Friday, May 30, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Sunday was skark's bbq, where I brought my crowning achievement in jello shot making, Mojito Jello Shots. They were a raging success, as was my lemon pepper blacktip shark my Dad sent up from Florida (he does fishing charters there). Suprisingly, no one got hurt despite juggling and Spam climbing up on the neighbors roof like fucking Spiderman to get the cat down. Later, he would grab a bottle of Stoli, and run around without his pants, screaming "STOOOOOOOOLIIIII-NAAAAAAACHAAAAAaa!!!" I didnt leave until 6 am, after a refreshing nap on the hammock I passed out on. A special thanks goes out to whomever gave me a blanket!
There's really no rest for the wicked, and Monday afternoon one of the gays, Craig, threw a party full of margaritas and delicious looking men. I brought a watermelon that had been soaking in vodka (note: it takes about three days... it's not really a spur of the moment type of boozing). Here's me with Hector, who is rumored to have a huge dong. More pics to follow.
The after-party at Bill and Timmy's house was where good times really rolled. The last thing I remember was stomping around with a bottle of Korbel, calling myself a champagne pirate. Unfortunately I woke up with a sore hip, a rug burn on my elbow and missing a shoe. I guess these are just the prices one must pay for a weekend of greatness!
Friday, May 23, 2008
I definitely dig the bowling place, they make the drinks strong and will play Warrant’s “Sweet Cherry Pie” for me. We had three lanes, and definitely amused the other lanes with our 1. curling up in a ball of shame after a bad bowl 2. screaming about Poptix’s tapeworms that he may or may not have 3. throwing ice at each other. I either bowl really bad or really good, and the more I drank, the better I bowled. AMAZING! I wish driving had the same correlation. I’ve been trying to convince Spam that if he had his ball engraved with “I HEART COCK” he would bowl better. He says no, but I told him that it wouldn’t necessarily mean he’s gay, because he COULD be talking about his cock… it’s not like it’s plural.
I refused Poptix’s claims that I needed the retard ramp. Not that it mattered; he broke the lane by rolling two balls at the same time. Also, it turns out you ARENT supposed to try to bowl in someone else’s lane when they aren’t looking. We made up for our follies in liquor sales.
The staff at White Castle afterwards was solidly less amused with us. First of all, they kept giving us conflicting stories about whether they had chicken or not. And the old lady behind the counter kept giving us nasty looks when we were discussing whether or not Jesus got gangbanged by the disciples. Seems like an appropriate drunken White Castle conversational topic to me. People are so weird sometimes. Overall, a grand time was had by all, except for the bowling and White Castle employees who cleaned up the havoc left in our wake.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Most glaringly was how annoying Kate Capshaw was. In between high-pitched screaming about bugs and dead bodies, she was whiny, petulant, and overall made me want to choke the shit out of her. The worst part is she wasn’t even hot. I could’ve overlooked her shrill shrieks of “INnnnnnnnnnnnnndyyyyy” if she was slammin’, but alas, she was not. The only part where she was even mildly appealing was when she was wet in a white t shirt. Even then, I’ve seen hotter crack whore transvestites outside the liquor store; no wonder Indiana Jones didn’t rail her the first time she offered, she looks mannish.
Secondly, the kids in the movie (other than the cool little Asian kid that saves Jones’ ass) were a bunch of little bastards. For example, those kids he frees, they don’t come help him out. What the fuck?! He saved you from a life of slavery and eventual death and you aren’t going assist him in the fight against the bad guys? How ungrateful; this is why they keep you in factories making shoes. And what was up with the little kid with the voodoo doll? He just needed a good ass whipping to keep him in line.
Seeing it on a warped VHS really added to the magic. Gee, it’s times like these I am devastated I missed the 80’s.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
We went back to Jason’s house, joined up with Calvin Crustitron, and did some crack pipe shots, and I assisted a friend with some chemical acquisitions (unfortunately, Tequila Mockingbird sucks at this kind of thing, and ended up dropping the remainder of it on the sidewalk, BUT amazingly enough, found it the next morning). At some point I remember walking to the bar with everyone, but after that it’s hazy. From the lobster stamp on my hand, I gather I went to Stella’s next, and a couple bars after that. Then from what I am told they stopped letting us into places, so we just went back to Jason’s. IMPRESSIVE!
The next morning, we fixed ourselves up right at the Uptown Bar with tater tots and screwdrivers at 10 am, and sat in the sun watching the lunatics, hotties, panhandlers, and trendy hipsters that passed by. Later I went to the roller derby finals with Legos and the airsoft crew. During pre-drinking at the Local, we saw people in Guy Fawkes masks protesting Scientology. They were not amused with me screaming at them: “SHOW ME YOUR TITS.”
I definitely fell in love with a couple of the hotter roller girls; something about their short skirts, colorful underpants, and violence really rocked my dock. One of the many highlights of the evening was my light saber fight during half time.
A couple of the airsoft guys are married to roller girls (Strawberry Snatchcake and Freddie Kruelgirl), so we went to the after party at the Black Bamboo. There they had karaoke, and I’ll admit that seeing two lesbians sing “Like a Virgin” was seven shades of entertaining.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Today after cake for breakfast, I don’t exactly have the energy to write something of my usual caliber of awesomeness, so I’ll fall back on a meme. It’s the initial meme, where I use the first letter of my name to answer these questions. Feel free to do it, or don’t do it and live with the shame and regret forever of letting it pass you by.
- FAMOUS SINGER: Cobain, Kurt
- FOUR LETTER WORD: Cock
- COLOR: Cobalt Blue
- GIFTS/PRESENTS: Conga CD for a party
- THINGS IN A SOUVENIR SHOP: Conch Shell
- BOY’S NAME: Clint
- GIRL’S NAME: Cheetara
- MOVIE TITLE: “Captain Cunniligus and the Crazy Redheads”
- DRINK: Cinnamon Schnapps
- OCCUPATION: Cowboy of Space
- CELEBRITY: Chuck Norris
- MAGAZINE: Club
- U.S. CITY: Clearwater Beach, Fla (when I lived in fla, I used to party and do wet t shirt contests there)
- PRO SPORTS: UFC
- FRUIT: Cantaloupes (like my boobs)
- REASONS FOR BEING LATE FOR WORK: Cunts driving like shit
- SOMETHING YOU THROW AWAY: Coupons
- THINGS YOU SHOUT: “CUMMING MMmmm, oh yess arrrrrrrgAAaahhh!!!”
- CARTOON CHARACTER: Captain Planet
- Car: Conversion Van that looks like it probably has a rapist inside.
Well I hope you all have a great weekend. I leave you with this disturbing screen shot from craigslist. Brings to mind a lot of “WHAT THE FUCKING HELL” questions to mind.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Indeed. This got me thinking about car stereotypes. Everyone’s seen the Hispanic car; their last name emblazoned on the back window of a lowered truck, music blaring that makes it sound like a rolling carnival, hydraulics bumpin’ and my favorite the mudflap girl. I like them because they usually pack a metric ass ton of people inside (hey, they were going green before it was trendy!) and they drive safely because they aren’t always in the country legally.
And I’m sure we’ve all seen the typical white trash mobile… Nascar bumper stickers holding the rust bucket together, a shotgun rack, rebel flag, and a trail of chew running down the side of drivers window. Good ol’ off roadin’ for jesus!
Which brings me to religious cars; they usually drive the worst, and have some holier-than thou smarmy pro-choice stickers (FUCK YOU, MAYBE YOU SHOULD'VE BEEN ABORTED), “god is my co-pilot”(well then stop driving like an asstard), and a jesus fish that the sunlight bounces off of and blinds me. Thanks, I'm sure if there is a higher power, he's proud of you and your Buick. Actually, in high school, I made it my mission to remove all of the jesus fish off of the cars in the student parking lot. Then I took the jesus fish I collected, and melted them into a phallic symbol. WHeeeeeeee!
So, what does your car say about you? Does it say you want to save some animal (that’s cool, as long as it’s not Manatees… they aren’t cute or cuddly, so they can eat a the proverbial back of dicks in the form of extinction)? Would you rather be golfing? Have you not cleaned your car in so long that someone has written “I LIKE COCK” on your passenger side door in the grime and drawn an arrow?
Update: Harx posted a comment that reminded me of the whiskey plates; we have them in MN for when you have multiple DUI's and they give you a special license plate that starts with a "W"(so much for being a stealth drunk). A Whiskey plate along with an Irish flag, a few dents from run-in's with other cars, an upraised middle finger, and a stream of profanity leaking out of the window, and there you have the sterotypical Irish person's car! Harx's pic of his car proves he's ultimate well prepared alchy :
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Friday I was driven to drink early after getting the most expensive picture taken. I saw a guy in a lobster hat, so naturally, I wanted a picture with it. Unfortunately, the guy took this as an opportunity to tell me about how his brain aneurysm brought him a relationship with The Lord. Fun stuff, too bad Legos and I are both staunch atheists. We ended what seemed like a jamillion year long conversation with letting him know about Cthulhu's love.
Anyway, so by the time we got to Speedracer at the Imax theatre, I was solidly shitcanned. A few factors led me to my next move; once I realized how campy the movie was (and I would NOT be seeing Christina Ricci's boobs), added to the fact I had never seen the cartoon (thus had no appreciation for it) I decided to have a bit of a nap. It sure beats having seizures like Japanese kids.
Saturday the gays threw an 80's themed party. It was partially Bill's birthday, and partially to raise money for the AIDS walk that they are doing next weekend. I made jello shots that we sold; our slogan was: "Shlurp for a cure." When Timmy caught me stealing jello shots, he told me that it was my fault there wasn't a cure yet. Here he is as a bearded Marty McFly:
We had a raffle too, one of the super sweet things that was being raffled off was this cape. Fortunately, Bill won it, so it will stay in the family and he said he now plans to wear it to pride.
There was a kissing booth, which they forced me into, even though the majority of the people there were gay guys.
I think my outfit was definitely "win". The gold stretch pants with stirrups were the pinnacle of 80's awesomeness. I had to modify the neon ball-bustin' blazer with extra shoulder pads I ripped out of another blazer at Savers. Fuck them, I did them a favor, getting rid of those. I topped off my outfit with gold bangles, gellies (christ, apparently they are coming back in style, and I felt like a giant tool buying them at Urban Outfitters yesterday) and teasing the fuck out of my hair and then adding a side ponytail. I think I looked cute enough to spank the "facts of life" out of. Thanks to Chelsea's craftyness, there was a sweet cigarette-girl tray to sell my jello shots in. Nothing like a good cause to make boozing seem like an even better idea!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Sunday was a weaponriffic day for me! I started off by shooting guns, partially as a late tribute to Charlton Heston. I will preface the story by saying I DID NOT DRINK ANY BOOZE OF ANY TYPE BEFORE OR DURING MY GUN RANGE EXCURSION. Granted, I do like to include liquor in many of my activities, but playing with guns seemed like an activity best done sober; it’s just a hunch. Anyway, I totally dug shooting guns, not only because the smell of gun powder is a turn on, but I got to shoot a range of guns—two Rugers, a Glock, and a fun zombie killing rifle (with infrared sight for killing far away zombies, not just close by zombies… which is good because the closer the get, the more likely they are to eat your brain). After that, I met up with the St Paul Drinking Team to celebrate Nick and Dorf’s birthday. Awesomely enough, there was a piñata we hit with a hurling stick that was full of candy, little plastic bottles of booze (mostly schnapps, gin, and rum), pencils, the tape dispenser and Nick’s remote and USB plug for his ipod.
We dumped all of the booze in a punch bowl, added strawberry kiwi soda, and made shots out of it. Afterwards, we went to The Dubliner, where we met up with a bunch of other people and The Wild Colonial Bhoys were playing. Fortunately, because The St. Paul Drinking team knows the staff, they were ok with us bringing a cake to the bar. Of course it led to the inevitable cake smashing to the face. Oh, it’s definitely for the best that everyone tips well!
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
We managed to recover, and after a few Guinness at home (hey, it’s always a good time of year to drink Guinness), we walked down to Old Chicago, where they gave us beads, plastic maracas, and these light up rape whistles. The drunker we got, the more fun it was to make noise. By the time we walked home, we sounded like a goddamn carnival; I’m sure the people who live on Hennepin were pleased as punch to hear us, but fuck them if they cant enjoy the holiday... Them not enjoying our copious noise probably just means they hate Mexicans.
The weekend treated us well. Friday, Calvin Crustitron and Landon and I walked to Old Chicago in the rain and met up with a chick that Calvin Crustitron was interested in. At least until she mentioned three other dudes were railing her. That caused Landon and I to text back and forth, very stealth-like about her skankfulness, and how she needs to shut her whore-hole because she was pissing off the waitress. From there we went to Bar Abaleine, because we caused a scene at Old Chicago when Landon threw pineapple down my shirt and I started punching him in the arm. After Bar Abaleine we met up with Jason at his house, where Calvin (still being angry from finding out Katie was a slut, and hearing Jason and I discuss who could get in her pants first) started walking around with a bottle of patron, drinking like a salty sea pirate.
Shortly after that, the night ended. Ok, this rodeo has already gone on long enough. Saturday and Sunday’s exploits will need to be told tomorrow.
Friday, May 2, 2008
So for May, I think the best candidate I came across was Rev. Jerimiah Wright. Not so much because of all the batshit crazy stuff he said; that was actually entertaining. Some of my favorite topics include (but are not limited to):
- America is still the No. 1 killer in the world
- We brought 9/11 on ourselves
- We believe in white supremacy and black inferiority and believe it more than we believe in God
- We supported Zionism shamelessly while ignoring the Palestinians and branding anybody who spoke out against it as being anti-Semitic
- We started the AIDS virus
But those nuggets alone aren’t enough to garner him this illustrious award. It’s the fact that he didn’t keep his mouth shut, and kept spouting off and trying to defend himself that did even more damage than the original statements of douchebaggery. He claimed to be a friend of Obama, but instead he just hurt the campaign. That makes it even shittier. I have a friend running for Congress in one of the local suburbs here, but I have enough sense not to connect him to my blog. And that’s what friendship is all about… not letting your personal shenanigans drag down your friends.
Obama has done what he could to separate himself from Rev. Wright, but the damage is already done. At this point, I think the best thing for everyone involved is for the douchetastic Reverend to team up with Josef Fritzel, the runner up for May’s Douchebag of the Month. Rev. Wright might benefit from having his douchemongering ass locked in a cellar.