Bad French Kiss

My First French Kiss

Horrific. That about sums it up.

There comes a point in every man and woman’s life where you French Kiss for the first time. Unless you don’t. I guess.

My introduction to this world of romantic endeavor occurred in the 6th grade. However, my first kiss on the lips happened in 4th grade on a Church bus heading to a Church camp in St. Simons, GA. My God that girl was hot. She was a full-blown blond bombshell with an outrageous body. Sure she was bigger than I was at the time like every female on the Earth but a knock out none the less. I was on top of the world and kissing was WONDERFUL.

The trauma that unfolded in the sixth grade was not WONDERFUL. (Side note: use the word wonderful as much as possible because it is a fantastic word) I was dating a girl, whatever that means when you don’t have a car and not sure how your penis works, and had kissed her several times in the course of our courtship. However, I had always avoided the French Kiss because the thought of it scared the shit out of me. God forbid I mess it up, bite her tongue, get gingivitis, cancer, AIDS, gout, cavities, polio or a boner.

Then along came her birthday party. Great.

If you have ever been young, then you will understand how your peers encourage you to do everything. Any by peers I mean asshole friends. I believe Dr. Phil calls this peer pressure. Well guess what? There was a shit ton of that at this birthday party.

How do you practice French Kissing when you have never French Kissed? YOU CAN’T. That is the problem. Unless you have a forgiving dog or live on a farm I guess. Should have thought of that.

We were somewhere under her house, or beside it, or in it, or whatever I cant remember. There were several of my terrible friends shouting at me to kiss her. Like a boss, I kissed her. Over and over. On the lips. No tongue. Easy breezy. Everybody shut up. Where is the cake?

Then the same set of asshole friends starting chanting “with tongue”. And the nightmare begins.

The French Kiss – invented in France and known around the world as a kiss that involves the tongue going into and around the mouth of the partner. i.e., take one of the most vial parts of the human body and home to a quarter trillion bizarre bacteria and overproducing mucus glands and put your number one taste receptor, the tongue, inside of said space and wiggle it around. Thanks France.

After a hour of encouragement and on the brink of an anxiety attack, I was forced to engage in my first French Kiss.

I stuck my tongue in her mouth.

I cannot remember if I did the straight in and out jackhammer method or the helicopter round-a-bout method but confident it was one of the two. After what seemed to be 6 hours of kissing (8 seconds) I was done. Mission accomplished.

I had finally performed my first French kiss. BOOM! I WAS A MAN!

Then I got sick to my stomach, left the party early and went home and cried. I swear to God.



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Ticket Price Increase Next Tuesday. THANKS OBAMA.

We apologize, but are forced by the laws of nature to increase ticket prices next Tuesday due to higher than usual ticket sales. You see, math whizzes, we are only allowed to sell a certain amount of pre-sale tickets due to space constraints at Piedmont Park. Ergo, we cannot sell all the tickets at welfare levels ($13) forever or we don’t make money and God knows we love money. Jennifer wants to retire in a duplex one day and John John has his eyes on a Honda Civic lease. I’m focused on a used oriental rug next year. The only way to accomplish these milestones is to make money. The point is get your tickets while they are less expensive than most pet store fresh water fish.




  • live hamster
  • small burnt coffee at Starbucks
  • Half of a free range grass feed sustainable egg at whole foods
  • 38 pairs of socks on Buford Highway
  • a cute pink duster from Target
  • can of Four Loco
  • pair of shoe strings


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A Social Mess and its constituents (those don’t exist) are proud to announce LERPRE*CON 2015 at the Park Tavern on March 14th. Somehow, someway, this party has become our largest and wildest party of the year and we are not even Irish. Ish. There was that one time we racked up 42 shots of Jameson before 9 pm in Little 5 Points which literally brought Tom to tears but let’s put that aside for now. With an average attendance hovering around 4000 people and two full stages, LEPRE*CON has got to be the best-valued ticket on earth. Hell, the damn things start around $10. This year’s entertainment line up is starting to take form with DJ EU, DJ MADFLIP, DJ DK, Jacob & The Good People and more announced soon. The spring break stage is back with ridiculous contests and general buffoonery. As always, there are a few surprises up our sleeves for you green geeks. Take a look at last year’s video if you have never been WATCH THIS VIDEO FOLKS!

We can’t wait to start partying with you folks at 2 pm on March 14th!

LERPRE*CON Leprechauns.

atlanta christmas header

The Scariest Christmas of My Life

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…

Scratch that.

It was Christmas morning and MY WORLD CAME CRASHING DOWN.

Let me preface this disaster with some background info. You see, long ago about third grade, Mom and I were living in an unluxurious 2-bedroom brick house with the approximate value of a current day Ford Taurus. There were only two human beings living in that house and it was me and moms. There was no dad and I had no brothers or sisters. Living the dream. Oh, and a half dozen imaginary friends who thought I was bad ass.

It was Christmas morning, 1982. I woke up at 6 am on the dot like most annoying children on Christmas, eager to explore all my gifts from the almighty Santa Claus. I screamed at mom to get her lazy ass out of bed. IT WAS TIME TO DO THIS. Poor woman. #yolo.


BOOM! I exploded into the living room and…WTF? Yes, there was a tree. And yes, there were milk and cookies. UNEATEN. But no, not a single present. Explain that universe. I mean, Mom didn’t have much money buy my God, how much does a toy cost? Six bucks? Nothing.

Now, let me put this into perspective. I was a young child and up to this point, firm believer in the Christian ideology of an obese elderly man granting gifts through the help of northern reindeer. Sure, he had the same handwriting as mom and somehow serviced around 4 billion people in one night when it took McDonalds 58 years to serve the same number of hamburgers. However, my buddy Ace just bought a 3D printer that apparently can print cars and create free energy so whatever. Stuff happens.

There was no question in my mind that Santa Claus existed because that bastard had been giving me presents my whole life. Until now. Service Merchandise could have their catalog back. I was pissed.

At this moment, I did what all grieving young men would do, cried like a sorority girl after a gallon of vodka and a positive pregnancy test. Mom hugged me, which did nothing for my emotional breakdown, and guided me into the next room where we settled onto our inexpensive couch. What happened next, well, defies logic and put me in therapy for most of my adult life.

As we sat and cried on what I can only remember as a horrid floral print couch, a walking cane came in through the hallway door. A wooden f*cking walking cane. Said cane tapped the hallway door and all the lights in the house went off. I shit you not. Like David Blaine and Jesus Christ had teamed up to magically remove all electricity from my whole house with the touch of a walking stick. I mean even Steven Hawking can’t explain the physics on a walking cane shutting down the entire electrical system of a single-family home. Or half-family home I guess.

“Oh no, looks like Santa might be here” said Mom.

No lady, we are getting robbed and sure to be tied up in some basement for the next 30 years until Anderson Cooper and Lisa Ling dig us out on CNN. Sure, I was a young child but per my earlier statement, there were only two people that lived in that house. And now some kidnapping axe murder/magician just blew out all the lights and is in the next room. My life was over. This I knew for sure.

A few minutes later, as I shivered on the couch praying to every God I had ever been taught, Mom finally said, “should we go in the living room and see if Santa came?”.


There is a cane-welding child murderer in the damn house and you want me to go into the next room? Am I not your biological child? Can you not afford me anymore? Have you always hated me? Who has their own child murdered on Christmas?

“No thanks”, I replied, through a hurricane of tears and hyperventilation.

She finally dragged me into the living room where, God only knows how, Santa had come in, set up all my toys (including a full train set), ate the cookies and milk and somehow exited the house in complete and utter silence. Then the lights magically came back on. Straight poltergeist.

Let me gently remind you of the size of our house. I would say it was approximately the size of 6 refrigerator boxes. This man, Santa, had built an entire room of toys on the other side of the cheapest wall ever created in a low-income house WITHOUT MAKING A SINGLE SOUND. In less than 4 minutes. And escaped, thank God.

To this day, my Mom will not tell me how all of this unfolded or who, if not Santa, was the caned magician/murderer that built 25 toys in less than 4 minutes in a room 6 feet from us. My guess was it was my dad, but he was a complete drunk and had been disappointing me since he left us when I was 3. Must have been Santa.

Also, what Santa comes after 6 am on Christmas?

Merry Christmas folks and please, for the love of God, sleep ‘til at least 7 am.



A Magical Night with Susan Boyle

A Magical Night with Susan Boyle 

By Trey Humphreys

To my recollection, I only saw two music shows this past year. Just two. One was the TomorrowWorld Electronic Music Festival with over 300 DJ’s and a billion dollars in lasers, pyro, glow sticks and speakers. The other was Susan Boyle at the Atlanta Symphony place in Midtown. I swear to God.

Photo Oct 26, 7 48 15 PM

Ol girl played here in Atlanta about a month ago, which happened to land on the exact day I was having a few beers, conveniently. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was winning a pumpkin-carving contest at a local watering hole when it hit me like a ton of woman…..


I remembered the Susan Boyle concert was that night in Atlanta. How did I know this wonderfall of information? Because of a fantastic phone call with my Aunt Betty whom I had not spoken with in 25 some odd years. The phone call conversation included: 30 dogs, a house fire, Curves, Asperger’s disease and the Susan Boyle Fan Club. However, that is another story for another time.

Fast Forward to the pumpkin contest…

Deep into the carving, I dialed up the only other human being dumb cool enough to go to the concert with me, Melanie. Thankfully, she owns a delightful sequins dress and one of the most fantastic middle-age-woman wigs on earth. A real gem of a hair piece.

With the pumpkin contest under my belt, I headed home to grab my white tuxedo (with tails).   I assumed that is what most folks wear to a Susan Boyle concert. I was wrong.

We got all dolled up and Ubered down the show. We got dropped off at a restaurant called TAP where we ordered two grilled cheese sandwiches and two dirty martinis. Chicken soup for the soul.

Photo Oct 26, 8 47 26 PM

As I was consuming vodka and eating a cheese sandwich, an elderly woman in a fantastic half-sequins sweater asked if I was Lance.   I assumed she was lost and thought I was her grandson. That or she was the oldest prostitute on earth trying to find her date. Things were looking up…

Post awkward conversation with the old woman, we strolled down to the show and entered the lobby area, which was filled with wheelchairs and Medicare. It felt like I was riding a white horse into the bingo section of a yarn convention.   We got some stares.


We hit the box office and made our way to the cheap seats, which were somewhere around 1200 feet above the stage with limited oxygen. It was a miracle the elderly could mange their way up that high with out the aid of sherpas or cranes.


The Curtains unfolded and BOOM! There she was. Except she was a he. And then he sang. LANCE. Whoever that is, sang two songs. He was the opening act and not the 90-year-old prostitute’s date or grandson. Life comes full circle. What?

Side note: Lance, full of spray tan and amazing hair, was the opening act for Susan Boyle. Let that sink in for a moment. That man tours with Susan Boyle.

And then, like a Build-A- Angel from Heaven, she appeared. The crowd exploded. I scanned the audience for heart attacks. She wore a sleeping gown with flowing feathers on the shoulders and a beaming smile. I think. I was pretty drunk and 80,000 feet above the stage.

Photo Oct 26, 8 11 29 PM

With the voice of a Scottish angel and the stage presence of a dead plant, she opened with Somewhere over the Rainbow and then Winner Takes All by ABBA. She moved her right arm up and down which was the extent of her choreography. There was no dancing, or moving for that matter. She stood, sang, sat, sang, repeat. Literally.

The guy in front of me played backgammon on his phone.

Photo Oct 26, 9 05 58 PM

She even sang the Sarah McLaughlin animal cruelty song.   If only the dogs could hear her. Or cats I guess. Cats. What a disaster of an animal. Nevermind.

While half the audience watched her and the other half watched us, we decided to dip out after 10 unbearable songs. I wanted to find her, or get a picture with her, or kiss her on the lips but never got my chance.

Until next time Suzzy, until next time.

Photo Oct 26, 8 48 04 PM



Lance’s best friend

pilots social mess

The Costume That Almost Sent Me to Prison

by Trey Humphreys

Newsflash: I drank alcohol one time. Pick yourself up off the floor and read on.

I am a man of many costumes. I have spent more money on costumes than college, hair products and therapy combined. Goodbye self-esteem.

I suppose it all began in college where I was the school mascot. Wikipedia ‘Loser’ and there is a good chance you will find a picture of me in a fake tiger costume. I really suppose it is when I met a few other losers that were also mascots like Billy “The Fox” Stephens, Joel “Beep Beep” Darby and Brad “has no nickname that I know of” Post. Talk about a gaggle of lame pasty white guys.

Now, there is one costume that comes to mind when I try and process all the dumb shit I have worn over the past two decades. Let me preface this by saying that the best time to wear a costume is when you should not wear a costume. Obviously.

You see, my equally dumb friend Joel and I had to fly to Denver, CO to participate in our other equally dumb friend Brad’s halftime performance at the local pro football game. As mascots. I mean, really? Mascots? When life gives you lemons, buy a cat.

So we dressed as Pilots. Of course.

#1 - dressed as pilots

Now, let me state that this was pre 9/11 so please don’t call your Congressman and demand the Homeland Security Advisory System be raised to Fuchsia. We have enough problems. Ex Mascots.

We arrived at the airport parking lot and tried to determine what type of airport jail we would spend the next trillion years in for impersonating Pilots. Is dressing in a homemade Pilot costume with a terrible hat and irremovable sunglasses a crime? One call, that’s all. We took a couple of pulls of discount warm tequila and marched into the airport praying the mustache glue held.

#2 in the truck

The next challenge – luggage drop off. We handed our luggage to a bewildered United Airlines check-in clerk and made our way to the security lines. The TSA officials were baffled as to why two Pilots were waiting in the normal security line. The two pilots were baffled as to why the TSA officials were trying to escort us to the secret Pilot security line.

“Where are your credentials?” TSA asked

“Oh” fake Pilots replied

That went well. On to the plane…

#3 on to the plane

Once on the plane and after several pictures with a man claiming to be the real pilot, a flight attendant and other clueless passengers, we settled into our coach seats.

#4 on to coach seats

pilots social mess

After lift off and once at a safe flying altitude, we popped open our thrift store briefcases and pulled out beer and whisky. I assume that is what all Pilots carry in their briefcases.

Please, for a moment, imagine the other passengers watching this unfold. Pure gold.

#6 pure gold

One hour and twenty-four minutes into the flight,  the unamused flight attendant cut us off after our demand for  more cocktails. It seems we hit the airplane serving limit. I tried to explain I was the Captain of the flight and we needed more whisky. It didn’t work.

#7 damn airplane roule

We finally arrived in Denver, half cocked and fully invested in a mash of various alcohols. We were able to walk off the plane on our own accord. Professionals.


No, not the end.

We made our way through the airport until we found, well, a bar. Not any bar but the busiest bar in said airport. Time to order a couple drinks. Just to take the edge off really.

If you are keeping count, we had cocktails before the plane, on the plane and now after the plane. We were  feeling fantastic and pretty damn certain we could actually fly a plane. When is the last time you saw two pilots getting wasted in an airport bar?

Right before we got up to leave, Joel leaned over to a couple of older fellas and asked them where they were flying. They said Chicago.

Then we said, “We are flying that flight. See you on the plane.”

Poor bastards damn near had heart attacks.

In other news, we wore the same outfits to our buddy Trey’s wedding a couple years later. And were late. And walked in the back entrance where the bride was waiting, on us, to walk down the aisle. God bless the look on that woman’s face (as well as the entire wedding party who was already standing at the altar) as we un-quietly made our way to our seats.

#8 wedding picutre

The moral of the story? Can’t remember. -Captain Trey Humphreys

#9 signature phot0


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Girls Diff Tops

The 2014 TomorrowWorld Awards

by Trey Humphreys

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the 2014 TomorrowWorld Awards. These amazing individuals have won new 2014 Buick Enclaves and a one-year membership to Any Lab Test. Congratulations winners!


Hottest girl goes to this fox that my friend Ace Amerson slept with on Friday night.

TW 1


Best squirrel goes to this fella with the huge tail.

Confused Squirrel


Pink tank top needs to go. Mom.

Girls Diff Tops


This year’s best DJ goes to Bert Weiss who is seen here with his wife Stacey.

Bert Weiss TW


By combining the River Dance and the Twerk, this gal who could only be named Barbara wins best dancer 2014.

tw water


The one person that is cooler than any of the rest of us this year was this amazing gal who rocked the front row at the main stage.

grandma tw


tw naked

Congratulations 2014 winners. Please head to your closest Service Merchandise to claim your prizes.




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Halloween Party #5 Trio

Halloween Party #5 Hosts

Click HERE for tickets.

Halloween Party #5 Hosts: Alex Branch, Ashley Hesseltine, Brian Sernulka, Brianna Dane, Ceci Mattei, Dice K, Jake “Snake” Schumacher, Jay Mayor Winter, Jennifer Lester Lingvall, Joe Rountree, John John “Free Hugs” “Rampage” “Double John” “Skunk Ape” “Dolphin Loving” Delladonna, Jordan Dillard, Kelly Chase, Kelly O’Brien, Keri Kilgore, Laura Diem, Lauren Blackstock, Lauren Ruel, Logan Daniels (Reubens Bell), Macy Omer, Matt Stephen, Meagan Cavanaugh, Mercedes Montalvo, Michael Cash, Mick McDonald, Nathan Rigsby, Nick Via, Rae Riccio, Sara Davis, Thais Rodriguez, Thomas Rittle (likes to get physical), Trey Humphreys



The Oldest Guy at TomorrowWorld

by Trey Humphreys

Let me just state the facts. First, I will be the oldest dude at TomorrowWorld this year, as usual. Guess what? Don’t care. Second, I don’t own an iPhone 6.

Now, if you are not familiar with TomorrowWorld, then pull up a chair ol’ sport. It is a massive Electronic Dance Music festival held on some fella’s gigantic farm 20 minutes past the airport in Fairburn, GA, wherever that is. More specifically, it is 4 days consisting of 70 million DJs all playing the same song. A couple dudes from Belgium stared this neon circus and claim to attract around 60k people a day. I assume there are around 250 tons of glow sticks and a billion lasers that reach other galaxies. God bless I love this party.

Why, you ask, would a man of my age and wherewithal attend such a spectacle? Short answer, I’m a loser. Long answer, I like to dance and use vodka. Ask Jeeves.

Also, Atlanta has a unique dichotomy going on this weekend. I literally have no idea what dichotomy means but I do know this – we have three of the greatest artists of all time, all in Atlanta, all on the same weekend.

First, the greatest country artist of all time, Garth Brooks.

Second, the greatest rap group of all time, Outkast.

Third, the greatest DJs of all time including Tiësto and Bert Weiss.

Now before you get all pissy and claim Kellie Pickler is the greatest country artist of all time, The Fat Boys are the greatest rap group of all time and DJ Jazzy Jeff and Melissa Carter are the greatest DJs of all time, please bear with me. Bere? Beer? Bare? Damn it.

I pinned the Mayor of Atlanta on his Pinterest to see if there is anyway we can bus all the Garth Brooks fans to TomorowWorld and all the OutKast fans to Garth Brooks by accident. Stay tuned.

Furthermore, if you want to attend TomorowWorld and are allowed to leave assisted living this weekend, take heed to these very important tips below.

My top 10 tips for old people that want to go to TomorrowWorld (like me):

pink guy10. Stick to the back of the crowd. Never, ever, get in the middle or God forbid in the front or you will be licking sweat off a 21-year-old dudes back while he holds his brainless girlfriend on his shoulders. For 4 hours.

9. When they drop the bass, don’t look for it on the ground.

8. Leave your shirt on you fat ass, you are not 24 anymore. Or 34.

 7. The random pills on the ground are not Bayer Aspirin. Try them anyway.

 6. Hide from your daughter’s friends that are wearing string panties, face masks and glow braces.

5. Never, for the love of God, ever admit your real age.

4. Smoke as much weed as your body can handle to avoid seizures due to 4 million lasers and 21-year-old girls in string bikinis.

3. No, you have not seen Molly.

2. You already look like a Narc so don’t dress like one. And don’t take your German Shepherd.

1. Dance like you just don’t give a shit.

All right folks! I will see you on the farm.

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Top 10 Things You Need to Know About OutKast


Light up a Virginia Slim and break out your Boones Farm (Strawberry Hill, y’all), then continyuh…

  1. Per Peaches (0:38), OutKast is “fat like hambone” and “tight like gnat booty”. Urban dictionary tells us a Hambone is a term used to describe a fat jelly-a$$ who lives off welfare, is overweight and contributes nothing to society. And Tight Like Gnat Booty is a reference to the perception or idea of how tight a gnats ass would be if someone would be able to insert a large object in it.
  2. Erykah Badu is Andre’s (3:52) baby mama. Their kid is named Seven. He is seventeen.
  3. Big Boi’s little brother used to bartend at The Pool Hall.
  4. Best song to listen to on hallucinogenics is SpottieOttieDopaliscious. Best song to listen to while on the pot is Hootie Hoo.
  5. According to Elevators (3:18), OutKast has “come a long way like them slim ass cigarettes … from Virginia”.
  6. Andre Benjamin and Trey Humphreys were in the same class at Sarah Smith Elementary in Buckhead. Not even kidding.
  7. If you think it’s all about pimpin hoes and slammin Cadillac doors, you probably a cracker. Or a ni**a that think he a cracker. True Dat (0:23).
  8. This video.
  9. Cee Lo Green was allegedly supposed to be a part of OutKast. He’s featured in their debut album, Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik, on Git Up, Git Out.
  10. Andre’s lyric “so go get yo f%@*ing shine box” in ATLiens (0:50) is a reference to the Goodfellas scene where Billy breaks Tommy’s balls. Little bit of a temper, that Tommy. Also, “cooler than a polar bear’s toe nails” is 8 degrees Fahrenheit. (0:31)
  11. My girl, B.S. (an executive at a fancy financial service corp), can rap every lyric to the entire Aquemini album.

Get down with OutKast this weekend in ATL (“home of the pimps and the money makers”) at Centennial Olympic Park. Click HERE to listen to my OutKast playlist on Spotify (in order of release date). Hootie Hoo y’all.

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