- Bush Suggests Honor Killing of Keith Olbermann
- Police: The Corpse We Found Ended Up Being A Nobody
- Adult Film Industry Can't Ignore "Offshore Drilling" Cliches Any Longer
- Jack Nicholson eyes role of joker in possible Batman Sequel
- Marines lose confidence in Obama's ability to recognize 2-3 Zone
- Bernanke announces interest rate cut on his Boca Raton Rental Property
- Craigslist Ad for Roomate Results in Nothing but Trouble.
- Milwaukee Brewers Fan out 4-6 weeks with bruised Ass Hole
- McCain opens wide lead in Senior Presidential Competition
- Pentagon First Female Four-star General Nominee 'Not Necessarily Lesbo'
- Baby Seal Hunter Finds Dating Increasingly Difficult
- Kobe Bryant Agent Pulls AKC Spot Just Prior to Airtime
- Trans Fat Producers Fall On Tough Times
- 33% of U.S. Strategic Oil Reserve Found to be Simple Molasses
- Obama Finally Reaches Climax; Gives Pearl Necklace to Wife Michelle
- Clinton claims victory in South Dakota; Promptly Picks Obama as VP
- American Airlines to Charge Fee For "All Four Limbs
- Lesbian Activists to Obama Girl: "Eat Shit.... Die"
- The Definitive Phil Hartman Tribute: 10 Years Gone
Friday, May 30, 2008
From 1986 to 1993 on Saturday Night Live, Phil Hartman delivered pitch-perfect, photo quality impersonations of Bill Clinton, Frank Sinatra, Ed McMahon, Ronald Reagan, Lee Iacocca, Phil Donahue, Ted Kennedy, Charlton Heston, Michael Eisner, Lieutenant Worf, Liberace, Peter Graves, Roger Ebert, Michael Caine, Oral Roberts, Jim Bakker, Johnny Cash, Andy Griffith, Jimmy Swaggart, Hugh Hefner, Wilford Brimley, G. Gordon Liddy, and Barbara Bush. He was also skilled at playing Norman Rockwell characters: flat, emotionless everymans completely devoid of personality. Often he'd convey the enormity of his subject's demeanor with simple mannerisms and oblique stares.
SNL: Phil Hartman as "The Anal Retentive Chef"
SNL: Phil Hartman as "Donohue"
Hartman was married three times, and his marriages didn't last long. "He would disappear emotionally," says Lisa Strain, wife number two. "Phil's body would be there, but he'd be in his own world. That passivity made you crazy. And when I'd protest, he'd say, 'you're getting in the way of my career, and this is who I am and what it's going to be like.'"
SNL: "Colon Blow" Commercial
Phil was the perfect secondary or cameo film character possessing the unique ability to draw our eyes to his during his empty stares and niche monolouges that left us often wondering who the real Phil Hartman was.
Phil on IMDB
So I married an Axe Murderer: Phil Hartman as "Alcatraz Tour Guide"
The Simpsons: Troy McClure "Smoking Partner"
Out of respect, the writers on The Simpsons retired Hartman's characters, rather than finding another voice actor. The episode "Bart the Mother" marked his final appearance on the show, and was dedicated to him. On audio commentary tracks accompanying The Simpsons DVD releases, the appearance of a Hartman character uniformly evokes heartfelt praise from the show's production staff. A number of major Simpsons players talk at length about their experience with Hartman as a rare combination of professionalism, effortless comedic facility, friendliness, and decency. Bill Oakley and Josh Weinstein stated that they used Hartman as much as they possibly could in their seasons, as they were such big fans of him. It was noted by The Simpsons creator Matt Groening, that his voice acting could produce "the maximum amount of humor" out of any line he was given. Before his death, Hartman had expressed an interest in making a live action film about Troy McClure, with many of The Simpsons production staff stating that they would have loved to help create it.
The Simpsons: Troy McClure "Pulled Over"
The Marriage and Murder of Phil Hartman:
Brynn became pregnant on their third date, and she and Phil got married. Phil supposed he was a little "obligated," to put it one way, but he settled into family life with all the gentle complacence of one of his mild-mannered characterizations. They had two children, Sean and Birgen.
Brynn was possessive of Phil, insanely jealous of his success, and exhibited hostility toward other women. She despised his fan mail, and she especially hated Phil's ex-wife. At times she made comments to Hartman's SNL co-star Jan Hooks that maybe Hooks and Phil were married "on some other level". Brynn had trouble controlling her anger, and often she tried to get other people's attention by losing her temper. The couple had been separated more than once, and at times Phil had to physically restrain her. She battled drugs and alcohol for much of her adult life, and she spent five months in a Malibu rehabilitation center for cocaine abuse. Phil began to confide in others that he wanted out of their ten-year marriage - but he wouldn't just give her a divorce. He made it clear that if she started using drugs again, he'd end the relationship.The couple's arguments followed a familiar pattern: she'd fly off the wall to get his attention, and he'd respond by falling asleep.
On May 28th, 1998, Brynn returned home from a night out drinking. Sometime before 3:00 a.m, she shot Phil execution-style three times as he lay under the covers: twice in the head, and once in the chest. She used the revolver he'd given to her as a gift. Sean, who'd been upstairs, thought he'd heard the slamming of a door.
Under the influence of cocaine, alcohol and Zoloft, Brynn left the kids alone and drove to the home of Ron Douglas, a longtime friend. She confessed what she'd done, but she was nearly incoherent and Douglas didn't believe her. He thought she was drunk. After she passed out, he searched her purse. It was only after finding a handgun that he understood. He placed it in a plastic bag, and suggested he follow her back to the Hartman residence in a separate car.
Brynn locked herself in the master bedroom with Phil. Douglas was allowed a brief look at the body, before going into the hallway and dialing 911.
Police dispatcher: Emergency operator 614.
Ron Douglas: Yeah, hi, this is 5065 Encino Blvd. And, um, I was called over to the residence. I think there's been a shooting here.
Dispatcher: OK, do you see a victim?
Dispatcher: OK, hold on for the paramedics, OK? One moment.
Dispatcher: I want you to stay on the line.
Fire dispatcher: Fire Department emergency operator, how may I help you?
Douglas: Yeah, hi, there's been a shooting at 5065 Encino Blvd.
Fire dispatcher: How many people are shot?
Douglas: Just one, and um ...
Fire dispatcher: Do you know what part of the body?
Douglas: I think around the head and the neck. I just got here.
Fire dispatcher: The person who shot him, is he still around?
Douglas: Yeah, she's his wife.
Fire dispatcher: (unintelligible) the wife shot him and they're both there?
Fire dispatcher: Is she hurt at all?
Douglas: I'm not sure. I'm trying to calm her down. OK?
Police dispatcher: Hello, sir?
Dispatcher: Did, uh, was this on purpose or was this an accident or what sir? Do you know what happened?
Douglas: I have no idea. ... She was drunk. She said she killed her husband and I didn't believe her.
Dispatcher: OK, are they both there right now?
Douglas: You're right. Now, can you trace this address because I'm not sure?
Dispatcher: All right, where's the weapon now?
Douglas: It's in my hand because, um, she brought it to my house.
Dispatcher: What's your name sir?
Douglas: My name's Ron, Ron Douglas.
Dispatcher: All right sir, we're going to get the officers on the way.
When authorities arrived, the front door of the Hartman house was ajar. They escorted Douglas outside right away. They found Sean Hartman, age 9, and removed him as well. When police returned to remove Birgen, age 6, they heard a single gunshot from the master bedroom.
There were no signs of a struggle. Hartman was found wearing shorts and a T-shirt, lying sideways on the bed. His wife lay next to him with a gunshot wound to her head. She'd obtained a second revolver.
More Phil Hartman Video Links:
The Simpsons: Phil as "Lionel Hutz"
News Radio: "Quiting Smoking"
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Obama Practices Looking-Off-Into-Future PoseMay 28, 2008 | Issue 44•22
CHICAGO—As the 2008 presidential election draws closer, Democrat Barack Obama has reportedly been working tirelessly with his top political strategists to perfect his looking-off-into-the-future pose, which many believe is vital to the success of the Illinois senator's campaign.
When performed correctly, the pose involves Obama standing upright with his back arched and his chest thrust out, his shoulders positioned 1.3 feet apart and opened slightly at a 14-degree angle, and his eyes transfixed on a predetermined point between 500 and 600 yards away. Advisers say this creates the illusion that Obama is looking forward to a bright future, while the downturned corners of his lips indicate that he acknowledges the problems of the present.
"The senator spends six hours a day gazing resolutely off into the distance," said chief political strategist David Axelrod, who regularly analyzes video of the pose with Obama, pinpoints areas that need improvement, and makes necessary tweaks.
"It is critical to get every detail right," Axelrod continued. "If he looks up an inch too high, he appears aloof or confused. If he looks down too low, it appears that he is distracted by something in the back of the auditorium. If the curvature of his upper lip is not at the exact 0.87-centimeter radius, it reads that he does not care about preserving the environment for future generations."
The pose also requires Obama to arch his eyebrows at 32-degree angles, open his mouth to prevent the misconception that he is frowning about the future, and briefly flare his nostrils to convey faith in the nation's children.
He must then clench his jaw with sufficient force to express strength and decisiveness—if he uses too much force, Axelrod said, his supraorbital forehead vein becomes visible and makes it appear as though he is in physical pain.
"Every millimeter of that head vein costs him 150,000 votes," Axelrod said.
To complete the pose, Obama must then open his eyes at an aperture of 1.43 centimeters, tilt his chin slightly upward, and rotate his head 37 degrees to the left. His advisers stressed that he must always look to the left.
"When you look to the future, you look to the left," Axelrod said. "Looking to the right is and I-am-sorry-for-the-mistakes-I've-made-in-the-past-but-promise-to-work-my-hardest-for-this-great-nation-from-now-on pose. It's too early for that."
The biggest obstacle Obama has had to overcome in recent weeks is his proclivity to squint while looking toward the future, which aides say alienates voters.
"We've worked on the squinting," said Obama adviser Sam Hosking, who claimed it was a "death knell" for a candidate to appear to be struggling to see the nation's future. "It took a lot of work, but we were able to turn the squint into a solemn blink."
"The blink humanizes him," Hosking added. "But you have to be careful. Two blinks and people will start to question if he's a man of his word."
Obama has also worked on increasing the speed with which he can strike the pose. Advisers say that it is critical for him to be able to quickly and seamlessly transition into the looking-off-into-the-future pose at any moment, especially during applause breaks in his speeches, while being photographed from low angles, and whenever there is a large American flag waving gently behind him.
Obama's advisers have recently given him clearance to nod resolutely upon completing the looking-off-into-the-future pose.
"A nod is acceptable," Hosking said. "The American people respond well to nods."
Although Obama's pose has been modified and fine-tuned over the course of the campaign, some pundits claim that Obama's original looking-off-into-the-future pose was the strongest and most believable.
"I fell in love with the chin-three-inches-from-the-neck Barack Obama," said longtime Obama supporter and MoveOn.org employee Peter Koechley. "I just don't know if a chin-four-inches-from-the-neck or, even worse, a chin-two-inches-from-the-neck Obama is the same Obama that first inspired me."
As soon as Obama masters his looking-off-into-the-future pose, aides say he will begin honing his looking-straight-down-and-gripping-the-lectern-while-taking-a-deep-breath-to- communicate-both-his-rise-from-humble-roots-and-his-dedication-to-upholding- the-honor-and-responsibility-of-the-presidency-while-still-fully-understanding- the-historical-significance-of-the-moment pose.
Ok crazies you can go to Craigs List (click here) anytime to see updated
posts. Here is a taste of the current menu, Delicious,
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22 Apr 2008 - chi - Rant: Person with a wooden leg that lives above me.
13 Apr 2008 - prv - To the stupid bitches at Walmart that assumed I stole their phone
04 Apr 2008 - wdc - Want your ex-boyfriend back? [Unfortunately] I can help.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
RIP: DotComedy.comAnother site bites the dust - The Comedy Hub Says farewell and its about time for the John Edwards of internet comedy to step aside. But our condolences do include the unauthorized replication of their Top Videos before they dissapear forever into the Internationally recognized graveyard of Mom and Pop's Gargage where these sites are built, managed, and given up on all in lieu of working at Applebees. Here is the sign off from the bums themselves:
That's right folks, we're closing up shop.
Please take advantage of our going out of business comedy video clearance. You can still contact our vloggers through their Myspace and e-mail. Now pardon me while I cash in my severance package and head to Mexico on my shiny new severance scooter.
I leave you with Col. Potter's parting words in the last episode of M*A*S*H*:
"Well, boys, it would be hard to call what we've been through fun, but I'm sure glad we went through it together. You always managed to give me a good laugh right when I needed it."
- Warning: NSFW! A song about what every man wishes he could do... . Recorded live and uncensored in Las Vegas. A DotComedy exclusive.
- Watch Video
This Is Why I'm Hot
w/ vocals by Daniel Stessen
- Scantily clad women, a jacuzzi & a snow suit... that guy is SO hot!
- Watch Video
Google Maps Extreme Street View
Sean Crespo Will Teach You Vlogging
- Exclusive! Leaked footage of Google's last plans to invade your privacy
- Watch Video
Oprah Drunk Dialing
Harvard Sailing Team
- What happens when the Queen of daytime has had too much to drink?
- Watch Video
Can't Tell Me Nothin'
- Zach Galifianakis's version of Kanye West's "Can't Tell Me Nothin." Directed by Michael Blieden.
- Watch Video
Alec Baldwin iPhone Translator
Celebrity Vlog With Phillip Wilburn
- Saving friendships and family relations... one feature at a time.
- Watch Video
Mimi And Flo are...
Funny In Bed
- Cara kicks it with Mimi & Flo of the Mimi and Flo Show. The ladies have a special message and musical tribute to Britney Spears.
- Watch Video
- Double Dragon, 18 Years Later
- Watch Video
I.M.S. (Irritable Male Syndrome)
Your B.F.F. Sherry Vlog
- Men can be crazy bitches.
- Watch Video
Kona and Hilo
- Two live-action, precocious felines discuss God, ice-fishing and Thomas Hayden Church.
- Watch Video
Girls Gone Wild With Bad Milk
Unemployed With Iliza
- Warning: If you have a weak stomach this is not for you.
- Watch Video
I'm Only A Man Vlog
- A drunken apology from Liz Winstead and more.
- Watch Video
Viewer-Made by Mimi and Flo
- A parody/homage to R Kelly and Usher's "Same Girl".
- Watch Video
Monday, May 26, 2008
"I order the club sandwich all the time, but I’m not even a member, man. I don’t know how I get away with it!"02
"Mr. Pibb is a replica of Dr Pepper, but it’s a bullshit replica, ’cause the dude didn’t even get his degree."03
"It takes forever to cook a baked potato in a conventional oven. Sometimes I’ll just throw one in there even if I don’t want one. By the time it’s done, who knows?"04
"I saw a commercial on late night TV. It said, ’Forget everything you know about slipcovers.’ So I did, and it was a load off my mind. Then the commercial tried to sell me slipcovers, and I didn’t know what the hell they were."05
"When someone hands you a flyer, it’s like they’re saying: ’Here, you throw this away.’"06
"I like rice. Rice is great if you’re hungry and want 2,000 of something."
"I can’t get into flossing, I can’t. People who smoke say, ’You don’t know how hard it is to stop smoking.’ Yes I do. It’s as hard as it is to start flossing. ’You seem jittery.’ Yeah, I’m about to floss."
"I got into and argument with a girlfriend inside of a tent. That’s a bad place for an argument, because I tried to walk out and slam the flap. How are you supposed to express your anger in this situation? Zipper it up real quick?"
"An escalator can never break. It can only become stairs. You would never see an ’Escalator temporarily out of order’ sign, just ’Escalator temporarily stairs. Sorry for the convenience.’"
"I would imagine if you understood Morse code, a tap dancer would drive you crazy."
"...And then at the end of the letter I like to write PS - This is what part of the alphabet would look like if Q and R were eliminated."
"My roommate says, ’I’m going to take a shower and shave, does anyone need to use the bathroom?’ It’s like some weird quiz where he reveals the answer first."
"I think Bigfoot is blurry. That’s the problem. There’s a large out-of-focus monster roaming the countryside."
I include both spellings of affect/effect because I will never learn the correct usage. One of the prime motivators for the Comedy Hub Blog is Tucker Max. Tucker is not for everyone but everyone could use a little bit of Tucker in their personality every once in a while. If you don't know Mr. Max here is a link list to his blog and one story at the end to get you started:
The Tucker Max Stories
These are the stories that made me famous. They are all true, they are all about my real life, and I wrote all of them. If you are new to The Tucker Max Stories, start with The Famous Sushi Pants Story, and then go down the list from there. They are roughly in order from best to worst.
I used to think that Red Bull was the most destructive invention of the past 50 years. I was wrong. Red Bull has been usurped by the portable alcohol breathalyzer. The same device that cops have been using for 10 years to conduct field sobriety tests is now offered by the Sharper Image for $99. It is the size and shape of a small cell phone with a clear round tube sticking up from the top, almost like an antenna. One blows into the tube, and a few seconds later a Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) reading is given. Though not as accurate as a blood test, they are accurate to within .01, which is good enough for my purposes.
I was living in Boca Raton, Florida, when I bought one to take out with me on a Saturday night. This is the story:
9:00pm: Arrive at the restaurant. I am the first one of the group there, even though our reservations are for 9pm. The restaurant is crowded full of the abysmal type of people that infest South Florida. Already depressed, I order a vodka and club soda.
9:08: No one else has arrived. I order another vodka and club. I consider checking my BAC, but doubt that it would show anything thus far.
9:10: Two 30+ year-old Jewish women on my left keep eyeing me. Both have fake breasts. One has exceptionally large fake breasts. They are beckoning me from her shirt. She is not highly attractive. I begin drinking faster.
9:15: No one else has arrived. I order my third vodka and club. While I wait for it, I try out my portable breathalyzer. I blow a .02. This is the greatest invention ever made. I am giddy. I show the breathalyzer to the fake-breasted Jewish women next to me. We begin a conversation.
9:16: They both have thick Long Island accents. I summon the bartender over and change my order to a tall double vodka on the rocks, splash of club.
9:23: Four people at the bar have tried my breathalyzer, both of the fake-breasted women included. Everyone wants to know their BAC. I am the center of attention. I am happy.
9:25: The first member of my group arrives. I show him the breathalyzer. He is enthralled. He buys a round. The fake-breasted women loudly inform us they would like drinks. My friend buys them drinks. I order a double vodka on the rocks. No splash.
9:29: I blow again, a .04. I've been drinking for half an hour, and am on my forth drink. My wheels of intellect begin grinding through the vodka haze that is already forming...four drinks...a .04...that must mean that each drink only adds .01 to my BAC. I begin to think that I can drink a lot. I tell one of the fake-breasted women that she is very interesting.
9:38: Six of the eight are here. I lie to the hostesses, and they seat our incomplete party. Everyone is talking about my breathalyzer. I am the focus of adulation. I forgive everyone for sucking so bad. I think this night may go OK after all.
9:40: I blow again, a .05. This confuses me. I haven't ordered another drink since I blew a .04. I have a vague memory from a long distant D.A.R.E. class about the rate of alcohol absorption being constant, regardless of speed of drinking. This memory quickly fades when two hot girls at the table next to me inquire about my portable breathalyzer.
9:42: Hot girl #2 is into me. She begins telling me a story about how she got pulled over once for DUI, and had to blow into something like this, and the cop let her off. She tells me that she always wanted to be a cop, but couldn't pass the entrance exam to the police academy, even though she took it twice. I tell her that she must be really smart. She stops paying attention to me. Hot girl #2 is apparently smart enough to detect thinly veiled sarcasm.
10:04: The novelty of the portable breathalyzer has passed. The table has moved on. I am no longer the center of attention. I am not happy with my table.
10:06: The people at my table begin talking about energy healing. Everyone is mesmerized by a girl who took a class in it. I tell them that energy healing is a worthless and solipsistic pseudo-science. They think energy healing is a real science because the instructor of the girl's class went to Harvard. One guy calls it a "legitimate, certifiable science," while making air quotes with his fingers. I tell them that they are all (while imitating his air quotes) "legitimate, certifiable idiots" because they believe in horse-shit like energy healing. Two girls call me close-minded. I tell them that they are so open-minded that their brains leaked out. They all glare at me with disapproval. I hate everyone at my table.
10:08: I have completely tuned out their inane conversation. I am slamming down straight vodka as fast as the low-rent wanna-be Ethan Hawke waiter can bring it. I blow every three minutes, watching my BAC slowly creep up.
10:17: .08. I am no longer legally eligible to drive in the state of Florida. I announce this fact to no one in particular.
10:27: I decide that I am going to see how drunk I can get and still be functional. I know that .35 BAC kills most people. I think that .20 is a good goal.
10:28: I get up, saying nothing to the seven sophists at my table, and go back to the bar. I don't leave money for my drinks.
10:29: The fake-breasted women are still at the bar. They want drinks. Upset that I'm only at .09 after a good hour and a half of aggressive drinking, I decide to do a round of shots. I let the women pick the shots, with the explicit instruction that it cannot be whiskey, cannot smell like whiskey, cannot even resemble whiskey.
10:30: The shots arrive. Tequila. Judging by the bill, very good tequila. It is smooth. We order another round.
11:14: I blow a .15. I have passed a milestone. Only .05 away from my goal. My pride swells. I show everyone my .15. The bar crowd is impressed. I am their idol. Someone buys me a shot.
11:28: I feel queasy. I realize that I didn't even stick around the table for dinner. Not wanting to either go back to my table or eat at the bar, I walk across the street to a sushi restaurant.
11:29: There is a lingerie party at the sushi restaurant. Half of the people are in some form of pajamas or other bedtime clothing. Everyone here sucks as bad as the last place, except they are in their underwear.
11:30: I am confused. I only want sushi. I stand at the door, mesmerized by the shifting masses of near nakedness. A mildly attractive girl who apparently works at the restaurant wants me to put on lingerie. I tell her I don't have any. I just want some sushi. She says I should at least take off my pants. I ask her if this will get me sushi. She says it will. I take off my pants.
11:30: I pause while unzipping my pants, wondering what type of underwear, if any, I have on. I consider not taking my pants off. I realize that getting food quickly is more crucial than my dignity.
11:31: I take off my pants. I have on pink and white striped Gap boxers. They are too tight. I make sure my package is tucked in. People watch me do this.
11:32: I order sushi by pointing at the pictures and grunting.
11:33: I show a guy at the sushi bar my breathalyzer. He is impressed. He shows it to everyone. People begin congregating around me. I am a star again.
11:41: I blow a .17. I tell everyone my goal. Someone orders me a shot.
11:42: I do the shot. Something that has a familiar taste, makes me feel warm inside. I ask what it is. "Cognac and Alize." There is a God, and he hates me.
11:47: My sushi arrives. I slosh soy sauce over it and shovel it into my mouth as quickly as my hands will get it there.
11:49: My sushi is finished. No one is paying attention to my table manners, as everyone is crowded around the breathalyzer, waiting their turn to find out their BAC.
12:18: I blow a .20. I AM A GOD. The sushi bar erupts. Men are applauding me. Girls are pining for me. Everyone wants to talk to me. I forgive them their flaws, as they are all paying attention to me.
12:31: My deity status is lost. Someone blows a .22. This is a challenge to my manhood. I order a depth charge with a Bacardi 151 shot. And a beer back. The crowd is in awe.
12:33: I finish the depth charge, and the beer. I talk shit to my challenger, "Who runs this bar now, BITCH??" The crowd erupts. Momentum has swung back in my direction. I am Maximus. I am winning the crowd. I will rule the sushi bar.
12:36: I take a better look at my challenger. He is a tall, broad-shouldered, heavily muscular man. His natural facial expression is not one of happiness. He quietly watches me, then orders a shot, throws it back without noticeable effect, and smiles at me. I consider that talking shit to him was a bad idea. At this point I also realize that my stomach is very upset with me. I ignore it. I still have a public that needs to adore me.
12:54: I blow a .22. Only mild cheers this time. Everyone is waiting for the challenger to blow.
12:56: He blows a .24. He smiles condescendingly at me. I order two more shots.
12:59: I do the first shot. It doesn't go down well. I decide to take a short break from drinking. The crowd is not impressed.
1:10: Reality sets in. I am going to vomit. A LOT. I try to discreetly make it outside.
1:11: I knock a girl over as I sprint through the door.
1:11: I trip over a bush, stumble into it, and begin throwing up. Out of my mouth. And nose. It is not pleasant.
1:14: I can't figure out why my legs hurt so much. I look down at them in between heaves. I have no pants on. Thorns and branches are embedded in my shins.
1:18: The vomiting is over. I am now trying to stop the bleeding. A bright light hits my eyes. I am not happy. I tell the owner to "get that fucking light out of my face." The owner of the light identifies himself as an officer of the law. I apologize to the officer, and ask him what the problem is. A long pause ensues. The light is still in my eyes. "Son, where are your pants?" Remembering past encounters with the law, and realizing there is no one around to bail me out of the county lock-up, I summon every bit of adrenaline in my body to sober myself up. I apologize again, and explain to the officer that my pants are in the restaurant that is less than 50 feet away, and that I came outside to share my sushi with the bush. He doesn't laugh. Another long pause. "You're not driving tonight are you?", "Oh, NO, NO, NO...no sir, I don't even have a valid driver's license."
1:20: He tells me to go back inside, put on my pants, and call a cab.
1:21: I go back into the sushi restaurant. A few people stare at me in a peculiar manner. I look down, and then tuck my partially exposed sack back into my boxers. I don't know what to do about my bleeding legs. I look around for my pants.
1:24: I can't find my pants. My breathalyzer is in clear sight. I blow. A .23. Someone informs me that my challenger just blew a .26. They add that he hasn't thrown up yet. I tell them to "kiss my fucking ass." My last clear memory.
8:15am: I wake up. I don't know where I am. It is very hot. I am sweating horribly. It smells like rotting flesh.
8:16: I am in my car. With the windows up. The sun is beating down directly on me. It is at least 125 degrees in my car. I open the door and try to get out, but instead I fall onto the pavement. The scabs that cover my legs tear and reopen as I move. My penis falls out of my pink Gap boxers and lands, along with the rest of me, in a dirty puddle on the asphalt.
8:19: The fetid standing water finally propels me into full consciousness. I can't find my pants. Or cell phone. Or wallet. But I do have my breathalyzer. I blow. A .09. I am still not eligible to drive in the state of Florida.
8:22: I drive home anyway.
Let me be clear about this night: it was in my top 5 drunkest nights ever. I was completely shit-housed. I threw up multiple times, some of them through my nose. JESUS CHRIST, I WOKE UP blowing a .09. That's fucking ridiculous. That thing is awful. All you do is drink in order to increase your BAC. That device is the devil dressed in a transistor.
My advice to you: avoid it at all costs.
SACRAMENTO - In a recent Gallup poll it was discovered that 18 out of every 20 United States citizens did not know that Memorial Day was any different than Labor Day.
"Everything you do is exactly the same," said Josh Hunt, owner of Josh's Restaurant. "It's hard to keep track of the different Mondays off." His sister Vicki concurred. Cackling, she said, "I just know that by Tuesday, I need to be hung out to dry."
Traditionally, Memorial Day has been a day to place flowers and flags on the headstones of dead military personnel. But it is now primarily used as an extra day to drive, as Vicki put it, "drunker than shit," and also as a day, as Josh put it, "to drink beer, eat beef and get laid by someone who is hopefully wearing a bikini."
Even school children are not aware of the significance of Memorial Day. A sixth grader at Western Hill Elementary School believed it to be a holiday that can be swapped out for Labor Day.
Said Lindsey, "I think it switches every year because I know that last year I was supposed to go to my friend Kimberly's step-dad's houseboat on Labor Day, but this year I'm going on Memorial Day. He always drinks a lot on Memorial-Labor Day, and he’s also really poor."
When told that they were completely different holidays celebrating two completely separate things, Lindsey simply said, "I don’t get it."
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008