him in the eye. I said, "Bitch! you better shut your yapper flapper or we're gonna find out how high you can get off my fucking chair." ... CRACK! His bitch slap caught me off guard. I looked up and took the above photo just as he started ranting "YOU WANNA PIECE OF THA MAIN EAST SIDE NIGGA?!? I KNOW A HUNDRED NIGGAS WITH GUNS JUST WAITING TO FK YOUR SHIT UP. THEY'LL BUST YOUR CHOPS SO HARD YOU'LL NEVER SMOKE THE COCK AGAIN BITCH. THEN THEY'LL SHOOT OFF YOUR DICK, GRIND IT AND BAKE IT INTO A CHOCOLATE CAKE AND THEN MAKE YOU EAT THE CAKE!"

My jaw dropped as he jumped up on his desk, tore open his shirt and screeched, "FOOL! THIS IS THE CHEST OF A *MAN*". I sat, stunned, as he went went about describing the colourful little unicorns and hippos he could see trotting about in "the happy jungle" on his chest.

Then I pulled out my knife. He squawked in terror before he turned, ran, and jumped high off the desk flapping his arms vigourously. Needless to say he smacked his head on the floor and spent the next few hours KOd. That might explain why he has no memory of the whole incident.