well, it's all i can stand.
your unspoken demand for a mailbag has not gone unheard. or, hasn't not gone unheard. what i'm saying is that while it hasn't been heard, per se, on account of it's unspoken nature, it also has not been unheard, even though there is nothing to hear. i am certain you understand what i'm trying to convey.
you will not be forced to continue your english-style lives of quiet desperation (please see: Floyd, Pink) for even another minute. (note - some of these may be edited for length and/or content. and sometimes to make them better. others may be completely fabricated.)
Mailbag Update:
"hold the motherfucking phone, Hot Water Cornbread! david duchovny's show is NOT overrated. it's barely rated outside your immediate circle. and we don't overrate shit. and he and tea leoni got back together. she was boning billy bob thornton. just fyi. also, can we start calling joe 'sausage hand?' not in the blog, but in life. i think that would be grand. and if mike stays in mexico when we go for my sister's wedding, it's going to be all your fault." - monica
a couple of things here, monica. number one - Hot Water Cornbread does not recognize your pro-duchovny arguments as valid. you cannot argue points made in a haiku with more than 17 syllables of your own. number two - the fact that he is going back to tea leoni AFTER she boned bbt is worse than anything i said about him in the xmas haiku special. clearly her vag should be lopped off, put on trial as a witch, and burned at the stake. number three - to my knowledge, you are the only one NOT calling joe "sausage hand" at this point. number four - if mike stays in mexico he will be doing both himself and his unborn child a favor. also, have we gotten any test results back on that whole thing yet? you're on it. - HWC
"Hey, Hot Water Cornbread! - Robin and I got really drunk on Crown and read Hot Water Cornbread and it was hysterical. Then we got on weatherchannel.com and checked the local forecast. those crazy motherfuckers had us laughing so hard, i was coughing uncontrollably. After that, we were cruising around citibank.com, looking at interest rates, and Robin laughed so hard, she snorted and then i think she pooped her pants just a little bit. but you know how she is. she's far too proud to ever admit to anything like that." - anna
anna, thanks for writing. we do get a lot of crossover traffic from those other two well-established humor websites. we try to stay current and cutting-edge with our posts, so i'm glad someone noticed. please continue to get your friend and yourself blackout-drunk every visit. stay crunk, home skillet. you're on it. - HWC
"Dear Hot Water Cornbread - so, does blogging constitute a day job? i can't believe you learned to write that well at a baptist university!" - chris
who the fuck told you about the baptist university? you're on it. - HWC
"To whom it may concern at Hot Water Cornbread - good god! after a long night of drinking and fun, i get up around nine, shower and realize i'm too tired to still be awake, but at that same moment my step-father calls the step-brother to relay the message of family photos at noon. the only thing that he wanted for christmas this year was a family photo, excluding the producers of the herd (they no longer produce with each other). Anyway I'm dressed by noon and slowly but surely, everyone else arrives half-dressed. I do not know why it took the family 3 hours to get dressed and leave, but it did. i found time in between the 3 hrs. to nap. It wasn't enough. I was a complete bitch, with massive road rage, and scared the passengers frequently. after another 20 minutes if driving in a circle around the parking lot, i go to another parking lot and instantly find a space. we go in and eat with the 11 other bodies of my family. somehow we managed to pull tables together in the food court for 12 people and a stroller and ate the great Khan's food with McDonalds and s'barros, the infamous mall pizza. searched for a non-existent photo place and resorted back to the "cheap" looking one. this young latin lady with tight pants and gelled, curly hair took our photos. The 6 "adult" children and 2 babies were included. "Babies" meaning a 2 year old and 3 month old. The two year old did not understand the concept of a smile, but did know how to say "cheeeeeeese" and the infant cried and looked scared in the wrong direction the entire time. My parents stood behind the somewhat patient "photographer" and yelled "logan, logan over here" in the highest-pitched voices they could come up with. That was the only thing making me smile during that time. they turned out well, i suppose. till the next family photo, with a few more babies i'm sure." - erica
we at Hot Water Cornbread do not understand or support one single word of your email, erica. but we WILL take it as a compliment. you're on it. - HWC
Open Letter Update:
on occasion, i find enjoyment writing an open letter and posting it online. it lets me air my negative feelings towards a person, institution, or inanimate object in a healthy, constructive manner that neither violates the terms of my parole, nor forces me to cut on or around my genitals with a razor blade.
"To the lady working the counter at the Shell station on the corner of Summerhill and Mall Drive this afternoon,
maybe you've given up on your life. and, quite frankly, i would understand. i mean, for pete's sake, you work swing shift at a gas station. you have one lazy eye, and the other doesn't really look like a go-getter, either. you have what appear to be multiple amateur prison tattoos up and down your forearms. your mustache is so thick and dark, that when you asked disinterestedly if i was doing well, i responded with, "yes, m...", letting my voice trail off, because i was uncertain enough about your exact gender to know if i should end with "sir" or "ma'am".
i understand you don't have anything to live for. but please understand that i do. and one of those things happens to be cigarettes. delicious, life-affirming, nerve-calming cigarettes. so when i ask you for a pack of camel lights, i would really appreciate it if you didn't look at me like i just took a dump on your chest and say, "we don't carry any camels at all" like it's common knowledge. do you only carry coke and not dr. pepper? snickers and no hershey's? cheetos and not doritos? it's not even fucking reasonable! why would you only carry marlboros, newports, and doral?
and maybe it's not your call. again, i understand that. but just because you don't have anything to live for, doesn't mean you should talk to me like you want me to shoot you in the face. i'm just saying.
you, miss, are most decidedly NOT on it.
sincerely, dave"
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Jesus is already disappointed with you. Drink up.
thanks to everyone who has submitted an email in the past two weeks. wish i could have gotten to all of them, but the two that were not included were kind of boring. and, quite frankly, i'm pretty sure neither of the people that wrote them will ever visit this blog again. so what's the difference, really?
i'm on it.
dave
Monday, December 29, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
the weight is a gift
hey, kids. pour yourself some hot cocoa or a mug of room-temperature bourbon and gather round the old fireplace. it’s time, once again, for Hot Water Cornbread’s Annual Xmas Scattershot Haiku Update Special!
for those of you unfamiliar with the original xmas story (please see: Bible, The Holy), it all started a couple of hundred years ago, in the olden-timey days. those were better, simpler days, when presidents still had funny names, like grover, millard, and andrew. men were men, but women could still pee standing up. and, hell, a high-class prostitute would only run you about a quarter. it was kind of like Deadwood, but with less swearing.
the language was far more flowerifical and ornatilating, too. people were dying of cholera in the streets, coughing up blood while lying face-down in their own sewage. but they still took the time to say things really nice and fancy-like. that’s a lesson you kids could learn today. too many of you take the easy way out with your omg’s and your lol’s and your wtf’s.
every winter, families would send out a letter to everyone they knew. this letter would be full of haikus that passed on the latest information about all their friends and family. these haikus were often personally embarrassing to their subjects, but hey, it’s better than dying from consumption or sexual torture by indians, right?
in that tradition, we here at Hot Water Cornbread take a special pride in carrying on that legacy every xmas. join us now, as we go through the address book on our phones, just like those early pioneers and captains of industry, and provide seventeen-syllable updates on a wide variety of friends, family, and loved ones. these are not in any kind of order. nicknames and aliases will be used to make it so you can’t sue me. so suck it.
let’s get to some updates.
Britney Spears
blonde slut rides again! (no pun intended). I ain't calling it "comeback".
Big Dumb Chris
you irish fuck. add “DUI” to resume. NEVER fucking blow.
Sullen Tangerine
massage therapist. hates hand job jokes. no happy ending for her here.
Bettie Page
dead. great. gives all those mopey bitches just one more thing to whine about.
Owen Wilson
chin up, kid. Phoebe will give you the love you need. if not, try Chandler.
Library Chris
only lesbian that doesn’t like him is the one he’s divorcing.
Mike
run, dude! mexican border still open. I won’t tell babymama.
Paul Newman
we'll miss you, cool hand luke. (does this mean no more tasty salad dressing?)
She That Shall Not Be Nicknamed
text Sweet Tits. call her. wine/dine her. she’ll show you the “li’l man in the boat”.
Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World
no more DUI class! Does this mean she’s not an alcoholic now?
Tom Cruise
Did you think that arm wrestling Matt Lauer would make you seem more sane?
The Brown One
“Rancho Cucamonga”? honestly, Mexican. come from a real town.
Dungeon Master
i swear to god – he’s got tickets to Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
NKOTB
why tour again, dudes? needed reason to start sucking each other off?
The Girl
damn, you suck at Tetris! just one more way ol’ dad is better than you!
The Middle One
i already regret getting you that goddam Wall-E for xmas.
The Tiny Baby
xmas present for me? how ‘bout you stop banging your head on the floor?
Charlton Heston
since his hands are now literally cold and dead, can i get that gun?
Official Brother of Hot Water Cornbread #1
honestly, dude. you’re 29. think you could stop getting bigger, ass?
Official Brother of Hot Water Cornbread #2
don’t discuss music with me. Coldplay? are you fucking serious, ass?
Tony Alamo
finally jailed that bastard. "Dad/Preacher touched my no-no again, mom!"
Official Grandparents of Hot Water Cornbread
how are you feeling? not well? how’s that will looking? no, seriously…
David Duchovny
sex addict, huh? divorce? and your show is overrated. (no x-files)
Currently on the white board behind the bar: The Nuge Abides.
honestly, if you already know of the existence of this blog, there is an excellent chance that I love you dearly (vegas has the odds on this at 1:2) and you have either been a friend for a very long time past, or you will be a friend for a very long time in the future. or you’re family. we at HWC headquarters wish everyone a great and merry xmas, no matter what you are doing. god (or whoever) bless you. don’t forget that hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com is the best (and really only) place to send me any disparaging comments or remarks. later.
i’m on it.
dave
for those of you unfamiliar with the original xmas story (please see: Bible, The Holy), it all started a couple of hundred years ago, in the olden-timey days. those were better, simpler days, when presidents still had funny names, like grover, millard, and andrew. men were men, but women could still pee standing up. and, hell, a high-class prostitute would only run you about a quarter. it was kind of like Deadwood, but with less swearing.
the language was far more flowerifical and ornatilating, too. people were dying of cholera in the streets, coughing up blood while lying face-down in their own sewage. but they still took the time to say things really nice and fancy-like. that’s a lesson you kids could learn today. too many of you take the easy way out with your omg’s and your lol’s and your wtf’s.
every winter, families would send out a letter to everyone they knew. this letter would be full of haikus that passed on the latest information about all their friends and family. these haikus were often personally embarrassing to their subjects, but hey, it’s better than dying from consumption or sexual torture by indians, right?
in that tradition, we here at Hot Water Cornbread take a special pride in carrying on that legacy every xmas. join us now, as we go through the address book on our phones, just like those early pioneers and captains of industry, and provide seventeen-syllable updates on a wide variety of friends, family, and loved ones. these are not in any kind of order. nicknames and aliases will be used to make it so you can’t sue me. so suck it.
let’s get to some updates.
Britney Spears
blonde slut rides again! (no pun intended). I ain't calling it "comeback".
Big Dumb Chris
you irish fuck. add “DUI” to resume. NEVER fucking blow.
Sullen Tangerine
massage therapist. hates hand job jokes. no happy ending for her here.
Bettie Page
dead. great. gives all those mopey bitches just one more thing to whine about.
Owen Wilson
chin up, kid. Phoebe will give you the love you need. if not, try Chandler.
Library Chris
only lesbian that doesn’t like him is the one he’s divorcing.
Mike
run, dude! mexican border still open. I won’t tell babymama.
Paul Newman
we'll miss you, cool hand luke. (does this mean no more tasty salad dressing?)
She That Shall Not Be Nicknamed
text Sweet Tits. call her. wine/dine her. she’ll show you the “li’l man in the boat”.
Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World
no more DUI class! Does this mean she’s not an alcoholic now?
Tom Cruise
Did you think that arm wrestling Matt Lauer would make you seem more sane?
The Brown One
“Rancho Cucamonga”? honestly, Mexican. come from a real town.
Dungeon Master
i swear to god – he’s got tickets to Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
NKOTB
why tour again, dudes? needed reason to start sucking each other off?
The Girl
damn, you suck at Tetris! just one more way ol’ dad is better than you!
The Middle One
i already regret getting you that goddam Wall-E for xmas.
The Tiny Baby
xmas present for me? how ‘bout you stop banging your head on the floor?
Charlton Heston
since his hands are now literally cold and dead, can i get that gun?
Official Brother of Hot Water Cornbread #1
honestly, dude. you’re 29. think you could stop getting bigger, ass?
Official Brother of Hot Water Cornbread #2
don’t discuss music with me. Coldplay? are you fucking serious, ass?
Tony Alamo
finally jailed that bastard. "Dad/Preacher touched my no-no again, mom!"
Official Grandparents of Hot Water Cornbread
how are you feeling? not well? how’s that will looking? no, seriously…
David Duchovny
sex addict, huh? divorce? and your show is overrated. (no x-files)
Currently on the white board behind the bar: The Nuge Abides.
honestly, if you already know of the existence of this blog, there is an excellent chance that I love you dearly (vegas has the odds on this at 1:2) and you have either been a friend for a very long time past, or you will be a friend for a very long time in the future. or you’re family. we at HWC headquarters wish everyone a great and merry xmas, no matter what you are doing. god (or whoever) bless you. don’t forget that hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com is the best (and really only) place to send me any disparaging comments or remarks. later.
i’m on it.
dave
Monday, December 22, 2008
dream that stuff was made of
i swear to god, this dog better start shitting soon.
about a month or so ago, we adopted this miniature male schnauzer from The Brown One. she wasn't home very much, and started to feel guilty (perhaps rightfully so) about not being able to spend any time with him. between her school, work, and moderate (yet consistent) drinking schedules, he spent most of his days alone, so she was mercifully and understandably looking for a new home for him.
we were a bit apprehensive at first. we have not had good luck with canines, as a general rule. our first dog ever, a beagle named gracie, ran away so often and so far, it was like she was trying to rack up her frequent "goddam that dog!" miles for a vacation in europe. the last time she got out, she ended up at the house of some hunt-happy gun nut that was so pleased with her we decided just to let him keep her.
next up was pilar, a wire-haired black-and-white puppy we rescued from the pound. preternaturally obedient and well-mannered, we were both pleased and impressed, happy to have made such an astute selection. that is, until she quit eating, started puking a yellowish slime, didn't want to walk at all, and eventually stopped drinking water. yes, it was parvo, kids. we asked the vet if it was curable. "yes," he said, "but it can get pretty costly. over a thousand dollars, generally. it depends on what kind of hero you want to be." as it turns out, i had no inclination to be a hero for more than about $150.
maebe, named after the character from the tv show Arrested Development, followed. she was a pretty red-brown pit-lab mix, who also turned out to be clinically insane. we thought she was just stupid, seeing as how we could not train her to do one damn thing, up to and including not digging in the trash, not ripping the face off of stuffed animals, not hacking into our email accounts, and not having sex with cats. but we found out how wrong we were when she snapped at a friend's two-year-old. you know that movie, the Sound of Music? there's a song in it called "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" that one of the nuns sings about Julie Andrews' character. well, if that song had been written about maebe, the answer would be, "get Sweet Tits' dad to shoot her in the back of the head and bury her near a train track north of town". not terribly lyrical, i know, but sometimes, when you try to bite a child, bad things happen.
our current "man's best friend" applicant, max, has mostly been terrific. he doesn't dig in the trash, he's great with kids, well-behaved, knows a couple of tricks, doesn't bark much, sleeps all night, enjoys frequent naps, and travels with no anxiety. he does, however, have what i would refer to (if i were a scientist) as a "shy colon". this dog will not shit when we walk him. we take him out like 10 times a day, for 10 minutes a go. no shit. at all. we're spending almost 2 total hours outside with him, yet he remains unfazed and unaffected. this would not be a problem if was not consistently and sneakily leaving his crusty turds on the floor outside the room of The Middle One.
unlike myself, Sweet Tits has not quite reached zen. so the fecal leavings of our shaggy, adorable boarder tend to affect her emotionally. anger, to be more specific about which emotion. what max doesn't realize is that he does not have quite a big enough "balance" in the "love bank" with her to be able to make a "trust withdrawal" of that size, and that if he does not stop with all the "overdrafts", she will "close his account" by "cutting off his fucking head".
let's get to some updates.
The Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World and The Brown One Update:
the two left last wednesday for the promised land, california - where it's mostly legal to smoke dope and for two dudes to get married and put it in each other's butts, but some-hoo, smoking a cigarette is like eating a live baby. lemme tell ya, fella, i just don't get it.
The Brown One comes from a loosely-affiliated group of hunter-gatherers living in a collection of shanties and lean-to's known as "Rancho Cucamonga", which lies on the outskirts of a slightly larger village called "Los Angeles". she had planned to visit her family over the holidays for their yearly pagan mexican rituals, sacrificing a white virgin to "hay-soos" and eating jerky made from the labia of many exotic jungle cats. somehow, through powerful hypnosis and a healthy dose of ghb, convinced The Sweetest Angry Cunt to accompany her on this journey.
mapquest lists the drive at 22.67 hours (vegas has the over-under for this listed at 23.5 hours). yet through skillful navigation, careful planning, and forward-thinking, the girls somehow made the drive somewhere between 27-28 hours. look, ladies. just because you have a car full of marijuana cigarettes, shrooms, and open whiskey bottles doesn't mean you have to drive half the speed limit to avoid attracting attention. slow drivers attract attention, too. i'm just saying.
we'll check back with the ladies when they have something substantial to report.
Football Gambling Update:
on this front, i'm a little pissed. my bookie (who i refer to as The Gay Pimp because his last name is literally a shade of purple) was refusing all of my calls and text messages, so i was unable to place any of the bets that i had intended for Week 16 (please see: upsets, historically strong week for). unfortunately for me, i had planned on betting several underdogs, both to cover and to win outright. had i been able to place these bets as planned, it would have been a very profitable weekend for a blogger who shall remain nameless (please see: truly, yours). especially since it would have been the weekend of the year with my biggest potential win/loss, as i would be betting a large number of games for double my usual wager.
as it stands, i lost five dollars from a bet with a liquor store clerk. in the baltimore-dallas game, i gave him the ravens +11, confident that their rookie quarterback would have trouble on the road in the LAST GAME EVER held at Texas Stadium. especially with the cowboys' defense playing so well over the last couple of weeks, and the team still desperate for a win to stay in the playoff hunt! baltimore won the game outright. eff it.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Try a Billy-Bob! (i wish i were making that up.)
one correction before we go our separate ways: Big Dumb Chris was incorrectly listed last blog as my only follower (no cult). that honor clearly belongs to my good friend Yak from the dallas area. suck it, Big Dumb Chris.
keep all those great emails coming to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com and i'll keep posting the best ones!
i'm on it.
dave
about a month or so ago, we adopted this miniature male schnauzer from The Brown One. she wasn't home very much, and started to feel guilty (perhaps rightfully so) about not being able to spend any time with him. between her school, work, and moderate (yet consistent) drinking schedules, he spent most of his days alone, so she was mercifully and understandably looking for a new home for him.
we were a bit apprehensive at first. we have not had good luck with canines, as a general rule. our first dog ever, a beagle named gracie, ran away so often and so far, it was like she was trying to rack up her frequent "goddam that dog!" miles for a vacation in europe. the last time she got out, she ended up at the house of some hunt-happy gun nut that was so pleased with her we decided just to let him keep her.
next up was pilar, a wire-haired black-and-white puppy we rescued from the pound. preternaturally obedient and well-mannered, we were both pleased and impressed, happy to have made such an astute selection. that is, until she quit eating, started puking a yellowish slime, didn't want to walk at all, and eventually stopped drinking water. yes, it was parvo, kids. we asked the vet if it was curable. "yes," he said, "but it can get pretty costly. over a thousand dollars, generally. it depends on what kind of hero you want to be." as it turns out, i had no inclination to be a hero for more than about $150.
maebe, named after the character from the tv show Arrested Development, followed. she was a pretty red-brown pit-lab mix, who also turned out to be clinically insane. we thought she was just stupid, seeing as how we could not train her to do one damn thing, up to and including not digging in the trash, not ripping the face off of stuffed animals, not hacking into our email accounts, and not having sex with cats. but we found out how wrong we were when she snapped at a friend's two-year-old. you know that movie, the Sound of Music? there's a song in it called "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" that one of the nuns sings about Julie Andrews' character. well, if that song had been written about maebe, the answer would be, "get Sweet Tits' dad to shoot her in the back of the head and bury her near a train track north of town". not terribly lyrical, i know, but sometimes, when you try to bite a child, bad things happen.
our current "man's best friend" applicant, max, has mostly been terrific. he doesn't dig in the trash, he's great with kids, well-behaved, knows a couple of tricks, doesn't bark much, sleeps all night, enjoys frequent naps, and travels with no anxiety. he does, however, have what i would refer to (if i were a scientist) as a "shy colon". this dog will not shit when we walk him. we take him out like 10 times a day, for 10 minutes a go. no shit. at all. we're spending almost 2 total hours outside with him, yet he remains unfazed and unaffected. this would not be a problem if was not consistently and sneakily leaving his crusty turds on the floor outside the room of The Middle One.
unlike myself, Sweet Tits has not quite reached zen. so the fecal leavings of our shaggy, adorable boarder tend to affect her emotionally. anger, to be more specific about which emotion. what max doesn't realize is that he does not have quite a big enough "balance" in the "love bank" with her to be able to make a "trust withdrawal" of that size, and that if he does not stop with all the "overdrafts", she will "close his account" by "cutting off his fucking head".
let's get to some updates.
The Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World and The Brown One Update:
the two left last wednesday for the promised land, california - where it's mostly legal to smoke dope and for two dudes to get married and put it in each other's butts, but some-hoo, smoking a cigarette is like eating a live baby. lemme tell ya, fella, i just don't get it.
The Brown One comes from a loosely-affiliated group of hunter-gatherers living in a collection of shanties and lean-to's known as "Rancho Cucamonga", which lies on the outskirts of a slightly larger village called "Los Angeles". she had planned to visit her family over the holidays for their yearly pagan mexican rituals, sacrificing a white virgin to "hay-soos" and eating jerky made from the labia of many exotic jungle cats. somehow, through powerful hypnosis and a healthy dose of ghb, convinced The Sweetest Angry Cunt to accompany her on this journey.
mapquest lists the drive at 22.67 hours (vegas has the over-under for this listed at 23.5 hours). yet through skillful navigation, careful planning, and forward-thinking, the girls somehow made the drive somewhere between 27-28 hours. look, ladies. just because you have a car full of marijuana cigarettes, shrooms, and open whiskey bottles doesn't mean you have to drive half the speed limit to avoid attracting attention. slow drivers attract attention, too. i'm just saying.
we'll check back with the ladies when they have something substantial to report.
Football Gambling Update:
on this front, i'm a little pissed. my bookie (who i refer to as The Gay Pimp because his last name is literally a shade of purple) was refusing all of my calls and text messages, so i was unable to place any of the bets that i had intended for Week 16 (please see: upsets, historically strong week for). unfortunately for me, i had planned on betting several underdogs, both to cover and to win outright. had i been able to place these bets as planned, it would have been a very profitable weekend for a blogger who shall remain nameless (please see: truly, yours). especially since it would have been the weekend of the year with my biggest potential win/loss, as i would be betting a large number of games for double my usual wager.
as it stands, i lost five dollars from a bet with a liquor store clerk. in the baltimore-dallas game, i gave him the ravens +11, confident that their rookie quarterback would have trouble on the road in the LAST GAME EVER held at Texas Stadium. especially with the cowboys' defense playing so well over the last couple of weeks, and the team still desperate for a win to stay in the playoff hunt! baltimore won the game outright. eff it.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Try a Billy-Bob! (i wish i were making that up.)
one correction before we go our separate ways: Big Dumb Chris was incorrectly listed last blog as my only follower (no cult). that honor clearly belongs to my good friend Yak from the dallas area. suck it, Big Dumb Chris.
keep all those great emails coming to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com and i'll keep posting the best ones!
i'm on it.
dave
Friday, December 19, 2008
you in reverse
(no homo).
sometimes at the bar, as with any job, you have to find ways to have fun with the guys (no homo). for awhile, it was Big Dumb Chris and i taking turns burning each other with canned air. our respective ladyfriends did not care for this game, particularly. mostly because it left glowing red welts on us that lasted for 3-4 weeks. at some point, the game eventually devolved into our own version of the cold war (please see: relations, U.S.-Soviet), where the two of us would not pass closer than within 10 feet of the other, our heads on swivels.
then, all of us moved on to knocking things out of each other's hands with hard downward slaps (no homo). this was a particularly fun game with things like wallets, cigarette packs, or waffle house leftovers. anything that splats or scatters is a good target. one piece of advice - this is not a good game to play with anyone that you are currently trying to have sex with. extremely counter-productive.
our current pastime is the "no homo" game. basically, it works as follows: any time you say something that could be even vaguely construed as homoerotic, you immediately follow it with the phrase "no homo". it's a pre-emptive verbal ban on a gay joke that could be made based on the previous statement. think of it as a cootie shot for the gay joke.
a tremendously easy game once you get the hang of it. after long, you will be intentionally saying overtly homoerotic things just for the chance to insert that at the end (no homo). and it extends to other things (no homo). for example, "i need to stop by the gas station and hit the pump (no auto)". or, "this mongolian beef is delicious (no asian)".
i don't care if it sounds lame. don't judge.
let's get to some updates.
Starbucks Cougar Update:
i realize that i did not introduce the Starbucks Cougar in my first post, and this should be remedied, as she plays a significant role in my life. namely, she is a mostly attractive, 40-something starbucks barista whose name i don't know, and who does not know mine. however, one day a couple of weeks ago, she happened to ask me about what i was working on at the time, so i know that she is "into my shit" as the kids say. i am mildly smitten.
sadly, i have nothing to report on the Starbucks Cougar. i have not been to the local 'bucks in the last two days, and she was unfortunately off the previous two times i visited. presumably, she misses me greatly. i tip quite handsomely.
One-Percenters Update:
well, they got me twice in the last week. curses! last saturday, the two ipods belonging to mike and me were stolen from the dj booth (please see: misdemeanor, class b). and then last night, one of our customers felt it appropriate to smash in the window on the driver's side of my vehicle.
oh, don't worry, nothing was stolen. thank god. it would have been really difficult to replace the package of diapers in the back or the 87 food wrappers, or the 4.7 pounds of various mixed cereals jammed into the seams of the back seat. it was broken just to break something (please see: vandalism and/or mischief, criminal). second time i've had a window broken there, and i'm pleased to say that it gets easier to deal with emotionally. i wasn't really surprised when it happened or even that angry about it now.
i didn't even bother filing a police report. they would never be able to catch the criminal masterminds behind this malicious act, despite the fact that they would probably stop all current investigations to focus all their resources and manpower to bringing the window-smasher to justice. i just don't want to put the city through all the drama and media attention that tends to accumulate with such a high-profile crime situation.
old patrick swayze's character Dalton really knew what he was doing, buying that old beater when he went to work at the Double Deuce (please see: House, Road).
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Maybe partying will help!
ok. going to help some fucktards catch a buzz. as always, contact me or send me something wacky at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com if you have a moment. and thank you for your comment, Big Dumb Chris. you represent 100% of my subscribed fan base as of my third posting. god bless you, sir.
i'm on it.
dave
sometimes at the bar, as with any job, you have to find ways to have fun with the guys (no homo). for awhile, it was Big Dumb Chris and i taking turns burning each other with canned air. our respective ladyfriends did not care for this game, particularly. mostly because it left glowing red welts on us that lasted for 3-4 weeks. at some point, the game eventually devolved into our own version of the cold war (please see: relations, U.S.-Soviet), where the two of us would not pass closer than within 10 feet of the other, our heads on swivels.
then, all of us moved on to knocking things out of each other's hands with hard downward slaps (no homo). this was a particularly fun game with things like wallets, cigarette packs, or waffle house leftovers. anything that splats or scatters is a good target. one piece of advice - this is not a good game to play with anyone that you are currently trying to have sex with. extremely counter-productive.
our current pastime is the "no homo" game. basically, it works as follows: any time you say something that could be even vaguely construed as homoerotic, you immediately follow it with the phrase "no homo". it's a pre-emptive verbal ban on a gay joke that could be made based on the previous statement. think of it as a cootie shot for the gay joke.
a tremendously easy game once you get the hang of it. after long, you will be intentionally saying overtly homoerotic things just for the chance to insert that at the end (no homo). and it extends to other things (no homo). for example, "i need to stop by the gas station and hit the pump (no auto)". or, "this mongolian beef is delicious (no asian)".
i don't care if it sounds lame. don't judge.
let's get to some updates.
Starbucks Cougar Update:
i realize that i did not introduce the Starbucks Cougar in my first post, and this should be remedied, as she plays a significant role in my life. namely, she is a mostly attractive, 40-something starbucks barista whose name i don't know, and who does not know mine. however, one day a couple of weeks ago, she happened to ask me about what i was working on at the time, so i know that she is "into my shit" as the kids say. i am mildly smitten.
sadly, i have nothing to report on the Starbucks Cougar. i have not been to the local 'bucks in the last two days, and she was unfortunately off the previous two times i visited. presumably, she misses me greatly. i tip quite handsomely.
One-Percenters Update:
well, they got me twice in the last week. curses! last saturday, the two ipods belonging to mike and me were stolen from the dj booth (please see: misdemeanor, class b). and then last night, one of our customers felt it appropriate to smash in the window on the driver's side of my vehicle.
oh, don't worry, nothing was stolen. thank god. it would have been really difficult to replace the package of diapers in the back or the 87 food wrappers, or the 4.7 pounds of various mixed cereals jammed into the seams of the back seat. it was broken just to break something (please see: vandalism and/or mischief, criminal). second time i've had a window broken there, and i'm pleased to say that it gets easier to deal with emotionally. i wasn't really surprised when it happened or even that angry about it now.
i didn't even bother filing a police report. they would never be able to catch the criminal masterminds behind this malicious act, despite the fact that they would probably stop all current investigations to focus all their resources and manpower to bringing the window-smasher to justice. i just don't want to put the city through all the drama and media attention that tends to accumulate with such a high-profile crime situation.
old patrick swayze's character Dalton really knew what he was doing, buying that old beater when he went to work at the Double Deuce (please see: House, Road).
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Maybe partying will help!
ok. going to help some fucktards catch a buzz. as always, contact me or send me something wacky at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com if you have a moment. and thank you for your comment, Big Dumb Chris. you represent 100% of my subscribed fan base as of my third posting. god bless you, sir.
i'm on it.
dave
real gone
so, some early reviews are in, and they are far more tepid than i could have ever dreamed! lukewarm enthusiasm has been pouring in from all corners of the globe, and i am pleased to share some of the more non-commital remarks that i have received via text message, email, phone calls, and spray paint (please see: vandalism, misdemeanor).
"it doesn't suck." - monica, 27
"it has potential that you will inevitably piss away." - terry, 27
"what the fuck was that neurotic part supposed to mean?" - Sweet Tits, 29
"it's not really your best work." - chris, 30
thank you, readers. it is support like this that has caused the vegas line for the over/under on this particular blog to drop to 13 days. place your bets before they take it off the books!
lets get to some updates.
The Children I Own:
today at their school, The Girl and The Middle One had their respective classroom xmas parties. i cannot begin to describe the sense of loathing that comes over me at the thought of any school-related activity. a bunch of mouth-breathing kids meandering around their classrooms with their under-educated parents (most of whom seem very likely to be unemployed - vegas has the line for this at 6.5:1), "enjoying" what is probably their greatest achievement of the year. namely, eating 14 cupcakes and getting out of school 10 minutes early. what really makes me sick is having to pretend i'm excited to be there and feign interest in their bullshit holiday projects. i end up saying things like, "wow! that IS a really cool gingerbread house!" instead of, "really? you expect me to believe that? it's a goddam milk carton with graham crackers glued to it".
The Tiny Baby spent the better part of the day either re-enacting Daniel Day Lewis' character from the movie My Left Foot (please see: Brown, Christy), or he has been detoxing from heroin (please see tar, mexican black). i have a tip for you, Tiny Baby. throwing yourself on the floor and writhing around like a rookie porn actor is not a good way to get one of those apple cereal bars that you seem to enjoy so much. next time, let's try just asking. maybe leave me a note or shoot me an email. spell it out with those alphabet blocks. there are dozens of better ways. because, quite frankly, what you are doing now is really only going to get you thirty minutes in your bed, screaming, while i jack around on the computer, fooling myself into believing that you are taking a nap.
Cool New Stuff Update:
"When You Are Engulfed in Flames" by David Sedaris - if you have never read anything David Sedaris has written, there is an excellent chance that your entire life up to this point has been a total waste (vegas has the odds on this at 1.5:1). Sedaris is at once funny, sad, tragic, imaginative, and autobiographical. he writes stories and essays that fool you into thinking that you can write just like him. but you can't. while i own several of his other volumes, i unfortunately do not own this book myself. i did purchase it as an xmas gift for the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World, who will love the cynical tone, biting sarcasm, and laugh-to-keep-from-crying stories about his family.
"A Practical Guide to Racism" by C.H. Dalton - my xmas present to mike this year. presented as a textbook or lecture from the 40s or 50s, tons of racially charged jokes and innuendos. this book receives a lot of support from several of the principals of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, and it involves a lot of the same kind of humor. probably not a good gift for an actual racist. i'm just saying.
"The Seldom Seen Kid" by Elbow - my thanksgiving present to myself. this band is kind of equal parts radiohead, muse, and vampire weekend. some really experimental songwriting without losing emotionality. extremely well-produced album. i particularly enjoyed the drum parts and the prominent use of several instruments that are seldom-used. the first song on the album may be my favorite new song of 2008.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Plausible Deniability
that's all i have for now. we are literally about to walk out the door to go to Sweet Tits' office party. as with last time, feel free to email me something at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com.
i'm on it.
dave
"it doesn't suck." - monica, 27
"it has potential that you will inevitably piss away." - terry, 27
"what the fuck was that neurotic part supposed to mean?" - Sweet Tits, 29
"it's not really your best work." - chris, 30
thank you, readers. it is support like this that has caused the vegas line for the over/under on this particular blog to drop to 13 days. place your bets before they take it off the books!
lets get to some updates.
The Children I Own:
today at their school, The Girl and The Middle One had their respective classroom xmas parties. i cannot begin to describe the sense of loathing that comes over me at the thought of any school-related activity. a bunch of mouth-breathing kids meandering around their classrooms with their under-educated parents (most of whom seem very likely to be unemployed - vegas has the line for this at 6.5:1), "enjoying" what is probably their greatest achievement of the year. namely, eating 14 cupcakes and getting out of school 10 minutes early. what really makes me sick is having to pretend i'm excited to be there and feign interest in their bullshit holiday projects. i end up saying things like, "wow! that IS a really cool gingerbread house!" instead of, "really? you expect me to believe that? it's a goddam milk carton with graham crackers glued to it".
The Tiny Baby spent the better part of the day either re-enacting Daniel Day Lewis' character from the movie My Left Foot (please see: Brown, Christy), or he has been detoxing from heroin (please see tar, mexican black). i have a tip for you, Tiny Baby. throwing yourself on the floor and writhing around like a rookie porn actor is not a good way to get one of those apple cereal bars that you seem to enjoy so much. next time, let's try just asking. maybe leave me a note or shoot me an email. spell it out with those alphabet blocks. there are dozens of better ways. because, quite frankly, what you are doing now is really only going to get you thirty minutes in your bed, screaming, while i jack around on the computer, fooling myself into believing that you are taking a nap.
Cool New Stuff Update:
"When You Are Engulfed in Flames" by David Sedaris - if you have never read anything David Sedaris has written, there is an excellent chance that your entire life up to this point has been a total waste (vegas has the odds on this at 1.5:1). Sedaris is at once funny, sad, tragic, imaginative, and autobiographical. he writes stories and essays that fool you into thinking that you can write just like him. but you can't. while i own several of his other volumes, i unfortunately do not own this book myself. i did purchase it as an xmas gift for the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World, who will love the cynical tone, biting sarcasm, and laugh-to-keep-from-crying stories about his family.
"A Practical Guide to Racism" by C.H. Dalton - my xmas present to mike this year. presented as a textbook or lecture from the 40s or 50s, tons of racially charged jokes and innuendos. this book receives a lot of support from several of the principals of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, and it involves a lot of the same kind of humor. probably not a good gift for an actual racist. i'm just saying.
"The Seldom Seen Kid" by Elbow - my thanksgiving present to myself. this band is kind of equal parts radiohead, muse, and vampire weekend. some really experimental songwriting without losing emotionality. extremely well-produced album. i particularly enjoyed the drum parts and the prominent use of several instruments that are seldom-used. the first song on the album may be my favorite new song of 2008.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Plausible Deniability
that's all i have for now. we are literally about to walk out the door to go to Sweet Tits' office party. as with last time, feel free to email me something at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com.
i'm on it.
dave
Thursday, December 18, 2008
who will cut our hair when we're gone?
i do not have a plan.
chances are, this statement applies to many facets of my life. (vegas has the current odds at 3.5:1). in this context, however, i only mean it in the sense that i don't know how, or even if, this blog will go. (vegas has the over/under set at 18 days).
for the record, i do not consider any of the details of my daily life to be terribly poignant or interesting. i do not have any strong political opinions or any cool views on society. i'm not close to being rich or famous, although i did once kiss Adam Duritz on the mouth at a concert after-party (please see: Crows, Counting).
what i do have is a crude personal introduction. crude as in "rudimentary", not as in "overtly sexual or lascivious".
don't feel like you need any personal pertinent facts? then feel free to skip the following paragraph.
i manage a bar that is frequently populated with the stupidest and least house-trained one percent of the population. i do not sleep much, and i am not very good at it when i do. i cook when i have time. i look like a mildly well-known indie rapper (please see: Francis, Sage). i love the art of gambling, but i only have the sack to engage in a couple of forms (please see: poker, Texas Hold'em and ball games, foot). i love a whole lot of bands that you have to look for to find. with the concession that sanity is a relative quality, i am married to a girl who may well be the least insane woman on the planet (please see: Jordan, Sweet Tits). i own three children, none of whom are employed or contribute anything toward the household bills (please see: Jordan, The Girl, The Middle One, and The Tiny Baby). i am more than a little bit in love with Mary Louise Parker, but that is her fault.
despite the best efforts of prominent scientists and field researchers, this is currently all that can be known about me.
the only way i can think to formulate a blog that makes any rational or logical sense is through specific and constant updates, and running totals. i may also attempt to incorporate videos or photos into the blog in some way, to provide context for particular incidents. these are not original ideas. they might, however, take awhile, as i am technologically retarded. i may have to eat the blogspot's brain, in order to gain its knowledge. i'll keep you posted (please see: pun, unintended).
some introductions. yes. this is far from a comprehensive list, but at least you can get to know some of the major characters. most of these are obviously code names. except for Sweet Tits. behold, some brief descriptions of their personalities as well as some likes and dislikes.
Sweet Tits - woman of my dreams? probable. mother of my children? according to some important-looking documents i received from the paternity-testing center, extremely likely. cutest life-ruining neurotic ever? no question. she works at a hospice that is staffed partially with the bitterest, most passive-aggressive fascists i've ever met, and partially with some of the nicest people on the planet. she likes the smell of my neck, wearing my clothing, over-reacting, and throwing clean laundry on the floor for no good reason. she makes superior tuna salad.
Mike - my stunt double and co-worker at the bar. i say stunt double because we are both heavy, furry, and bearded. he wears more hats and better, more expensive clothes. he is probably the second smartest person i've ever known on a first name basis, and that's not meant to be a joke. well, maybe third, because his pops is mad smart, too. Mike likes cake, saying the word "puma", and jokes revolving around puns. none of those things are meant to be a joke. he is also exceptionally compulsive and loves many boston-area sports figures.
She That Shall Not be Nicknamed - for the purposes of this blog, i was going to call her "Big Fat Goalie", but there were obvious issues with such a name on her end. namely the fact that she was never a goalie in any competitive sport. technically a lady friend of mine first, but best friend and co-conspirator of Sweet Tits for some years. she is also unfortunately in "love" with Mike, but hopefully that will all come to an end soon.
Dungeon Master - dude that bartends with me three nights a week. usually in pajama pants and some sort of shirt with a dragon on it. he happens to be gay, which only becomes a problem in those instances when i turn around and find him grinding his pelvis at me. i don't care for that. he's into a lot of role-playing games. not the sexy kind. i mean the kind with dragons and jesuses and elves and whatever.
The Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World - at the time of this writing, she is currently disappointed about not being let back into the nursing program at the local college. but it's okay because i will eventually trick her into running a bar with me, and she will forget about all this nursing foolishness. she tends to swear so much, it's like she is on fire. she also bartends at a mexican joint down the road and generally pretends to not give a shit. she has an exceptionally nice mother that dominates at playing dominos and probably puts your mother to shame.
The Brown One - best friend, co-worker, drinking partner, and complete opposite to The Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World. she is a terrible speller, but an expert on pigs in blankets. (yes, the weiners wrapped in biscuits). she is never funnier than when she swears or is generally pretending to be some kind of hard-ass. at any given time, she has roughly nine coworkers that are in love with her. one of them apparently went so far as to bite her on the neck. her family lives in california and, to be honest, i don't have any idea how good at dominos her mother might be.
the only thing these people have in common is that they all shoot whiskey. and love me, presumably.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Gabrielle is the shit.
if you kids have any questions or anything, you can email them to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com.
i'm on it.
dave
chances are, this statement applies to many facets of my life. (vegas has the current odds at 3.5:1). in this context, however, i only mean it in the sense that i don't know how, or even if, this blog will go. (vegas has the over/under set at 18 days).
for the record, i do not consider any of the details of my daily life to be terribly poignant or interesting. i do not have any strong political opinions or any cool views on society. i'm not close to being rich or famous, although i did once kiss Adam Duritz on the mouth at a concert after-party (please see: Crows, Counting).
what i do have is a crude personal introduction. crude as in "rudimentary", not as in "overtly sexual or lascivious".
don't feel like you need any personal pertinent facts? then feel free to skip the following paragraph.
i manage a bar that is frequently populated with the stupidest and least house-trained one percent of the population. i do not sleep much, and i am not very good at it when i do. i cook when i have time. i look like a mildly well-known indie rapper (please see: Francis, Sage). i love the art of gambling, but i only have the sack to engage in a couple of forms (please see: poker, Texas Hold'em and ball games, foot). i love a whole lot of bands that you have to look for to find. with the concession that sanity is a relative quality, i am married to a girl who may well be the least insane woman on the planet (please see: Jordan, Sweet Tits). i own three children, none of whom are employed or contribute anything toward the household bills (please see: Jordan, The Girl, The Middle One, and The Tiny Baby). i am more than a little bit in love with Mary Louise Parker, but that is her fault.
despite the best efforts of prominent scientists and field researchers, this is currently all that can be known about me.
the only way i can think to formulate a blog that makes any rational or logical sense is through specific and constant updates, and running totals. i may also attempt to incorporate videos or photos into the blog in some way, to provide context for particular incidents. these are not original ideas. they might, however, take awhile, as i am technologically retarded. i may have to eat the blogspot's brain, in order to gain its knowledge. i'll keep you posted (please see: pun, unintended).
some introductions. yes. this is far from a comprehensive list, but at least you can get to know some of the major characters. most of these are obviously code names. except for Sweet Tits. behold, some brief descriptions of their personalities as well as some likes and dislikes.
Sweet Tits - woman of my dreams? probable. mother of my children? according to some important-looking documents i received from the paternity-testing center, extremely likely. cutest life-ruining neurotic ever? no question. she works at a hospice that is staffed partially with the bitterest, most passive-aggressive fascists i've ever met, and partially with some of the nicest people on the planet. she likes the smell of my neck, wearing my clothing, over-reacting, and throwing clean laundry on the floor for no good reason. she makes superior tuna salad.
Mike - my stunt double and co-worker at the bar. i say stunt double because we are both heavy, furry, and bearded. he wears more hats and better, more expensive clothes. he is probably the second smartest person i've ever known on a first name basis, and that's not meant to be a joke. well, maybe third, because his pops is mad smart, too. Mike likes cake, saying the word "puma", and jokes revolving around puns. none of those things are meant to be a joke. he is also exceptionally compulsive and loves many boston-area sports figures.
She That Shall Not be Nicknamed - for the purposes of this blog, i was going to call her "Big Fat Goalie", but there were obvious issues with such a name on her end. namely the fact that she was never a goalie in any competitive sport. technically a lady friend of mine first, but best friend and co-conspirator of Sweet Tits for some years. she is also unfortunately in "love" with Mike, but hopefully that will all come to an end soon.
Dungeon Master - dude that bartends with me three nights a week. usually in pajama pants and some sort of shirt with a dragon on it. he happens to be gay, which only becomes a problem in those instances when i turn around and find him grinding his pelvis at me. i don't care for that. he's into a lot of role-playing games. not the sexy kind. i mean the kind with dragons and jesuses and elves and whatever.
The Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World - at the time of this writing, she is currently disappointed about not being let back into the nursing program at the local college. but it's okay because i will eventually trick her into running a bar with me, and she will forget about all this nursing foolishness. she tends to swear so much, it's like she is on fire. she also bartends at a mexican joint down the road and generally pretends to not give a shit. she has an exceptionally nice mother that dominates at playing dominos and probably puts your mother to shame.
The Brown One - best friend, co-worker, drinking partner, and complete opposite to The Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World. she is a terrible speller, but an expert on pigs in blankets. (yes, the weiners wrapped in biscuits). she is never funnier than when she swears or is generally pretending to be some kind of hard-ass. at any given time, she has roughly nine coworkers that are in love with her. one of them apparently went so far as to bite her on the neck. her family lives in california and, to be honest, i don't have any idea how good at dominos her mother might be.
the only thing these people have in common is that they all shoot whiskey. and love me, presumably.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Gabrielle is the shit.
if you kids have any questions or anything, you can email them to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com.
i'm on it.
dave
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