Bunny Interviews LeBron
The following conversation is true:
Lebron James: Hi, Bunny. Nice to meet you finally. I’m a huge fan of your work.
Bunny Stardust: Yea, well, I wish I could say the same, you asshole.
Things That Are DELCO |
|
Bunny Interviews LeBronAlthough his popularity and overall approval rating has been at an all-time low, the NBA sporting world and the pop-culture obsessed mass media just cannot seem to get enough of Lebron James. Be it positive or negative, James is still a much sought after public figure, making interviews difficult to attain. So hard was it to get a half-hour sit down with the Miami Heat star, that I, your friend and most humble narrator, had to go to extreme lengths for the privilege, for the sake of legitimate, public interest: 40 members of the press were shipped out nearly 100 miles off the coast of India and pushed overboard in shark-infested waters. The last survivor was granted access to speak with the King.
The following conversation is true: Lebron James: Hi, Bunny. Nice to meet you finally. I’m a huge fan of your work. Bunny Stardust: Yea, well, I wish I could say the same, you asshole.
0 Comments
Scumbag of the Week: Ridley Park CreekSomething is rotten in Ridley Park — or fishy would be the more appropriate word. Last Saturday night, while graduates partied and children played, a resident of Glenlock Road noticed something amiss as he walked along Ridley Park Lake with his youngster. Hundreds of fish were floating on the surface of the borough’s premiere water attraction, also known as East Lake. He immediately called Ridley Park Borough Council President Bob Berger who had never seen anything like it in his 30 years as a Ridley Park resident. This weeks scumbag has no heart, no soul, no pulse, and certainly no remorse. Maybe that's because it's a lifeless body of water, but maybe it's something more sinister; more Alfred Hitchcock esque. Is RIdley Park Creek killing our fish in an attempt to starve the residents of Ridley? If so it is an extremely stupid creek, because nobody eats the retarded fish that are bread in that cesspool. But no matter the motive, it's some down right scary stuff. Down south they have experienced this type of End of Days shit with dead fish in the Mississippi and birds dropping dead from the sky. I don't know about you mother effer's, but I'm getting my bomb shelter stocked with all the essentials: Booze, Cigs, Beef Jerkey, and Pepper Relish. -Dr. Funkenstein TRUST USOn the 9th of November, 2010, I found myself at what is now the Wells Fargo Center, bulls-eye center, third tier, my head spinning from a half case of Labatt Blue and an 8th of pot, entirely overtaken by visions of dancing hammers and fighting flowers, Pink’s oppressive Mother and his abusive schoolmaster, and the proverbial Wall being built, brick by brick.
Debbie From Villanova is Looking to DateMeet Debbie. She is a recent MBA graduate of Villanova University. Her interests include: cats, running, bow ties, cats, hugging cats, cats in baskets, and rainbows. -Gus
The Dumbest Fashion Trend In The Entire World. Ever. During the winter of 2009, I walked into my senior English class, about ready to sit through some stupid, bullshit lecture about nothing that anyone would ever care about, anticipating the weekend and the madness that would soon ensue. I was to the point in my academic life where schoolwork not only took a backseat in the automobile of the important, but it was barely even on the road anymore. As I feverishly looked at my cell phone, monitoring the clock with every change of minute, I looked once to my left, and then once more to my right, creating fabricated life stories of my classmates: This dweeb in the second row looks like he’s into show tunes and wedgies. That broad over in the corner was probably the popular, sexy girl in high school, until that story surfaced about her 6th period dump that flooded the ladies’ room. That cool dude looks like he just smoked a jaybone. Jealous. Then I looked at the d-bag with long, stringy blond hair, who always wore a bike helmet to class and referenced “going green” and saving the world, one ecosystem at a time. He infuriated me. For the life of me, I can’t remember his name, but it was probably something along the lines of Jonathan or Lawrence—ya know, something that could be easily abbreviated but would be repeatedly corrected if done so. Dude was a ween. He once told me to cover my mouth, even though I totally did, when sneezing because the Swine Flu is a killer. Total zero.
Delco Dime: Heather HunterThis weeks Delco Dime is Heather Hunter. This Philadelphia sports fan comes to us from Media, PA. We honestly don't know much about Heather, other than she does some modeling and has a fantastic rack. She is into motorcycles. Unfortunately, has a boyfriend. Seeing that she has interests in horseback riding, and even rode competitively in her youth, it wouldn't be far-fetched to say that she comes from money. Real Househusbands of Delco, anyone?
610FEST: Coming Soon!There are few things that get me genuinely excited now-a-days. Getting a text from a babe who I just met at a bar the night before without having blown up her phone first is one of them. Finding a good stone to skip gets my juices flowing pretty good. Watching Chuck prepare my Twisted Elbow at the Dead Dog Saloon gets me all hot and bothered. The lead up to Tour de State, obviously. But the event on the horizon for this coming friday (6/10) has me walking around with a full blown bone-dogg. 610FEST is the first annual celebration for all things Delaware County. I don't know if W.C. Murphy's actual knows what it is getting itself into. The guest list is not even close to being complete but it is already full of countless knuckleheads and smoke-shows that can't help but have a good time. If your not doing anything this friday, or even if you are, fuck it and come out to W.C. Murphy's on West Chester Pike for an evening of shenanigans and debauchery unlike anything you have ever seen before.
For more deets, check out the facebook page... One Shitty Night... Fear can be a lot of things to a lot of people. Some people may not be able to watch scary movies. Others may be scared of dogs. Others may show slight trepidation when they pull up to red lights in Ridley Township and roll up the windows and (quietly) lock the driver’s side door. I, myself, am scared of the dark and will readily admit that. At times, I have run from my car to the front door of my house because of this fear. While all of these examples may qualify as a phobia of some sort, nothing compares to the fear that overcomes a man in the heat of the moment of pure helplessness and embarrassment.
Allow me to set the stage. I was about two months into dating a girl, someone I hadn’t known before we dated, so we still didn’t know that much about each other. We were seeing each other exclusively at the time and definitely banging. It was the absolute definition of the honeymoon stage: I could do no wrong, drink as much as I wanted, wear sweatpants out at night without complaint, and Subway was considered a “date.” It was a great situation, and in typical fashion, I very nearly blew it. It was a random Saturday night of no real significance (that changed for me after this incident) at the college we attended together. Obviously, the fact that nothing was going on that weekend meant nothing to the amount of alcohol I consumed, but it was a lighter night than usual. All that means is that I did not blackout. Later in the night, I met up with the girl and we headed back to her place, where her roommates were already asleep, having spent the night studying (terrible, right?). We fooled around for a little on the couch in her apartment and we ended up falling asleep there. That’s when shit hit the fan. And by fan, I mean floor. I woke up face down in a daze on the floor at some point in the middle of the night in between the couch and glass coffee table. Realizing I was in only my boxer briefs, I looked up from the floor and saw the girl curled up on the couch opposite the one we fell asleep on. All of a sudden, as I lifted myself from the floor to my knees, I noticed a stickiness in my boxer briefs. It was unlike anything I had ever felt in my life and I had zero idea what it could be. That’s when the smell came over me. It was the only evidence I needed to know what I had just done. “Holy fucking shit. What in the fu-“ Before I could even gather my thoughts, I panicked and darted towards the only bathroom in the apartment, not knowing I had left a ping pong ball sized turd laying on the white carpet. I threw the light on and ripped my briefs off, looking all over for somewhere safe to leave them. I finally just dropped them on the floor, realizing how badly they were covered in fucking shit. I started grabbing at toilet paper and wiping my shit-covered ass. It was everywhere. I found some wipes underneath the sink that I’m pretty sure are meant to wipe make-up from a girls face. They were pretty damn perfect for a poo-covered butt too. (As I write this, I realized how hard it is to truly describe how scared and panicked I was. If I hadn’t just shit my pants, the fear would have caused me to shit my fucking pants again.) I finally finished cleaning. Not a second after I took a breath, I looked down and saw the shit stained briefs. I had no idea what to do with them. I couldn’t throw them out, they fucking stunk. I was in luck, though. The apartment was on the ground floor, RIGHT next to the stairwell. JACKPOT! I’d run out the door, toss them into the stairwell, and go lay back down like nothing even happened. Then I realized I was butt fucking naked and my sweatpants were in the living room. Did I have time to run out, grab the sweats and run out? Fuck it. I grabbed my dick and slowly walked out of the bathroom, praying to God that no one was awake. The coast was clear and I continued out into the hallway of the apartment, opened the stairwell door, again hoping nobody was there. Again, nobody. I ran back into the apartment and dashed to my sweatpants. I threw my pants on and finally sat back down on the couch and thought how lucky I had just been. I looked at the ground and saw that same little piece of shit I had missed earlier. I grabbed it with my bare hand. It was squishy. I sprinted back to the bathroom, and threw it like a 97 mph fastball from Ryan Madson into the toilet while simultaneously flushing that little fucker out of my life forever. The next morning I waited and waited for the girl to say something, or ask where my undies went when she ripped my pants off again (that didn’t happen, I just wish it did). As I walked out, I peeked down the stairwell and saw the pair of shit-stained briefs that had just caused me so much damn stress and panic the night before. I smiled and said “fuck you” to them as I walked away. Later that night, the girl and I were out to dinner and at one point as we ate, she asked if I was up in the middle of the night. As I began to choke on my food. She asked if I had thrown up. “Absolutely,” I said, fully accepting a lesser charge. And that was it. No fallout at all. She never found out despite the fact that I told all of my friends. I’ve never felt more fear than that in my life. I threw out my night light, told the guy that stands in the corner and looks at me to suck it, because I knew nothing will be as scary as that night. Except maybe walking through Clifton Heights in the dead of night. That’s pretty fucking scary, too. -Uncle Boner |
AuthorRespected DELCO residents Categories
All
Archives
December 2012
|