Archive for the ‘Drinking’ Category

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Get married now and we’ll throw in free anytime sex minutes at no charge

April 2, 2007

“So I’m talking to my parents again,” says Ninja Vicki as we sit at the bar in the Bass to Bass for Indifferent Hour. It’s not Happy Hour. It’s not UnHappy Hour. It’s like purgatory, except with two dollar drafts and half-off mozarella sticks.

“That’s good,” I say.

“All they have to do is not talk about how I’m not married or dating and we’ll be fine,” says Ninja Vicki. “I give it two months before mom slips and says something about setting me up with a nice boy from the choir, or some crap about settling down.”

“You can’t train parents,” I say. “They’re old, they’re set in their ways, they can’t learn new behaviors. Or so I’m told. I don’t have parents, being grown in a lab and all.”

“Bernie the half-cyborg cat says you have parents and they’re nice people,” says Ninja Vicki.

“Bernie is a god damn liar,” I reply. “Anyway, I’m not sure why people are so hung up on marriage.”

I see Captain Pat behind the bar and flag him down. “Hey Captain Pat. You’re a married man. What’s the big deal with marriage?”

“Well, for starters, I can have sex anytime I want with my wife,” says Captain Pat.

“Really?” I say. “Anytime?”

“Even if she’s not in the mood or even willing?” asks Ninja Vicki.

“Look, Phyllis Schlafly says “By getting married, the woman has consented to sex, and I don’t think you can call it rape,” says Captain Pat. “So, that means I get to have sex with my wife whenever I want.”

“Captain Pat, do you even know who Phylls Schlafly is?” asks Ninja Vicki.

“Not at all,” says Captain Pat. “But she’s obviously a chick, and if chick is saying stuff like that, then it must be true. I mean, I don’t utilize that particular perk in my marriage, but it’s good to know it’s there.”

“Wow, I didn’t think I could dislike the thought of getting married even more than I did, but you’ve just changed all that, Captain Pat,” says Ninja Vicki.

“Captain Pat, you just can’t heed the words of every crazy person yelling stuff in public forums,” I say.

“Why? I listen to you,” says Captain Pat.

Damn, he’s got me there.

“Maybe it’s not a good idea to take important advice from people you know nothing about,” says Ninja Vicki.

“But I’m Catholic,” says Captain Pat.

Damn, he’s got her there. I guess you don’t get to own a fisherman’s themed bar without having some mental agility.

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Today’s Special… starring the senior senator from Mississippi

November 21, 2006

I’m down at the Bass-to-Bass to refresh my novel-writing skills with a rousing pitcher of vodka and Windex when I see two familiar faces at the bar.

“Hey, it’s Michael ‘Kramer’ Richards and Mel ‘Not Kramer’ Gibson!” I say aloud. “Why so bummed, guys?”

Then I remember. “Oh yeah… kinda lost your god damn minds for a moment and yelled a bunch of awful shit in public and ruined your lives.”

Then suddenly the door to the Bass-to-Bass gets kicked open and this old white guy wearing Cross-Colors and an Africa medallion comes busting into the bar. And he’s got those Dwayne Wayne flip-up sunglasses on his glasses.

“Hey, I recognize that steady head of hair,” I say. “You’re Trent Lott.”

“Shit yeah dog!” says the senator with his deep southern drawl. “Where my schnegros at?”

He then goes over to Kramer and Gibson and puts his arms around them.

“Man, don’t let this shit get you down, my honkeys!” Trent Lott says. “Cracka, four years ago I told a bunch of people that we’d have been better off electing a guy whose platform was to keep blacks separated from whites, and now look where I am. Number two guy in the Senate. I’m almost back where I was before.”

Gibson and Kramer seemed to feel a bit better.

“That’s right, they voted me motherfuckin’ Minority Whip!” Trent Lott says. “That’s my title. Minority Whip. I’m from the last state in the Union to outlaw slavery, I say on tape that a segregationalist president would have solved all our problems, and no one thinks it’s a damn bit odd that my title is now Minority Whip. Look what four years did for me, and imagine what it can do for you.”

Then Trent Lott bought a forty of Old English 800 and jumped in an Escalade driven by Redman.

“We need to pick up my daishiki at the dry cleaners,” I heard him say as he got in and the doves started spinning.

Man, Trent Lott is the flyest peckerwood I’ve ever seen in my life.

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Investments for the Approaching Mad Max Future

October 7, 2006

The other night, while over a couple bottles of box wine and drain cleaner, we were speculating what sort of currency will be used in the post-nuclear apocalyptic future.

Our consensus was that the most valuable commodity now will still be the most valuable commodity after the nuclear holocaust: hot blonde white women.

After the mushroom clouds subside, Hugh Hefner will be the richest man on Earth. Or Psycho Dave will be if he successfully implements his hot blonde white woman basement stockpiling investment plan before Armageddon hits. They don’t offer that at Smith Barney or Merrill Lynch.

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Bull Session 6

September 22, 2006

“I finished a book yesterday,” I say to Anonymous Doug.

“Yeah, I jerked off in a book once too,” says Anonymous Doug. “Felt good, didn’t it?”

“No, I said I finished a book, not finished in a book,” I say.

“Oh,” says Anonymous Doug, going back to looking at his beer.

“Anonymous Doug, which book did you jerk off in?” I ask.

“‘A Separate Peace,'” says Anonymous Doug.

“Any reason why?” I ask.

Anonymous Doug just shrugs.

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Bull Session 5

September 14, 2006

“I think I figured out the perfect murder,” I say as I throw my third dart, and take a commanding lead in our game of 501.

“Oh yeah?” says Anonymous Doug, getting ready to throw as I collect my darts off the board.

“Okay, first you get the victim really, really drunk,” I say. “To the point where they’ll do anything because you tell them to.”

“That’s a lot of booze right there,” says Anonymous Doug, throwing his first dart. “And maybe some low-grade hypnotism as well.”

“Then you instruct your victim to tell a Danny Faulkner joke and point that son of a bitch in the direction of the nearest police precinct,” I say.

“There are Danny Faulkner jokes?” says Anonymous Doug, throwing his second dart.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure some sociopathic shit has come up with a couple,” I say. “Look, as long as I don’t come up with the joke myself I’m not the asshole.”

“Fair enough,” says Anonymous Doug.

“So after the victim recites the joke in a place full of cops, the victim will get beaten to death by the cops, and they will make sure that no one finds the body,” I say.

“Pretty slick getting the cops involved in your perfect murder,” says Anonymous Doug, throwing his last dart. “However, your plan is flawed. It’s contingent on a highly inebriated person being able to memorize and recite a joke.”

“Yeah, that’s a problem,” I say, getting ready to throw. “Oh well, better throw it back into the think tank for more research.”

“Could you also seal that think tank up with concrete and sink it in the ocean?” says Anonymous Doug.

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An Inconvenient Odor

August 2, 2006

“The thing they don’t talk about when discussing the effects of global warming,” says Bernie the half-cyborg cat, “is how bad the world will smell.”

“Because everyone will be sweating more?” I say.

“No, I’m talking about how odor is more prevalent in hotter temperatures,” says Bernie. “That trash truck doesn’t smell as bad when it’s 20 degrees out than when it’s 95. And that smell will carry too. And let’s not even get into the ramifications of flatulence.”

“But at least the smell will allow us to find dead old people who die in the heat,” I say.

“Bull-frelling-shit,” says Bernie. “They’re still finding dead people from fuckin’ Hurricane Katrina down in Louisiana, and it’s steamy as a motherfucker down there.”

“That’s true,” I say. “So unless we can force the world to enter an ice age, we’re going to be faced with a world that smells awful.”

“That is the science of odor,” says Bernie.

The future is going to stink.

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Coming out of a transparent closet

July 26, 2006

“Lance Bass got the Gay,” says Anonymous Doug. It’s Intravenous Margarita Night at the Bass-to-Bass and me, Doug, Tina the Lesbian, and Mikka are halfway through our second bags.

“It’s not a disease,” Tina the Lesbian says. “You can’t catch gay.”

“I don’t know about that,” says Mikka. “If you hang around a group of people long enough you start picking up their tendencies.”

“So you’re saying if I hung around all those old Italians down at the bocce courts all that time that I’ll become Italian?” says Tina.

“Hey, if you want to catch the Wop from Count Joey’s crew, be my guest,” says Anonymous Doug. “Me, I’m going to keep my heritage, whatever it might be.”

“So…Lance Bass is gay,” says Mikka, awkwardly getting the conversation back to its beginning point and away from anymore slurs. “Who saw that coming?”

“Has there ever been a time when someone has come out and said they were gay and it’s been a surprise?” I say. “I mean, even when Tina told me she was gay I was like ‘Well, that makes perfect sense. In fact, that’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard all day.'”

“Little Richard being gay still throws me for a loop,” says Mikka.

*blink* *blink*

“I would slap you but I don’t think you’d learn anything from it,” says Tina.

“You’d need to slug him in the cock for that,” I say. “That’s how his parents got him to stop pissing in the sink.”

Mikka’s only solace was that Tina wasn’t wearing her rings tonight.

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