alcohol

Drunken Recollection… Sports Cars, Semis, And Use Of The Word “Better”

Posted on by sgottahurt

It was the best of Miller Lites; it was the worst of Miller Lites.  In other words, drinking with friends has its good days; drinking with friends has its bad days.  Here are the examples…

BEST

My good ol’ buddy Jay and I were discussing the state of the world one day, when he begin trying out some new philosophy he was developing.  I don’t quite remember the details as he worked through them, but my translation of what he was trying to say was this:

Women are sports cars and men are semi rigs.  Men prefer their women to be a two-seater, i.e. they’ve only been with one guy – that guy.  Men, as trucks, are also two-seaters, but if they have an extensive history in their trailer, it shouldn’t be a surprise to their lady friend.

There was some part about women being minivans and another deal about a bunch of guys hanging off of a sports car, but that’s the gist of it.  Do I get it?  Do I agree?  Only if I get to be a helicopter.

Men are from Mars, Women are from "Cars"

Men are from Mars, Women are from "Cars"

 WORST

It’s hard to get my goat but Jay got my goat good.  All I know is that the discussion slipped into an argument (a one-sided argument most likely) about there being more than one way to use the word “better.”

My stance:

There’s a “better” that expresses an opinion, and there’s a “better” that expresses fact.

Opinion “better” – G.I. Joe is a better movie than Transformers 2.
Fact “better” – Water is better to drink than oil.

A Freudian Psychologist's Dream Dream a.k.a. The Baroness Can-Can

A Freudian Psychologist's Dream Dream a.k.a. The Baroness Can-Can

 Until the next brewsing…

InASense, Lost… Getting Drunk With The Tiny Toons

Posted on by sgottahurt

Where's the Sunny D and purple stuff?

Where's the Sunny D and purple stuff?

I just read an interesting fact idea this week.  I don’t recall it verbatim, but the gist was this:

If alcoholic products were invented today, they’d never make it through to market.

One might think this is interesting, poignant, and sobering (these might all be redundant, but I’m too lazy, sluggish, and apathetic to double-check), but I find it harrowing.  If it wasn’t invented oh-so-long ago by the monks, Jesus, the French, and Siberians, booze might have to be procured by illegal means.  And what would I do at the bar and sporting events were that the case?  More importantly, how would ugly people do the kamanawanaleia?

And as a bystander caught in the crossfire of a ripple in the time-space continuum that lead lead to alcohol’s disappearance, this Tiny Toons cartoon would have never existed:

This bit came from an episode entitled Elephant Issues, and as far as I’ve looked into it, it’s only aired once in this country (September 18, 1991).

A few problems I found with the segment:

  • When I had my first sip of beer, I got “the shakes” which was not depicted well by the characters.  Nowadays, I call that shaking “getting my groove on.”
  • After one sip, they all start belching to a tune.  I don’t know about the ladies out there, but to myself and most men, belching in key is a big selling point for beer.
  • The references to bars and money and martini glasses feels incomplete.  Where are the silhouettes of strippers?  Amiright?
  • If that bottle was a forty, I’d believe it could last that long and trash a couple of kids animals Tiny Toons.  But I’ve seen them get shot in the face, fall off cliffs, and get blown up by dynamite.  One 12 oz. bottle… not buying it.
  • And about that solo 12 oz. bottle being the only thing in the fridge at the beginning… that looked a lot like my fridge!
  • The entire thing is in insulting to hobos and drunks everywhere.
  • And man, was that animation kinda crappy, or what?

I think Buster, Hampton, and Plucky need the Cartoon All-Stars to the Rescue!

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

Posted on by sgottahurt

gearsThis 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?)

Drunken Recollection… Nuclear Urine For Jellyfish?

Posted on 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.

Drunken Recollection… The Difference Between Wants And Needs

Posted on 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…

mtndewtshirt

Hey ladies, guess what I drink?

seinfeldtshirt

Hey ladies, guess what I've watched?

And There Are Things That I Need

Such as definitely bullhorns on my Honda Civic…

civicbull

Drunken Recollection… News At The Speed Of Twitter

Posted on 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")

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?

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!

No wonder Twitter Bird is so fast!

Drunken Recollection… Going For The Goldfish?

Posted on 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.
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...

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…

JusWondering… Does Beer Make Me Smarter?

Posted on by sgottahurt

Sure… during my month of not boozing, I might have woke up each morning with an extra bounce in my step, but at work, more mistakes were made and more things were forgotten.  Yeah, it’s possible I slept better or longer (courtesy of passing out) during the many sauced months that came before, or that the heaped upon hours I spent in front of the boob tube boobed out my noggin and rendered my work performance lackluster.

So I started to wonder… maybe I’m smarter under the influence.  I do play a lot of trivia at the bar, and maybe that’s like running with ankle-weights for my brain.  Research ensued and I discovered this headline:

Whuuuuhhh?!

Whuuuuhhh?!

Dost thine eyes deceive, um, me?

From the BBC article:

Mice fed moderate quantities of alcohol grew extra brain cells, but also showed a preference for alcohol over water.

Lead researcher Professor Stefan Brene said: “We believe that the increased production of new nerve cells during moderate alcohol consumption can be important for the development of alcohol addiction and other long-term effects of alcohol on the brain.”

Okay, maybe it doesn’t sound perfectly fantastic – or does it?  

Alternatively, the extra cells might help with learning and memory, [Brene] said.  Another theory, according to the researchers, is that the tranquilising effect of alcohol triggers the growth.  All of the new cells developed normally.

My favorite line:

A spokeswoman from the Campaign for Real Ale said: “It is well known that alcohol in moderation is good for your body so it’s no surprise it’s also good for your mind.  “Maybe that is why lots of pub quiz teams are so bright.”

Some other favorite lines… from The Legend of Bagger Vance:

Rannulph Junnah: Now, the question on the table is how drunk is drunk enough? And the answer is that it’s all a matter of brain cells
Hardy Greaves: Brain cells?
Rannulph Junnah: That’s right Hardy. You see every drink of liquor you take kills a thousand brain cells. Now that doesn’t much matter ‘cos we got billions more. And first the sadness cells die so you smile real big. And then the quiet cells go so you just say everything real loud for no reason at all. That’s ok, that’s ok because the stupid cells go next, so everything you say is real smart. And finally, come the memory cells. These are tough sons of bitches to kill.

And then there’s always Cliff Clavin’s take:

Well you see, Norm, it’s like this… A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo and when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first.
This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members.
In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Now, as we know, excessive drinking of alcohol kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine.
And that, Norm, is why you always feel smarter after a few beers.

Drunken Recollection… I Might Be More Afraid Of Lizards Than I Thought

Posted on by sgottahurt

Drinking time with old friends usually includes a back catalog of stories we’ve all heard before. 

Last night, for example, the tale of how one of my pals and I almost burnt down an entire Boy Scout camp (it wasn’t our fault as much as it was the scoutmaster’s pyromaniac son) was brought up. 

Or how one the friend’s family seems to think some of the other guys built a new cabin one time (they didn’t).  Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned our BSA days at all, but my point is this: we’ve heard it all before.

At least that’s what I thought.

My buddy was regaling us with an episode that occurred while he was in Malaysia.  Apparently, he had rented a dirt bike and was traveling around with his girl at that time (this story was brought up most likely because his girl of this time wasn’t present).  They were planning on taking a shortcut up a dirt path on a hill, but at the top, they encountered a chainlink fence. 

On his side of the fence, a dumpster full of reeking trash.

On the opposite side – a cadre of monitor lizards clawing at the fence, hissing, and shaking it.  I imagined something like a zombie movie.  He said rather than riding the bike in a small circle, he stood up (with his girl hanging around his neck the entire time), grabbed the end of the bike, and spun in his spot.  He sped so fast down the hill he almost popped at wheelie at take-off.

Okay, it’s not a classic story, but considering what’s happened in Indonesia with the Komodo dragons, it kind of freaked me out.  Also… I was drunk, so I kind of pictured it something like this:

Dramatization of actual events

Dramatization of actual events

Drunken Recollection… First Rule Of Bachelor Party – You Don’t Talk About Bachelor Party

Posted on by sgottahurt

For the last two weeks, not a smidge of alcohol has quenched my parched, getting-very-used-to-water, lips. 

One bachelor party changed the no-drinking-in-May plan (at least for that night).
Two beers in, I was feeling tipsy.
The third film in the X-Men series almost killed my burgeoning buzz when it was brought up before the bus bid farewell.
Four… ah, I’m at a loss on how to keep this list up.  Oh, wait!  Four bars is the amount we visited.
Five beers came in a bucket at our second stop.  Or should I say a fifth of Jack was passed around (of which I passed on).

Okay, yeah, now I give up.  Anyway, overall it was fairly trouble free, aside from my cousin slapping me in the face, punching me in the gut, and tucking his feet in my armpit as he curled up in a ball to sleep – all within six minutes (I told you I’m stopping the number thing).

I recall talking to a stripper dancer woman at one of the stops extensively about this:

Like our purloined dispenser, except ours had sunflower seeds, peanuts, and Reese's Pieces. I think.

Like our purloined dispenser, except ours had sunflower seeds, peanuts, and Reese's Pieces. I think.

Someone in the group who will go nameless, but was prone to slapping and punching despite being sleepy, stole lifted a candy dispenser and someone else in the group got really upset about it. 

The best man forbid a couple of women from joining the group on its road trip, which at the time, sounded like a bad idea to not let them, but hindsight being what it is, was simply a bad idea, so kudos to him.  I can’t get too upset then that he had the bus drop him off directly at home.

Back at our original point of departure, I was done.  Well, I was with it enough to eat a few Pizza Rolls. 

I guess some of the other guys put the candy dispenser on top of the guy’s car that was getting upset.  (Sure, he had a reason for being irritated, but it was meh at best.)  I guess that inflamed him further and he smashed it on the ground.  Someone else took it upon himself and completely busted it open.  Quarters flew everywhere, and those who were still awake scooped them up.

The next morning, the three of us that drove together walked out into the gloomy daybreak.  I spotted a crapload of quarters that went unclaimed.  My reply: “I would like to say that if I was a kid right now, seeing this would make me happy as hell.  But as an adult, I can’t say that I feel any different.  I’m not too proud to crouch long enough to pick up a few dollars.” 

My cousin and I gathered about ten bucks each.  My friend with us had already grabbed about ten bucks the night before…