Archive for the ‘Drinking’ Category

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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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It’s like Pulp Fiction…except on 9/11

July 21, 2006

“So are you going to see that World Trade Center movie?” I say to Anonymous Doug.

“Who’s in it and who’s the director?” asks Anonymous Doug.

“Nicholas Cage is starring, and Oliver Stone is directing,” I say.

“Eh, that does nothing for me,” says Anonymous Doug. “Unless Oliver does all that crazy shit he did for Natural Born Killers.”

“What director would you prefer to direct the World Trade Center movie?” I say.

“I don’t know…Quentin Tarintino?” says Anonymous Doug.

Anonymous Doug is on to something here…and the wheels begin to turn. The bad wheels.

“So like the movie opens with two office workers in the Trade Center, and they’re just bullshitting with each other,” says Anonymous Doug. “Talking about…I don’t know…something from the 70’s. And they do it for like seven straight minutes in one shot. Then one of them looks up and says ‘Hey is that a plane?’ And then BOOM!”

“Then the surf guitar kicks in and we get the opening credits of Quentin Tarantino’s World Trade Center,” I say. “Starring Michael Madsen, Harvey Keitel and Steve Buscemi.”

“Bruce Willis should be in it too,” says Anonymous Doug. “He’ll be the grizzled security guard at the Towers and it’s his last day before retirement.”

“And Samuel L. Jackson can be the chief of police,” I say.

“I am motherfuckin’ tired of these motherfuckin’ terrorists!” Anonymous Doug says in his Samuel L. voice. “Yes they deserved to die and I hope they burn in hell!”

We laughed for three straight minutes, then got quiet real quick.

“Are we bad people for this little fantasy movie jam session about the World Trade Center?” Anonymous Doug said.

“No, not at all,” I say. “We’d be bad people if we let Uwe Boll direct.”

“If it’s not based on a video game and can’t be filmed in Germany, he won’t touch it,” says Anonymous Doug. “Say, what if the Coen Brothers directed the World Trade Center movie?”

“It’s a bigger subject matter than they’re used to,” I say. “But I like the way you’re thinking.”

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Your Destiny is Mundane and Boring Part 2

July 12, 2006

We continue our discussion on predestination as we get fresh saucers of Jameson’s placed in front of us.

“And what about people’s quirky personal problems?” I say. “What’s the point in making people fated to be furries, or to be obessessive Compulsive, or to be into bondage?”

“Or like who would make someone destined to be a chronic masturbator whose moment of infamy would come in front of three hundred people at a town hall debate?”

“Hey, I still think that aside from the constant whacking off in public, Spank Rosenberg would have made a fine councilman-at-large,” I say. “But what about people who get murdered? What kind of God gives a soul to someone destined to end up in Jeffrey Dahmer’s freezer?”

“Or what about being fated to die in a freak accident?” says Bernie. “Like when that gargoyle fell off that church and killed a bridal party.”

“What about shit like Tourette’s Syndrome or skitzophrenia?” I say.

“Yeah, and shit like Inflammatory Bowel Disease or progeria?” says Bernie. “What the point of those?”

“Comic relief?” I say, guessing.

“So God is a shitty sitcom writer?” Bernie says.

“No, God’s more like the writers for pro wrestling,” I say. “They book some important events, like wars and stuff, but most of the time it’s really just a lot of shit that doesn’t make any sense and they hope you forget about the lack of continuity.”

“So instead of asking ‘Why God Why’ we should be yelling ‘Who Booked This Crap?!” says Bernie.

“Well, it’s better than the alternative to that,” I say. “That everything is not scripted and we make everything up as we go along… and it’s not very good.”

“So either our lives have been poorly scripted by God and Vince McMahon, or life is just one big awful-ass improv show?” Bernie says.

“If life truly is a stage, then yes,” I say. “I’m going to go with the bad improv show. Because it’s a ridiculous notion that a deity can create the universe but script its day-to-day functions so poorly.”

Bernie shivers. “Oh man, there ain’t many things in this world worse than a bad improv show. Except maybe multiple sclerosis, or ethnic cleansing.”

“And yet we have those things, thanks to bad improv,” I say.

“You know, I think we’ve just disproven predestination by merely taking it to its logical ends,” says Bernie. “And that life is really just a really long and horrible Second City performance.”

“And we didn’t even have to leave the bar,” I say, filling up my saucer with more whiskey.

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Your Destiny is Mundane and Boring Part 1

July 12, 2006

One of Bernie the half-cyborg cat’s litter mates died recently, so we went down to the Bass-to-Bass to drink large amounts of Jameson’s out of a saucer because that’s what cats who are married to Irish women do when someone in the family dies.

“You know what I fucking hate hearing at funerals?” Bernie says.

“Please don’t put your balls on the deceased’s face?” I say. “No, wait, that’s what I hate hearing. I mean, fuckin’…you give a corpse a Roman War Helmet once as a joke and all of a sudden every funeral director has your picture.”

“I hate hearing shit like ‘everything happens for a reason’ or “it’s all part of God’s plan,” says Bernie. “What possible reason could God have for wanting an 11-year-old cat with balance problems to die of liver failure?”

“I think they’d say that God has his reasons and they’re too complicated to understand,” I say. “And ‘they’ meaning the people who believe in all that stuff, not us.”

“No, that’s bullshit,” Bernie says. “If everything happens for a reason then we don’t have free will. And if we don’t have free will then God has already decided who’s going to hell or heaven.”

“Maybe the Lord only has major plot points laid out for people,” I say. “Like he’s only working from an outline of your life and not the full script. So you have free will up until certain points. Sort of like when actors go off-script in a movie for a little bit and make shit up.”

“No, that’s not it because those actors are working hand-in-hand with the director,” says Bernie. “And if the director doesn’t like what they do he can just cut it from the movie or tell them to stick to the script. And since we don’t know what the next plot point we’re working toward is, any true improvisation would most likely steer us away from it. Like if the next plot point is that you’re supposed to drown in the Atlantic Ocean and in the meantime you unwittingly move to Iowa, then you’ve just screwed up God’s outline for your life. Any attempt by the Almighty to have you drown off the Jersey shore would negate any notion of there being free will.”

“Plus it’s kind of odd that God would script everything, even the most mundane detail, like my biweekly crotch scrubbing nights,” I say.

“Really, what possible purpose could there be for a deity to make you exfoliate your groin on the 14th and 28th of every month?” Bernie says.

What purpose indeed…

To be continued.

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An Incongruous Truth

June 28, 2006

My think tank (a.k.a. me, Bernie the half cyborg cat, and a bottle of Tito vodka) came up with an ingenious way to reduce our consumption of natural resources, and thus slow down global warming.

Kill half of the world’s human population.

Terminating half of the people on Earth would lessen energy demands and pollution output by at least 50 percent, especially if we keep the killing focused on industrialized nations like China, India, all of Europe and America. But not Atlantis, because their technology is fueled by the mystical life essence and doesn’t pollute.

Remember, it’s not genocide if you’re not trying to kill them all.

Also, the abrupt dip in population will usher a substantial dip in prices. We have about 6.6 billion people living on Earth. Killing half would leave about 3.3 billion grateful humans left. It is estimated that about 3.7 billion people were living on Earth in 1970. Therefore we can logically conclude that killing over 3 billion people will roll prices back to the levels they were in 1970, when a gallon of gas cost 36 cents, a first class stamp was 6 cents, and dime bags of weed probably did cost a dime (historical statistics on marijuana prices are very elusive).

We’re still hammering out how we choose who lives and who dies. Our best idea so far was a worldwide triple-elimination rock-paper-scissors tournament. Everyone who loses three times gets killed…somehow. Maybe with lasers.

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UnHappy Hour: Part 5

May 20, 2006

We’re all still sad lemonheads, just like that Zoloft commercial. We don’t feel like talking, we don’t feel like getting up from the bar, we just feel like waiting for death.

Just then Fur Elise comes walking into the Bass-to-Bass, this time dressed up as an impalama, which is a cross between an impala and a llama. We’re too depressed to be disturbed by it.

“Hey guys, what’s wrong?” asks Fur Elise.

“We’re stuck in the UnHappy Hour,” I say. “So we’re wallowing in the misery of our failed lives.”

“But UnHappy Hour is from 6 to 7pm,” says Fur Elise. “It’s 7:35 now.”

“Oh my God!” exclaims Ninja Vicki. “We’re such awful messes that we didn’t even need the power of the UnHappy Hour to feel so debilitatingly depressed.”

“Well, at least we can get up from the bar now,” says Anonymous Doug. “I’m going to go home and cry in my basement for a couple hours.”

“I think I’m going to take up cutting,” says Ninja Vicki. “I’ve got enough knives for it.”

“I’m going to lay on my kitty bed and not get up for a couple days,” says Bernie the half-cyborg cat. “Well..except to use the litter box.”

“I’m going to see how long I can go without eating before I pass out,” says Tina the lesbian.

“I’m going to put a gun in my hand and stare at it for a while,” says Mikka. “I’ll have to buy a gun first though. Screw that. I’ve got some emo CD’s I could listen to.”

“Aw man, you guys took up all the good extreme living-with-depression cliches,” I say. “What’s left for me to do?”

“You could go to therapy,” says Fur Elise. “All of you. There’s people who can help you by talking to them.”

“Everyone knows the mental health profession is a scam designed to gather our darkest secrets into a database for blackmail purposes,” I say. “Oh, I know what I can do. I can play live-action Pac-Man and eat as many pills as I can from my medicine cabinet before I’m tackled by ghosts.”

Beware the UnHappy Hour. It comes when you least expect, and it comes from within.

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UnHappy Hour: Part 4

May 19, 2006

“What time is it?” asks Anonymous Doug.

Bernie the half cyborg cat looks up the clock. “6:30?! What the hell? It was 6:34 in the last post.”

“Did the sum of our crummy lives cause us to go back in time?” asks Mikka.

“No, I think the clock is just broken” says Ninja Vicki. “The second hand isn’t moving, and the minute and hour hands are just hanging there limp.”

“Did our collective depression cause a clock to kill itself?” asks Tina the lesbian.

“Looks like it,” I say. “That’s the only rational explanation for it.”

“Maybe that’s our problem,” says Tina the lesbian. “Rational explanations.”

“What do you mean?” says Bernie.

“If we look at everything in our lives in a rational manner and weigh the evidence fairly, of course we’re going to be depressed,” says Tina.

“Unless our depression is caused more by chemical imbalances than by cognitive issues,” I say.

“So what you’re saying is that if we stop using logic in assessing our lives and the world around us, our outlook will become sunnier and shinier?” asks Ninja Vicki.

“Because when you use logic to cognitively appraise your situation, and all signs point to SUCK, it’s damn easy to be a pessimistic dishrag of sorrow,” says Anonymous Doug. “To think otherwise would just be living in a blissful fantasy world of denial.”

“Blissful fantasy world of denial…” says Tina. “That explains so much…about everything.”

“That’s why children are happy all the time,” says Anonymous Doug. “They believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny and that mommy’s just tired and not passed out drunk again.”

“It also explains why you never see religious nutjobs being depressed,” says Mikka. “They’ve got God to explain everything to them. And everything that goes wrong is Satan’s fault.”

“And the only time they get depressed is when they lose faith in their god,” says Bernie. “Make a fundamentalist have a crisis of faith and they’re reduced to friggin’ Morrissey.”

“And regular religious belief doesn’t cut it,” says Tina. “You need to go full-out. Kirk Cameron. Left Behind. Trinity Broadcast Network.”

“Yeah, any devotion to religion less than that will still leave you vulnerable to the depression that cripples us today,” I say.

“It’s true,” says Bernie. “Me and Marlie are lapsed Catholics, and we’re miserable.”

“Shintoism doesn’t chase away my darkness,” says Ninja Vicki. “But then again I’m not Japanese and I’m not very close with my family so I don’t think I’m doing it right.”

“Mighty Odin hasn’t answered the painful questions in my heart,” says Mikka, recalling his Nordic heritage.

“You think maybe we could start being religious fanatics?” asks Tina.

“It’s too late for us,” I say. “We know better. You can’t unlearn what you have learned. You can’t unlook into the abyss.”

“What’s better?” asks Anonymous Doug. “Living a lie and being happy, or knowing the truth and being miserable?”

“What is neither is better?” says Bernie.

There is no escape from the UnHappy Hour. You only get free from it when it’s damn well and ready to let you go.

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