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Monthly Archives: March 2008

With the warm weather upon us, it is time to start getting ready for the fun season. One of my favorite activities in getting ready for the summer is coming up with new and necessary catchphrases. We’re just getting underway, but while I had a little downtime at work (thanks, by the way, to an unnamed big-ass consulting firm for continuing to stretch out my busy season and keep me away from Triviotic by continuing to delay our season-ending package), I thought I would share one of the most crucial with you.

Last year, based on an especially inane conversation held by New York Mets broadcasters Gary Cohen and Keith Hernandez, we came up with the all-purpose awkward conversation changer: “So, nobody wears hats anymore.”

old school hats

To refresh your memories or re-introduce you to the concept, here’s a sample conversation:

Girl: Hey, remember last year’s Fourth of July party? That was a lot of fun!

Guy: Oh yeah, I remember that party. That’s where your best friend hooked up with (realizes it’s her recent ex-boyfriend who she is still not quite over, and that she was not aware of this incident)umm…uhhh…

Girl: (suddenly suspicious) Who? Who’d she hook up with?!

Guy: Um, no one, uh, he was some ugly dude…I think he had a mullet, or something…

Me: But seriously, nobody wears hats anymore. What’s up with that?

See? Problem solved!

But trotting out the same old lines isn’t going to work. Gotta make it great in 2008, yo.

So this year, in honor of our now-sober comrade Wang Diddy, one of the first people I met in our drinking group, the change-the-conversation phrase is now:

A cool,. refreshing drink

“Who wants mojitos?”

After two hours or so of drinking, he would suddenly, and without warning, ask this very important question. And then he would buy a round of mojitos. But even more than being a free drink, it was always a sure sign that the evening was much too far gone. Which is why he probably had to give up the drink.

But, five years later, I miss the spirit of the phrase. Even if I have no intention of buying a round of mojitos. (Maybe once in a while, after I get my nickel-an-hour raise.) Point is, in 2008, here’s how the awkward conversation goes down:

Guy: So, has anybody here ever had a threesome?

Girl: We sort of did once.

Guy: Really? You and your boyfriend?

Girl: Actually, uh, you were sort of there.

Guy: What?

Girl: Well, you passed out on the couch, right, and my boyfriend and I got into it, and you weren’t making any noise, you were just out cold. So we thought it would be fun to do it in front of you while you were passed out drooling.

Guy: That’s messed up! But how is that a threesome? Did you do anything to me?

Girl: Actually, it was my boyfriend’s idea. Well, more like he made it an official threesome.

Guy: Oh snap, my belt was buckled wrong the next morning! Please tell me he didn’t do that.

Girl: Uh, well…

Me:That’s crazy! So, who wants mojitos, y’all?

Aren’t you looking forward to outdoor drinking already?

Another surprisingly short day of work led me to peruse Gawker when I read this briefly horrifying story. In the midst of the media gossip site cracking on an unbelievably awkward sentence on page six, they failed to grasp the substance of the news. Apologies to all that know of this story.

Allegedly, Dr. Pepper is promising everyone in America a free soda if Axl Rose releases his long-awaited Guns ‘N Roses masterpiece, Chinese Democracy. You know, that album 18 years in the making that is has men all across America over the age of 25 that still believe Guns “N Roses is still a relevant band foaming at the mouth. Waiting. Hoping, Praying. Thinking that this will be the rock album to end all rock albums.

Now, I am a fan of the band’s work from back in the day. I was a young lad many moons ago when “Appetite For Destruction” came out. I had the cassette. I listen to all two and a half of their albums all the time. When I want to bring down the house at karaoke, I always go to “Mr. Brownstone”. Really, gentlemen, this band takes me back to my youth like no one else, just like many of you.

But I got tired of seeing so many of my friends genuinely believing that Chinese Democracy would actually come out and rock order would be restored to the universe. For me, the dream died when I saw Axl Rose come out with Buckethead at the MTV Video Music Awards a while ago. This led me to make one of the most regrettable decisions of my life.

At New Finnerty’s in Manhattan, I heard this hopeful chatter from my pals, and I stood up and said: “Chinese Democracy is never coming out! If Chinese Democracy comes out, I will marry Alice!”

Yeah, that Alice. She appears to have taken this threat seriously, and appears frighteningly willing to go along with this.

Needless to say, I now have beef with Dr. Pepper.

Unless it’s some sort of hoax, which I am pretty sure that it is. (Because I have no choice but to believe that. )

It’s like his daddy told him…

Of course, I had to go by Arrow for Triviotic, East Village Idiot’s brand new trivia night sensation that’s sweeping the nation. Well, not yet, but I’ll cross my fingers that it does well. Anyway, our team finished second to some band of chumps called “In Kwotes”.

(Yes, I am openly trash-talking after a loss. I mean, if you learn nothing else from the NBA, right? I kid!)

For winning second place, we won a copy of Heavy Duty Trucking Magazine. Yeah, contain your excitement. This is clearly not one of the titles they’d be rumormongering about on Gawker. Still, it’s a prize, and it’s free, so I took it home. Here’s an online taste of this fabulous second prize.


So, what did I learn from this publication while waiting for the L train? (They are still persisting with this “service on one track after midnight” thing, even though I never see any work being done on the other one.)

  • Debris from failed tires is really hurting the image of the trucking industry.
  • Jack Schenendorf says that ‘Failure to act would be catastrophic to this nation’, apparently about the infrastructure of our interstates. Excuse me if I am not quite as worked up about it.
  • Even conservative icon Paul Weyrich believes that raising taxes a little bit is necessary to keep the roads in shape.
  • Our Transportation Secretary is named Mary Peters.
  • These aggressive road salts are no joke. Corrosion needs to be stopped in its tracks.
  • Some of the readers think the issue of driver fatigue is not getting nearly enough coverage.

Fascinating, huh. I learned so much about trucking, I’m inclined to go over to, the online trucking social network, so I can chat about these issues. Okay, not really.

But as we tried to spin our second-place finish last week, “If you’re not trucking, you’re sucking!” I can’t wait for next week, when second-place will apparently be a copy of “Heating, Ventilation, and Air Conditioning Weekly” and a free subscription to their podcast, “Hot Air.” If you show up next Monday, play to win!

So, I went home this weekend and my dad asked me if I was doing anything to help Barack Obama.

“I’m not a Democrat,” I reminded my dad.

My mother quietly started making fun of him in the kitchen. “Here he goes again. Obama’s his guy. Won’t stop talking about him.” I didn’t think my mother was a Hillary supporter, but she sounded less than convinced. Probably because after 34 years of marriage, if my dad’s for it, she’s probably against it.

So what does this mean to you, the voters? I don’t know. But I have to admit, I’ve never seen my dad this excited about a presidential candidate. Ever. I mean, my dad never stopped making fun of Jesse Jackson, so it’s not about skin color with him.

(Sample rant: “What has Jesse Jackson ever run? I mean, run for mayor of Chicago first or something! Why should he be President? Because he’s a preacher?”)

Why am I throwing this out there, you ask?

Well, my dad’s endorsement is just about as pointless as all the other noise I’ve been hearing for the last month or so as the Democratic Party Immolation Festival paves the way for the McCain Administration.

Issues? Remember those? Yeah, the campaign was kind of boring back then when that was the focus. It’s much better now that the focus is now on to nitpick both sides, looking for those “gotcha” moments, embarrassing photos, quotes from duplicitous surrogates and cronies going “sorry, was that offensive?”, relentless parsing of statements, irrational and stupid name-calling from supporters on both sides, and all around wasting everyone time by inflaming passions and relegating thought to the back burner.

And that’s why Well Whiskey Friday Sr.’s endorsement matters so much. He’s as cynical and hardened as any voter, waiting for something to rouse him out of his (occasional) gout-induced slumber. Barack Obama has done just that. My dad looks skeptically at any black person who runs for office, maybe more so than your average white guy. (Let’s just say there was many an expletive thrown David Dinkins’ way.) So you know Barack’s trustworthy.

So now I’ve added my two cents of nonsense into this. I feel like I am now an active participant.

As for Mama Well Whiskey, I suspects she secretly likes McCain’s sarcasm and short temper. Forget the first black person, or the first woman in the White House. I think she’s truly looking for one of her own to finally get in the White House. Sarcastic cranks of the world, unite!

I had a friend openly admit the other night that s(h)e was willing to continue a nowheresville relationship. When pressed upon as to why, it was because of fear that they would actually no longer have sex. Under these circumstances, you would think the sex was some sort of mindblowing production that dazzled the senses, tickled the spine, and tingled the nerves.


This person just wanted to continue to have sex. No matter if it was any good, or even enjoyable.

At that point, I said, “Well, you’re just in it for the validation. If that’s all you want, that’s all you’re getting.” Then I went back to watching college basketball.

There was a time when I might have argued passionately to someone about the value of good sex over just sex. That if it isn’t any good, you’re just engaging in glorified Greco-Roman wrestling. Quality over quantity. But after meeting way too many human beings, I just don’t care anymore. People say that sex feels so good, but a lot of people don’t seem to care if it really feels good. It’s almost as if you’re in it to earn a stamp of approval, as if you’re collecting approval more than enjoying an experience in human connection:

“I’m attractive!”

“I’m funny!”

“I’m smart!”

“My workout is beginning to pay off!”

“Having weed available at my house was a good idea!”

“Someone loves this furniture!”

“I smell good!”

Thing is, I’ve always known this, kind of. But I used to fight the good fight for the actual physical pleasure of the act. But essentially crying uncle by taking refuge in Clemson-Villanova means that maybe I’m going to kind of acknowledge that maybe there isn’t anything wrong with that. Yeah, are some people settling for less than a four-orgasm, three-hour session that expands the consciousness in order to prove that their haircut was the right decision? Sure. But maybe that’s the reason you get a better haircut instead of going “hey, a little dandruff never killed anybody.”

So I can’t get mad. Doesn’t mean I’m ready to settle for less than a five-rope classic, but I’m not going to hate on anyone anymore for essentially cuddling, with gravy.

I vaguely do. I even remember six or seven people reading it. Well, work ended early tonight, so tonight, with nothing better to do, I will try to briefly relive the glory days before I return to tax-preparation hell. (Which will be over by the end of this week, honestly. And then I can go back to being roundly ignored by my public.) That’s why you’ll see quite a few posts tonight.

Well, if I don’t fall asleep after eating Chinese food…

Occasionally, I like to get my hate on in advance, often before seeing a bad idea. Oftentimes, I am wrong about the actual popularity of the product, and sometimes I can be wrong about the product itself.

And if you think that’s going to stop me, well, welcome, new reader!

Anyway, I was reading a New York Times article about film comedies that are coming out this spring and summer, and one in particular got my attention, and not in a good way. The one that made me upset? Made of Honor.

Made of Honor

The short, unbiased version is this: Some loser played by Patrick Dempsey is asked to be the maid of honor at his best friend’s wedding. Yes, his best friend is a woman, you evangelicals can stop hyperventilating. But it turns out that he’s in love with the bride and decides to try and win her heart.

Okay, before I rip this film I have not seen, a bit of disclosure: In my previous Internet incarnation, I wrote a fictional short story about this very subject. I don’t think they stole my idea or anything, so I’m mad for different reasons, and you’ll see why in a few paragraphs.

In my short story, the ‘man of honor’ (that was my term, I think) essentially spends the whole story trying to convince everyone that he is not really in love with the bride and they are just good friends. It’s probably not very good (I can’t bring myself to actually read it right now), but at least I went against the grain…a story about a guy trying to prove he’s not in love. (I think, in honor of New York’s fallen governor, he even bangs a hooker! Very tenderly.)

In this movie, as previously noted, the guy appears to be too much of a pussy to have made a move on this girl until she gets engaged. Of course, then he decides to try and become her lover. Aside from being trite and predictable, which chaps me creatively, this movie, if it proves popular, is basically going to cause nothing but trouble for people who have good friends of the opposite sex. And by people, I mean men.

As someone who has had dates wondering if I have something going on with one of my female buddies based on them punching me in the stomach, let me tell you, this is bad business. Especially if you happen to meet a woman who either has not had friends of the opposite sex, or if they happen to be safely gay. A movie like this is not going to help. It just gives more ammunition for the suspicious mind.

“But Well Whiskey,” you  say, “what about My Best Friend’s Wedding? That didn’t cause such behavior.” To which I say, of course it didn’t. For starters, it’s actually a quality movie with a quality star. Admittedly, I’m clearly no Patrick Dempsey fan, but in terms of likable star quality, he’s not Julia Roberts, whatever you think of either of them as actors. Second, the reason the movie works so well is that it isn’t all that predictable. At no point do you ever really think Julia Roberts was going to steal that dude from Cameron Diaz. The movie’s real tension comes from the fact that you’re essentially waiting for Julia Roberts to snap out of her delusion and grow up, and that’s a little smarter and more complex. Yeah, you heard me.

Are you expecting any such thing here? Are we really expecting Mighty McDreamy to strike out? Maybe if it wasn’t the director of “City Slickers 2” and the writers of “Surviving Christmas” and “Josie and the Pussycats”, I’d be more confident.

Even if he doesn’t ultimately get the girl, (Other likely-to-be-used cliche: he settles for the nice-girl fellow bridesmaid who loved him all along.) the fact that the man of honor and her best friend is secretly pining for the bride is a lame movie cliche to often gets applied to real life by idiots. And I hate to give idiots material. But Hollywood doesn’t. If this film’s a hit, a guy who helps a girl he’s not sleeping with is going to be looked at sideways with ridicule and suspicion. Well okay, even more than he is now. And while that’s sometimes the case, it’s not always the case.

But in the end, maybe it’s my fault for not getting my story published, for not catching the eye of movie execs, and for not getting my little writing experiment made into a movie. After all, evil reigns when good men do nothing, as Edmund Burke kind of said. Or maybe he said, “if you think a movie’s crap, don’t go see it and shut the hell up”.

Elliot Mess

Man, it’s too bad about Eliot Spitzer, getting busted for getting a little companionship while he was in DC talking to Congress and doing some business. I’m no high-powered politician (as far as you know), but having lots of money and an important job can get pretty damn stressful. Sometimes, a guy just needs to relax.

Yeah, so he’s already married. So what? It looks like dude’s been married a long time, and by now, no matter how much you love your wife, you have a pretty good idea of what she’ll go for in the sack and what she won’t. And sometimes, the really good stress relieving stuff is not stuff she wants to do. So you go to a pro, who’ll do the things that your wife won’t. Even if it’s not considered “safe”, you know you can throw in a an extra $1000 or so and she’ll gladly put her tongue there.

Pretty Woman

It’s just a shame with politicians that a man can’t just pay for a little ass play once in a while. Does the fact that a guy wants to give a pneumatic and nubile young stranger a reacharound make him any less able to deliver a balanced budget? I don’t think so. But this puritanical society of ours is just so obsessed with sex. So a guy likes to pay for some teabagging action from a top-heavy tranny. So what? What does that have to do with energy policy? Honestly!

Well, whatever your decision, Client Nine, I just want it out there that I’m a fellow traveler who understands (not because I am any sort of important politician–as far as you know) that sometimes blowing off steam means a blow job. Maybe someday this nation will grow up, leaving prostitutes and prostitution alone and get to focus on the real business of the American people. Until then, you walk with your head held high, there’s nothing to be ashamed over. Wiring a woman money for sex is probably as honest a relationship you will ever have, in politics or in love. And there’s nothing wrong with that, friend.

street hookers

As for me, well, I guess it’s back to driving my SUV down to the docks and seeking out a man named Slick. For now.

With Mike Huckabee finally accepting the reality of that wicked secular pagan god known as math, John McCain is now all but official as the Republican presidential nominee. That alone made it a good night for him, but the even better news for him is that the Democratic nomination race is looking like it’s going to continue for quite a while.

With Hillary Clinton winning Ohio and doing at least respectably in Texas, she can now justifiably continue battling for the nomination all the way to the end, no matter the outcome in Texas (undecided as of right now). This means whoever is the Democratic nominee at the end, whether it’s decided by the voters, by the superdelegates, or by rock-paper-scissors (refereed by Jimmy Carter), will probably be beat up a little bit.

Not only will both candidates have to put their resources into battling each other, they’ll be providing fodder for Republican talking points along the way. Meanwhile, McCain will have time to get his conservative base voters the message, “Seriously, you know you’re voting for me. Stop fronting.” So despite all of the troubles of the Republican Party and all the talk of ideological crack-ups, the war, and the recession, they are positioned pretty well to take back the White House right now. They managed to select the one guy they had that was actually electable, and the Democrats look like they’re going to immolate themselves all they way to the convention.

Of course, all this could change at the drop of a hat, so you never know. But as of right now, John McCain is actually sitting quite pretty. There is a country for old Presidents. Well, as long as he doesn’t turn senile at some point during the State of the Union and start rambling on about meeting his father in a dream.

Don’t ask why, but the other night, I was at the bar when a young lady, discussing perhaps an act they were putting on, or wishing that such convenient equipment existed, said: “You know, I wish I had a disposable penis.”

Of course, everyone looked up and looked around, not sure how to deal with this unusual request.

Then I looked up and said, “But in the end, aren’t we all just disposable penises?”

Feel free to discuss.