One of the best things about being 27 and completely single, other then drinking all my married friend’s beer and reminding them why they are idiots for getting married, are the adventures my friends and I get into. All it takes is some alcohol and a couple felonies and suddenly we end up in a ridiculous situation that almost seems contrived. That’s why I think the movie, “The Hangover” was so wildly successful, because most of us have woke up in scenarios after an all night bender completely flabbergasted at how we got there. A box Franzia pillow? Waking up with a condom stuck in your ass and a prosthetic arm in the refrigerator? Suddenly you realize, “holy fuck, I think I over did it last night”?

Those are the moments I live for.

I know getting married to a hot girl who gives toe-curling blowjobs on command might rank high on a normal guy’s Bucket List, but not mine. I’m in no hurry to trap myself in a life that I have no business living. Sure, one day I want to be a family man and take on ‘normal’ responsibilities, like picking up a bar-tab or not paying for my hookers in coupons I clipped out of the Penny Saver, but I’m 27. At this point, I am still figuring out who the fuck I am. I’m simply living for the next best story to tell.

When my co-workers are standing around the water cooler on Monday morning talking about their weekend and nursing their hangovers with coffee, I want to share MY unique story. I like being apart of stuff that most people think is outlandish. Something like “I smoked hookah on Friday night, hooked up with a chick I met and it was a fun weekend”, is weak sauce. Shit like that doesn’t even register on my radar. Of all the possible situations you could get yourself into for fun, that’s all you did? People like that are boring. I’d rather be honest and say that I went on a gypsy boozefest, blew off work commitments and ended up at an Asian whorehouse at 3:30am with a 12 pack of Bud Light and a Marine running point for our transportation while perky breasted Asian girls pranced around in their PJ’s. The guy standing by the door had a Yakuza tattoo and he probably murdered a girl scout for her Hello Kitty t-shirt, but whatever. I actually feel comfortable being in contemptible situations like that. Sitting at home on a Friday night and watching re-runs of Golden Girls on TBS isn’t my idea of an exciting time.

I told the romantic interest today,

“HEY BABE! I JUST GOT BACK FROM AN ASIAN WHORE HOUSE!!!!”

She laughs and says, “Ok. Did you have fun?”.

Ladies and gentlemen, that’s why she’s is my dream girl.

Having known me for awhile, she is totally cool with the fact that I was at a whore house. She understands my proclivity to get myself into things most normal guys would shy away from. I  thrive on the ridiculousness of this wacky life we all share. Unless I’m kidnapped by space aliens or having sex with a girl OVER 18, she isn’t surprised at the experiences I end up getting myself in to.

The way I see it, later in life when I’m starting to get bored with my stupid kids and/or my trophy wife, I’ll have amazing stories to remember to share with my friends. Unless I get Alzheimer’s or something shitty like that, I’ll be able to revel in the exploits of my past. When I see those cheesy Dos Equis commercials about the Most Interesting Guy In The World, I get jealous. Why can’t that be me, instead? IN FACT, WHY ISN’T IT ABOUT ME?!

I like knowing that I’ve lived my life to the fullest potential. I don’t see getting married, having a couple kids and then retiring as a successful life. Especially right now. To me, that is taking the comfortable/secure road in life. People often get bored with each other, or their jobs or even being a parent. They want to go out and find themselves in these absurd predicaments that I find myself in but they don’t have the heart to do it for themselves. They make excuses. “I have to work tomorrow” or “my wife won’t let me”, blah blah blah whatever. When your fat wife leaves you for a meth-addicted carnie she met on Craigslist, what are you going to fall back on? Are you really going to tell the girl you met at the check cashing place that you are going home to masturbate to high speed internet porn all night? No, you’re not, unless you’re a total douchebag, in which case, that is entirely plausible.

Most human beings are intrigued by people who have a great story to tell. Some people, like me, actually live the story they are telling. That’s why I named my web site, “LIFE AS Nick”, because this experiment is an ongoing process of who I am becoming. And it’s why I share it with you; the casual reader.

I know I’m going to show up to work tomorrow probably hungover and hating my customers even more than I already do, but when they ask me why I blew off a corporate meeting yesterday, I am going to tell them I was at an Asian whore house. Any guy worth his weight in manliness will understand that perky-breasted Asian girls with no citizenship and low self-esteem are more of a priority than sitting in L.A. traffic for two hours to hang out with a bunch of overly-hyped company associates. I’m sure my manager will understand. And my male co-workers will DEFINITELY understand.

Hot Asians vs. Sweaty Co-Workers? Which would you choose?

I could go into work and pretend to be responsible for 7 hours, or I can stumble into work with a gnarly hangover and find my dignity, put on my name badge and thank my company for providing me the finances to live this incredible life that you’re going to eventually read about.

I’ve met a new girl that I’m absolutely smitten with. By some sort of celestial miracle, this pair of tits actually adores me back. Her older sister, however, initially wasn’t as happy for us. Being that her older sister is also my best friend, she was a little hesitant at first to give me her blessing. I explained the physical merits of defiling her younger sister which didn’t bode well. Then I explained that I’m emotionally stable and I’m somewhat talented when I’m sober. She agreed on these points and tried to lecture me about what I’m sticking my erection into.

“But Nick, she’s vegan”.

My penis is organic. No worries.

“But Nick, she’s like a modern day hippie”.

She said she shaves her vag, so that’s good enough for me.

“But Nick, she’s straight edge and doesn’t drink or smoke”.

Even better, that saves all the goodies for me. I don’t have to worry about her drinking my beer.

She let out a big sigh knowing full well that I obviously haven’t thought any of this through. That’s the awesome thing about new relationships: everybody is so fucking giddy and happy to have someone new to fuck that they don’t consider the obvious pitfalls of their decisions. Unlike my bonehead ex’s who think getting married and having kids are a good thing, I decided to prevent all that tomfoolery by drafting up something I’ve aptly titled, “The Pre-Affair Contract“.

The Pre-Affair Contract

Nick Sterling 2010

In addition to other terms elsewhere defined in this Contract, the following terms whenever used in this Contract shall have only the meanings set forth in this section, unless such meanings are expressly modified, limited or expanded elsewhere herein.

PREAMBLE:

1. Besides absolving me of all emotional commitment, you are liable for broken furniture, torn clothing, 1/2 the cost of meals, and all car repairs when you roar off in a jealous rage and wrap my new Camaro around a telephone poll.
2. Under clause 1, article 69, you cannot exchange, share, gift or otherwise provide any sort of sexually transmitted disease regardless of medical condition or willingness.
3. You must maintain a healthy and well-maintained body at all times. Vaginal discharges, gangrene, odorous genitals, “dingle-berries”, eye boogers, unclipped toenails, salty armpit sweat and ‘Taco Bell farts’ will all be considered as breach of contract.
4. You adhere to a non-disclosure policy prior to and after the affair. Referring to me, Nick Sterling, or any of my constituents (my penis) in a degrading manner is otherwise prohibited and punishable by guillotine.
5. In the event of a dissolution of the affair, you are contractually disallowed to break up with me in the following situations: (1) while I’m in the hospital dying (2) over a social networking web site (3) on the day before a job interview (4) after introducing you to all my friends and then fucking one of them while I’m at working caring for disabled adults (5) when I’m on a boat.
6. You fully accept and agree that I’m only able to cheat under the following circumstances: (1) When Miley Cyrus turns 18.
7. There will be absolutely no crying whatsoever. If I take away your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cell phone and you commence the waterworks, this contract will consider our affair null and void. If you eject saline through your eyes because of being infatuated with my well endowed genitalia, then you are permitted to cry up to, but not longer than 3 minutes. All remaining teardrops will be used for self-massage lubrication.
8. Under no circumstance am I wrong. EVARR!
9. You accept me “As Is”. I make no declarations or promises about the condition of my body, mind state or emotional well-being. “What you see is what you get”.
10. Under penalty of perjury, you will not entertain the idea of marriage, birthing human beings or otherwise trapping me in a financial commitment by relationship favors. I have the right to walk away at any time, regardless of behavior. In the event of an unexpected pregnancy, you will terminate the pregnancy by any of the following methods: (1) wire coat hanger (2) ‘tripping’ down a flight of stairs (3) medically assisted murder (4) a forceful donkey punch of epic proportions (5) purging the fetus with Drain-O.
11. Sex is mandatory at least thirteen times a day depending on my Bonersarus Rex.

INDEMNITY:

Contract Signee shall indemnify, defend and hold harmless
NICK STERLING, his officers, directors, shareholders, concubines
and personal or legal representatives from and against any and
all claims, liabilities, losses, damages, STD’s, penalties and costs,
foreseen or unforeseen, including, without limitation, counsel,
engineering, disease control, and other professional or expert fees, which an
indemnified party may incur to the extent resulting from
Signee’s failure to comply with NICK STERLING’s obligations under this
Contract.

I can’t believe anyone would agree to this.

ANYONE.

Sign this if you’re insane.

__________________________________________

Signature

________________

Date

One of my biggest pet peeves in the world (other then self-entitled, spoiled rich girls) is censorship. I believe that every single human being no matter what race, creed, heritage, class or sex has a different opinion of what is personally acceptable and what is considered “crossing the line”.

I take a more liberal approach on taste because I simply don’t possess the ability to give a fuck. There has never been anything written on the internet or spoken to me directly that made me think, “I want to punch this dick jockey right in the bread basket”, nor would I get upset enough to tell someone my *feelings*, whatever those are.

It took me a few years to understand the impact of using words as a communication device and how they might be translated, but being that I have this noble occupation of attempting to be a writer (and that’s all this drivel is, an attempt at failure), I encounter a plethora of people who take issue with some of the things I say. I fully admit that sometimes I’m a little crude. Yes, maybe dead baby jokes aren’t the best ice breaker (see the image at the bottom of this article for the best baby joke, EVAR!!!). Potentially telling a girl she has aerodynamically enhanced mammary glands is probably not a proper way to compliment a woman’s appearance, but whatever. Regardless of the content, I have a specific, unique voice. This is the personality that you know as Nick Sterling taking shape. If you don’t vibe with it, go kick water uphill.

I make it very clear that I don’t give a fuck what people think. It takes very thick skin to speak your mind and still be in the up-right position. I’ve been arrested for being a dick to authority figures. I’ve been knocked the fuck out and sometimes I get cussed out by some uppity mom  that hasn’t had a black cock in a long time. By now I’m pretty much use to it. Those are intrinsic human responses from human beings who can’t manage their feelings of anger. “MONGOL MAD! MONGOL SMASH!”

I still can’t comprehend why people think their opinions matter. My favorite is when people tell me (and its always a woman), “you can’t say that!“. Who died and made them ‘Queen Shit’ on Turd Mountain? Since when did my first amendment right become so black and white? Just because I said I wouldn’t fuck a girl with a bag of stolen, AIDS-encrusted dicks, doesn’t mean much more than I wouldn’t fuck a girl with a bag of stolen, AIDS-encrusted dicks. There’s no deeper interpretation to that. There’s no hidden meaning. You’re ugly and I think you possibly scare little children away with your hideous looks. Ironically, the girls that respond to those remarks (in haste) are often the girls that say how much they value honesty. And they’re always fat and ugly.

Next time, I’ll lie. But only when its acceptable, of course.

There’s a second group of people I fondly refer to as, “My Selfish Admirers”. These are people who love when I go Mel Gibson on other people. They see the humor and entertainment value of my words. “Oh em gee, Nick! I LOLSKIEZ at ur funny story!!!“. These people don’t realize their affection towards my creativity doesn’t make them immune to it. When they cross me or act like moronic throwbacks of evolution, I use that very same creativity against them. Suddenly, they play a different tune. “I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS, BRAH? WHY DID U SAY THAT TO MAH GURL! DON’T U KNOW I LOVE BERTHA?!?! SHE MY ONE AND ONLY!!!”. They are cool with me expressing myself as long as it doesn’t reflect on them negatively. Ultimately, I know these people are phantoms in my life. They don’t give a shit about me or what makes me tick, they simply leech off my humor until it backfires on them.

My other favorite type of people are the “Closet Cool People”. These are the weekend warriors that fuck like they invented sex, get insanely drunk or high and then go to school/work on Monday morning and talk about how awesome their weekend was over the water cooler all PG-13 status. Yet, when they are confronted with their behavior (positive or negative), they shush you and say, “don’t talk about that! I might get fired!” or on Facebook they say, “Nick, you can’t say that. My dad is on here!”. So? At what point do you realize that your image is falsely contrived? My mom reads this web site. I like my mom some times, but she’s still a fucking idiot. I’m 27 years old. What is she going to do, ground me for saying that? Take away my GameBoy? Psh. If she doesn’t like what I say, then she either needs to get her shit together and not be an idiot, or don’t read it. Simple. As. That.

You think Mommy and Daddy WarBucks don’t know that you’re a little hookerface? Generally, parents are very intuitive. They’ve been dealing with liars and pretend winners their whole life. They can see right through your facade. Typically, your bullshit rolls downhill. If I know about it, they probably know twice as much. I’ve learned that being true to yourself, no matter how offensive you might be perceived, is still the best way to maintain credibility and honor. My bosses at work know I’m a drunktard. My mom knows I think she’s mentally handicapped. My ex’s know how I think they are someone else’s cum dumpster. The girl I am going to stick my penis in (and out of) for the rest of her life has a pretty good idea of what type of hot mess she’s getting herself into. I like knowing I can walk into any situation in life and be myself and that’s whats expected of me. I can’t be a Neil Caffrey because I’d honestly lose track of all my cons. Yet, most people live a lie every single day of their life. What’s the value in that?

Finally, a guy comes along who speaks his mind without guilt. Sure, it’s blatantly honest and very blunt, but would you rather deal with a guy who says what he thinks, or someone who doesn’t?  To me, it’s all misplaced sensitivity. America – The Sensitive.

Grow the fuck up, people. Don’t take life so seriously. You might not make it out alive.