I love the white stuff as much as anyone else. I refuse to eat an oreo without waterboarding it, Dick Cheney style, (sick reference) in the sweet nectar, and I prefer that nectar come from the breast of a thick heffer and not a busted nut (almond you perverts). But just know your hand on that familiar chilled jug screams altar boy virgin. Or checkers player. Or viola enthusiast. You get it.
Now this came about because of a recent air bnb stay I had. In the great north woods of an undisclosed state, nestled between enormous evergreens sat a cozy little lake house whose owner explicitly said, no less than 29 times, “no parties, no smoking, and no vaping” (RIP fat clouds). The front door had a sign that read “no parties, no smoking, no vaping,” the living room had a sign that read “no parties, no smoking, no vaping,” the patio had a sign that said “no parties, no smoking, no vaping” and the bathroom had a sign that said “please don’t flush condoms.” Clearly, people party and fuck here. They get drunk, smoke some wacky tobaccy, blow a few clouds, and shoot ropes into latex baby catchers that this sewer system was not built to handle. To make it even more clear that we were not supposed to host a drunken, smokey, fuck fest, the owner told us he was also our neighbor.
So during our first night here we went and got some groceries. Nothing wild, nothing you can smoke, and nothing you can cum in. As I carried a plastic bag full of cereal and yogurt in one hand, and a gallon of 2% fat fucking cows tit milk in the other, down the driveway and into the house, I knew that if the owner/neighbor was watching, he would sleep like a baby that night knowing a bunch of bird watching, WWJD bracelet wearing, milk drinking pussies were going to be occupying his air bnb. No one has ever walked into a house with a gallon of milk and proceeded to do anything but show the upmost respect for other people’s property. No adult, milk drinking, man would ever dare disobey a clearly visible sign. Milk has never started a fuck fest, it’s never started a party, and it’s definitely never gotten anyone laid. A gallon of Milk says, “I’ll have one hard rootbeer, but then I need to hit the hay.” This guy has never felt safer, I guarantee it. We play Creed a little louder than he likes, and he knows that our regular diet consisting of 2% milk means he could kill all of us with a lamp shade if he needed to.
Milk guys, aren’t fuck up my air bnb guys, they’re rubix cube guys, and World of Warcraft guys. Instead of treating the place like a rock band after a sold out show at Wembley, they’ll play rockband until their serving arm gets sore and their Ralph Lauren polo gets too itchy.
Hand up, I drink milk, I drink it pretty often actually, but I would die before I would be seen drinking a glass of that baby food. It’s just plain embarrassing to be drinking the same shit as every little baby everywhere ever.
Keep drinking that shit if you want to be a loser and die alone in a set of pj’s that your mom made for you.