This is my bartender blog, full of recipes, toasts, jokes and much more. I'm a bartender and I love what I do.
Bless this Blog.
Thoughts, stories, ideas, recipes, cheers, and more... What else did you think you would get for a $1 tip? For those of you looking for something on the more sophisticated side you have my apologies. This blog unfortunately mirrors the author (yours truly.) Some of the humor is not for everyone but I liked it and it's my blog so there! My patrons sometimes ask me where I come up with some of this stuff. I am glad to tell them my mind is a lot like Canada. It is sometimes a bit cold, there are a few dark corners, some of it down right confusing and even a bit dirty but there is also a lot of neat stuff up there. So I hope you all enjoy this blog! ... Cheers!
This weekend I turn 40! Yup the big 4-0 and there has been a great deal of consternation especially coming into the big day. 39 I equate to the button on a fat mans pants. As 30 pulls me in one direction barely hanging on 40 is ripping me the opposite way with no remorse for the material that is my life. Bottom line here is that this is happening. Come hell or high water as my Pop always says. this day is coming and it wants blood!
Now there are all sorts of people that will tell you that 40 is the new 20 or that you don't look your age and we call those people full of shit. Of course I look like 40. Hell I WANT to look 55. When I die I want to come screeching in on 2 tires and a cloud of smoke. I want people to wish my funeral was a closed casket and I want to be laying there with my eyes wide open and morning wood as if to say "Bring on my next adventure. This shell of a body is all used up and I need a new one!" Not to stray too far to the extremely morbid but I have seen old age and some people go gracefully and others linger in nothingness just waiting to die. This will never be me or at least so I hope. At the same time I don't want to go Elvis style either. Weighing 300lbs and sitting on the toilet with a gold jumpsuit around my ankles is just not a good look for anyone.
Although I am ever so slowly approaching the great dirt nap, kicking the bucket, chillin with Jesus or playing the quiet game forever more I feel great. The AMA (American Medical Association not the American Music Awards) Says that if I play the averages I have about 67 more good years left in me. Of course I will make more noise when getting up or down from any seated position and getting up from kneeling will be damn near impossible. I will have to use my nose trimmer weekly or else whenever I sneeze I will look like a party favor and I won't be able to hear worth a damn. However on the up-shot if my genes keep their family word I will have a full head of hair ready whenever I want it that would make the best of Hollywood's leading men jealous. I will have close to 20/20 vision and I won't have to take a little blue pill to spark Mr. Happy into making a tent in my pants till the day I die.
Then to quote Bill Murray as Carl Spakler in movie Caddyshack (which got completely hosed for the greatest movie ever awards.) "The Dalai Lama, himself. Twelfth son of the Lama. The flowing robes, the grace, bald... striking. So, I'm on the first tee with him. I give him the driver. He hauls off and whacks one - big hitter, the Lama - long, into a ten-thousand foot crevasse, right at the base of this glacier. Do you know what the Lama says? Gunga galunga... gunga, gunga-lagunga. So we finish the eighteenth and he's gonna stiff me. And I say, "Hey, Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know." And he says, "Oh, uh, there won't be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness." So I got that goin' for me, which is nice."
Besides birthdays mean birthday cake! I'm a fat kid and we fat kids LOVE cake. Cake brings people together and has the power to help us all connect. Ever have a marble cake? Chocolate and vanilla cake all in one. Like Martin Luther King and President Kennedy got together in a sweet harmonic bakery and made a love child! Cake even has healing powers. Picture the last time you where at work when they where having a birthday party in the conference room. Some one comes to round everyone up to sing happy
birthday to Phil in accounting. "Fuck him! I don't even like that guy!" Then you are told there is going to be cake. "Well maybe I should let by-gones be by-gones." However be the first guy in line and have to pass each piece as it's cut down the line to the last guy you will feel the rage mounting again as each piece gets smaller. You start to eye up the people around you who really don't need it. And we all make the same comments to justify the impending caloric intake."Well I guess it's OK to cheat a little." "just a small piece, I'm on a diet." No you're not! Or the ever popular "I guess it's another 20 minutes on the treadmill for me this week." Uhhh only if you take all the clothes off it that have been their since 3 weeks after you bought it first. Cake should never be eaten alone, it's just sad. Be that guy who comes in an hour after the party and is seen eating the dried up cake. Guaranteed the rumors will fly that you are homeless.
So getting back to how I use to do things when I started this whole big monstrosity of a blog I will end with always a fun shot to cure any birthday blues.
Birthday Cake Shot
.5 oz - Frangelico
.5 oz. - Vanilla Vodka
.5 oz - Amaretto
Splash of Chambord
Splash of cream
Shake over ice and strain.
Rim shot glass with rainbow sprinkles
As of late I've been looking into the possibility of going back to school. In a time so long ago and in a land so far far away I attended Norwich Military University a small military university settled just far enough into the mountains of Vermont so no one can hear you scream. While all my friends went to schools like University of New Hampshire, Keene State and Plymouth State all well known less for their academia and better for their active student life and reputations of epic parties. Instead I opted for a dry campus, shoe shine parties and doing push ups just about everywhere. Now I certainly am not looking to relive those years of achene, awkward conversations with women, suspect grooming capabilities and living only for the next 20 minutes with total disregard for the future. Even my healing time was fast then. I swear I could have cut off my arm and watch it heal in the mirror. Now if I stub my toe I'm out of commission for 3 days.
Now back to what i was saying... I have a few friends with their Doctorate degrees. I refuse to call any of them Doctor. Like my Grandfather use to say, "you could be the greatest leader of this world and I still wouldn't follow you across the street." He would also go on to add that he didn't believe I could "find my asshole with both thumbs, a map, compass and a flashlight in broad daylight." I always found that last part unnecessary.
One of my oldest and dearest friends, we will call him "Dr. B" to keep his identity sealed is a Doctor of Mathematics and works in the high tech field. Essentially one of those as they say in New England "wicked smart guys." the type of guy a company pays a butt load of money to lock him away in an office and figure out something groundbreaking. Although I have done pretty well without it, I always envied his level of education and thought often about going back to school. Now I am not sure I will ever attain the almighty Doctorate degree in this life. However "Dr. Charles The Bartender" certainly has a nice ring to it. To add to this my closest friend, Shawn works within the higher ed field and will be the first to tell you that a degree is something no one can ever take away from you. Whenever he speaks about this education I feel like the Great and Powerful Oz speaking to the Scarecrow...
Wizard of Oz: From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers.
And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma!
** The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on **
Wizard of Oz: Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D.
Wizard of Oz: Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology!
Scarecrow: The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain!
After this meeting about my mind I left hopeful for my future learning experience. Although throughout this entire process I couldn't help but remember some of my past times with Dr. B. You see like I said previously he was a Doctor of Mathematics and obviously a bit smarter than your average party girl we use to run across in our favorite watering holes. Dr. B is also Australian and between that laid on thick Aussie accent and a business card bearing his name and title I rarely had a chance to take first place in the pretty girl race. I spent many a night stewing as the wing-man. The funniest part is that he wouldn't even sleep with these nit-wits. It was more like a flexing of his pick-up muscles, he would merely get the phone number and throw it away! Why you might ask? "Because I can" he would reply. Hell at least I would put out! Trust me I might not be bright and I might not be rich, or great looking but I am easy!
Although every so often I would be the one in the lead. I would be the one for once about to get the pretty girl. I could see the finish line and I was in the drivers seat. Just at this moment Dr. B would say something like "trust me I'm a Doctor" and then show them the card. Game over! Standing there all I could think is "Of mathematics!!! what are you going to do? Help them solve for Pi?" "Look at his title for Christ sake you ninny! it's VoIP!" there is not a stitch of medical to it!" If ever they did ask he would just tell them it was V.I.P. of Doctors AND THEY BELIEVED HIM!!! After that it was "yes, I have met your friend." "Yeah she seems like a nice person." Game, set, match. I was spending the rest of the evening talking to the friend about her cats and over active thyroid gland. The words of the Wizard ringing in my ears once again.
Wizard of Oz: [booming voice] And you, Scarecrow, have the affrontery to ask for a brain, you billowing bale of bovine fodder!
Scarecrow: Y-Yes... Yes, Your Honor... I mean, Your Excellency... I-I mean, Your Wizardry.
Wizard of Oz: [booming] Enough!
Now even though I wasn't the one getting the girl. I did have a lot to thank Dr. B for. The crumbs weren't always that bad and nor was the perks. I can remember one time his B.S-ing the powers that be at a large and over-booked casino on a busy weekend into giving us a very nice room when we didn't even have reservations. Something tells me that the card came out then too.
So to Dr. B, Shawn and all the others in my life that have stressed the importance of education. I say thank you. Like Rodney Dangerfield in 1986 I will be going back to school. You will all be my motivation. Who knows maybe someday I too will hold the title of Doctor.
I'm sure everyone that reads this blog is also an avid reader of the Bible. However I was listening to the radio the other day and they where talking about the brother of Jesus Christ, James. This got my wheels turning and a serious need to learn more about the life and times of James Christ.
In October of 2002 a stone "bone box" no more than 2 feet long, made of limestone was found in Jerusalem. These "bone boxes" where used to keep the remains of the deceased from approximately 20 B.C. to 70 A.D. The inscription on the box was in ancient Aramaic and read "James, son of Joseph. Brother of Jesus." Now there are a few questions here. The first is "that Jesus?" the Second is "was he the real brother or half brother?" No one really knows for sure mostly because the reporting rituals of those crazy Catholics can be quite convoluted.
Mosaic law encouraged young couples to have a butt-load of kids thus advancing the race and religion. Now J-Date is carrying this torch. Along these lines Mary and Joseph went at it like bunnies only after Jesus came by way of immaculate conception (yeah right...) Let's get this straight, one day Joseph comes home from his daily grind as a carpenter and is sat down by Mary. Mary has been searching for the words for the past month and a half after Joseph has been teasing her about maybe getting out and to the gym because it looks like she has been gaining a little weight. Mary finally sets the record straight. Letting Joe know that although he has never hit it, she is in fact pregnant. Oh and by the way the baby is his although when Jesus arrives he is described by the book of Revelations as having hair like sheep's wool and dark skin and the Old Testament has him as having milky white skin and hair, essentially a albino. No matter who or what you believe you have to admit the story stands on shaky ground. After getting this news Joe's reaction is to tell Mary to get on the donkey so they can get to Bethlehem from Nazareth to be born before Angels and Shepard's and be exalted as the savior. To which I can only imagine there must have been a huge relief that Joe bought this story. Cheating on your husband in this time period was punishable by the accepted penalty of death.
Getting back to James. Depending on what you believe according to the New Testament Joe and Mary in fact have a few kids after Jesus. The next being James then Jude, Simon and Joses these are the English translations of the common Hebrew names Yaakov, Yosi, Shimon, and Yehudah. These are mentioned in the Bible under the book of Mathew 13:55 and Mark 6:3 among other exerts. Jame's name is always the first on the list which suggests he was the first.
Now for all you second kids out there let's think about this a little. Brothers can be brutal to each other. However the younger brother typically idolizes their older sibling. Now enter the parents and James comes home from school with some low grades and Mary and Joe can be over-heard in the kitchen saying "how come he can't be more like Jesus?" James constantly finds himself trying to live up to the expectations of his parents and trying to reach the bar set by his older brother. And you can probably bet he was always asking Jesus to carry him around after he read the "Footprints in the Sand" poem
Now James was no slouch himself. In fact has was a prominent figure in the Apostolic Age. His title is "Bishop of Bishops." However he is called by Paul and several others (Galatians 1:9) "James the brother of the Lord" Which I am sure went a long way on the street. You can almost here the people whispering. "See that dude right there? Don't mess with him. That's Jesus little brother." And you know Jesus has street cred with the stigmata marks (holes in the hands and feet) from those bastard Romans.
Then Hegesippus comes along and dubs him "James the Just." Which is cool because now he has a nickname given to him by his peers. Now you know that after the first party James went to and they ran out of wine and he couldn't do the water into wine trick "James the Just" was quickly re-worked to be "Just James." Everyone looking to him to keep the party rocking and there is James just chilling in his sandals. Just prior to this he was getting a little shine from the ladies. He's riding the coat tails of his brother taking crumbs and sloppy seconds. Sort of like Sylvester Stallone's brother Frank. Yeah he is in a few movies and all that but girls are just chilling with him till they get an opening with Sly. In the end they find out Jesus isn't messing with the chicken heads trying to get with him and he strictly rolls with a gang of 12 called the apostles. His crew roams the land just paying it forward and teaching that it's all good. Although there has been a little talk about how Jesus might have hooked up with Mary Magdalen but Catholics and Jew's alike will tell you that's just an ugly rumor. Then why does she get to sit next to Jesus at the Last Supper?
L to R: Bart, Young James, Andy, Pete, Judas, Dirty Mary, JESUS, Tom, Lil' James, Phil, Matt, Thadeus, Simon
James has a lot to overcome too like the time he was following his older brother and almost drown... "isn't that Jesus Brother James Christ. Yeah, don't get excited it's just James. Everyone including him knows James can't swim. Mom has to throw him a bone every so often to keep him from displaying middle kid syndrome so she asks him to bless the food on the table while winking at Jesus and nudging him with her elbow like "don't worry Jesus we all know whats up." Sort of the equivalent of Phil Jackson giving the ball to Scottie Pippen in the last seconds of a game versus the Clippers instead of Michael Jordan. I mean it's just the Clippers and no one will ever remember this game and Scottie could really use the confidence at this point. If James hooks up with a fine young lady they all scream his brother or his fathers name in bed. You just know that must make it tough to stay hard. Friends of James in the hospital and James comes to visit with a little bouquette of flowers and a get well card. Everyone looking at him like "If you really meant it you would talk to your brother and get me up out of this mess here."
However with all this adversity James keeps on fighting the good fight. And this isn't an easy thing to do with all his detractors. No one wants to believe James is Mary's son. You see in those days Mary is a dime and Joseph is just a carpenter probably around a 7 at best. No one wants to admit that Mary is slumming with
Joe. But Mary sticks with him especially after he bought the whole immaculate conception. James becomes a "made man" and is given the title Head of the Church at Jerusalem. The Orthodox come up with a doctrine of perpetual virginity which makes Mary with the cherry a virgin for life. Essentially saying Mary did not have any children after Jesus. Mathew however set the record straight from the Protestant side of the story (1:25) saying "Joseph knew her not till she had brought forth her firstborn son" (Jesus.) Basically saying even he bought Mary's story about getting impregnated by the Lord, but after that Mary finally started doing her wifely duties and gave it up to Joseph on the regular. Thus producing 4 more sons.
Now James didn't follow all Jesus had to offer. Actually none of them where really "followers" of his word till after his death. It wasn't till after the Resurrection and Jesus appeared before 500 + people (1st Corinthians 15:7) That James finally got with the program and started dropping Jesus' name. Telling all who would listen that his dead brother was the messiah, the conquering hero who would overthrow the order of things and sit on David's throne. He quickly rapidly became a leader in the growing Jesus Movement, but there was never any question of him replacing Jesus, or becoming an alternative messiah. He was still and always was Just James.
James died as an act of martyrdom. He was sentenced to death by stoning for his apposing views concerning Mosaic Law. According to scribes, James took it like a boss kneeling before those stoning him he prayed "I beseech Thee, Lord God our Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do." One of the priests Rechab the son of Rechabim tried to put a stop to it. “Cease, what do ye? The just man is praying for us." But someone took a staff used to wring out the garments he dyed for a living, and hurled it at the head of the just man. It is said James was buried on the spot and a pillar erected to his memory still remains. James died in 62 A.D.
To this day the Eastern Orthodox, Lutherans, Episcopal Church and Roman Catholics all celebrate the life of James. Calling him "Apostle James the Just, brother of Our Lord", and feasting in his honor at different times of the year depending on the faith. However we all now know him as "Just James."
I hear people say "I hate" this or that person all the time. The word "hate" is a powerful word and one we many of us use daily. Henry Rollins, the former lead singer of the punk group Black Flag and The Rollins Band has done many spoken word CD's and in one of them he talks about hate. He says, "taking the time and energy to actually hate someone is already giving them WAY to much of yourself. Sort of like the way people use that old saying when life hands you lemons make lemonade. Bullshit! Fuck you! Next time life hands you lemons take a big bite out of it and smile at who ever gave it to you and say, oh yeah! I like lemons what else you got?!"
Hating someone means nothing more than they won! They own you. Outside of love hate is far and away the next most powerful emotion we can have. Some might even argue that hate is even more powerful. Hate means that person has rented out space inside of you and is now making waffles in your brain kitchen. Hate then turns to a lust for revenge and then those thoughts start occupying your day. We are all guilty of it. Some a lot more than others. I am betting even at one point Jesus hated Satin. I'm not even talking about the big pecker heads that hated groups of people like Hitler, Mussolini or Bin Laden those assholes brought hate to a whole other level. Where the hell where all the anti-bullying campaigns when those guys where around. You would think at least a few of the members of the German military might look around at the camps and think you that many people don't need to shower all at once and maybe something should be done. Even the people who preach No H8! have their own hatreds. I was at a benefit once for the No H8 campaign and listened to someone tell me how much they hated another person in the very same room!
Now I am not saying I am completely above it either. There are certainly people I highly dislike but I keep trying to go back to those words by Rollins. I'm human and hate is a real human emotion. There is even a movie entitled "The Thin Line Between Love and Hate." I have watched people go from one extreme to the other almost for no real reason but self preservation maybe. Like the band Saliva sings (yup I am quoting the band Saliva this is happening.) "I love you. I hate you. I can't live without you..."
I get hate mail for this blog or just a general disdain for who I am or what I believe in all the time. It's really quite flattering. I mean someone actually sat down to type me a message filled with raw emotion equivalent to that of love all be it the polar opposite. Unfortunately the person or persons never have the fortitude to give their true identity so it is hard to ever take the criticism of my character seriously. I can actually give a little respect to someone who is willing to confront another on a personal level. The other is just cowardice but I digress...
My suggestion is to stop all the hate although that will never happen. We will always live in a world that embodies war. Some careers are built solely on the hatred they generate toward themselves. Just look at the entire cast of the Jersey Shore. At least Facebook never developed a "Hate button" That would be a hilarious count. Instead from now on I'm trying to find at least one good thing or remember one good time with that person. Then like I was taught in the Army about how to deal with a Drill Sargent yelling at you. Don't bother listening to them calling you an asshole or whatever other name they may have for you. Filter that part out. Listen to why. Once you get that message you can decide your course of action from there. After that I have learned to turn to indifference. I have learned the indifference is an even greater insult than hate. Indifference means you care less if the person is dead or alive. They take no position in your life's journey. Like the old Latin phrase goes, "Illigitimi Non Est Carbarundum" loosely translated means "Don't let the bastards wear you down." If they are not enriching your life in some shape or form then clear them from the path and move in the direction of something or someone positive.
Now here's a little Rollins just to make you giggle...
Truth be told I am not a big "beer guy," "beer snob" or conosoier by any means. I am just a guy that enjoys a good cold beer on a hot day or a tastey beer on occasion. Fall for me is a great occasion. I am fortunate enough to live in Maine and that is the home to the Shipyard brewery and the creator of my favorite beer Pumpkinhead Ale. If you're an evolved enough man and comfortable with your own sexuality then you don't have an issue of mixing fruit or vegitables (whatever a pumpkin is categorized as) with your beer. The great part of this Ale is that it is so versatile and pumpkin much like apple is a flavor that lends itself to many variations. So instead of my usual banter about life, liberty or the pursuit of boobies I offer you some tastey ways of serving this seasonal delicacy.
Rimming the Glass:
First let's talk about rimming the glass. Yes you can certainly just take your ale in a ice cold pint or beer mug. However what fun would that be and how are you suppose to creep out or turn on depending on their preference the people around you as you contort your tongue to get every last bit off the rim? Rimming the glass is a good way to add flavor without adding alcholoc content. The rim flavor also kickstarts the taste buds and layers your flavors. Typically the rim is cinnamon sugar. attaching the cinnamon sugar is another issue. Lime juice gives a funny after taste, so I like to use vanilla frosting or marshmello fluff. Beware the fluff is good but tough to get off the rim when washing the glass. Here are a few other options feel free to use a combination of them as well: nutmeg, honey, agave syrup, caramel syrup and cinamon or maple syrup and brown sugar with cinamon. The possibilities are pretty much endless. As long as you r are thinking fall flavors you really can't go wrong.
Bring on the Recipies...
Add a shot of Captain Morgan Spiced Rum to a pint of Pumpkinhead
Add a shot of Pinnacle Whip Vodka & Captain Morgan Spiced Rum to a pint of Pumpkinhead. Rim Glass with vanilla frosting and cinnamon sugar for the taste of ice cream on the side.
Add a shot of Stoli Vanilla Vodka to a pint of Pumpkinhead
Pour ½ oz Pineapple Rum and ½ oz Bailey's Irish cream into a shot glass. Drop the shot into a half pint of Pumpkinhead
1/2 ounce fresh-squeezed lemon juice
1 ounce vanilla vodka
2 dashes orange bitters
chilled Post Road Pumpkin Ale (seasonal release from Brooklyn Brewery)
orange twist to garnish
*Shake all ingredients except beer well over ice. Strain into the bottom of a pilsner glass. Top with beer. The beer should comprise about 2/3 of the final volume of the cocktail. Twist orange rind over drink to release oils.
++ To make ginger simple syrup, add 3/4 cup chopped, peeled ginger to two cups simple syrup in saucepan. Simmer for five minutes. Strain and discard ginger.
I'm sure there are many more options out there and I would love to hear them all so if you have a recipie you want to share give me a shout!
Fun bags, hooters, melons, boobies, the girls, jugs, bazoombas, ta-ta's, golden bozos, bra boulders, orbs, globes, titties, bouncing lovelies, sweater meat, yams, dirty pillows, party balls, milk makers, knockers, speed bumps, assets, water coolers, bumpers, mounds, twin peaks, targets, warheads, boobs, breasticles,
beach balls, blouse puppies, honkers, and tits. Those where just a few euphemisms I could come up with off the top of dome. Imagine if I sat down and really thought about it and made a real list? Then again the day would go something like sit down with pen and paper think of three names, want to see the real thing, go on the Internet to see the bouncing Bettie's, spend an hour on the Internet, grab a chicken burrito and a hot towel, take a nap and repeat this process about 10 times till I have no more names left or the day is over. This posting would never be forever a work in progress... I digress.
The subject matter here if you haven't noticed already is breasts! HOORAY!!! Feels sort of like the end of Sesame Street. Today's message is brought to you by the letter B and the number 2. Whichever way you slice it just like pink being the new black. Tits are in! Big, small, happy, sad, perky or staring at the floor. As a man I can tell you that we want to see them all. All men and even women want to see them. We all love a great rack. (Hey there's another name.) Even gay guys want to see them. Even better they have a free pass to grab just about any set without risk of injury. We are all guilty of adoring the almighty boob and with good reason. They are just so many to choose from. The spherical shape is inviting with no jagged edges then coming to the perfect ending with a built in pacifier. I know a few ladies with misinformed or totally uneven breasts and if they didn't have the moral fortitude that they did they could easily enter a wet t-shirt contest and take home both 1st and 3rd prize.
Ladies who have the perfect set have it made. Take the homeliest looking woman and put a great set on her and she never gets a traffic ticket as long as she lives. Ladies forget the tears next time you are pulled over even if the cop is a women. You could be doing 80 in a school zone, while popping a wheelie in a Winnebago and you will be let off the hook if you are showing the right amount of cleavage.
Look around and you see pink ribbons and "Save the Ta-ta's" stickers around every corner. No one is sporting blue testicle cancer ribbons on their truck or wearing a brown colon cancer bracelet. Even Lance Armstrong before everyone thought he was a douche bag was a champion of the cancer cause, but even he went with yellow and the phrase "Live Strong" to support cancer research and even that was all cancer not focused on saving the nuts. Not to take any seriousness away from the cause. I have had friends, relatives, family and neighbors that have suffered from breast cancer and it is a very serious cause. Something I hope we find a cure to in the near future. However with that said I would run
5k all day long if we could wipe out boob disease and I HATE running! The group that came up with the "Save the ta-ta's" campaign should be nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize while the guy who thought he would change the state of awareness with the "Love your junk" campaign isn't even allowed back into his old high school and his parents stay far away from what he does for a living at parties in mixed company. Even NFL and NBA teams have taken up the cause. At least one week of the NFL season you will see these manliest of men, 300+ lb behemoths doing battle on the gridiron in pretty pink shoes, towels, socks, shoes and gloves. It is one thing for the WNBA to do it. But could you picture years ago before it became in style to support such
causes on a public stage. I couldn't imagine Dick Butkiss with his flat top haircut or "Mean-Joe" Greene with his deadly snarl wearing anything pink on Sunday. But we as a culture have evolved and there is no longer public ridicule. Where as before in my early years the Oakland Raiders had shirts that said "Real Men Wear Black" emblazoned across the chest for all their fans. Now Pink has taken its place.
I have seen the inside of many a bars and not once have I ever heard someone yell out "show us your balls!" Now yes it is possible I have not been to the right bar for that phrase but go to ANY bar and a woman dumps out the girls and there is going to be jubilation. She will probably even get a free drink or two. Guys whip out old Hank and the Twins and you are more than likely going to get tossed out of the bar with your pants around your ankles and heckled all the way to the waiting police car where you will be booked for public indecency. No matter how well groomed and pretty your man meat may be they still aren't really all that attractive. Even a set of those sweet truck nuts you can hang from the trailer hitch of your pretty Chevy looks like a sad disabled veteran sitting on two beat up duffel bags.
Yes, I say again tits are IN! This is the decade of the boobie!... Unless your a dude with man boobs (moobies) then leave your shirt on because that shit is out and with good reason. Keep swimming with a t-shirt on chubby. If it were a good thing for us guys to have a great set of jugs you can bet we would have those bad boys surgically enhanced. Forget Viagra. The newest craze would be estrogen pills and fellas would be crying at the drop of a hat and we would lose every war imaginable. By now the US would be Communist. You could bet the house on that. Surgeons newest issue would be to find a way to make them refillable like camel bags with something useful in them like beer, wine or chocolate milk. You know for sure we couldn't be trusted with them for long either because now every guy would be armed with a loaded super soaker.
For now though we are all held hostage by your set of morals ladies. But know this. We ALL love breasts. If someone flashes us on the highway when our day is complete crap I guarantee that completely changes the course of the evening. The only thing remembered is some happy woman grinning ear to ear while dumping out the twins! So my advice to you all here is if you got them flaunt them! Don't keep them all to yourself! I know I and everyone else wants to see them! Flash a stranger it's good for their mental health and the response you will get will give you lift that will last the whole day. Traffic will become bearable, coffee will seem unnecessary and smiles will be endless! On the flip side of this, I and everyone else should set aside a jug (feel free to paint it pink)
and every time you get to see a fresh rack put a small donation in. At years end sit back with the memories of
the mamories and donate the contents to cancer research. It's a win-win all the way around. So ladies I implore you all please to show us your tits!!!
Channel surfing the other day while watching a baseball game lead me to National Geographic and a program on the mating rituals of a variety of animals. The Blue Whale was the topic of this most recent topic. For some reason I found myself oddly curious so I stopped to watch for a minute. One lead to two and two turned into 5 as I couldn't stop watching. Allow me to explain...
So to start off the female of the species sends out the bat signal. A beautiful song she sings in the water to all the other dudes hanging around that attracts all the males within ear shot. Sort of like a sign for free beer and topless waitresses near a military installation. This song can be heard for 50 miles around. So here come all the swinging whale dicks and the first one to touch the female just floating in waiting wins the female.
Now once one dude touches the willing young lady the rest of the whales don't hang around player hating. They just dip out. No hanging around wanting to watch or seeing if they can join in. Also no excuses why they didn't win like "I got caught in a rip current" "there was a lot of traffic in the harbor." or "I ate a lot of krill today and I haven't swam competitively in a few years." Nope, they just bounce to leave the winner to his chicken dinner.
The winning male takes off now about 10 miles away. The whole time the female is floating there like "hey where you going? You just got here and already you're out?" 10 miles away the male turns around and starts his journey back to the female. Why 10 miles away you ask? Simple the male Blue Whale erection is approximately 12 feet long. Allow me to quantify this for you. I mean I have seen some weird Internet porn where the dude is sporting 9+ inches where it looks like a baby's arm clutching a plum but 12 FEET long picture Shaq with Kobe standing on his shoulders. Even better who's job do you think it was to measure this. I just know it was some poor hopeful oceanographer on his 3rd day out on some boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean thinking they have achieved their dream of being out on the open ocean and seeing the dolphins jumping by the side of the boat as the mist sprayed their face and the cool breeze splashed their skin. All of a sudden they see off the starboard bow this giant whale jump out of the water and the biggest smile comes across their face. As the rest of the crew stands behind this person getting ready to drop the news on this poor SOB that his first real job after moping the deck is to go get into the water and measure the mighty whale penis.
So by this point I am seriously starting to question my own sexuality because all I really want to see out of morbid curiosity is a 12 foot whale dick. The rest of the night after the Whale show I kept flipping back and forth to the Playboy Channel just to be certain I was still turned on by the female anatomy. (I was!)
Now here is the weird part. I have already missed well over half the game I was watching and fully locked on to the piece of nature programming. No homo... but I was completely fascinated. So there I was on the edge of my seat watching as the whale now turn around after swimming away 10 miles and start on his journey back to the female who is now floating on top of the water waiting for his Blue butt to get home and take care of business. This is the parallel I thought was so close to the human world.
Sound familiar ladies? Your fella heads out with some friends for what is suppose to be just a couple beers and doesn't get back till 2:30 in the morning. You have since slipped into a little lacy number possibly with stockings and special shoes while keeping one eye on your cell phone and the other on the door waiting for one of them to bring his trifling ass home. Around 1am your tired of waiting and you slip out of sexy mode into the pissed off period panties, flannel pants and shirt that just smells a mixture of drool and sleep no matter how many times you wash it.
Note to all ladies: No matter how "cute you think "Hello Kitty" is, we don't think it is cute at all. Signed: All real men. SERIOUSLY!
Then he comes barreling in a couple hours later all fat and happy talking about "Baby I'm home!" Like nothing ever happened just rock hard and ready. Now he climbs into bed and starts poking you in the back all wrapped in excuses and covered in stripper glitter. At this point it's an internal struggle of weather you stay aggravated and point him to the Internet or just take dick so you can finally get to sleep.
So just like Ron Jeremy before a big scene, this whale has to work up the blood flow in the right place. It takes more than a few minutes to get 12 foot of erection inflated I can only imagine. So here he comes at full speed ahead by the time he reaches the 5 mile mark he is a little over half way to fully erect. At 7 miles he has traveled a long way through the water with wood. I walk through the house late at night I knock stuff over and I am nowhere near 12 foot long.playa!" Flash to the female who gets her first look at the 12 foot love monster headed in her direction and the look on her face of shear terror. "Help this dude is going to stab me!!!"
This penis has fishing nets, 6 pack holders, fishing wire and hooks all in it, seaweed and whatever else along the way. So at 8 miles he dives down to the depths of the ocean floor. shaking off all the collected sea gunk and getting the last few inches set to do work. At this point I swear the whale looked at the camera a winked. As if to say "Yup I got this
It was at this point I had to leave the National Geographic channel. I just couldn't watch anymore. However I can tell you I just didn't sleep that night. Feel free to check out the video below to watch how the rest of the process shakes out.
All of us are afraid to fail. Those who say they are not afraid to fail have never tried so of course there is no fear. My topic today is one of love. Yes, I know many a man have tried and subsequently failed in this arena, current company included and I adore love. Deep down even though I may not show all my cards and gush with love, at the end of the day I want to know I am truly loved as I think all of us do in some form or another. So although completely disjointed here are a few thoughts I have managed to put together about this very complicated topic.
As men we are classically trained to present ourselves as a rock or island that can live on the barren tundra free of feelings, caring or even (gasp) love. So we set up people to be our "safety nets." Going through life with a "safety net" is not truly putting yourself out there. The best example of this is the guy that tight rope walked across Niagara Falls. If that guy used a net to keep him from harm the feat would have never drawn the number of viewers it did. The cheers would have been less than half of what they were and even the performer himself wouldn't have had the bragging rights he does today. Never having to worry about the fear of falling gives no incentive to try to hang on when it gets tough. Having these "safety nets" gives us an easy out. Yes, I realize there is still some pain involved when there is a net however complete ruin is not eminent. Having others in your life that you know are just waiting for you to fall so they can be there to collect any morsel of attention will just take away from your real objective. Cut them loose and you will find that you will learn to embrace your feelings and fears.
Please don't get it twisted. I am not a love or relationship guru. I'm certainly no expert nor do I claim to be. I'm merely a guy with an opinion. This opinion doesn't even come from someone that has been steeped in successful relationship history. If anything quite to the contrary. I've been sacked and dumped on my head more than the Cleveland Browns quarterback. However throughout this adversity I still believe much like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy that Cupid is still out there. You see my feeling is that we all have at least some sense of what we want. Early on in life we tend to chase that ideal not realizing that love can be packaged in so many forms. We tend to place a high priority on ethstetics and look less at the overall presentation. Some of the best people I know are completely hideous to the eye. Yes, I said it and beauty is completely in the eyes of the beholder. All I'm trying to say is that if Hugh Hefner were to be that judge then there would have been an execution on the books in their case. Even funnier is that I know for a fact that I am not a great looking guy and yet I am constantly chasing love in people far greater looking than I an completely pooh-poohing on those that are really my equivalent just due to an inflated opinion of who I think I deserve.
Just think how much easier it would be if we were all upon getting our licence where put before a review board and assigned a number based on our attractiveness. This number is then placed on your licence or maybe it already is. Who the hell knows what is in that bar code on the back of your state ID. The rules then will be simple. You can only ask to date people within 2 points higher than yourself. If you are however you can date as low as you wish. Alternately if you have any sort of plastic surgery then you are more than welcome to petition the board at any time to review your current number up to 10 times in a lifetime. Although each time you petition there is a fee assessed to the petitioner and each month per state this pot of money will be raffled off to a group of people considered less fortunate however deserving.
Alright that was meant to be a joke. Although my point here is that in order to find love we have to be open to looking around corners and under veils. Willing to not let our own selfish agendas get in the way of real love and caring because once you have been there and done that, the people that did care maybe tired of waiting and gone for good. Life is meant to be shared and this is why we have so many people with us on earth to create relationships with.
So now at the risk of sounding completely preachy as though I haven't already. I present to you the bottom line. Learn to let go of those "safety nets." The closing of any good book is always bittersweet. On to the next is a hard lesson to comprehend. Letting go of the past and learning to move on to the next chapter is not easy to do. Understand that placing one foot in front of the other is the best way to start to move in the direction you wish to be. This is especially tough when looking into the dark hallways that can represent your future. Not knowing what lies ahead is far more frightening that falling back on what or who you know is always there even if they are there for all the wrong reasons. When it gets too hard just breathe deep and push on. There is love out there for all of us. Once you find it cherish it just in case there is an expiration date.
As of lately life has not allotted me a ton of time to just sit with my thoughts (scary thought in and of itself.) Then transfer those thoughts to coherent sentences to be read by all of you here. But I have learned more than a few things and I really want to share them with all of you so that leads me to creating one of my normal disjointed random lists. So here in no particular order are a few things I have learned in the past few months...
+ Never trust anyone that doesn't own a TV.
+ People that answer the question "what's up?" With "making that paper!" Are almost always flat broke.
+ Best way to figure out who your true friends are is to tell them you have no money before you are suppose to go out.
+ Women that see other women wearing the same dress as a function are by rule mortal enemies. Guys that see other guys wearing the same tie are drinking buddies for the night and at he very least Facebook friends for times when they are in the same town again so they can put on that same tie and be drinking buddies all over again.
+ A knot tied in the rain never comes undone.
+ Buy a homeless man some fish he will have bad breath for a very long time. Teach him how to fish and he will probably steal your fishing pole and tackle box.
+ No one openly admits to eating McDonald's. Over 80 Billion served and I guess it's just me eating those double cheeseburgers.
+ If you can't see your toes never mind touch them. You probably should not wear yoga pants. We all know they are comfortable but your not fooling anyone.
+ I am not cool enough by far to go within 50 yards of an Abacrombie and Fitch retail store. I am barely passable for an American Eagle Outlet store.
+ No man should ever wear skinny jeans no matter how hip they are trying to be. If you truly want to be ironic wear a fanny pack and get a barbed wire tattoo around your bicep. Both options are far more healthy for your testicles.
+ "Old school hip hop" is less than 5 years old anymore.
+ Anyone that says "back in the day" should be over the age of 30 under the threat of a atomic wedgie.
+ If you shop at Target you are no better than someone that shops at Walmart. Get off your high horse and deal with the shame like the rest of us by drinking their cheap wine.
+ The bank is not "stealing your money." You just have no clue how to manage your checking account. Switch to a savings account without a debit card and you will be amazed at how much you end up saving without the constant temptation of having money in your pocket.
+ Joy rides are fun until your ass gets sore or you can't find a gas station.
+ Yes, your government officials lie to you. Get over it.
+ Teeth make terrible bottle openers.
+ Don't bother guessing at the following objects: vacuum bags, sanitary napkins for your significant other, pants size of your wife or girlfriend, weight of anyone, weather or not you have milk in the house when you need it or what size battery something takes. You are more than likely to get these things wrong and the fallout might brutal.
+ You should always have a napkin when you eat.
+ Movie popcorn butter only reaches the top quarter of the bag.
+ Next time someone tells you to guess their age. A great litmus test is to yell "Stop!" then see if the subject thinks it's "Hammer Time," if they collaborate and listen, or do it in the name of love. Depending on their answer guess accordingly.
+ No matter how bad your job sucks just remember someone has to push the shovel behind the elephant at the circus.
+ Tip the guy who is going to tie the Christmas tree to the roof of your car. $5 can drastically change the fate of your holiday.
+ Never trust the time table on a box of laxatives. Those guys fucking lie just to satisfy their own sick and twisted senses of humor.
+ A birds eye view looks like a target to them. Avoid large packs of birds.
+ If you need to fart while on a date, be sure to take a second lap around the car after letting her in otherwise it will follow you in.
+ When a girl calls you "Daddy" during sex it can be hot. Call that same chick "Mommy" and it is instantly creepy and the game is over.
+ People that shoot first and ask questions later are terrible interviewers.
+ 9 times out of 10 when someone says "work with me here." It actually means "Just do what I tell you to do and shut up."
+ Rabbits jump and they live about 8 years. Dogs run and live approximately 15 years. Turtles do a whole lot of nothing and live for 150 years. Got it?
+ God only gives us what he thinks we can handle. Apparently my God thinks I'm pretty bad-ass.
+ Mental hospitals will not give you the tour of the "squishy rooms" unless you have immediate plans to reside there.
+ No matter how good that chap-stick smells do not eat it. You will be disappointed.
+ Rarely does the phrase "take it Bitch" yield a positive result.
+ Measuring your penis is a lot like menus in a pricey restaurant. If you have to check you don't have enough.
+ Friends are a lot like snowflake. If you pee on them they tend to disappear.
+ Nothing good ever comes after you say to same one "Dude hold my beer." Except for a well timed ambulance.
+ Whatever it is you are about to do, think about it first. If then it still seems like it will be funny then go for it.
The line "I'm just like one of the guy's" is one all of us have heard spill out of women's mouths time and again in order to sound like the cool chick.
Let me clue all of you in that have said this before... No! If I had a newspaper handy I would roll it up and swat you on the nose with it. No! No! No! you are most certainly not just like one of the guys and trust me you certainly don't want to be treated like one of us. Take a step back from the utopian belief and see how us men treat our even our best of friends.
Even Something as simple as a nickname between guys becomes something ugly. Ladies you like when your man calls you those cute pet names like "Sweet Heart," "Baby Girl" "Honey," "Peaches" or something as endearing as "Sugar Britches" well you could forget all about those. You see as men we find whatever is our weakness, mistep in life or worst attribute and this is our new name for you. I can tell you I have a friend named Mike who went missing for a bit because he got married and had a couple of kids. He just dropped off the map and we heard through the grapevine he was in a car accident. He has been known as "Dead Mike" ever since he turned back up. Be just a little overweight and seen one time with your shirt off your new nickname is something like "Skinny," "Grimmace" or "Jimmy Doughnuts" That's enought to drive most women straight to the corner of Binge Street and and Purge Avenue. Think about if you were just one of the guys and just once you let out a fart completely by accident. Your now known as "Smelly Sally." Actually I know one of those and that fart was definitely NOT an accident!
Ladies when you get sick from imbibing a bit too much wine you have your sisters there to circle the wagons and take care of you. Sort of like a team of super heros. Everyone has a job and they all come out of nowhere. It usually starts with a couple of girls coming in to run interference and get you away from the creepy guy that has been feeding you drinks all night. another two shuffle you off to the bathroom one to hold your hair and another to rub your back while they both tell you that you look just fine and no one saw you flash the entire line of guys waiting to get into the mens room. G-rated and none of them would give anyone even the inkling of what the night turned into. Then there is the runner. Her job it to get things like water or crackers. She also plays an intrical role in getting the rest of the troops together and out to the get away car. If there are any others looking like they are about to make time with a nice young man she is also known by us men as the "we gotta go girl" or "cock block. This girl is usually pretty simple to spot as she is also the one that every guys "wingman" has to distract in order to make our night a success. If not given sufficient
attention the "cock block" will turn your night to crap as she utters the words to you potential suitor "we gotta go Tina is getting sick." Last but not least is the driver. She has drank only a half beer during pregame and a total of 2 shots and milked a vodka cranberry the rest of the night. They drop you off at your home safe and sound and even make sure you make it to your bed. Set you up with a cool cloth, a waste bucket just in case and tell you all will be fine in the morning. Even the next day they all check in on you with a text or call.
Now men with the same senario. You once again are completely hammered. We too all have jobs. First we have the staff photographer whos sole job is to start taking cell phone pictures of you and posting them on Facebook. Then the Coach. He is the one that starts giving you advice and pep talks on how great you look and how you are the man for taking another shot! He also tells you through giggles that the woman
you are talking to is hot. Even though she in much larger than you are and so much lip hair that when she sneezes she looks like a party favor. Now when you head back to the bathroom alone your friends take your wallet and pay the tab and then some for any cute girls in the vacinity. The only time your friends do come to the bathroom to check on you is when they have to pee and that is simply an over the shoulder "You OK bro?" If they do ever hold your hair it is just to give you a celebratory swirly. Our driver has been drinking all night but it's OK because he tells us it was just Bud Light which is just like water and he can handle his liquor unlike you who in his modest opinion is a complete pussy! Now there is the Commisioned Artists. Their job is draw, doodle and write all sorts of humiliating names and let's not forget about the fake mustache while you are passed out in the car on the way home. Finally there is the Ejection team. These are the guys that have the honorable task of kicking you out of the car shortly after giving you an atomic wedgie and upon ejection do doughnuts on your lawn while blowing the horn leaving you somewhere near your front door for all to find you in the morning. The whole team reassembles the next day to ask how you are but also to recount the entire night back to you along with video proof that the chick really was a dude.
While we are on the subject maybe you do have a lot of friends that are guys. However I can tell you with pretty solid certainty that most of them want to sleep with you if given the opportunity. The ones who don't are more than like gay and they still want to see your boobs and the others have already slept with you gotten sick of your crap but would still take a one timer if offered. Get drunk with any one of these guys and I all but garantee you wake up with your bra re-hitched crooked and your pants undone. Your only saving grace will be if you wear your special period panties that night.
So the bottom line here is unless you can pee your name standing up in snow without getting any in your sock. Are a ringer at an otherwise male dominated sport or remaking a great 1980's movie. And even then you are NOT one of the guys! Embrace the fact that you have a utterus and enjoy your fruity tasty drinks in public without people questioning your gender or sexual preference.