ENTERTAINMENT CAPITAL OF TEXAS
Down and Out in Arlington:
The Banality of Living
in this Wretched Town

By Chalupa Jones

Upon completion of my senior year from prestigious Arlington High School, the most reputable of our learning institutions here in town, I was faced with a dilemma of sorts.

Should I let go of my "glory years" of pep rallies, Friday Night Football, and exciting parties (with the premier ones consisting of multiple keg stands and sweet fights), or should I go and spread my wings, so to speak?

After much careful consideration, I elected the latter. I spent four and a half years of self-discovery and maturation at a university outside of my hometown, but reluctantly returned to where my heart truly belongs --- beloved Arlington. As a college graduate whose degree did little, if anything, to properly prepare me for the real world, I was now back where all the magic is.

Unfortunately, this poor city offers nothing to people like me. 'People like me,' you ask? Yes, people like me who don't really want to be here, and aspire for greater things in life than to live a meaningless existence in this shithole. Let's move on now, shall we?

* * * * *

Luckily for me, this city is peppered with an interesting array of characters. One such friend is Eddie, who talks to his potato salad as he inhales it. "How ya doin'!" he coos as he eats Bobby Jo's special treat. Eddie also has an incomparable affinity for beautiful asses, preferably ones that resemble those of junior high girls.

But Eddie is just one of several amazing Arlingtonians to which I would like to pay homage. There is my friend Barry, whose specials consist of talking incessantly and penis impediment to levels I once thought unimaginable. He always seems to be driven by the Labia Majora as if it envelops everything around him.

Barry has also been known to be somewhat of a chubby chaser, demonstrating his keen sexual prowess recently by picking up an impressive USDA heifer at a local watering hole in Arlington. This lovely girl was kind enough to shoiw us her impressive "jugs" and even let us touch her supple skin in the parking lot right before my friends and I left the bar.

Next, there is Michael, who is eternally in love with his right arm which he uses to propel objects such as footballs and baseballs at mind-boggling velocities.

"Dude, I got a cannon for an arm!" Michael exclaims as he unloads a perfectly placed pigskin in the arms of a fearful receiver. I have yet to see anyone so in love with an appendage in all my life.

Then there is Mike, whose penis has its own zip code, and the mere mention of his "cock almighty" causes jaws to drop to the floor.

"Gyaaaaaaahhhhhhhd, why is everyone making such a big deal out of my little wang?" asks a humble Mike. He doesn't strive for attention, but always seems to find it anyway.

* * * * *

Yes, my friends are able to add spice to what would most certainly be a very mundane lifestyle without them.

Now you may be thinking how convenient it is for me to harshly critique my friends without also examining myself. Well, I am no saint either. I would like nothing more than to sit here and tell you that I am magnanimous and of wholesome moral fiber, but in fact, I am the complete antithesis.

I am a pathetic, poor sycophant, who takes pleasure in exploiting the faults of others to mask my insecurities about my own dismal life. I have a very small and inadequate pecker which is affectionately known as "freakish clown dick" because of the presence of extra skin, due to never withstanding the horrors of a circumcision.

This has lead to my ever-growing and unhealthy antipathy towards women, and I am constantly referring to women as "bitches" to make myself feel like I am better than they are. I suppose it is just a hapless defense mechanism I cower behind. Oh well, nobody's perfect, right?

Hopefully in the near future, my friends can help me overcome my frightful woes. Thank God for my friends.

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