drinking

Drunken Recollection… Misunderstandings, Winter Wear, Big Noses, And A Song About Monkeys

Posted on by sgottahurt

After having bee trapped in my home for the last sixty hours (57.5 of which were probably spent on the couch) due to a snow storm, I finally ventured out last night.  Grant it, my car got stuck in the driveway, but I still managed to head out to one of my old dives.

While there, my friend, Jay, and I watched football highlights and waxed poetic about the old days in the joint.  We talked about whether the Lions would fail us and actually win a game.  And we laughed at the amateurs playing in a televised poker tournament (one woman named Ellen had no poker face, but she was kicking aces!)

On the ride back to the neighborhood, a conversation came up about Under Armour.  Don’t know how, but it proabably had to do with insulated clothing in the cold.  He brought up how they have cold weather lines and hot weather lines.  I wondered if I should invest in the hot weather line when I play soccer, yada yada.  The part that made me laugh was when Jay described the technology they use.

“Wicket,” I thought he said first.

“Like the Ewok?” I asked.

“Wicked,” he repeated.

“Like the porn company?” I wondered.

We didn’t get to me mishearing Wiccan, and I think we decided on Wicket (I can’t find anything about this on their site or Wiki page), but it reminded me of one of my all time favorite comedy scenes in a movie.  It’s from “Roxanne.”

It’s subtle – sure.  But I love misheard-based humor.  Here’s the lyrics for a song I wrote when I had a band named Monkey Spank Monkey Do that eventually became oddcookie.  (This sight was thatclose to having the original band name, but I was afraid of what type of people might visit).  We never did much as a band anyway.  Sorry I’m not attaching the music.  Whatever you make up in your head will probably be better anyway.

Simianuff

That day that you told me
You didn’t want to see me
Anymore I just didn’t know

I wanted to ask you why
You didn’t even start to cry
Up and out you gave this reply:

You never simianuff, you never simianuff, you never simianuff

After that I had went on home
My mind so far it had been blown
Away by your rationale

I wanted to ask what you
Meant by saying “simianuff”
But I didn’t want to piss you off

So in turn I became primate
And bought myself a monkey suit
Bananas and “Tree Climbing Monthly”

I hope I’m simian enough, I hope I’m simian enough, I hope I’m simian enough

I started hanging around you
Quite often literally
Being my new simian self

You acted like I was
Insane, was what you called me
I only did what I was told

So you said, “I’ll see you around”
Mumbled something under your breath
I haven’t ever seen you since

You never see me enough, you never see me enough, you never see me enough
You’re never seein’ me enough, you never simian enough, you never simianuff…
Oh fuck…

(P.S. I must also have a fascination with monkeys.)

Drunken Recollection… I Have No Idea What I Recollected

Posted on by sgottahurt

I’m going to let everyone in on a little secret about the mysterious workings behind this blog.  I wake up at the crack of dawn everyday (I just love beating the sun) and walk to my corner gas station to pick up a local paper.  Sure, I could have the delivery boy bring it, but the exercise keeps the ol’ pumper pumping (besides, I leave the paper boy a tip every Christmas as if I subscribed to help make up for his losses).  As I mill through the ink print to discover what’s going on in this world, I pour myself some whole grain cereal and organic milk, with a side of orange juice and toast (I use real butter to lather my heated wheat treat – it’s my only vice!)  I even slice up bananas and strawberries to put on top, like in the commercials.  After immediately washing the dishes and separating my recyclables, I ready the tub for a nice bubble bath and who am I kidding… I barely wake up on time to get to work at 10:30ish.  I should be there at 9!  This is the case due to the habit of my evening imbibing of carbonated, fermented brown water.

While at the draft tap establishments, conversations erupt, and often I’m reminded of something clever to write about, and I make a note in my cell phone.  Usually, I can translate.  Most times, I find messages like this:

  1. dancing caveman jukebox
  2. baby jacket
  3. think straw when see
  4. deli 25 bux
  5. whoprvirgins baby coat
  6. mr. wizard
  7. getn away w murdr
  8. angus young black
  9. martha quinn med woman
  10. kidbits

There are other notes of which I do remember, and will be inevitable posts, but these strike little or no chord.  Or I remember having a drunken laugh about them, such as 3, 8, and 9.  I believe 3 refers to how when I see a straw in somebody else’s drink at the table, I move toward my drink as though it also has a straw (I don’t drink beer with a straw anymore… not since I got rid of my “Cast Away” Halloween costume beard… although at times I have joined many straws so I wouldn’t have to pick up my mug).  8 and 9 were common mix-ups I have about AC/DC’s lead singer and the old MTV VJ.

1 and 4 were going to be big to-do’s, but I really had no fodder.  I cannot stand the dancing Geico caveman on digital jukeboxes, and I love how you don’t have to sign credit card statements on things less than $25.  I have no idea what the “deli” has to do with anything.  Much like number 7 – that one scares me because I’m 100% clueless about it.

2 and 5 repeated the theme of those stupid small coats that the ladies wear nowadays.  I wanted to bring up how pointless and stupid and trendy they are – much like Uggs boots.  I don’t know why I jotted down the Burger King website in conjunction with the jacket, though.

6 and 10 probably had to do with the same chit chat about childhood TV science shows.  I don’t know “Mr. Wizard,” per se, but “Kidbits” taught me how to make a chair out of three baseball bats (I also believe the demonstration was with knives or forks… I’m leaning toward knives though) and how to poke a straw through a potato. 

In closing, here’s “Kidbits” theme:

Drunken Recollection… Douchbag Machines

Posted on by sgottahurt

See, you punch it, and it gives you a score... what do you mean what else does it do?

See, you punch it, and it gives you a score... what do you mean what else does it do?

I hate this thing.  I really do.

I wish I never set my eyes upon it.  I’ll go one better and wish my friends’ eyes had never set upon it, because they’re the facilitators of the addiction.

Meet Punch!  Or BoxClub… or Boxing… or whatever version the bar has.  They’re all over the place, like a drunk girl on me (I wish).  And they have been for awhile, but I’ve managed to keep my distance from what I designated as the Douchebag Machine.  The higher the number you can hit on the dangling nutsack, the bigger the nutsack you are.

Or so I used to pretend.  Now it’s almost like a Holy Grail when I step into a gin joint.  Whomever spots it first begins the murmurs – “Did you see?  Did you see?”  And every unit is different.  Ssome bags are soft, some are hard.  Some respond well to running at it and others don’t. 

So am I a douchebag for playing?  Nope.  And neither are my friends.

But everyone else still is.

Drunken Recollection… Palm Reading At Strip Clubs

Posted on by sgottahurt

Ah, the universal question… why do I get so philosophical when I get drunk?  (Okay, it may not be universal to you, but it certainly is to me.)  Is it that maybe I’m always so deeply lost in thought, that the suppression of ideas spill out when my tongue’s been freed by liquid courage?  Or do I talk out my ass and sell the shit out of my bullshit?

Whatever the answer, the fact that remains is this: why am I doing this when I’m at the strip club local ballet?

Now before you go getting all judgmentallyish on me, know that I’m going to blame it on my friends.  I’m always going to say they dragged me there.  It’s besides the point that they actually did have to drag me there the first time I went (I was still a very, very devout Catholic back then), but nowadays there’s a little less arm twisting (it’s usually bribery that gets me).  So anyhoohah, to my point – what was my point?

A couple of my friends recently happened upon a local ballerina establishment.  (Actually, it was the night of my Sober Recollection… that was the next stop I could not be bribed into.)  One of them later recounted to me that one of the ladies claimed to be a palm reader.  He swore she got his name, his occupation, and a few other things right, to which I decried “balogna” (would “baloney” have had more of a visual impact?)  I figured our other friend had to give her a heads-up because I don’t believe palm reading works that way (if at all).

This story he told me while at a different joint (oh yeah, this was where I was going).  It lead me to ponder (okay it’s not quite philosophizing, but I do that a lot as well) about what I would like to have happen if I ever got my palm read.  I would be so excited if the reader started looking over my lines, and then immediately stood up and backed away.  “Go!  You must leave!  Now!”  The reader’s voice would crack as they cowered into the corner, crying.  Man, that would give me the biggest smile.

Another scenario I always daydream about is more of a prank.  I need to find a good recording of screaming demons so that I could call my friends and when they answered, I’d just play the burning in fire and brimstone response.

I also pretend I’m Wolverine or John McClane when I’m in my hallways at work.  Man, this post went off rail… must be because of this beer I’m palm reading.

Palm reading is fundamental.

Palm reading is fundamental.

Sober Recollection… For A Change…

Posted on by sgottahurt

The towel with which he wiped his face left this image

The towel with which he wiped his face left this image

As the wise and sage-like Gary Busey once said, “Son of a bitch everything’s real,” I too spent my eve teetotaling, and realized there is much to learn while the mind is clean and the thoughts are clear.  Namely, I have to write in a pretentious tone, and make use of odd phrasings and word choices. 

Fuck that.  Here’s some things I learned the night I decided not to drink and still hit four bars.  (Maybe that’s how I lasted for four bars… I can get sleepy when I do the brew.)  (Image from Drawastar)

Chapter One – Buffalo Wild Wings

  • Sarcasm doesn’t work in text messages.  I knew this was the case with emails, but for some reason that didn’t translate in my brain.  Basically, I hurt sumbuwy’s feewings.
  • Edith Bunker was the first TV character to experience menopause, and not Maude.  Who knew that Norman Lear spread the wealth of taboo around?  (FYI: Maude was the first to have an abortion.)
  • “Rolling Stone” magazine changed its size.  They went smaller and quite frankly it looks wrong.

Chapter Two – One Under Bar and Grill

  • Paying cover for a band sucks when you show up right before their set ends, and the group decides to leave before the next set starts because the overall scene is lame.  Even if it’s $3.  And even though you didn’t pay it (thanks Doctor J).
  • The Trivia Jockey from my usual Wednesday stop hits this bar after leaving the other bar.  Not a big deal.  Just if I was a couple pillow cases to the wind I wouldn’t have noticed.
  • Everybody knows a dude that looks like Al Pacino.

Chapter Three – Kickers Complex (I just learned that’s what it’s called!)

  • It’s equally nice and sad to be recognized by bartenders.
  • You never want to hear a man sing Sara Bareilles’ “Love Song.”  Not even in an ironic way.  Trust me.
  • This song is supposedly popular, although I’ve never heard of it. 
    I know it’s country, but I’m familiar with the biggies.  This one?  I never even heard of its name.  Also, the two dudes singing David Allen Coe no favors.
  • Karaoke in an empty bar sucks.

Chapter Four – Plymouth Roadhouse

  • It’s equally nice and sad to be recognized by the bartender and the waitress.
  • When big screen projection TV’s are on their last legs, they look like crooked bootleg DVD’s of movies, minus people walking in front.
  • In theory, nobody knows shit about what’s going to happen to the Big Three Automakers.  The proof (as if you need it) is in the fact that everybody heard and knows something different.  Some of my favorite speculations: Ford will be picking up Jeep from GM, Chrysler will go bye-bye, GM will absorb Chrysler’s minivan division and make Dodge Ram their only truck, and Ford will get bought out by the Chinese but will keep the family name as part of the agreement.
  • And in closing, I learned that what Cerebus did in securing Chrysler was a lot like what Richard Gere’s character did in “Pretty Woman.”  They both bought a product at a reduced cost solely to strip it down and liquidate it for profit.  In essence – treat it like a whore (a regular one though… not Julia Roberts).

In My Brain While Sleeping… I May Have A Drinking Problem

Posted on by sgottahurt

I’m almost as hooked on the snooze bar as I am the booze bar, but as of late, I have not recalled many of my dreams.  This morning – a whopper, a flopper, and a doozy.

SCENARIO UNO

Do not go Freudian on me.

Do not go Freudian on me.

I was the eldest lad in a family of seafarers.  The brood’s Papa was a maritime cop, and he must have had it hard (who wants to have any job that begins with maritime?).  Every night it seemed Mama would wait for him to get home to serve dinner, and every night he’d be late (you’d think Mama would have learned).  I remember working on a crossword puzzle in a magazine.  I also recall the entire decor looking retro 70’s, or maybe it took place in the 70’s.  (Hello “Life on Mars.”)  Anyway, when Papa would get home, the first thing he’d do was pour a glass of whiskey on the rocks.  Then he’d dunk a banana in it.  He called it the Cop-a-Cabanana.

SCENARIO DOS

Hot chocolate chips!

Hot chocolate chips!

I don’t drink coffee.  As I’ve stated before, my cup of tea is Mountain Dew.  In my brain, I must live for Starbucks.  For some reason, while in line to get my iced mochachino espressosaurus rex, the announcement was made that Starbucks was being bought out.  That this shocked me in the dream shocks me now.  The reason for the buyout: too many people that bought their coffee were losing their jobs, and thus poor Starbucks was going down.  The purchaser: Mrs. Field’s Cookies.  They also bought out Arby’s for who-know-why.  My question was, “How could Mrs. Field’s succeed where Starbucks failed?”  The answer: No matter what, everyone eats cookies.

SCENARIO TRES

I couldn

No Photoshopping here.

This was by far one of the most disturbing – not in content, but in juxtaposition of content.  Stitch (the alien experiment to the left) was boozing it up and chomping down cigars faster than George Burns, Bill Clinton, and Monica Lewinsky put together.  (He kind of reminded me of the smoking chimp.)  And that’s fine.  It’s well within Stitch’s personality.  But to note: this dream was in cartoon form, and this is where things spiraled into time for me to wake up.   Across the room, Stitch spotted an inflatable doll.  He stumbled towards it, placed his head between its legs, and bit.  Pop! 

Needless to say, I had it enough with the snooze bar. 

…We’ll see about the regular bar.

INGREDIENTS: Cajun chicken sandwich, soggy bar fries, and mucho de boozo.

JusWondering… Is Mark Hamill Playing Bob Costas?

Posted on by sgottahurt

When I was watching any football game but the Lions this weekend, I couldn’t help but notice announcer Bob Costas was beginning to look like a certain Jedi Knight.

Trust me - watch NBC Sports

Trust me - watch NBC Sports

Throw a little Botox into Mark Hamill’s visage, and he could be playing the guy giving the play-by-plays (or at least his analysis thereof).

…Or maybe I was just drinking too much this weekend.

Batter up!

Batter up!

Drunken Recollection… Things Learned Over Thanksgiving Weekend

Posted on by sgottahurt

Thanksgiving weekend has come and gone, as has all the turkey (et. al.) through me.  With this in mind, I shall impart onto you the various things that I learned over the past four days.

1) There is something called The Amazing Plant Lamp.  As the website proclaims:

The only lamp of its kind where you quickly touch the live plant to turn it on and off or hold a leaf and it works as a dimmer.

Ain’t that the bees knees!  Just stick the Amazing Plant Lamp kit in any plant and voila!

2) Raisins are forcibly put into too many things, like cinnamon bread and puddings.  I usually don’t eat any of these foods anyway, but I can relate because of how common it is for bakers to put nuts in fudge brownies (that could be taken out of context)!  Enough!  I want choices!

(SIDE NOTE: I used to like Fig Newtons as a kid because I thought it was some kind of weird tasting chocolate.  Then I learned and thus hated them.)

3) Chocotinis have zero alcohol content, despite what anyone else might claim.  My sister was pulled over for having non-working turn signals.  She was nervous and forgot her alphabet.  The cop made her do the random balance tests and the such, then he gave her a Breathalyzer test.  She blew zero.  Case closed!

4) You can break the bottom off a beer bottle with water and a hand slap.  Basically, take an empty bottle (in this case, it was Coors Light), fill it halfway with water, hold the neck in one hand, and slam the palm of your other hand on the bottle’s mouth.  The bottom drops out from the instant air pressure, I guess.  Apparently, beer has more shock absorption.

5) My cousin Steve might be a diabolical genius.  In discussing the biggest insults one man could make against another (backhanding was #3… spitting in face was #2… we didn’t go beyond what’s to follow), he declared the greatest coup, the most humiliating attack, the most degrading defeat, the biggest insult to be ever perpetrated in the world would be this – to tickle a man in front of his family.  Right in front of his wife, his children, and his dog.  Tickled to the point of tears and uncontrollable laughter.  It’s guaranteed that after the giggles were through, he’d pack up his things and walk out the door, not saying a word, not making any eye contact, swearing to himself to never return again, and all this would be understood.  Out of humiliation he’d still support the family, though thousands of miles away.  And his family could become your family.

6) As a kid, I watched WXYZ Channel 7 way more than I realized, because they had a special on about their past 60 years, and I got choked up.  Stupid nostalgia…

7) I would put that the Detroit Lions suck, but I already knew that.

I Am Thankful For… Beer

Posted on by sgottahurt

Me wantee

Me wantee

What color would my urine be?

What color would my urine be?

It is Thanksgiving and what better day to give thanks to the greatest gift of all… beer.  And not just any beer – all beers (which I guess technically is any beer… no, any is not all-inclusive… you almost got me, inner dialogue… but doesn’t dialogue suggests two… do I have two voices in my head?)

Anyhasenfefferincorporated, back to the beer.  I was thinking about my early days of drinking, and how my initial inclination toward “better tasting drinks” shifted toward “cheaper drinks.”

In the early Canada/Impress-Hooters-Waitresses phase, I was all about Labatt Blue.  As I immatured, the pocketbook gave way to Bud Light.  (“So you’re telling me Labatt’s a buck more because it’s imported?  From Canada?  Which is next door to Detroit?”)  Then as my friends’ digestive systems could no longer tolerate BL, we’ve since moved onto Miller Lite.  (I’m a stalwart trailblazer that bucks the trends and divines my own path!)

Truth is, my beer is whatever’s on special that night.  Corona, American Ale, PBR, Michelob, Coors – no pickiness here.  It’s probably the only thing I’m not picky about, and for that I’m the most thankful of all.

Me

I don't know these people, but I do know their passion... no, not for each other... ah, forget it

In My Brain While Sleeping… Russell Simmons’ New Game Show

Posted on by sgottahurt

Russell Simmons had a cast of about fifty people from all kinds of ethnic backgrounds for his new game show – “Yellow & Blue Make Green.”  We were all outside of the set, and questions were brewing amongst the potential contestants.

“Do you think green means environmental, or do you think green mean money?”

The warehouse doors opened to allow entrance.  Inside resembled a Nickelodeon show like “Double Dare.”  There were shelves containing yellow liquids and blue liquids.  Some had yellow clay and blue clay.  Yellow paint and blue paint.  Yellow pudding and blue pudding.

I was curious.  In between each of the pairs of substances existed one green colored combination of the two. 

“I’ll bet we’re supposed to compete by mixing these and whomever gets closest to that color the fastest wins.”

Russell finally greeted us all and lead us into another area of the warehouse that looked more like a store.  He picked ten people of which I was one, and sent the rest into the green room.

He said the first person to bring him a green balloon would win, but he didn’t say what they’d win.  As everyone tried to combine yellow and blue balloons, I found a green one and brought it to Russell.  He said I get to chose the fate of someone in the green room.  I asked in what way, and he said whatever I thought that meant.

I decided to let everyone play, and he said that meant everyone won!

“Money?” I asked.  He shook his head.  “Environmental awareness?”  Again he shook his head.

“Harmony,” he responded.

INGREDIENTS: eleven bottles of Miller Lite, thirty combination pizza rolls, and three spoon fulls of large curd cottage cheese… yum!