Friday, October 21, 2005

The Return(reprint) of BigMike 

I have a new favorite breakfast sandwich. Brad and I grew up jonesing each morning after a binge for a BK Croissandwich. Tasty sandwich with the proper grease porportions. But I think I've moved on to the McD's steak and egg bagel. I know it's not a real bagel. That's not the point. The grease factor in these sandwiches is off the charts. Perfect for the morning after fuzzies. There can't be any nutritional value in these puppies.

Not that my body would appreciate anything good for it. Like that one time I ate an apple and my body revolted. I thought I was having a heart attack and the only way to stop it was by shoveling handful's of greasing generic potato chips in my mouth then shotguning a Mountain Dew. I will occasionally eat a vegetable but only if it's smothered in brown chinese sause and called broccoli. I'm sure someday I'll have to eat something healthy but right now I'm surviving on a steady diet of booze, fried cheese, and multiple varieties of pork products.

I'm a fat man but I'm a happy man.


Last night was a multimedia dial and IM-a-shot marathon. BigMike was handling the IM chat and I was taking care of the voice portion. So much so that my phone died halfway through. Luckily we had Heather on AIM and she was nice enough to gather a nice group of bloggers for dial-a-shots. Poker Princess for sure.

Three dial-a-shots with the Blogfather was the highlight. There's no way I can name every one I talked to last night because I'll forget someone and that would be insulting. I did have a couple of first time calls with Gamecock, Chad, and Shep of G-Vegas and tree climbing fame. I missed getting in touch with Falstaff because the phone was dead by the time he was available.

There was some crazy messed up shit going on last night. It must have been a full moon. Several friends were throwing around shots like they were free, there was a nutso birthday girl who had ScubaSteve playing music other than the traditional late night metal-fest, and the same girl ended up flashing BigMike when she was actually told to come flash me. Go figure.

Things were a little blurring at the end but I think I finished the night off by chugging some Red Bull.


While having a nice conversation with Iggy last night, he brought up to me and BigMike that he (BigMike) should start writing. Mike has contributed on occassion to this here crap blog and I'm going to paste in my favorite below. It was written about a year ago after we got back from our week long vacation in St. Martin where we stayed on a phenomenal huge-ass estate with a pool who's square footage is probably bigger than my new house. Mike ended one of the nights completely passed out, face up thank god, in the pool. Here's his writeup....

Drinking and the Benefits of Zero Gravity

It was All Hallows Eve. Traditionally not a good drinking day for me. Though I pride myself on my ability to pull back from the edge of complete oblivion on most occasions, something about the barrier being weaker between this reality and the afterworld makes me push the barriers a little farther, usually with extreme results.

It was day two in paradise. There we were in the pool again (although it felt like STILL). When Al first mentioned the villa of joy, the selling point for me was the Pool. Most fat mammals are happiest in zero gravity and I am no exception. My declared intention for the trip was to do as little as possible out side of the pool. And even though certain elements who Can't Understand No Talking were planning a week of activities, I was determined to get a decent amount of floating time.

Day one had gone very well. Here was the way events unfolded:

3:30 Arrived at Villa
3:35 Tour of Compound
3:50 Into the Pool
3:50:01 The Girls and Louie are off shopping
3:50:02 Into the Southern
5:00 First Bottle gone and tossed in the pool as a floater

5:00 - 6:00 Floating peacefully in the Pool with Al and the empty Southern bottle. Speech is completely unnecessary. Peace at last.

6:05 Our glasses are empty

6:05:01 Al makes the ultimate sacrifice and gets out of the pool and cracks open bottle number two. (Enthusiastic Cheers)

6:15 The women (and Louie) return with food.

6:15:01 Much needless talking ensues

6:20 We are ordered to go to the airport and pick up the rest of our rag tag crew. Of course we agree.

6:25 Our floating friend is discovered

6:25:01 Certain elements that Can't Understand No Talking indicate that we need to go to the airport because we "wasted time in the pool" while "important shopping was done." We again agree.

6:25:10 We are told that we are too drunk to drive. We respond that we have at least 90 minutes to sober up.

6:26 We are told we are too drunk to drive by Certain elements that Can't Understand No Talking. Mrs. Canthang asks if I am all right to drive. I answer "Is it 8:00?" From experience, she withdraws. We cap the bottle of Southern. (Expressions of Regret)

6:50 We are drying out. The silence is gone. The Southern is gone. I start to tease someone about their prior experience on vacation that involved drunkenness and fractured limbs. My head is beginning to clear. I am tearfully rebuked and told never to mention it again. I agree. I agree that making fun of drunken indiscretions would be wrong. I perform the Sacrament of Penance. I Mea Culpa until my chest hurts and agree that it is very wrong to exploit, tease, embarrass, or mention drunken incidents. I sign a non-aggression pact and cede half of Poland (after bombing the French of course).

8:10 The plane supposedly landed 10 minutes ago. We did not see it. (Yes my friends, we could actually see the planes arriving from the pool in the night sky!) Mrs. Canthang performs a sobriety test. I pass and I drag Mr. Canthang and we head to the airport.

8:30 We arrive at the airport
8:45 No sign of our compatriots
9:00 No sign of our compatriots
10:00 Return to consciousness and drive by the terminal
10:00:01 No sign of our compatriots
10:08 Mr. CantHang and the travel weary companions wave me down
10:28 We arrive at the villa
10:30 Back in the pool and the Southern is open
10:45 Buzz returns
11:05 The game of "Barnacle" is invented (Expression of Regret)
11:30 The second bottle is floating empty (Enthusiastic Cheer)
11:55 The third bottle of Southern is open.
1:00 Bedtime on the compound

Day two began where day one left off. I reflected on the negative moments of the previous day. They all involved the following:

1. Being out of the pool
2. Being sober enough to drive

Fortunately, these small matters could be easily remedied. By 2:00 bottle four was opened. By 3:00 bottle four was gone. Much of it in to me. Drinking in zero gravity masked most of the warning signs. You all know them, say them with me: dizziness, stumbling, slurring words, inability to control limbs, etc. In zero gravity, most of these are happily negated. You have nothing left but the buzz. You can surrender yourself completely to the buzz. I found that if I floated on my back, I could completely lose myself in thought and introspection without the annoyance of reality intruding. I spent most of the time floating on my back, doing flips, and basically wondering why we as a species chose to leave the sea. The dolphins were much smarter. It was obvious. Everything was better in the water. If you floated just right on your back, those who Can't Understand No Talking could not be heard. I tried to maintain that position as much as possible. When my head would accidentally come out of the water, I would hear chattering of concern with my wingman saying "He's fine, let him alone." Good man, Mr. Canthang! Eventually, I passed out. When my face went under the water, I woke up and stood up. HUGE mistake! Drinking in zero gravity cannot be stopped mid bender. Everything started spinning. Bad bad bad. Again, Mr. Canthang, in a demonstration of his drinking mastery, had the only thing I wanted at that moment....a garbage bag. I expelled much of the contents of my stomach, but I refused to exit the pool. Lifting my head to regurgitate the complete lack of food was more than enough for me. Fortunately, the pool was shallow enough to let me beach myself and only have to lift my head out of the water. As soon as the vomiting subsided, I would recede back into the water and float. And as soon as I was weightless again, I felt completely fine. My head would occasionally rise up enough to hear comments such as "Drown" and "Die" and "You have to pull him out of there." Again, Mr. Canthang kept them all at a distance. I finally got to the point where I could assist him in his efforts. Every twenty minutes or so he would say, "How are you doing BigMike?" And I would give him a thumbs up and the masses would give him a moment of peace. Occasionally, there would be the insane suggestion that I MUST leave the pool. I would extend a different finger on these occasions. The fact that I could differentiate between fingers seemed to bring comfort to the crowd.

By this time, six to eight hours had passed. Steaks had been promised. My thoughts were no longer a dreamy stream of consciousness. Lists of things to do started to creep in. Soon passwords and pin numbers reappeared. Visions of my family appeared. Steaks were promised. I lifted my head and it was not so bad. A little shaky but not so bad. Suddenly, I heard my wingman saying he would eat my steak. The time for decisive action had arrived. I turned over and asked for my steak. Of course, I ate it in the pool. By the time I was finished, my head was clear as a bell. I tried floating again and looking at the stars. It was nice and peaceful but not nearly the same. I relented and left the pool.

Few moments in my life have been as blissful as that floating inebriation. I vowed to repeat the experience, hoping not to step over the edge. Sadly, the pin number, passwords, to do lists, and those who Can't Understand No Talking prevented a repeat of the experience. I got close a few times, but I always seemed to have something to do that would stop the process before reaching the desired effect. Unfortunately, I am a creature of habit and I was unable to withdraw completely again from polite society for the rest of the week.

And remember kids, Mr. Canthang and I are professionals. Do not try any of the things you read about here yourselves.

P.S. The picture taken of me floating in the pool was violation of the non-aggression pact but I was unaware of it's existence until I returned. Not that it really bothered me. I consider the picture the best souvenir in years. If Stalin were as laid back as me, we would all be speaking German!


Thanks for stopping by. I don't have the energy to come up with blogger questions today either. I suck.

Cheers for beers.


Thursday, October 20, 2005

More Junk 

Just 11 short months until the next Bash. Get your tickets now! OK, maybe it's a little early but what the heck. ScubaSteve had some time on his hands and began coming up with banners for the next Bash. I'll hit you with one each month until we're all sitting in a puddle of booze next September each one trying to figure out who's turn it is to watch G-Rob fall down.


We've already begun work on the next incarnation of the ACHE band which should be amazing.

We've established the Bash Travel Fund so we can influence some special guests. Maybe even a Pennsylvania native also?


Not much running around in my fooked up head this morning. My body felt weird this morning. Probably because I didn't consume vast quantities of liquor last night. I drank, don't get me wrong. Just not a monster night. We're saving that for tonight and the ScubaSteve All-Request Hour. Have the cell phones ready for the dial-a-shots. I may be hitting some of the new comers.

Last night was very relaxing though. I wasn't feeling particularly well after eating some crap food for lunch (was there ever EVER a time when Dominoe's actually made a decent pizza?) so BigMike and I were in chill mode. The bar was running slow but the Wifi connection was working well. The night consisted of enjoying some very good Sauerbrauten, drinking some booze, and cruising around RateMyBoobs.net (if I have to tell you that's not safe for work, you deserve to get nailed by the company proxy). Good times.


I think I need to have a little sitdown chat with some of you crazy twisted effed up readers. You "normal folks" can move along to something more interesting. I seemed to have stopped paying attention to my Upload Directory in the Image Gallery. It somehow turned into a NSFW Upload area. And just who the heck is Beth and why why WHY would I won't to see her kidney's? At least upload a hottie or two. I'm going to go through and clean some of the pics up, some are very funny.

As always, if you want some good stuff then you should check out ScubaSteve's upload area.

The image on the left is there to cleanse everyone's mind from those horrid images in the upload directory. I bring you an obvious female fan of Argentina's soccer team. As always, click for a BIGGER image. (That's safe for work, right? Paint counts as clothing.)


How 'bout a little more pimping?

It looks like the Okie-Vegas crew is having themselves a little gathering in the heart land. GaryC has the details here. Maudie + Tequila + Poker = fun times.

I also found out there is a shit load of Okie bloggers that I've missed. I'll correct that when I get them all collected.

Meeks is another new blog. I think I'm behind the times because I've seen the link starting to pop up on other blogs. I'll admit that I was a little concerned with the PBR in the name. Pabst Blue Ribbon? Nope, poker bank roll. We're good. Stop and say hi.

TrumpJosh at Arm Chair Fisherman. Another blog that I swear I had linked before but just totally missed. I'm an inconsiderate buffoon (who probably mispelled buffoon. and mispelled.)

5 completely random new bloggers that I like to read.

- PokerDiv
- Midget Monkey Pirate Clown
- PokerStage
- Diane
- GiggleChick

Finally, DonkeyPuncher gets his props just for posting his Dirndl of the Day. That's right, put 'em in the window for me to look at.

As always, I'm an equal opportunity linker. Feel free to drop me an email if you want a link.


Good lord, I was actually going to talk some poker today but look at all the crap I've filled this post up with. I guess it will have to wait until tomorrow as well as the long overdue blogger questions.



Look at that, I managed to make it through an entire post without mentioning boring ol' Chelsea. Last three matches, 13 goals for and 2 goals against. zzzzzzzzz. Negative tactics my ass.


Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Will and Grace-less.... 

...or Hanging with the Mo's.

Disclaimer: the following paragraphs will contain language calling men of homosexual persuasion such names as Mo's, flamers, faigs, sally's, and such. These will not be used in a demeaning or insulting way. I am talking about some of my friends and not the run of the mill prancing poof. If they can call me an uncouth-shaved-ape, I'm allowed to call them nancy-boys. So if you tend to be offended by such talk, ya might wanna go read someone else today. Besides, if you're reading this, they've already read it and approved.

I waited until now to write this post because it required the proper mind set. Of course that mindset revolves around getting blindass drunk the night before and writing with a wicked hangover. You gets what you pays for.

Last friday night started off like many others. I was sitting at the bar with BigMike and the wifey. Knocking back the standard shots and I'd just gotten of the phone doing a dial-a-shot with BobbyBracelet as he was sitting in the airport bar. Things were normal until Eva received a call from her friend asking her to go out to their regular thursday night hangout. I'm not a big fan of her bar. It's seems confused with it's station in life. Is it a redneck bar or a gay bar? Plenty of rednecks hanging around the place but it has a jukebox full of Bette Midler, Barbara Streisand, and more show tune CD's then I thought existed. I definitely didn't feel like going there.

The other option was I could go hang out with BigMike and get me some of that culture stuff. He was heading to that massive center of civility, Wilmington Delaware, to catch the opening of a new play. I decided that sounded like a much better plan (and the name of the play was The PornoZombies. Who am I to turn down porn?). I bid farewell to my maiden and headed south.

Since we were meeting the Mo's at the theater, I knew one of two scenarios was going to happen. The play would run long, we'd get out at midnight and it would be too late to go out for drinks. Delaware is a savage state. They close their bars at 1am. The other scenario was that we would get out of the play with plenty of time for some drinks and I'd be in a sausage-fest bar. Either way, Krispy Kreme is on the way home and that's always a good thing.

The play was great. Hilarious, but no gratuitous nudity. But it finished up around 10pm. Plenty of time to hit the only bar in the state of Delaware that caters to sally's and nancy boys. Did they ever consider going to a straight bar? Hells no. I was in the minority and along for the ride. Hey, maybe I'll see some decent girl-on-girl action to keep things interesting. At the least I was going to get some interesting stories for you, my horrified reader. Just for a little added punishment, the establishment was located almost directly across the street from one of my old Wilmington hangouts, Union Station.

For the record, this is not my first venture into a gay bar. One of the crazier times I've had in New Orleans involved following a bunch of no-nonsense, straight-as-an-arrow bikers from their biker bar to Oz, the famous N.O. gay club to play gay bingo. I actually won a shirt that says "What are you, half a fag?" from a surly cross dressing queen who reminded me of the clowns in the dunk booth at the fair. Except the clown had better makeup.

The bar was located in a building that looks like every other office building in that crummy little bankers town. There were no rainbows plastered on the windows or dancing queens at the door. It was your standard restaurant by day, bar by night setup. Except this place was raining men. We grabbed seats at the surprisingly empty bar. I guess even the mary's in Delaware can't go out until midnight no matter that the bars close at 1.

I'm a tough guy to shock. I've seen a lot of crazy funny weird strange shit in my life. But I got quite a shock early on. Someone ordered me a double soco and I couldn't believe it. The damned shot was bigger than my standard big-ass-monster-boathouse-double shot. Take your average everyday rocks glass and fill it to the brim with Soco. That's the size of the shots I would be drinking for the next two plus hours. God Bless the faigs. They may be filthy degenerate rutting pigs, but damn if they don't know how to drink.

The next shock was looking up and seeing a big ol' Shiner Bock tap. Who knew? If the men are men and the girlfriends are too, try a Shiner Bock! They also had some Budweiser energy drink in the cooler with the RedBulls. I don't even think the Mo's in Delaware would be caught dead with an energy drink from Bud. I know it's slower Delaware but still.

I spent those hours going back and forth between condemning them to fiery damnation for their perversions and toasting to their long health. I may have even made the statement, "No, of course that sweater vest doesn't make you look like Ferris Beuller's boy toy!". I was talking to my poofer friend when I made a discovery. From my old trolling days I knew it was tough to find a decent looking girl in this crappy town but the poor mary's were having the same problem with the guys. Exactly the same. It seems the average man OR woman hanging in a Delaware bar is fat, hairy, and usually has a lazy eye.

Remember, I can say these things because I too am a fat hairy ugly man.

And whatever happened to the hot looking lesbians, fag hags, or beards? From watching Will and Grace, I was promised hot looking girls hanging with the flamers! Nothing. Just a couple of Hindenbergs sans the flashing billboards.

Oh man, the music. The wretched wretched music. You can't have any music involving a guitar. They won't even play proper hip hop. Take the same crappy ass 70's junk they've been rutting to for the last 30 years and speed it up. That's what you get. I deserve bonus points for keeping my cool when they played Aretha Franklin's classic Think at triple speed with an electronic beat. I didn't go postal but I did renew my condemnation of their kind.

The night ended as they usually do in my normal bars. The bartender made last call, we knocked back enough booze to get us home, and I was alternately covering up each of my eyes to find out which one was seeing double. We called it a night and headed north.

You might think that's the end of it but OH NO, you'd be wrong. One last horror awaited and I fully blame the flames.

The one and only damned thing I was looking forward in that god forsaken State of boredom and bankers. Krispy Kreme.

Closed. We had missed the closing time for fresh delicious yummy Krispy Kreme donuts. Bastards!


The very appropriate link of the day. Enjoy.


By the way, BigMike won the Boathouse Poker tournament last night and whooped 'em up good once we got rid of the all-in monkey sitting at our table.



Monday, October 17, 2005

Monday is generally the day where I'll go over my thoughts from the weekend in sports in all of it's complete crapiness. But I'm much too busy.

Busy making plans for Vegas in December.

As I've been chatting around, I'll make it official.

I'm in. See you at the Imperial Palace in December.


I did manage to watch every NFL game yesterday. Watch is maybe a bit of an exaggeration when it comes to the late games. I was seeing the TV's but I had the classic 6 inches of boozy vision and I might have spent quite a bit more time staring at the inside of my eye lids. Here's my quick hits so I can get back to pretending to give a flying rat's ass about work. I'm even having a hard time pretending.

- The Cowboys and Giants game was horrible. Neither team wanted to win that game. 4 turnovers a piece? Keyshawn is getting slower. Bledsoe is getting his happy feet back. The Shockey play at the end of regulation looked like it was on the practice field. No defense. Burress is overrated.

- Thank god Joe Buck is doing the baseball playoffs. I can handle Troy Aikman in the booth a lot better without The Douche.

- Jim Haslett was dead on. That was a chickenshit call by the zebras in the NewOrleans/Atlanta game. No way a game should be decided like that.

- Speaking of zebras, I saw at least two more go down with injuries during games. One was getting treated on the bench, another was carted off. They won't be able to fine anybody for those hits.

- I thought for sure Jake Delhomme was dead. Dead, I tell you. For two reasons. One, he wasn't moving at all. Two, he's on my FFL team. That's the kiss of death.

- If the Vikings and Rutgers scheduled a game right now, Rutgers would be giving points.

- What a damned boring weekend in the NFL.

- Penn State got jobbed. Big time.

- Sports Illustrated is advertising a new game called the "Peter King Challenge". Presumably you have to beat him at kissing the ass of any member of the New England Patriots. Impossible.

- Michele Wie, ratted out by Sport's Illustrated reporter Michael Bamberger. Nothing like creating your own stories.

- Chelsea. 9 goals for, 2 goals against in the last two league matches. Yep, that's a boring team right there.

- How 'bout dem Gooners! There they are, looking up at Wigan. Still.

- I came out ahead in the first 'game' of the Fantasy Hockey. This week I take on The Blonde and CJ.


The wifey is off running around Orlando this week. Eva is the only kind of control I have over the bar. So expect an entire week of really over the top 'tard ramblings.

I'll apologize now.

That reminds me, I still have to write about the my excursion with the Mo's on Friday.


Cheers. Vegas baby!

Scuba Steve sent me a current picture of Xena:Warrior Princess.