December 5, 2008 The Snuggie

Alright. We’re cutting the crap today. Straight to business. You may have all seen it by now. If you haven’t, then now you will. It’s the Snuggie. Watch the commercial. Seriously, right now. Watch it.

Marinate on that one for a bit.

Ok. Let’s jump in . . . are you F***ING kidding me?! I wrote earlier in life about how these As Seen On TV products always make life seem so much more difficult than it actually is. However, once you buy their product, everything will be so much easier. I just don’t know how I’ve managed to get by all these years without the Snuggie. I mean, reaching for those damn remotes and drinks and stuff? Jesus, it’s like my damn blanket is trying to keep me prisoner. I've had some serious issues as well with trying to work my remote, or read a book, with a blanket on. I think that's one of the more annoying/frustrating things in life. I might order it: 1) Paying bills when you know you're getting ripped off, 2) watching dirty politicians fast track this country down the tubes, 3) spinal tap twosies, and 4) my crazy ass blanket having a life of its own and preventing me from being a fully functional human being.

And last, but certainly not least: Wearing it to a sports event. I think the executives at Snuggie were huffing glue before, during, and after production of this commercial, because they were certainly about seven steps from reality. I would NEVER let my parents come watch me play a sport wearing one of those. Ever. That would be more embarrassing than pissing your pants in school in front of everyone. Speaking of school, maybe Papa Snuggie there in the video forgot what middle school was like. Seriously, what man in his right mind would show up at a sports event in one of those and NOT expect an ass-beating (and not of the prison shower room variety). Hey Tooley McToolstein, put on a damn sweatshirt if you're cold! You fail my friend. You fail BIG TIME.

I just can't wait to embarrass the shit out of my kids when I get older . . .

Song of the Week: “My Mind Playin Tricks on Me” by Geto Boys. The original Dirty South beats.
Quote of the Week: “Every fight is a food fight when you're a cannibal." Demetri Martin

Random Fact of the Week: The ears of a cricket are located on the front legs, just below the knee.

Picture of the Week: Tease.

Until next week, damn it feels good to be a gangster,


Fred

November 7, 2008 A Polite Plea

As we’re all coming off of our political hangovers, I’m sure the last thing we all want to talk about is politics . . . so don’t worry, I’ll keep it light. I don't want anyone to burnout. I’m coming at this topic with a plea, not a rant. But here we go . . .
Let’s talk about voting . . . mostly just waiting in lines to vote in particular.
Now I understand it can suck waiting in line for a few hours in order to vote. I don’t think anyone really enjoys standing in line in order to do something that should take a few minutes. Luckily for me, I just had to walk my little ballot on down to the mailbox in the mailroom of my building. No lines for me . . . suckers. But I digress . . .
As I watched the news after the early polls opened up, the coverage focused on the long lines and interviewed people who seemed to be less than pleased about waiting in those lines. But let’s chat about that a second. I know it’s shitty to stand in a line for hours at a time. But let’s put it into perspective. You have the opportunity, the privilege, to be a part of and vote in what will be one of the single most historic events in American history. Your grandkids’ grandkids will study this in American History classes for years to come. And you can say you were there. But instead, you chose to complain that you had to wait 2 hours to vote, and were upset because you had to get back to work. That disturbs me. This is work where a client wanted a document by the end of the day, and if you didn’t get it to them, you’d be in “big trouble.” Well I’ll let you in on a little secret: you client or boss isn’t going to read it that night, so go ahead, live a little, get it to them Wednesday morning. I’ve waited longer to decide who’s more insane, Bill O’Reilly or Keith Olberman, than you waited to vote. It’s time to get our priorities straight.
A lot of nations would kill (and do kill) to have open and easily accessible elections and stations the way we have them. Sure, there are flaws, but there are flaws associated with anything of this magnitude. People waited for up to 12 hours in South Africa on April 27 1994 to cast their ballot in their first fully democratic election. And you know what, that will probably be one of the highlights of their lives on this earth. And you don’t think they had better things to be doing? They weren’t worried about going to work that day. They were worried about putting food on their tables that night, worried about being harassed, intimidated, and beaten by people that still didn’t recognize them as citizens.
So I think it’s time we stop and appreciate some of the opportunities we have. It’s easy to take things such as voting for granted, and I know a lot of people do. So my plea is for people to step back and look at this in the grand scheme of things, not on an individual level and how it may inconvenience you that one particular day.

Song of the Week: "Death Letter" by The White Stripes

Quote of the Week: "One of the penalties for refusing to participate in politics is that you end up being governed by your inferiors." - Plato

Random Fact of the Week: Starfish don't have brains

Picture of the Week: To the judge: "We didn't know he was there, honest."

Until next week, I need a dime,


Fred

October 24, 2008 Glory Days

Now, seeing as I am from New Jersey, I understand that I may perhaps have a more thorough recollection of Bruce Springsteen lyrics than those not from the great Garden State (seriously, if I hear one more snide remark from the backseat, I will pull this blog over and you kids can walk home on the information superhighway.) In particular, Springsteen recorded a song in 1982 that was released in the year of my birth and peaked on the Billboard charts at #5 in the summer of the next year. It's called Glory Days.

Sadly enough, I have a series of characters that only have one thing in common: they hang out at the bar enough that I know their life stories well enough that I knew which parts are complete bullshit. To start, we have the high school basketball star, BG. Now, I watched this guy play in high school. Those of you who know me know that I suck at basketball and care little for things even remotely basketball related. However, I know from witnessing the way that this guy played the game that he scored a lot of points but I also know that he scored a lot of points in the same way that Reggie Jackson hit a lot of home runs. Basically, he took a lot of shots and enough of them dropped that no one had the nerve to complain that he never passed the ball, ever. His teammates just waited for rebounds and that was the only way they ever saw the ball. The way he tells it though, he lets you know he scored over a thousand points in his career and that he was recruited to play college ball and that he was forced to transfer because the coach who recruited him was fired and that he tore his Achilles tendon and he was never the same. He frequently ends the story of his college career, which ended at Fairleigh Dickinson University (also known as Fairly Ridiculous University), by informing those around him that were it not for the injuries he "would have been a lottery pick." For those of you who don't know, lottery picks are awarded to the 14 NBA teams that do not make the playoffs, meaning this guy was one of the 14 best players around the world not already in the NBA in 2007. Look, I'm not going to hate too hard but I would have gotten drafted into the NFL if I didn't leave the football team at Richmond to concentrate on my academics or if I was stronger or faster or bigger or whatever else I could have been. I've played against dudes in the NFL, both in high school and in college and fact is, I wasn't good enough. Neither was this guy but at least I'm not lying to myself about it.

Next up is BG's father, who is worse than his son about his glory days. Not only does this guy relive his own glory days, he relives his son's, telling me about how he and his son are the only father-son combination to score 1000 points in basketball in the history of the State of New Jersey and possibly the nation. Worse than that, he also relives his BROTHER's glory days. Apparently, his brother was robbed of the Heisman by Pete Dawkins, a teammate of his on the Army football team. The assertion is just so ridiculous that it literally boggles the mind. I just hope I've accomplished something by the time I'm 60 so I don't have to vicariously relive the accomplishments of my life, my son's life, and my brother's life to be satisfied with my day.
Worse yet than either of these characters, is a former vice president of a Fortune 50 company who regularly comes in before noon and is sloshed before 3. I've heard that he made vice president before he was 30 about 1000 times. Worse than that, he brags about his time in the Navy, about all the money he made in the stock market (he comes in and drinks for a different reason these days), boasts about his pull with mayor of the town and town council (awesome dude, you are friends with the people in charge of running a town of 10,000, tell them I said hey next time you hit the country club), and about how he has written letters to our congressman Scott Garrett about a variety of topics from a nomination for the Naval Academy for his friend's son to the condition of the Turnpike. However, none of that is quite as creepy as the way he talks about his own son. I've heard people talk about their kids and most of their boasts are benign and nice but this guy is telling me about how his son has a man's shoulders at 12, "like 0% body fat," and "a nice V-shape" with "great lats." I was irritated when he kept telling me about his son having his county golf card but I was just plain FREAKED OUT when I had to hear about a 12 year old boy's lats from the cigarette-scented mouth of his vodka-swilling father.
When this guy keeps telling me he wants to write a letter for me because he sees me going places, all I want to do is tell this guy I'm not going to let him put his finger inside me so he'll tell all his friends I'm a great guy.

Only other time I was more uncomfortable at this job was when I helped one of our female regulars carry her leftovers to the car and she asked me to come back to her bed with her. Pushy, unattractive, older women are terrifying.

Song of the Week: “Mr. Wendal" by Arrested Development

Quote of the Week: “There are good days and there are bad days, and this is one of them.” - Lawrence Welk

Random Fact of the Week: You share your birthday with at least 9 million other people in the world.

Picture of the Week: Me fail English? That unpossible!

Until next crime, don't tell me no lies and keep your hands to yourself,

Nils

October 10, 2008 Tales of a Waiter in an Affluent Suburb

Chapter One: Basics of Tipping

As a county, Bergen County, NJ is among the top 20 counties in per capita income as of 2006. The median income for a family in Rivervale is $105,919. In the town of Rivervale, there is a restaurant, which will remain nameless, where I work. (Interestingly enough, it's called an Italian and American Restaurant but that only legitimately describes one guy who works at the restaurant and he is a server. Our manager is Moroccan, the owner and executive chef is Korean, and all the guys in the kitchen are Mexican.) Despite the material comfort of the surrounding neighborhood, I'm holding in my hand 8 Washingtons, single dollar bills for those of you who don't know your presidents. I'm left with three questions: "How the fuck did I get here?", "Are people seriously bad at math or did I really do a bad enough job to warrant an 8% tip?" and "How on earth can people justify spending 100 bucks on food and legitimately stiff the guy who served it?"

First question, I know how I got here and thank god, its temporary. You know that miserable old bag at the diner? I work with her. Her name is Lorraine and for the love of God, tip her ass; her life sucks. The least you could do is help her afford that bottle of Aristocrat vodka that puts her to sleep every night. I mean, the only thing she has to look forward to is driving the bus to the high school tomorrow and then serving the parents of those ingrates cocktails at the bar later that night. Besides that, most servers are students of some kind and most customers are rich douche-bags. Somehow, the leftward political lean of academia makes sense with that revelation.

Second, yes, people are seriously bad at math. I saw a guy break out his tip calculator on a check that was exactly 50 bucks. Off the top of my head 20% of 50 is 10, an $8 tip from that guy would have been 16% which is fine, though not awesome. If ever you are in doubt, here is a little exercise: Say the bill is 65.50. Move the decimal point one spot to the left (6.55) and now double it (13.10). That's 20%. The new industry standard is like 18% so knock off a dollar and voila, 18%. That's a waiter's tip for you.

Thirdly, I know the stock market is crashing, I hear about it everyday from the horrible prick who is at the bar every day drinking Sobieski on the rocks with a twist of lemon. Drinking vodka on the rocks at noon on a Wednesday should be the clinical definition of alcoholism (this guy and his cronies are a whole other can of worms). However, none of that justifies stiffing the waiter on the tip. I get paid $2.30 an hour which, by the way, is 10% of what I was making an hour at my last job, which also had benefits. I'm learning more and more that the reason people get rich is not because they make a lot of money but because they are assholes, capable of ignoring all the rules about how business is supposed to be done in an effort to cling to every train-track flattened penny that enters their grasp like grim death. The rich are just more effective thieves.
Unfortunately for me, getting an 8% tip is not the worst thing I've dealt with on this job. I'm prepared for bad tips, I can see those people a million miles away and it has nothing to do with race, mode of dress, or gender. In fact, I can only identify three things that always regularly identify bad tippers: if you ask about the complimentary salad, use a coupon, and order no beverages: I'm talking anything from a Coke to the fanciest shit our bar tender can mix up to the house white zinfandel. If all three of those things happen, I'm just about ready to not serve you, like, at all. I mean, I do and I do the same job for every because I'm an optimist. I'm prepared for the idea that I'm wrong and that you'll leave 25% . . . but my expectations are low.

Look, dude, if you are so strapped for cash that you need to use a coupon to afford dinner and you will forego salad if it isn't complimentary, you can't afford to go out to dinner. Take your wallet, drive over to McDonald's, and pick up a Big Mac because you're getting the same number of calories. And none of this shit about how Mickie D's is bad for you; if you witnessed the amount of oil and deep-frying and other things that go into your veal marsala, you would be perfectly aware that the only difference between a Big Mac and anything we serve (unless you get a salad) is about 45 minutes and $8 per person, plus tip.

Oh, so your girlfriend won't blow you if you take her to McDonald's? Guess what? If she will blow you only because you can afford to take her to a fancy restaurant, she doesn't really love you, it's just what she can get by being with you and how that makes her feel. Consequently,coupons are like condoms: they take away all the feeling for her, and asking about the complimentary salad is like bad dirty talk, it ruins the mood. She's just a hooker who takes her payments in the form of wine and crab meat while getting off on how hard you are trying to get laid. And you guessed it, you can't afford her. Find a girl who wants a forty of malt liquor and a pack of menthols. Where I come from,that's about 8 bucks and you could probably have her in the back of your Camry all weekend.

Songs of the Week (we're giving you two): "Leaving Trunk" by Taj Mahal

"The Celebrated Walkin' Blues" by Taj Mahal. Grab that chair and a bottle of whiskey cuz there ain't nothin that makes a song like a good harmonica and a broken heart.

Quote of the Week: "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former." - Albert Einstein

Random Fact of the Week: The average person has 100,000 hairs on his/her head. Each hair grows about 5 inches (12.7 cm) every year.

Picture of the Week: I prefer the practice of uncivilized urinating, than you though.

Until next crime, keep the change, you filthy animal.

Nils

October 3, 2008 The Adventures of Frank

So it’s Friday, and after last week’s political rant, I figured I’d lighten it up a little bit. This is a little story of my friend “Frank.” Enjoy.

The Setting: Friday night, a bar called Brendan's Pub.

Backstory: Frank went to this pub during the week a few times watch his favorite baseball team. The demographic at this bar are the typical "regulars"/locals. It's like Cheers, it's a place where everybody knows your name. It’s the watering hole on the corner that’s really friendly with really cheap drinks, and where they don’t ID you. The waitress is cute and really friendly. The second day Frank went in, all the same characters were there and remembered his name and such. It's definitely a middle-aged man/blue collar bar. So, on a Friday night, Frank went out with some co-workers, but they went home around 12, but Frank was still wired, so he went over to this bar by himself to see if anyone he had met was still hangin around . . .

The Story: Frank walks into the bar, sits in the same spot near the door, and gets his usual can of PBR. He pops it open, and looks around. Something seems off about the scene that night. Then he notices that it's 90% guys. Ok, no big deal. The waitress disappears, and he sits for 5 minutes or so before a guy comes over to him and says that the waitress is downstairs and will be up shortly. Thanks for the info broseph, but what's with the lisp and flamboyantly gay attitude? Oh.
All the dudes in there were gay. Shit. Frank couldn’t just leave a brand new beer though, that’s against man-law. But then disaster strikes; due to previous drinking, Frank realizes he has to piss. Due to the layout of this small bar it requires him to move through the bar all the way to the back, cutting through groups of gay dudes. Frank took his chances. Poor decision Frank. He would’ve been better off swallowing his socially competent pride and hosing those nice jeans of his. It was raining out anyways, no one would've noticed. So Frank goes through a group, and hears a guy say to his friend, "Oh, check out this guy here." Frank noticed that the guy gave him the up and down. Frank felt dirty . . . real dirty. So Frank did his business, while also filling the porcelain with tears. Frank now appreciates how girls feel when they go out.
He walks back out and takes his seat, feeling utterly violated. But then his night takes a turn: a blond walks over to him and sits down and initiates conversation with him. This is something new, maybe this night isn't so bad after all Frankie Boy. She asks him how old he thinks she is. Frank, being an intelligent guy, says 26, playing the safety card and blatantly shaving a few years off his guess. Turns out she's 30 (nice job Frank). So she asks him what he wants to talk about. He says travel, because she's foreign, and usually that's a fun conversation. She declines, saying that because she's been so many places that other people don't go, it's not fun for her to talk about it. Frank finds this fairly odd, so he asks her what she wants to talk about instead. "Politics." Again, using his intelligence, Frank immediately declines and tell her that it's a bad idea to talk about this at a bar, especially this late in the night. So the conversation quickly shifts again to a new topic.
Frank: "So, if we can't talk travel, and politics is off limits, what else do you want to talk about."
Blond: "Sex."

Frank was a deer in headlights. He asks her what about it that she'd like to know, and she says, "What do you think about it?" In the toolbag response of the century, custom for any 24 year old male caught in headlights, Frank replies, "Well, sex is great, and I love having it."
Strike one for Frank
So then he asks her what else, and she immediately responds: "Well, what do you think of bisexuals?" Again, headlights and Frank meet again.
"Well, I've never done it or anything, but I figure, if it makes you happy, more power to you."
Strike two for Frank
So she turns to the other side of the bar, then looks back at Frank and says: "Alright, I gotta go save my girlfriend (not “girl that’s a friend” girlfriend, but “let’s go home and play with rubber toys” girlfriend) from that guy that's hitting on her, but I'm gonna bring her back over here and we'll chat some more."

So let's pause here for a moment and digest what's going on. An attractive blond (with an accent, so it makes her hotter) approaches Frank, and starts talking about sex and bisexual experiences with Frank, and THEN tells Frank that she has a girlfriend, and that they'd like to talk some more with him. This is the part where Frank tells me he had the most amazing experience of his life with two lesbians, right?

Wrong. What did Frank do? As soon as she turned to go get her girlfriend, he panicked, threw down a couple bucks, and ran out the front door. Literally.

You fail Frank.

Song of the Week: "Hospital Bed" by Cold War Kids

Quote of the Week: "Experience is that marvelous thing that enables you recognize a mistake when you make it again." - F. P. Jones

Random Fact of the Week: The longest one syllable word in the English language is "screeched".

Picture of the Week: Oh HELL no!

Until next week, you chose . . . poorly,

Fred

September 26, 2008 Palin? Pal-OUT!

So I’m just gonna throw this out there: I despise Sarah Palin. I think she’s bat-shit crazy. “But Fred, you’re such a sexist pig, you’re just saying that because she’s a woman!” Nay, I say. I don’t like her because she has about as much experience with politics as George W. has with being successful.

I was watching CNN like I usually do (only because there aren’t any other “more unbiased” news sources on TV), and one of the female news anchors jumped up on her soap box and started preaching about how it’s unfair that the men are protecting Sarah Palin and preventing her from speaking to the media and such. She said that Palin’s not a “delicate flower,” that she’s a strong woman and can handle herself. She called for the McCain campaign to “Free Palin.” Well, I’m sorry Miss Rosie Riveter, but the real reason the McCain campaign is sheltering her from press conferences (which she has held none of yet) and network news interviews (which she’s only conducted 3 of) is because of her overwhelming lack of experience. If she were to sit at an open forum press conference, she would get so grilled it would cast a serious doubt over the McCain campaign. Foreign policy? Fughetaboudit. Foreign policy to her is going to the local Chinese restaurant and trying to negotiate the menu and get a proper order through to the waiter. Her economic policy is spitting out as many poorly named kids as possible to try and get some sort of tax break. And abortion? We all the know that’s a short argument.

It has nothing to do with the fact that she has two boobs and a vagina, so please, watch your step when you’re getting down from your little platform there. I’m just really confused with how people have made such a huge deal about Obama’s “lack of experience,” but are overlooking the fact that there’s a 50% chance that John McCain will die in office, and it could feasibly be President Palin, of Alaska, soon. Luckily, there have been some cheap one way flights circulating online around the time of the election.

Song of the Week: “Naïve” by The Kooks

Quote of the Week: “You have a cough? Go home tonight, eat a whole box of Ex-Lax, tomorrow you'll be afraid to cough.” - Pearl Williams

Random Fact of the Week: The first product to have a bar code was Wrigley's gum.

Picture of the Week: Symbolism? (Hint: Think US Economy)

Until next week, $700 Billion,


Puck Mule

September 19, 2008 Standing In Line

Note to self: Don’t go to a late night bar by yourself, you may find yourself to be a nice fresh piece of meat in a gay bar.

So something has been occurring on a semi-regular basis around here. It involves standing in line. Granted, line-standing varies significantly by each culture. On a recent trip to Austria, I would stand in line waiting for the chair lifts (ski trip). One thing is that there was no “line,” it was just people funneling to get onto the chairlifts. It was pretty much the most sophisticated form of organized madness I had seen since my days in China in ’89. I could look down and see another man’s ski between my legs. Granted, I enjoy intimate relations, but they usually don’t involve a complete stranger, my virgin ass, or a man; thanks for playing Gunther.

I’m a man that likes my space while in line. It’s all going to the same place, and me standing ass to crotch with you really isn’t going to make the service go any faster. However, what I’ve noticed out here is that the personal space I once enjoyed back home has disappeared quicker than Michael J. Fox’s vertical in Teen Wolf. I’m standing in line to get a late lunch, so there’s 3 people in front of me, and the place is wide open. So I appropriately walk up, and respect the guy in front of me, and give him about 2-3 feet of space. We stand for a minute or two, I order my sandwich, and two guys walk up behind me. No big deal right? You’re about as wrong as this lady. I think I could almost feel how many coins he had in his pocket when he stood behind me. I gave him the courtesy glance, signifying “Hey asshole, seriously?” I mean, come on, there’s practically no one in line, do you really need to get that close to me. As soon as I ordered I immediately removed myself from the line, and stood behind them. They shot me a few looks as if to say, “What are you doing?” As if I even needed to explain myself.

The next day I get in another line, in the same cafeteria in our building. I'm realizing that life is a serious of events, precluded by standing in a line of some sort. Again, not a lot of people are there. Another guy walks up, this time committing TWO serious faux-pas: he stands right behind me, leaving about 5-6 inches, AND he’s chatting on his cellular device at rather loud volumes. I was convinced he thought my ear was the actual microphone. If my ear could kick a man in the balls, it would’ve done it right then and there. Instead, I just decided to swallow my pride, and look like an idiot by standing in line with my finger in my ear. I was hoping he might get the hint . . . he didn’t. That sandwich was goddamn delicious though.


Song of the Week: “When I'm Small" by Charlie Everywhere

Quote of the Week: “Don't spend two dollars to dry clean a shirt. Donate it to the Salvation Army instead. They'll clean it and put it on a hanger. Next morning buy it back for seventy-five cents.” - Unknown

Random Fact of the Week: Mexico and Iceland have the highest per capita consumption of Coca-Cola.

Picture of the Week: 60% of the time it works every time.

Until next week, Warning: Guests with health restrictions and mothers to be may wish to bypass the ride,


Fred

August 22, 2008 THings I Ponder

Things I question and ponder on a daily basis:

Do I REALLY need to wake up right now?
What am I doing with my life?
I wonder if people in the gym locker room think I’m gay when I put on boxers with red and pink hearts on them . . .
How are Asians really that bad at driving?
Where are Americans going to flee to when McCain becomes president?
I wonder what it would be like to cannonball into a pool of jello . . .
I wonder how yellow pee can get?
Who shot JR?
Where have all the cowboys gone?
How the hell did that get in there?
Are you kidding me?!
Why did George Jetson never smack Jane for talking all of his money every episode?
It’s 10pm, do I know where my kids are?
Why are farts so damn amusing?
Why does Superman stop bullets with his chest, but ducks when you throw a gun at him?
Is there another word for synonym?
Did I really just say that?



Song of the Week: “Higher (Breathe)” by Move.meant

Quote of the Week: “Have you ever met a Trudy that wasn’t busted?” – Anonymous

Random Fact of the Week: The "Spanish Flu" of 1918, which killed at least 50 million people world-wide, originated in Kansas, not Spain.

Picture of the Week: Not a good position to be in.

Until next week, pass the Dutchie on the left hand side,


Fred

August 8, 2008 S&D Night

There comes a time in every man’s life when he has to test himself. There are always certain defining moments: the first time he fights another person, the first time he sleeps with a girl, the day he gets married. Those are all things that will be carried as memories for life.

And then there is Schlitz and Dog night. Nothing is like it, and nothing will ever be the same because of it. It is the ultimate test of intestinal fortitude. The body is sacrified for the fine ancient art of competition. When participating in an S&D night, all hopes of meeting a classy woman to bear the fruit of your loins are thrown out quicker than a plate of pork at Jewfest.

Let me give you a little background into S&D Night. It all started with three men. We’ll call them the B.A.R. men. There is a bar which we’ll call “Holy Land.” At Holy Land, the two cheapest items on the menu are consumed; Schlitz and Hot Dogs. Schlitz are $3.75, while dogs are $1. If men everywhere knew they could spend $1 on a hot dog at Holy Land, strip clubs would go out of business. B.A.R. men decided it’d be a good idea to host night where only two items are consumed; you guessed it. This was enjoyable. Then the B.A.R. men decided to take it to a whole new level. This is when I knew God really existed, and that he really did in fact love me.

Challenges were to be bestowed upon different challengers to eat a certain amount of “units.” A unit is either a 16oz. tall-boy can of Schlitz, or a taste-bud tickling hot dog. At an early feast, the high-water mark was set at 12 units by a man we’ll call Seamus. Crafted from the beard of Zeus himself, Seamus made it look easy. Competitors have been fooled by that number, but no one has come close . . . until last night.

It had the makings of another typical S&D night; everyone sitting around enjoying themselves, pacing, and Seamus staying quietly in striking distance. However, a dark horse appeared; we’ll refer to him as Rocky. We continued to drink and eat. The night went on. Unit totals were accumulating. Seamus slowly crept up to 10 units. So did Rocky. Another gladiator of the gullet, Anthony, was slowing down, but still within range at 10 as well. There was only 30 minutes left in the competition. And then we got news that rocked our world. Beer Wench: Sorry guys, you completely drank our entire stock of Schlitz. I could feel my heart turn black and a piece of my die inside as those words left her mouth. It was a valiant effort, but all seemed finished. All they had left were 16oz. tall-boys of Narragansett.

Nay said Rocky. NAY! Here comes 5th gear. 11 units down. 1 to go to tie. 12th open. It’s time to do work. Bring on the 'Gansett. Anthony has tapped out at 11. A worthy adversary indeed. It is the final showdown between Seamus and Rocky. Seamus completes #12, and stops. 15 minutes left, and Rocky chokes down unit 12. It’s coming down to the wire, and a small crowd has gathered. All eyes are on Rocky. People cheer, a rally clap is started. Women become hot and bothered. The beer wench brings one more beer for him. One more beer; unit #13, the record if he finishes. 15 minutes of pain and anguish; a lifetime supply of victory. The events that unfolded after will go down in bar lore as one of the single most impressive displays of discipline and determination. Half the beer is left. 3 minutes. Another kiss of hops. We’re about to witness greatness firsthand. People say they were at MLK’s “I have a dream” speech, people remember Neil Armstrong take his first step out onto the moon. I remember Rocky going for 13. 1 minute left, about 3 ounces left. He tried. He left it all out there, but just couldn’t get the last 3 ounces down. And then he tapped out. We all stood silent, trying to digest what we just witnessed. Rocky sat in quiet disbelief. He had come so far, came so close. He admitted failure. This was one fact we could all agree on: Although no records were broken that night, Rocky will always be a hero in our hearts.

Song of the Week: “Cortez the Killer” by Neil Young & Crazy Horse.

Quote of the Week: “Epic!” – Beer Wench at Holy Land after handing us our bill.

Random Fact of the Week: For the 9 people at our table, the numbers were as follows: Schlitz: 41, Dogs: 28, Narragensett: 8.

Picture of the Week: .

Until next week, we need a unit!


Fred

August 1, 2008: Public Transportation Etiquette

You know what really grinds my gears? Public transportation etiquette – or should I say the lack of. On any given day in the past 7 years that I have had the pleasure of taking the wonderful public transit system that is the MBTA and I am still completely baffled by the things some people do. So I’ve decided to give you all my “Fab 4” of etiquette pet peeves when taking public transportation:

1. Bag Etiquette: Here’s the deal, your bag doesn’t deserve it’s own seat. Sure it’s had just as hard of a day as you have, but when a train is starting to fill up the seats are better served for other people. Additionally, when a train is crowded take your 38lb backpack off your shoulders and put it at your feet – it takes up shit-loads of space, and makes getting up and down the aisle comparable to the limbo dance.
2. Entering and Exiting: Listen up on this one, because it’s important. The majority of my time on the train is during rush hour – meaning, the trains are crowded and the platforms are even more crowded. Wait for people to get off the train before you get on. While I’m convinced that many train conductors are evil, they don’t typically get off on slamming the door on a group of people’s face. Actually, this needs to be explained in better detail:
1. When exiting (or, when other’s are exiting):

1. Clear the doorways

2. Wait until the train has stopped moving to move towards the door – the train is going to wait.

2. When entering (or, when other’s are entering):

1. Clear the doorways, see a pattern here?

2. Give people who are getting off room to get off. That means, don’t make a should-to-shoulder half circle around the door. Remember what I said earlier, the train is going to wait!

3. Seating – for the elderly, not you: This one is a no-brainer. You’re a strapping young buck (or fawn?) stand up and let the hump-backed, feeble old man/woman or the person-of-any-age-who-is-missing-one-leg-and-two-arms sit down. Also included in this category: blind people (optional: verbally instruct them or help them to a seat – if you’re on a date, it’s guaranteed ass).
4. Cell Phones: Now, we’ve got them for a reason – accessibility – and it’s a good reason. Many times it’s completely acceptable to pick up your cell phone when in a public place (ie, the train) but here’s the thing, that microphone in the phone can hear you – you don’t need to shout. Keep your conversations at a normal conversation level, as if the person you’re talking to is right next to you. Rule of Thumb: when I’m listening to my iPod on the other end of the train and I can hear you talking about how, “you really wanted to (like) have sex with that guy but (like) you were (like) on your period and (like) couldn’t, but didn’t (like) want to tell him because it may (like) be (like) awkward, and you really hoped that he would (like) understand and (like) call you back, but (like) only if it’s (like) three days later because anything less is (like waaaaay) too clingy, but at the same time anything (like) more means he probably doesn’t (like) like you” you’re probably talking all little too loud.

Song of the Week: “Many Shades of Black” by The Raconteurs

Quote of the Week: “Why in a country of free speech, are there phone bills?” – Steve Wright

Random Fact of the Week: Charlie Chaplin once won third prize in a Charlie Chaplin Look-alike contest.

Picture of the Week: How appropriate

Until next week, POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser. POW-right in the kisser.....

reid (ummm, i mean, fred)

July 25, 2008 The Dark Knight Statistics

I’m sure everyone’s heard about the crazy record breaking figures that The Dark Knight pulled in the box offices during its opening weekend last weekend. Well, a few friends and I had a little too much free time on our hands and started crunching numbers (not employees). The Dark Knight grossed $158.4 million in its first weekend. On average, tickets cost $6.88 according to the national movie association (I don’t know where they got that damn number, we’re paying $10 a pop out here). So broken down, we’re talking 23 million people saw The Dark Knight in its opening weekend (and that’s only in America). But that’s not all; let take a deeper look into these numbers:

· If those 23 million people saw the movie back to back, and the movie is 159 minutes long, it would take 6,957 years and 278 days to finish.
· If you laid everyone who saw the movie down head to toe, it would stretch once around the equator.
· The number of people that saw it was greater than the population of 82% of all the European countries.
· Every person who saw the movie would have a copy of the Spice Girls’ “Spice” album (yep, we went there).
· The number of viewers would outrank all but one city in the entire world in terms of population (Tokyo).
· The number of people who saw it is the same as the entire population of the Ottoman Empire in 1875.
· With the amount of money it grossed, you could buy 8,336,842 Clappers.
· The average American produces 1,609 lbs of garbage per year, equating to .18lbs per hour. Each viewer would have produced roughly .5 lbs of trash during the movie. This means that 5,750 tons of trash were produced from the people watching this movie alone.

· There are an average of 80 people per square mile in the US. This means that we would need 287,500 square miles to fit everyone who saw the movie. This is 20,000 square miles more than the size of Texas.

Song of the Week: “To the Dogs or Whoever” by Josh Ritter.

Quote of the Week: “A hospital bed is a parked taxi with the meter running.” - Groucho Mark

Random Fact of the Week: The three most valuable brand names on earth: Marlboro, Coca-Cola, and Budweiser, in that order.

Picture of the Week: That might leave a mark.

Until next week, why so serious?


Fred (and associates)

July 18, 2008 Things That Make You Laugh

Sometimes you may feel a little overwhelmed with work or life. Sometimes you’re not really in the mood to deal with anyone, and you just want to run around going dope slaps to random people. Maybe you just want to kick down the door in your office and start going postal on your coworkers with a SuperSoaker xp105. But there are a few things that no matter how aggravated you are, they will always make you laugh/relax:

10: MXC
9: Farts
8: Someone getting hit in the head with a ball
7: Demetri Martin
6: Witnessing someone completely biff on a bike
5: A good tune (refer to below)
4: Seeing someone spontaneously puke
3: Charlie
2: ANYTHING from The Sandlot
1: Watching a swift shot to the “manzone”


Song of the Week: “Mountain Man Boogie” by Scissorfight. This one’s for you guys (you know who you are)

Quote of the Week: “After all is said and done, more is said than done.” - Aesop

Random Fact of the Week: House flies have a lifespan of two weeks.

Picture of the Week: Poor kid doesn’t even know what’s comin at him.


Until next week, wetter is better!


Fred

June 13, 2008 The Man Test

I’d like to think I’m a man. I like to rock climb, mountain climb, play/watch sports, and drink beer. I enjoy sitting around with other guys laughing about farts and stupid TV shows. Hell, I even enjoy relations with females. For us, some may say one becomes a man during his very first awkward intimate connection (pun?) with a female. But in every culture, the journey to becoming a man varies (make sure to read this link otherwise the rest of this article will be gibberish).

The beauty of this list is its diversity. It incorporates extreme sports and adrenaline rushes, like bungee jumping, physical aptitude tests (almost like playing sports in high school), crazy drug trips that would make Hunter S. Thompson look like Mother Theresa, and ones that are flat out disturbing . . . almost as bad as this. The only thing that they’re missing are eating contests. Forget the actual eating, nothing says Man having the tenacity to endure the pain of a 66 hot dog bowel movement . . . hope he got an epideral before skin met porcelain.

All I have to say is this: Mr. Tribal Shaman Chief, I don’t want to grow up, I’m a Toys ‘R Us kid.

Song of the Week: “The Food” by Common

Quote of the Week: “Never use while sleeping.” - Instruction on Conair hair dryer

Random Fact of the Week: The Hawaiian alphabet consists of only 12 letters.

Picture of the Week: Well played Mr. Churchill . . . well played.

Until next week, OOOHHH Mr. Adams!


Fred

June 6, 2008 The Throwback Edition

Let’s get nostalgic. It’s always nice to think back and recognize some of the little things that were so instrumental in making us the people we are today. Let’s take a little trip back to elementary school.

It was definitely important to pack your GI Joe lunchbox full of nutritious (and delicious) snacks. I know you’d definitely want to throw some Hi-C Ecto cooler in there, maybe some Capri Sun (though you’d spend half of lunch trying to poke the straw through the damn hole, give up, and just jam it in the bottom), or you could mix it up with a Mondo twist top. You’d definitely need some fruit roll ups or fruit by the foot in there for a snack, along with the obligatory PB&J.

Dress was the most important part though. There’s no way you could leave school without your sweet white Reebok High-Top pumps. Or maybe you were one of the kids that sported LA Gear or British Knights. Ladies, pop on your Jelly Shoes. All you needed to complete the deal were the flashing lights on the bottoms of the shoes. It’s important to pop on your BUM Equipment shirt and Umbro shorts. Gotta wear your Jordache acid washed jeans too for those cooler days.

Then you’d come home from school and play around with your Skip-It and snap bracelets. Maybe it’d be raining, so playing outside wouldn’t work. Well, you could always just play a few games of hungry hungry hippos, or spend 3 hours building Mouse Trap, just to watch the ball drop for 5 seconds, and not even trap the stupid mouse. Just make sure not to get caught up in the Crossfire though. A few games of Sonic on SEGA were a safe bet while blasting Green Day’s “Dookie” album in the background, mixed with some Ace of Base.

And while you were inside, you might as well be watching the Fresh Prince of Bel Air while you play, followed by some MacGyver. Weekends were the best though, with David the Gnome, Ghost Busters, Double Dare, Salute Your Shorts, and maybe a little SNICK. And if you had it, GUTS.

For some reason I thought you might enjoy being brought back to your childhood; I just felt like getting that off my chest, kinda like Punky Brewster, ZING!


Song of the Week: “I Wish” by Skee-Lo. In honor of today’s topic

Quote of the Week: “The President has kept all of the promises he intended to keep.” -Clinton aide George Stephanopolous speaking on Larry King Live

Random Fact of the Week: The very first bomb dropped by the Allies on Berlin during World War II killed the only elephant in the Berlin Zoo.

Picture of the Week: Nope, you didn’t make it.

Until next week, Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story . . .


Fred

May 30, 2008 Grab Bag

Oh, hello, come right in! Today’s one of those Fridays when I feel like people are willing to do about as much work as a sloth. Everyone I’ve talked to has been saying the same thing: “Fred, how’d you get so ridiculously good looking?” Lies, they actually just say they have zero motivation. Maybe it was Memorial Day and the long weekend last weekend; with all the nice weather it gave people a taste of summer, and now we want it in full bloom. Or maybe it’s in part due to the fact that a lot of people are hungover, I on the other hand, was very responsible last night and did not go out . . . ok, another lie; I panicked and thought I was in someone else’s apartment when I woke up on my couch at 4am.

Also, I’ve discovered the best energy drink out there. Forget Red Bull and Rock Star with their ridiculous prices just for a stupid drink, they can take them and (choose your own ending). Arizona Rx Energy. Stuff works like a damn charm; it’s a huge 23 oz. can for $.99. Bargain, just had to share it.

I’ve really had a craving for Ovaltine lately. What the hell am I doing with my life?


Song of the Week: “Wine Headed Woman” by Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee

Quote of the Week: “Have you ever noticed.... Anybody going slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?” – George Carlin

Random Fact of the Week: There are only four words in the common English language that end in "-dous": tremendous, horrendous, stupendous, and hazardous

Picture of the Week: I would shit my leotard if i saw that.

Until next week, bring me back something French!


Fred

May 23, 2008 Tips

Something I’ve noticed recently that put a small smirk on my face was the fact that Dunkin Donuts has signs taped to the registers of some stores that say, “Please, no tips.” Thank you! I’m sure these have been up for months now, which shows how rarely I actually go. Was I the only one that thought it was slightly unprofessional to have little tip cups in front of the registers? Dunkin Donuts is a legit business chain. I mean, I’d still just leave the change in there if it was less than $.25 (what, I need the quarters for laundry, don’t judge me.) I kind of felt obligated to tip. I didn’t want to find out the hard way how they get that extra zing in the cream filled donuts. But still, I don’t think moving two feet to the side and picking up a donut or a muffin really warrants a tip. Don’t be afraid to throw together a little chicken parm plate while you’re back there either, THEN you’ll see the tip come out.

If I get great service, sure, I’ll tip you. But when I tell you three different times that I want a breakfast sandwich with bacon, I’m not going to give you extra money, sorry. Maybe you should give me some money instead; I think that’s fair. Usually teachers get paid for giving lessons, and I’m sitting here giving you English lessons every time I order. I’ll just pass that off as some good Samaritan community service . . . or maybe I can write that off in my taxes somehow.

And what the hell’s the deal with Snuffleupagus?


Song of the Week: “Minerva” by Deftones

Quote of the Week: “If you ask me anything I don’t know, I’m not going to answer.” – Yogi Berra

Random Fact of the Week: Pluto receives as much solar energy in 25 years as the Earth does in 1 minute.

Picture of the Week: I think the caption says it all.

Until next week, can you scratch my nuts?


Fred

May 16, 2008 Random Things You Never Think About

Ever stop and think about some of the everyday things we use and take for granted, and then think about who designs them?

A friend asked me last night: “Who do you think designs the $20 bills?” Well my friend, good question, let’s ruminate together. Who really does design some of these things? I mean, I’m sure a small group of federal employees get together and talk about what to do for it. But how do they really decide? Is there one guy that vehemently insists on using Arial font rather than Times New Roman, or is there a unanimous consensus that it’s the way to go. What about the picture? You don’t want good ol’ AJ lookin a little bloated . . . you need something dignified.

Let’s relate this to something. You think that guy (or girl) uses that to start conversations at bars? “What do you do?” “Oh, I club baby seals for their fur.” “Oh, well that’s very UNlady-like.” “I know, what do you do?” “Well, you know the $20 bill? Yeah, I MADE that.” Why is it that I always revert to random dialogues between people. I think making up conversations could be considered somewhat unstable . . . but then again depending on who you ask it can be perceived as creative or imaginative. Regardless, I don’t think that would ever get old. Anytime you meet someone new, one of the first questions they’ll always ask, is: What’s your name, what do you do, do you have any illegitimate kids, and were you a fan of the Jefferson’s movin on up to the east side.

It’s food for thought, so grab a buffet plate. This shit’s so phat, you might gain weight.

That really just happened.


Song of the Week: “Acid Raindrops” by People Under The Stairs. This is some excellent chill hip hop. You can't tell me you're not feeling better after listening to this tune.

Quote of the Week: “When a man talks dirty to a woman, it's sexual harassment. When a woman talks dirty to a man, it's $3.95 per minute.” - Steven Wright

Random Fact of the Week: Americans on average eat 18 acres of pizza every day.

Picture of the Week: Ahh shit.

Until next week, I WANNA TALK TO SAMPSON!


Fred

May 9, 2008 Baby Hucking

Yet another installment of crazy videos. I’m sure some of you have seen this one before, but if you haven’t, then prepare to be amazed. It’s probably where Michael Jackson got his idea.

Whose bright idea was it to throw babies off a roof from 50 feet up? I have a hard time jumping into water from 50 feet up, but hucking a baby off a building onto a sheet . . . is probably the 2nd worst idea in the world. What’s #1?

There are so many questions to be answered. What if the cloth rips? What if the baby lands wrong and gets whiplash? Is there no such thing as shaken baby syndrome over there either? (Probably not, due to the lack of British Au Pairs). What if the Baby Hucker misses?! Do you think that guy gets ladies after the event is over? He’s basically like the baby hucking equivalent of a baseball pitcher, quarterback, emcee, or lead singer. I wonder if he goes on the road, or if he only hucks from that one roof. That’d be tough going to away games. The tower might be different, the pressure of opposing fans heckling you might get in his head. He might start over thinking each drop. I feel like there might be a couple miscues; I hope they have some baby cleanup crews handy.

And where do they take those babies? You see how fast they pick them up and just start passing them around person to person. It looks like a damn Baby Bazaar and any crazy person that wants a baby can just grab it and run. All I know is, I’m surprised there’s not more piss and crap all over the people below, because I sure as hell know I’d shit myself if some dude I didn’t know held me over the edge of a building and dropped me.


Song of the Week: “Dondante” by My Morning Jacket

Quote of the Week: “The hypothalamus is one of the most important parts of the brain, involved in many kinds of motivation, among other functions. The hypothalamus controls the "Four F's":
1. fighting; 2. fleeing; 3.feeding; and 4. mating." - Psychology professor in neurophysiology intro course.

Random Fact of the Week: Only one person in two billion will live to be 116 or older.

Picture of the Week: I've been wanting to say that for years

Until next week, Schlitz and Hot Dog night, next Thursday, May 15th. Inquire within.


Fred

May 2, 2008 7 Year Old Drivers

In case none of you have seen this, it was actually requested by a few people for a topic. This 7 year old kid decided to steal his grandma’s car because he got mad at her. Just watch the video and listen to his responses. Foreshadowing perhaps? Should we just lock him up now, or do we want to give him a slap on the wrist and take away his video games for the weekend. If I were a betting man, I’d think that we’re going to see this kid again. I think the cops should turn a blind eye to grandma and let her “do her thang.”

I have to be honest though, it was hard taking this kid seriously after the first shot of him waddling in a jolly manner across the parking lot. There’s a slightly warped perception of reality by that kid though, and someone needs to beat it back into place. I nominate grandma . . . or Chuck Norris.

Actually, where the hell’s Scruff McGruff when you need him?


Song of the Week: “Stars” by Hum. Classic.

Quote of the Week: “When a man goes on a date he wonders if he is going to get lucky. A woman already knows." - Frederick Ryder

Random Fact of the Week: Thrity-five percent of the people who use personal ads for dating are already married.

Picture of the Week: Smart Man, I like his style.

Until next week, this. is. JEOPARDY!


Fred

April 25, 2008 Girls with Boyfriends

I feel like this should be some sort of “ology” or sociology/psychology study: the immediate loss of interest of a male in a female when said female declares that she has a significant other.

Enjoy this video that was sent to me this morning: http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1812805
I pretty much agree with the guy’s reaction, though I’m nice enough to hang around and pretend to be interested in the conversation after you drop the bomb. Take note: I’m not interested (unless you speak Italian or rock climb AND snowboard/ski double blacks).


Song of the Week: “Rise Above” by Black Flag. It’s Friday . . . and it’s nice out. You know what this song makes you want to do . . . so go do it.

Quote of the Week: “Half of the people in the world are below average.” - Anonymous

Random Fact of the Week: The average CEO's salary in the US is 475 times greater than the average worker's salary.

Picture of the Week: So . . . ?


Until next week, these hips don’t lie,


Fred

April 18, 2008 Diversify Your Portfolio

Growing up you hear about the need to “diversify your portfolio.” You hit the real world, you start making some “benjamins,” and the draw to invest becomes more important. And then they hit you with the phrase, “You gotta diversify your portfolio to minimize risk.”

Keeping this information in mind . . . why do we not diversify our portfolio of friends? Instead we clump our “investments” into generally homogenous stocks (read: friends). I know my portfolio is 97.5% white people. Of those, another 75% of them are Catholic. I’m branching out about as much as the KKK (*Disclaimer: I have never been affiliated with or support this group . . . though I think their robes are hilarious. If the 15th century had a white trash relative, they would be it.)

What happens if one day an epidemic breaks out that Caucasians are most susceptible to? You’d have no friends left if you survived (disregard the fact that you’d probably be more concerned about your own survival and aftermath than making new friends, but that logic is erroneous). That’s why it’s important to branch out a little, minimize the “friend-fallout” risk by investing in a few different races. Accidentally make a black guy joke? No worries, you’ve still got some whities and Asians to fall back on. Did you comment on how horribly terrible Crasians are at driving while driving home . . . with an Asian friend in the car? Don’t fret, you’ve still got some WASPs and brothers waiting for you back at home. Wanna crank “Gasolina” in your car while cruising around with your windows down in the summer? Can’t do it with a bunch of crackers in the car . . . time to invest in some Hispanic amigos!

Now if only I could find someone to do my damn lawn . . .


Song of the Week: “Black Thunder” by Doomrider. Horrible name for a song, and even worse name for a band . . . the song still rocks though. I guarantee you’ll tap your feet along with this hard-charging rock tune.

Quote of the Week: “Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so.” - Douglas Adams
Random Fact of the Week: Coca-Cola translated to Chinese means, "To make mouth happy".

Picture of the Week: That’s a big hole . . . I wonder what other holes that big head has had to fit through . . .

Until next week, party on Wayne . . . party on Garth,


Fred

April 4, 2008 Excellent Time Killing Resource

You can just hate me later . . .

Yesterday a coworker sent me a link to a website; the article she referenced was a Court TV April Fools joke, which was pretty funny. However, I further explored said website and discovered a schmorgusborg of “Top-10” articles on a ton of random topics. Instead of even trying to sum up these articles, I’ll just let you explore on your own, with or without a teenage Shoshone Indian girl as your guide.

The article I’ve linked to was my personal favorite. If you have time/audio at work, definitely check them out. It’s borderline awkward . . . probably best described as a train wreck in process. Horrible, gruesome, you know what the outcome will be, you’ll probably have to be a good Samaritan and help crying kids and injured passengers, but you need to keep watching, hoping a Jerry Springer veteran will pop out of the audience and take a few swings.

Hello, McFly . . . anybody home?!

Runners-Up: Hollywood's 6 Favorite Offensive Stereotypes, 5 Ways Hollywood Tricks You Into Seeing Bad Movies, The 7 Ballsiest Sports Cheats Ever


Song of the Week: “Collagen Rock” by McLusky

Quote of the Week: "Owning a dog in a city is like saying: My need for companionship outweighs my distaste for picking up shit." - Demitri Martin

Random Fact of the Week: Mosquito's are attracted to the color blue twice as much as to any other color.

Picture of the Week: Fail.

Until next week, Gimme a whiskey, ginger ale on the side. And don't be stingy, baby,


Fred

March 28, 2008 Gas Prices

Uh oh . . . uh oh. I smell a rant coming on. Bring in the Febreeze.

I’m sure most of us are feeling the pinch of the ridiculous gas prices. I feel old when I say, “When I got my license, gas prices were under a dollar.” That was about eight years ago. In eight years it’s gone from about $.95/gallon to $3.20/gallon. This means in eight years, prices have risen roughly 337%. You know, in an era where consumers really do control the marketplace and have the power to dictate the way corporations can act, I’m surprised things have gone this far.

And what about these corporations, cough ExxonMobil cough. Usually these companies give some sort of incentive to customers to keep coming back, or even offer loyal customer appreciation gifts. I mean, they should at LEAST offer some Advil and Vaseline for every 10 gallons you spend with them, seeing how when you leave the gas pump it feels like you got tagged upside the head with a Louisville Slugger and got your backside violated. Bastards. Yearly sales for 2007 were over $400 billion, resulting in a $40 billion profit. Something doesn’t seem right. Sure, it’s basic economics, supply and demand. But I think we all have to face the fact that gas prices will continue to rise, and whether we like it or not, there will be a breaking point where prices become too expensive and we’ll either seek alternative methods of transportation, or we’ll just all Mad Max our way to gasoline and oil access. They’re predicting gas prices will reach $4/gallon this summer. Looks like I’ll be riding my bike to work.

Starting this weekend I’m beginning my own personal boycott of ExxonMobil. Do I think this will do anything to get them to drop prices? Hell no, I’m not stupid. But I’ll at least be saving money on all of the Advil and Vaseline I won’t have to buy, not to mention preserving the dignity of my ass.


Song of the Week: “Where I’m From” by Digable Planets

Quote of the Week: “The harder I work, the luckier I get.” – Samuel Goldwyn

Random Fact of the Week: Walt Disney was afraid of mice.

Picture of the Week: Sometimes you just have to face your fears

Until next week, shenanigans!


Fred

March 21, 2008 Inappropriate Fridays

You’ve heard of Christmas, you’ve heard of Easter, and you’ve heard of Thanksgiving. All very important days. But let me crack an egg of knowledge on you; there’s a new sheriff in town, and its name is “Inappropriate Fridays.”

It all started back in the day when a young professional received a Hallmark e-card from one of his roommates. He then forwarded that card to some co-workers, finding out that the card is part of a series giving each day a theme. The original theme for Friday was found to be “I don’t care Fridays.” That quickly developed into “I don’t give a f*** Fridays.” But that wasn’t enough. There was an inherent need to expand and develop (Manifest Destiny), and immediately after a “your mom” joke was made, Inappropriate Fridays was born into lore.

Unlike Hanukkah, this is a non-denominational day for all to enjoy; the only requirement is that you give 110% every Friday. When you hear someone mention something that can be flipped, it’s your moral obligation to jump in with an inappropriate comment. When you walk out of the office today, ask yourself, “Did I give everything I had? Did I take advantage of every opportunity that was presented? Did I leave it all out on the field?” If the answer is No, just carry that burden for the weekend knowing, you’ve not only let me down, but you let your parents, your country, and Webster down. Like they say, it’s better to give than to receive.

Spread that shit, spread it like butter.


Song of the Week: “Act IV: You Don't Need A Witness” by The Sound of Animals Fighting

Quote of the Week: “Excuse me, is your refrigerator running? Because if it is, it probably runs like you . . . very homosexually.” – Peter Griffin

Random Fact of the Week: In your lifetime, you'll shed over 40 pounds of skin.

Picture of the Week: I can only imagine that conversation. “So, uh, getting any bites today there champ?”
“Ehh, few nibbles here and there; though I can never fit them through the grate.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah, bummer . . . I’m hungry.”

Until next week, if looks could kill you would be an Uzi,


Fred

March 14, 2008 Ridiculous News Stories

I originally had another topic planned and ready to go for today, but the stars aligned this week and God/Allah/Buddha/whatever PC stuff you can get away with calling a religious deity slapped this one on me: “Woman sits on boyfriend’s toilet for two years.”

Two years?! Something like that just boggles my mind. I’ve had a better time understanding the intricacies of nuclear fission than I’ve had trying to comprehend how someone could sit on a toilet for two years. I mean, if I’m on it for more than 10 minutes my legs start to tingle.

Something else to consider: This couple had been dating for 16 years, two of those were spent with her on the toilet. Wouldn’t he want to jump in earlier noticing the lack of quality time spent together? What do they do for anniversaries? No more dinner and movie dates? Things to ponder. Oh, and on a small unimportant side note . . . there’s no more sex life! Two years of that? Does that not strike you as weird? Maybe a red flag pops up here and there? Nah dude, that’s normal. Seeing that they live in Kansas, I’m sure he found some alternatives. I heard his sister lived down the street. Maybe there was a farm nearby with some farm animals too. Maybe I’m just really optimistic for the guy.

There are just so many things with that story that could be commented on. What the hell do you do in a bathroom for two years? (Aside from the obvious). How do you bathe? (Yes she’s in a bathroom, but she can’t use the shower because she was actually STUCK to the toilet; her skin legitimately grew around the toilet seat). I apologize if your breakfast is now on your keyboard after that one.

This just goes to show that women really do spend more time in the bathroom than men.


Song of the Week: “Zeppelin” by The Jonbenet

Quote of the Week: “Not working is so much better than working.” – Brian. In the words of a friend, “Simple, yet profound.”

Random Fact of the Week: Sitting on a toilet for two years is not a good idea. Your legs will become atrophied and your skin will grow around the seat.

Picture of the Week: guys, take note

Until next week, CANNONBALL!


Fred

March 7, 2008 Hangovers

We’ve all been there. Most of the time they’re awful, some of the time they’re actually pretty interesting. There are all sorts of hangovers. There’s the vegetable hangover, when you’re basically useless to the world and can only sit in one spot and recover. There’s the basic headache hangover, and there’s the “I feel like I’m on illegal drugs, but I’m not and it’s only alcohol so I don’t have a guilty conscience” hangover. This is the one I most commonly get. I might have to consider myself fortunate. I almost never get headaches; I just get some serious low blood pressure, so I feel like I’m kind of spacey and floating around all day. I don’t know if any of you have ever taken Percocet for anything, but it’s basically like that. Be jealous, it’s ok.

What interests me most about hangovers is our ability to quickly forget what they feel like. As a little kid, when you touch the hot stove, the next time you’re near it, you remember, “Oh hey, that hurt like a sonofabitch, I’m not going to touch that again.” But as adults, when we get hangovers, we always go back to them. It’s as if we are children again but with the memory of a goldfish. “Ow, damn that’s hot . . . let’s try again, shit! That was REALLY hot . . . but maybe . . . jesus, that’s hot. One more try . . . Damn! That stove is really hot! Nobody touch the stove, it’s really hot! But maybe if I try one more time . . .” Nope, we never learn. You think we’d catch on quicker or something.

The absolute best part is when we sit there and think/say, “I’m never drinking again.” We’ve all said it. We’ve all been there before. And did you drink again? Yes you did, and it was usually just a few days later. Then it happens again, and you swear someone broke into your room and went DeNiro all over your ass with a Louisville Slugger.

Though, if you play your cards right, hangovers can be the best thing in the world. Wake up, feeling hungover? Grab another beer. Pop a little whiskey in that coffee. Not only will you lose the hangover, you’ll catch yourself a hefty little buzz pretty quick. Cheap, easy, boom goes the dynamite. Call me on Sunday, I’ll let you know what stage I’m at.

Song of the Week: “False Idols Fall” by Comeback Kid.

Quote of the Week: Please refer to the picture.

Random Fact of the Week: Venus is the only planet that rotates clockwise.

Picture of the Week: Are you kidding me? THAT was what tipped you off?!

Until next week, what’s the worst that could happen,


Fred

February 29, 2008 Post-Vacation Depression

This past vacation has probably been the best and worst thing to happen to me in a very long time. For references as to why it was the best thing, please refer to the previous February 22nd post. Why it’s the worst thing? Post-vacation depression.

It’s almost like just getting out of a serious relationship. There are some incredible times (skiing 11,000 foot mountains, carving down slopes with 70 degree pitches, boarding off of houses, knee deep powder, 10 kilometer trails) and some really bad times (countless hangovers, boarding on 2 hours of sleep max . . . mixed with numerous hangovers, getting hit on at a bar buy a gay European (I wasn’t the only one it happened to though)). The only thing I can think about now is: when will it all happen again? I spent an hour yesterday looking at pictures on the website from our trip, which is very bittersweet. It brings back the great memories, but makes it harder to move on from.

And then there’s the work aspect. Motivation has been at a minimum. Production has been even lower. Unless you’ve actually experienced one recently (relationship or vacation), it’s impossible to describe to others your feelings about the “insanely insane” experience you’ve had. They have so many drugs out there for crazy made-up diseases and problems, you think maybe they’d have something for this. “Do you commonly space out and day-dream through hour-long meetings thinking about how insane your recent vacation was? Do you find yourself spending lunch breaks looking at flights to far-away mountains and travel spots? Take our new pill RealitiChek to help ease your transition back to the real world.” Next stop: Big Sky, Montana . . . and a serious does of Reality Shock.

Song of the Week: “Transatlanticism” by Death Cab for Cutie. I enjoyed the tune for what it was worth, until I actually listened to the lyrics this morning, and made it all the more applicable for this post.

Quote of the Week: “I feel like Beetle Bailey after the Sarge gets through with him.” – A guy from the trip commenting on a mix of hangover, lack of sleep, jet-lag, and alcohol withdrawal.

Random Fact of the Week: Our eyes are always the same size from birth, but our nose and ears never stop growing.

Picture of the Week: OH NO!

Until next week, if you don’t live for something you’ll die for nothing,


Fred

February 22, 2008 The Austrian Adventure

So instead of bragging about the incredible trip I just had in letter format, I thought I'd share just a few pictures of my adventure.

(Note: This is not a post-card or professional photo. This was the view from where I sat at lunch)

February 15, 2008 TURN OFF THE CAPSLOCK

Let’s discuss the art of capitalizing letters in the form of written/typed communication to express excitement or anger. We’d all have to admit it really does the trick. Nothing expresses excitement like a capitalized “ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” Or some serious frustration like “YOU’VE GOT TO BE F***** KIDDING ME.” In a fairly expressionless medium that is email and online chatting, sometimes it’s difficult to express intense emotions.

Sometimes you might hit the capslock button by accident when talking to someone; it can completely change the tone, making you look like an idiot. Even subconsciously now, we read it in our minds as if the person is yelling. It brings a whole new meaning to the term getting capped. “Dude, I got so angry I totally cappsed her when I told her how disappointed I was that she didn’t cook my steak right.” You’d have to be careful who you said that around, I’m sure cops or feminazis wouldn’t be too fond of “capping” someone. Especially via text messaging. There are some things you just don’t do. You don’t cross the streams, you don’t covet thy neighbor’s wife, and you don’t have arguments (with caps) via text messaging.

Let’s not even start with people who use more than three exclamation points after a statement to express how excited they are. As if each exclamation point better exemplifies their excitement. I’d be excited in saying, don’t do it. IT MAKES ME SO ANGRY!!!!!!


Song of the Week: “Blizzard” by Nicolay & Kay

Quote of the Week: “If you don't want to work, you have to work to earn enough money so that you won't have to work.” – Ogden Nash

Random Fact of the Week: Google's name is a play on the word googol, which refers to the number 1 followed by one hundred zeroes.

Picture of the Week: Probably a sound fiscal decision.

Until next week, laces out, Dan,


Fred

February 8, 2008 Chain Mail

We’ve all received them, and we’ve all ignored them before (I hope). These pesky little emails that tend to tell sob stories, or contain love advice. Sometimes they tell a story; sometimes it’s more of a personal experience (good or bad) that people feel they should pass on to others. Some are just outrageous. Rare ones do contain some sort of PSA that may be useful down the road; I’ll read the occasional chain letter (only from the madre though).

I love how at the end of them, they tell you to pass them on to a certain number of people. It’s like they need to give you some lame incentive to get you to pass their crap on around the web-connected world. For each number bracket increment that you send it to, the better your luck will turn out. “If you send this to 50 people, you’ll find the love of your life in 2 weeks!” Listen, I’ve already found the love of my life, she’s on TV, so I don’t need any help finding out who it is. Does she know who I am? Hell no she doesn’t, but that’s ok with me. “If you don’t forward this to at least 20 people, you’ll have bad luck for the next seven years!” Oh shit, better find 20 people I really don’t like and clutter their email box with junk mail. All my friends are Irish anyways (with the occasional spattering of an Ital here and there), I’ve got luck out the ass, I’ll take my chances buster.

Here’s an ending I’d love to see one of these days:

“Send this to 1-5 people, and you’ll get a dope slap. Send this to 6-10 people, and you’ll get a kick in the stomach. Send this to 10-20 people, someone will knife your tires. Send this to more than 20 people, and someone will pour gasoline on you and smoke a cigarette while standing next to you.” I’d hate to be the guy that forgets to read the instructions at the end.


Song of the Week: “Can I Kick It?” by A Tribe Called Quest

Quote of the Week: “Size does matter.” - The “Breaking News” headline that CNN used yesterday while covering Mitt Romney’s announcement that he was suspending his campaign. They basically took a comment he made about McCain’s number of delegates completely out of context, and chose to summarize it with that line. There’s no way they didn’t know what they were doing when they wrote that.

Random Fact of the Week: Nearly 91% of all senior citizens rely on prescription drugs on a regular basis.

Picture of the Week: why? . . . WHY?!

Until next week, you’ve gotta fight for your right to party,


Fred

February 1, 2008 Dope Slaps

Sometimes you want to give them, sometimes you get them. It’s the way the world works. If there’s one thing this world is lacking, it’s not food, it’s not money, it’s not Hello Kitty backpacks . . . it’s dope slaps. For those not familiar with what a “dope slap” is, I’ll lay it out for you in laymen’s terms. It is when you hit/are hit in the back of the head, in such a manner that the deliverer of the hit does so not hard enough to cause permanent physical or mental damage. Usually it is done with an open hand to the back of the head; when done right, it will cause the recipient a bout of shock, not due to the actual hit, but due to the loud noise and slight ringing of the ears it causes. The object is not to cause retardation, but to quell it.

Something I’ve noticed is a lack of these slaps in the world. Too many PC moms running around spouting off their ideals. But let’s all be honest here; sometimes people need a good slap to straighten them out. We all know someone that could’ve used one recently. There comes a time when words don’t solve problems . . . slaps do. Instead of war, we should just have slap fights. Just line up 10,000 volunteer “soldiers” on each side, and have them slap the shit out of each other. It can be a last man standing type of deal. Rules are, if you bleed, or cry, you’re automatically out. No closed fists though! I'd pay to see that, might be a good revenue generator for countries. Now everyone will be declaring war on each other. South Africa vs. Iceland. Imagine how dejected you’d be going home to your family, girlfriend, wife, friends, and having to tell them that you lost in the America vs. Uraguay Slap War . . . because you cried. I’ll bring over the divorce papers right away. I could support something like that. Thank YOU sir, may I have another.

Moral of the story: Respect your elders.


Song of the Week: “I’m So Glad I’m Living” by James Cotton

Quote of the Week: “Why is American beer served cold? So you can tell it from urine.” - David Moulton

Random Fact of the Week: Donald Duck's middle name is Fauntleroy.

Picture of the Week: If this bull was a dinosaur, it’d be named Tear-anus-aurus Rex.

Until next week, the cream always rises to the top,


Fred