Friday, August 05, 2005

I know I did it to myself.

Writing about the boat incident plus the virtual and very real shot to the junk of FatAssBob were bad karma. (btw, the AC unit in his 6 year old house had a 5 year warranty and it shit the bed this morning. He's on a roll.) Since then everyone has been lining up to take shots at me. Normally not a big deal but each morning I've also had to deal with the affects of a 3 day, mid-week bender. Mushy brain during the day. Self-induced coma during the night.

But this is important. BigMike and I are training for the Brad-o-ween Drunk Olympics where it's rumored that we are the number 1 and 2 draft picks. That's a lot of pressure.

So not much in the creative department going on here at 101 Drunk Street. Thanks for the comments from the two "Hell on..." posts (especially two comments from Otis! How did I pull that one off?). They were both easy to write because while I was going through the experiences, one of the few things that kept me sane was figuring out how to put my hellish time in words. And maybe entertain along the way.

This weekend should be worse than the others. It has been pre-ordained that my pager will be going off on an average of once every 28.6 minutes. 24 hours a day.

The wife will be away helping BigMike again this wekeend so my plan is to write and play some poker when I'm not working. I think I might finally write the story about puking on the hooker in Amsterdam (and her little dog too!) that I've threatened to write for the last year. Maybe once the sleep deprivation starts kicking in Sunday morning.

Now go say hi to Maudie and AsiaK.


This weekend I am finishing up the list for the thrash CD. If you have any other candidates, slap them in the comments. Voting will start on Monday and I'll start burning the CD's by Friday.


Link o' the day. Stolen blatantly and unapologetically from gigglechick.com (go right ahead and check out her blog. good stuff.)

Moving the spoiler alert ABOVE the link per Marty (and everyone else)

(If you plan to read the latest Harry Potter and are gonna get pissed at me for posting a spoiler.... do not click on the link. You have been warned. The link is pokergeek approved.)

Gigglechick wants this shirt.


Wednesday, August 03, 2005

A present..... 

"Call me Sir, goddamn it!"
Cameron, Ferris Bueller's Day Off
Go check out Arne and the 'gift' for our wedding anniversary.

A Knight and Dame of the Order of St. Arnold (Patron Saint of Brewers)

Go now! I'll be here when you get back.



Blues boss Bruce ends Butt nightmare

The headline of the day, courtesy of Soccernet

Last night was spent playing idiot poker at the bar freeroll. Morons were all around and Landow knocked me out with his 3 outter but he was more than happy to share some of his recent tournament winnings to buy rounds of shots. Pure crap poker but like BigMike said, it's nice to be playing out in public and not hiding from J Johnny LawEnforcement.

For the record, I think it's time to retire the word "donkey". Back in June sitting at a blogger mixed game table in the Plaza, the blogfather even threatened to jump over the table if someone used the word again. I was tempted but I didn't fancy a beating by a 3 foot tall housewife. I nominate the Ring Tailed Lemur. "Ring-tailed Lemurs always draw!". eh? I guess not.

Is that enough poker talk for me to keep my poker blogger union card?


The final preparations for Bash at the Boat 6 are just about complete. 4 bands will be playing. Kiddie Pool, Saved by Zero, Petey and the Bandcampers, plus the Al Can't Hang Experiment will be returning. The date is September 24th and everyone is invited. I'll be setting up golf and poker for the friday before.

Please god let me figure out how to reenact the Running of the Lewey.

My only nagging problem is the hotel situation. Apparently some teeny bopper hockey tournament has booked a ton of rooms. I will have the situation resolved shortly. Anyone who already sent me an email, I will respond with the details.

Oh yeah, the old lady and I are celebrating our 5 year wedding anniversary by renewing our vows at the bar surrounded by booze and many drunken friends.

Shoot me an email if you have any questions.


Does Otis ever foul one off? Pop up to the catcher? Why must every post be brilliant? When I head down to Brad-o-ween in a couple of weeks, I'm gonna split an entire bottle of Soco with that man.


Speaking of parties, it looks like the scheduling is bad for me to hit Scott's party also. My plan was to spend two days at Scott's and two days in G-Vegas.

I mention this for two reasons. One, I'm pissed that I'm going to miss it. It always looks like fun and I blame Otis. Second, I was sitting around the Boathouse Monday with BigMike when a gentleman sits at the bar with us. He's a business man from Texas who pops in whenever he's in town. We got talking about all things Texas when I mention that I'll be missing a big party in August. Not only does he know about Raz on the Braz, but he's going to be there. Small world.

So Scott, don't be surprised if some Texan named Rex from Rankin Construction stops by to offer you a Shiner that weekend.


That's it for now. The head is mushy from back-to-back nights hitting the bottle too hard and tonight has another one lined up. I might have to open up the dial-a-shot call lines this evening. If I have your number, be prepared. Or hit me with a pre-emptive one.



Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Hell on Water 

Saturday afternoon I found myself in a very difficult situation. I was standing on a 20 foot long piece of glorified plastic staring at a boat propeller that looked more like a head of shredded cabbage than an actual prop. We weren't entirely sure the boat wasn't taking on water. Nothing between me and the dry dry ground except 8 miles of very angry sea.

After dropping a couple of f-bombs and oh-shit's, FatAssBob looked over to me and said "Well, I can't wait to see how you write this one up."

One thought jumped right into my head. I'm gonna laugh my ass off at the next person who says/writes about the stress and pressures off calling an all-in bet on the river. Screw that. Try standing on the bow of a tiny 20 foot boat whose VHF radio was nothing but static, the weather-channel-predicted swells of 1 to 3 feet were more along the lines of 5 to 7, and the nearest land was over the horizon. The ominous clouds in the distance were moving away from us, but with the way the day was going, who knew what they would do.


A pc crash ate my post but the long story short is this.....

Boat anchor vs. boat propeller. The anchor is going to win every damned time. It's one of those deals where the failure of a $3 anchor chain safety clip is going to cost ALOT more than $3 once the repairs are done. We kept waiting for the automatic bilge pump to kick in signaling that we were taking on water. For the record, I had no real desire to doggie paddle.

We finally got SeaTow on the radio and floated in the open sea until they made their way to us. While waiting, I was lucky to get enough signal on the cell phone to call the wifey and explain the ordeal. She just laughed and told BigMike to start booking a Vegas trip. Bob's girl never picked up the phone or even called back when she heard the voicemail,
"Hi honey, we have a problem and we're stuck on the boat. I don't know what's going to happen. The life insurance papers are in the safe. The key to the safe is here on the boat. HA! Good luck with that one."


SeaTow finally tracked us down and we began the long process of getting back to the marina. One last poker-type thought crossed my mind on the way in. I decided I wouldn't sweat the dreaded 'walk of shame' after busting out of tournaments anymore. Not after seeing Bob's face during the 'tow of shame'. His new, pristine, white fishing boat getting towed by a wreck of a boat past ancient trawlers that were far more operational than his at the moment.


Just to make Bob's weekend of hell complete..... we got home and the hot water heater in his brand new beach house was broken for good. Nothing but cold water.

Then in a moment straight out of Bobby Bracelet's warped mind, his future 6 year-old step-daughter turned towards him, and without even blinking, hit poor Bobby square in the ol' twig and berries with a full swing.

He got hit in the junk figuratively all weekend. Why not literally.