24 December 2007


ever have one of those weeks where everytime you think you have some alone time to jerk off you are suddenly interrupted by seemingly important yet unimportant phone calls, people coming through the door, being at work, or dawson's creek? yeah, it's been one of those weeks.

anyhow, that's all i got. the power is back on after a 17 hour shortage, most of the bars in the area were closed tonight so it was a big cluster fuck at the one bar that was open. holy shit, it looked like prime dining time on a friday in that bitch, on a sunday, at 1230am...

for those of you i like, click this link:

great little christmas ditty a capella even.

for those of you i am morally ambivalent to click this link:

ahh science. the true path to... wtf? oh right. zoltan!

if you don't know where you stand with me, then this link is for you:

this might be NSFW. and by might, i mean is.

and for those looking for some holiday cheer:

merry christmas

come to think of it, if you think i like you, only click on the top link. the second pisses me off the more i watch it. Merry Christmas everyone.

19 December 2007

This is why i drink

This is a completely sober conversation I had over IM tonight. I had stepped outside for a smoke, and came up with this idea. Please, enjoy my... insanity?

[00:57] Me: here's an odd question, is liquid hydrogen flamable?
[00:58] Scooter: Uh... I think it needs to be aerosolized to ignite, so no. Diesel fuel can't really catch fire that well...
[00:58] Me: dammit
[00:59] Scooter: Liquid hydrogen is the best way to TRANSPORT it, and I am sure you could make a liquid hydrogen BOMB, but I don't think you could have a pool of flaming liquid hydrogen.
[00:59] Me: how would one go about liquifying hydrogen?
[01:00] Scooter: I believe hydrogen needs to be very cold for it to condense, like oxygen or nitrogen. I might be wrong. But I think it involves cooling it and compressing it.
[01:01] Me: hrmm.
[01:02] Me: man, i wish you could be more definative on the liquid hydrogen being flammable or not.
[01:05] Scooter: I mean, it IS rocket fuel. It needs to be mixed with oxygen to burn. A pool of liquid hydrogen would warm up after a while, and assuming there was the correct air/fuel mixture, BANG.
[01:06] Me: i was just outside thinking how cool it would be to have a flamethrower to melt the snow instead of shovel. then i thought, fuck that, gas is too expensive. BUT THEN i thought, hey, it's snow. which is basically water. if i had a collection bin outside to collect the snow when it fell, then melt into water, then seperate it into water and hydrogen i could make flames with that, but in order to get it to really do the job, the hydrogen would need to be liquid so i could spread it, and it would stick and burn through the snow. then i would have an environmentally friendly snow removing flamethrower. ahh using the snow against itself.
[01:07] Scooter: ... the amount of electricity needed to start that process would power like, several city blocks for hours.
[01:08] Scooter: The gasoline is much cheaper, and considering how much coal would be burned to make the electricity, cleaner.
[01:09] Me: well, the heating process could be attained by using geothermal heating. so, that's not too bad. bury some pipes in the ground, pump water through, and up to the and around and back down would be my melting process.
[01:10] Me: so, the cost of an electric pump would be that big cost.
[01:11] Me: even if i just collected rain water throughout the year, save on the melting process.
[01:11] Me: it could be a gradual process all year. collect, seperate, store.
[01:12] Me: then, as the weather turns cold i could pack the tank in dry ice, and work on condensing and cooling it.
[01:12] Scooter: Uh... you would have to store it as compressed hydrogen, not liquid hydrogen. Liquid hydrogen boils off at about 1% of volume a day.
[01:13] Me: well, yeah, i'd store as a gass and compress only when needed.
[01:14] Me: of course, i could just use my geothermal idea and pull off the driveway, lay pipes at the surface, and lay the concrete over it, you know, to have a heated driveway.
[01:15] Scooter: That actually is a feature of some houses. Not nearly as cool as a hydrogen flame thrower, though.
[01:15] Me: I KNOW! seriously.
[01:15] Me: how awesome of a selling point would that be?
[01:16] Me: [homebuyer]uhh, ma'am what are those tanks behind the garage?
[realtor]well, the previous owner hated shoveling snow, so he created a year round water collection system that condenses hyrdrogen and oxygen and cools the hydrogen into a liquid in those tanks.
[homebuyer]uhh, what does that have to do with shoveling?
[realtor]well, when you hook the hoses and the gun up to this outlet here and click the little grill igniter here, you have a liquid hydrogen flamethrower.
[homebuyer] SOLD!
[homebuyers wife] uhh... but honey don't you think the kids...
[homebuyer aka man of the house] shut up woman, we're buying the house with the bult in flamethrower and that's final!
[01:20] Scooter: Yeah... I would probably invest in an iron fence, though... nothing ruins a snow removal session like your neighbor's house catching fire.
[01:20] Scooter: I think it actually could work.
[01:22] Me: well, i figure the hydrogen will burn up quickly, and at my house there's no real threat of burning anything else. you'd have to be one malicious motherfucker to burn down another house from my driveway. now, my own house... that would suck.
[01:22] Me: this is why smoking is good for you. you step outside, and reflect on shit, and come up with cooky ass ideas like this.
[01:23] Scooter: If I took up smoking, I would probably start a religion. I come up with enough crazy ideas already.
[01:23] Me: lol
[01:24] Scooter: Yeah, so... is it me, or do all seventeen of the assholes running for President suck like a Hoover?
[01:25] Me: i can't wait till i'm eligible to run.
[01:26] Me: or, maybe not a hoover, but a filmore?
[01:26] Me: rimshot
[01:27] Scooter: Ba dum, ching. I would vote for you, man. I am so sick of it all, you would at least be fun.
[01:27] Me: hahahahahahaha. yeah, no shit. "mr, dorton is it true..."
[01:28] Me: lemme cut you off there "ms. so and so", yes. it's probably true.
[01:28] Me: most of what you have heard about my past is most likely true, or has an element of truth to it.
[01:29] Me: now, can we proceed to the discovery process? and by that i mean, i need to discover if there are any hot ladies out there that are into fat guys. i'm talkin oval office sex ladies!
[01:31] Scooter: Wow. I think I should be the Vice President, though. You could visit Japan, like, monthly, Rev could be our first Secretary of state in clown makeup....
[01:32] Me: hahahahahahahahaha
[01:32] Scooter: I mean, what says "best presidency ever" like debauchery on the streets of Tokyo?
[01:33] Me: what a ticket that would be: staunch pro business conservative slash social liberal for president, and staunch anti business pro blah blah hippies blah for vice president.
[01:33] Me: oh, and the latter is the religious one.
[01:34] Scooter: Uh... I am not so much anti business as I am against immortal corporations.... Not so much in to the hippie dippie stuff either. I'd be spending most of my time explaining exactly what I am...
[01:35] Me: lol. true.
[01:35] Me: which would take a lot of the focus off my philandering.
[01:37] Scooter: Right, I could spend all my time boring the reporters to tears about the need to finance XYZ project with funds obtained in the flagenslouten act of 2023, while you are drilling Monica Lewinsky's successor into the carpet...
[01:38] Scooter: "Don't mind the moans, we have mice".
[01:39] Me: i bet we'd be the only single duo to ever run the white house and oeob.
[01:41] Scooter: Indeed. Ok, I need to be off to bed... you should try to design that rig of yours, eh? Patent that sucker.
[01:42] Me: no shit.
[01:43] Me: i bet getting UL approval would suck.
[01:44] Scooter: Indeed... flaming things generally are frowned upon at the UL...

yeah, so, a 47 minute long conversation about flamethrowers and running the country like a bachelor pad. now that the writers are on strike and all, hollywood just needs to sequester scooter and I. give me cigarettes and withhold the booze, and give scooter... no sleep, and we'll churn out ideas like it's our job. cuz it will be. of course once the writers strike ends, the ensuing drinking bender i would gon on would be one of legend. annals of history kind of epic. make "leaving las vegas" look like "the parent trap" kind of debauchery. where do i sign?

05 December 2007

boys and guns

Ok, so to recap, I liked a movie, I disliked a movie, then… I went impromptu hunting. We had discussed the possibility of heading il norte, but nothing was concrete. So, at about 1030pm (2230 to my non 12 hour time friends) I headed to the ol’ watering hole where we hashed out the particulars about the coming days and decided to head to the north woods to be glorious hunter/gatherers. We did not kill any woodland dwelling animals, however, were we to classify our brain cells as woodland indigenous, we may have hit paydirt (with kdirt). So more or less, I was reassured why I I don’t have a girlfriend (apparently, they are a fun governor (not like an elected official, but more like a throttle governor)) so I spent the whole time fielding other peoples women folk calls since I had the only dependable phone in camp. Fuck, that. If I ever go again, I am getting certain numbers blocked from my shit. Seriously, fun governors doesn’t even begin to describe this shit. Anyhow, we saw no deer, we got drunk a lot, and we made poor decisions. Here are three very poor decisions. some set up: three of us, 180 acres, some mini propane tanks, a fire, and a rifle:

me, half full propane tank, 30-06. yeah, big boom.

yeah, it came out upside down, not sure why. half full tank, marlin 30-30.

the first one we did with a real rifle. 30-30 at about 30 yards. yeah, we're not smart.

oh yeah, if i waste one more night hitting on a lesbian i am gonna kill somebody. seriously, a whole night wasted at the bar over a woman who would rather munch some carpet, than have me munch hers. seriously, with all the lezzy pron i watch, you'd think i'd be able to key in on this shit. fuckin lezdar is out of whack.

25 November 2007


So, today is my movie review day. why? fuck you that's why.

so Rev and I went to see "Hitman" today. seriously, if you like the games, see the movie. if you know nothing of the games, forget it, you'll be confused, the inside jokes won't make sense, and really the only redeeming thing will be that hot girl's tits. yeah, perfect titties. i wanted to nibble on them for about a month.

anyhow, the movie itself was good, and the elements they took from the games were great. they really took a lot of the best levels (read: the russian levels)and integrated them into the movie. i had to take a piss at one point, which means i missed my two favorite items from the games: the coin and the fiber wire. anyhow, i pissed, the movie ended, things were left unanswered, sequels were alluded to.

now, the afore mentioned Rev loaned me a copy of "Superbad" that is beyond the boundries of legal. it says that is property of sony pictures along the bottom. as far as i'm concerned, best part of the movie. seriously, everyone i knew built this movie up when it was in theaters, i finally see it, and i think i had about three laugh out loud moments. AND i was (am) drunk. there is nothing that occurs in this movie that i haven't seen in some incarnation ni another movie. aside from the period blood dance scene. but really, the movie made not laugh out loud, or in quiet, it made me sigh and wonder where my friends' taste in movies went. really, unless a couple more viewings change my opinion, i would give this movie a derivative 2 out of five. only because there were two fairly original scenes that have garnered it a 2. otherwise it would have earned a negative rating simply due to its' unoriginality. wow. i'm unimpressed.

06 November 2007

Gotta pay the juice

Me: How much you got on the game?
AC: I got $400 on Baltimore
Me: Why?
AC: I bet the opposite, everyone was taking Pittsburgh.
Me: You do know there’s a reason they’re taking Pit right?
AC: Yeah, but I bet the under and took the Ravens.
Me: (Steelers score again) You know you’re gonna lose right?
AC: Shut up


Rambo: Ragin’ thought she was my little sister.
Me: Nah, you’re tits aren’t big enough to be related to her. Hey, where you goin?


AC: Best case, I kiss my sister and pay the juice.
Me: (dying laughing as the Steelers score again.)


Me: (to the 17 year old cook) Hey Zack, what’s your mom’s name? I forgot it after I got done fucking her last night.
Zack: OH! BURN!
Me: Wow, I don’t know where that came from. That was completely uncalled for.
Zack: Yeah, it kinda was.


On a related note, I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out how I got home last night. I got nothin’.


As Many of you may know, as I have stated on here before, I am an ass man. A great ass, plus a nice set of stems, getaway sticks, or gams, really sets my heart a flutter. And I mean that in the literal sense, it actually makes my heart race, like a lion after prey. However, as of late, something new has started to happen, something… odd. Let me preface this by the fact that I have never in my life been a breast man. Ever. But lately, I find myself being drawn to them. And quite large ones. It is somewhat disconcerting as I know not how to control myself. I am constantly staring or fixated. However, I have worked up a theory about this: since most of the new bar staff is quite stacked, all of this is just some Pavlovian response to being served. So, when I see someone who has… matronly breasts, I get thirsty and lusty at the same time. The reason I came up with this is that the attraction to breasts, isn’t so much an attraction as a fixation, and doesn’t have the same physical effects on me. On the plus side, I’m not gonna be hurting for breasts to stare at for a while.


and now some fun links (all links pop):

this little girl gets OWNED!

why getting old sucks.

I think we did this when I was in high school… only we waited till the cars were closer.

not sure what he was trying to do, but it’s entertaining to me

26 October 2007


Never in my life have I ever been privvy to so much drama over beer pong as I was tonight. First of all, beer pong is a 4 person game, period. If you don’t call winners (like any other bar game) you don’t get to play. So, a kid I know decided to start some drama against a guy I know because they wanted to play on a table that wasn’t theirs. No big deal, till it almost came to blows and I had to pull one of the guys out of the bar. No big shakes, I just wanted to play some pong. My partner managed to hook us up with some people that were previously deposed due to the drama aforementioned. This is where life gets fun; see Jason and I had won 3 games in a row (2 sans re-rack! Unheard of!) and were working on our 4th game (3rd without a re-rack) when some 40something year old came into our game and started talking all kinds of shit about the girl on the opposite team. He was saying her elbow was over the line… now, anyone who has ever left the town in which they live to go to college anytime between 1998-present knows that no such elbow rule exists. We didn’t care. The 4 of us were having a good time when grampa shit eater decided to try and piss on our parade. Most of what he said didn’t bother me till he tried to start a fight with the guy we were playing against. He has a wannabe cop buddy that likes to escalate situations (he was the keystone in drama part 1) that decided to try and weigh in on the situation. Fortunately for the bar, I don’t shit where I eat. We won the game, I got everyone out, and stuck around till everyone was out of the bar. I had to talk some sense into the manager who wanted to get rid of beer pong. I had to point out that thanks to pong Thursdays were bustling, however without it, the waitstaff hated Thursdays.

I hate people that want to shit on a good time. The people that started the drama were people who like to throw darts, and we are taking up the dart area. Yippee shit, get over it. I don’t know where I’m going with this, other than I enjoy a good walk home in the clean, brisk, autumn air to cleanse my thoughts and make me not want to knock some asshead’s teeth through his throat. The funniest thing is, the one guy I was most concerned about was the friend I pulled out of the bar earlier in the night. He’s only about 5’2” but trying to get that man out of the bar was a bigger chore than if he were twice the size. Fuckin wirey bastards.

24 September 2007

Just Call Me Andrew Carnegie

“DETROIT (AP) - Thousands of United Auto Workers walked off the job at GM plants around the country Monday in the first nationwide strike during auto contract negotiations since 1976.

UAW President Ron Gettelfinger said the union launched the strike after "one-sided negotiations" failed to reach an agreement.

"It was going to be General Motors' way at the expense of the workers," Gettelfinger said. "The company walked right up to the deadline like they really didn't care."

Workers walked off the job and began picketing Monday outside GM plants after the 11 a.m. UAW strike deadline passed. The UAW has 73,000 members who work for GM at 82 U.S. facilities, including assembly and parts plants and warehouses.

Included in the negotiations was a groundbreaking provision establishing a UAW-managed trust that will administer GM's retiree health care obligations. GM pushed hard for the trust - known as a Voluntary Employees Beneficiary Association, or VEBA - so it could move $51 billion in unfunded retiree health costs off its books. GM has nearly 339,000 retirees and surviving spouses.

"This strike is not about the VEBA in any way shape or form," Gettelfinger said at an afternoon news conference in Detroit.

"The No. 1 issue here is job security," Gettelfinger later said, adding that the union also was fighting to preserve workers' benefits.

Gettelfinger said the union and GM's management would return to the table later Monday.

GM spokesman Dan Flores said the automaker was disappointed in the UAW's decision to call a national strike.

"The bargaining involves complex, difficult issues that affect the job security of our U.S. work force and the long-term viability of the company," he said. "We remain fully committed to working with the UAW to develop solutions together to address the competitive challenges facing GM."

It remained to be seen what effect the strike would have on the automaker and consumers. The company has sufficient stocks of just about every product to withstand a short strike, according to Tom Libby, senior director of industry analysis for J.D. Power and Associates.

Worker Anita Ahrens burst into tears as hundreds of United Auto Workers streamed out of a GM plant in Janesville, Wis.

"Oh my God, here they come," said Ahrens, 39. "This is unreal."

Ahrens has seven years at the plant, where she works nights installing speakers in sport utility vehicles. She waited outside the building Monday for her husband, Ron Ahrens, who has worked there for 21 years.

The couple has three children, including a college freshman, and Ahrens worried about how they would pay their bills.

"This is horrible, but we're die-hard union, so we have to," Ahrens said. "We got a mortgage, two car payments and tons of freaking bills."

Gettelfinger said he believed the UAW's leadership owed "our membership an answer as to why they're out there."

"This is as serious as anything that any of us do," he said. "There's not one person on this stage ... that wanted to see these negotiations end in a strike. Who wins in a strike? But again, you can be pushed off a cliff, and that's what we feel like happened here."

Despite the strike, GM stock rose a penny to $34.95 in midday trading.” Taken from WXYZ.com

I have popped off about the unions before. Anyone who has read me long enough knows my stance. For any new readers unaware of my stance on most labor unions and the UAW specifically, I am a wonderful mix of Andrew Carnegie and Allan Pinkerton. For my overseas readers that means I am violently opposed to them and wish them great bodily harm resulting in death and or dismemberment.

So today I turned on the TV to have what I thought was going to be a severe weather alert or amber alert crawling across the screen. Instead it was informing that the over paid whiney bitches of the UAW have initiated a nationwide strike. The funny/great/amusing thing is that they did this at the most inopportune time to make their point. The Michigan unemployment rate as of August was at 7.4% which is a .4% increase for the year, with a combined loss of 56,000 jobs over the past year (source). This is what happens when people with a high school education at best are put in charge of a labor union. What they fail to realize is that there is a glut of people willing to do their jobs for much less than they the union lazy asses are being paid. If GM is smart, they will simply cut their losses, break from the union, and hire all scab labor. Tell everyone who wants to come back to fuck off. They made their bed, time to lay in it.

GM has been steadily losing market share over the years due to the fact they can’t price their cars into the market the way the foreign auto makers can. Why? Because some swingin dick off the street can walk onto the assembly line with nothing more than an elementary education for $18/hr plus full benefits to push a button or turn a couple screws. That’s the STARTING wage. While most of the Asian auto makers have plants in America they do this to avoid an AMAZINGLY large tariff placed on foreign manufacturers that do not have a working plant in the US. So by building an entire line of cars in one plant in Tennessee or any other “right to work” state, allows them to import 10 other lines of cars without paying a tariff and thus price their shit so competitively low that the US auto makers can’t keep up. The overhead in payroll and pensions and health care alone make it near impossible for us to price in the range of Kia and Toyota or Honda.

The children at the UAW don’t understand this, all they want is “more more more”. They say this whole thing is about “job security”, but as far as I can see, and hope, is that they just shot themselves in the foot. While I make great money delivering pizzas if GM offered me $13/hr plus minimum benefits to jump on their line, guess who’d be turning a screw or pushing a button? This guy. It’d be a pay cut, but I’d have benefits and weekends off.

All I have to say is, Ron Gettelfinger I thank you for helping deal this death knell to the one organization that has been slowly killing this region over the last 6 years due to their collective greed and gross incompetence. You sir, are a true American. Plus, when all these assholes finally lose their jobs the housing market alone will explode even more than it is. While this will drive housing prices lower in some regions but hey, this will allow first time home buyers a chance to own at a lower price in a better area. Man, I wish everybody had my crystal ball, the world would be a great place then. Anyhow, fuck the UAW, if GM wants to hire me in an Allan Pinkerton-esque role, I would be more than happy to appease. Viva Detroit!

16 September 2007

Marriage and the Modern Drunkard.

So last night was a wedding. While I missed the ceremony due to other commitments I did not however miss the reception. And what a reception it was. The plethora of hot women was grossly offset by the fact that they were all taken. The bride looked beautiful, but then again, when don’t brides look beautiful? Well, I guess if you’re a fat ugly girl there’s little to no chance of you looking beautiful on your wedding night. So, sucks to be a fat ugly girl, luckily, this was not the case.

Anyhow, the wedding was for a couple of people we bowled with last year and they invited a bunch of people from the league. Now, I know I’ve spoke of this league before as it is my annual drinking league in which we all get cruises or trips to Vegas. It’s a fun league and a very, very, active beer league. Anyhow, what this is leading is the debauchery that went down. First of all they placed the three tables of league people right up next to the bar. Smart couple they are… I think they’re gonna make. Lucky kids.

So we all realize that hey, we’re all here, let the shenanigans begin. I got up to the bar and noticed that the scotch on hand was not Lauders, or Cutty Sark, but in fact Dewar’s White Label (I still maintain that Dewar’s is pronounced DeWHAR’s, not dooers). Not top shelf, but not J&B either. So, I order scotch, rocks. And I’m pretty sure by the end of the night I had finished the bottle. I know I was the only one drinking off the bottle as it was easy to note my progress every time he poured me a glass. I’m pretty sure he emptied the bottle on me at last call. Then, I’m pretty sure he gave me a pitcher of beer. I only say pretty sure because by this time I start only having vague recollections. I know I stole a centerpiece because it was a giant, and I mean GIANT, margarita glass. I know I poured said pitcher of beer into said giant margarita glass and somehow wound up with a crazy straw hat and novelty oversized sunglasses on my personage while walking around drinking beer from a giant glass.

So we were all up at the bar at various (read: most) times and we started doing shots. Oh, shots. How we love thee. Anyhow, for some reason the groom and best man (twin brothers) seemed to love to do shots of Captain. This is not a shooting rum. I did a couple with them before telling the bartender that I would in fact be drinking shots of John Daniels. I believe that someone asked in horror after the first Captain shot, if I was indeed chasing that shot with straight scotch. I replied in the affirmative and Joe C. heard me say this, so when I followed up a shot of jack with, “ahh yes, a shot of jack and a scotch chaser” so as to, you know, make myself look like a better drunk than the rest of the drunks, Joe C. promptly called me out with, “wow, that’s the fourth time I’ve heard that tonight”. It was the second by the way, and the first was said about Captain, not Jack. Ass.

So after many, many more shots it was time to leave. I was so drunk at this point that I actually turned down a trip to the bar. It was only midnight or so, but I knew well enough that I was well enough. Got home, grabbed a beer, made some sausage and proceeded to pass the fuck out. I woke up at 5 am with 5 missed calls and as many voice mails and some shit show on W.E. about some ass couple renewing their vows. Maybe I’m old school, but I would think vows aren’t something you need to renew. They’re not a license plate, they’re promises. So you’re going to re-promise a promise? Why not just keep the original fucking promise you assheads! Don’t make a promise you don’t intend to keep then re-promise the same fucking promises you broke you dipshits. The show sent me into a half passed out drunken rage so I turned it off, listened to voicemails, returned some calls, at 5:30 in the AM. Yeah, I’m that guy. Then went to bed and passed out again. I love weddings.

28 August 2007

Why I hate the French…

let me count the ways; First off, nothing original has ever come from France. The French are the BASF of the planet, simply put, they don’t make things, they just make things better… ish. Second off the French have no spirit, no will to live, no honor. Think I’m lying? When was the last time the French won a war? They can’t even beat themselves. Filthy baguette eating smelly mime loving faggots. I don’t use faggot in the derogatory “gay” term… nay, I use it in the much more sinister derogatory “French” term.

What has sent me into such a tizzy about the goddamned surrender monkeys (read: French)? Simply put, I got home from the bar and decided to play a video game that may or may not be named after a famous military style author and his recon team that may or may not be named ghosts and they may or may not be advanced war fighters and this may or may not be the second installment of such a game. So… in trying to find an online game to play in I kept landing in a room that was hosted and populated by Frenchmen. They kept talking in frenchish and I laughed, and taunted. Now, here is where the shit gets fun: instead of starting the game and straight up owning my ass in game, with bullets, they completely kicked my ass out of the lobby for calling them surrender monkeys. Thus furthering my opinion of the frogs as a pampered, hard bread eating, unwashed, hairy, smelly, ‘orriblay aksone avin’, bad film making legion of dullards who couldn’t turn a clever phrase in English if they were paid, prompted, and coached to do so. Oh, thanks for the statue by the way… she looks like a man.

Where was I going with this? I don’t know. But I hate the French. They anger me, and make want to commit homicide. Why? Cuz faggoty cheese, wine and bread isn’t enough to make them interesting. Nay… they are the antithesis of interesting, they are in fact overtly dull and overly pompous. Besides, what is that accent? All other romance languages have decent accents that don’t sound like you have “cock in mouth” syndrome, which is pretty much all I can picture when I hear a Frenchy speak English. Does all this make me Frenchist? You’re goddamn right it does. Fuck those whiney crescent baking soufle’ making gaywads. I guess since I have no clue where I’m going with this all I can say is: fuck the French.

17 July 2007

A Pran of Kingles

So for the past week I have been in Canadialand doing what I do best, drinking and golf. Well, I don’t do golf well, but I drink like a champ so I think the two of them offset. It was a pretty rad week with some highlights and lowlights. When I showed up Saturday evening, my cousin had already broken his heel by playing a great game they invented called “super sweet catch the Frisbee and jump in the pool football game”. I’m not all that up on the rules but the descriptive name pretty much tells all. There’s a Frisbee, and a football, and a pool and super sweet catches. Well, he didn’t make the catch, and apparently he decided to try to land on his feet… in hindsight it was a bad idea.

So I show up and he’s already a gimp. But it’s all good cuz Saturday night was to be his “super sweet 23” bash at one of the local bars. We show up to the bar and they had a couple of girls from “kokanee beer”. The beer is apparently made from glacier water which gives it that crisp finish. At least that’s what the girls kept saying every time I tried hitting on them. Anyhow, they would give me a free beer and stamp my hand, so I would of course lick my hand and wipe it on my shorts and go back for another beer. Bitches wanna give me some glacier rhetoric when I am clearly leering at their tits and commenting on their asses, then I’m gonna take em for all the free beer they’re worth. Which apparently is a lot. So the cousin did a whole ton of dancing on a gimp foot which of course did nothing to help it heal. And at some point a cab was called and then there was late night drunken conversation outside some poor soul’s cabin.

Sunday was a day of golf and drinking. Which is pretty much everyday up there. Monday was beer pong day and a day of moving. You see, at the lodge there are all kinds of cabins, and usually my brother and I have to share a bed in a one room cabin with our parents. That is until members of our party leave early. So this year, for the first time, the three boys wound up in a cabin together. My brother, my cousin and myself… that cabin will never be the same again. The first night there, spurred a late night game of beer pong. At one point it started raining but we’re hardcore, so we kept on playing. If you’ve never played beer pong in the rain I highly suggest it. It’s a lot harder than you’d think. I mean in normal beer pong you don’t have to compensate for the elements. Wind, rain, in the dark of night, that is where you separate the men from the boys. So as I’m standing there single handedly owning these guys (my brother was so drunk he couldn’t even hit the table) the fucking power goes out. We were standing under a street light so we could see… and then the Canadian power company shut off our fun. Or did they? Nope. We pulled out cell phones as makeshift lighting. Yeah, like I said, we’re pretty fuckin’ hard core. So my cousin shows back up with an ugly chick and a gay guy and then proceeds to take the ugly chick inside and bang the ever loving snot out of her. The party wrapped up and I headed in only to find that my room was occupied by the sexers. So I did my civic duty, I jumped in the shower and attempted a “cable guy*”. She wasn’t having it, so I went and crashed in Cousin’s bed. Damn her.

(* “cable guy” is the term used when someone tries to enter into a threesome uninvited but hopes to be invited. Derived from bad porno when the cable repairman would walk in on a couple having sex and then the girl would start sucking his dick. Yeah, good times.)

So the next day my cousin got a birthday blowjob (it was his actual birthday on Tuesday) from one of the girls he was banging last summer, and she is quite hot. Annoying, shady, but hot. Tuesday was a good night. I learned how to play “super sweet crazy eights countdown drinking game”, which, I have to say is pretty super sweet. Are you sensing a theme yet? So in the middle of “super sweet crazy eights countdown drinking game” my brother and this chick disappear into his room. The walls are thin and we hear all. Cousin decides to pull a “cable guy” and even throws in “iss zere problem mit deine kable.” And the motherfucker was successful. So to recap in the past 24 hours, he bangs an uggo, I get shot down for a “cable guy” he gets a birthday hummer from a hot chick, and pulls a successful cable guy. Damn him. Damn him to hell.

So the next few days and nights are all the same what with golf and drinking and my brother banging one girl, and my cousin banging two others, and me jerking off into a sock. On the upside I learned a great new drinking game. Well, really two great new drinking games that are far beyond the ordinary drinking games. I actually call the one a drunking game. There are not too many ways one can leave that game still sober. Unless you cheat, or don’t drink. Seriously, it’s called “electricity” and it is the single greatest and simplest drinking game ever. EVER. Just don’t let my Cousin hear that cuz he still swears up and down that “super sweet crazy eights countdown drinking game” is the best ever, but that’s just because he created it. Anyhow, on the last night I had to defend my beer pong crown, and I did so successfully. CUZ I AM ALL THAT IS MAN! Or something. I just need to work on my “cable guy” skills. Heh. Anyhow, Sunday I learned that my body was not used to playing golf everyday at 8 am, and partying till 3:30am. I was sore as fuck. And now, now I just want to see my bartender. I miss my bartender.
funny shit heard this week:

Brother (drunk off his ass): where’s my pran of kingles!?
Me: your what?
Brother: my pran of kingles?
Me: what the fuck are you talking about?
Brother: (reaching down and grabbing a can of Pringles) this! bitch!
Butch: can you grab my golf ball?
Me: yeah. No. wait, a cow just ate it.
Butch: hahaha, funny.
Me: no, I’m serious, the cow is chewing on your ball now.
Butch: are you serious? (pulls up just in time to see the cow spit out his ball) yeah, we’ll just leave that one.
Me: Matt, your new name is Rhonda.
Matt: Why Rhonda?
Me: Cuz that’s the rule I’m making. Your name is now Rhonda, Rhonda.
Rhonda: Dude! That’s gay.
Everybody: Shut it Rhonda.

26 June 2007

Here's to swimmin with bowlegged women.

Well, it's been a fuckin long time since I sat down and actually felt a blog in me. To be honest, at this point, I still don’t. There have been a few times that I really felt one in the moment, but I wasn’t near a computer and didn’t want to stop the party. So basically this is going to be a recap blog. What the fuck I’ve been up to in the last month and a half. Well, shortly after my last blog post my brother, my buddy Joe, another buddy James and I all went on a cruise. 6 days to Grand Cayman and Cozumel. Let me start by saying there was another group of four that we met last year that was going on the trip too, and they, like us, can be a bit rowdy. I wish I had pictures from the trip, but alas I do not. Anyhow, the first day I’m up near front of the boat getting drunk with a couple of the ladies as we’re leaving port and I see that waiters on this deck have these foam hats that are the color and shape of the carnival cruise ship smoke stack. I wanted one like I had never wanted anything else in my life. So, I enlisted the help of the girls to distract one of the waiters with their breasts so I could abscond with his headgear. Little did know that Indonesia is where ninjas truly learned their skills… this motherfucker had me blocked, a drink in my hand, my empty on the tray and told me he would get me a new hat before I even knew what had happened. So he comes back with a brand new hat and my receipt so I can sign for it. Fucker already had my sail and sign number and charged me for the damned thing. Goddamn ninja shit. So… long story about the hat short, I rocked it all week. I was THAT guy. So many people on that boat have pictures of me in their photo albums and pictures of them in my pimp ass hat. I’m fucking famous.

So back to the rowdy part. By dinner on the first day one of our crew had partaken of the spirits a weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee bit too much. At dinner she proceeded to try to start a “DEEEETROIT BASKET-BALL!” chant. We were all diving over each other to try to silence her. At one point she threw a fork with a piece of chicken on it at my brother. We are embarrassed as hell, but, we’ve all been there, or were going to be there at some point on this trip. That night, I… was drunk. Not falling down drunk, but, loud knocking shit over, almost upturned a poker table while a game was going on because I was trying to fuck with James while he was playing kind of drunk. I was rockin’ out “up in da club” with my pimp hat. And I was belligerent. Fast forward to the next morning/early afternoon, James was getting his drink on with the girls on the back of the boat. They all left to go do some girly things or to have lesbian sex (not entirely out of the question with them) so James and I rocked up into the cigar lounge. After buying me some drinks and telling me, much to my objection, that he was gonna cover my tab, he decided to buy a bunch of other people some drinks. And some shots. And some cigars. Then my brother comes up and he does the same. I keep trying to tell him he’s too drunk, and he’s gonna regret this in the morning and he keeps telling me to shut up and then orders me another martini. Hard to argue with someone that persuasive. So about an hour or so goes by and ol’ James (now nicknamed WowWow) is having a hard time staying upright. At some point he said something incoherent in any language and put his head on the bar. I was happy just to let him sleep, and as we’re on a cruise ship, they don’t care. Let him sleep at the bar. Now, I have never seen this happen before. Ever. He, while sleeping (passed out) managed to slide off his bar stool. I have seen people fall off before, but I have never seen someone who is completely faced actually fall off and stay down without so much as an attempt to wake. Again, I was content to let him lay there for a minute while I finished my drink, then I’d wrestle him down to his room. We got him down there, and he told us to take his card and use it the rest of the night. We told him no. Then he told his roommate. He said yes. While we’re not THAT big of assholes, we did put everyone’s dinner drinks on his card. Not enough to be mean, but just enough to let it sink in to keep your cash (or cashesque) close when you’re drunk. That night was Bree’s turn to get crocked. I don’t remember much, but she was done for pretty early and may have been taking her clothes off. May not have been, but may have been. The next day was Grand Cayman so nothing big during the day. But that night my brother decided to start a fight in the dance club. I had stepped out to take a piss for two minutes, and I come back to people filing out of the club. I walk through the doors and my brother comes running out to try to start more shit. I pretty much just threw him over my shoulder and dragged him away. At some point he escaped and I caught him. I attempted to get him back down to the room, but he bolted on me. He’s kinda spry and made it down an entire flight of stairs in about 2 strides and was off like a shot. I decided late night pizza was calling my name. I finally get back down to the room and he’s in there yelling. And I mean YELLING. I throw open the door and he’s on his goddamned cell phone with his girlfriend. WE’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING OCEAN and he’s on his phone!? At the rates he ended up paying, he fucking deserved it. The next day was Cozumel.

Ok, Mexicans now how to throw a party. I walked down the strip taking those Mexican shop owners for all the free tequila they were worth, and all the dollar beers they had. Then I went to Carlos N’ Charlie’s. they had yards of frozen drinks. I chose the “Dirty Monkey”, which if I remember correctly was tequila (maybe vodka), kahlua, and 99 bananas all blended to frozeny goodness. While they were $15, they did have several 2 for one specials which made them that much tastier. Now, if you’ve never been to Cozumel, I suggest that when you do, you jump your ass in a conga line. At certain points around the conga line there are waiters and waitresses waiting to pour tequila down your throat. Then there’s some dude walking around with a glass bladder thing that looks vaguely like the inner workings of a cock. It has some kind of wine in it. They pour it down your gullet for free. I don’t remember leaving Carlos N’ Charlie’s, in fact, I only have a slight recollection of learning a new way to get street vendors to ignore you: tip #1 be falling down drunk. Tip #2 be more demanding than they are. Tip #3 these should be the only words coming out of your mouth, in drunken loud yelling voice, “NECISSITO MUCHO GRANDE MARIACHI SOMBRERO!” when they try to sell you a regular sombrero you must resist and demand, “NO! MARIACHI!” seriously, they will hide from you. I bought some tequila at the duty free on my way to the boat and poured it in a water bottle. A clear water bottle. With dark tequila. Brown, dark tequila. I was passing it around in the line waiting to get back on the boat, and people were laughing at me cuz I was yelling something about something. I was trying to take bets on my ability to get that on the boat. Well, when I finally walked through security, with my brown water they didn’t even try to stop me. I turned around in a not so quiet drunk whisper told all the people behind me that I had in fact “smuggled my tequila on board”. They laughed, security laughed, and still they let me keep it. the dining room was empty that night. I ordered 1 of everything and ate very little of anything. I went to the room and passed out at 7ish. Woke up at 930 and went out for more. White Russians were about all I could handle. I had the mad tequila shakes, and I was trying to drink them into submission. Other than all that, it was pretty much run of the mill nothing to see here type stuff. Cuz that’s how we do. Anyhow, I’ll finish filling you in, with another post or two. But that’s the highlights of the cruise. Ahh the islands… they really are something.

14 May 2007

I am not a man...

Well, I am. And a fairly imposing one I've been told. HOWEVER, in the world of drinking I am lacking a certain... I don't know what. Though, really, I do know what. I am a man unable to chug. There, I said it. It’s out in the open. I stand before you a naked drunkard completely weak in that regard. I HAVE THE GAG REFLEX OF A 12 YEAR OLD GIRL. However, I have a mouth with a volume just shy of 6 ounces. So in times of need I can impress by downing half a bottle into my mouth, and then taking three swallows to end it all. But I cannot chug. period. People hand me their beers at closing and while I cannot “slam” them traditionally, I can drink them with a quickness. Tonight my manhood was called into question when, at last call, I was given two bottle of “the champagne of beers” to finish. I did this handily, though, they were looking for something in the 8 second area. I CANNOT do this. In order for me to drink that fast I would need the cruel tutelage of Pei Mei. I cannot. This is a fault. One I wish to work on. It is my only downfall as a Major League Drinker. Volume? Check. Drunken Skill games? Check. Trash talk? Check. Power hour champion? Please bitch, I used to century club before the bar! Oh… check. ANYHOW! Wow, tonight is the attack of the caps lock key. I cannot chug, no bonging, no slamming, waterfalls are lost on me, and steal cups (beer pong baseball) are not my forte. This is my weakness. Judge me not.


Ok, anyone faint of heart, or weak of stomach need not read past the upcoming period ---->. So, last night, I got drunk after work, at work on homemade wine. It was made in the style of bathtub Pinot Grigio that happens to be 30% alcohol. An old friend and I damaged a gallon, handily. So I get home, change in to my shorts that I wear when I am unsure if anyone (read: my brother and his trailer slut) is coming home and don’t need my cock flopping in the breeze if they walk in (I may be fat, but I love to nude up). So I decide to check my e-mails and the like and start farting like it’s my job. I love it when this happens as I get to try to stink myself out of my own chair. So, I lift my leg to fart and push so as to make some noise off the leather chair when it happens. No warning, no prior fart with a knock on the back door saying, “hey fatty! Got some liquid here wanting out!” no quick heating sensation that causes all assholes to slam shut, no nothing. The only thing alerting me to the fact that I just evacuated my bowels into my shorts was the sensation of volume growth between the cheeks and the liquid squeak (picture squeezing a water bottle till there’s nothing left type of squeak) I heard. We’re talking no warning, unprovoked, no chatter, no intel, no foreshadowing or allusion, and if there was it was all mishandled type of shart. This was the 9-11 of sharts. When I finally hit the toilette I could picture people running from the stream of liquishits flowing from my ass. So after a careful, yet thought provoking amount of time I decided to shower. Just as I’m about to finish up and jump out, I a quivering, a rumbling, hell a booming voice from the heavens that says I’m not done yet. So… yeah… I hunch over in the shower and let the second tower fall. Oddly enough, not a solid chunk in the bunch to get caught up in the drain. SO, why do I share this with you all? Well, aside from the fact I find it funny as fuck, I now what you would call “gun shy”. I have to carefully mete out my farts. To monitor them and even carefully expel them. The old adage rings true: once bitten, twice shy ( oh great white, when will you cease to be a guiding force in the universe?). Anyhow, I suggest to you dear reader, should you find yourself in this position, do not blog about it. As I am sure I will wake in the morning (read as: afternoon) and slap my forehead in amazement that I thought this would be a good blog post. Hehehehehehehe.

04 May 2007


Waitress: how was everything?
Me:(to waitress at checkout) great. how you doin?
Waitress: (blushing) good, and you?
Me: great. hey, do you like fat guys? cuz, ya know, i'm a fat guy.
Waitress: (still blushing) i didn't notice.
A.1: (in a really loud whisper) "SHE'S LYING".
Me: (not whispering at all) I KNOW SHE'S LYING! I'M HUGE!

Me: (to A1) i need you to be my conscience tonight.
A.1: I'm too drunk
Me: thank you, I was hoping you'd say that.
A.2: I'll be your conscience.
Me: No thanks, I'm good with my conscience being hammered.

Me: (waving to strangers (read: drunk chicks) in the diner) (now walking by them) Hey, how's it goin? (to hot girl's friend) how about you? how you doin?
Both Girls: (smiling uncomfortably) (giggle) Fine... you?
A.1: Did you know those girls?
Me: Nope. Not at all. But I think I made them uncomfortable. heh.

Me: (after being hit with a mustard laden fry square betwixt the eyes) Wow, nice toss. that was perfect.
MC: Thanks dude, but you deserved it. you said I was a girl.
Me: no, I said you ran like a girl. either way, nice toss.
A.1: Most guys would get pissed after getting hit in the eye with a mustard fry. you just say, "good toss".
Me: yeah...

end of the night "paper, rock, scissors" score: MC=3 Me=1. yeah, I had to do a shot glass of franks red hot, a two second spray of mustard, and snort a line of sugar (i know, but we were drunk). but he ended up drinking some crazy grape jelly/water/frank's red hot/mustard/A-1/sugar mix when I unleashed my upset (up to that point I was 0 for 3). Yeah, good times last night. good times.

if any of this makes sense in the morning... i will be happy. please post all spelling/grammar corrections to: gofuckyourself@i'm_drunk_and_you're_not.com

24 April 2007

on a similar note

so, in the same vein as my last post, and semi inspired by the question posed by my Aussie heart throb Steph, i have a confession to make. This past week, I have become a complacent whacker. Every day this week I have had the urge to snap one off, but at the same time, just didn't feel like it. I have had to talk myself into jerking off only to suddenly have to urinate, or some other form of something or other that would make me lose the urge. I have never wanted to jerk off so bad, and yet not want to, in the same thought so bad in my life. Why does the thought of having so much fun with myself make me so... ... bored? Any ladies out there in blog land want to make a fat man happy for a night? dear god this is sad...

and some links

Ahh, if only they'd have seen the inherent evil in pee wee. (trailer mash up)

chuck woolery loves your gay last name and he WILL call you out on it.

16 April 2007

spank bank.

Sometimes I wonder what my exes/former lovers/hook ups would think if they knew that in times of need, when I dig into the spank bank, I think of them. earlier this week, I dug far into the spank bank I had to actually pat myself on the back when I successfully remembered everything in detail. I have to thank my genes for being blessed with a photographic memory. not the kind you see in movies, however, the real kind. the kind where your mind makes snapshots of every moment and you can examine every detail ad infinitum/ad nauseam. the curve of every girls ass, the slope of every girls breast, the angle of their jaw, their scent. all these things, are things I rely on lately. my porn has become stale, and i've found that a couple happy thoughts about bygone women can have an amazing effect. and this is what started me to thinking, "what if they knew I was slappin ham to their memory". I like to think that if they dated/liked/did me, they'd expect nothing less. thoughts?

09 April 2007

I'm baaaaaack!

So I’ve been on hiatus for a while. It’s not my fault. I’ve had a lot of drinking and a lot of drinking to do. But this blog post hits close to home for me. I used to frequent a certain bar. And when I say frequent, I mean from the time I turned 21 in 2000, till sometime this past fall/late summer. This bar was my “home” bar when I was in Michigan. I loved the bar, and the employees and other patrons loved me. I stopped going for a couple of reasons; the main one being I had a DUI in November ’04 and most of my friends moved away so it was difficult to find a ride up to the bar which was out of the way for most people. The second reason being, there was too much drama being brought into the bar. I like my bars drama free. Which is why I love my new “home” bar, which has always been a “home” bar to me, I just didn’t go there as often. The drama is not there, unless you ask for it.

Anyhow, enough of the crap, I went back into the first bar tonight for the first time since Rev’s birthday, and I cannot figure out how we ever had so much fun in that place. On Rev’s birthday we all hated the place and swore it to damnation. The service was shit, the drinks were shit, the ambiance was shit. Tonight we went there for the simple fact my bar was closed. I have never, ever, in my life of bar hopping seen the atmosphere of a bar change so drastically in so short a time. It used to be a hole in the wall bar. Nice place, no real regulars except the flies at the bar. Then came us: Rev, Navy and I. We had a lot of fun, drank a lot, whatever. There was a lot of karaoke, A LOT OF KARAOKE. Used to be a solid mix of people in there too, not too much of one trash or another. Now, all trash, all country. There was some asshole hosting karaoke tonight that was trying to so hard to be Larry the Cable guy he actually had a SFX box with Larry drops on it. He was part Mexican which meant he got to tell recirculated Carlos Mencia hack lines all night. See, if charisma and personality were a fruit bearing tree, this guy would have been the low hanging loose stemmed fruit that blew off in a mild mid may gust and thus left to rot on the ground amongst the worms and shrews. He actually cleared most of the bar out, aside from his friends by 12:30. Which actually brings me to my next point: apparently you can no longer enjoy yourself there unless you’re in a clique with someone who works there. Otherwise you’re just a peon, not worthy of the shitty service and inattentiveness of the bar maids. Basically, I’m just done with the place. I wanted to go back to make sure my time in December was just a fluke, but I was assured, it was not. Besides, the girls at my new bar are much nicer, much younger, much hotter, and much more fat drunk guy friendly. So I really shouldn’t be mad, but I guess the old saying is right; you can never go home again. Fuck em. Here’s to me.

and now, a link:

15 of the greatest "oh shit!" moments on film. while there are far more than 15, I do like this list.

27 February 2007

Grease and a pointy stick

So last night was fun times. I recently joined a Tuesday night dart league simply for something to do on tuesday nights. Much like my bowling league, this is really just a drinking league. You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think drinking while doing either is a wise decision. You can do a lot of damage with a bowling ball and three darts. I'm not talking about these silly "soft tip" darts, I'm talking heavy as shit, sharpened before each game steel tips. I mean, really, someone get's drunk and angry in either "sport" and shit can go bad quick. Anyhow, on a side note, my dart league is a travelling league. This is actually kinda rad cuz we get to schlep around to other bars I wouldn't necessarily go to for no other reason than I didn't know they were there. Last night were in Royal Oak. This matters not, it was the trip out to the Oak that made me happy. As many of you know, I love pirates. Tis true matey. But the only thing I love as much as pirates are spies. On the way out I saw a spy shop. This made me very happy. Just as I was announcing my happiness... ANOTHER SPY STORE! I was like a kid in a titty bar. I was too excited to speak and had too many ideas to be coherent. I had decided that we needed to go to the spy stores, get all the equipment we need (including rope) and break into a consulate just because we could. I had but one mandate, I was to be the one to crawl through the ventilation ducts no matter how better suited the other three were for the job. let's just say I was with three very skinny people ranging in height from 5'2"-6'. It was then pointed out that the only way I'm making it through the vents is with about 30lbs of grease and being poked with a sharp stick. Bastards, using logic and spacial relations and physics and shit. It was then suggested we break into the spy shop, which I shot down since, well you need the spy gear to circumvent the spy shop's spy shit. Of course I stated my desire to be a pirate spy, or spy pirate, whichever sounded better. I was told this is not a viable career. I explained the only reason they thought so was because no one has ever heard of it, because in order to be a pirate spy, you have to be the best at both. And one had never been caught. But they exist my friends. They exist.

Anyhow, the moral of this whole story (Chud, there is no way to derive a moral from this) is that when you return to your home bar and have a "few" more beers, and some shots with the owner and win a couple of games people start to do stupid shit. For example, throwing darts at people's feet. While this is generally accepted practice during a dart game you are usually aiming away from the foot. She was aiming AT feet. No big deal. Then... it happened. In my defense, I had 9 darts and the previous 8 were beautifully grouped and just close enough to make you make you wince. then, I threw the 9th dart.

Woops. Guess I should've stopped at 8.

17 February 2007

Call the FDA, and the Nobel committee, I've discovered a miracle.

Well, not really. My shit ass shoulder has been hurting like a mofo all day and I've been thinking about cutting it off. However I have managed to get it from being a serious distraction type of pain, to a dull, almost forgettable yet irksome ache. How have I achieved such success you ask? simple: 4 motrin (safer on a heavy drinker's liver), a 40 and 1/2 of Labatt Blue, and some Ben Gay. Yeah, you too could something something. Sorry, not really in the mindset to blog right now. I think the Motrin and the Blue are mixing with the Ben Gay smell to fuck with my head. I kinda like it. So, now you get some links. both, are EXTREMELY worth watching.

Mr. Belding, Tony Romo, an 80's cover band, and Journey's "don't stop believin'" for the record, Tony Romo can carry a tune better than I. Think about THAT next time I suggest Karaoke.

French Military + Shoulder fired anti tank missile + Murphy = I think it might behoove you to surrender.

12 February 2007


Is it bad that I have a seriously unhealthy obsession with Marlee Matlin? I don't know what it is. It could be the deaf slur, her serious hotness, or the ability to swear at her at her in anger with my back turned to her and have her be none the wiser... I just don't know. All I do know is that when I hear her name I look, and watch. In fact I actually watched an episode of Extreme Makeover Home Edition just because she was on it. I can't stand the show. the show is tripe, drivel, and feelgood crap based on some intangible that allows someone to be given a leg up over someone else as deserving though neither is willing to work for it. ANYHOW, back to Marlee. I actually took ASL for a semester in college just in case I got the chance to pick Marlee up at the bar. You know, I could sign her my name and "where is the bathroom" and she'd swoon. I. Need. Help. 

07 February 2007

Attention everyone!

I have solved all the world's problems. no need to continue to argue or debate. apparently all you need is nuclear power, wave power technology, a re-education of global politics to the proletariat, the dissolution of the UAW and a predominantly libertarian viewpoint. also, jack bauer has to be allowed to act with complete autonomy. cuz, let's face it. in the clutch when he's yelling "WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME" you get that warm blanket feeling.

anyhow, the other night for superbowl sunday i ended up at a friend's house. she was having a couple friends over and one of these wonderful friends felt that she owed it to me to shake hands with my penis. let me tell you that in no uncertain terms, i enjoyed this greatly. so, since i have nothing else to add to this, you get pictures of shit we wrote on the local bar while it is undergoing renovations.

awww, amanda hearts me, and i heart her.

what's this? i heart julie? whatever will amanda think? shhh... don't tell either.

yeah, i was too drunk to write that, so thanks to erika for doing so.

hehehehehe, yeah, i kinda do.

kinda out of focus, but it says "rob d has a huge p". while this is fiction, i will accept it as fact.

originally i had written "Rob & Pussy" in a heart. Jen decided that my well spaced writing deserved some fucking with, so a "t" was added before the "y" and she turned the P into an R, yeah...

FUCK RUSSTY! russty:pussy as mapplethorpe:straight

damn you russty!!!

27 January 2007

you need a fact checker.

I was trying to fall asleep about 15 minutes ago and I had Fox News on in the background. Neil Cavuto was chatting with some Evangelical minister guy who was trying to "take back" the word "evangelical" so it doesn't have the whackadoo connotation it has now. Whatever, have fun, knock yourself out, everyone's got to have something to believe in, good luck to ya. Then it happened. Minister guy, in response to a statement about too many religious people in politics, went on to say that separation of church and state was not in the constitution or in the bill of rights and that it was merely a letter that Jefferson once wrote. Let's take a look at the First Amendment to U.S. Constitution shall we?

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Huh... not in the constitution eh? So, because in one letter from Jefferson to Madison he used the phrase "...thus building a wall of separation between Church and State." This somehow invalidates the separation? How about this: Madison was HUGE into keeping the two separate. Hey, guess what Madison was the primary drafter of? THE BILL OF RIGHTS. Let's see what he has to say about the issue shall we? "Strongly guarded . . . is the separation between religion and government in the Constitution of the United States... practical distinction between Religion and Civil Government as essential to the purity of both, and as guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States" (1811 letter to Baptist Churches). So, because the exact phrase isn't in the constitution this means you can try to permeate the government? I think the founding fathers would wag their finger at you. For shame. For shame!

20 January 2007

Ha! I got you good fucker!

The last words I said to my brother as I left were, "Don't lock me out, I don't have any keys". To which the reply was, "I'll be here all night, don't worry". Famous last words. get off work at 2:50am and walk up to the door only to find it locked. No bigs yo, he just forgot and now I’ll knock. Hmm... knocking didn't work, I'll call his cell. No dice there, I'll call the house phone. Odd, he's not answering that either. Walk around the back of the house see if the doorwall is unlocked, maybe he's just fuckin with me. Nope, locked, but hey! What is that I see sleeping on the couch? My passed out drunk brother. So I begin the door banging. And by banging, I mean, BANGING. It sounded like world war 3 with my fists and the metal door. I was pounding on the window above his head, I was pounding on the doorwall, I was pounding on the door for 30 seconds straight that I actually woke a neighbor. So I start calling anyone with a key, and no one answered. Damn them, damn them to hell. So, sitting in the balmy 16*F heat, I decided to start a frantic search for any lost keys that I may or may not have forgot about. In a fit of cold, I kicked our recycling bin (don't knock it, it's fun) which in turn slammed into our bottle return bin which jumped over about a foot, and there, all rusty and gooey from slush and garage bullshit was a set of spare keys I had lost about 3 or so years ago. I was semi relieved, yet, skeptical at the same time since we'd had the house re-keyed in the last 5 years and I'm not sure of the timeline from when the house was re-keyed and when I last used that set. I wiped them off, grabbed a wire brush and scrubbed them off, and stuck it in the lock. The fucker worked. I walked up to El Passo Outo Drunko and smacked him. Nothing, not even a blink. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO... I felt he needed shamed

This is what happens when you fight a stranger in the Alps!

He just woke up, got some juice, went into the bathroom with big mirrors, and noticed nothing. I love my life.

19 January 2007

Note to self:

Don't ever try to explain to two drunk off duty cops the difference between "suspicion" and "probable cause". apparently, they're too retarded and too brainwashed to understand the intricacies of civil liberties. ha! the greatest is when they try to say, "we do this every day... yada yada yada..." and you fire back, "yeah, and how many of those bogus stops actually stick?" oddly shady cops get silent after that. oh, and when they tell you constantly to shut up and let them finish, and you laugh at them and tell them they should have finished 20 sentences ago when they actually had a point, they don't like that either. fuck them. just like unions, being a cop rots your brain. i will not mourn you, dirty cop.

in case you couldn't tell, i am drunk, and Detroit PD can kiss my ass. i'd much rather hang with Detroit FD. those mofo's can drink and never give you shit. plus, if you're on fire, they'll not only put you out, they'll run into a flaming building to put you out. cops? yeah, they'll write you a 5 over ticket when you're late. gee, wonder which i like more.

08 January 2007

Oh myspace, you constant source of inspiration.

I know i've done this before, but, this one is just so gay i had to post it. i found this in my bulletins a minute ago. i laughed, so i think i'll break it down so you can see how stupid it is. 

Every girl dreams that one day, she will find a boy that does these things for her. Even the smallest action can have THE BIGGEST impact in someone's life.


ok, this one i'll give you. i've lost more t-shirts to this than anything else. wait, no, fuck that. i miss those t-shirts. get your own goddamn shirt to sleep in.


why? cuz i'm gay? nothing i do is cute. i'm a dude. if you want cute, date a girl.


i'll fuck her in front of my friends if she'd let me. how is this one important?


trust is earned. i've known most of my friends longer than i've known any girl i've dated. guess who gets the better end of the trust deal?


why would i date an ugly bitch? and on top of that, what if she isn't exactly looking beautiful? if she's sick, and red faced with ratty hair in purple mumu... guess what, i'm not gonna lie.


i will when she stops wearing plunging necklines.


i shave my head, so... mess away creepy hair doll maker.




is she a girlfriend or a fucking dog? jesus christ. you want me to wipe your feet off when you come in from the rain too?


and not bring it up in every fight from that point thereafter?  that door swings both ways.


this is one is just dumb. and it makes no sense to me.


riiiight. that's a precedent you want set.


hand holding? HAND HOLDING? this is an issue? ooooh, i held her hand. maybe tonight i'll get to first base! fuck that.


what if i don't love her? and for that matter, why should allow her to verbally abuse me? that's bunk.


why? so my arm can fall asleep, sting like a bitch, and then i practically smack myself in the face as i'm trying to get feeling back while reaching for the remote so i can change the channel from whatever shitty chick flick you had me watching in the hopes i may be getting my dick wet later, and now that you're asleep i see that's not gonna happen. so, caddyshack is on, and i'm gonna watch it. bitch.

********GET HER MAD, THEN KISS HER.**********

yeah, cuz that works.


haha! doody head! fart breath! whatever. unless you're talking about the good teasing. then... ok.


why? so i can be worthless at work? fuck that. i want my nights sleep. THE MEDICINE DOESN'T BUY ITSELF!


 no. women have HORRIBLE taste in movies. since most won't watch my favorite movies with me, why should i suffer? you can watch beaches, or the notebook, or steel magnolias, or fried green tomatoes or the best little whorehouse in texas all by your lonesome.


rather kiss her lips. but, whatever.


pretty sure there's hundreds of countries that would stand in my way of creating a global ruler.


and pay for a stamp? should i write a thank you letter after every time we have sex? would this be acceptable to you? so far this whole list is "me me me me me".


i make sure not to date girls that my clothes would fit. that = teh unsexy.


not if i've already got plans. sorry you've created some drama, but i'm goin out. peace.


what if she's not? what if she is the low man on all totem poles? ever think of that?


sure. as long as i can do the same.


i'll fuckin kiss her in a blizzard, in a sewer. again, how does this one matter?


no, i think i'll keep it a secret. maybe leave a couple riddles lying around for her to solve, maybe she'll figure it out in time.


what if i loved before and sucked at it, and needed to learn lessons from that? should i just throw out those lessons as though i'd never loved before? teenage girls are dumb. and the shit they write is equally so.

04 January 2007

whose birthday?

yep... Dana's. Went up to the Bench Pub last night after work, wholly intent on grabbing a couple of amusement free, cheap ass boombas when all of the sudden in walks a drunk off her ass Dana. 

not so sure why that pic decided to be upside down, but fuck it, it illustrates a point dammit. So she bullshits with me about her eve and how some dude named Billy totally fucked up his chances at gettin some pussy by going to sleep early. my guess... he's teh ghey. or, she has a smelly crotch. but i'm thinkin more along teh ghey lines. so we start bullshitting and she regails me with a story of recurring dreams about a castle, then when she mentions the word "witch" she gives a cackle, not unlike the wicked the witch of the west, or east, i'm sure they both cackled. but not the north or south witches, they're the good ones.

so after trying to sort out drunkeneese about the sun burning people and her living under a castle in her dream we focused on the important shit. for example, how drunk can you look?

after handily proving that she can look wicked drunk (sticking your tongue out always helps. it means you're either drunk or dead) she again broke into story.

this time she informed about a bra shopping trip that left her somewhat happier. apparently she went in to the store thinking she wore a 34 C.

after the saleslady told her that she must be joking and that she absolutely must remeasure her, (insert lesbian fantasy here) it came out that Dana had in fact grown a full cup size

yeah, so she grabbed them in honor and that's her saying, "yep, they're d's". hehehehe. So, drunk girl spots her friend J-hill

who happens to be dating my neighbor, she also happens to be drunk grrrls ride, and she (dana) then proceedes to tell J-hill "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!" Oddly enough, j-hill knew this already, imagine that? So, drunk girl spots another grrl, J-hen, 

and says the same thing. again, oddly enough, she knew as well. Man, small world. So, she then sees the bar owner

and asks him if he in fact is aware that it is her day of conveyance from the womb. he nods, tacitly expressing his knowledge, and promises her a drink or two on the morrow, when she is not so much drunk grrl. which by the way, is one of the first times i have seen said chick in said state. note to self... bring rufies next time. anyhow, as much as i hate it when she leaves, god i love watching her go.

sure, it's blurry, i was excited. go fuck yourselves.
hehehe, you know, if you put an L on the Dana you get DanaL. if you drop the D you get Anal. ha! you see that! i turned her name into a wonderful (yet sometimes dirty) act! ha! love ya dana. hehehehehe.