We've all had one of those nights that started innocuously enough, just intending to have a few measly cocktails and chatter about topics of little consequence like sports or current travel. A Coors Light here, a jigger of Jager there and the path to obscured memories becomes clearer. 

    Yet we also know that these nocturnal excursions also take a u-turn for the absurd when we accept "just one more drink" into the night's liquid lexicon. 

   Let's follow the clues to revealing just how drunk you "really" were, Sherlock...

    Arguing with a stranger for an hour and a half how the designated hitter is necessary for the survival of major league baseball. 

    Waking up with a phone number illegibly scrawled on each hand...and they're both your own. 

    The car in the driveway is not your own. More pertinent information: the bed and clothes you're in also do not belong to you. And yet your shoes are your own.

    New tattoos: Multiple, misspelled and some scripted in a language recognized as possibly not earthbound. 

    Wedding band made primarily of braided animal hair. Discuss. 

    Passport stamp on forehead and impossibly-tan buttocks. From Thailand. Three weeks ago. 

    You have 127 text messages on your cell phone in a four hour time period. All sent. 

    Drinking enough Patron to realize that it really is that bad...and a sudden interest in cliche auto-tuned hip hop songs. 

    Drinking enough Jack Daniel's to realize that it really is that good...and a sudden interest in family reunions. 

    Arguing with your "new" best friend that the designated hitter will eventually ruin major league baseball forever.     

    Seeing the idiom, "Dance like no one's watching" vibrantly come to life on youtube and playing the role...fumble funking your way around a dance floor. 

    Receiving 127 text messages back, all with the short reply: "Take a cab."

    Scribbled notes on "it all being Hurley's Twinkie-induced dreams..."

    Waking up with a nicotine patch on your eye, a Marlboro bandana on your head, and a "I Was Puffy the Pirate Smoker for Halloween" t-shirt on. It's March. 

    So when you find yourself at the drink.drank.drunk stage of the night...use a dash of caution and a splash of common sense or nightmares and nicotine fits are in your immediate future. 

    A shower and a good attorney on retainer can't hurt either. 

    

    

Zombieland

If you haven't seen it, you should.

If you've seen it and don't like it...then you're a putz.

That is all...

Windy Wonderland

The winds of change they are a blowin'...down my back fence. Which therefore set into motion a flurry of events that to this day continues to baffle and bewilder my fragile and exceptionally simple brain. Lemme explain...

During our most recent STORMWATCH 2009, the tan and spoiled denizens of southern California had the pleasure of enjoying a little bit of weather. A dash of wind and a pinch of precipitation to wash away the sins of our indulgence and blithe expectation of perfect weather that we enjoy daily.

The Event:
About ten minutes before I'm set to leave for work, I notice that my back fence seems to enjoy the weather so much that it's dancing back and forth, twisting at the will of its windy partner. At which point I do the homeownerly thing and brace the fence with boards I find lying about in my garage. Where did I get the boards you ask? Not important to the story, pay attention...

A couple of wistful to and fro's, and my back fence decides to belly flop backwards towards the street. I watch in mock TV horror...mouth agape..as I simultaneously drop a long, drawn out F bomb in front of my not yet two-year-old daughter. She looks up at me with a disapproving smirk that I'm afraid I'll see for the rest of my life.

Then I'm forced to engage in a roundabout jousting of insurance company, HOA and hungry holiday contractors who all want to royally screw me for the holidays. Here's how it breaks down...

Homeownerly Logistics:
So I called USAA and let them know that the almighty Flying Spaghetti Monster has since decided that I should have a better view of Hope Elementary school by flattening my back fence. They told me to get off my lazy arse and get a few quotes to fix my fence. Apparently, homeowner's insurance does work! Minus a painful kick-to-the-groin deductible that is.

The next step is calling every fence company in the local vicinity to come out and pretend like I'm going to pay them to fix my fence. I feel they all know I'm only courting one fence fixer, and they each do the minimum amount of work to produce a quote. Eff you customer service!


HOA (Hypocritically Objectionable Assholes):
I've been succinctly clear about my feelings towards Homeowner's Associations. In my obviously one-sided opinion, they're all scum of the earth lowlifes who take money to do nothing positive for a community. I appreciate that they don't let my neighbors paint their house orange with purple trim but do they really need authoritative control over my choice to put a white vinyl fence in my backyard as opposed to a wood fence? How exactly does that dilemma fall to a group of people that don't live in my neighborhood? If it was my choice, I'd make every single person employed by an HOA viciously fired and then forced to get a real job and stop leeching off of people who own a home or condo. And yes, I'll take my soapbox with me when I go...

Denouement?:
As much as I'd like to say there's a conclusion to this sad windy affair, alas, there is not. I'm still waiting on the five different fencing companies to share their property bordering insights with me and my homeowner's insurance. Then I have to beg and plead with my worthless HOA for permission to fix my fence the way I want to.

Hopefully then I can submit said paperwork to my insurance company and then...finally then, I can have a back fence up again...just in time for next winter's storm.

    Thanksgiving has now passed, Tubby. You can put the turkey leg down and pretend like you're only eating like this because "it's the holidays" and "you're just putting on your winter weight" and not actually "just developing diabetes" and "super-sizing yourself out of last years clothing". Piggy please... 

    After Halloween, Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because it's revolves around a wonderful little invention called sin. Then again, so is every major holiday that I can think of. 

    The seven deadly sins are deftly represented in the days we choose to celebrate and delve into unabashed revelry of our dark side. 

    The sins will be noted with their initials. If you can't figure out GL, or GR..than put this newspaper down and go play on the yellow dotted line on the freeway.

    Let's explore this socially endorsed frivolity, in no particular order...except chronologically. 

    Thanksgiving (GL,S): Turkey day just screams gluttony and sloth. Some day the genius think tanks at Kraft or Butterball will just invent a intravenous gobbletastic dinner and we can then melt into gelatinous blobs on the couch watching the Detroit Lions get eviscerated like that tasty bird sitting spread turkey on the table next to you. 

    Black Friday (GR,E,A,GL,P): Yes ladies! Debilitating debt is only a few blocks away! Quickly and with pre-approved credit cared in hand...run away from your families on Thanksgiving so you can buy buy buy their love and affection! 

    

    Christmas (GR,GL,E,P,possible icky L) The mother of all the pointless holidays...I'd say Xmas shows true signs of impending Armageddon. If there was a Jesus, he would probably turn the other cheek and vomit at what "His" birthday celebration has become. Greed, Anger, Gluttony, Pride, Envy, and Lust if you count women with a beard fetish. Nothing says love and family tradition quite like children crying on the lap of a drunk mall Santa...

    New Year's(GL,L,A): DUI and drug induced delirium. What a wonderful way to embrace the new year...with a renewed sense of hope and the delight of a $10,000 fine and a seven year itch on your DMV record. There will be checkpoints. If you think you might be tipsy, you are. If you think you're Elvis. You're drunk. Take a cab. 

    Groundhog's Day(huh?): This is a baffling observance. Other than a good Bill Murray movie and a way for people to misspell the word Punxatawny, I have no clue or use for a rat telling me about the weather. That's what fat guys in checkered blazers are for. 

    Valentine's Day(GR,GL,L,P): The dumbest of Hallmark holidays and yet we continue to pretend like February 14th means something. This "holiday" should mean something only to ad execs and cherubs with archery gear. Adults with half a brain should just laugh it off and buy her flowers for no reason. Trust me on this one. 

    St. Patrick's Day(GL,P,L): This is another asinine holiday that really only pertains to people in Boston who drink green beer and then beat each other up, only to then cry, hug, and profess their undrying love and devotion to Tom Brady and Big Papi. Schmucks. 

    Women's Equality Day(P): What?!? When the hell did this happen?? Next thing you know they'll want to vote...

    Columbus Day(P,GL,GR) Celebrates the first European explorer to set foot on north American soil. Where he then murdered everyone he met. 

    So the next time you feel pressure from an ad pointing out how inadequate you are if you don't hand over your rent money so that your family or loved ones will know how much they mean to you...then let's just start celebrating one holiday a year: Exterminate Advertising Executives Day. It's every day. 

Let's start tomorrow....

 

    

 

I saw this posting on a website about 1st Street...and remembered the situation immediately. So...I couldn't help but respond to this particular patron....

"I was very disappointed in your bartender - "I don't want to name him". He not only disrespected and embarrassed me in front of my wife, but actually threatened me and would not give me the name of the manager or the owner. I definitely felt violated tonight. I am a 37 year married man and could not believe what happened to me tonight. I actually tried to contact you the owner, but would not give me your name or number. He told me that he new who I was and where I lived because I paid with my credit card. I am now contacting my attorney as I have filmed the most of the confrontation."

and my response..

“Dear Shawn...”

To Whom It May Concern... I'm the bartender that you're speaking of in your review of 1st Street Bar. Let me take this opportunity to respond to the allegations you made against myself and the establishment.

The entire situation can be summed up with my choice to stop serving you because I felt it was unsafe to do so. I was neither rude nor confrontational, and as I do with any customer I stop serving, I told you quietly and to the side so as not to embarrass you in front of other customers. I even gave you the option to stay and continue playing pool, if you so chose. 

Instead, you decided to attempt to coerce another customer into unknowingly buy you another cocktail. At that point, I politely reminded you that you'd been cut off, at which point you became belligerent, so I offered to get you a taxi cab and told you calmly and quietly that it was in everyone's best interest that you leave the establishment. 

Cut to 15 minutes later with you calling the bar no less than 14 times to file complaints against myself and the doorman working that night. With each call, you made another false claim against myself and the security professional working the door. 

At one point, you claimed that I kicked you out of the bar because you were dating my ex-girlfriend. Which is strange because you're married and my ex-girlfriend lives on the east coast. The SD Sheriff's department was called (by you) because you made a claim that the doorman and I were threatening you with violence and that we planned on "beating you the next time we see you out in the surf", which was an odd thing to fabricate seeing as how neither of us surf. 

As for embarrassing you in front of your wife...that must have been done at your home because you were by yourself in the bar, and also alone when you came back with a video and digital camera to "document the harassment" you faced at the bar. 

To the claim about not giving you the owner's contact information, yes, I absolutely did not do that. It's against protocol and isn't something they deal with on that level. I did however give you the name of my manager and his contact information. 

As to knowing where you live...no I have no clue other than your claim of being a "local" and living up the street. Yes, we do know your name because you paid with your credit card and the fact that you called 14 times and your name was stored in the caller ID. 

I hope this addresses some of the concerns you have and I also hope this illuminates what actually happened that night and doesn't sway other people from coming in and enjoying themselves at the bar. Unfortunately, this is just another byproduct of dealing with certain patrons who can't control themselves nor accept responsibility for their actions.

 Thank you...

    I have a sneaking suspicion that Curious George's owner, The Man With the Yellow Hat, is a drug dealer. 

    Or at the very least, he's probably a pimp because I don't know any other person that would wear a canary yellow suit, yellow tie, and a big brimmed yellow hat if he wasn't peddling something illegal. 

    Since some of you don't have children, you might not quite understand the following words, terms, and spectacular frustration that I internalize on a daily basis(usually thrice daily, to be exact).  If it doesn't make sense now, it might later on...so feel free to laminate this column and just keep it on your person. But I digress....

    Back to the eerily calm(I.E. prescription drug abuser) The Man With the Yellow Hat. What I have a hard time believing is that he hasn't beaten George with a baseball bat and thrown that furry little jerk off a bridge yet. If my daughter, Samantha, had caused even a small portion of the enormously exorbitant "accidents" that chimps been guilty of, I would have sold her off on the black market a long time ago. 

    With Google's tentacles slithering through the inter webs, it seems I've pierced TMWTYH's seemingly innocuous alias to find out that his name is really Ted Shackleford. Which sounds like another alias to me. How many layers does Yella Hat have?  

    Maybe he works for the CIA. I don't have a clue what he does. I've seen him walk around a museum like he owns it. He's even been an astronaut, a chef, and a bird watcher. But he owns two homes and lives a fairly extravagant lifestyle for a guy without a day job. 

    He sure as hell seems to have a lot of access for a guy that dresses like a banana and has a monkey for a best friend. Then again, maybe that why George sticks around. He's waiting for his chance to gobble that big banana. God, that sounded bad. Moving on...

    Dora the Explorer (is that really supposed to rhyme?)is another one of the cartooned propaganda programs that seemingly breeds inside my Tivo and is able to bore its way into my skull where it remains entrenched for weeks without any relief in sight. 

    Oddly enough, Dora's best friend is also a monkey but his name is Boots because...yep, he wears boots. She's also real chummy with a Map from her backpack that has the stupidest theme song I've ever heard. Just say, "I'm the Map" five times, and you've now memorized that musical gem. Fred Flintstone is rolling over in his bedrock coffin...

    Now that I think about it, Dora's entire existence seems like a really freaky acid trip. She talks to a lot of animals and inanimate objects and is constantly afraid of a masked bandit-fox whom is aptly named Swiper. Swiper is even more inept than fan favorite and uber-violent Wile E. Coyote because the children ward Swiper off simply by saying, "Swiper, no swiping" numerous times. Then they cut to Swiper snapping his fingers and saying, "Awwww man!" 

    More like, awww man, will you stab me in the ears and eyes so I don't have to watch this show anymore? 

    I guess this is just a way of me saying I miss all those violent, misogynistic, racist, and stereotypically offensive cartoons of my youth. At least those were fun and our parents could quietly chuckle at all the adult humor that was flying over our innocent little heads. 

    Well, at least Barney's dead and those daffy gullible Christian's killed off The Teletubbies. So we've got that going for us, which is nice...

Dell Can Kiss My Ass

Here's a little bit of advice if you buy a Dell laptop.

While you're logging on, buying all the accoutrements and gushing about how wonderful they are...make sure that you buy six or seven battery chargers for said laptop...because that is the greatest scam that I've ever seen. I'm on my THIRD charger now and I've had my Dell laptop for about three years.

So...yeah. I'm buying a Mac. Dell can go fuck itself.

Let me just start out by saying that if you've liked reading my column in the past, then you most likely won't like this one.

Though I'm not a bitchy liberal or brain-dead conservative, you might think I'm the devil incarnate for voicing the things I'm about to press on with. That being said, proceed with caution...

I'm going to start off by saying that this column isn't going to make anyone smile. It's not going to be funny, or pithy or sarcastic. It might make you think, but it's also going to paint me into a corner that I'm still not sure I want to stand in. But writing a column means expressing your opinion, regardless of how unpopular that opinion is.

Though I hate conservative Republicans with a seething devotion, I have to say...with a grim apologia mind you... I think I agree with some of the things they have to say about immigration.

Here's where your mouth drops open and you can't believe I'm siding with disgusting, close-minded brainless assholes.

Those sprightly portions of thought going through your head right now are mostly right. I'm not sure where I joined the fold either, but I know the thoughts I have are definitely my own.

Don't get me wrong, when it comes to religion or their idiotic hatred towards science, I think they're a bunch of old men who've closed their eyes towards rational thought and just prayed to get reelected.

But pretending I feel otherwise would be lying to myself...

Okay, in a nutshell...here's the issue: If you want to be an American citizen, then do it legally. Simple, right? Go through the appropriate process, respect the necessary course of action and appreciate the procedures that we've put in place to make sure you're here for the right reasons.

"But what about all the people who are struggling to make a better life for themselves?"

Here's what they won't tell you...we all want a better life. It's how the world works. But our society is governed by rules, and I don't rob banks, steal from work or put myself above the law just because I feel it would make a better life for myself or my family.

Here are another set of rules: If you want to be an American, then you have to follow the same laws as every other single immigrant to the United States and not listen to opportunistic attorney's looking to make a name for themselves by making a case for illegal immigration.

Here is the infuriating, I'm-annoyed-for-having-to-include- this-caveat-in-my-column: NO. I don't care what color you are. If you're from Sweden. Tough shit...enter legally. If you're from England. Tough shit...enter legally. Canada? I couldn't care less about how much poutine you try to bribe me with. Your skin color means less to me than the disgusting politicians who're pretending they care about you obtaining citizenship.

Procedure is there for a reason. Walking through airport security in a suit and holding a briefcase is the same to me as jumping a fence and hoping I.C.E doesn't catch you gliding illegally into our country.

When it comes down to it, I have a simple homework assignment for you. Try to legally, without a student visa, find a job in another country without bringing either boatloads of money or a very specific (I.E needed) skill that the country needs to further its infrastructure. Trust me, I tried. They shut you down without cause, care or compunction...completely.

Though it's popular meme to utter and it feels like the right thing to say in our political climate...illegal immigration is still just that: illegal.

I know I sound like an evil, cold-hearted troll for actually writing what I feel, but that's exactly what my column affords me...the ability to freely speak my mind, regardless of what your opinions are.

So I'm asking you to think about the words you've just read. Some of you will agree, and some of you won't. I'm fine with that.

But ask yourself...if your first act as an American is breaking the law, do you really deserve to hold that title?

    With all the panic about the economy lately, it sure is nice of Mexico to help divert the attention away from our sickly bank accounts with something that could potentially remove the upright, two legged swine from the planet.



    Finally!



    The more television I watch or newspapers I read about the subject, it seems like they're just trying to sell more ad space. When the loopy folks that rely on Fox News start trying to understand terms like pandemic, zoonotic, H1N1, people tend to get paranoid and stock up on canned goods, water and shotgun shells to eventually fend off the oinking zombies that are sure to shuffle across the countryside.



    The media only recently began calling it the H1N1 influenza because the pork industry was upset and felt like it was getting a double helping of bad publicity. Really? I'm not a pig farmer or nutritionist, but I'm fairly certain that any product that comes from Babe the Pig isn't going to be good for me.



    Isn't that part of the deal we have with our curly tailed brethren? We look past the sleeping-in-their-own-poop, and they let us enjoy parts of their body with scrambled eggs and toast.



    Is this their version of a P-I-Jihad against the humans for cannibalizing them for centuries? Pigs and jihad. How ironic...who knew Muslims had a legitimate reason for hating ham? They somehow knew around 622 A.D. that the hogs would someday weaponize their flu bug and spread it to the planet via pig farmers. Yeah, when pig's fly...        



    Wait..pig's flying...swine flu...flew?!?! I knew it!



    But seriously, when it comes down to dealing with this sort of scary bogey man media blitz, it's always a pretty safe bet to take a step back and review the situation with a clear head before making any impulsive decisions regarding holing up in a bunker, stocking  up on canned goods and waiting for the Miss Piggy epidemic to eradicate a third of the world's population.



    Science and rational thought have gotten us through more that a few health issues over the years. Let's trust the doctors and scientists to do their jobs while we remain calm and take appropriate precautionary measures.



    Plus, bacon comes from pigs and everyone loves bacon, right? So how bad could this be?

   
   


    Aaaaaaaaaaahahahahhaha...ha..hahaha...oh wait? You were serious about that?!?

    That's what I thought when I heard about the impending discussion regarding lowering the drinking age in the United States.

    Apparently, there's been a debate raging in the past few years about lowering the legal drinking age from 21 to 18. Over 100 university presidents from well-known stiff-twig universities like Dartmouth, Duke, and Ohio State are all on board saying that they think by lowering the age three years, it will persuade college students to drink in moderation.

    I heard drinking Drano and punching yourself in the nuts is a good idea too.

    As a libation professional who has a distinctly strict reality when it comes to alcohol and social behavior, I'm going to go ahead and vote that you're a mental deficient if you think that's a good idea.

    Shocking as it may seem, the youth of America are at best obnoxious and ill-informed. Now when intimate with the actual possibility of giving them LEGAL access to alcohol and local watering holes that help them  ascend to the level of "wasted idiot", then yeah, kudos...you did a great job protecting our nations youth.

    Can you imagine graduation day from San Dieguito Academy? How exciting! Caps gathered and thrown into a bag with rumpled gown, replete with tassels and frills from a high school career since matured.

    Instead of going to a handful of parties, our fresh faced grads filter down to the local bars and do their best to ring in a new era of their adult life by drinking themselves into a blackened oblivion punctuated by arrest sheets, public intoxication, and an ignorantly naive hope that someone isn't going to die as result of drinking and driving.

    Unfortunately, these kids don't know the first thing about responsibility or a life lived without Mom or Dad's hand on their every movement.

    So, on graduation day, guess what I would tell every single one of my security personnel? Do not, under any circumstances, let anyone under the age of 21 into the bar. And we have every right to do so with a simple sentence that is every lawyer's dream...

    We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.

    Or if they wanted to get creative, I'd ask the doorman to make something up, lie, I really don't care what it would take...but there's a bottom line here folks: Regardless of age, I really don't want someone in the bar who can't control themselves and yet I think that's the definition of a high school graduate. Someone who has yet to understand the appropriate parameters for controlling one's self.

    ...And here comes the gigantic hypocritical portion of my argument: I think that America should start letting their children drink even younger.

    If you've had a  beer when you're twelve, then I have a succinct feeling that you also know how to handle your intake of alcohol and understand the adverse affects of over-indulging.

    Put simply...if you don't start letting your children sample a sip of beer or a taste of wine at the dinner table while they're growing up, then it's only going to thirst their taste of the forbidden when they're nearing the age when they can actually do damage to themselves or others.

    Suds or vino, booze and aperitif..it's all relative culturally. We do our best to protect our children, but at what cost? I've been to enough places around the world to know that we're sadly behind the rest of the planet in maturity and a social understanding that moderation and experience is what helps us to make an informed decision.

    Maybe we just need a few drinks to catch up with the rest of the world. Might help us realize it's not all bad, unless you tell us it is...





   

...and just watch a few videos by this guy..

Rep. John Shimkus (R-IL) .....Wow.

Like I've said more than a few times...if there is a God...which I'm pretty sure there isn't...


Please tell him to hit: CTRL-ALT-Delete

We're a failed experiment, too greedy to continue...and too pervasive to end of our own accord.

You Should Probably Watch This...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0IV651z1wk

Just watch...all twelve. Don't ask why, just do it. Like brushing
your teeth...it's good for you.

Shhh...they're all around us....

If you don't read this column, then you're not doing your part as an American.

Baseball, your Mom (YES!), and shiny red apple confections aren't pushing our nation to be a beacon of hope, strength and commerce to our broke ass brethren.

They're among us. If you can't see them, you're either implicit or too laconic to see them.

You're un-American if you can't see how quickly they've infiltrated every facet of our culture. They've become a vile greenish brown swath of heathens, bouncing meandering paths of slip and slither.

We scour our culture at ever facet to find you. We know where you are and what you're planning.

Your enterprising push towards making us a weaker nation has been blown apart by those that care about the United States.

You pretend to care about who we are, yet flail arrogantly in a public forum about the "greater good". I'm tired of shielding my face and dampening my voice from your jingoistic trail of a pursuant fiscal path for the greater good of our country.

Eff you Thin Mints.

Kiss my ass, Dulce De Leche-you're in America now...speak Spanglish you communist bastard.

Samoas...I don't even know what that name means. But you have coconut, therefore it's my job as to hate you.

Tagalongs...how could you do that. Peanut butter? The culinary paste that holds our raisins onto our celery? That's low, you sick bastards...

By now my editors are struggling to find words to replace the disallowed list I'm not supposed to fling into my column when I'm describing Girl Scout cookies.

But I thought it was time someone said something about those pig-tailed terrorists, marching their way up and down my street, squeezing bits and pieces out of my mortgage that I don't have, to pay for things I don't want...only to lead me to medical conditions that I don't expect.

Isn't that the definition of a domestic terrorist? Spreading fear and disrupting the very fabric of societal existence that helps us to be productive citizens? There's also another term to describe that: Cookies.

Though what is life without those small circles of molten caramel and gooey pastry? Or those little chocolate medallions of minty magnificence? Yes, I know...Girl Scouts hate Americans along with Fox News, but I can't help myself and find it generally pointless to resist.

Just for those of you who haven't figured out sardonic tone yet: Girl Scout cookies aren't good for you. They have about a thousand million calories per box. If you eat three sleeves of those scrumptious little disasters, you might want to schedule an angioplasty the next day and scrape that crud out of your arteries.

But I'm still going with the anti-American terrorist vibe for the Girl Scouts. Come on, you seriously don't see it? The uniforms, the beret's? The attack-dog tactics at grocery stores? Until we stand up in unity, they will continue to bombard us with their guilt speech and tasty heart disease in a box.

Viva la Oreo!

Drink.Drank.Drunk

Holy shit, I'm drunk.

It's my day off. Or...one of my days off. A Thursday. Whatever.

As I take attack upon my keyboard, I don't really have much to say in terms of another socio-political rant. I'm also tired of talking about the fetid mongoloids that come into the bar. I felt I was entitled to let loose a little bit. Become that person that I so loathe in my establishment.

I decided to just drink Ketel One and Hornitos. From the bottle. This may or may not be a cry for help.

My plan was to keep drinking until I thought of something funny to write about. And I haven't. So, I just kept drinking. Which, in and of itself became kinda funny.

So, I tried to keep a mental log of my thoughts and activities. By mental log, I mean what I extracted through the addled haze. I refuse to accept responsibility for the authenticity, because my blood alcohol hovers somewhere near an Irishman on St Patrick's Day.

9:17PM: I'm really bored and have almost next to nothing to do. I decide I'm going to have a few cocktails. I hear the baby next door start crying. I tell myself it's only a coincidence.

9:39PM: I fart so loud, I hear my neighbors laugh. Which in turn makes me laugh and turns into a machine gun anal outburst. Apparently I have no shame. Or class. I head to the toilet just in case.

10:06PM: Being just above functionally retarded, I decide to pour myself another shot and a sip from the bottle. This is the beginning of The Decline toward infantile behavior. Again.

10:21PM: I talk to a Jewish friend online and ask him about an anti-semitic slur on TV. He says he's never heard of it. I spend the next twelve minutes using that term in various permutations associated with his name. I no longer have a Jewish friend.

11:04PM: After missing my mouth and dumping my drink into my lap, I go downstairs to make myself another cocktail. I discuss the finer points regarding Padres ace Jake Peavey's pitching mechanics and my belief that he may be heading for elbow surgery. With Bubba. A yellow lab.

11:44AM: While watching an episode of Three's Company about Jack Tripper growing an mustache, I consider growing a push broom over my upper lip. I have a feeling I've developed brain damage.

11:59PM: I watch a docudrama about Def Lepppard on VH-1. I remember a joke. What has nine arms and sucks? Def Leppard. I'm a jerk.

12:07AM: I call my younger brother Chris to tell him he's an asshole for hitting me with a wiffleball bat when he was nine. He sighs and tells me to grow up. I vow revenge.

12:19AM: I spend fifteen minutes discussing Jake Peavey's career and his obvious path towards the Hall of Fame. I rail on about his seemingly impervious ability to avoid injury. Bubba licks his butt. I personally feel I won the debate.

12:42AM: As I'm walking downstairs, I flub the last few steps and eat it at the bottom. After I'm finished laughing/cursing, I walk to the kitchen to make another drink and stub my toe on the fireplace. Sailors should take notes on how to curse from my tirade.

1:07AM: I convince myself I can speak Swahili. I also convince myself I should start a movement towards speaking this African language. I call my friend in Colorado. He tells me I should hit myself in the head with a rock. Pencil him in as secretary of defense for my cabinet.


1:34AM: Stumble and bumble my way to the restroom. I cringe at the hideous creature in the mirror and make my way to the toilet. I'm not going into detail, but suffice to say my aim wasn't spot on.


10:04AM: I wake up on my floor. My TV is showing a sneering Kevin Bacon in Footloose and my laptop sits dutifully next to my head. I'm not sure how I got there. I do have a sneaking suspicion why I feel like a bag of ass though.

Oh Hornitos..I thought you were my friend. E Tu, Ketel One?

I was going to write something pithy and topical about Barack Obama ascendinghis golden chariot to his place in political and world history. Alas, I'm lazy and didn't want to actually do any research.

While everyone else is going nuts and applauding like a bunch of mental patients who found a bag of Skittles, I tend to lean away from popular opinion like it's a befouled diaper and look at things from a more realistic
skew.

This is also known as being negative and condescending.

First things first...I'm sure he'll have to change the White House doorbell from "One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer", to something a little less offensive...like Barry Manilow or Celine Dion. Actually, from what I could
gleam off the Googles, Obama has Frank Sinatra, the Rolling Stones and Kanye West on his playlist. Not too shabby, except for Kanye West. He's a delusional prick.

The incoming tenant of the big honky house is going to be forced to walk around each of the 35 bathrooms and throw away GW's copies of Maxim magazine, and I'm sure the daft cowboy will be very sullen when his
subscription to US Weekly is canceled. Fortunately,I hear that he will continue in W's consistent use of Ann Coulter's books as toilet paper. So at least those trees didn't die in vain...

And since I brought up vanity...even though Rush Limbaugh is begging and hoping for Obama to fail, he's secretly ecstatic because our new presidentsingle-handedly rejuvenated his stagnant, boorish,Oxycontin snorting life by giving him something to direct his simple-minded, vitriolic
little diatribes at while drooling on himself during his radio show.

Now that I think of it, it's no wonder all those bumbling republican talking heads like Hannity,Glen Beck, and Micheal Reagan have radio shows. Their audience is quickly shuffling into their 70's and like to reminisce about sitting next to the radio when they were kids.

Same goes for Alan Colmes, Rachel Maddow, and Keith Olbermann and the rest of
the left leaning loons. To me,they're just another seeping crew of vapid,
smarmy media blowhards who really only care about their ratings and seeing
their face on the boob tube fighting the great evil known at the conservative
right.

For the most part, yes, we're all happy that our nation is finally pullingit's old white head out of its' collective ass, but until I see actual tangible proof that we're heading in a different direction, I'll still deride those who think that they can show us how to live our lives better than we can.

Because at it's core, that's what politics is: People with money and power telling you what you can or can't do because they think it's best.

Here's to hoping Barack Obama lives up to the hype and actually does something positive for the people of this country, instead of lining the pockets of his smooshbag friends like our dimwitted and incompetent 43rd president did.

Here's to high hopes and good riddance...

You assholes...

The summer crowds have rushed back to work, and the college kids have stumbled back to their dorm rooms, which can only mean that those of us in the booze business are hitting a little bit of a slowdown. It happens pretty frequently this time of year, and to compensate, we use a variety of tactics to put your butts on stools.

A staple of barroom attraction was the immensely popular ladies night. This is where ten girls would attract seventy guys, and would therefore be inundated with feeble lines just to enjoy three dollar Cape Cods all night.

About four years ago, to our eye-rolling chagrin, two silly little men wanted to attract attention to themselves and and pretend like we care about their small, insignificant lives. They sued seven local nightclubs and bars because they felt that "Ladies Night" was discriminatory against men.

Um...what?

Are you trying to tell me that after years of going to bars with similar discounts boosting the attendance of the fairer gender, that these aging douchebags suddenly decided to file suit? Apparently these weenies are just upset because they have to pay five bucks at the door and it hurt their little feelings.

In reality, they're vermin attorneys, paralegals and saw a $125K payday. This was just another in a long line of legal shakedowns, and we all know it.

You whiny, pointless, frivolous, litigious little turds.

I'm sorry that women in general don't like either of you old, sad little me. Yes, you're laughed at by the opposite sex, but why do you feel the need to hurt your chances even further by killing ladies' night for the rest of us?

So I felt I should write a missive...

Neil and Bob (seems appropriate),

I'm sorry your mommy didn't breast feed you long enough. I'm sorry you had to take your cousins to the prom. I'm sorry you two still wear acid washed jeans and think Clay Aiken is a masculine role model.

I'm really sorry you both have a background in law because you're going to continue to muck up the legal system with inane lawsuits that allow the rest of the country to look at the Left Coast and chuckle...Oh, you stupid Californians.

I almost fell out of my chair when I read a statement by Erik Jenkins, an attorney for the whiners, who I presume tried his best to keep a straight face as he made comparisons between ladies' night discounts and discrimination faced by blacks in the south.

WHAT THE FUCK?!?

So, Mr. Jenkins, clearly what you're saying is that when I have to pay an extra couple of dollars at a club, it's akin to being attacked, intimidated, beaten, segregated and murdered by some inbred honkies in Alabama? Yeah, I may have a hangover and my wallet might be a little lighter, but I can't say that I've ever been put through the same tribulations as a black person in the south.

I've had guys give me a hard time about ladies' night in the past, but I just tell them to come into the bar in drag, and maybe I'll serve them a reduced priced cocktail. Which I won't, I just want to see a throng of cross-dressing daffy surfer kids walking around Encinitas.

Seriously if you're that destitute, then maybe you shouldn't be in the bar in the first place. Both the plaintiffs had professional occupations so I doubt they were counting food stamps at Von's. This is simply a cash grab and a way for them to graft money from people who actually have to work for a living, while they feebly grasp for their fifteen minutes.

Well, that and broadcast their names to thousands of women who'd now like to kick them square in the nuts.

So, we as a people strive toward an equal populace, where everyone has the same chance and men and women embrace blissfully in the flower-laden fields. Sorry to burst your bubble Sparky, but that only happens in Zoloft commercials, and you'd have to eat a handful before you buy all that crap.

There are going to be gender differences regardless. Did suing those clubs have a positive impact on gender relations in San Diego? No, of course not. One club actually went out of business because of it.

Eventually, this stupid situation will just go away and those two dingles will always be known as the men who took away ladies' night.

How's that for a legacy? Neil and Bob can tell their children that they battled demons and slew the dragons for the betterment of gender equality everywhere!

In actuality, their kids will realize their dads were just boring, greedy assheads that ruined a good time for everyone else.

When all is said and done, we need to be more personally responsible and concern ourselves less with other people's actions.

How does this lawsuit affect you personally? For most of you, I'm sure it won't make much difference. For me, and every person that works in a bar, it absolutely does. Very simply put: less women come in, therefore less men come in looking for them. Which means I make less money.

I wonder where this is leading though. What can of worms is this opening for other bars and nightclubs and the specials they use to entice people to patronize their establishment?

I think Neil and Bob should have just done that and left the rest of us alone.

...and this is the kind of moronic e-mails I have to deal with...

(This is a real e-mail I received from an obviously enlightened dongle with the cryptic email address cleancnc@aol.com)

Mr Doorman! I was reading your article the other day and had a few comments!

In your article you came off very passive and then hit your
readers right between the eyes! I do not know if you really understand what is really going on with Prop 8? First of all, Since when is it's anyone's business what your sexual preference is or what YOUR taste is?

This is the problem with the GAY community! How come you never hear from STRAIGHT couples if they are straight or gay? Why don't you ever hear of STRAIGHT couples going around telling others what their personal preferences are or what they prefer! If gay people would read their bible and obide by what was written hundreds of years ago they would understand that Marriage was meant for a man and a Woman!

Why is it in almost all Gay relationships that one person plays a more dominant role and the other a more passive role? The reason is ! GOD made man to be a MAN and a woman to be a Woman! It is as simple as that! It really hurts me to see that not even 10% of our population tries to upset our Tradition that has made our country what it is today! It' usually the minority that tries to rule! I really feel the reason why their is such a huge problem with our Gay community is because most of all Gay people are very frustrated with their own physical or mental outcome! Believe me! All you have to do is read a little in the bible and you would understand this issue and not jump on the political band wagon and fuel this political fire!

In closing! If you do not believe in the bible or GOD! Please explain to me one thing! Explain to me WHAT ENERGY SOURCE KEEPS YOUR HEART CONTINUOUSLY PUMPING?

Thank You and have a great day!

Hippy Cars

Dear Prius Owners,

Thank you for doing your part to make the planet a better place. It’s nice to have a conscientious group of tree hugging tofu monkeys out there, willing to drive a hunk of poo so that the polar bears aren’t forced to cannibalize each other. But I feel it’s time we addressed your means of transportation.

Your car looks like a cross between a hot wheels and a toaster. I mean, it’s Ugly. Capital YOU. That whizzing, whirring pile of moving parts looks like a shoe...unfortunately it’s your car.

I’m sure you get looks from the ladies when you pull up to a red light, your pony tail whipping in the wind as you rev your engine...only to have your car make a sound like a robot getting a boner.

It’s not like driving a car with batteries and gasoline is any safer for the
driver either. A sardine can with flammable liquids and charged coiling plus a
person behind the wheel with way too many grande soy macchiattos in their blood
can only mean carmageddon...and even hippy blood spills red on the asphalt.

And not to bash hippies, but I’m going to and who doesn’t just love making
fun of them. With your hackey sack circles, hemp necklaces, and your undying
love of folksy double entendre bumper stickers.

Oh look, it says CO-EXIST, in all different religious symbols on the back of
your Prius. How...cute. And trust me, with your stinky closet full of Bush
hating T-Shirts you got from Hot Topic, you’re sure to land that barista at the
Daily Grind. You know, cause Starbucks is just soooo corporate and poopy.

Trashing the president is like beating a soccer mom with a baseball bat. It’s fun at first, but then they’ll probably find some way to arrest you for it.

What I’m saying is that we’re all very proud of you for choosing to drive a
car that gets great gas mileage but please don’t break your arm patting yourself
on the back.

We get it...you’re a great eco-warrior, battling the world’s oppressive hold
on our wallets, chaining us to the gas pump, raining down woe and destruction,
kicking puppies, punching babies, blah blah blah.

If you could just do all of that over there in the slow lane, we’d all
appreciate it...

Prop 8

You hate gay people.

They’re quirky and yucky and they make you feel uncomfortable.

It’s okay to admit that you’re a homophobe.

You try not to be “that guy”, but you have a couple of drinks and then use the word “fag” in a passing sentence about people you don’t agree with.

It’s just a joke. Who cares...right?

They’re different. They don’t see the world like you do. Their flamboyant lifestyle is a minority belief and they chose to exist within the dalliance of an alternate existence. It’s embarrassing and goes against all that you’ve been raised to believe in.

Their lifestyle is a stereotype like any other statement by a stupid moron too lazy to actually discover the truth.

Honkey’s can’t dance, do math or be cool. Asian’s can do math but can’t drive. Black people love watermelon(So do I ). Middle Easterners own convenience stores.

Does that make things easier for you? Do you feel better putting everyone in a little box?

Oh wow, I forgot to tell you...they’re just like you by the way.

No difference, no change, and nothing separates them from you other than a biological imperative and your smug/snug hold on your bible.

A bible that means just as much to them as it does to you by the way, except they have to be exceptionally Christian and forgiving to accept the fact that people in their own congregation disagree with their lifestyle. Just because of a worthless book of fiction...written a thousand years ago by sad, small-minded men whose sole intent was to control people with a wee understanding of the world around them.

In a word, they feared difference. If it skewed from their comfort zone, it was sin and was to be punished.

If you think a gay man or lesbian intentionally chooses to be different and ostracized by society at large, then you’re just as dumb as the men that wrote the bible.

They want to live their life like the rest of us...liberated of governmental interference, societal exile, and with a feeling of freedom from prejudicial judgement. Weird huh?

So when you voted for Proposition 8, what you’re saying is that you’re upset about people that are only slightly different than you, yet they should not enjoy the same legal, financial and moral benefits that you live with every day.

Proposition 8 says that according to the California constitution, two consenting American citizens can’t get married. Even though they love each other and are in a committed relationship. Even though heterosexual relationships are flailing at about a 70% failure rate in California.

Of course the religious right and those silly Mormons were bound to show up and throw their sacred-underwear-wielding cash into the mix. Even though they’re based in Utah, they donated millions to a proposition in California to keep things traditional.

You know like slavery was traditional. And internment camps were traditional. And separate bathrooms, sitting in the back of the bus, and how it was traditional for women to stay barefoot and pregnant and couldn’t vote until suffrage.

Yeah, tradition has been wonderful for America...

Okay...

Well, here you go President-Elect...we gave you the reins. Now it's your turn...