Intoxication | monkeyBLOG monkeyDO

Drunken Recollection… Cogs And Truth Bombs (And A Hooters’ Barstool Trick?)

Posted on July 19, 2009 by sgottahurt

gears This may be surprising, but I can get talkative when I’m drunk. I know, right!

What this means is that I theorize and pontificate, and generally make an ass of myself.

But sometimes ideas occur to me that are worth remembering…

For example, one idea I had was how people are a lot like cogs. Some people are big cogs and others are small cogs. And they spin at different rates to keep up with each other or because of each other. Some of them don’t touch but are rotating due to a shared gear. Okay, there was a whole lot more that went into this, but you get the idea. I rambled on and on for awhile (remember: druh-unk), and it seems to be happening again. Moving on…

Another thought that entered my noggin was the notion of truth bombs, and how I wish you could drop them on anyone and everyone to let the other person know where you stand in your thoughts about them.

I was reminded of two movies that used truth bombs: For Love of the Game and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

In For Love, Kelly Preston’s character tells Kevin Costner’s character that she wishes people could carry around chalkboards on which they could write what they were thinking. He asks her what she would write, and she writes on a napkin, “Yes.” Then they do it. Well, it goes down something like that, but that example is not really what I’m hoping to convey.

In Eternal Sunshine, at its finale (SPOILER ALERT!), Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet confess all their faults to each other before trying to get back together after wiping their memories. Yeah, that’s a little closer, but I digress.

I thought this concept was pretty original, but then I uncovered the definition for truth bomb in the Urban Dictionary:

(noun) A fact or piece of knowledge that, when told to a listener, is devastating to the listener’s argument or world view.

“Dude, I dropped a truth bomb on my priest at confession yesterday. I slipped him The DaVinci Code, which disproves his whole religion!”
Tupac dropped truth bombs on the American people, letting them know what it’s like to live in the ‘hood.

So… so much for all that.

How about a Hooter’s waitress performing the infamous rodeo barstool trick to wipe the memories of this post (you hold up a napkin with the word “Yes” on it). My cog just spun yours, and you’re welcome:

(SIDE NOTE: Why is everyone at the news station just going along with this? And in the morning? And as a reminder about something called “Wings for Kids”? And did you see the guy in burgundy in the background trying to watch without getting caught watching? And… just… why?)

In My Brain While Sleeping… Camping Is Not A Good Time For Nightmares

Posted on July 15, 2009 by sgottahurt

This post could have easily turned into a Drunken Recollection, considering the amount of beers downed over my time camping. As I explained to my sister, when I was on a cruise, I had documentation of how quickly I could finish a drink: every 15 minutes. She didn’t believe me, so she checked the clock on her phone and timed me. I didn’t rush. I casually chatted and played ladder golf. 11 minutes. I’m not proud. Well, maybe a little.

Anylowenbrau, both nights while in my tent, I was awakened with a start. Was it the booze? Was it the location? Who cares knows, but both dealt with unstoppable killers.

The first night’s dream started off okay. It featured the lovely Julie Bowen.

I tried. She changed her number.

Sure, she was breaking up with me, but I was keeping calm. I remember saying, “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t still love me.” And she couldn’t. So WIN!

Somebody was trying to interview me about my latest book, and we kept trying to move to quieter areas in the nightclub. Eventually, we were in the alley, where my car was parked. The trunk was open, and a sewer portal was running through it.

The interviewer spotted a mining cap and pick axe and reached for it. I warned him not too, and that’s when this guy appeared:

Pote Snitkin cleans up pretty nice.

At least that’s the closest approximation of the horror that chased me. And he would not stop. At one point, I was on a roof top, and as he darted at me, he ran into a wall and fell over the side of the building.

Feeling safe, I proceeded to climb down the ladder not far from his crushed face and distorted body. As I neared the ground, he smiled and started sitting up. I woke up immediately.

The next night, my cousin’s stepson was telling me about this video showing the ghost of Michael Jackson. People that know me and/or keep up on this site know how I feel about ghosts. But I was determined not to let a ten year old see my eyes well up. Luckily, upon returning home, I discovered this explanation of the “phenomenon”:

But it still didn’t help the fact that the second night, I had a dream I was driving around at night and saw a bunch of people running in the streets. Cars were hitting people and they were flying everywhere. I saw the UPS guy that brings PC deliveries to our office get struck, so I stopped my car to check on him. As I did, a big zombie burly guy in a jump suit appeared behind me and shanked me – another one of my greatest fears.

This dream woke me in the middle of the night. I had to pee, but I had no flashlight. I went anyway. It proves I’m a big boy. I can handle anything.

Except MJ’s ghost…

Not good timing, at all...

Drunken Recollection… Nuclear Urine For Jellyfish?

Posted on July 9, 2009 by sgottahurt

Known for: being a fair-weather fan, squishy

Known for being: poisonous, squishy, a fair-weather fan

Who’s says you can’t learn new things when you’re drinking? Time and again, when I make a point to remember the revelations experienced despite the buckets of booze in my system, chances are pretty decent I won’t forget.

For example: last night at trivia, a question we’ve had before reared it’s head.

Q: What type of bird is most commonly used as a state bird? It’s currently used by seven states.
A: Cardinals.

I don’t know this. But I remembered it.

Just like I remember finding out that there’s a minor league baseball team in Albuquerque called the Isotopes. I did not previously know this, but I knew it had to be named after the team in The Simpsons. I did not remember that in one episode of the show, the home team was supposed to move to Albuquerque, but now I know via Wikipedia, and it makes their name choice that much less arbitrary and forgivable (sorry about the drunken tirade, Isotopes!)

Another thing I was forced to investigate after another drunken tirade was the notion of urinating on yourself after being stung by a jellyfish. Much debate was given on whether it had to be your pee, someone else’s pee, if it could be a beer piss, etc.

These are some facts things I discovered:

Urine can help.
Urine doesn’t do anything.
Urine can make things worse.

Soooo… hopefully I won’t encounter any jellyfish when I vacation in Mexico later this year. Now I know that I don’t know anything for sure, but I probably wouldn’t let someone pee on me, or me on myself, just in case. I just hope I remember that when I’m on the beach – and drunk.

In My Brain While Sleeping… A Trio Of Deliriums

Posted on July 7, 2009 by sgottahurt

I don’t even know if there’s an interest in the strange things I dream about, but it’s my blog and I can cry write about it if I want to. I look at it mostly as the catalog I always meant to keep, but um, now do.

Over all the years, and even the months of this site, I know many odd and wondrous things have slipped through the cracks. I collect here those that made it past the brain fade into oblivion, or the ones I care to share, which honestly are almost all… For example, I exclude those that are merely half ideas or lack narratives, like the dream where I had a motorcycle again (whoo hoo) or owned a gun that was combined with a bullhorn (a loudener, if you will).

For the sake of avoiding specifics on these dreams, I simply made montages. In one case, it’s a Montag.

DELIRIUM 1

elephantdream

INGREDIENTS: Penn & Teller, two elephants (one pictured), a giant spatula, and buckets of fake blood. It was one of their acts. It was initially horrifying, then not so much so.

DELIRIUM 2

ocarinadream2

INGREDIENTS: Well, more of an explanation is needed here… there was this baby that had oily (pre-acne) skin, and depending upon how you touched the infant’s back, the child would make musical note sounds like an ocarina. So as you held the baby in your arms, instead of crying, you heard elevator music, or the stylings of Kenny G.

DELIRIUM 3

speididream

INGREDIENTS: Spencer and Heidi Pratt and the cast of Kappa Mikey. Man, those two don’t know the meaning of the word overexposure… and yes, they were in this cartoon.

OVERALL INGREDIENTS FOR DELIRIUMS (OR DELERIA, IF YOU PREFER): Velveeta cheese after beer and Pizza Rolls before beer.

Drunken Recollection… The Difference Between Wants And Needs

Posted on June 30, 2009 by sgottahurt

I learned a couple new things about myself the other night, courtesy of pouring fermented hops down my throat, of course. Discoveries are rare as they are, so here are my findings.

There Are Things That I Want

Such as t-shirts that broadcast products that I like…

Hey ladies, guess what I drink?

Hey ladies, guess what I've watched?

And There Are Things That I Need

Such as definitely bullhorns on my Honda Civic…

civicbull

Worth 1002 Words… How I Feel Today Edition

Posted on June 27, 2009 by sgottahurt

Wasted Youth

In My Brain While Sleeping… Kermit The Frog Escapes From Rosie O’Donnell!

Posted on June 22, 2009 by sgottahurt

For some reason, the world was all aflutter in this dream. National news, tabloid shows, late night talk fests… everyone was going crazy about how Rosie O’Donnell ate the Muppets.

(Now let me state this here: I have no problem with Rosie-O whatsoever. I like women in the media like her and Roseanne that speak their minds, even if people don’t really want to hear it. Don’t know why this is so, but I just thought I had to give this disclaimer.)

Anywhatnot, the media jumped all over the story. Word was that she had already devoured Miss Piggy and Gonzo, and that she was well on her way to swallowing Kermit.

Dramatization of my psychosis

But then, against all odds, Kermit showed up at a Hollywood premier. Interviewers pressed him for a what, and a why, and a how, and all he said was that he climbed out of Rosie’s gullet. Overnight, this poster was found in offices everywhere:

On Sale Now! (...nowhere...)

INGREDIENTS: Booze and a patty melt (minus onions) plus garlic mashed potatoes.

Drunken Recollection… News At The Speed Of Twitter

Posted on June 20, 2009 by sgottahurt

Last night, while playing trivia at the bar (natch), a question came up (natch) that we made an educated guess on (unnatch… we usually guess blindly).

The question in question:

In what year was the stamp first used:

1640

1780

1860

1910

True story. Also explains BGP... ("Beer Goggle Phenomenon")

Since my intelligence increases exponentially with the amount of alcohol intook (intaked? intaken? I’m not drunk enough to know this right now!), I stumbled upon a method of deduction.

In ye days of ole, peasants probably wouldn’t speak to each other via any other method but their mouth or fastest son. Maybe a carrier pigeon if they figured that bit out. And monarchs had messengers, as did this country’s forefathers. Remember, they had that whole bit about wax seals (not to be confused with wax walruses).

So we talked and chatted it up. WWI would be way to late, and it seemed like the Old West would have had mail. Then it struck me – The Pony Express! I didn’t know what year they were around, but 1860 sounded ’bout right. And lo! ‘Twas!

We hooted and hollered it up and guessed performed well the remainder of the game… until Doc Holliday tripped us up. Actually, it was Satine. From the movie Moulin Rouge! (The producer’s exclamation point – not mine.) We could not for the love of the game of trivia think of tuberculosis, as in “What did she die from?” We knew Doc had it, and maybe Walt Kowalski had it, but alas, we did not get it. Farewell sweet $100…

But I digress. All of the above is not what this post was supposed to be all about. I know it is so far, but bear with me. This is about a little unexpected experiment that occurred after trivia, and it ties in with the Pony Express.

This took me way longer to make than I would have liked. Speaking of which - do you like?

Right after the game, my friend and I thought it would be funny to put on Twitter that he and his girlfriend (whom was sitting beside him) had broken up. Not even a minute after posting it via my lovely iPhone (it’s just a 3G, not a 3GS – don’t H8), each of their phones were blowing up. Followers Friends on Twitter asked for details and offered denials. It was amazing.

Okay, I guess the bulk of this post was about the Pony Express after all.

(Sorry Sue about all the damage control, but remember what I do is in the name of comedy, whether people find it funny or not!)

No wonder Twitter Bird is so fast!

In My Brain While Sleeping… Loud Noises, Where-Wolves, And A Bounty Hunter Makes A Correction Regarding His Name

Posted on June 15, 2009 by sgottahurt

Since this blog is an open book to all my weaknesses, it’s sorta turned into my (NERD ALERT!) Xavier Protocols. Of my weaknesses (vanilla-scented anything falls high on that list), loud noises while I sleep smacks near the top. On the night of these particular dreams, I fell asleep with the television on only to be awakened by a loud lawyer commercial.

Okay, it wasn’t that one, but imagine if the explosions were audible, then you’d get the picture.

Anyambulancechaser, in the first dream, I encountered a new breed of night creatures… the WHERE-WOLVES. How were they different than werewolves? Let me explain with a (NERD ALERT!) toy from the remake reboot whatever second Hulk movie:

You see, in the flick, which I have not seen, the dude on the right mutates into the monster on the left. This toy, called the Hulk Deluxe Mutating Abomination, does not mutate at all. Instead of either really mutating by adding water, or by simply imagining that it happens, the little guy fits into a compartment on the back of the big guy. Dumb? You bet.

Well that’s pretty much how where-wolves worked. Wolves merged with their host humans so both could exist. To recombine, humans hovered over the wolves. Now that you’ve pictured it, moving on…

My other dream involved a (NERD ALERT!) Star Wars character. Growing up, I knew this bounty hunter…

…as Zuckuss and this guy…

…as 4-LOM. But as it turned out, the original Kenner toy line had it wrong in the 80’s, and with the re-releases of the toys in the 90’s, they rectified the problem and named each of them correctly. To me though, Zuckuss will always be 4-LOM and 4-LOM will be Zuckuss. Until I was corrected in a dream. This guy…

…showed up to tell me his name really was Allen.

INGREDIENTS: Turkey and provolone on a bagel and a Mountain Dew. And beer.

Drunken Recollection… Going For The Goldfish?

Posted on June 11, 2009 by sgottahurt

I wouldn’t exactly say that I’ve been around the block (although technically, as a child, I rode my bike around the block a ton… I don’t know what I want this metaphor to mean!).

Let me begin instead with this: I’m for all intents and purposes (or is it “intensive purposes?”)…

I’m a bar frequenter. An aficionado of affordable alcohol. If you have drink specials, considered a seat filled. It’s been this way for me for quite awhile, as I haven’t been tied down by much of anything. Tumbling tumbleweed is how I often refer to my life.

So it’s safe to assume I’ve seen a fair amount of oddities in my bar days. I went to New York City to participate in a Snuggie Pub Crawl for Pabst’s sake!

But now I’ve discovered this:

Yup. Goldfish racing. In the bar. For prizes.

: It’s better than swallowing goldfish when drunk. Barely.

Apparently, this is not a new practice either. It (seems to have) started back in Utah, as long ago as 2004 (whooohoooo), and it’s been a subject of controversy since it’s inception. A press release by the Humane Society:

Words, words, words...

There are a few styles practiced. There’s the squirt gun style, as seen in the above video. Some people use straws, and they blow above or below the water, depending on the arena. And of course, some guy in Japan’s turned it into an art form… not unlike NASCAR:

Why do I bring this all up, you ask? As we were leaving one of the bars I frequent, a friend mentioned he saw a sign saying something about goldfish racing. I laughed and thought he was making it up, yet here’s this post.

Now if I can just remember which bar we were at…

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