Friday, February 10, 2006

Help if you can... 

The rest of the Super Bowl writeup will have to wait for this weekend or Monday, not that anyone is still around. Craziness abounds and I'm at the center of the hurricane.

I'll leave you with this important request. I meant to post this earlier but I'm an moron.

From StudioGlyphic....

Seeking potential bone marrow donors (Filipino, 18-61)

If any of my readers can help, please do so as soon as possible. I'm already in the donor registry but I obviously don't fit the requirements. Even if you don't meet the requirements, I still endorse getting yourself in the registry because you never know when you might be able to help. It's quick and painless.

Thanks for allowing me to step away from my normal idiocy.

Cheers, have a good weekend.


Thursday, February 09, 2006

Keno Hammer, an Angel, and Skinheads 

Look at that poor bottle of Soco over there. At least the only thing that ended up in jail this Super Bowl weekend was this lonely bottle. Really, the little guy was just sitting on death row. This was where they stocked the extra bottles at the bar before we killed the first one. Then this guy got sent off to the death chamber also known as the bottom of our glasses.

But that was Friday night. We took it easy on them. Saturday would be different. Take no prisoners. A solid 14 hour bender for the history books. The Purple Moose Saloon, Rusty Rudder, Fager's Island, and the $2000 case of beer.


After Eva filled my belly with yummy bacon-ey goodness, I was good to roll for the day. We gathered the rest of the crew, who mostly looked like a 3D version of Dawn of the Dead (except for BigMike who's always the trooper and sets the proper example for the rest) and ran off to the bar.

The early stop, Purple Moose, is the relaxing part of the trip. They have a decent DJ, playing decent music, and doing decent trivia. Basically, he's decent. A Stealer Super Bowl combined with outrageously warm weather had the boardwalk packed on the fourth day of February. Most of the shops were open for business and the bar was packed full of merry makers.

Soco's and waters and beers and funnel cakes. Nothing like a little funnel cake to make your trip to the bar unique. We degenerate gambloooors were dropping money on Keno like crazy. In honor of Grubby, I even dropped "The Keno Hammer" on those unsuspecting folks. Of course, the Keno Hammer earned me exactly ZERO dollars. Brilliant.

The afternoon was going as normal. Booze, trivia, and Keno. Until the first girl took her top off by the stage for a measly Miller Lite T-Shirt which was intentionally too small. She was attractive so we enjoyed the moment and thought nothing more of it. Then another girl wanted a free t-shirt, so off comes the attire. She was a different story. She was jiggly in places not meant to be jiggly by anyone wanting to show off their goodies.

And it was like a car wreck. We couldn't look away. The rest of the afternoon she spent doing all this jumping and shaking and moooooving. If I wasn't an equal opportunity boobist, I would have been forced to look away. It was all very disturbing. But I felt the need to watch and report. Just for you, my faithful reader, only for you do I watch the disgustingly hideous creatures dance as their backfat moves in the opposite direction in a most threatening way. Appreciate.


The afternoon was coming to a close and we began making our evening plans. Since the Rusty Rudder was located in Dewey Beach, DE, a good 45 minutes away, we had decided to grab a taxi and pay whatever the cost for the roundtrip. Luckily some drunken retard (hand up) managed to grab a bunch of taxi business cards as we left the club the night before. I called the first one and scheduled a pickup from a very nice sounding lady by the name of Angel who promised a roundtrip and a mini-van big enough to fit the entire crew.

The plan was to cruise up to the Rudder for a little surf and turf buffet action followed by a couple sets of Crystal Roxx. For the uninitiated, Dewey Beach is located in the wonderful state of Delaware. I may have mentioned previously my complete revulsion at this make believe portion of the Union, but I will reiterate.

Bars close at 1am. No smoking. ANYWHERE. And unless you own a bank, there is no reason to be in the state. Dewey Beach is one of the few exceptions I will make. The place is built to party. Carter can tell ya. The place is only a couple miles from end to end. About 2 hundred yards wide between the ocean and the bay. And there are 5 thousand bars in that little stretch. Maybe a slight exaggeration, but not by much. They make up for the crappy hours by starting VERY early. Many times in my life I have found myself on the deck of the Rudder trying to figure out how I got so wasted while the sun was still so very very high in the sky.

Ah. Good times good times.


"Angel" the taxi driver showed up right on time. She sounded hot on the phone but turned out to be a cross between Estelle Getty and Jabba the Hut. Very nice though. Any old hag that can drive our drunk asses around and navigate moronic Delaware drivers all the while chain smoking and telling old 'stripper' stories can't be all that bad. Here's a picture for your enjoyment.

Dinner was uneventful. I managed to shovel my body weight worth of snow crab legs into my gullet before moving over to the bar area to enjoy the band. It had a long time since I laid eyes on the band which presented me with my well-stuck nickname.

Hanging with the guys and hoisting many shots to the past was great. The crowd was a different story. There seemed to be a large number of people in town for some silly Polar Bear event where idiots jump into the freezing ocean. This somehow benefits a charity but I can't imagine how. I've jumped into the ocean during the winter before but it had nothing to do with charity and a whole lot to do with my muddled brain.

I have a few things to say to the people who were in the bar....

To you, Ms. Bartender. I will start with you. We loved you. Adored you. Always there with a bottle ready to pour and the bottomless cups of beer. It's impossible to not love a bartender who will also do shots with you through out the night. Jager, Southern, Rumpleminz. You name it, she did it. Thanks from our crew.

To you, Mr. Fatass. The bar is packed with amateurs. It's nearly impossible to move yet you decided that you must take a tour of the bar every 5 minutes. Rubbing your nasty, beer-oozing fat up against us at every opportunity. I hope they mistook you for a beached whale at the charity event and drug your bloated carcass back into the sea.

To you, Mr. Skinheads (plural). The next time you decide to throw elbows at me in the middle of the crowd, I won't be with my wife and friends who force me to play nice nice with other people. You'll know what it's like to have two tons o' fun throwing down with you.

And to you, O' Rulers of the State of Delaware. Eff you and your no smoking laws. Catch me if you can as I choke down my lovely Marlboro.


The second set was coming to a close and it was approaching the time when "Angel" would show up to transport us back to the land of the living. The band played great as always and I need to make a point to get to their shows more often. It was much easier when I was younger and dumber.

Tomorrow's post will bring us back to OCMD, Fager's Island, and "Angel" trying to bed down BigMike.

I'll leave you with a picture of what my world looked like through a glass of Southern.


Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Save BG, Truckin', and DADI 3 

Picture stolen from Pauly

We interrupt this trip report for some very important announcements....

First up, Pauly mentioned this idea to me at the Borgata and I think he came up with a great idea. The Boy Genius went under the knife this weekend for some brutal work on his plumbing system. A ton of the expense is coming out of pocket.

A lot of people know that BG is one of the first bloggers to jump in when a fellow blogger asks for backing in a tournament. I've spent a lot of time in different parts of the world drinking with, playing poker with, and generally making fun of BG in the last couple of years. He's probably gonna be cheesed off when he gets back and see this, but fook it. If you'd like to throw some wee piece of your monstrous bankroll at BG, go here to Pauly's post and do what you can. If you don't have an account at FullTilt or PokerStars and would still like to help out, drop me an email and we'll make arrangements.

Help save the life a wussy-drinking, pancetta-smelling, horse-race-bettor, NOT-PASSED-OUT, fellow blogger. (see, I just can't help myself).

BG, get well soon.


Pauly has his January edition of Truckin' up and and the February one is not far behind. I missed the deadline for January but I'll be in the next issue. Check them out and show support.

Truckin' - January 2006, Vol. 5, Issue 1
1. Subway Bitch Slap by Tenzin McGrupp
Pedro eventually graduated from low level thuggery to middle level drug dealing. He started out at the bottom as a look out, then a runner, then a full on dealer.... More

2. Two Inches of Banana by Change100
"All I know is that if I were a homosexual, I'd have to be a feeder. Two inches of banana and I'm gagging!" he said... More

3. Anniversary in Italy by John "Falstaff" Hartness
It was our anniversary, and we had ditched the tour group to do a little shopping and have a nice romantic dinner all to ourselves. So we meandered through the cobblestone streets of Taormina.... More

4. Taste by Human Head
Doug and I were long time tripping buddies. Both of us typically shied away from tripping with our group of friends, well, because we felt like the drugs were wasted on them. Not only did we love our drugs, we took them seriously... More

5. The West Texas No by Sean A. Donahue
The simple West Texas attitude is infectious. Give me a beer, George Strait and a karaoke machine to sing Hotel California or The Chair and a West Texan has found Nirvana. For they love to drink, smoke, chew and party... More

6. Living la vida Estonia by Sigge S. Amdal
My second fuck-up was leaving my camera at home. I despise tourists and consider myself a traveler. A traveler sees what he sees, a tourist what he came to see.... More

Finally, those adventurous guys over at High on Poker and Poker in Arrears have set up another in there DADI (Donkeys Always Draw Invitational) tournament series. Check out Jordan and Tripjax for more details or questions.

This time it will be a Heads Up Tourney.

Donkeys Always Draw Invitational III: Head's Up Championship
Friday, February 17th, 9pm EST
Buyin: a measly $10+$1
Password: blogsaregay

So slap down $11 hard earned bucks and play some head's up poker. You may get lucky and get me the first match. That's the same as a bye.


Back to your regularly scheduled debauchery soon....

It is completely unintentional, but every time I type Super Bowl, it comes out Super Blow


Monday, February 06, 2006

Friday nights all right.... 

Say hi to your real Super Bowl MVP. Bill Leavy.

Sitting there after the game, we couldn't decide who really deserved it. Hines Ward is as good as anyone, I guess. BigBen sucked donkey balls (QB rating of 22.6. That has to rank pretty low for a winning SB quarterback) except for a couple of plays. Take away Willie Parker's huge run and he was 9 for 18 yards. Jerome Bettis? First and goal from the 3 and they needed BigBen to cheat. Enjoy the broadcast booth Jerome (and the first ballot Hall of Fame vote).

So I'll just go ahead and give my personal Super Bowl MVP to the officials. They were more crucial to the win then the stadium packed full of Steeler's fans.

I won't say much about the game because by the time I'm sitting here writing this, it's been done to death. Here's my thoughts.

- The refs gave this game to the Steelers. I'm not saying there was a conspiracy. Maybe. But they were awful and really seemed to be leaning towards the Steelers. The Steelers had two false starts penalties called in the first series. How many penalties were they flagged for the rest of the game? One. You're telling me that for the next 50 minutes, they only committed one penalty. I don't think so.

- Speaking of non-calls against the Steelers, I believe it was the play right before Hasselbeck's interception, Shaun Alexander was dragged down, from behind, by the collar. Wasn't there some talk at the beginning of the season that horse collar tackles were illegal?

- The pass interference call against Jackson was weak.

- BigBen was down short of the goal line. Another weak ass call by the line judge changing his mind halfway down the line.

- The non-existent holding penalty when the SeaChickens would have had the ball on the one yard line. At this point in the game we knew it was over. No way one team can compete with another team plus the officials. It was too one sided.

- WTF was that penalty on Hasselbeck on the tackle after the interception?

- all that said..... holy choke, batman. The Seattle receivers, specifically Stevens who riled up the idiotic Joey Porter, let down their entire team and city.

Were the Stealers the best team on the field? Did we actually get to see two teams play on an equal field? I don't think we got a chance to see it.

Congrats to the Steelers fans on the win. Condolences to the Seahawk supporters.

I really had no emotional investment in this Super Bowl, except wanting to crush the drunken Raven's fan who did the Ray Lewis scream thing throughout the game. It was one of the weaker ones in recent memory. At least we were in day 4 of bender and practice makes perfect.


But who really gives a flying rat's ass about my opinion on the damned Super Bowl? I barely care what I think. Maybe I'll get around to writing about Day 4. Right now I'm gonna give you my thoughts on the first night down in OCMD. We were heading out to a club called Seacrets to see Phil's band perform and hopefully nail a regular summer gig in this vacation, big breasted tourist haven.

One thing I found out after getting to the club was that they had a live webcast streaming from the club. Had I known, I would have posted it. You might have been amused.

By the next morning, the only thing saving my sanity was the gloriously extra thick black out curtains in the hotel. I had no idea what time it was but the wifey was getting up. This angel sent from heaven went in search of my recharge food. McD's long stopped serving breakfast so a Dunkin' Donuts bagel sammich (double bacon, naturally) would do.

While she was gone, I sat in a darkened room trying to gather my wits. It was a crazy first night and if I didn't arrange my thoughts, it was going to be washed over by the rest of the weekend. I popped open the laptop, tried in vain to find a wifi signal, then finally gave up and opened notepad.

The following are just some of the blurbs that came to me in the middle of my wasted/hungover process. Obviously I was still mostly on the fucked up side of the spectrum....


By 11pm, the dance floor was covered with large number of people practicing their south-of-the-border, look-ma-i-gots-all-me-teeth, larry-the-cable-guy kinda moves. You did know this is occurring south of the mason/dixon line, didntcha? (No offense to G-Rob. We just pretend that you're not a hillbilly. YEE fuckin' HAA Ron Burgundy.) The kids are dancing and having fun. we're holding up the bar and taking care of the proper end of the drinking bidness.

Top 5 things that popped into my head which make me an old man but I don't give a fuck....

5. "God damn it, would you put your hat on straight you douchebag!"

4. "And while you're at it, pulled up your fuckin' pants!"

3. "In 10 short years I'm going to run into JDub's daugther a bar wearing that and I'm gonna have to kick every guys ass in the bar"

2. "Given the choice, I'd rather hear DMX then 50 cent"

1. "Holy shit! Dude! Look at them. I didn't know they had two-legged, sparkly, dancing manatees all the way up here in Maryland." (actual quote that may or may not have made JDub spit beer out of his nose. That's how rumors get started.)

Suddenly it's 2 o'clock in the A M and the bar is starting to shut down. The tab was paid off and the bartender had pulled me aside for a conversation. This happens on ocassion when BigMike and I venture away from the home bar and tie one on like normal.

"Do you have any idea how much southern you drank tonight," she asked me in the hushed voice which was probably meant to avoid any managment hearing for fear that she might get in trouble for serving too much booze to the drunkards.

"I have no idea. I saw you change out the bottle a couple of times and restock," was my pat answer. No sense letting on I've heard this question a thousand times. I can usually tell how much we've gone through without even thinking about it.

Unless I'm passed out on the floor, that is.

"You guys drank over two bottles! And he (pointing to BigMike) got here late. Wha? How...." I was drunk. I couldn't quite tell whether she had a look of awe, fear, or pity.

"That's it! (two bottles, pfft) OK, no big deal. We've only been here for 4 hours. I guess that should be enough. Here's your tip dear, never mention this again. I'm batman." and that was the very moment she pegged as one of the brutally retarded. Nothing I haven't seen before, it's just usually coming from Eva.

We headed back to the rooms for more booze and watched the uncensored Pamela Anderson roast on Comedy Central. The don't censor shit, fuck, piss, cock... but when someone mentions Coke, they beeeeeeeeeeep the crap out of it.

(There's the next topic topic for Tri-clops. Pamela Anderson. Thumbs up or thumbs down. It would be nice to go a week without having to read G-Rob's main argument be "CJ is stupid and un-American". A N C H O R M A N. Lord it must kill to have an original thought instead of having some intern write it up. But he's got great hair.)

I have no idea where that came from, but I enjoyed it. Hangovers are fun kids. Just run with them. (and hope the wife gets back with the yummy bagel sandwish shortly).....


...and then she did. I put the laptop away for the rest of the weekend. Not only did the princess get me a double bacon sandwich, but she doubled up on the egg and butter just to do my weak heart goot.

I'll be back later with the Saturday wrap up. Some pics to tide you over until the next writeup....

Attitude? Not sure if that included me or not.

FatAss Bob gets some 'head'. JDub in the background.

JDub falling out the mini-van taxi.

Stephen and the stage bouncer (two in the pink, one in the stink)