Someone recently told me that the current job market "sucks". According to this source, the economy is in shambles, layoffs are the new black, and I should hold onto everything I have, because it all might be gone in the morning.I, like another famous black man, have a dream. What is my dream exactly? Well, it is to be a professional roller blader, of course. But I don't need validation. I can skate backwards at an advanced level, and I listen to The Prodigy. That speaks for itself.
Alas, there are currently no professional roller blading leagues, and "agressive in line skating" is for Mo's. It is inevitable that I will have to seek another career, at least in the mean time. Please feel free to pass this resume onto anyone in the market for 'a real go-getter'.
The Shore House
Havertown, PA 19083
UnitedSk8sOfAmerica@gmail.com
Stephen M. Keenan
Objective
To obtain employment in a laid back business setting, possibly working in sales, or maybe just telling jokes and forwarding emails, all from a comfortable chair, or love seat. Ottoman would be a plus, but is not a requirement. Will accept position as test sleeper in mattress factory.
Professional Summary
An outgoing, and energetic individual with a comprehensive knowledge of people seeks to utilize his dynamic talents and semi professional background. Is known for being a leader, as well as using words to distract you. Excels in napping, but is not above full out sleep on the job.
Education
Archbishop Carroll High School, 1996-2000
Diploma (Everyone Gets One)
Best Story Teller in the class of 2000. (Cheers to whatever nerd got the math award.)
Number 8 on the Leading scorer list in the 2000 Flyers Cup Championship racking up a mind blowing one goal, and two assists, in 3 games.
Fan of soccer.
Finalist for Prom King. (Beaten out by another guy named Steve. ( Sever kick to the nuts.))
All general courses studied, none processed.
Pennsylvania State University, 2000- when I have the time and money to finish. I know I fucked up, save your judgment.
Ice Hockey. Left wing on the 2000-2001 'Crash Line'.
Skipped a lot of classes, opted for Burger King breakfast instead.
Racked up a record amount of parking tickets. (Theme continued throughout life.)
Dated Jackie Callaghan.
Majored in Regret.
Professional Background
Villanova Hardware, 1991-2002
Heir To The Throne.
Responsibilities included, but were not limited to, eating free food at the pizza place next door and playing frisbee at Villanova University.
J.W. Bickers Tree Service, Bryn Mawr, PA. 1996-1999
Ground crew.
Was required to collect debris from tree trimming/removal, dispose of wood in an extremely intimidating wood chipper, direct traffic.
Spent one summer dealing with a food poisoning. Couldn't eat a cracker without needing a bathroom. Spent a lot of time learning about "Roughing it" in the back of the wood chip truck.
Spent most of my free time finding excuses to go to the truck which had the most hard core pornographic image I had seen to date taped up inside the cab.
Eventually quit to pursue a career in just being a high school kid.
The Villanova Skating Center, 1997-2003
King Shit
Skate Guard, Disc Jockey
Excelled in forward and backward skating
Looked incredible in a referee shirt.
Could out skate you, in shoes.
Responsibilities included, meeting most of my high school girlfriends, skating, and playing hockey for free.
Once punched a dog because it tried to eat my breakfast.
The Garrett Williamson Foundation, Newtown Square, PA 1997-1998
Responsibilities included cutting grass on a large working farm, maintaining the sanitation of a summer day camp, getting a tan.
Once had a brilliant idea to cut the grass in the shape of a star like I had recently seen done in a major league baseball all-star game. The final product came out looking more like a Star of David, according to multiple irate sources.
Subsequently was not asked back the following summer.
The Gun Boat, Bar and Grille. East Falls, PA., 2002
DJ, cook, occasional bartender.
Responsibilities included: babysitting the owners 30 year old daughter who might have been missing half of her sixth chromosome, but loved Stevie B.
Cooking sometimes.
Providing hostile twenty-somethings with fight music every Friday and Saturday night.
Once saw that a girl had nipple rings, told her to buy me a shot, and dated her for a year.
Was oblivious at the time that you don't date "those girls".
Still might be.
Maloney's Pub, Bryn Mawr, Pa., 2002
Cook, Bartender.
Mostly did shots.
Was known to take my pants off during Irene Cara's 'What A Feeling'.
Was/is convinced she wanted me to, "take my pants off, and make it happen."
Dan's Sports Pub, Phoenixville, PA. 2003-2004
Bartender, Part time manager by default.
Was expected to drink at least 3 red bull and vodka's while on the clock.
Took the rules very seriously.
Once had sex with the other bartender because she put on 'Feel Like Makin' Love', and started taking her cloths off.
Was/is Morally weak.
The Bryn Mawr Pub, 2004-2007
Manager, bartender, Crazy girl magnet, sucker.
Responsibilities included: Making drinks, seriously ruing that college thing, covering for the owner while he was off doing shifty things, pouring said owner endless amounts of Crown Royal, assuming all responsibility of quelling customer uproar over a clearly failing business. Overseeing the staff of US foods reload their truck after I presented them a check, because the last 3 had bounced. Wetting panties with my musical stylings on Thursday nights.
May or may not have known about Mexican's living illegally in the unfinished apartment upstairs.
May or may not have partied with them.
Ferry Site Management, 2006.
Spent one summer working for a landscaping company.
The only objective was to work every possible hour out of every day so I wouldn't have to go home to my unnecessarily mean girlfriend.
Got poison ivy twice in the first month.
Split foot open on vacation. Subsequently called my boss and told him, "I'm going on the 15 day DL. Possibly Injured Reserve." Told him I'd get back to him. I did not.
The Oakmont National Pub, 2003-Present.
Bartender, Manager, Vaunted lover, Sabbatical taker, Prodigal Son.
Responsibilities included: Being the best bartender I can be.
Knowing that you like bitters in your Manhattan.
Giving you three olives when you only ask for one.
Putting salt on your coaster because it keeps sticking to the bottom of your drink.
Expertly drawing a Shamrock onto the head of your Guinness.
Big picture stuff.
After reading this, it is probably obvious to you that I am over qualified for WHATEVER position you have open. I am clearly head and shoulders above the competition. I will be patiently awaiting your response.
Write Back!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Some People Just Get Their Kicks This Way. Nothing To Be Ashamed Of.
For the record, I might actually know this person's twin.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
LA LA Land.
So there I was...sitting in the Philadelphia International Airport, staring down my second Skyy vodka and Sprite. The clock read 8am. The man across from me was drunk off of rum and cokes, and was doing things like knocking his fork off the table just so our ample breasted waitress would have to bend over to pick it up. Generally I prefer to protect the innocent, and not print their names. However, this man is no innocent, so from here on out he will be referred to as Bill Parras, his government name. Weeks earlier, Parras had come to me with an offer that I simply could not refuse. That offer was a free trip to Los Angeles. Having always wanted to go to Aspen, California I was willing to settle for the sunshine of beautiful LA. Now for those of your who know me, and those who don't, I'm pretty smart. I wouldn't be able to tell you how to convert liters into gallons, but I could tell you that any trip that's advertised as free is most likely a bullshit scam. But who likes a bullshit scam better than me? No one. I love a good story and frankly I knew immeditely that there was a solid chance that I wasn't going to come back home alive. So this "free trip" went something like this. All I needed to do was cover my airfare which was about $2oo and the rest of the vacation would be paid for. And by that I mean, the hotel room was comped. Sweet deal though, I was 24 and didn't have anything to do that week. Also, Parras is the craziest person I have ever met so the thought of a weeks worth of hijinks and tom foolery were selling points, enough. So as I sat in that airport bar, wearing ripped up khaki shorts a CYO All Star baseball T-shirt and flips, I began my preflight routine of wondering how exactly I'm going to handle myself when the plane begins to spin out of control and death is at my finger tips. I admit, maybe I'm crazy but I always think the plane is going to crash. I know myself, and I know my luck. In this particular case, the plane didn't crash - but sometimes I wish it had. I did however play Yahtzee with Parras for 4 hours and didn't win a single game. Kenny Mayne is full of shit. Upon arriving in Los Angeles we deboarded the plane and collected our luggage. And when I say we, I mean Parras got his luggage. I on the other hand was told that 'somehow mine was put on a later flight.' Ever the optimist I assumed that they meant a later flight that day. For about an hour not having luggage was fun because we had to stand in line at the rental car stand and I was free to do things like shake hands with people around me and act like I was important. (After all I was wearing that CYO All Star shirt.) The whole time we were in that line Parras would only talk to me about one thing. He wanted to spend an extra few hundred dollars to upgrade to some Mustang that they were offering. Admittedly, I don't know dick about cars, but I know something about money, and that is that I don't have a lot of it, so we decided to stick with the base model Toyota that we had originally budgeted for. And like that, we were on our way to... well, we were supposed to get set up in Beverly Hills, Hollywood, or Downtown LA as per Parras' agreement with the travel company, but nay - God himself took that day off and we were told that we would be staying at the beautiful Wyndam in Commerce, CA. I didn't know where Commerce was so I called my boy SPK since he had previously lived in LA. When I said the word Commerce, he replied, "Wow...um, dude you should just get on a plane back home. I'm serious." I'll take advice I should have heeded for $1000 please, Alex? We pulled out of LAX and began what was supposed to be a 2o minute drive over to our hotel, but the drive ended up taking closer to 2 and a half hours. Why you ask? Well, when your hotel is located just a few blocks from the Slauson swap meet and there is a 4o foot wall surrounding it for the protection of it's guests, it's a little hard to find. For an hour we starred at that wall thinking it was some sort of correctional facility. The reason we even ended up finding it was because a really pleasant Latino gentleman gave us great directions. And by that I mean walked toward our car with that Fresh Fish look on his face so we took off and magically ended up at the Wyndam. For those of you who are not familiar with Commerce, let me just paint a small picture for you. Commerce is like the movie Traffic. It's all Latino, gun shots ring out more than church bells, and everyone is wearing a pair of Dickies and a button down, only fastened at the collar. If you think that's just a stereotype, you would be mistaken. The place is downright scary. Because it took us so long to find the hotel we(Parras) dropped off our(his) stuff and hit the road again because part of the deal was that we got two free tickets to go see the Dodgers play the Giants at Dodgers stadium. We were 10 miles from the stadium. The drive took 2 hours. I honestly wanted to go home, but there was one thing that was making the whole trip worth while and that was that every radio station in LA was bumping "Buttons" by the Pussycat Dolls. At the time, it made me happier than you'll ever know. I was single, sitting in a Toyota with my male friend, listening to the PCD and doing the Harlem shake for all passers by to see. You tell me that's not the poster for Heterosexuality. Anyway, the game was pretty sweet and the stadium was awesome. It was a run down piece of shit, but awesome none the less. Bonds didn't go yard and for that we booed him, but I did put down two dodger dogs so that was victory enough. With the game entering the late innings and Bonds out of the lineup we peaced out in an effort to beat traffic. We headed back to our hotel, stopping at the liquor store for Menace II Society first, where we picked up Captain, Vodka and dirty looks. For the record, I'm not very good at being racist, but LA will make you understand why people are. Back at the hotel we whipped ourselves into a drunken frenzy in our room watching Sports Center before having the brilliant idea of mingling with other guests at the hotel bar. Having previously had a drink at the bar in the afternoon and being outraged with the pricing system we did would any asshole from Philadelphia would do. We brought our own drinks to the bar and ignored the bartenders requests that we purchase drinks from him. The only draw back to mingling with hotel guests is that if there are none, you are shit out of luck. So we asked around for ideas of what could be done safely in Commerce at night and the answer was, just as we had guessed, "nothing." However the hotel did run a shuttle bus to the Commerce Casino right down the street, which seemed like a good idea. Free drinks and gambling? Count me in. We hopped the shuttle, and harrased the driver for the 5 minutes it took us to get there to the point where I wasn't sure they would pick us up later on. Fromt the outside, the Casino looked nice. Beautiful fountain, important looking cars parked outside, barbed wire. It had everything. Inside, we quickly realized that once again we were the odd men out. This casino had more Asians than Asia does. And it was all table games. I'm not good at card games, so I'm certainly not good enough to sit down at a table full of Asian people who are no doubt smarter than me. Honestly this place looked like an underground Russian Roulette Club. There was so much smoke in the air, I thought I was in Eric Foreman's basement. In circumstances such as these there is for me, only one option. Find the bar, and cause a scene. Done and done. We got blitzed at the bar, because they wouldn't give us free drinks, and Parras got hit on but a really nice Asian woman. (Found out later she was a P-tute... sorry pal.) After about an hour at the invasion we hopped the shuttle bus back and figured we would just drink in our room until we both passed out. Maybe I'd hand wash the clothes that I have been wearing now for about 20 hours.
Sometimes life just has a plan though. This night, was one of those nights. As we entered the court yard of the hotel we were greeted by a group of about 14 hispanic kids all decked out in San Francisco Giants gear. One of them offered me a Corona and some Hennesey while his amigo wanted to know if I would be interested in his hand rolled 'cigar.' Yes, sir...I would like both. So we sat down and just started partying with these Latino kids in the middle of the hotels courtyard. At one point it dawned on me that this is something that could possibly get us kicked out of the hotel. My fears were quickly put to rest when I realized the guy smoking a blunt to my left was the hotel manager. This night is very grey to me, but after a while I realized that no longer did I have a friend with me. I was the lone white boy and I was worried that my sarcasm might potentially offend someone, which then might lead to me being harmed. To shank - Its a verb. As I looked around in search of Parras I heard a commotion behind me and without having to turn around I knew exactly what was happening. Parras had broken into the hotels pool area and was now skinny dipping with 4 of the hispanic kids girlfriends. And these were not a few moy bueno bonita's. They were gordo, if you will. But none the less, the craziest kid i know is skinny dipping with them, and from the looks of it, having the time of his life. I swung my head around to the people i was sitting with and all the dudes were loving it, talking about how he's insane and that if he wasn't funny they would have killed him. Seemed like pretty decent fellows. The next day I woke up in my bed, but I don't have a clue how I got there. My first priority was to go down to the front desk to get my luggage, but when your luggage isn't there, it seems dumb to walk all that way. Instead we chilled in our room and made drinks and ordered food. At one point Parras was smoking cigarettes our the window and throwing butter knives and forks out of it at the same time. Noticing the concerned look on my face he apologized by saying, "I'm sorry, I just don't know any better, you know what I mean?" I believed him.
That afternoon we ventured out to the outlet shops that were also inside of the hotel compound where I started to compile looks from people in the hotel who were beginning to wonder if I was planning on changing my outfit. No I wasn't. Yes, I'm a man of pricipal and I will stick to my guns, but I also had nothing to change into so what was I going to do? I could have bought something at one of the shops but I was poor and I felt confident that my luggage would show up at any minute. After cruising the shops for a few hours we headed back to the hotel where were fixed ourselves a few drinks and went down to the bar, only this time we got a table because we figured we'd treat ourselved to a nice steak dinner. Our waiter came over to us, a black kid, similar in age named Bryan. Instead of starting with the specials he greeted us with this, "Oh you're those crazy white boys from Philly!" Like I said, the night before is hazy...but it must have been pretty good if there was a buzz about us. Dude spent the entire meal talking to us about how he wanted us to go to a party with him in Long Beach that night and that there would be crazy weed and drinks there. We opted to stay at the hotel after discussing all we knew about Long Beach. Honest to God, to conversation went something like this - "I heard there is so much drama in the LBC... Let's just stay here and play it safe." We opted out of the party, but did meet Bryan's roommate (also a Wyndam employee) who's name was Ronnie DeNiro. He was a rapper from Chicago, who practically forced us out to our rental car with his cd in his hand. he made us pop it in and then he stood to the right of me, and creepily rapped in my face. His "hit" was called 'Legend In My Own Mind' which was extremely accurate because he stunk and no one else is every going to give him legendary status. But all in all he was a nice guy and without knowing us, he just kept saying how much he wanted to smoke weed with us. Maybe he was just being nice.
As the night rolled in, we found ourselves all hopped up on booze with no where to go so we hit up the casino again. Same crowd, same situation. This time we got at least one free drink for the bartender because he was about 80 and was talking about killing himself. I think he just stopped caring about making money and just wanted someone to listen to him. After a while we were starting to lose the ability to walk to so wisely packed it up and took the shuttle back to the hotel. They say lightning doesn't often strike twice, but obviously they don't know Commerce, CA. Sure enough, back in the court yard, all of our people were there again, throwing another rager of a party. I was already completely gone, but I sat down anyway, in my same outfit, and continued to party deeply into the night. Again I woke up in my bed the next morning, with no recollection of how I got there, but i was free of knife wounds and Parras was too. I had no idea what time it was so I began to search for my cell phone. It was no where to be found. Parras being the thinker that he is, decided to call it and hope that we hear it ring. It was on vibrate, but sure enough somewhere, somewhere closer to the door, I could hear it buzzing. It wasn't on the floor by the door, but I figured maybe it was on the other side of the door in the hallway. It was entirely too possible that I dropped it out there the night before. Upon opening the door, I found that it was not on the ground, or even in the hallway. It was in fact super glued to the door along with my flip flops and sun glasses. Need proof? Look no further...
It took me a while to peel everything off of the door, and when I finally did, the rubber soles of my flips were still on the door. It was totally ruined. However I have never laughed harder in my life. Those God damned mexican kids were hilarious. A few hours later one of them even knocked on our door and presented us with 4 San Francisco Giants wrist bands, 2 black, 2 orange. He said I kept asking him for them the night before and since they were leaving they wanted us to have them as a thank you for all the fun.
With the Mexican kids leaving we kind of laid low for a while. If by laying low you mean, got raging drunk and aliented every other guest at the hotel. It was like a prison, but with no warden and no repercussions. The things that we did, which didn't get us kicked out were, and are unspeakable. For some reason, the staff loved us and we could do no wrong. The 50some year old El Salvadorian front desk clerk would even bring us bottles of chardonay and crackers just because she wanted to party with us. By the fourth day we were there we were itching to get out of Commerce. I was just itching because I was wearing the same clothes for 4 days in a row. So we called up a buddy of ours who lived out there and we met up with him in Santa Monica. If you've never been, go. Or come visit me because I will be living there by next December. We went to some bar in the middle of Santa Monica and we got drunk while watching a Phillies game. Practiacally everyone there was a Phillies fan from what I remember, so at least I'll know where to go once I move. After a few too many margarita's our tour guide wanted to show us around. Fear not, he's responsible and he wasn't drinking. So he drove us all around the areas out there who's names I can't even remember. I just remember him driving us through Brentwood and saying, "That's where OJ murdered his wife..." Before he finished that sentence, Parras was out of the car and laying on the sidewalk in front of the house recreating the scene. It was the hardest picture I have ever had to take. I will not print it, because I fear the Karma that comes along with something like that. On the other hand, the picture had to be taken, ok?? Our buddy dropped us off at our car and said something like he had something to do or blah blah blah. He was tired of us, and most likely he was tired of the way I smelled. I understand, and I forgive him. We didn't know what to do. We considered Vegas, and the Los Angeles Spearmint Rhino, but eventually settled on drinking in our room. But it was not meant to be. When we returned to the hotel, Bryan the waiter cornered us and asked us if we would go to a club with them instead. He sold us on it, by telling us it was not in Commerce and that there was always something going on like 1/2 priced drinks or ladies night. So we went, and we stood in line until we got to the bouncer. Parras was not allowed to bring his car keys in, because keys are sharp, or something like that. Upon entering said club, it all made sense. "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Latino Niiiiiight!!" I shit you not, that was the DJ's announcement. You can imagine the look on my face. You can also imagine the look on all the other patron's faces when they saw the look on mine. I was not a crown favorite that night. But we did what any good soldier would do and we bellied up to the bar and fought off the 50some year old El Salvadorian as she tried to get both of us to dance with her. Did I mention she was wearing some sort of Sailor's outfit, that had an anchor emblazoned on the chest area? It was like something out of the Jon Benet pageant collection. Oh I guess it's important to also mention that right before leaving for the club my luggage arrived, which was perfect since were were only going to be there for one more day. Eventually our ride wanted to leave so we did just that, narrowly escaping the SA's who wanted to kill me. 50some tried to get us to sneak her back into the hotel so she could party with us, but instead we told her we'd unlock a door for her and never went back. Hey she was working the counter the next day and seemed pleasant so I guess it was all in good fun.
We headed back to the beach that day and did things like watched dolphins in the ocean and other extrememly gay stuff. So gay was it, that we decided that even though we were leaving in the morning, perhaps we should loosen up some buttons and get rip roaring drunk one more time on the left coast. With no plans of leaving our room we bought two bottles and a 6 pack and rented X-men 3. I couldn't tell you anything about that movie. I was too busy throwing butter knives out my window.
The next morning was just like Home Alone. We woke up at the same time, in complete panic mode because he hadn't packed and we were on pace to be 3 hours late for our flight. I have never moved faster in my life, as I have never wanted to get home as badly as I did. Over the next 35 minutes we found ourselves in the carpool lane doing 110mph in a Toyota. Parras was driving, and he was probably still boozy from the night before. In retrospect it was foolish, but it was necessary. We made our flight, and he murdered me in Yahtzee some more.
The one thing I knew never made it onto the plane with me was my watch. I couldn't find it anywhere. I figured that I must have left it somewhere in the room. I wasn't too upset. (Although it was a $750.00 watch. More on that later.)
A week later, for whatever reason I decided to flip through the pictures on my cell. It was a verizon LG flip phone just to paint a picture for you. And sure enough, I had 14 new pictures that I had never taken. Each picture was of one of the Mexican kids, flossing with my watch on, which they stole from me. And here I thought the wrist bands were a gift of good nature.
God, I love LA.
(As a very special thank you for their hospitality, Parras and I left this picture for Hotel Bryan and Ronnie DeNiro - with specific instructions that they don't open the envelope until we had left the hotel. I've always wondered what their reation was.)
Friday, March 6, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
My Laces Are Broken!!!
Recently, Tonya Harding sat down for an interview on Real Sports where she discussed such popular topics as figure skating, President Obama's sense of humor, and the perils of doing your hair in the dark.
Ms Harding, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
Ms Harding, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The Early Bird, and The Worm
Recently my girlfriend and I appeared on the 'Mornin' show. They asked us to perform a song, so we dug deep into the bag and performed one of our greatest hits. Be on the look out for upcoming tour dates.
Oh By The Way...
A recent article from the LA times has declared me the worlds greatest commercial actor.
Need more proof? See for yourself.
Note: Sometimes this video is slow to load, because it's hard to fit this much star power into an internet clip.
The Perfect Pub? from HighDefinitionTelevision on Vimeo.
Need more proof? See for yourself.
Note: Sometimes this video is slow to load, because it's hard to fit this much star power into an internet clip.
The Perfect Pub? from HighDefinitionTelevision on Vimeo.
Umm...
In case you were wondering... You should probably never let R. Kelly in your kitchen. Just say no, or tell him you don't have a kitchen. Whatever you do, don't let him in.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
City City Bang Bang
"I got these tickets to go see a show at the Electric Factory on Saturday, and I could really use a wing man."
It all started so innocently. My boss asking me if I would hit up the city with him this past Saturday to attend a few events that he didn't want to do solo. Never being one to shy away from fun, I happily obliged. I figured with my girlfriend in Florida for a week (Attending Phillies spring training, tanning, and having irrational fears about being eaten by alligators) it only made sense to go out and make the best of it. I can already hear my friends reactions after reading that sentence - "What a hetero...", and "You're such a straight, Keenan." Well forgive me for preferring the company of a beautiful girl to that of 2,000 lonely Philadelphia dudes.
Anyway, I met my boss at our establishment at 4pm and headed into the city with him. Along the way he filled me in on what we'd be doing with our night. Here's a brief outline, which I will break down more significantly in the next few paragraphs. First we'll go to a screening of a pilot episode of a television program shot by old grade school friends of his at the Ritz, hit Del Frisco's steak house for some apps and drinks and then eventually make our way over to the Electric Factory to see a band called Thievery Corporation. Sounds pretty simple, sounds sort of fun. I'm usually down for whatever, but the fact that I had spent the night before battling bouts of unannounced vomiting, I was pretty sure I might be coming down with some sort of bug. But the pro's play hurt, so I couldn't let a few stomach grumbles get in my way.
We got dropped off in the city by his father in law, who should not only be mentioned for his niceness, but probably awarded for it. Hell of a guy. We walked a few blocks from where we got dropped off over to the Ritz on Front street, only to be told that the screening was "at the other one." So we trekked a few blocks over to the other Ritz where the screening was in fact not being held, but the guy behind the glass did try to sell us on Slumdog Millionaire. He almost had me, but mainly because it was cold out and I was starting to feel like I might pass out. Eventually we found the location of the screening which was at a place that I think was called 125 Lounge or something like that. I think I've been there at 3 am before and gotten bottle service but that's beside the point. The real point is that upon crossing the threshold of this "club" I realized that it's 5pm on a Saturday and I'm hanging out at some hipster bar in olde city. I'll take things that make me want to kill myself for $500, please. The one good thing about this situation was that there was in fact a bar so worst case scenario, I'm drinking too much and drowning my sorrows with some bum on the street later. We walk up to the bar, and the bartender says "what can i get you guys? Grey Goose is free." SOLD. I'll have a Goose and Ginger, because ginger ale calms the stomach, and Vodka makes me light on my feet and quick tongued. And don't get me wrong here, I'm not a vodka snob, I just like when someone wants to give me drinks for free. I don't care if your special is half priced Kerosine. Lets drink some gas and see what happens.
The important thing to remember about free drinks though is that the pour is light, and the special ends at some point. Not knowing the exact time that this club would end its UNICEF like policies I thought it important to get two at a time and leave one of the table marinating. After my second or third drink, the place got so crowded that I had limited room to move around, which meant I had to start conversing with some of these people even though I had no idea who they were and more importantly they didn't know me. Everyone in the room knew each other, except for one guy. Yes, this guy. Who took it upon himself to become "That Guy".
I started to talk to one guy, who for the sake of the story we'll call "Scott". Why did I start talking to him? Well quite simply he looked like the Old Spice Centaur.(Thankfully, Scott was wearing a shirt.)
Turns out he didn't want to talk about anything Centaur related, which is amazing to me because if you're talking to someone whom you will most likely never see again, why wouldn't you want to talk about centaurs? Some people... Anyway once I got tired of hearing him ask me how I knew the guys in the band, I had to walk away. Perhaps this is an appropriate time to tell you that the pilot episode was filmed by 4 guys who are in their mid thirties and along with their day jobs they are still in a band. Guess what the pilot was about - You guessed it, it's about 4 guys who are in their mid thirties and along with their day jobs they are still in a band. I'm not sure what the legality is of giving out the name of the show so i won't but I will tell you that it was pretty funny, and shows promise. Plus the screening of it was 25 minutes out of my night where I didn't have to talk to anyone and I could drink freely from my arsenal of Goose and gingers while other quietly griped about how they should have gotten a drink before the screening.
After the screening ended, the place got LOUD. Like as in, DJ playing his own bongo's while geeking out to trance music...at 6pm loud. Along with the music getting loud, so did the conversations. I decided to test the decibel level of my own voice in comparison and interrupt other people talking by asking them if they wanted to go do crystal meth with me in the mens room. I'm not sure why this happened, and I can safely say I've never and would never do meth, but the idea seemed brilliant at the time. Out of a possible 100 people, only one guy got it. A married man named Dan, who along with his wife were my two favorite people there. Dan thought the idea was great and followed me around for the next 20 minutes. I'd like to think it was because he thought I was funny, but it's also entirely possible he just loves meth. Either way, no meth was done. Soon there after I heard someone go to the bar and order a Grey Goose and Seltzer Water, which drives me nuts, because "club" is the preferred nomenclature. Bartenders get confused when you say seltzer water to us. We're programmed to do. Not think. I could tell the bartender at this place felt the same way so she took delight in telling this mo that Goose drinks are now 5 dollars a piece. Score one for the kid who's got one in each fist and another on the table. The scene then eventually broke up and we decided to cab it up to Del Frisco's.
Perhaps you don't know about Del Frisco's yet but it's a GIGANTIC building on the corners of 15th and Chestnut where all the important people in Philly go to see each other. Naturally I was wearing a sweat shirt and holed up jeans. Needless to say, I fit in perfectly. After we secured three seats at the middle of the bar and a few dirty looks, I excused myself to the mens room which is down a large flight of stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell I looked around for a sign and was greeted by a young man who said, "right this way, sir". I guess I'm just used to the bathroom attendant sitting on a stool by the sink, not being out on the main floor, but sure enough he followed me in, asking me what I thought would happen in the Sixers - Magic game. Trying to brush off awkward dick holding conversations, I mumbled something about the Sixers having no inside presence and no way to defend against Dwight Howard. Not to paint this kid as an idiot, but he was hispanic and had his hair styled like Sean from Tool Academy except with a little more mid 80's Lionel Richie curl to it. I thought that talking about "Inside Presence" would throw him off and he might shut up. Instead he continued to talk away about how every second in basketball counts. It's not like football, because you can hit a 3 at the end of a game when the clock runs out and its over. Apparently this kid was not familiar with football running on a game clock system as well. As I zipped up and made my way to the sink, he was right there to not only turn the water on for me, but also squirt soap in my hands. Having someone do this for me makes me uncomfortable because I am well aware of how to do them myself, and at the same time he is forcing me into a hand washing situation. And it's not like I'm saying I don't wash, I ALWAYS wash, but because he was staring me down, I had to sing happy birthday in my head while washing my hands just to ensure that I looked like King Hand Wash. Thinking that this experience was over, i grabbed a towel but before I could leave I had this brief exchange with the attendant:
Him: "You know what I do? I got to a lot of Sixers games. I go with my boyfriend. Well not like that, he's my boy who is my friend."
Me: "Yikes..."
I'm am not a homophobic person. To be quite honest, I don't care what anyone's preference is but never in the history of manhood have those words ever been confused. Girls have girlfriends, guy's have friends. It's just a fact. Anyway I went back up to the bar feeling a little uncomfortable, but it was nothing that a few $15 glasses of Pinot Noir couldn't take care of. We shared some apps and bullshitted before the inevitable happened again. Yes, I had to pee and it had only been about 15 minutes. If you read this blog you probably already know that I don't have great bladder control. I'm not proud of it, but it's a part of me. So I went to the men's room again, only this time the attendant wasn't there. So I tried to hurry through the process before he returned to his post. Standing at the urinal I began to wonder if I should take this show over to a stall. Not to be graphic, but I had just eaten some Gnocci's and I would shortly be going to the electric factory, where my options would be limited if a bad situation were to arise. I surveyed the stalls starting from closest to the door to the back. The first two had urine all over the seats and the final one was the handicapped stall. I always, and I mean always feel guilty using that one so I decided to just ignore everything and convince myself that the night would be fine and stomach issue free. As i turned around, there he was. I swear to you he was like Emilio from Mr. Deeds.
("I fear you are underestimating the sneakiness, sir..."
The situation honestly made me jump. He came out of no where. "Hey man, are ju from Florida?" I swear I thought I was being punked by my girlfriend who was in fact in Florida. "Ju look like you're from Florida, mayne." If you know anything about me, then you know that this is in fact not true. My mother is from Finland, and my father was of Irish decent. I am very pale, and I wasn't wearing a Budweiser hat of driving a T-top Camaro in that bathroom so I don't know where he was getting his intel from. Needless to say it started to feel more like he was hitting on me. Which I get, I mean lets be honest, but I thought I was making it clear that I wasn't into dudes by saying things like " My girlfriend is in Florida" or "I just love the smell of a nice vagina." I quickly scurried back up to the bar and finished my wine. I wasn't into the taste of it anymore, I was just hoping I might black out right then and there. Eventually my boss and his buddy were ready to leave so we packed it up and walked toward the front entrance. Bam, I had to go again. But at least this time, so did they so we rolled together in a pack. They didn't believe what I was saying about this guy until they saw him. He left them alone in the men's room and talked to me the entire time the 3 of us were in there. What he talked about, I couldn't tell you. I was actively repressing memories even as they were forming. I can tell you that he ignored them at the sink but still made the attempt to squirt my soap for me. I beat him to it, and I think offended him. And I don't think he was offended because he loves to attend to bathrooms, but rather he wanted to dote on me. It was creepy to say the least. Then we exited the bathroom, all in succession. They in front of me, and me the last to leave. As they passed him, there was nothing but silence, but for me there was a "See you, pal." That in itself wasn't so strange, but I'm pretty sure there was a wink involved, too.
I guess it's important to say that Del Frisco's as a whole was nice, and has a very cool set up. I saw John Bolaris there and reminisced about the time an old Sea Isle City housemate of mine peed on him in a crowded bar. I would just suggest to all male readers to be wary of the bathroom. It's a scary place.
At this point it's about 9pm and I have had 7 Goose and gingers and two glasses of wine. Things are progressing nicely, being that I haven't yet peed my pants, or vomited. To be quite honest, I was feeling substantially more sober than I thought I would. So we cabbed it to the E factory and...got in line? Ugh, there was a line all the way to the chain link fence which is something I have never seen at that venue. I guess everyone was getting their tickets at will call. The only thing that really bothered me about the line was that it was freezing cold and the collection of people around me can only be described as "complete retards." Just saying that, I feel like I'm giving retarded people a bad rap. The couple in front of me had matching dread locks, and they were rockin' tee shirts. It was 25 degrees. The girl behind me had this conversation with the guy she was waiting with:
Girl - "Yeah, I know them like really well. I used to party really hard with them. Did you ever see the movie KIDS? That was like my house."
Guy - "Right on..."
For the record here is how that conversation should have gone:
Girl - "Yeah, I know them like really well. I used to party really hard with them. Did you ever see the movie KIDS? That was like my house."
Guy - "Oh... You have AIDS. This date has reached it's conclusion."
Not only was I sandwiched in between these people for half an hour, but the entire time I was in line I had to fight off the leather pant wearing scalper who looked like the son from the movie THE BURBS.
You tell me that's where you want to be on a Saturday. So this whole time we're standing in line, "Scott" doesn't have a ticket but instead of scalping one he decides he's just going to tell the person at will call that he is with the band. The ingenious ideas of a 38 year old single man wearing a leather jacket from Wilson's and a scarf that doesn't match it. Maybe the will call girl who has nothing to do with the band will believe you. Of course she didn't. She actually went above and beyond, by checking her list multiple times only to find that his name wasn't on it. After a good 5 minutes of this charade he demanded that something must be done for him, to which she replied, "Sir, you could always just buy a ticket." My face was red and I don't even know this cat. Once securely inside the building, we went to the bar and muscled into some prime real estate right by a tower and a cash register. The bartender has to come to those two spots pretty often, so it just makes sense. Thievery Corporation came on and I must say that they were cool. They had a great sound and I was getting high off of the second hand pot smoke so that helped, but there is nothing I hate more than being in a crowded setting like that and being elbowed and leg humped because there are too many people in the building and no one can move. Yes, I'm sure that all the emo kids will tell me that I'm not a real concert goer, but to you emo kids I say this - Go fuck yourselves. (Also, I wish my grass was emo... So it would cut itself.) Anyway, after an hour of standing at the bar and watching the concert that's going on right behind me, on a tv we decided that something must be done. I need to first and foremost get away from Scott because he is behind me dancing not like he has to take a poop but more so as if he has already pooped and he's seeing if he can dump it out through the legs of his pants like Andy Dufresne. The band just asked if the crowd wanted more and he threw up devil horns and then turned to me, saying "Not."
Meeesta, Meeesta! Get Me Outta Here!!!
Deciding that my options are to leave my boss who is a friend of mine without telling him, or make the most of it. I opt to look for the silver lining in this situation. I did this for two reasons. 1) He is married, and has a two year old with another one on the way in the spring. He doesn't get out terribly much. 2) I didn't have enough money to take a cab home by myself. So we stuck around and eventually tracked down a guy who was wearing an all access pass. I think my boss knew him because soon enough we were in the VIP area above the stage looking down on the band and the mob scene of a crowd where the drinks were once again free of charge. I'll take 4 captain and gingers, stat.
By right around midnight my boss and I left the concert, skipping out on Scott and hailing a cab that had no interest in taking us to Havertown. Being the master of interpersonal relations I eased him into it by stating that he has an obligation to take us there because he is a driver by trade and that we will assuredly "take care of him." $81 later, I was back in Havertown and the driver was on his merry way back to the city with a hot nine dollar tip. I believe in tipping, but i have also cabbed it from the city probably thirty times and it has never been more than $50. I know a snow job when i see one, but what we paid the cab driver isn't very crucial to this story so don't worry about it.
The point is that he dropped me off in Havertown, where I live so I could have gone home. Instead I chose to go back to the bar I work at to meet up with my friends because it was still early and my body had yet to show signs of extreme drunkenness. When drinking vodka, it is important for me to remember that the effects sometimes take hours to set it, so doing shots of Grape vodka at 1:30 am is probably stupid. But I like stupid and stupid likes me, so I did a few and then wandered home with my buddy AF. AF and I thought it would be a great idea to play Tiger Woods on the Wii, but first it would be an even better idea to share a "cigar." Bad idea. Immediately following the inhalation of said cigar, my world started to come to an abrupt, turbulent end. I couldn't tell you the last time I got the spins, but I don't remember them being nearly as bad as they were on Saturday. I felt like I was listening to 'Dead or Alive's greatest hit' on repeat. I can however tell you about the last time I fell over in the middle of a golf swing, because it was that night, and that's the only time I have ever done that. Luckily AF is one of my oldest friends and doesn't judge but sometimes I wish he would. I had become a puddle, one that was reduced to sleeping with my head on the toilet seat lid (which is cushioned btw). I locked myself in that bathroom for what felt like an eternity and prayed that AF would just grab the hint and jet because I didn't even want my closest friend seeing me the way i was. Instead he stayed just to make sure I was alive. I faked like I was, but wasn't sure if I would wake up the next morning. Eventually I did wake up, and microwaved a stoeffers French Bread Pizza that i left out at room temp all night. Pizza at 9am? Count me in.
Strangely I think the organisms that grew on that pizza over night saved me from a massive hangover because i felt pretty well when I woke up at 4 in the afternoon.
I guess the moral of this story is... Actually there is no moral to this. Better luck next time.
It all started so innocently. My boss asking me if I would hit up the city with him this past Saturday to attend a few events that he didn't want to do solo. Never being one to shy away from fun, I happily obliged. I figured with my girlfriend in Florida for a week (Attending Phillies spring training, tanning, and having irrational fears about being eaten by alligators) it only made sense to go out and make the best of it. I can already hear my friends reactions after reading that sentence - "What a hetero...", and "You're such a straight, Keenan." Well forgive me for preferring the company of a beautiful girl to that of 2,000 lonely Philadelphia dudes.
Anyway, I met my boss at our establishment at 4pm and headed into the city with him. Along the way he filled me in on what we'd be doing with our night. Here's a brief outline, which I will break down more significantly in the next few paragraphs. First we'll go to a screening of a pilot episode of a television program shot by old grade school friends of his at the Ritz, hit Del Frisco's steak house for some apps and drinks and then eventually make our way over to the Electric Factory to see a band called Thievery Corporation. Sounds pretty simple, sounds sort of fun. I'm usually down for whatever, but the fact that I had spent the night before battling bouts of unannounced vomiting, I was pretty sure I might be coming down with some sort of bug. But the pro's play hurt, so I couldn't let a few stomach grumbles get in my way.
We got dropped off in the city by his father in law, who should not only be mentioned for his niceness, but probably awarded for it. Hell of a guy. We walked a few blocks from where we got dropped off over to the Ritz on Front street, only to be told that the screening was "at the other one." So we trekked a few blocks over to the other Ritz where the screening was in fact not being held, but the guy behind the glass did try to sell us on Slumdog Millionaire. He almost had me, but mainly because it was cold out and I was starting to feel like I might pass out. Eventually we found the location of the screening which was at a place that I think was called 125 Lounge or something like that. I think I've been there at 3 am before and gotten bottle service but that's beside the point. The real point is that upon crossing the threshold of this "club" I realized that it's 5pm on a Saturday and I'm hanging out at some hipster bar in olde city. I'll take things that make me want to kill myself for $500, please. The one good thing about this situation was that there was in fact a bar so worst case scenario, I'm drinking too much and drowning my sorrows with some bum on the street later. We walk up to the bar, and the bartender says "what can i get you guys? Grey Goose is free." SOLD. I'll have a Goose and Ginger, because ginger ale calms the stomach, and Vodka makes me light on my feet and quick tongued. And don't get me wrong here, I'm not a vodka snob, I just like when someone wants to give me drinks for free. I don't care if your special is half priced Kerosine. Lets drink some gas and see what happens.
The important thing to remember about free drinks though is that the pour is light, and the special ends at some point. Not knowing the exact time that this club would end its UNICEF like policies I thought it important to get two at a time and leave one of the table marinating. After my second or third drink, the place got so crowded that I had limited room to move around, which meant I had to start conversing with some of these people even though I had no idea who they were and more importantly they didn't know me. Everyone in the room knew each other, except for one guy. Yes, this guy. Who took it upon himself to become "That Guy".
I started to talk to one guy, who for the sake of the story we'll call "Scott". Why did I start talking to him? Well quite simply he looked like the Old Spice Centaur.(Thankfully, Scott was wearing a shirt.)
Turns out he didn't want to talk about anything Centaur related, which is amazing to me because if you're talking to someone whom you will most likely never see again, why wouldn't you want to talk about centaurs? Some people... Anyway once I got tired of hearing him ask me how I knew the guys in the band, I had to walk away. Perhaps this is an appropriate time to tell you that the pilot episode was filmed by 4 guys who are in their mid thirties and along with their day jobs they are still in a band. Guess what the pilot was about - You guessed it, it's about 4 guys who are in their mid thirties and along with their day jobs they are still in a band. I'm not sure what the legality is of giving out the name of the show so i won't but I will tell you that it was pretty funny, and shows promise. Plus the screening of it was 25 minutes out of my night where I didn't have to talk to anyone and I could drink freely from my arsenal of Goose and gingers while other quietly griped about how they should have gotten a drink before the screening.
After the screening ended, the place got LOUD. Like as in, DJ playing his own bongo's while geeking out to trance music...at 6pm loud. Along with the music getting loud, so did the conversations. I decided to test the decibel level of my own voice in comparison and interrupt other people talking by asking them if they wanted to go do crystal meth with me in the mens room. I'm not sure why this happened, and I can safely say I've never and would never do meth, but the idea seemed brilliant at the time. Out of a possible 100 people, only one guy got it. A married man named Dan, who along with his wife were my two favorite people there. Dan thought the idea was great and followed me around for the next 20 minutes. I'd like to think it was because he thought I was funny, but it's also entirely possible he just loves meth. Either way, no meth was done. Soon there after I heard someone go to the bar and order a Grey Goose and Seltzer Water, which drives me nuts, because "club" is the preferred nomenclature. Bartenders get confused when you say seltzer water to us. We're programmed to do. Not think. I could tell the bartender at this place felt the same way so she took delight in telling this mo that Goose drinks are now 5 dollars a piece. Score one for the kid who's got one in each fist and another on the table. The scene then eventually broke up and we decided to cab it up to Del Frisco's.
Perhaps you don't know about Del Frisco's yet but it's a GIGANTIC building on the corners of 15th and Chestnut where all the important people in Philly go to see each other. Naturally I was wearing a sweat shirt and holed up jeans. Needless to say, I fit in perfectly. After we secured three seats at the middle of the bar and a few dirty looks, I excused myself to the mens room which is down a large flight of stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell I looked around for a sign and was greeted by a young man who said, "right this way, sir". I guess I'm just used to the bathroom attendant sitting on a stool by the sink, not being out on the main floor, but sure enough he followed me in, asking me what I thought would happen in the Sixers - Magic game. Trying to brush off awkward dick holding conversations, I mumbled something about the Sixers having no inside presence and no way to defend against Dwight Howard. Not to paint this kid as an idiot, but he was hispanic and had his hair styled like Sean from Tool Academy except with a little more mid 80's Lionel Richie curl to it. I thought that talking about "Inside Presence" would throw him off and he might shut up. Instead he continued to talk away about how every second in basketball counts. It's not like football, because you can hit a 3 at the end of a game when the clock runs out and its over. Apparently this kid was not familiar with football running on a game clock system as well. As I zipped up and made my way to the sink, he was right there to not only turn the water on for me, but also squirt soap in my hands. Having someone do this for me makes me uncomfortable because I am well aware of how to do them myself, and at the same time he is forcing me into a hand washing situation. And it's not like I'm saying I don't wash, I ALWAYS wash, but because he was staring me down, I had to sing happy birthday in my head while washing my hands just to ensure that I looked like King Hand Wash. Thinking that this experience was over, i grabbed a towel but before I could leave I had this brief exchange with the attendant:
Him: "You know what I do? I got to a lot of Sixers games. I go with my boyfriend. Well not like that, he's my boy who is my friend."
Me: "Yikes..."
I'm am not a homophobic person. To be quite honest, I don't care what anyone's preference is but never in the history of manhood have those words ever been confused. Girls have girlfriends, guy's have friends. It's just a fact. Anyway I went back up to the bar feeling a little uncomfortable, but it was nothing that a few $15 glasses of Pinot Noir couldn't take care of. We shared some apps and bullshitted before the inevitable happened again. Yes, I had to pee and it had only been about 15 minutes. If you read this blog you probably already know that I don't have great bladder control. I'm not proud of it, but it's a part of me. So I went to the men's room again, only this time the attendant wasn't there. So I tried to hurry through the process before he returned to his post. Standing at the urinal I began to wonder if I should take this show over to a stall. Not to be graphic, but I had just eaten some Gnocci's and I would shortly be going to the electric factory, where my options would be limited if a bad situation were to arise. I surveyed the stalls starting from closest to the door to the back. The first two had urine all over the seats and the final one was the handicapped stall. I always, and I mean always feel guilty using that one so I decided to just ignore everything and convince myself that the night would be fine and stomach issue free. As i turned around, there he was. I swear to you he was like Emilio from Mr. Deeds.
("I fear you are underestimating the sneakiness, sir..."
The situation honestly made me jump. He came out of no where. "Hey man, are ju from Florida?" I swear I thought I was being punked by my girlfriend who was in fact in Florida. "Ju look like you're from Florida, mayne." If you know anything about me, then you know that this is in fact not true. My mother is from Finland, and my father was of Irish decent. I am very pale, and I wasn't wearing a Budweiser hat of driving a T-top Camaro in that bathroom so I don't know where he was getting his intel from. Needless to say it started to feel more like he was hitting on me. Which I get, I mean lets be honest, but I thought I was making it clear that I wasn't into dudes by saying things like " My girlfriend is in Florida" or "I just love the smell of a nice vagina." I quickly scurried back up to the bar and finished my wine. I wasn't into the taste of it anymore, I was just hoping I might black out right then and there. Eventually my boss and his buddy were ready to leave so we packed it up and walked toward the front entrance. Bam, I had to go again. But at least this time, so did they so we rolled together in a pack. They didn't believe what I was saying about this guy until they saw him. He left them alone in the men's room and talked to me the entire time the 3 of us were in there. What he talked about, I couldn't tell you. I was actively repressing memories even as they were forming. I can tell you that he ignored them at the sink but still made the attempt to squirt my soap for me. I beat him to it, and I think offended him. And I don't think he was offended because he loves to attend to bathrooms, but rather he wanted to dote on me. It was creepy to say the least. Then we exited the bathroom, all in succession. They in front of me, and me the last to leave. As they passed him, there was nothing but silence, but for me there was a "See you, pal." That in itself wasn't so strange, but I'm pretty sure there was a wink involved, too.
I guess it's important to say that Del Frisco's as a whole was nice, and has a very cool set up. I saw John Bolaris there and reminisced about the time an old Sea Isle City housemate of mine peed on him in a crowded bar. I would just suggest to all male readers to be wary of the bathroom. It's a scary place.
At this point it's about 9pm and I have had 7 Goose and gingers and two glasses of wine. Things are progressing nicely, being that I haven't yet peed my pants, or vomited. To be quite honest, I was feeling substantially more sober than I thought I would. So we cabbed it to the E factory and...got in line? Ugh, there was a line all the way to the chain link fence which is something I have never seen at that venue. I guess everyone was getting their tickets at will call. The only thing that really bothered me about the line was that it was freezing cold and the collection of people around me can only be described as "complete retards." Just saying that, I feel like I'm giving retarded people a bad rap. The couple in front of me had matching dread locks, and they were rockin' tee shirts. It was 25 degrees. The girl behind me had this conversation with the guy she was waiting with:
Girl - "Yeah, I know them like really well. I used to party really hard with them. Did you ever see the movie KIDS? That was like my house."
Guy - "Right on..."
For the record here is how that conversation should have gone:
Girl - "Yeah, I know them like really well. I used to party really hard with them. Did you ever see the movie KIDS? That was like my house."
Guy - "Oh... You have AIDS. This date has reached it's conclusion."
Not only was I sandwiched in between these people for half an hour, but the entire time I was in line I had to fight off the leather pant wearing scalper who looked like the son from the movie THE BURBS.
You tell me that's where you want to be on a Saturday. So this whole time we're standing in line, "Scott" doesn't have a ticket but instead of scalping one he decides he's just going to tell the person at will call that he is with the band. The ingenious ideas of a 38 year old single man wearing a leather jacket from Wilson's and a scarf that doesn't match it. Maybe the will call girl who has nothing to do with the band will believe you. Of course she didn't. She actually went above and beyond, by checking her list multiple times only to find that his name wasn't on it. After a good 5 minutes of this charade he demanded that something must be done for him, to which she replied, "Sir, you could always just buy a ticket." My face was red and I don't even know this cat. Once securely inside the building, we went to the bar and muscled into some prime real estate right by a tower and a cash register. The bartender has to come to those two spots pretty often, so it just makes sense. Thievery Corporation came on and I must say that they were cool. They had a great sound and I was getting high off of the second hand pot smoke so that helped, but there is nothing I hate more than being in a crowded setting like that and being elbowed and leg humped because there are too many people in the building and no one can move. Yes, I'm sure that all the emo kids will tell me that I'm not a real concert goer, but to you emo kids I say this - Go fuck yourselves. (Also, I wish my grass was emo... So it would cut itself.) Anyway, after an hour of standing at the bar and watching the concert that's going on right behind me, on a tv we decided that something must be done. I need to first and foremost get away from Scott because he is behind me dancing not like he has to take a poop but more so as if he has already pooped and he's seeing if he can dump it out through the legs of his pants like Andy Dufresne. The band just asked if the crowd wanted more and he threw up devil horns and then turned to me, saying "Not."
Meeesta, Meeesta! Get Me Outta Here!!!
Deciding that my options are to leave my boss who is a friend of mine without telling him, or make the most of it. I opt to look for the silver lining in this situation. I did this for two reasons. 1) He is married, and has a two year old with another one on the way in the spring. He doesn't get out terribly much. 2) I didn't have enough money to take a cab home by myself. So we stuck around and eventually tracked down a guy who was wearing an all access pass. I think my boss knew him because soon enough we were in the VIP area above the stage looking down on the band and the mob scene of a crowd where the drinks were once again free of charge. I'll take 4 captain and gingers, stat.
By right around midnight my boss and I left the concert, skipping out on Scott and hailing a cab that had no interest in taking us to Havertown. Being the master of interpersonal relations I eased him into it by stating that he has an obligation to take us there because he is a driver by trade and that we will assuredly "take care of him." $81 later, I was back in Havertown and the driver was on his merry way back to the city with a hot nine dollar tip. I believe in tipping, but i have also cabbed it from the city probably thirty times and it has never been more than $50. I know a snow job when i see one, but what we paid the cab driver isn't very crucial to this story so don't worry about it.
The point is that he dropped me off in Havertown, where I live so I could have gone home. Instead I chose to go back to the bar I work at to meet up with my friends because it was still early and my body had yet to show signs of extreme drunkenness. When drinking vodka, it is important for me to remember that the effects sometimes take hours to set it, so doing shots of Grape vodka at 1:30 am is probably stupid. But I like stupid and stupid likes me, so I did a few and then wandered home with my buddy AF. AF and I thought it would be a great idea to play Tiger Woods on the Wii, but first it would be an even better idea to share a "cigar." Bad idea. Immediately following the inhalation of said cigar, my world started to come to an abrupt, turbulent end. I couldn't tell you the last time I got the spins, but I don't remember them being nearly as bad as they were on Saturday. I felt like I was listening to 'Dead or Alive's greatest hit' on repeat. I can however tell you about the last time I fell over in the middle of a golf swing, because it was that night, and that's the only time I have ever done that. Luckily AF is one of my oldest friends and doesn't judge but sometimes I wish he would. I had become a puddle, one that was reduced to sleeping with my head on the toilet seat lid (which is cushioned btw). I locked myself in that bathroom for what felt like an eternity and prayed that AF would just grab the hint and jet because I didn't even want my closest friend seeing me the way i was. Instead he stayed just to make sure I was alive. I faked like I was, but wasn't sure if I would wake up the next morning. Eventually I did wake up, and microwaved a stoeffers French Bread Pizza that i left out at room temp all night. Pizza at 9am? Count me in.
Strangely I think the organisms that grew on that pizza over night saved me from a massive hangover because i felt pretty well when I woke up at 4 in the afternoon.
I guess the moral of this story is... Actually there is no moral to this. Better luck next time.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Philadelphia man now has #7 spot in Blog readership in the nation
Philadelphia, Pa—In a statement made to Binocular pigeon this morning, local idiot and greatest self promoter on the planet Arthur Kadyshes, announced that at approximately 1:45 a.m. tonight, he plans to do one or all of the following: change his facebook status update to " BEING FUCKING AWESOME" or update his blog
Kadayshes was heard saying "After I get back from Chester Bogart's , I intend to rock a new blog being careful to put as little thought into it as possible, while making sure to use all capital letters and incorrect punctuation. Although I do not yet know exactly what my blog will entail, I can say with a great degree of certainty that it will be incredibly stupid, I will use the term "sounding board" twice and the people who read it and take it so seriously will get pissed off."
Arthur aka ArthurKade, who rarely has been capable of formulating a strong idea let alone the mastery of the language required to express it, went on to guarantee that the majority of his blog would be misspelled to the point of incomprehension, that it would defy the laws of logic and that it would most definitely have elements that are both egocentric and overtly gay in nature.
"The result will be an astonishing combination of offensiveness, ignorance, and sheer awesomeness,"
Pressed for further details regarding his intended blog, Arthur who will comment under the Internet pseudonym "AK47" revealed that there is a strong possibility he will inadvertently post the blog twice.
After clicking the ''post this blog' button, I will immediately (F5) refresh the page so that I can view my own blog with my pictures hanging above it. It is the fruit of my labor . I will then notice that my blog entry has not appeared because the server has not immediately processed my request, become angry and confused, call Radio Babe for advice and then re-post the same blog with unintentional variations on the original wordings and misspellings, creating two slightly different yet equally moronic twins," he said. "It is my hope that this will illustrate both my childlike level of impatience and intelligence and my inability to retain a simple string of letters and symbols 30 seconds after having composed it."
A-Kade said he fully expects that his blog will spawn a series of comments from other idiots who read it, who will either agree with his spiritual journey , disagree with him completely, or call Arthur himself a "douchebag".
Either way - its entertaining as balls!!!
Friday, February 27, 2009
One guy... No cup.
Contrary to popular belief, writing the most influential blog of our generation has yet to land me on Forbes Richest Motherfuckers On The Planet list. Yes, I do have a job. And no, it is not my job to be awesome. I believe in volunteer work, so I do that pro bono. For those of you who don't know me personally, I'm a bartender and manager of a fast paced restaurant in the suburbs of Philadelphia. (I just pulled that directly from my resume. Jealous? ) If you were wondering if it's all true, I say to you yes, yes it is. Being a bartender is just as illustrious as it sounds. It comes with so many French benefits such as your family looking down on you and your more 'sucessful' friends grilling you about when you are "going to get your shit together", to name a few. But I'm the LeBron of bartending so up yours you high horse riding jerks. Did I mention that I'm also a manager? I did? Well I'm going to tell you again, because it's that important. Managing a restaurant is great. I get to do my two favorite things under one roof. I farm out assignments that I'm not interested in doing myself and I use my employers computer to surf for porn so I don't crash my hard drive again. For the record, I have been to the darkest corners of the internet and the things I have seen should only be spoken about in moments where the outcome might be death, like if the plane were on starts to spin wildly out of control or you are holding a gun to my head asking me to describe a mechanized dildo machine. It's oddly similar to a sock 'em bopper, but that's all I'll say.
Somtimes managing a restaurant isn't so glorious though. All joking aside, it does come with a certain set of responsibilities that must be upheld. Sometimes you see things that you will never be able to erase from your brain. This is a story about one of those times.
This past July, I was managing The "ONP" on a Thursday night. It was maybe 7 o'clock but the sun was still beating and we were having an air conditioner problem (didn't pay the bill) so it was extremely hot and muggy in the restaurant. Taking a break from running food to tables or as I like to call it 'eating french fries off of people's plates while no one is looking', i went on a brief sebatical to the men's because I more than likely have BPH and am in serious need of Flomax. Because of my BPH I can't go mountain biking with my friends, and I always miss out of perfect photo opportunities because I'm in the can. So be it. Anyhow, as I approached the men's room I encountered a gentleman in his early 60's. I can only describe the look on his face as that of shear terror. Shock and awe. Scuds and Patriots. He looked like he had seen not only a ghost, but more than likely he had just watched two ghosts go at it in a fit of after life bliss. He was scared, you get the point. Before I could ask this gentleman if he was waiting in line for the bathroom he softly cooed to me, "are you the manger?"
"Yes I am, sir. Is everything ok?"
Dramatic pause...
"Somebody... had an... accident in there. I think you better clean it up." And like that...poof, he was gone.
Having been in this business for the better part of a decade I have seen many a bathroom mess and assumed the floor was covered in urine or my repeat offender of a friend had once again vomited in the urinal. Nothing, and I mean literally nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I opened the door. THERE WAS SHIT EVERYWHERE. I refuse to exaggerate this at all, and mainly because it needs no exaggeration. This violent eruption encompassed the following locations: On the seat, under the seat, on the front of the tank, on the lid of the tank, on the base of the bowl, on the handle, on the floor, on two, count 'em, two separate walls and amazingly even in the bowl. Just talking about it now I feel like Michael Jackson giving a deposition.
("There was doo doo and feces everywhere... Shamon!")
It was at that moment that I dropped my metaphorical coffee mug and became Agent Dave Cuilion. I flashed back to moments before when I had watched the man walk away but didn't pay attention to the poop that was all over his pants. The greatest trick that the senior citizen ever pulled was convincing the Oakmont that he didn't exist. (Side bar - I have to give the man credit. He did the right thing. He notified the proper authorities that an accident had occurred, just didn't stick around long enough for anyone to know he was the culprit. And believe me when I say that this could only be described as an accident. No one would do something like this intentionally. The bathroom literally looked like a human being had exploded inside of it, after eating bean pies for a week straight.) Have I mentioned yet that he was nice enough to leave his underwear in the trash can for me? Because I thought I might honestly choke to death, I exited the bathroom to the wondering eyes of my staff and quite a few customers. I quickly whipped up an out of order sign, which read "Abandon all hope, Ye who enter" and pondered my next move. This man was the Bobby Fischer of poop. He had me in check mate before I knew what hit me. As much as I really do love farming out assignments, some things are beyond the call of duty. I looked at the rookie bus boy and before I could speak he very eloquently said, "nope." Turning to the senior bus boy I was greeted with a "No fucking way." Rats. It was then that a waitress, who between you and me might be into some really weird shit (no pun intended), very perkily volunteered to clean it for a fee of $50. It made me wonder what else she has done for that kind of money because this was like the Exxon Valdez of B.M.'s. And because I really do care for the business and the customers, I couldn't let her actually clean it and then resume her post as the person delivering your food and drinks. Don't say I never did anything for you. Out of options and overwhelmed with a nagging sense of responsibility, I did what any good manager would do. I strapped on multiple pairs of the body cavity search gloves, grabbed a trash bag, two different disinfectants, a mop, paper towels, and a loaded gun just in case I reached my breaking point and I locked myself into that room for the next 45 minutes, cleaning it from top to bottom. Chances are you've never gone swimming in a septic tank, but if you have, then you know you have time to think while you're in there. As the son of a highly decorated detective I felt it was my civic duty to crack the case. It goes something like this:
While on a dinner date, possibly with his wife or just a twilight companion this man began to feel a twinge in his lower stomach. Ignoring it at first, the pains only grew worse as he felt the summer air kiss the back of his neck ever so gently. Not wanting to admit to his dinner guest that he had to blow one out, he tried to ignore these symptoms until he reached the point of no return. He arose from his seat and moved faster toward the mens room than he has moved in years. This man was realizing that he was about to have his first old age accident and he certainly did no want it to happen in a public place. So he rushed. He reached the bathroom and upon entering he found that the lock on the men's room door at the Oakmont can be tricky and requires an extra jiggle to ensure maximum privacy. After spending far more time on the lock than he had anticipated he shuffled toward the toilet, only to fumble with his belt in a moment of shear panic. Finally pulling the belt just so, he unhooked the clasps and began to crouch into the seated position. And it was then, that the crime took place. As soon as his cheeks hit air, the dog of war was unleashed. This man had just had an accident. He sat there in shame, stewing in his own corner of hell on earth. By the time he was actually on the toilet, there was nothing left to do but think. The firing had stopped. He thought of those nights he spent in Vietnam and how he would rather go back to DaNang than be where he was at that moment. Then he disrobed and tossed his soiled shorts in the garbage, never to see them again. He did his best to wipe, but there was not enough toilet paper in the world to make him feel clean again. He needed a shower, and months of therapy. He stood up and he examined what he had just done. He literally washed his hands of it, leaving trace amounts of his stomach contents in the sink. And then he exited the bathroom and waited. For how long I don't know, but he waited. He couldn't just leave that for someone to see. Instead he stuck around until he happened upon me and uttered the words that I will never forget. "Someone just had an accident in there." And then he disappeared into the great unknown. He has never come back, to date. I think I have a better chance to seeing the Olsen twins scissor, than I do of seeing him ever again.
But I did my job dutifully that evening, and effectively ended my shift at roughly 8 pm after which I drank myself into oblivion on the company dime. I always wonder, when I find myself in situations like these, will it be worth the story?
Shit yeah, it was.
Dating is AWESOME!!!!!
"Knock knock
Oh hi, how's it going?
It's me! Every girl ever. I'm really looking forward to this date. I'm not nearly as attractive as you remember me being because when we met the bar was dark and you were drunk. Come on in.
Let's start off with the unavoidable tour of my incredibly typical post-college-girl apartment. You'll notice that I went ahead and purchased everything that Ikea and Pier 1 have ever produced. There's my decorative birdcage over there even though I don't have a bird, and there's my gay wicker basket with bamboo poles in it. I don't know what the hell that's thing's all about, but I bought it. Hey check it out, I have more candles in here than a Roman Catholic Church. Doesn't it smell like Hazelnut!? I fucking love candles!
Come on into the living room. Oh, I see you met my cat there. That's "Mr. Popcorn T. Paws ." Why don't you pet him and act like you like cats even though you hate cats?
There you go. Oh, he took a little swing at your eye there huh? Yeah, he'll do that. Hey, let's check out the kitchen. Hey look at my refrigerator. There are pictures all over it! Look at all these pictures of me and my equally vacuous friends from college! We were so crazy! You can tell we're really good friends because our faces are all pressed up against each other like that. And check it out, we're holding up alcoholic beverages to the camera in every single picture. That's to prove that we were partying. College was so fun! But of course I don't talk to any of these girls anymore because now they're all bitches. Let's go back into the hallway! Hey, before we leave I'm going to go in the bathroom for ten minutes for some mysterious reason. Why don't you sit awkwardly in my big, stupid, round papizan chair over there while you wait for me. It's like you're sitting in a hug! Be right back... Sorry that took a half an hour, I don't know what the hell I was doing in there. Let's go! Wow! Thanks for opening my car door for me! I'm totally going to blow that meaningless gesture out of proportion and delude myself into thinking that you're a really good guy because that's what I want to believe. Well, here we are at the restaurant. No thanks waiter, I don't need to see a menu, just bring me some expensive things. Hey I know, while we wait, I'll tell you all about my unspeakably boring job. I hate my boss. He's a jerk! I might get another job. Maybe something in pharmaceutical sales. Now let's talk about my family. I love my family. I want you to love my family. I want my family to love you. I want you to make love to my family! I want you to go golfing with my semi-retarded brother. That would be so God damned cute! Wow! I can't believe I ordered all this food! I have no intention of eating any of it. No thanks waiter, we don't need a box. Just throw it out. Hey, I've got an idea, let's go to a bar and have an after dinner drink! It'll be great, it will be just like how we're drinking here, only it will be louder and we'll have to stand up. Come on! See, isn't this better? Oh hey, what a coincidence. Look over there! It's a group of my friends that I knew was going to be here. Let's go over there so that they can judge you! Hey, I have to go to the bathroom for a half an hour again for some reason. You can stay here and talk to my unbelievably hideous friend Christine! Christine's so ugly she scares kids! Talk to her! She has a job and a family that she wants to talk to you about too. Be right back. I'm back! Sorry I was gone for three hours, there was a line. I want to go home now. Well here we are at my door again. This was really fun for me and not you. You should pretend like we're going to do it again sometime! Maybe I'll see you at Target a few months from now and we can avoid eye contact because you never called me. Here, have this awkward goodnight kiss that's as empty as my soul. Good night!"
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Rhames Vs. Duncan
Stop asking yourselves foolish questions like 'What if the polar ice caps melt?' and 'does North Korea really have nuclear weapons?' Foolish I tell you. These are not real life problems, so stop burdening yourselves with worries about unrealistic things. Instead I invite you to ponder life's greatest question.
Who would you rather have as your cell mate, during a 20 year stretch in the turn - Ving Rhames, or Michael Clark Duncan? You may be telling yourself that it makes no difference as they are both extra large black men, but you would be wrong. While I assure you that neither would be the ideal celly, you must make a choice. Let us examine these bohemeths.
Ving Rhames, born in New York City, New York - 6' tall, weighing in at a spry 260lbs.
("Motha fucka took the whole fist Wesley, the whole fist...")
Michael Clark Duncan, born and raised in Chicago, Illinois - 6'5", weight unknown.
("I'sa add your name to that list of white ass I pounded, suh.")
Instinct might tell you to choose Ving Rhames just because of the size difference, but don't go gun jumping. Ving Rhames is a bad, bad dude. He's the kind of guy who would shank you while he was raping you just to watch you bleed out of two holes. After he finishes, he will no doubt pass you around to every other inmate on line saying things like "White boy got the cushion, white boy got the cushion!" Ving Rhames does not care about your feelings.
Michael Clark Duncan on the other hand wants to love you. He understands the meaning of 20 years. Most married couples split up before that bench mark. Michael Clark Duncan will hug you, and tell you everything is going to be ok. He will fight off anybody who tries to make your their bitch and he will defend your honor in the work out yard. He will write letters to his family about you and send pictures. If he is ever granted a conjugal visit, he will turn it down, because you are his one and only. He will probably even spit on his Alabama black snake before he gently rapes you.
But I say to you, America...The choice is yours. Lets your voices be heard.
Who would you rather have as your cell mate, during a 20 year stretch in the turn - Ving Rhames, or Michael Clark Duncan? You may be telling yourself that it makes no difference as they are both extra large black men, but you would be wrong. While I assure you that neither would be the ideal celly, you must make a choice. Let us examine these bohemeths.
Ving Rhames, born in New York City, New York - 6' tall, weighing in at a spry 260lbs.
("Motha fucka took the whole fist Wesley, the whole fist...")
Michael Clark Duncan, born and raised in Chicago, Illinois - 6'5", weight unknown.
("I'sa add your name to that list of white ass I pounded, suh.")
Instinct might tell you to choose Ving Rhames just because of the size difference, but don't go gun jumping. Ving Rhames is a bad, bad dude. He's the kind of guy who would shank you while he was raping you just to watch you bleed out of two holes. After he finishes, he will no doubt pass you around to every other inmate on line saying things like "White boy got the cushion, white boy got the cushion!" Ving Rhames does not care about your feelings.
Michael Clark Duncan on the other hand wants to love you. He understands the meaning of 20 years. Most married couples split up before that bench mark. Michael Clark Duncan will hug you, and tell you everything is going to be ok. He will fight off anybody who tries to make your their bitch and he will defend your honor in the work out yard. He will write letters to his family about you and send pictures. If he is ever granted a conjugal visit, he will turn it down, because you are his one and only. He will probably even spit on his Alabama black snake before he gently rapes you.
But I say to you, America...The choice is yours. Lets your voices be heard.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Mickey Rourke, the wordsmith.
Mickey Rourke didn't win the Oscar for best male performance last night, and after watching this video it's hard to believe the Academy wouldn't want him on the stage. The members of the Academy are clearly all a bunch of limp wrists. I think I'd kill myself if Mickey Rourke promised to give my eulogy. And please, don't even get me started on Marissa Tomei.
And the award for softest boner ever goes to...
Me. I'm sure that every dude in these great states was a nominee but no one took this more personally than I did. What was Jessica Biel thinking? If you're not a serious actress, but you get invited to the Oscars as a presenter, at least make it worth my while. Being classy only gets you so far, trust me I know. I'd rather roll around in barbed wire and hug Magic Johnson than see Jessica Biel like this.
We only got 4 minutes to shave the world.
I have a friend who used to dream of a time when Madonna would pull up in her limousine and solicit no strings attached sex from him. I had no idea that friend was into dudes until now.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Mids
Some people write on my facebook, and answer questions that i have never asked.
"Just staying in tonight, whale wars is on. "
Go wall to wall, I didn't ask.
"Just staying in tonight, whale wars is on. "
Go wall to wall, I didn't ask.
Monday, February 16, 2009
He has risen.
I bet there was a time when Jesus only had one follower as well.
I better get some shit done before I turn 33.
I better get some shit done before I turn 33.
Oh, Say Can You Speak?
For as long as I can remember I have had what most would probably call an unhealthy affinity for the Star Spangled Banner. The G-D national anthem. Yes, I'm that guy who takes his hat off and stands up even if I'm watching a game on TV in my bedroom or at a crowded bar. I don't like when people screw it up and I get particularly angry when some choose to turn it into some R&B creation of the soul. I'm pretty sure when Francis Scott Key penned it, it was not with the Cheetah Girls in mind. For the record, and this is factual information - The two greatest recordings to date are by LeAnn Rhimes, and Boyz II Men. If you don't believe me, I dare you to limewire these versions. Poetry in motion, seriously.
Anyway this story begins with a young boy, a very good looking and awesome boy, going to a Phillies game with his family. I may have been 10 years old at the time, possibly even younger. Excited about the game? Of course. Amped to get a hotdog and soda? No doubt. Anxiously awaiting a period of 2 minutes where everyone is silent except for the one person in the stadium who has the honor of belting out the greatest tune ever written? You betcha! Speaking of which, why doesn't every single person know the words to this song and sing along? Canadians rip up their song and it sounds awesome. I don't want to be less than Canadian.
And then it happened - the moment that almost ruined my life. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise and remove you hats and welcome James Earl Jones for the speaking of our national anthem." James Earl Jones?! Motherfucking Terrence Mann himself?! And did they just say he is going to SPEAK the national anthem? Yes they did. And yes, he did. "Oh...say can you see?... By the dawns early...light." And so on. I'll never forget looking around and seeing the faces of other people who were just as disappointed as I was. Honestly, to this day, it's the only time I have ever heard the Star Spangled Banner spoken, and I hope it remains that way. Perhaps you're reading this and you're thinking to yourself that I overreacted or that I still am currently overreacting. I encourage you to watch JEJ count - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RaZyxCAYuoc
While he was in his third minute and was still on the first stanza I had a stunning realization. I hoped for my parents sake that Doctor Moonlight Graham wasn't too busy because I was about to purposely choke on my hotdog. "And the rockets....red....glare?" Ease my pain...Ease my pain. And please, don't get me wrong, i love JEJ. He's phenomenal. He's so good that he should have had the sense to turn down an offer to speak the national anthem. It's common courtesy. It's very much like when I get drunk and jump in with the band playing at a bar. I intentionally make myself sound bad, and more importantly make myself look like the drunkest asshole there, because i simply don't want to show anybody up. I'm just not into upstaging. Those poor suckers playing for peanuts don't need to know there is a superstar amongst them.
James Earl finally wrapped things up around the 7 minute mark and was treated to a mixture or golf claps and 'what the fucks.' And I've always wondered if he was as uncomfortable as I was. Someday when i meet him it will be the first thing i ask him. My second question will be "What was out in those corn fields?", in cause you're curious.
I've been waiting my entire life to meet someone else who was at that game. Hopefully the Binocular Pigeon can bring us together. I wonder what the suicide rate was that year. What's a horseshoe? Are there any horse socks? Is anyone even listening to me?
Here's some links to the best and worst of our country's theme song. Well at least it was until people started listening to Toby Keith and drinking Busch pounders in the driveway.
LINKS
Check out Whitney's track suit and the AWESOME hairstyles in the crowd.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qciWEufZ2xA
Maybe the presidency didn't work out for her, but Hillary should sing the national anthem at every WNBA game. We got next!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfZ_gXCHaMw
Personally, I celebrate the mans entire collection. And i write myself notes on my hand too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZrK_kOk8Lw&feature=related
Does it really take a tragedy to get people to sing? Yes, apparently it does.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmQzVQza9Ak&feature=related
Some people are oblivious to the properties of ice.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EwW3-PmA--A&feature=related
You can't fight the moonlight. You also shouldn't fight with bears.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvQPqfIaHk8
The greatest group ever. No words needed.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UIRNrHzUwJQ&feature=related
If you're still reading this, don't miss this version!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMNry4PE93Y
Anyway this story begins with a young boy, a very good looking and awesome boy, going to a Phillies game with his family. I may have been 10 years old at the time, possibly even younger. Excited about the game? Of course. Amped to get a hotdog and soda? No doubt. Anxiously awaiting a period of 2 minutes where everyone is silent except for the one person in the stadium who has the honor of belting out the greatest tune ever written? You betcha! Speaking of which, why doesn't every single person know the words to this song and sing along? Canadians rip up their song and it sounds awesome. I don't want to be less than Canadian.
And then it happened - the moment that almost ruined my life. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise and remove you hats and welcome James Earl Jones for the speaking of our national anthem." James Earl Jones?! Motherfucking Terrence Mann himself?! And did they just say he is going to SPEAK the national anthem? Yes they did. And yes, he did. "Oh...say can you see?... By the dawns early...light." And so on. I'll never forget looking around and seeing the faces of other people who were just as disappointed as I was. Honestly, to this day, it's the only time I have ever heard the Star Spangled Banner spoken, and I hope it remains that way. Perhaps you're reading this and you're thinking to yourself that I overreacted or that I still am currently overreacting. I encourage you to watch JEJ count - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RaZyxCAYuoc
While he was in his third minute and was still on the first stanza I had a stunning realization. I hoped for my parents sake that Doctor Moonlight Graham wasn't too busy because I was about to purposely choke on my hotdog. "And the rockets....red....glare?" Ease my pain...Ease my pain. And please, don't get me wrong, i love JEJ. He's phenomenal. He's so good that he should have had the sense to turn down an offer to speak the national anthem. It's common courtesy. It's very much like when I get drunk and jump in with the band playing at a bar. I intentionally make myself sound bad, and more importantly make myself look like the drunkest asshole there, because i simply don't want to show anybody up. I'm just not into upstaging. Those poor suckers playing for peanuts don't need to know there is a superstar amongst them.
James Earl finally wrapped things up around the 7 minute mark and was treated to a mixture or golf claps and 'what the fucks.' And I've always wondered if he was as uncomfortable as I was. Someday when i meet him it will be the first thing i ask him. My second question will be "What was out in those corn fields?", in cause you're curious.
I've been waiting my entire life to meet someone else who was at that game. Hopefully the Binocular Pigeon can bring us together. I wonder what the suicide rate was that year. What's a horseshoe? Are there any horse socks? Is anyone even listening to me?
Here's some links to the best and worst of our country's theme song. Well at least it was until people started listening to Toby Keith and drinking Busch pounders in the driveway.
LINKS
Check out Whitney's track suit and the AWESOME hairstyles in the crowd.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qciWEufZ2xA
Maybe the presidency didn't work out for her, but Hillary should sing the national anthem at every WNBA game. We got next!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfZ_gXCHaMw
Personally, I celebrate the mans entire collection. And i write myself notes on my hand too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZrK_kOk8Lw&feature=related
Does it really take a tragedy to get people to sing? Yes, apparently it does.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmQzVQza9Ak&feature=related
Some people are oblivious to the properties of ice.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EwW3-PmA--A&feature=related
You can't fight the moonlight. You also shouldn't fight with bears.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvQPqfIaHk8
The greatest group ever. No words needed.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UIRNrHzUwJQ&feature=related
If you're still reading this, don't miss this version!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMNry4PE93Y
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Fact.
The Pope says that facebook is making people anti-social.
The Pope has yet to accept my friend request. You tell me who's being anti-social.
Here's some facts about me.
I get along with cats. I've been questioned about being a cat whisperer before, never charged. Also i used to eat tender vittles as a young boy.
I once knocked a 3 down in Kerry Kittles eye during a pick up game behind Villanova Hardware. He went on to NBA fame, and I'm a bartender. Steve 1 - Kerry Kittles - 0.
I will blow you up in a rap like Nas contest. Unless you are Nas. Nas, if you're reading this - you know I'm just playin'.
I have Eric Lindros' autograph on the back of a Grocery list from Pat Croce's house. I hope they remembered the eggs.
I saw Wanye from Boyz II Men at the conshohocken Burger King 9 years ago. He has still not called about getting me a guest spot on the next album.
I once sold a 2 year old beat up fifty dollar watch to a drunk lady for $750, because I'm persuasive like that.
I have been robbed in both Los Angeles and the Dominican Republic. I'm probably not the ideal travel partner.
My family always pushed me to reach my full potential. When i graduated high school, others received math, science, and history awards while i was bestowed with the made up 'Best Story Teller' award. Here's to you mom and dad, your baby boy really made it.
When i was in fifth grade my parents told me that if i didn't start taking Catholic school seriously that they would send me to military academy. When i informed them how much more expensive that would be, they threatened public school instead. I called their bluff. They were holding aces. In sixth grade i was taking the bus to haverford. A month into my first semester at that dump my family went to Baltimore for a weekend. We shared one room with two beds and even at a young age i knew that sharing a bed with my brother was gay so I slept on the floor. At some point in the night my face rolled off the pillow and rested on the carpet. The chemicals in the carpet burned my face pretty severely and i had to go back to that school as the new kid looking like Harvey Dent. When the burn got bad enough i left school on sick leave and beat mortal kombat seeing only out of my left eye. Then i went back to catholic school.
I have never seen the Matrix or Lord of The Rings. Maybe I was too busy playing sports, or being social. My bad, I guess...
A few times when i was a kid, I went to the wawa up the street and opened as many sprite's as it took to find a cap that was offering a free one. I have felt the need to confess that forever.
In an effort to ruin my parents lives I have intentionally pushed a lawnmower through a basement window, sprayed the letter "S" all over the bathroom with cleaning solvent, shattered a porch window with a putter, put nail polish up my nose and stuck 13 sewing needles into my mouth followed by panic... in one day... as a 4 year old.
I can play the guitar in three different languages - Badly, No Bueno, and Nien.
My parents originally wanted to name me Rae Carruth Keenan. Can you imagine how awkward that would have been? eeee...
I have partied on a tour bus with members of The Startling Line, Bayside, and Four Year Strong. I drank half a bottle of Jameson and will forever be remembered as "That Guy."
In high school I went to a 311 show and lost my freshman baseball hat in an unfortunate crowd surfing incident. Months later I saw Nick Hexum wearing the hat on MTV.
I played hockey against Dave Shultz once in an alumni game. I laughed at him when he came out of the locker room and proceeded to punch he walls. He turned to me and told me that he was going to "fucking kill me on the ice." He took every opportunity to hit me. I am still afraid of him.
I have played at Mellon Arena, where the Pittsburgh Penguins play, in a state championship game. I am also partly responsible for the bench clearing brawl that 'marred' the whole experience.
I prevented a rape in a school yard once. I changed my mind.
I met Keith Primeau in Pittsburgh and he gave me a pep talk, although I like to think that it was the other way around.
I have gotten a ride home from the bar in the Tasty Kake truck, because I asked nicely.
When i was a boy, I spoke Finnish. Now i barely have command over the English language. I'm the Benjamin Button of literacy.
I may very well be lactose intolerant, but as they say - Can't nobody break my stride, and can't nobody hold me down.
Women get pregnant just by looking at me - most have twins.
I got arrested once for being awesome.
The Pope has yet to accept my friend request. You tell me who's being anti-social.
Here's some facts about me.
I get along with cats. I've been questioned about being a cat whisperer before, never charged. Also i used to eat tender vittles as a young boy.
I once knocked a 3 down in Kerry Kittles eye during a pick up game behind Villanova Hardware. He went on to NBA fame, and I'm a bartender. Steve 1 - Kerry Kittles - 0.
I will blow you up in a rap like Nas contest. Unless you are Nas. Nas, if you're reading this - you know I'm just playin'.
I have Eric Lindros' autograph on the back of a Grocery list from Pat Croce's house. I hope they remembered the eggs.
I saw Wanye from Boyz II Men at the conshohocken Burger King 9 years ago. He has still not called about getting me a guest spot on the next album.
I once sold a 2 year old beat up fifty dollar watch to a drunk lady for $750, because I'm persuasive like that.
I have been robbed in both Los Angeles and the Dominican Republic. I'm probably not the ideal travel partner.
My family always pushed me to reach my full potential. When i graduated high school, others received math, science, and history awards while i was bestowed with the made up 'Best Story Teller' award. Here's to you mom and dad, your baby boy really made it.
When i was in fifth grade my parents told me that if i didn't start taking Catholic school seriously that they would send me to military academy. When i informed them how much more expensive that would be, they threatened public school instead. I called their bluff. They were holding aces. In sixth grade i was taking the bus to haverford. A month into my first semester at that dump my family went to Baltimore for a weekend. We shared one room with two beds and even at a young age i knew that sharing a bed with my brother was gay so I slept on the floor. At some point in the night my face rolled off the pillow and rested on the carpet. The chemicals in the carpet burned my face pretty severely and i had to go back to that school as the new kid looking like Harvey Dent. When the burn got bad enough i left school on sick leave and beat mortal kombat seeing only out of my left eye. Then i went back to catholic school.
I have never seen the Matrix or Lord of The Rings. Maybe I was too busy playing sports, or being social. My bad, I guess...
A few times when i was a kid, I went to the wawa up the street and opened as many sprite's as it took to find a cap that was offering a free one. I have felt the need to confess that forever.
In an effort to ruin my parents lives I have intentionally pushed a lawnmower through a basement window, sprayed the letter "S" all over the bathroom with cleaning solvent, shattered a porch window with a putter, put nail polish up my nose and stuck 13 sewing needles into my mouth followed by panic... in one day... as a 4 year old.
I can play the guitar in three different languages - Badly, No Bueno, and Nien.
My parents originally wanted to name me Rae Carruth Keenan. Can you imagine how awkward that would have been? eeee...
I have partied on a tour bus with members of The Startling Line, Bayside, and Four Year Strong. I drank half a bottle of Jameson and will forever be remembered as "That Guy."
In high school I went to a 311 show and lost my freshman baseball hat in an unfortunate crowd surfing incident. Months later I saw Nick Hexum wearing the hat on MTV.
I played hockey against Dave Shultz once in an alumni game. I laughed at him when he came out of the locker room and proceeded to punch he walls. He turned to me and told me that he was going to "fucking kill me on the ice." He took every opportunity to hit me. I am still afraid of him.
I have played at Mellon Arena, where the Pittsburgh Penguins play, in a state championship game. I am also partly responsible for the bench clearing brawl that 'marred' the whole experience.
I prevented a rape in a school yard once. I changed my mind.
I met Keith Primeau in Pittsburgh and he gave me a pep talk, although I like to think that it was the other way around.
I have gotten a ride home from the bar in the Tasty Kake truck, because I asked nicely.
When i was a boy, I spoke Finnish. Now i barely have command over the English language. I'm the Benjamin Button of literacy.
I may very well be lactose intolerant, but as they say - Can't nobody break my stride, and can't nobody hold me down.
Women get pregnant just by looking at me - most have twins.
I got arrested once for being awesome.
50 reasons hockey is the coolest game on ice.
Dear C. Borzelleca,
You have asked me to compile a list of the one hundred things that I love about hockey. I will give you fifty - and you will like it. If you're not Craig Borzelleca this may not interest you much. Your choice.
In no particular order here are 50 of my favorite things about hockey.
1) The Skatium. It has a smell that only a hockey player can appreciate. It smells like hard work.
2) Top shelf water bottle damage from the impossible angle.
3) Nike gloves, and Nike skates.
4) Bob Probert.
5) Organ music.
6) The only 3 cool people to ever come out of Russia. Ilya Kovulchuk, Alexander 'AO' Ovechkin, and Sergei Berezen. (Al Farr knows what im talking about.)
7) Mike Greir, Jarome Iginla, Donald Brashear, George Laraque, Jamaal Mayers and Anson Carter. What if they were all on the same team? They'd have some things in common. They would never run out of things to talk about.
8) Ringing one off the post. (Also on my list of least favorite things.)
9) I bet there's nothing better than cranking a slapper off of Jim Steinberg's dome, only to see the mask of his helmet fall off because you seared the screws in half. Fucker told me I should get him a new helmet.
10) Pond Hockey. Nothing beats an outdoor game.
11) Colby Cohen.
12) Zamboni's, and the fine men who drive them for a living. It's a passion, unquenched.
13) Gene Hart
14) Lauren Hart
15) Jim Jackson, and Coatsey.
16) Jagr doesn't play in the NHL anymore. Stay in the Czech Repub. Dasha lives over here now anyway.
17) V- Form skates.
18) Pro Beach Hockey, featuring the Wayne Gretzky of Roller Hockey - CJ Yoder, whom I have played against and won a game against.
19) Penn State Ice Hockey. Probably the most eclectic group of dudes ever put in one room with a penchant for physical play and drinking problems to boot. You should play on a line with Eamon Coyne someday. Kid knows how to work and has played against Joe Juneau.
20) Archbishop Carroll Ice Hockey, circa 1996-2000. We won a few games.
21) Penalty shots. (Glove throwing optional.)
22) HockeyMonkey.com will make you a pair of RBK Gloves in blue and white with the finnish flag sewn into the cuff for cheap. Beat it.
23) The Villanova Venom, Rough Riders, 4f club, 89'ers, White Owls, Red Team, and blue.
24) Lindros.
25) The crazy 8's line. Look it up if you don't remember it.
26) Making Gretzky bleed in nhl 94.
27) The time his name was spelled wrong on his jersey. It read GRETZYK.
28) Inside outing some chump and beating the goaltender five hole because he thinks you're going flashy.
29) Frank Ippolito.
30) Drinking forties with Craigy B, before pick up games.
31) Easton Bubble Shafts. One piece sticks are for the birds.
32) Hat tricks. 4 point games.
33) Cam Neely. "You guys want to kick my dog while you're here?"
34) The perfect tape job.
35) Palmer quitting 20 minutes into a try out. Palmer subsequently quitting on the Flyers and becoming a thrashers fan. Yikes.
36) Captaining.
37) Craig B's precision passing and superior slow motion skills.
38) NHL 09. (Pelican's Lahti, yo.)
39) Winning. It's everything. The fact that a tie is even an option is ridiculous.
40) Forehand, backhand, top shelf, put the saber away.
41) The Viking.
42) Al Farr, Sami-k, C. Borzelleca, Steve Keenan, and John Laurie. OG's.
43) Bill Parras. Best Goalie I ever seen, with a knack for getting wild. Once drank two rum and cokes at a bar and brought a six pack onto the bench (for a 'Professional' team) during a game because he was the backup that night. Simon's gave up 10 goals and Parras played the 3rd blacked out and didn't give up a goal. A referee once asked him if he was on coke because he was all over the place. Stands on his head. Likes funny stuff like changing goal tenders on the fly, during a 'pro' game. I seen it.
44) Three Bar. The most fun you can have without a goalie present.
45) Fighting. It's all about what you're willing to do for your team.
46) The Philadelphia Bulldogs.
47) Mole man.
48) Employee manager games. Some of the greatest beat downs ever handed down.
49) Two on One's. Tic tac toe or the give and go fuck yourself.
50) The Stanley Cup. There is no greater prize in all of sports. You can drink beer out of it. It sells itself.
You have asked me to compile a list of the one hundred things that I love about hockey. I will give you fifty - and you will like it. If you're not Craig Borzelleca this may not interest you much. Your choice.
In no particular order here are 50 of my favorite things about hockey.
1) The Skatium. It has a smell that only a hockey player can appreciate. It smells like hard work.
2) Top shelf water bottle damage from the impossible angle.
3) Nike gloves, and Nike skates.
4) Bob Probert.
5) Organ music.
6) The only 3 cool people to ever come out of Russia. Ilya Kovulchuk, Alexander 'AO' Ovechkin, and Sergei Berezen. (Al Farr knows what im talking about.)
7) Mike Greir, Jarome Iginla, Donald Brashear, George Laraque, Jamaal Mayers and Anson Carter. What if they were all on the same team? They'd have some things in common. They would never run out of things to talk about.
8) Ringing one off the post. (Also on my list of least favorite things.)
9) I bet there's nothing better than cranking a slapper off of Jim Steinberg's dome, only to see the mask of his helmet fall off because you seared the screws in half. Fucker told me I should get him a new helmet.
10) Pond Hockey. Nothing beats an outdoor game.
11) Colby Cohen.
12) Zamboni's, and the fine men who drive them for a living. It's a passion, unquenched.
13) Gene Hart
14) Lauren Hart
15) Jim Jackson, and Coatsey.
16) Jagr doesn't play in the NHL anymore. Stay in the Czech Repub. Dasha lives over here now anyway.
17) V- Form skates.
18) Pro Beach Hockey, featuring the Wayne Gretzky of Roller Hockey - CJ Yoder, whom I have played against and won a game against.
19) Penn State Ice Hockey. Probably the most eclectic group of dudes ever put in one room with a penchant for physical play and drinking problems to boot. You should play on a line with Eamon Coyne someday. Kid knows how to work and has played against Joe Juneau.
20) Archbishop Carroll Ice Hockey, circa 1996-2000. We won a few games.
21) Penalty shots. (Glove throwing optional.)
22) HockeyMonkey.com will make you a pair of RBK Gloves in blue and white with the finnish flag sewn into the cuff for cheap. Beat it.
23) The Villanova Venom, Rough Riders, 4f club, 89'ers, White Owls, Red Team, and blue.
24) Lindros.
25) The crazy 8's line. Look it up if you don't remember it.
26) Making Gretzky bleed in nhl 94.
27) The time his name was spelled wrong on his jersey. It read GRETZYK.
28) Inside outing some chump and beating the goaltender five hole because he thinks you're going flashy.
29) Frank Ippolito.
30) Drinking forties with Craigy B, before pick up games.
31) Easton Bubble Shafts. One piece sticks are for the birds.
32) Hat tricks. 4 point games.
33) Cam Neely. "You guys want to kick my dog while you're here?"
34) The perfect tape job.
35) Palmer quitting 20 minutes into a try out. Palmer subsequently quitting on the Flyers and becoming a thrashers fan. Yikes.
36) Captaining.
37) Craig B's precision passing and superior slow motion skills.
38) NHL 09. (Pelican's Lahti, yo.)
39) Winning. It's everything. The fact that a tie is even an option is ridiculous.
40) Forehand, backhand, top shelf, put the saber away.
41) The Viking.
42) Al Farr, Sami-k, C. Borzelleca, Steve Keenan, and John Laurie. OG's.
43) Bill Parras. Best Goalie I ever seen, with a knack for getting wild. Once drank two rum and cokes at a bar and brought a six pack onto the bench (for a 'Professional' team) during a game because he was the backup that night. Simon's gave up 10 goals and Parras played the 3rd blacked out and didn't give up a goal. A referee once asked him if he was on coke because he was all over the place. Stands on his head. Likes funny stuff like changing goal tenders on the fly, during a 'pro' game. I seen it.
44) Three Bar. The most fun you can have without a goalie present.
45) Fighting. It's all about what you're willing to do for your team.
46) The Philadelphia Bulldogs.
47) Mole man.
48) Employee manager games. Some of the greatest beat downs ever handed down.
49) Two on One's. Tic tac toe or the give and go fuck yourself.
50) The Stanley Cup. There is no greater prize in all of sports. You can drink beer out of it. It sells itself.
Facebook Etiquette
To whom it may concern,
It is down right alarming how much I now know about the happenings in your daily life. Status updates have become the new rape. You are forcing yourselves upon me and so many others. This needs to stop. No means no.
A line needs to be drawn, and it just so happens that I am the one holding the marker.
Below you will find examples of the most unnecessary status updates on facebook. The names have been changed, but not to protect the innocent, because you are not innocent. They have been changed in an effort to prevent slander and libel suits against myself. The crimes of the internet are as follows:
The Chronic Updater - You know this person. He or she updates up to 11 times in a twenty four hour period. Their gems usually look like this:
Clark Mustacho - is awake. 5:44am.
Thanks. I've been up all night worrying, now I can FINALLY get some sleep.
Clark Mustacho - is saying it's not the wise man who holds the pebble but the pebble which is wiser for being held. 6:20 am.
That honestly makes no sense. I could take multiple rips of sour deisel and still not get how that is news worthy or profound.
Clark Mustacho - is sitting in traffic drinking a grande mocha chi. 6:53 am.
Hope you don't spill any of it on your typing thumb. Can't wait to hear what you're doing next...
Clark Mustacho - is just got to work. ARRRRGGHHH! Does anyone else hate Mondays? 7:15 am.
Yes, Garfield also hates Mondays. But he is a cat, and a fictional one at that. Please stop. I beg you.
Clark Mustacho - is just going to leave the is there because i hate deleting it when i update my status! :) 9:20 am.
ugh...
Clark Mustacho - decided that the the is might be unnecessary. what do you think? 9:21 am.
.........
Clark Mustacho - is decided that the is might be unnecessary. what do you think? Typed 'the' twice. Oops, and now the is, is back. :-/ 9:22 am.
Couldn't have figured out that it was a typo on my own. Obliged.
Clark Mustacho - is loves tuna fish but can't stand filing paperwork. 11:02 am.
Really? That's pertinent information?
Clark Mustacho - is just bought a novelty shot glass online for $40 and is stressing about the money... 12:33 pm.
I can think of TWO items that you could probably get for less money. A bullet and a hand gun. It's just a thought.
Clark Mustacho - is only has 4 more days til the weekend. 2:49pm.
This is my all time favorite. As if some of us live on an alternate plane of existence where the days are put in a different order. The weekend consists of saturday and sunday. we're all pretty aware of that.
Clark Mustacho - is going grocery shopping. 4:19 pm.
Sweet, I'll meet you there.
Clark Mustacho - is might like chicken fingers more than nuggets! LOL!!!! Help!!!!! 5:01 pm.
Skip both. Get raw chicken and eat it that way. See what happens. Live on the edge.
Clark Mustacho - is standing in the checkout line, suffering some major ball sweat. 5:16pm.
Really? I mean, really? That's something that you needed to include all of facebook on? Put the phone down and go get yourself some Tussy cream.
Clark Mustacho - is just heard someone yell Christopher in the middle of the parking lot, but didn't look up because my name is Clark. 5:19 pm.
Killing this man is not an option. People will know something is wrong when they don't get constant updates. rats.
Clark Mustacho - is doing laundry. 8:00 pm.
I hate your updates. You're sucking my will to live.
Clark Mustacho - is not alone in this world of many because many of us become one. 10:43 pm.
Uh...huh...
Clark Mustacho - is finally in bed! LOL! Kewl. what a day day. 11:00 pm.
Wait for it...
Clark Mustacho - is finally in bed! LOL! Kewl. What a day. 11:01 pm.
Goodnight, Clark. See you tomorrow for another rousing day.
Its not just the Chronic Updater that gets my goat. There are so many more.
Look I'm a huge Chase Utley fan as well, but if you keep quoting him (and more often than not, mis-quoting him) in your status I'm going to go on a Spree. And I'm not talking about shopping. "World Champions...World fucking Champions!"
Can that be the last time it goes up on facebook? I'm begging you. While we're at it, lets talk about how no one from any of our beloved sports teams are reading your updates. You probably cut out the following:
Joe Regularly - is, great season birds! You are my heart and soul and I was the only one who actually thought you would get this far! Fly eagles fly, you'll get them next year, keep your heads up! 12:09 am.
I feel like you might just be wasting your time and the time of so many others who are trolling for a good update.
God and families probably don't have a place on facebook either. You're not going to sway me back into the church by quoting scripture in your headline. My grandmother used to say that it's impolite to talk about religion and politics in public. She also used to say i was the most handsome boy in school so both must be true.
Laura Germandogskid - is Uncle Richie is back in the hospital after accidentally getting angel hair pasta in his urethra! Say a prayer. 5:34 pm.
I don't think Uncle Richie wants that info out there. I also don't think it was an accident.
Announcing deaths on facebook is like sending a mass text message to everyone in your phone. And you probably don't do that, so why are you inundating us with such private thoughts? (Editors note: All credit goes to Jim SnowboardCompany, here.)
We would all like our loved ones to rest in peace. Facebook just might in fact be purgatory.
Aside from the status updates there are only a few things that really bother me. they are as follows:
I do not want to throw a snowball at your, nor do i want one thrown at me. I just don't get it.
Please do not send me a beer on facebook, but rather buy me one in person. I will more than likely buy you one, as well.
I do not want to join your mob. Under no circumstances will that happen.
I do not like Eagles waves and Phillies Chants. They are senseless.
If you send me something that says you have just been "Kidnapped" I am going to defriend you immediately. If i see you in real life, do not ask me about the defriending. i have reason's for my actions.
I don't want to compare what kind of car i really am with you. I am not a car. I am a person, God Damn it.
Last but certainly not least, I really hate when people take their time to post a note on facebook. Is there really anything worse?
It is down right alarming how much I now know about the happenings in your daily life. Status updates have become the new rape. You are forcing yourselves upon me and so many others. This needs to stop. No means no.
A line needs to be drawn, and it just so happens that I am the one holding the marker.
Below you will find examples of the most unnecessary status updates on facebook. The names have been changed, but not to protect the innocent, because you are not innocent. They have been changed in an effort to prevent slander and libel suits against myself. The crimes of the internet are as follows:
The Chronic Updater - You know this person. He or she updates up to 11 times in a twenty four hour period. Their gems usually look like this:
Clark Mustacho - is awake. 5:44am.
Thanks. I've been up all night worrying, now I can FINALLY get some sleep.
Clark Mustacho - is saying it's not the wise man who holds the pebble but the pebble which is wiser for being held. 6:20 am.
That honestly makes no sense. I could take multiple rips of sour deisel and still not get how that is news worthy or profound.
Clark Mustacho - is sitting in traffic drinking a grande mocha chi. 6:53 am.
Hope you don't spill any of it on your typing thumb. Can't wait to hear what you're doing next...
Clark Mustacho - is just got to work. ARRRRGGHHH! Does anyone else hate Mondays? 7:15 am.
Yes, Garfield also hates Mondays. But he is a cat, and a fictional one at that. Please stop. I beg you.
Clark Mustacho - is just going to leave the is there because i hate deleting it when i update my status! :) 9:20 am.
ugh...
Clark Mustacho - decided that the the is might be unnecessary. what do you think? 9:21 am.
.........
Clark Mustacho - is decided that the is might be unnecessary. what do you think? Typed 'the' twice. Oops, and now the is, is back. :-/ 9:22 am.
Couldn't have figured out that it was a typo on my own. Obliged.
Clark Mustacho - is loves tuna fish but can't stand filing paperwork. 11:02 am.
Really? That's pertinent information?
Clark Mustacho - is just bought a novelty shot glass online for $40 and is stressing about the money... 12:33 pm.
I can think of TWO items that you could probably get for less money. A bullet and a hand gun. It's just a thought.
Clark Mustacho - is only has 4 more days til the weekend. 2:49pm.
This is my all time favorite. As if some of us live on an alternate plane of existence where the days are put in a different order. The weekend consists of saturday and sunday. we're all pretty aware of that.
Clark Mustacho - is going grocery shopping. 4:19 pm.
Sweet, I'll meet you there.
Clark Mustacho - is might like chicken fingers more than nuggets! LOL!!!! Help!!!!! 5:01 pm.
Skip both. Get raw chicken and eat it that way. See what happens. Live on the edge.
Clark Mustacho - is standing in the checkout line, suffering some major ball sweat. 5:16pm.
Really? I mean, really? That's something that you needed to include all of facebook on? Put the phone down and go get yourself some Tussy cream.
Clark Mustacho - is just heard someone yell Christopher in the middle of the parking lot, but didn't look up because my name is Clark. 5:19 pm.
Killing this man is not an option. People will know something is wrong when they don't get constant updates. rats.
Clark Mustacho - is doing laundry. 8:00 pm.
I hate your updates. You're sucking my will to live.
Clark Mustacho - is not alone in this world of many because many of us become one. 10:43 pm.
Uh...huh...
Clark Mustacho - is finally in bed! LOL! Kewl. what a day day. 11:00 pm.
Wait for it...
Clark Mustacho - is finally in bed! LOL! Kewl. What a day. 11:01 pm.
Goodnight, Clark. See you tomorrow for another rousing day.
Its not just the Chronic Updater that gets my goat. There are so many more.
Look I'm a huge Chase Utley fan as well, but if you keep quoting him (and more often than not, mis-quoting him) in your status I'm going to go on a Spree. And I'm not talking about shopping. "World Champions...World fucking Champions!"
Can that be the last time it goes up on facebook? I'm begging you. While we're at it, lets talk about how no one from any of our beloved sports teams are reading your updates. You probably cut out the following:
Joe Regularly - is, great season birds! You are my heart and soul and I was the only one who actually thought you would get this far! Fly eagles fly, you'll get them next year, keep your heads up! 12:09 am.
I feel like you might just be wasting your time and the time of so many others who are trolling for a good update.
God and families probably don't have a place on facebook either. You're not going to sway me back into the church by quoting scripture in your headline. My grandmother used to say that it's impolite to talk about religion and politics in public. She also used to say i was the most handsome boy in school so both must be true.
Laura Germandogskid - is Uncle Richie is back in the hospital after accidentally getting angel hair pasta in his urethra! Say a prayer. 5:34 pm.
I don't think Uncle Richie wants that info out there. I also don't think it was an accident.
Announcing deaths on facebook is like sending a mass text message to everyone in your phone. And you probably don't do that, so why are you inundating us with such private thoughts? (Editors note: All credit goes to Jim SnowboardCompany, here.)
We would all like our loved ones to rest in peace. Facebook just might in fact be purgatory.
Aside from the status updates there are only a few things that really bother me. they are as follows:
I do not want to throw a snowball at your, nor do i want one thrown at me. I just don't get it.
Please do not send me a beer on facebook, but rather buy me one in person. I will more than likely buy you one, as well.
I do not want to join your mob. Under no circumstances will that happen.
I do not like Eagles waves and Phillies Chants. They are senseless.
If you send me something that says you have just been "Kidnapped" I am going to defriend you immediately. If i see you in real life, do not ask me about the defriending. i have reason's for my actions.
I don't want to compare what kind of car i really am with you. I am not a car. I am a person, God Damn it.
Last but certainly not least, I really hate when people take their time to post a note on facebook. Is there really anything worse?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
