What Now?

It has been brought to my attention that all I speak about is myself. Well….yeah, what the fuck do you want from me??!! Well, it seems that when I get a little saucy, I tend to talk about things in the entertainment world, and the bullshit social environment –not to mention what we as Americans find so very important….like sex. SO, with all this in mind, I will now work my ass off to include CURRENT EVENTS on this blog. Hell, maybe I could become a famous writer for the “Hollywood scene”, or I could just get some good sex out of the chick that suggested it! Either way…….I’m good.

FU

Me and my Lamma (lawyer)

My lawyer, Banfuba Doodad (he’s Kroashin), had me sitting in his office the other day, going over all the wonderful aspects of my pending “divorce.” I use words like shit-the-bed, in the crapper, hit the wall, incinerating in hell…..but those are not technical terms.

Mr. Doodad is a professional, so he won’t even joke with me unless I pay him an extra 40 bucks an hour, and then he only has a google of “why the chicken crossed the grand jury” jokes.
I don’t get em.

ANYWAY, he was going over the list of things that I will be in store for DURRING and AFTER this angelic process. They were all very well laid out, and about a paragraph a piece.

Yet, somewhere in the middle, my eyes glazed over, and I started to look out the window. It was at this time that the REAL list (or a translation there of) began to appear in the orange and purples of the setting summer sun.

*good immagry huh! No?……eat it.

So, here is the REAL list:

1. I Frank Upton will continually feel guilty of all life decisions from this day on.
2. If I ever find myself smiling, or having any kind of joy, I will be struck by lightning –then shit on.
3. I will pay…….alot.
4. I will second guess myself on any kind of relationship issues, just long enough to loose all…..relationship issues. Like….forever.
5. I am left with just enough self worth to flush my head in the toilet repeatedly.
6. I am to wear a stamp on my head that says “I could not make my marriage work, and I am now a single jerk, looking for the next life to ruin.” *my head is to be shaved so that this fits properly.
7. I will pay…….a WHOLE fucking lot.
8. On my son’s 18th birthday, he is bound to tell me what he really thinks about me….and there won’t be a hug at the end of it.
9. I will continue to look for gratification through one-stop shops and 2am phone calls.
10. I will feel mentally and physically PATHETIC….much like this list.

OK, I think that we can stop right about there! Now, let’s talk about something fun.

My lawyer, Banfuba Doodad, has this giant lump jetting out of his neck. It’s the most distracting thing I have ever seen!

I named it Eddie.

FU

Just Now

Not five minutes ago, in line at 7-11, I ran into a guy I knew from school. Its been like 5 years since I’ve seen him, but not long enough for me to forget that he was a serious fucktard.

EXAMPLE: This particular fucktard was at a party with me one night, and he walked right up to this girl named Cindy…..
FUCKTARD: I hear you were in gymnastics. (*think 10 decibels too loud)
CINDY: Uh…yeah?
FUCKTARD: So, have you ever tried the squishy frog position?
CINDY: The what?
FUCKTARD: You know (wink) –when you fu*
SLAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-get the picture?

ANYWAY, this guy is a mere two spots behind me in line. I mean, only ONE fucking guy separated me from a potential conversation of tragic proportions. Thankfully what separated us was a black man, built like a linebacker, so I felt relatively protected.
……………well maybe not.

His overgrown noggin peeked around my 1-1 coverage, and yelled out “Hey Frank!! Whatcha up to, you shit digger?!” –like really loud.

Crowded 7-11 + Linebacker + “Shit Digger” = what a FUCKTARD!!......still.

Apparently he bumped my defense wall (uh….big black man) with his hand. Mr. Black Man, as I like to now call him, turned around and elbowed that retard right in the puss.

On my way out the door, I saw him heading for the bathroom with blood spots on his white button-down. I suddenly felt sorry for the guy.

It lasted- .00000000000000000001 seconds. I takes me longer to blink.

Good seeing you fucktard.

FU

My "Package"

I will go ahead and say it- I am of…..well…..”average” legth. AVERAGE- being what is determined by the clinical documentations of the YALE MEDICAL INTITUTE (or some shit like that.) If you don’t know what that length is…fuck you- go look it up for yourself.
This is why ADULT films have destroyed my life.

I saw in the paper recently that an average of 45% of single women own “Adult” entertainment in one form or another.

WHAT??!!! F’ing 45%!!!!!!!

THIS IS DISTORTING REALITY!!!!!!

Ladies, this is why you end up with the jackass metrosexual fucks at the bar on a Friday night! They know that their Porsches and fucking H3s will make you wet enough to not know the difference. All YOU know is that he looks a lot like BROCK LANDERS, or DICK ARMSTRONG –and you assume his package MUST be of relative “girth.”

Here is a clue- only 10% of men are longer than 6 ½ inches (fucking fact)- get used to it.

Meanwhile, us “regular” guys sit back with “tongus of the avenger” of which you will never know. Some do……and they ALWAYS come back!

Hear that KIMBERLY???!!!!

FU- and I mean it!

A NOTE

In accordance with article 11749684.56B.777-734, my client FRANK UPTON is not held liable for any or all correspondence within noted blog site www.frankupton.blogspot.com or any re-posts on other sites of said correspondence.
All information provided from this date, and all that has transpired before herein, is protected under the “I am nothing more than a characticher ACT” of Walla-Walla Washington (state code: TY777308B98-44R.)
My client, in no way, is held responsible for any actions, words, rebroadcasts, analysis, breakdowns, disseminations, heresys, masturbations, googles, scat talks, or any there of that could cause any further action against himself due to content that could seem “unbecoming” of above client.

This is a legally binding document dated August 9, 2006- so go fuck yourself!!

Yours truly,

Banfuba Doodad
Attorney at Law (don’t call me, I’m in Barbados)

Thank You

.....by the way

It has been brought to my attention that I have issues with intimacy. Ummm…..ok.

Wow, really? How could this be? I mean, just because I have issues with the opposite sex (cumbuckets) as of late, and I would rather hang with some friends (good stuff) than some girl (whore) in a bar –spending all my money on her (slut scams) and getting nothing out of her (nut-tease) does NOT make me a bad person!!!

SO- in short, I do not have issues with intimacy (skanks) but simply wish to “hang out” for the time being.

OK………….gash!

FU

I WAS NOT DRUNK!!

The other day I called a guy that I worked with (back in the day) with a computer question. See- I recently obtained a new MAC. Yup- I got a MAC after many happy years with my good buddy -the PC.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING??!!!
At every turn, this EASY out of the box device throws me a curve ball right in my F’ing ear!!! OUCH MAC……ouch.
SO…..inevitably I have to fall back on those I know own said piece of technology….so that they can make fun of my question and/or my dick size.
“I just can’t figure this out!”
“You’re a retard.”

NOW- back to the for-mentioned phone call made at around 11:30 pm.

This particular friend did not answer the phone, so I promptly tried the next MAC user in my mental rolodex. Soon…….problem solved. (-thanks Steve)

NOW BE THE KICK IN MY SPECIAL PURPOSE!

This guy calls me several days later, and leaves this message…..

“Hey Frank, I saw that you called earlier this week. I’m assuming it was one of those DRUNK CALLS……but anyway. Give me a call if YOU NEED TO TALK.”

W…….T……..F!!

Have I become “that guy?” Have I gone to the “drunk call” default in the minds of those around me? Is my phone an evil force –bent on making me out to be a filthy fucking drunkard with fast fingers and aimless slurred conversations?

This is something I must ponder over a few cold ones tonight.

Talk to you around midnight everyone!

FU

Fly + Coffee = Whatever

If you get to the bottom of your morning coffee, and you notice that there is a dead fly…..just clutching to the bottom, what does that mean?
All laws of physics say that the fucker should have floated to the top –long before I had a chance to take the first sip. Does my simple cup have its own set of rules?

I will ponder this as I fill my cup once again……leaving that dead shit at the bottom.

Happy Tuesday!

FU