New Year's Eve 2006

I thought today would be the perfect opportunity to revisit last year's shenanigans.

(reposted from my myspace)

New Year's Eve is the amatuer night of drinkers. The best thing I can compare it to is those once-a-year christians who only go to church on Christmas; it's lame and people need not to half ass it, because that is when you fuck it up. So here you have the people who usually drink, out their whooping it up, but then you get these idiots who dont drink any other time of the year, throwing them back like a republican caught in a pedophilliac scandal. Of course they can't handle the mass amounts of liquor, so they're getting sick, getting in fights and just being general dumb asses.

That why I hate going to bars on New Year's Eve. Instead, we went party hopping with Milfgasm and Professor Beer, which was splendid because we didn't hafta driveWith an assload of freshly fallen snow on the ground, even the sober people were ending up in the ditches. The first party was one put on by people really into home brewing, needless to say, quite the selection of fine beverages, but a bit too sedate. So I pop some exstacy and that made the night more interesting.

The second party, we thought we were at the right house, but about the time Professor Beer was peeing in the bushes, we noticed that HEY there are children inside and that's DEFINITELY the wrong house. As we pseudo ran down the street, I was rethinking the my decision to wear stiletto heeled boots.

Buttery nipple shots, and many many more shots galore, and some karoke really brought 2007 in with the force of Chuck Norris kicking a baby. One of the clearest memories is me singing Prince's Pussy Control at the top of my fucking lungs. I can't find a clip of this song, but I give you some of the lyrics:
Pussy got bank in her pockets
Before she got dick in her drawers
If brother didnt have good and plenty of his own
In love pussy never did fall
And this fool named trick wanna stick her
Uh, talkin more schick than a bic
bout how he gonna make pussy a star
If she come and sing a lick on his hit
Pussy said nigga, u crazy if u dont know
Every woman in the world aint a freak
U can go platinum 4 times
Still couldnt make what I make in a week
So push up on somebody wanna hear that
Cuz this somebody here dont wanna know
Boy, u better act like u understand
When u roll with pussy control (are u ready? )

Aaah, pussy control, oh
Aaah, pussy control, oh

Breakdown(are u ready 4 the best pussy u ever felt? )

With one more verse 2 the story
I need another piece of your ear
I wanna hip u all 2 the reason
Im known as the player of the year
Cuz I met this girl named pussy
At the club international balls
She was rollin 4-deep
3 sisters and a weepy-eyed white girl drivin her haul
I pulled up right beside her
And my electric top went down
I said motherfucker, I know your reputation
And Im astounded that ure hereI fear ure lonely and u want 2 know
A 12 oclock straight up nigga
That dont give a shit that ure pussy control
Well Im that nigga, at least I wanna be
But its gonna be hard as hell
2 keep my mind off a body
That would make every rich man
Want 2 sell, sell, sell (75, we need another.. 85, 85 here, sold!)
Can I tell u what Im thinkin that u already know? U need a motherfucker that respects your name

Now say it, pussy control (are u ready? )
Aaah, pussy control, oh
Aaah, pussy control, oh

NO, it's not the thought that counts.

UPDATE: we are now "even" because of the wine that I spilled (when no one at all was supposed to be drinking) that they think broke their internets (come on, there is no fucking correlation, but whatever). Guess I didn't clean it all up...

WHAT THE FUCK?! Lawyerman's parents gave me chickens for giftmas. Seriously, MOTHERFUCKING CHICKENS. Some bullshit about giving them to a needy family, blah blah blah. Knowing that chickens were donated to poor people in some shithole country doesn't give me a warm feeling. It makes me feel ripped off. The only chicken I want for the holidays is cooked and served with a side of mashed potatoes. I know it makes me a selfish asshole, but I don't really care. Frankly, I'd rather donate needles to heroin addicts.



Why not just give me a goddamn giftcard? Then at least I could get something I actually want. However, I should point out that just because a store offers giftcards, doesn't mean you need to buy them for people; one year I got a 30 dollar giftcard to 7-11. Who hangs out at 7-11's besides fucking bums?


To everyone who thinks it's the thought that counts, that's just platitude sodomy we tell kids when they get presents they hate. The question I ask, is what fucking thought posessed you to buy me chickens? I know what thought they were thinking when they bought me three cupcake pans... they want to fatten me up. Yes, I do indeed bake, but I dont need to bake 36 cupcakes simultaneously.


The card they gave me that accompanied my fanfuckingtastic present of chickens said "Many good wishes for the holiday and the coming new year." Well, I have a few wishes. The first one is that I wish I had brought a bigger flask to deal with this bullshit. The second wish is that I NEVER GET FUCKING CHICKENS FOR A PRESENT AGAIN. The third one is that I continue to contain my disgust at hearing Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas CD for the gazillionth time (come on, Christmas was over almost a week ago). I think my first and third wish go hand-in-hand.

Adventures With Auntie Cougar- Part I

No, folks, I'm not dead, just in Wisconsin (can you believe they actually sell fucking cheese curds at gas stations?) and rockin' some dial-up action.

My Aunt came to visit me from Florida before I departed to the land of the poor cholesterol. Auntie Cougar traveled in typical McMockingbird form (her maiden name was McMockingbird), with a some valium and a few of those little airplane skyy vodkas. So when I picked her up from the airport, she already had a fair amount of Giftmas spirit(s). It was the afternoon, so once she got settled and had a bit of a nap, she was ready to tie one on. I learned that because Belvedere vodka is so smooth, there is no need for a mixer and/or chaser, because one can just do shots of it.

We went bar hopping with The Novice and Landon. I feel the need to point out that my Aunt doesn't look like the average aunt. In fact, she looks exactly like me (big curly hair, big tits etc...In part II of the Auntie Cougar Adventures, I'll try to include a pic), except she is older and smells mentholy-fresh. She is just as loud, rowdy and can drink me under the table. Needless to say, Landon and The Novice were pleased to have double the McMockingbird trouble that night.

Auntie Cougar almost got in a fight with the bartender because he didn't put enough Crown Royal in her drink, and then refused to remake it. Luckily, there was this dude in the army that started buying us shots (red headed sluts amd washington apples). I think that is what got me into trouble. The Novice and Landon have been out drinking with me a whole helluva lot but have never seen me get sick (granted I've been close...), but with Auntie Cougar around I reeeeallly pushed myself to the limit. Next thing I know, we have left the bar, and I'm puking into a snowbank. Hot. We go to the Uptown Diner to try to get something to soak it up, and I get sick in the bathroom. They tell us we need to leave because it's their "policy". Fuck you and your goddamn policy, it's not like I made a mess ( Random Note: I have fantastic aim when it comes to puking). Ridiculous.

Anyway, here is the final and 12th drink of Giftmas. Yes, I know I'm late, but for me, the holiday season hasn't ended yet, so I'm actually within an acceptable time range.

The Poinsetta

• 3 oz of Champagne, chilled (I recommend Korbel, it's a nice middle of the road champagne)
• 3 oz. Cranberry Juice
• 1 oz. Triple Sec

Serve in a highball glass, garnish with orange slice

santa does the mambo

RAAAAAAAWwwwwwwwr!!!! merry giftmas. i'm already2 drunk to do a legitimate post. but this is what i'm drinking at the moment at milfgasm & co's house.

Frostbite

• 1 oz of tequila (patron silver, bitchez!!)
• 3/4 oz creme de cocao
• dash of motherfuckin' nutmeg

shake with ice and strain into a COCKtail glass

Scavenging for Jesus' Birthday

Yesterday was my office holiday party. Instead of doing the typical, open-bar gathering, where someone makes out with the secretary in the broom closet, my office had a scavenger hunt in Uptown Minneapolis. Granted, all of us are under 30, and full of vim and vigor, but honestly this is not how I wanted to spend my Thursday afternoon (even if I was still getting paid). It was icy and shitty, with a couple inches of snow on the ground, and because of my pins and plate in my leg, I’m just one slip and fall away from being a legitimate cripple. Not to mention, I had the pregnant girl on my team, and she wasn’t moving very fast.

I don’t actually like most of my coworkers (there’s a shocker), so I felt that it would be in everyone’s best interest for me to get a little festive beforehand. At lunch with Sarah, I had two apple martinis. This did wonders for my patience level, as I found out I like my coworkers much better after downing a couple. One of the questions was phrased like this: “Horst Rechelbacher created this product, for which Tequila Mockingbird has no use for this product because of her natural and ample _______.” Calvin Crustitron and Sarah automatically come up with “BOOOBS” as their answer. Their other partner thought it might be “curls” instead, which fit because there was an Aveda salon nearby.


We had the distinct pleasure of dodging hobos (we ended up feeding one with our McDonalds we had bought, to get the toy out of the happy meal). No bum dodging was necessary last year, as the scavenger hunt took place in the Mall of America; but there were tourists there, and I after living the majority of my life in Fla, I DESPISE tourists… I’m not quite sure which is worse, panhandlers or dumbass tourists.

Other exciting shenanigans included (but not limited to) getting kicked out of various retail stores because they do NOT like you taking pictures. Leaving our Polaroid camera at old Chicago (it wouldn’t have mattered how many points we got, losing the camera would’ve been an instant FAIL) while on a quest to get a seasonal item; the other two teams picked bread, we went for a bottle of winter lager and got extra points! We did manage to get it back. Also, I had to sneak in the band area at Famous Daves, and play the drums (I like how my boss had stuff on the list that would get us in trouble). The staff was not amused.


We didn’t win, despite trying to convince the shops and businesses not to help the other teams. Afterwards we went to Chino Latino, and got down to the business of boozing and pretending to get along splendidly. Great food, but I was disappointed that the “house of wang’s salt and pepper shrimp” wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be…

For all of you thirsty readers, another recipe in my 12 drinks of Giftmas series:

Giftmas Hunch Punch

• 1 bottle of Southern Comfort (750 milliliter size)
• 6 oz of lemon juice
• 1 6 oz can of frozen lemonade concentrate (thawed, dumbasses)
• 1 6 oz can of frozen orange juice concentrate
• 3 liters of lemon lime flavored carbonated beverage
• 1 orange, sliced into rounds
• l lemon, sliced into rounds

Combine all of into a big ass bowl. Stir. It's not rocket science.

Giftmas Meme

Ok, I was tagged for a meme, and I don't get all hot and bothered by them, but I didnt feel like writing a "real" post. I took some of the questions out because I am lazy and the answer would've been boring... Those of you who read this often, know at the very least I am always entertaining.

1. Wrapping or gift bags? I can wrap like a motherfucker, but when I give someone the gift of booze, I stick it in a bag for quicker access (I do put a bow on it so it looks festive).
2. Real or artificial tree? Personally, it doesn’t matter, but at someone else’s house, I prefer to vomit in their real tree, because it covers up the smell of my shrimp cocktail and gin.
3. When do you put up the tree? This year it happened during a blizzard.
4. When do you take the tree down? When the needles fall off and I’m sick of finding them in the oddest places, like down the back of my thong (WTF?)
5. Do you like eggnog? Only if I make it, and fill it full of alcoholic goodness.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? Easy Bake Oven. I used to melt legos and barbies inside.
7. Do you have a nativity scene? FUCK NO. I am a hardcore atheist. Although, one of my favorite Christmas memories was when I was 16; me, my gay best friend Mike, his then boyfriend and our slutty friend Casey stealing random pieces from people’s nativity scenes while we were rolling on ecstasy. We ended up with a wise man, two donkeys, a baby Jesus, a black Virgin Mary, and a random reindeer.
8. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? A goat. Seriously.
9. Favorite Christmas Movie? Usually I would say “ A Christmas Story”, hell I even have the shirt, buuuuuuut, “Barely Legal Christmas” has taken it’s place.

10. When do you start shopping for Christmas? Shopping? Fuck that, I shoplift… What present means more than one you could’ve gone to jail for?
11. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Cock. Xmas is the season for cock-gobbling.
12. Clear lights or colored on the tree? Clear lights. The glow gives my boob a woodie.
13. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer? Peppermint, Peach, Cinnamon, Apple, Butterscotch… oh wait, those are my favorite flavors of Schnapps.
14. Open the presents Christmas Eve or Christmas Morning? Depends on how hungover I am.
15. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Those bell ringing sons of bitches.
16. Do you decorate your tree in any specific theme or color? Actually yes. This year I listened to Tool and drunkenly decorated the tree with reds, whites and silvers. It looks fanfuckingtastic.
17. What do you leave for Santa? single malt scotch. It’s why I get the shiny gifts.

This 9th drink of Giftmas was a recipe given to me by my friend MILFgasm.

Oatmeal Raisin Cookie

• ¾ oz Butterscotch Schnapps
• ¼ Cinnamon Schnapps (I recommend Goldshlager)
• ¼ Irish Cream

Pour over ice. It will leave you with the same feeling that 'all is right with the world', just like the cookies do. DO NOT SERVE TO CHILDREN.

Reindeer Games I play

It’s that time of year, for receiving useless and unwanted gifts. This particular flavor of douchebaggery is most often tasted in the workplace, in the form of a Secret Santa present exchange. My office is super small, with only 9 people, so we all draw names and every week hide a $5 present. The first week I got this bizarre video (a double feature, but it was a double feature where both movies blew ass). Granted it came with a Chipotle gift card, but I was thinking, WTF?! Yes, the dude on the front looked slightly like Tom Selleck (and everyone knows I have a “thing” for him, how can they miss it with my desktop collage?), but to confuse him with Tom Skerritt is downright criminal.


So I decided when I finally found out who it was, I would start some Secret Sabotage. Much like the Secret Santa game, but every so often I would do something to fuck with them at work. Fortunately, the next week, I got some cocktail mixes. I knew whoever had me must like me, because they weren’t the bullshit small ones, but the huge bottles that can totally do some damage.


The next week I came in, I became positive that it HAD to be Calvin Crustitron. Who else would have the balls to wrap my office in wrapping paper?


Inside I found a giant picture of Chuck Norris. I was indeed amused. It was certainly better than a candle or some lame post-it notes with cats on them. The creativity and knowledge of my interest in Chuck Norris (it was him who was on my desktop for many months) was awe inspiring.


I turned my need to be naughty in a different direction. I decided to go rogue, and start giving other people in the office presents. For example, I gave the pregnant girl a pack of condoms (oops, guess I was a little late). And for the chick that is obsessed with her appearance to where it makes her a vapid, shallow vacuous waste of a person, I got her teeth whitening strips. HILLARITY! This served a dual purpose, it entertained me, and it ferreted out the ‘real’ secret santa who was like “I DIDN’T GIVE YOU DAVID HASSELHOFF PASTIES” (to the mean, flat chested girl who seems to think she is all that and a shot of red bull). Yes, I did indeed give myself a fake gift, because otherwise, it would be totally obvious who the rogue secret santa was. For myself, a bottle of St. John’s Wort (believe it or not, I can be a bit of a bitch to people who I have overwhelming disdain for their incompetence).

Anyway, if my reindeer games failed to bring holiday cheer to your fat monkey hearts, #8 in my 12 drinks of Giftmas certainly will!

Giftmas Sour

• 1 oz of sweet vermouth
• 3 oz of scotch
• 2 oz of cherry brandy
• 1 egg white
• 1 oz fresh lemon juice

Mix up these good times with ice in a cocktail shaker. Shake it like a polaroid picture and strain over ice in a highball glass. Garnish with thin sliced lemon on the rim of the glass.

Beer and Bears

I’m not a football fan, mostly because it’s just not violent enough. Anyway, I went to a football party last night, mostly because it’s a party and it seemed like a quality way to spend my Monday night. It was the Vikings vs. Da Bears, and frankly I was more interested in the jello shots. I don’t normally drink beer, but Leinenkugal’s creamy dark tastes like a goddamn truffle, so I threw down the shackles of my usual mixed drinks in favor of it.

My friends that hosted it are some of the most awesome people I know, and even if they hadn’t got me the most fanfuckingtastic present ever, this would be true. Some background on them, they are both atheists, but celebrate solstice. They don’t buy presents for everyone, just if they see something that ‘speaks’ to them about a person. When they saw a cell phone flask, they immediately thought of me (it does scream Tequila Mockingbird). This sweet little 6 oz cherry of a flask, even has a belt clip!


I heard a disturbing story from a couple that lives on an Alpaca farm. Either they hadn’t told this story at the last party I seen them at, or I was too trashed to remember, but on their farm they have a cow, and they had to castrate it. I don’t even have testicles, and I was squirming around in my chair uncomfortably. Luckily, my socks offered some levity. Being that I was solidly the youngest one there, everyone else was at least over 35, I can say with some assuredness, no one else had striped frog toe socks.


I bring you to #8 of my boozetastic 12 drinks of Giftmas.

Black Santa

• 3/4 oz of Coffee Liqueur (normally I go for Kahlua, but if you're planning on being up all night rockin' around the Giftmas tree, use Starbucks coffee liqueur)
• 1/4 oz Peppermint Schnapps
• 1/2 oz of Vodka

Pour Vodka and Kahlua into an old-fashioned glass filled with ice cubes. Add peppermint schnapps and DRINK UP!

Zombies and Old Chicago

Friday night me, my flask, and Landon went to see “I am Legend”. Other people were supposed to come, but they shall remain anonymous douchebags. Anyway, Even if the movie’s bad, I can still enjoy it when I add vodka to the movie theatre's slushies. This was a decent movie, and I would’ve probably liked it even if I hadn’t been rocking the vodka slushie.


Afterwards we went to Old Chicago in Uptown, and managed to snag one of their gaming booths. For those of you who have never been to an Old Chicago, these booths have computer games that you can play for a dollar, and provide much drunken fun. I was already buzzed from the movie, and I couldn’t manage to concentrate on the games because this guy that was some flavor of emotionally handicapped/disturbed was playing one of the free-standing computer games in front of us and every so often would hit himself on the chest, much like a gorilla. Perhaps I’m just using that as an excuse as to why I failed.

After one of the trivia questions about how many people committed suicide in 2006, it said: “Please don’t kill yourself” WTF?! I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or something their legal department put in there. Either way it was unexpected. What pissed me off is that they wouldn’t let us use filthy names or expletives when we finished and were prompted to enter a name. That’s no fun. So we were forced to be creative with such high-scoring names as “Pune nanny” or “Anul Beast”.

The waitress got my first drink wrong, bringing me a 7 and vodka instead of a cran-vodka. This was a mixed blessing, being that I could take a few sips before she came back with my new drink, but this would also mean while waiting for her to bring me my correct drink, Landon is getting ‘ahead’ of me; he is not an easy one to catch up with. Overall, the drinks were light on vodka, and I was fortunate I still had some left in my flask to be able to top them off with. I had to be James Bond about adding more vodka, but these booths were perfect to be able to do it discreetly.

With two dollar rail drinks (it’s one of the few times I’m ok with cheap vodka) and $2.50 beer, and a great atmosphere, chock full of whippersnappers, it’s a great place to spend Friday night. Although, avoid Tuesdays, because that is karaoke night, and the people that work their go buck nutty and act like they are trying out for American Idol. Kudos to their $2 two topping pizzas, it’s just what Dr. McVodkaBreath ordered to soak it up.


The 7th drink in my 12 drinks of Giftmas series is probably my most potent one. Don’t plan on going anywhere after downing a couple of these.

The Flaming Jesus

• 1. part Grain Alcohol (I recommend Everclear)
• 1. part 151 Rum
• Layer 151 on top of Everclear, Light on Fire, Drink on Fire

Happy Hour Evaluations

I didn’t set out to do it this week, but the cosmos all aligned and I managed to do three happy hours in the span of three days. This gave me the golden opportunity to compare the pros and cons of the different places I’ve been to. The first one was on Tuesday, and unexpected, but after Calvin Crustitron got verbally sodomized at work, Sarah suggested we go get some drinks. We went to one of my personal favorite bars nearby, Bennegins. Not only do I love the rowdy Irish atmosphere, but the bartender knows me. He gives me Kettel One in my cranberry cocktails for rail vodka price. This is a good thing. I’m not that big of a fan of cheap vodka, it’s like the ugly girl that gets taken out on a date when her hot roommate is uninterested. The problem with this bar, is that the bartender is somewhat creepy. I always know it’s time to leave when he starts talking about “biting my freckles.”

Wednesday, after a shitty long day of work, my friend that lives nearby invited me to go out to Joe Sensors. It’s a decent bar, but fucking a, the way they have this gem nestled into the suburbs, it’s worse than trying to get to a rave; you go down all of these frontage roads, and ask a guy who will tell you… ridonkulous; I would think they would want the bar to be easily found. But I didn’t miss out on anything, they don’t have drink specials until ten. That’s honestly where Bennigans has them beat… they give 5-7 pm two for ones; it totally evens out things with the creepy bartender. The bartender at Joe Sensors was cool, and even pretended he wasn’t eavesdropping when we were talking about swinger parties (before the emails start, no I don’t go to them). When I ordered my Pirate Punch (great drink, FYI, with Bacardi Raz, Bacardi O, Bacardi Citron and some pineapply-punch) he made me re-order it using a pirate accent.

Last night I definitely wasn’t planning on going out, but I got a call from my friend’s wife, MILFgasm, asking me if I was missing something. My wallet had fallen out in his car, and because I’m 23, I get carded almost always. It would be a sad, sober weekend without my wallet. So I met him and his wife out at the Crowne Plaza, which has an awesome fire pit. But I was disappointed at the lack of prostitutes, because after all it WAS a hotel bar.


The first round of drinks were free thanks to a phone call to the manager by MILFgasm. They have fanfuckingtastic chicken nachos, but her husband’s martini was lacking in flavor and her pomegranate martini wasn’t mixed well. My blueberry vodka fizz martinis were heavy on the vodka, but I would rather them be potent than too light on the liquor. After a few of those, and discussion on how the fire pit resembled a sacrifice alter to offer up a goat, I decided to get some pics bowing down to it. The people watching were mostly amused, but a bit surprised that some chick was worshiping at a fire pit in a hotel lobby.


On that note, I will get to the next recipe in my 12 drinks of Giftmas series:

Mistletoe Apertif

• In a tall shot glass, add 1/2 oz of Chambord
• Then gently pour 1/2 oz of Midori over the back of a spoon so it flows on top of the Chambord without mixing
• Repeat that process with 1/2 oz of orange schnapps

You can flame it by igniting the top with a match; blow the flame out after a few seconds, and make sure the rim of the glass isn't too hot before throwing it back.

Sweater of Awesomeness

For our office holiday card, we decided to go with a “have an over the top holiday” theme, and all wear tacky Christmas sweaters. So last week we went on a quest to find such sweaters. I figured the best place to find them would be at a thrift store. Unfortunately, we found none, but did see some interesting characters. Most interesting was what they sold there. Underpants and lingerie. WTF??!?!?! Used undergarments seems to be a really bad idea. I don’t care how many times you wash it with bleach, I wouldn’t wear someone else’s underpants. It’s not like underpants are that high ticket of an item, like a winter coat. Undergarments in my opinion are a one-owner item. Unless you are a stripper, then by all means, take ‘em off and throw them into the crowd!

While on our sweater finding mission, we went into a couple of stores, and because we were on a lunch-hour timed mission, we had to be quick. So Calvin Crustitron, with his usual grace and finesse asked the employees where they kept their tacky holiday sweaters. Instantly, they lead us to the correct departments. I ended up with a vest that had cats wearing santa hats in stockings. I pimped that shit out, after all, it had a furred collar and bells!!! Calvin opted for a sexy, though homosexual, beaded-pearled-sequined snowman sweater (yes, it was a woman’s sweater). They didn’t use this picture of us, but here we are in all of our glory.



For some holiday cheer, go see this while it's still up. To get even more holiday cheer, try this:

Santa's Little Helper

• 1 1/2 oz Apple Schnapps
• 1 1/2 oz of Butterscotch Schnapps
• 1 1/2 oz Goldshlager
• 5 oz apple juice

Pour it into a cocktail shaker, shake it like a baby and strain into a large cocktail glass. Garnish with apple slice or cinnamon stick.

Porn and Cookbooks

What does porno and cookbooks have in common? The well used ones both have sticky pages! Anyway, I really think porn gets a bad rap by some people. Let’s look at this subjectively; it is magical and provides some essential services. For example, it spices up a sexless marriage. I hate those broads who bitch and moan about their husband looking at porn. Well, would you rather him cheat on you? If you don’t want to feel left out, why not join him in watching a bunch of attractive bodies slapping together in red-hot sexin’?


Porn also lights up a teenager’s imagination. Kids are in need of some nudity and direction as to what they should be doing in the sack. Granted, real life sex usually isn’t double penetration to every member of the cheerleading squad, but watching porn at least cuts down on the awkward fumbling. Although for chicks, once they get out and start finding penises of their own, it’s a bit shocking to find out that most guys are not hung like a stallion with balls the size of tangerines.


Most importantly, pornography keeps a predator off the streets. It’s hard to drive your rapist van when you are jacking off. People who say that porn made them commit rapes and child abuse are just trying to con their way out of trouble, and look for an excuse why they are a piece of shit. Fact of the matter is, if you’re going to be a sick ass motherfucker, having porn wont put you over the edge, your own lack of self control will. Perhaps porn can make what little self control predators have last a little bit longer.

So I say HOOOOOOORAY PORN! Look at it often, look at it closely, and share it with a friend. One of my favorite porn sites is one of the best to look at nekkid celebrities. Since I'm posting about porn, I thought what better to have as my next drink of Giftmas, than some eggnog. It's boozy, festively delicious and requires a lot of beating.

Mockingbird Eggnog

• Beat 9 large egg yolks (seperate out the egg whites) with 3/4 cup of sugar until the mixture is pale and thick with ribbons when the beaters are lifted from the bowl.
• In a seperate bowl, beat two thirds of the egg whites until they hold soft peaks.
• Do some more beating in a third bowl with 4 cups of heavy cream until it holds soft peaks.
• Fold the whites into the yolk mixture until it is combined well and then fold in the whipped cream oh so gently BUT THOROUGHLY.
• Pour it into a punch bowl, whisk in 1 cup of bourbon, 1/2 cup of dark rum (I use Captain Morgan), 2 1/2 half cups of milk, 1/4 teaspoon of salt.
• Cover and chill for at least four hours.
• Before serving, beat the remaining egg yolks in a bowl until they hold soft peaks, fold them into the eggnog and sprinkle with nutmeg and cinnamon.

Instant Pick-Me-Up

There’s nothing like watching that show “Intervention” to really make me feel good about my life. For those of you who have never watched it, it’s about people who are addicted to something, and usually have lost much if not everything because of it. Someone that cares about them contacts the show, and they pretend to be doing a documentary on people with addiction and follow them around for a week.

I could be having seriously bad times, like for example, last night I was trying to wrap Giftmas presents drunk, and kept getting the curling ribbon tangled up or getting the tape stuck in my hair. I was cursing up a storm, and then Intervention came on. This girl was a meth addict, 19 years old with the teeth like an old garden rake. She felt she didn’t have any problems (except for her pesky family getting in the way). Also, she was fucking random dudes for the money to get more drugs. Seems like she has a bright future; almost as bright as the light bulbs she smokes meth out of.

Which brings me to a concept my coworker Calvin Crustitron and I came up with: “the rock bottom theory.” Men when they are addicted to a substance or have some problem that interferes with being a functioning member of society, they hit rock bottom and usually realize they need help. However, with women, this doesn’t happen. If they are moderately decent looking, they can strip and have the money to keep their addiction going. Even if they are a disgusting skell, they can still find some poor, pathetic bastard to pay to stick in it one of their three rancid holes. By the time they have no other options they are usually unsalvageable. By that time they probably have one of the STD’s that stick with you for life, a criminal record, and a look to them that makes them unemployable most everywhere.


Anyway, I’ve been thinking about writing the producers of Intervention, to let them know how their show has increased my self esteem, and that I keep at least three episodes TIVO’ed so when I have an awful day, I just watch one of those, and see a person who lives in their Ford Escort and takes a dump in bus stops (who wants to go to the bathroom with the wind whistling up their butthole?) and instantly I feel like I’m on top of the fucking world.

Suck It Grim Reaper

I am pretty fuckin’ scared about getting old. Today when I was in Home Depot, this old man shit his pants. And I don’t mean he let one fly that was unusually rancid, no this guy took a steaming dump in his pants. The smell followed me, like the Angel of Death for at least three isles. I’m not sure what would be worse, shitting my pants in public or not knowing/caring I just shit my pants in public.


Granted, there are good things about growing older, like sweet parking spots places like Perkins offers for Senior Citizens (when I first saw them, I’m like WTF, they already get the most choice parking spots with their handicapped stickers). Not to mention, they get great food specials, which are like the reasonable portions of kids meals, without the toy. Oh, to be able to bitch about "the good ol’ days" and force little children to listen and eat those disgusting Worther’s Originals.


But worrying about breaking a hip and outliving your friends and loved ones would probably tip the scale to the negative side. So, to make up for this, I think when I get old, I’m going to make the best of it. I’m going to drive even faster than I do now; if I get stopped I’ll simply tell the officer: "look at me, I’m elderly… I’m trying to out run the Grim Reaper, and I can’t do that while going the speed limit." I will shoplift at every opportunity. If I’m caught, I will just pretend to be senile, and then start crying about how my grandchildren never visit me. They’ll let me go. Also, I definitely will be starting electrical wheelchair jousting matches at the old folks home. I plan to take full advantage of whatever prescription drugs they try to offer me in my nursing home. But, I’ll probably want to snort them to get the most benefits. With luck, I’ll have some offspring to sneak booze in to me, in hopes of a place in my will.

This weekend's Giftmas Drink of Choice, is one that will keep you warmer than those fugly afghans old people use. If you haven't tried the other 2, you had better, because life is short, and you could be shitting your pants before you know it.

White Christmas Dream

• 1 oz vodka (I suggest Ketel One)
• 1 oz amaretto
• nutmeg for garnish

Pour ingredients into shaker filled with ice. Shake (it is best to let a woman do the shaking so you can watch her boobs jiggle). Garnish with nutmeg after pouring into cocktail class.

7 Things That Do Not Help A Hangover

Last night I hit up Williams in Uptown with a friend. The first couple of hours, were rough, being that they didn’t offer two-for-one specials. Luckily, the bartender who had the ponytail of the Highlander (and I mentioned this to him too) was very friendly and not being a Scrooge with the vodka-to-mixer ratio. We ran into The Novice, lonely because his roommate Landon (our other drinking buddy), is in Jamaica. He was looking to score some ass, but going about it the wrong way, by hitting on the other bartender, a legitimate beast.


The cool thing about Williams is that in the basement, they have a peanut bar, with free peanuts you can throw the shells on the floor. When we brought the peanuts upstairs to eat them, the bartender (who looked like she ate many, many peanuts), snatched them out of my hands. This of course angers me (I had been double fisting for about two hours at this point), but the Novice sees where this can lead, and doesn’t want another situation like when I almost got in a fight with a piano player, so he diffuses the situation.


Fast forward to this morning; I have made a list—

What Does Not Help A Hangover:

1. Being yelled because the night before you were singing Dio while stumbling in. I argued that maybe there WAS a rainbow in the dark, but then I was told I wasn’t singing that, but instead Holy Diver.
   
2. Spraying perfume in your mouth thinking it is breath spray (it smells delicious, but Gucci Rush does not taste delicious).
   
3. Having to do a scavenger hunt for your keys (how did they get in the refrigerator?)
   
4. Buttoning up your jacket the wrong way, so that when you walk outside a cold blast of wind gets in the gap and freezes your boobs.
   
5. Following that up with scraping ice off your windshield and intermittently stopping to take a deep breath so as not to vomit in the snowdrift.
   
6. Driving to work and listening to techno Christmas music because you are unable to change the station (goddamn you leather gloves that make my fingers into fat little sausages!)
   
7. Deciding to eat leftover cake from yesterday’s birthday celebration for breakfast.

December's Douchebag of the Month

It may be the 6th of the month, but the title of Douchebag of the Month does not necessarily need to be bestowed on the first for it to still carry all of the douchetastic honor. December’s award goes out to all of the stores and places of commerce that have those bell ringing bastards outside. I have nothing against charity, but to be confronted by these self-righteous and (usually homely) people when I’m just trying to go grocery shopping (which I often do drunk); what a buzzkill.


Just because it is the holiday season does not make it okay for people to beg for money, like a skell in a bar, offering sexual favors for a few dollars. You can wear a Santa hat and force some cheer, but this does not make me any more apt to part with my loose change. The Salvation Army, even without perpetrating douchebaggery under the guise of Christmas spirit and goodwill, is one of the WORST charities. They have been involved in children’s sex scandals (I’m funny like that, I don’t want to give money to pedophiles).

I would like to thank Target for banning these harbingers of Douchemas from ringing bells outside their store. Granted, they only did it because they did not want to be connected to scandalous organizations, but even so, it is nice to be able to go there and not be assaulted by bell ringing sons of bitches.


To lighten the mood, I would like to share the 2nd drink of my “12 Drinks of Giftmas.”

The Candy Cane

• 3/4 oz of Creme de Cacao
• 3/4 oz of Schnapps, peppermint
• 1/4 oz of Grenadine

Fill a highball glass with grenadine and liquers. Stir, fill with cream, and top off with 7-up. Garnish with a candy cane.

My Own Personal Snow Storm

Yesterday we had another blizzard, which is awesome because I got to leave work early (but still got paid regularly). However, it took me an extra hour to get home because assbags don’t know how to drive in the snow, or have forgotten how to. Making an already difficult traffic situation worse (since the bridge collapse, commutes are extra shitacular), are the cheesedicks walking around ON THE HWY who had got in an accident or their car stuck in the ditch. WTF?! Stay in your goddamn car and wait for the highway patrol, and Judas H. Priest, don’t block the fucking snow plows!

Granted, I’m new to the game of driving in the snow, but even I have the basics down. One of the biggest rules is not to ride up on the ass of other cars… When I had my Florida plates the first winter I was up here, people were sure to give me PLENTY of room. I guess it freaks people out when the roads are icy and they see someone with a license plate from a state that never sees snow. So when I traded those in for boring Minnesota plates, I had to do something to counteract the douchebaggery on wheels. This morning was so cold, my taint was shivering. Combine that with my laziness towards brushing the snow off my car, I once again decided to leave all of the snow other than what I needed to see out of my windshield and rear windshield. This causes my car to become a little snow mountain (it was piled so high, you couldn’t see there was a spoiler on my car). Once I start going at a decent speed, all of that accumulated snow starts flying off in sheets, and hitting other people’s windows. Tailgate me now bitches, because I’m my own little personal snow storm! Moving to another climate is all about finding ways to adapt.


My happy hour plans had to be rescheduled yesterday because of all of the snow; no worries, I still got my drink on. Which brings me to the first of my “12 Drinks of Giftmas;" these have the Tequila Mockingbird seal of approval, and are sure to make your Giftmas a Merry one!

Rudolph The Red Nose Reindeer

• 1 1/4 oz. Light Rum
  
• 1 1/2 oz. Lemon Juice
  
• 1/2 oz. Genadine

Add some ice, serve in a highball glass, and garnish with a cherry!

Malach's Meme

I don’t get all hot and bothered over memes, but this particular meme I was tagged twice to do, so I might as well play along. Both Malach and Mooog tagged me to write a letter to my 13 year old self. Here goes:

Hey little 13 year old Tequila Mockingbird! It’s 1997, and you’re stuck in suckass middle school and life is not good times. Your taller than most of the boys (don’t worry, you are tapping out now, and won’t grow any taller than your current 5’10”, so NO you won’t be a freak), have braces, a smattering of freckles, and curly hair you don’t know how to deal with. I have some fanfuckingtastic news!!! In a year, they’ll stop calling you “giraffe” (because of the super tall, super skinny, and freckly spots), because you will grow some amazing boobs. The braces will come off and you’ll find hair solace with John Frieda’s frizz-ease, which will make your hair look fun enough that random people will come up and touch it in public.


Also, learn to celebrate your differences. It may not be cool to be unique now, but soon you’ll find many people who appreciate your oddities and like you not in spite of them, but because of them. Remember that only dead fish swim with the stream.

Ok, now that THAT is all out of the way, a couple things to be aware of: you’ll become editor of your school newspaper when you’re a junior in high school; yes, it’ll be awesometacular, but at the start of your senior year, you will become pissed at your advisor and decide to take the staff and the advertisements with you to start your own underground school newspaper.

You’ll have a lot of fun screwing around with a wide spectrum of drugs, but all of that will come to a screeching halt on the day before New Year’s Eve when you are 20. You will have been awake for almost two days on a coke binge, and go to a party where you snort a combo of Xanex and Oxycontin, and then pop some muscle relaxers. If you had been awake, it probably would’ve scared the shit out of you when you wrapped your car around a phone pole. You won’t get a DUI, but it will be awful to hear how the firemen who cut you out of your car knew you because you crashed near the fire station your dad worked at while you were growing up. Fortunately you didn’t die or get facial scarring (no one likes scarred up bitches), and only came out of it with some pins, a plate and a bone graft in your leg. Stop freaking out, you don’t walk with a limp. In fact, you are cripplicious! Bottom line: stick to booze.

I know you think you’ll live in Florida your entire life; after all, you’re fourth generation, and a true native. You’ll move to Minnesota when you are 21. It won’t work out like you thought it would, but it’s for the best and you’re chaos will become controlled, as opposed to just chaos.

According to the rules, I am supposed to tag five other people:
1. SiteInsights
2. R.E.H.
3. Hungry Mother
4. Ted Velvet
5. Whomever else wants to answer
Rules are that these people link to me, write a letter to their 13 yr old self, and then tag five other people. It’s like a chain letter, without the promise of good luck.

A Giftmas Miracle!

All week the news had been telling us that we were going to get a snowstorm that would bring us 5-10 inches of snow. So when it started to hit, I was content to stay indoors and enjoy some liquid holiday cheer. However, coming from the land of the ice and snow, the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow (mmm, Zeppelin), Lawyerman felt the need to go out in the blizzard to get the giftmas tree. I guess that’s what four wheel drive is for, right?

Many people don’t get why Lawyerman and I have always had giftmas trees, even though both of us are staunch atheists. One of the main reasons he likes having a tree is it gives him a chance to tell people about its pagan origins. I incorporate it into a holiday of my own creation, Giftmas. It is basically where you hang out with people you like and/or care about, get festively drunk as much as possible, make and eat foods that are bad for you. I think people have gotten away from the true meaning of the holidays, and are forgetting that Santa died for our presents; that’s where the giving and receiving of awesome gifts comes in (and sometimes tacky sweaters that have so much of the giftmas spirit that they need to be re-gifted to someone else).


Anyway, so we get the tree back to his house and as it starts melting, I am surprised with the extra foot and a half wide it is. Even more surprising while hanging stocking with care, I hear some screeching sounds and peer into the tree. IT IS A FUCKING BAT! I guess with the snowstorm hit, he went inside to get some shelter. I start freaking out, which scares the bat, and he flies out of the tree like the squirrel from Natl. Lampoons Christmas Vacation. Lawyerman grabs a tennis racket, DragonBoy is upset, begging him not to kill it, because it might be batman, and we are finally able to get it corralled near the door. I shove open the door, which scares the hell out of the woman standing outside the front door who was dropping off a holiday wreath; after delivery was two weeks overdue, I had assumed that the cub scout that sold Lawyerman a wreath had just ripped him off and had ridiculed him mercilessly about it.


Even after the bat had flown away, wreath-delivery-mom was still swatting at her hair. And that folks, is a true Giftmas miracle! I chuckled about it throughout my drunken decorating of my color-coordinated Giftmas tree.

MADD about you

Last night I went to a MADD panel with my friend that has driving restrictions do to a DUI (yes, it’s the same friend I took to probation). I considered going slightly “festive”, but she said if they smelled alcohol on a person, they wouldn’t let them in, and this was required for my friend. I wondered if I kept the certificate they give out at the end for attendance, if I was able to use it later on if I got a DUI (Lawyerman said I could not… what a rip off).


The first guy that spoke was this old hootenanny, and I’m pretty sure he was doing it as part of his community service. One of my favorite lines from him was “The dangers of drinking and driving are really bad;” well no shit. When is the last time you heard about a GOOD danger? He kept telling everyone how expensive and crappy DUI’s are, which I don’t think was a news flash since almost everyone there actually had at least one. He told us that his first DUI where he was driving in the ditch, but he had a quality lawyer that got him out of it (how does that discourage people from drinking and driving? It just teaches them to get a better attorney).

Before the hate mail starts, I’ll say that I am not ridiculing the people who spoke about their dead family members. Losing someone you care about is terrible, whether or not it is through a drunk driving accident. However, I don’t think wallowing in anger and bitterness is helping these people cope with their loss, and I think they would be better served going to therapy. More than one of those speakers seemed to have other issues not related to their dead loved ones, and I can see how it would be hard for them to focus on their other problems if they are emotionally constipated.

What I found to be bothersome was how the director brought up the Iraq war, and statistics of the casualties compared to drunk driving statistics. It was in poor taste and even though I agree that the Iraq war is shitty, it was distracting. It was not the place or the forum to bring that up, and as serious as they may feel drunk driving is, it is in no way as detrimental as the Iraq war.

Perhaps this is what fueled some of my answers on the anonymous survey they gave out at the end. When they asked why I was driving drunk I wrote “because Jesus is my co-pilot”. And for the question about how serious I thought drunk driving was, I put “it depends on how drunk I am, and how serious I am about getting home.” To the question of how do I want my family to be told of my death when I die while driving drunk, I didn’t like the answers of ‘by phone’ or ‘in person,’ so I wrote “singing telegram.” I doubt they will be very amused.


Through all of the pictures of mangled cars, granddaughters in caskets, and other killjoy paraphernalia, the guy behind me still tries to stare down my shirt; I know I have great tits, but how can you possibly be getting a boner while hearing about people’s loved ones dying in horrible fiery crashes? To me it was definitely a turn-off. It was so heavy, that while walking out, another woman told the guy beside her “ugh, I need a drink now.” Totally understandable. I need to admit that the drink I had afterwards didn’t taste as good; but that was because my friend added too much triple sec to our kamikaze shots.

Raisin Sluts and Denture Cream Blowjobs

It is commonly known that sex sells. However, I was surprised to find out what they were using it to sell; raisins. The new sunmaid raisin’s girl is so hot, she caught Lawyerman’s 7-year-old son’s attention in a recent commercial. I heard him say “that’s yummy!” which confused me, because I know he isn’t that big of a fan of raisins. So I asked him about it and he clarified that he was talking about the girl, not the raisins. It seems an bit of a oxymoron, youthful perkiness to sell a product that is withered and dried up. Maybe nursing homes should take a cue and have Hooters girls doing their commericals.


What is next, having some hot broad in the denture cream commercials? Some used-up stripper that lost all of her teeth from doing too much coke, talking about how Polidgrip helps her give better blowjobs because of the suction… Sure as hell beats the appeal factor of Florence Henderson from The Brady Bunch doing the commercials!



Commercials in general can be filthy teases. I’ve previously discussed the sparkly vaginas on the Girls Gone Wild commercials and how I couldn’t seem to find them either in real life or on the DVD's themselves. Then there is the Got Milk advertisements, with their cum covered upper lips (although, they need to stop having ugly people do those ads, because when I see some pig-faced actor with a white mustache, it doesn’t make me want to drink milk or give anyone head).

Using sex to sell things isn’t a new concept. Just look at this old ivory soap ad; it looks like they are teasing 1920’s males with the promise of wet, slippery, gay sex to get them to buy their soap.

Are You Lonely?

Everyone says that the holidays are the worst time to be alone. Seeing all of those happy couples holding each other close to keep warm is enough to make some lonely people take a bath with the hair dryer. Well, I have a solution to stave away the aching that an empty hole in the heart causes; Prison dating sites!!!

Ladies, there are some wonderful men out there, who have all of the time in the world (at least for the next 5-10 years) to make you their everything. Are you sick of not knowing where your man is? Well, with these guys there will never be a question in your mind. Most of these men are in great shape too, and it doesn’t matter what YOU look like because anything that isn’t ass raping them is an attractive option. Some of the highlights I found on the site was this gem with this quote on his profile: “A window of opportunity won’t open itself" (was that what he was thinking when he opened the window to commit burglary? This guy considers himself to be a good friend, despite being convicted of homicide. He sounds like he would do ANYTHING to win your heart. This family man is a wounded soul, being convicted of a murder he says he didn't commit; he's even a bit of a star, having a book/movie created about him and his estranged, murdered wife.


Guys, don’t worry, if the gay portion of this site doesn’t rock your dock, there are plenty of women behind bars in need of something besides their cellmate Bertha’s mop handle. The big problem with the women’s site is that it doesn’t tell you what crime they committed, which is something I’m sure everyone would like to know before they add a lady to their cart (yes, this is a pay site, but a few dollars is a small price to pay for quality).

While browsing the site, I found Wheezy from the Jeffersons, and I’m totally interested in her because it says she’s a cosmetologist, and I AM a sucker for cornrows and manicured toes! Some are just looking for their prince charming (perhaps because they killed the last one), some need to be tamed, but this one only need a hammock. This hot tamale is not only magnanimous, but I can honestly say I would let her eat crackers on my cot any day!

So, if you don't want to warm your chestnuts by the fire alone this season, get to writing! I'm sure there is much these wayward souls could teach you, like how to make a shank out of a plastic spoon or how to make a delicious batch of toliet hooch. They might just incarcerate you in their prison of love...

Complaint Desensitization

Yesterday I had the misfortune of eating at Sbarro's. I guess there is a reason they are almost solely limited to shopping mall food courts. I was craving a calzone, and mistakenly thought that they could help me with my need. About two bites in, I could no longer deny that the chicken-broccoli calzone tasted like raccoon vomit wrapped in cardboard. Usually I don’t complain about food, especially if I can’t see where they make it (I certainly don’t want someone beating off onto my chicken fillet), but it was legitimately vile and the beauty of the Sbarro’s layout allows me to view the food preparation.


At first I approach the swarthy, hairy, foreigner with polite dissatisfaction, letting him know it was cold and tasted poorly. He offers to re-heat it. That would be a valid offer if I had only said it was cold, but no, I said it tasted awful. I would think that the statement infers I want something else. I tell him this, and he starts going on about he’s been selling it all day, and no one complained. Maybe that’s because it was edible 4 hours ago when he made it, and so I demand something else. I am in business dress, and obviously not needing to beg for food like a street urchin. It’s not like it comes out of HIS paycheck. What kind of fucking customer service is this? I’m still debating on whether I should make an anonymous complaint to the manager, telling them that I’m 15, and this sonofabitch offered me free pizza outside by the dumpster if I would give him a BJ.

I think the reason people don’t take legitimate complaints seriously is because people bitch about ridiculous shit too much. Granted, I go off on rants, but they are about valid concerns and solid issues that need to be bitched about. It’s the unnecessary shit that ruins it for the rest of us. For example I was at LawyerMan’s Spamville Thanksgiving, and one of his relatives bitched about getting their pumpkin smashed. WTF? I asked what time and where it happened. They said it was about 9 at night, the day after Halloween, and in the street…. What were they planning on doing with it? They were going to THROW IT OUT… Seems to me that those kids did you a public service. Hell, they are fortunate their lame-tarded blow up lawn ornaments didn’t get deflated. Even then, I’m not sure they should be able to complain; those herpe-like sores that scar the lawns of America are practically begging for some hooligan activity to be perpetrated upon them.

UPDATE: how little my readers seem to know me.... I've been getting comments insinuating I was ok with having a shitty calzone or that I might not have made a scene. Goddamn right I made a scene, and though the pizzia that I got instead wasn't much better, at least it didn't taste like raccoon vomit wrapped in cardboard.

A Spamville Thanksgiving

So I spent the holiday in Austin, MN, which is the home to not only Lawyerman’s family, but to Hormel… Unfortunately, one of Hormel’s biggest products is spam, and they have many processing plants there, so the entire town reeks of spam. It is legitimately vile.


His family is so big (his dad had 9 brothers and sisters, the majority of them having children and grandchildren), they rent a church to hold the main dinner. I have made it my mission the past few years to rearrange the ‘last supper’ figurines to where they are performing various sex acts upon each other, except for Judas who is servicing a donkey.


They always have a hippy handholding thing before it’s time to eat, and it always takes more time to get the 70 or so people into a circle than it does to do the actual prayer. But I’ve used this to my advantage, and always make sure I am in the part of the circle by the kitchen so I am one of the first to hit the buffet, before the obese relatives eat all of the cheesy mashed potatoes.

I never know quite who to hang out with, the people around my age or the generation before them that is Lawyerman’s age. I usually go for his relatives that are my age, because all of the people his age don’t quite take me seriously because of the 15 year age difference, or their fondness for his beast of an ex wife (who should be thankful I’ve never given her a kick in the cunt). Despite the change in my living arrangements, no one gave me any shit, possibly because they liked my pumpkin cheesecake so well.

I was talking to LM’s white gangsta’ cousin that sports a Justin Timberlake hat, and I was asking who some of the people I didn’t recognize were, and him and some of the other cousin’s conferred that they might be randoms, who saw the feast (one large enough to feed an Afrikaan nation) through the window. The family is so ginormous that not everyone knows everyone else’s name, and wouldn’t flat out ask a person how they are related. So I think if I ever don’t have plans for the holidays, I’ll just start crashing people’s large Thanksgiving celebrations.

I ended up playing poker with one of the 80 year old aunts, who I wasn’t quite sure if she was cheating or just senile, but I was too drunk on pinot noir to care. I don’t usually drink wine, but any port in a storm, right? His family is pretty hardcore Norwegian, as are many indigenous Minnesota families, and I was thankful they served lefsa and NOT lutefisk, which smells worse than spam ever could.

What I am Thankful For:

I am reflection upon what I am thankful for, since it seems it’s that time of the year AND all the cool kids are doing it; what can I say, I’m still a sucker for peer pressure, guess it’s the spirit of a child (and baboon heart) that resides within me.

The biggest thing I am thankful for is the cocktail of drugs I’m on to kill this cold: Amoxicillin, Sudafed, and robatussin. Yes, it makes me slightly dizzy, but it’s so strong I think it’s not only killing the cold, but whatever else might have been plaguing me that I wasn’t aware of.

Coming in a close second to drugs would definitely be cranberry juice with calcium in it. I need my bones to be as strong as possible for any falling down I might be doing, and because one of my favorite drinks is cranberry vodka, I drink a decent amount of cranberry juice. Thanks ocean spray for helping me not become a cripple!

A solid third is the myriad of sites dedicated to showing pictures of peoples cats dressed up or just with misspelled captions (because cats have horrible grammar, right?) in a comical way. Without these, I would need to fill a large chunk of my workday with actual work. There is even a blogger site with LOLcats and their secrets. You dont even need a cat to appreciate it.


It may not seem like something to be thankful for, but it is something I no longer need to scream at the skys about; The “Snakes on a Plane” ringtones have finally been put away. It’s taken over a year, but I can say that it’s been a couple months since I heard Samuel Jackson’s voice scream “GET THESE MOTHERFUCKING SNAKES OFF THIS MOTHERFUCKING PLANE” while in public. It was cute the first couple of times I heard it, but I quickly grew weary of it.


Coming in last, but still deserving note, is the plastic spiders that my coworker Calvin Crustitron and I throw at each other over the top of the wall we share. I cannot count how many times these have saved me, right in the nick of time from a boregasm.

There are many more things I’m thankful for, like for example that my face does not resemble a shoe like Sarah Jessica Parker’s (why do you think Mathew Broderick has packed on the pounds? He’s been trying to eat away the pain). But I will leave it at these few things and wish everyone a Happy, gluttontastic, Thanksgiving. I’ll be off the grid until Monday.

Whore Weasels At Sprint

So this weekend, I unfortunately left my phone charger at the cabin, granted I WAS sick with a cold, but still, I should’ve grabbed it. Because it is a solid 3+ hour drive, I had resigned myself to pay the dumbass fee that sprint charges to get a new charger, especially since it would’ve probably been cheaper than the gas it would take to get to Brainerd. Today, when I went to the Sprint store I was told that they do not have a charger for my cell phone type. I would totally understand if my phone was so archaic that they no longer carried it, but the whore weasels at Sprint sent me this phone LAST FUCKING WEEK when I lost mine, and it is one of the newest models samsung has.


They sell my phone there, a car charger but no separate wall charger. I was forced to get a car charger to hold me over until I make other arrangements. What good is my phone without battery power? It’s like getting a massage from one of those seedy places in a strip mall and not getting a handjob afterwards. I don’t want a paperweight that looks like a cell phone, I want a cell phone to make calls, send drunken texts and take bizarre and often embarrassing pictures of myself. As it is, I will now ration how I spend my battery power, wondering do I REALLY need to call 911 when I see that guy with his car on fire on the side of the road. And who is responsible for that, THE WHORE WEASELS AT SPRINT!

It’s not really a mobile phone if I can only effectively use it while in my car or just coming from my car. I am not a goddamn gypsy that hangs out in my car all of the time. Why not just give me one of those brick-like phones that were as big as a center console of a car that they had back in the 80’s? Fuck, why not just give me two paper cups and some string? I hope when I was there at the store, coughing and spraying my cold-infected mucus all over the place, I managed to spread my awful cold to the rat bastards at Sprint. I have never hoped so much in my life that I have the bubonic plague.

Cabin Weekend and Penises Around My Neck

I went to the cabin in Breezy Point this weekend, which was father north than the halfway point to the north pole. I got excited by some of the signs I saw along the way, like about reservations being nearby. I figured hey, if the cabin didn’t work out for good times, we could always get some casino and firewater action going. Until I was told that these weren’t THOSE type of reservations, but instead the kind that hate whitey for all the acts of douchebaggery we committed upon them; who knew they’d still be pissed for the smallpox blankets? Another quality sign was “STOP MILFOIL” and I don’t get why anyone would want to stop MILF oil. That was further clarified for me when I found out they weren’t talking about Terry Snatcher, and that milfoil was a plant from the water that grabbed on to boats and was transported to other lakes. The best sign was the one that said “HAVING SEXUAL THOUGHTS ABOUT CHILDREN?” WTF? If I was a pedophile and wasn’t having those thoughts, as soon as I saw that sign I would be. What kind of town was I passing through that they had to have a sign like that up? It was almost as tasteless at the giant headstone for “unborn children” next to the cemetery.



Friday night when everyone arrived was chock full of jello shots and liquor flowing as freely as the public urination of hobos. Joe decided whiskey and vodka were the ultimate alliance, and somehow he managed to outlast us all, and was the final one to be voted off the island by the alcohol tribunal. I woke up aching all over. First, I attributed it to falling down, and just because I didn’t remember it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. The line of unseen bruising on my forehead was from slamming it into the bar (that’s nothing compared to Skoalfaces head dives into the chairs/floor). So when they asked what I wanted in my omelet, I said “advil.” I started off the morning drinking mimosas, while others drank bloody marys. Once again, Joe outdid us all with Michael Collins, “the spirit of the hero”, irish whiskey. But the spirit did not stop him from needing to take a nap.


We all recovered at our own paces, and after food we were all ready to hit the bar. I mentioned before that I woke up with a body ache. I started thinking that I might be coming down with a cold. My first instinct is to drink through it (alcohol is sterile, right?); some people say to feed a cold, starve a fever, but I like to drown both. I even drank red bull and mandarin vodka, hoping it would pep me up. Other than the sickness creeping up on me, we had the recipe for a fanfuckingtastic night, me and the four other women wearing our candy penis necklaces, sporting cleavage, and at a bar where we could all pretend to be Canadians and play “Slap ass” (the year prior Skoalface’s wife and WineOnWheels almost got in two fights and kicked out of the bar for slapping random people’s asses).


Anyway, I started shivering, and couldn’t get warm, despite wearing my wool pea coat; the ceiling fans in the bar being on didn’t help (seriously, was that necessary? It’s 28 fucking degrees outside). My throat started closing up to where it hurt to drink and yell at the band (they were wearing hearing aids, how classic is that?); but I need to give them credit, they sounded pretty good, playing other people’s songs. But since they had been a band since 1985, they should be decent. After the shivering started, I began going downhill quickly (it's hard to drink when you shiver so hard you worry about chipping a tooth on the glass), even the offer of free drinks from DevilRay (named so because of his stint playing for the Devil Rays), did not perk me up. When I am turning down free drinks and looking to leave the bar early, I know I am legitimately sick.

Gulliver meets Snow White

Many of you who read this even the slightest amount know how I feel about midgets; my aspirations, and how enamored I was when I saw a midget with big cans. Last night while hanging out with Lawyerman’s kid, DragonBoy, we watched Little People, Big World. From being around me for almost three years, I have given him the gift of an interest in midgets… Some people pass down disgusting habits of sucking on toothpicks or picking their nose, I feel proud that I can pass this rewarding and healthy fascination on to him at such a young age.

Anyway, so we’re watching the midget show, and he busts out with: "Can I have a pet midget for Christmas?" After first telling him that it’s a request best taken up with Santa, I explained that they are people and we it isn’t good manners or legal to own them. He was confused, and I understand why; they are always calling themselves "dwarves", which makes me think (and DragonBoy as well) of them as mythical creatures, Snow White style. What is so wrong with calling them midgets? I understand it isn’t politically correct, but if you had the choice between calling yourself a midget, dwarf or little people, I would go with midget.


The episode we were watching was about the dwarf version of the Olympics, the DAAA. Granted, I am not very athletic, but watching them play basketball and volleyball, I thought if I joined the game, I might have a fighting chance of winning. I’m tall, but I’m a bit slow because of the plate and pins in my knee; so competing with people around 4 feet tall, I could best accentuate my strengths. I would be like Gulliver, kicking them around while they tried to hold me back, and drop kicking them like the Jolly Green Giant would green beans. So I think I will add this to my list of stuff that I want to do involving midgets. Wrestling with one in lime jello is still my number 1, but ultimately aspire to be a combination of Snow White and Gulliver.