“Well, then you’re gonna have to make 4 Purple Alaskan Thunder Fucks.”— Hamish, last night, How to Find the Best Shot in a Shot Book (SoCo, Jack Daniel’s, Amaretto, Raspberry Liqueur, OJ, Pineapple Juice)
As I sit here in work, just finishing off a Banana Nut Muffin, which I very strategically left for myself yesterday, I need to tell you all about a beer I tasted last night. It was incredible. It was fantastic. It tasted like a SON OF A BITCHIN’ BLUEBERRY MUFFIN. A good one too. Not some run of the mill, dinky doodle little coffee shop Blueberry Muffin. I’m talking about one of those huge fuck off giant blueberry muffins with crumbles falling everywhere and blueberries so juicy they shoot their juices into your eye. If this isn’t getting you wet yet, then nothing will.
I saw this Kids in the Hall episode back in the day about this guy working at an office and he gets invited out after work with his co-workers. He’s not a big drinker, so one of them order him a big fruity looking drink. And he’s hooked. It ends with him in the supply closet blending ice and cutting fruit to create another “girl drink” to feed his addiction.
Oh, poor Dave Foley. Soon enough afterwards, I began my drinking career. We all start down the same road, through the Beer Gardens. And beer is so good and perfect and cheap and easy to come by. Then you move on to harder alcohol, and that’s good too. Then you’ve build up all sorts of creations you love to drink, that are considered masculine. Rum/Coke, Whiskey/Coke (Really Whiskey and anything), anything on the rocks, anything straight up (anything that is not flavored). And everything’s going great for you …
But then you are tempted by the fruit of another … a sweet delicious fruit. Some call it Love Potion. And that’s exactly what it is. Take some Hawaiian Punch, some Red Bull, and some *gasp* Three Olives Cherry Vodka, and mix it up. It tastes like a fuckin’ Starburst. Like fuckin’ Shirley Temple herself ejaculated into your mouth. But, you’re afraid, you can’t let others see you enjoying this amazingly girly drink. So you hide your passion. Until you can convince others …
So don’t be afraid “Girl Drink” Drunks are everywhere. I’ve dabbled with it myself. Shout it from the rooftops, “I LOVE FRUITY DRINKS.” Actually don’t shout it and don’t tell anybody. It’s not good for your image, people are already start to wonder about you and your life choices. Don’t feed the flames. Oh, fuck it. Feed the fuckin’ flames and enjoy your drinks. Taste is everything. BOOM!
I can’t tell what will happen in the future, and usually when you write about things that you’re attempting to do, you automatically jinx yourself. So, I quit smoking on Monday, cold turkey.
And looking back on that past blog about how I’m a crazy smoking rebel, and no one can stop me makes me think that I might have killed a few people before and not remembered doing it. But, if I don’t remember, it never happened. Right? Anyway, you may ask why I quit.
I don’t know, I had an out of the blue amazing weekend, full of tons of fun. I got home from work Monday, no one was at my house, and I was out of cigarettes. I started doing yard work in our backyard. I worked out there for over 3 hours, sweating. And then that was it. I haven’t had one in 3 days. I’ve wanted to, but I’ve managed not to have one even through some after work drinking. So, we’ll see where this takes me … but forgive the lack of blogging this week. I’m trying to quelch one addiction … whilst bringing back another.
Ok, yeah, I smoke cigarettes. I smoke fifty packs a day. I like it, I enjoy it. It gives me something to do. It keeps me calm when I’m feeling stressed, it gives me a break in the monotony of the day. I’m a smoker, I know it, but people around me seem to think I’m afflicted. As if, because I smoke I want people to help me stop smoking. I’m a smoker, HELP ME, I can’t control myself. I’m killing myself everyday and I just want YOU to help me stop. Please help me, I’m a useless human being who doesn’t understand what I’m doing. HELP!
Fuck you. I smoke and I want to smoke. So, suck it and fuck it assholes. If I want help, I ask for help. If I don’t want to smoke, I won’t smoke. If I have problems quitting, I’ll deal with it then. But, I’m not ready yet. My life isn’t that important yet to have a need to stop smoking. If someone doesn’t like me because I smoke, suck my ass. Unless I’m doing a family thing, or if you want my body and you don’t like smokers, I’m going to smoke. If you’re either of the two previous thing, BAM, I stop smoking. I’ve done it many, many times. A girl I was seeing before had me stop for months. Months! And I did it, I did it all for the nookie. But, as of now, I’m a smoker, just like my idol Bogie.
I wasn’t mad when they banned cigarettes from restaurants and bars. I think it’s a good idea. First of all getting engulfed by cigarette smoke while trying to eat a meal sucks assholes, it’s nice to just enjoy your food without distractions. The only good thing was enjoying a cigarette after you eat, but you can sit up and walk outside if you really need it. As for smoking at bars, well, it kind of sucks, but not totally. Did I care that my clothes smelled like smoke after bars? Nah. My clothes smell like smoke anyway. The thing that I like about it is that it gives you that break from the bar. Away from the loud music and tight places, so that you can really talk to someone one on one or to get away from the annoyingness that is the bar. It actually gives you something to do while drinking, take a walk outside. Nice, thanks lawmakers!
So, smoke if you got ‘em, or don’t smoke if you don’t. I don’t think people should be judged on their smoking status. In fact, I don’t think people should be judged at all. But, these are judging times. And if you choose to enjoy cigarettes and subtract years off your life, go for it. I’d rather enjoy cigarettes now, then make with the diarrhea in my Depends when I’m eighty-four.
Ok, ok, ok, I’m fed up with the five billion e-mails, texts, facebook updates all involving everyone’s own opinion on the whole Michael Vick thing. I really don’t care what anyone thinks about it. Personally, I love it. But, that’s not what we’re talking about here. Because, I’m tired of it. Win, lose or draw, we have Michael Vick on the Eagles and it’s time to make the best of it.
I was reading recently about all the money problems the city of Philadelphia has been having and how we’re going to have to start shutting down local pools, youth clubs, and libraries to save on the money. It sucks to rob people of government operated things due to a shitty economy, if there’s no library where will the children expand their minds? God only knows. And right when all was seeming to slide downhill on Philly in comes Michael Vick.
He brings with certain skill sets that no one else could provide, and he also is in search of a way to give back to the community. Well, Philadelphia needs you Michael Vick. What can you do for us? So, I drew up in my head everything I know about Michael Vick and came up with a 2-part plan of action.
1) If Michael Vick starting sleeping all around with random chicks in Philadelphia and his genital warts became rampant, people would stop having unprotected sex. Not only would it keep down on population, but it would keep kids off the street. And due to the closing of safe places where children can go, this is a huge deterent for unwanted teenage pregnancy, and all Michael Vick has to do is fuck. And I’m pretty sure he knows how to do that, he was in jail for awhile.
2) Forget legalizing weed, closing post offices, or laying off more workers, to really start the money flowing in the city we need Michael Vick to begin opening up government run dog fighting arenas. We could have each section of Philly have their own team of dogs, and the fun would begin. The West Philly Bulldogs vs. The Fishtown Fighting Poodles. Not only would it unite neighborhoods together with pride, but the revenue at one of these events could be gigantic. Think about the food/beverage sale alone, not to mention the betting that would bring so much money in. I mean that’s why Vick was in it to begin with. It’s a money making monster, and now we need Vick to bring that to us, and he will. He’s one devious bastard.
This is bad news folks, not just that there are grandfather’s out there pinching asses and grabbing boobs on cartoon character mascots, but what this means via Mickey’s revenge. I mean, they’ve been together for like 70, 80 years. And this old dude’s gonna come into his home, act like he’s taking a picture with her and then totally molest her innocent mousey body. This is some fucked up shit. If someone came into my home and pulled that shit with my girl, I would probably stomp their ass inside out, so that when they shit it would go back inside their body. Think about this, real hard. It makes no sense, but perfect sense. I fear what is going to happen as a result of this … I will just stand back and watch, and stay far away when that drunk mouse with a shotgun comes through …
So, anyway, I went to get my prescriptions filled, and I was sitting in the CVS Pharmacy waiting area. Really tiny one too, about 3 seats and a blood pressure cuff bench. And the store was pretty empty. A young 20 year old black kid comes in and grabs a magazine and sits down next to me. First I thought, this isn’t a doctor’s office, it’s a store, you just can’t sit here and read magazines. But, I got over it quick, because seriously who fuckin’ cares? So, we were just sitting there waiting, listening to whatever bullshit CVS satellite radio they’ve got playing. Then “What About Love?” by Heart comes on. It’s pretty quiet in there, and as the song reaches the lyric part I hear next to me, “I’ve been lonely, I’ve been waiting for you, I’m pretending and that’s all I can do.” I was about to burst out laughing and I turned to him for a quick second. He said, “I like Heart.” And I said, “Yeah, man, they rock.” Then we both went back to being quiet.
So, as it was, I had to get a root canal today. And I went to my dentist a few weeks ago, and they couldn’t get it done. Which happens I guess, so I didn’t get to upset. But, when I realized that I’d have to see an endodontist and pay pretty much straight out of pocket, it pissed me off. So, I shopped around, and found one in Drexel Hill that seemed to be good, and also was the cheapest that I could get.
Yep, I spent $746 to have a dude drill into my teeth. It took about 15 minutes. Probably less. Then he goes, “OK, done, we’ll finish up on your next appontment.” I’m thinking, what the fuck dude, it took you 15 minutes to do this first part, why not just finish now and call it a night. But, I don’t argue much. So, I made my appointment and then I got a script for some Percoset. I was thinking, Wow! Percoset, I had no idea. I love pain killers. Who doesn’t? So, I left happy.
In my car I realized, is this SOB gonna charge me another $746 to finish the same tooth? I have no idea. And now I’m scared and worried. I never asked, and I don’t want to ask. He fooled me by leaving me on a good note with the Percoset and I wasn’t even thinking about am I gonna have to pay another $746. Shit. I got duped by the King of the Dupers, and then bribed with some Percoset.
But, let me tell you, if I was a dentist, I’d want to be this guy. Just listens to opera all day and works for 15 minutes at a time. Doesn’t do weekends, and doesn’t have appointments past 3 PM. And makes $746 per 15 minutes, and then dishes out pain killers. What a wonderful life.