Hot Water Cornbread

monsters of folk

2009-11-11T03:38:00.000-08:00

it was either socrates or dane cook (editor's note: or dane cook stealing socrates's material) who said, "the unexamined life is not worth living", which i guess is true. i don't know. i haven't really thought about it. but it sounds fucking awesome.

a life that is most certainly not worth living is one that has not spent more than a few sleepless nights mentally wrestling over the inherent contradictions in the plotline of the movie Gremlins directed by a "Joe Dante" and written by Chris Columbus. for clarity's sake, this is not the Chris Columbus that raped all those indians back in the day. this Chris Columbus wrote ground-breaking movies in the eighties. his writing credits include The Goonies, The Goonies II, Gremlins, Gremlins II: The New Batch, Gremlins: Unleashed!, and Gremlins: Stripe vs. Gizmo. i swear i am not making those movies up. sadly, Gremlins: The Musical on Ice! never made it past the initial planning stages.

Specifically, my concern is the logic pretzel regarding the relationship between the rules for taking care of a mogwai (given to Billy by a young Jet Li in his first movie role) and the natural instincts of the mogwai. let's take a close look at each in detail. i will be addressing Chris Columbus directly as we go through the list, as i'm sure he is stumped for movie ideas and is probably surfing the web daily for new plot ideas, and will eventually stumble across this post. assuming he isn't already a regular reader.

1. keep him out of the sunlight - no problems here as far as i'm concerned. there are plenty of animals that prefer to stay out of the light. bats. moles. werewolves (editor's note: sigh). snakes, maybe. shit, probably even marmots and stuff would rather kick it indoors. so far, so good, Chris Columbus.

2. never get him wet - oh, really, Chris Columbus? you think it's cool to introduce a carbon-based life form that can't come into contact with water? it's water, man! water! it's pretty much the stuff that makes up every other known form of life. but not a mogwai, eh, Chris Columbus? who exactly do you think you are? do you think you are some kind of screenwriting Galileo, thumbing his nose at modern science? because i've asked around, Chris Columbus. and you aren't.

even more ridiculous, if you do happen moisten the mogwai (which is a potentially fantastic euphemism for female masturbation), it causes nearly instantaneous epidermal reproduction of offspring that are either mildly retarded or sociopathic or both.

quick question, Chris Columbus: in Gremlins-land, how in the hell are you supposed to get a normal, even-tempered mogwai offspring? because i have spent hours watching Gizmo's crotch parts in slow-motion, hoping against hope that i would catch a glimpse of his johnson, if only to put to rest this part of the controversy. but Gizmo does not, repeat: not have a johnson.

ugh. let's just move on.

3. never feed him after midnight - news flash, Chris Columbus. it's always after midnight. when can we start feeding our mogwai again? especially the retarded sociopath mogwai. i don't know much, but i do know that you don't want to be around when those little buggers have gone too long without food. even assuming an arbitrary time (let's say 6 am) when it's okay to feed them again, whose clock does it go off of? the bank's? your cellphone? it's just a headache waiting to happen, trying to figure out what time it REALLY is while your illegal exotic pet with the atrophied frontal lobe is gnawing through your fingers, trying to get at a box of Triscuits.

additionally, did Gizmo comprehend why the kibble train stops at midnight? does he understand the implications of late-night snacking for his species? or is it a constant struggle for him NOT to eat after hours, like he's a recovering heroine junkie? is there always a struggle with the dark part of his psyche that wants to gobble down a family-size can of the spaghetti-o's with the wieners and watch Scott van Pelt announce NHL highlights on the 1 am sportscenter? man, so many questions...

let's get to some updates.

Gambling Update:

my friend Yak and i have recently hypothesized, researched, and experimented with an intricate system of betting on nightly professional men's basketball games, in a league commonly referred to as the NBA. this system involves a careful analysis of each game, followed by the prudent and reasonable selection of only the most fitting underdogs on which to place our bets, which maximizes our value for each dollar bet in the event of an upset win by those select underdogs. it is failing miserably.

the good news is that the WNBA season starts in a scant 7 1/2 months, and we are already working on a completely separate and unrelated betting system to accomodate the intricacies of the ladies' professional basketball league. if you are considering wagering any sum of money on the WNBA in the upcoming season, you will want to be aware that the Minnesota Lynx, while mired in the bottom half of the league in this past year, will most likely show a considerable improvement in 2010, as they have two of the league's top four draft picks in april. just something to keep in mind.

on an unrelated note, at what point does gambling become a "problem"?

Puppetmaster Update:

we at HWC headquarters are currently making what promises to be an ill-fated attempt to form a band. i myself have no intention nor desire to be a performing member in this ensemble. the future official HWC cover band will be made of three local musicians doing alt-country (for lack of a better term. think Wilco's album A.M.) covers of various underrated songs and artists from all genres. for the sake of those who are haven't already stopped reading this part, some of the following tracks will be in the mix:

Squidbillies theme song - Billy Joe Shaver
Nobody's Fault But Mine - Blind Willie Johnson
Bad Days - Flaming Lips
How Can I Love You if You Won't Lie Down? - Silver Jews
Another One Goes By - the Walkmen
B.O.B. - Outkast
Beautiful Day - Eels
Where Is My Mind? - Pixies

i think that nature of my contribution to the band's efforts will be largely managerial. motivation and direction fall completely within my wheelhouse. i'll probably also be the one to have to pay to have t-shirts made, and i think i'm the only one with a vehicle large enough to carry a drum set. so there's that.

all i'm saying is keep an eye out for Ghost Meat, the official HWC cover band. because it promises to be a rollicking good time at a party near you, if we can ever get it off the ground.

currently on the white board behind the bar: you are.

i know that it's been a couple of weeks since i've posted anything. the rust is probably showing as you read through the present sub-par entry. i thank all of you for showing the patience, common decency, and good taste to not send even a single email demanding, begging, or politely inquiring to know when i would be writing again. i assure you that your restraint has not gone unnoticed. it will not, however, be rewarded in any measurable fashion.

if you do care to prove yourself to lack the house training and geometry of a reasonable, tax-paying member of society, you can direct your queries to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com or simply comment below.

i'm on it.

dave

vanguard monaural

2009-03-09T15:39:00.000-07:00

i am absolutely in neutral.

i leave for the first actual vacation i've had in 4 or 5 years next week and, to be honest, i can't really think about anything else. i sat in front of my computer for an hour yesterday and could not focus enough to write. but, rather than leave you without anything for another week, i am including the salient excerpts of a chat that my friend Terry (Yak) and i had online while i was at work this morning.

we discuss his latest blog posting about the disappearance of saturday morning cartoons (unmagicalrealism.blogspot.com), tracking your shipments via the interwebnets, selling shoes, the Church of James Brown, and assorted offshoots of all these topics.

as always, it has certainly been edited for content. and occasionally to make me sound smarter. also be forewarned that it may take you longer to read this than to listen to the hour-plus podcast that was posted last week. my comments are included in italics. this may or may not make it easier to read.

Yak Chat Update:

Terry: did you enjoy my last blog? i got a little carried away. that happens a lot when i write those blogs.

HWC: i think it meandered a bit, but i did enjoy it. you goddam meanderer.

Terry: that's me! i can meander circles (or ellipses) around most men.

HWC: i really am curious as to when the saturday morning cartoons died. my youngest brother watched them growing up, for sure. he's 6 years younger than me. but i don't know about my sister, who is 16 years younger. i think she did, but it couldn't have been much after that. i mean, The Girl child is 9 and she's never really watched them. of course, we've never really had television.

Terry: i don't know. there are actually some cartoons on, but they don't start until like 10 and there are only a few. i don't think nbc or fox have any at all.

HWC: that's bullshit. back in the day they started at like 6:30, after the morning news. and there were shitloads until the big kids shows came on, like saved by the bell

Terry: the funny thing is, Saved by the Bell still comes on, and it's old episodes. why the hell don't they show looney tunes any more? it sculpted our generation's warped, anti-PC senses of humor! plus, those shorts were already 40 years old when we watched them! they are timeless!

HWC: it smacks of liberal white guilt.

Terry: i was actually going to blame the conservative christian lobby. but you are probably right.

HWC: what? i'm clearly right. you think conservative christians have a problem with racism in cartoons? you've lost your mind. they don't even really have a problem with racism in real life.

Terry: yeah, but the shit has been replaced with Veggie Tales. which i think is some christian propaganda cartoon.

HWC: yeah, it is. and unfortunately, it has its moments. for the record, i've never spent money on a Veggie Tales dvd.

Terry: whatever

HWC: i did just buy the kids this multi dvd pack of 200 classic cartoons the other day. popeye, betty boop, the three stooges cartoon, etc., and they fucking love it.

Terry: anna (editor's note: anna is Terry's fiance. or fiancee.) has the looney tunes silver collection dvd box set

HWC: i would buy that, if i didn't think those mindless little bastards would fuck it up.

Terry: my next blog is going to be about how much i love tracking packages on the internet after i order stuff. it is so exciting!!!!

HWC: maybe your ups guy has a twitter! he could twitter you about his feelings while he's carrying your package (no homo)!

Terry: not funny. anyways...i ordered some shoes on saturday. checked the Finish Line website yesterday to see if they'd shipped. they hadn't, according to them. so, then this morning i got an email saying they'd shipped and giving me my tracking number. so i checked it, and the MFers are already in arlington!!! that is not cool to sneak them up on me like that!!!! i want to track them across country and get mad.

HWC: did you order sneakers? maybe that's why you didn't hear them coming. have you been reading "we are respectable negroes"? (editor's note: this is a real and tremendous blog. when you have time, you can find it at wearerespectablenegroes.blogspot.com)

Terry: nope, i don't read that crap. i should, thought. i just read it that one time, and it was good

HWC: they recently established the Church of James Brown. did we talk about that?

Terry: no. you might of mentioned, and i might of ignored you. so let's say you didn't.

HWC: i might of? or i might HAVE, country boy?

Terry: you ever heard me pronounce watch? or wash?

HWC: warsh?

Terry: exactly. i have to make a concerted effort not to say it that way. i can't help it.
my sister-in-law goes to The Wal-Marts

HWC: oooo, i love it when they say "the" in front of it

Terry: i was going to devote a post to this video, because it plays in the background of one of my favorite movies, Being There, which i was watching again last night. it is so awesome AND offensive. the main voice on the song is actually Cheech Marin. it was on one of their albums. George Harrison and Billy Preston are among the myriad great musicians doing the music. (editor's note: the embed code for this video was totally effed. sorry for the lame-ass link.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JIbp5C-5WXM

HWC: Bill S. Preston, Esquire? from Wyld Stallyons? oh, i'm familiar, sir. my favorite part is that you can see the cheerleaders are wearing days-of-the-week underpants. aw, shit, and the part where he tells Chick Hearn to shut up. that old man didn't do anything to deserve that. there are also a lot of visible nipples. not on Chick Hearn, though.

Terry: i had forgotten it existed. hey, if you're going to use part of this chat, can we just start over? so i can sound clever? or more cleverer?

HWC: i'll edit you up, i'm sure, to make you sound smarter. or down, depending. (editor's note: Terry was certainly NOT edited to sound smarter or more charming.) i was trying to talk about the Church of James Brown.

Terry: i am unfamiliar with that

HWC: basically, they wanted to provide a format for black people to talk about things they dislike that are considered "typically" black.

Terry: typically black things they dislike? like what?

HWC: vocoder music

Terry: white people?

HWC: bling. rims. pepper sauce. wild'n out. et cetera.

Terry: we should start our own version. by the way, what does james brown have to do with it?do they dislike him? or is he some kind of patron saint?

HWC: he's the one thing that all black people can agree kicks ass. he's like the George W. Bush from 2000. he's a uniter, not a divider.

Terry: oh, i see. we'd have to think of a white equivalent. i would say the beatles, but rednecks aren't that into them.

HWC: eminem?

Terry: exactly. my grandma loves him. john updike?

HWC: not bad. although "The Church of The Centaur" might attract a weird crowd.

Terry: carrot top - everyone loves him. he can be our saint. i kid. (editor's note: we don't think he was kidding.)

HWC: a comedian might be the way to go. the Church of Larry David?

Terry: cliff clavin!who doesn't like cliff clavin?

HWC: plenty of people. go to ihatecliffclavin.blogspot.com

Terry: what is wrong with them? this has to be a joke.

HWC: and..... he clicks the link....

Terry: and of course it's a joke. very nice, asshole.

HWC: i think the fact that the links is lit up blue makes it simply irresistible (no Robert Palmer).

Terry: i used to work with a girl who hated cilantro. she subscribed to all these blogs about people who hate cilantro.

HWC: i don't understand the hatred for cilantro. it smacks of xenophobia and racism. i like it when things smack of something, for the record...

Terry: the girl is part hispanic!!!!!!

HWC: she's a self-loathing wetback, then. (editor's note: no offense, Uno.) the Church of the Beastie Boys? Beck? nobody doesn't love Two Turntables and a Microphone.

Terry: you know what - a lot of people do like the beastie boys. i went to school with some hicks who were all like, "hell yeah man, i love that there brass monkey song". johnny cash? everybody does love him - hipsters, old people, rednecks, stoners, heavy metal people, bikers, christians, satanists.

HWC: a lot of girls don't.

Terry: girls don't count!!! godammit!!! hey, do you ever "accidentally" knock down children who are rolling around the grocery store on those stupid heelie shoes? "oh i'm sorry, didn't see you there"

HWC: no comment. we had a grown-up wearing them in the bar one night. it did not end well for him.

Terry: my friend marcus from high school texted me last year to tell me he had gotten a pair. i am not sure if he was trying to be ironic or not. probably not. he likes bmx bikes.

HWC: to be fair, they probably are modestly fun. but you can't avoid looking like a total ass-hat while you are wearing them.

Terry: i worked at Journey's for about two weeks back in 2000 or so, and they had just come out, and everybody there wore them for work, because you could get a pair out and wear them during your shift without buying them. anyways, i couldn't do it. i mean, i tried, but i literally couldn't do it.

HWC: that's a shocking confession. how dare you...

Terry: man, i was a shoe salesman extraordinaire.

HWC: i don't think i could sell shoes. i wouldn't want that many crotches eye-level all the time.

Terry: no, no. you only get down there for women. dudes don't like it anyways, so you just hand them the box.

HWC: sign. me. up.

Terry: i worked at a store in the mall in frisco that sold doc martens (in 2000, when they were super hot), so lots of suburban teenage girls. keep in mind, i myself was still a teenager, so that makes it not creepy

HWC: "i really like these shoes, but i don't have any money..." bow-chicka-wow-wow... (editor's note: that is supposed to represent the beginning of the classic porn music.)

Terry: it happens

HWC: how many blowjobs in the stockroom?

Terry: well, that never really happenedi have never been one to manufacture sexual exploits, what with so many real ones to boast of.

HWC: booooring. i'm about halfway through stephen colbert's book at the moment. better than i thought it would be. it's all the stuff in the margins that really makes it work. a lot of footnotes that function as his commentary.

Terry: oh, i love books with footnotes, and charts, etc. huge dave barry fan growing up. he really shaped my writing style

HWC: i fucking loved dave barry back in the day

Terry: so, to this point in this chat, i have cited looney tunes and dave barry as two influences. i want to specifically cite Chuck Jones.

HWC: my mom and i used to read him in the dallas morning news on sundayswe would fight over that section when we brought the paper in from the yard. my favorite article of his ever was like coverage of the 1996 Olympics, with the original Dream Team. he says something about "Charles Barkley scoring 47 points before being ejected for arson"

Terry: do you like bill bryson? he wrote "A Walk In The Woods", "The Mother Tongue", "Notes From a Tiny Island",etc.

HWC: the titles all sound like gay romance novels

Terry: joe (via jake b.) turned me on to that

HWC: gay romance novels?

Terry: no, it is non-fiction ridiculous travel essayshe also has one about the history of science (he knows nothing about science) called "A Short History of Nearly Everything" which is really good.

HWC: everything cool joe is a part of has been stolen directly from you, me, or jake, i'm pretty sure. he's a culture thief. i will probably include all this. because i know he doesn't read either one of our blogs. (editor's note: this section was indeed included in what you are reading right now.)

Terry: joe also has sex with animals - hey, all you readers out there! don't tell him you know. he thinks it's a secret. oh, god, we are making bestiality jokes. are we out of material? i think you and i would make a good podcast. we would talk for probably a good three hours, and bore all your readers (listeners?) to tears. constantly interrupting each other.

HWC: think we could get bill simmons?

Terry: hell, yeah, we could!

currently on the white board behind the bar: Sorry, Chitty.

that's all for now. emails! hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. podcast! please see the post below this one for the links. or, you can find it on itunes. just search for "hot water cornbread" under the podcast tab. it should come up as the ONLY and BEST podcast with that name. mike, Sweet Tits and i are going to see our friend Hank play at Whitewater Tavern in Little Rock tonite. i'm very excited about all the drunkness! as they say in Shiner, Texas, "Prosit!"

i'm on it.

dave

american in love

2009-03-02T11:51:00.000-08:00

good luck with this one.

the podcast went on MUCH longer than we had anticipated, so we were good enough to break it into three separate parts for you. because, honestly, who has a spare hour and a half all in a row to sit and listen to anything? this way, you don't ruin your whole day or your credibility with any friends or family by dedicating such a huge block of time to such an inane enterprise.

(editor's note - we had originally intended to include one song each from both John Elliott's and Johan Wagner's current albums, but were unable due to some minor technical difficulties. we trust they will forgive us, seeing as how they are all about free love, etc., etc.)

on this episode:

- Aaron gives me some pointers about mine and Sweet Tits' upcoming trip to Austin for SXSW. thankfully, none of these tips include the phrase "spit on it first".

- two hippies are introduced to the Star Trek-like world of microphones and computers.

- John Elliott and Johann Wagner aimlessly discuss their respective current albums while munching on fresh moss and tofu jerky.

- everyone misses the brilliance of a haiku about sex with trees.

- i find out that i've been overpaying musicians at the bar.

- Aaron fades in and out of consciousness, and sometimes manages to even participate.

- Sweet Tits and Aaron gush over each other to a sickening degree.

- we catch up on Britney Spears (!) and Paris Hilton. and i think another white chick.

- John and Johann somehow manage to cheat at Black History Month Trivia, despite being unwashed hippies in a mental fog of THC and shrooms.

- i'm a dick to John Elliott. my authority is also questioned, but i don't think the two are related.

- "Morgan Freeman" is not a correct answer to any of the trivia questions, but if you are looking for a drinking game, try taking a shot every time his name is said during this episode.

- each of us comes across as at least a LITTLE bit racist.

- we briefly touch on the topic of domestic violence at the HWC headquarters. i suggest that everyone shut up before i have to shut them up. they shut up.

"HWC episode 2, part 1""

HWC episode 2, part 2""

HWC episode 2, part 3""

currently on the white board behind the bar: wa. ta. ta.

many thanks again to John Elliott and Johann Wolf-Wagner. Please be sure to occasionally check their respective websites and go see them perform near you. they will accept most any form of payment, including tofu, macrame plant hangers, and/or adjustments to their auras. as always, send your questions, comments, and suggestions to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. may god have mercy on your souls.

i'm on it.

dave

kill hank morris

2009-02-24T09:05:00.000-08:00

dammit, it feels like 6 months since i last posted a legitimate (?) blog. the written word has proved itself to be a burden the last couple of weeks. many irons in the proverbial fire.

i quite enjoyed doing the podcast. we should be recording another on thursday with John Elliott, a fabulous (no homo) songwriter from Minnesota (!) of all places. he travels more than Kwai Chang Caine, touring all over the country with various other gypsies and transients, and is a favorite of both the bar and the HWC family unit. he's one of the nicest sons of bitches on the planet, especially for a vegan, and i always look forward to having him come by. if you want to update yourself before then, you can go to his myspace page - myspace.com/thehereafterishere and listen to some of his stuff.

he's got a new album that we will be discussing on the podcast, and hopefully he will let us play one or two of his songs without suing us for copyright infringement.

let's get to some updates.

One-Percenters Update:

they almost got us.

apparently three individuals (fresh out the joint) that should be featured on an upcoming episode of "America's Dumbest Criminals" were recently foiled in an ill-fated attempt to host an armed-robbery party at the bar. by party, i mean that they were going to take all our money at gunpoint and probably watch me pee myself, which probably would have given them a good laugh and been quite rewarding for them on a personal level. you have to be able to enjoy your job sometimes, you know? all work and no play makes jack a dull felon.

they had been waiting around in the parking lot one night after we closed and told a dude (a regular of ours asking for a ride home) what they had in mind. he decided he didn't want to intrude, so he got a lift from somebody else and called the bar to let us know they were outside. of course, they did the "ninja vanish" by the time the police arrived.

two nights later, one of them tried to come in as a customer. our bouncer Billy Bob (i swear i'm not making that up) told him that he was clearly not welcome back. as he walked away, they could see he had a gun tucked into his Fubu boxer briefs, and their cars were again in the parking lot at the end of the night. fun, right?

skipping a lot of unnecessary details, they got arrested two nights later at a bar down the street from us. one of them had been walking through their establishment, eyeballing tip jars, looking around behind the bar, etc. mike had passed on descriptions of their vehicles to the people that work there (all friends of ours), and sure enough, when one of the employees walked out to check the parking lot, they were parked right outside the front door. brilliant.

they didn't get a chance to leave before the police appeared this time. apparently, the officers of the law had them surrounded with four or five cars, and we've heard an unsubstantiated report that all their service weapons were drawn.

apparently, they all had various warrants, so they all got to take a trip to jail. they've probably bonded out by now and are modifying their approach for next time. i watch The Wire. i know what's up.

it wasn't all negative, though. i got to learn what the phrase "jack moves" means.

Mailbag Update:

too soon? of course not. as always, some of these may actually be real, although likely edited for length or content. others may be completely fabricated. the responses are all authentic, however.

"cornbread! your blog makes me laugh so hard that i shart, and then i sit in said shart and finish reading til i'm done. reading. also, you typed "and" once instead of "an" in a recent post. troubling to say the least. i like japs. yours with load in pants. p.s. - load in back of pants, not front." - hillwolf

HWC appreciates your, um, excitement/excrement over the blog. next time you write us, however, it may not be a bad idea to have a close friend or family member read over your submission, just to make sure it doesn't sound like you may be a danger to yourself or others. also, "japs" is not the preferred nomenclature, round-eye. asian-american, please. you're on it. - HWC

"hey, Hot Water Cornbread! my birthday was on valentine's day. not only did i not have a significant other to spend it with, but all my friends cancelled on our plans to go out that night. so instead, i spent the evening at a local pub, drinking shots of Jack Daniels and flirting with a guy that appeared to be some kind of latino. he was brown, at least, but not TOO brown, if you know what i mean. anyhoo, it seemed like we hit it off pretty well, and i keep going back to the same pub hoping to run into him. if and when i see him again, how do i woo him? i'd really like some of that tan dong, but i got no skills. you know who does have skills? my friend robin. did i tell you about that time we drank all that Crown Royal and then read your blog? maybe next time. thanks!" - anna

thanks for the email, anna. your friends cancelling on such an important day is potentially unforgivable. they are possibly overrated. to your other point, you don't really need old-fashioned skills in this day and age. that's analog thinking. you need two things to get all the "tan dong" you could ever want: whiskey and blowjobs. if that doesn't work, maybe your friend robin could help you out. or maybe she could email HWC herself once in a goddam while to help us have enough motherloving material for a fucking mailbag! and yes, you told me about the Crown thing last mailbag. i'd encourage you to stop drinking so much on account of the memory loss, but you probably wouldn't like the blog so much if you didn't read it hammered all the time. stay crunk, home skillet! you're on it. - HWC

"sorry i walked my tab last night, dave. i was dealing with the lesbian fight outside. i'll make it right." - smokey

i trust you to do the right thing, smokey. and if not, i trust that your kneecaps will break when i take the bat to them. you're on it. - HWC (i wish this email had been made up)

"dear HWC, i hope that i have the honor of being the first HWC fan to send in an email. i haven't finished first in anything in a long time and, quite frankly, i could use the ego boost. congratulations on your recent google accomplishment. #38 is quite a feat. i haven't finished #38 in anything in a long time and, quite frankly, i could use the ego boost. things haven't been going that well for me, HWC. to be honest, it's hard to get out of bed some days. it's just like most days i don't really feel like i have anything to live for. (editor's note: the majority of this email has not been included on account of it being boring as hell. we should also add the disclaimer that HWC will not be held responsible for any reader causing harm to his/herself) any suggestions?" - rick

sorry, rick, but you weren't first. 38th is closer to accurate, but not quite. sucks for you, i'm sure. i know you were really hoping to finish way up there. if you are looking for something to do, maybe you could start your own blog! as long as you update it more than once a month, you should do quite well with it. you could write about all your problems or anything you like. don't worry about sending me a link. i'm sure i'll find it on my own. would it make you feel better if i told you that you're on it? you're on it. - HWC

"to whom it may concern at Hot Water Cornbread, terry is right. i should have my own area on your blog. or, like wordless wednesday, you did Sweet Tits Thursday! also, i'm glad that you think my ass is tight enough to tell the whole freaking internet about it. we'll discuss this later. dick." - Sweet Tits

what would you even write about? periods? dead baby blogs? throwing your laundry on the floor? not bloody likely. also, i am going to be late picking you up from work today. i'm waiting on the beer guy to deliver, and he won't be here until 5. sorry. you're on it or whatever. - HWC

currently on the white board behind the bar: how dare you?

i also feel obligated to mention that we got an unplanned show from musical somebody Cory Branan at the bar this past sunday night. he was passing through town on his way back to Austin and decided to stop in. his mistake as he was quickly cajoled/bribed into playing a 90-minute set. sucker. he has played here a couple of times in the last year, but has been playing in town for a long time. if you don't know any of his music, you should definitely check out his show sometime. he probably has a myspace page, and it's probably something like myspace.com/corybranan or something. but it may not be. i don't know.

any questions or complaints or comments can be directed to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com, as always. i'll read em and weep. also, as always.

i'm on it.

dave

grand drive

2009-02-16T18:32:00.000-08:00

ok! i wish i had a really clever intro to write here, but since nobody has come to expect cleverness or originality from me, i don't really want to go against the overwhelming mediocrity that HWC has become synonymous with.

below is the first episode of the HWC podcast. hopefully the first of many, with them becoming more and more frequent as the weeks go on. i would like to eventually include some interviews, more guests, etc. i hope you like it, but if not, i won't be surprised.

this episode is all grassroots and shit, featuring only myself and co-host Aaron, and of course, Sweet Tits in what will be an unfortunate and debilitating recurring role.

the embedded player kept effing up, so you get a link. be forewarned that the podcast will start immediately, so you may not want to have your speakers up to full volume or anything.

god rest your soul.

Podcast Update:

Hot Water Cornbread Podcast

currently on the white board behind the bar: Mad Cow Disease was already taken.

i'm on it.

dave

big doe rehab

2009-02-11T08:11:00.000-08:00

Sweet Tits is slowly becoming an expert on the blogosphere (is that the right word?) and its inner workings.

she reads all these other blogs about dead babies or babies with their organs born on the outside or by stay-at-home mothers that eat their babies or whatever. they are probably all much better written than this one. but they are also all incredibly boring.

a month or so ago, i was trying to come up with a topic to write on for the day, and Sweet Tits told me about something called "wordless wednesdays", which is apparently participated in by many popular, well-established bloggers. what "wordless wednesday" boils down to is a bunch of authors taking the day off and posting photos or something instead of actually writing a damn blog.

i would love to say that i am embracing my blog brothers and sisters and participating in "wordless wednesday". but the truth is that HWC is sicker than an anemic Cambodian hooker, and i really just don't feel like writing anything. but i do feel like drinking four pots of coffee, eating a lot of donuts and popcorn, and watching a shit-ton of HWC-approved youtube videos to lift my spirits while i am at work. behold:

barats and bereta - the best thing to come out of Gonzaga since John Stockton.

i can't describe how funny this first scene is to me. ridiculous.

do yourself a favor and just go to this dude's website.

found this on accident.

funnier than the television show, i say.

the reason i can never be a standup comedian:

live Mike Tyson's Punch Out - #347 on the list of things i wish i had thought of.

Currently on the white board behind the bar: Mucho worky.

that's all your time i'm taking up today. holla at ya boy!

i'm on it.

dave

the metamorphons

2009-02-08T20:52:00.000-08:00

is HWC a dracula or a werewolf?

i spent about an hour debating this topic with the three members of The Sideshow Tragedy friday night, well after the bar had closed, the One-Percenters had been swept out into the night, and the money had all been counted.

Nathan and one of his friends/co-workers/hetero(?)-life-partners Jack have recently come up with a system of classification whereby everyone on the planet can be pigeonholed (no homo) into one of two categories; either draculas or werewolfs. this conversation undoubtedly came at the end of a night that consisted mostly of strong drink, marijuana cigarettes, and wee hours.

despite being one of the game's founders, it soon became clear that Nathan is now unfit to participate. his logic and reason have been crippled by reading french philosophy, his history of severe concussions, and his tertiary syphilis. his judgement is skewed to the point that he somehow saw fit to classify me as a dracula. when it should be clear to anyone who knows me that i'm a werewolf.

understand that HWC is not making any value judgements between the two by implying that being a dracula is somehow unsavory or undesirable. also understand that there is not technically an official set of empirical characteristics that one can use to define an individual as one or the other. the process is a nebulous and largely intuitive endeavor. as everyone knows, classifying someone as either a dracula or a werewolf is art, not science.

regardless, anyone should have their judgement questioned when they say that HWC is more this guy:

than this guy:

i'm just saying.

and no, that entire introduction was not just an excuse to post a Teen Wolf video. well, kind of.

let's get to some updates.

Open Letter Update:

this open letter is clearly overdue, but i feel it still needs to be written.

"dear Katy Perry,

you kissed a girl? and you liked it? no shit?

well, check this out - i fucked a girl. and let me tell you, Katy Perry, THAT wasn't too goddam shabby, either.

are you in a room with a window right now, Katy Perry? look out that window. ALL those people have kissed a girl, Katy Perry. so unless we are bringing something substantial to the table, why don't we hold off on the lame pseudo-lesbian pop songs? at least until you get past first base with that insecure college freshman chick that had one too many Smirnoff Ices and let you write that song about her.

Katy Perry, it pains me to say it, but you are not on it.

disdainfully yours, dave"

The Children I Own Update:

we took the oldest two of our resident freeloaders to see that bullshit movie Coraline, directed by some ass gasket named Henry Selick, and starring some people that, quite frankly, should have known better. and, to be honest, WE should have known better. on a couple of levels.

number one, we regrettably forgot to bring with us a half pint of whiskey, or at least Grand Marnier or some other tasty liqueur that we could add to our movie soda, which would have actually made it close to being worth the $14 we paid for it.

number two, i should have made the children sit in the row in front of us. that way, i could have gotten some grown-up action-fun from Sweet Tits while Coraline was learning a valuable lesson about sharing or brushing your teeth or crossing the street or whatever on the big screen.

number three, the movie was shot in claymation. yes, you read that correctly. claymation. are you fucking kidding me, director Henry Selick? claymation? forgive me for assuming that in the year 2009, my $7 movie ticket will get me into something more than what amounts to a two-hour-long California Raisins commercial. unless i am mistaken and my $7 movie ticket also paid for a trip back in time to 1984, when that was still cutting-edge.

if we had been able to see the movie in 3D like it was intended to be, perhaps it wouldn't have come across like a Gumby biopic. but we got unlucky that the theater's only 3D projector was being used to show that My Bloody Valentine movie. another future multiple Oscar-winner, i'm sure.

currently on the white board behind the bar: Hump the wizard.

Aaron Dudley and i recorded our first trial run podcast today, graciously and aptly recorded by good friend Clifton von Smeltzer, who is one of those guys that i've actually known for a lot longer than it feels like i have. i think we got some decent stuff, so i hope it will all come out ok in the edit. it's been awhile since i heard my own voice. i sound shockingly gay. maybe i was just picking up on Aaron's lilt. if you'd care to comment on my latent homosexuality or contribute to the draculas/werewolfs argument, please do so below, or email us at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com.

(just an aside to Anna T. - don't think that i don't know that you loved every syllable of this particular post.)

i'm on it.

dave

float

2009-02-05T18:19:00.000-08:00

goddam Brickbreaker.

have you played this fucking game? it comes standard on whatever version of the blackberry cellphone that the cingular nazis gave me. it may come on other phones as well, i don't have any clue.

what i do know, is that it is a horrible modern rip-off of the classic arcade game "Arkanoid". basically, you control this little paddle at the bottom of the screen, and you have to bounce this metallic ball around and bust up all these different blocks without letting the ball slip past your stupid little paddle and into digital oblivion.

something else i know is that i don't even enjoy the stupid game. it's boring and repetitive and frustrating, namely because the game exists in a universe that does not follow the same laws of physics that you and i are familiar with. the rules don't follow a set logic, as the ball frequently passes through the corners of bricks, the edge of the paddle, etc. utterly ridiculous.

the ONLY other thing i know regarding Brickbreaker, is that Sweet Tits consistently exerts her dominance over my fat ass at that game and that i will not stop playing until i can beat her. mark it, dude.

lets get to some updates.

Live Music Update:

my friend jesse became my hero for a day when he was able to book a performer that i had intended to go see at the Whitewater Tavern in Little Rock. he goes by the name Reverend Deadeye, but after a thorough investigation, Hot Water Cornbread learned that his given name is Brent. i swear i'm not making that up.

the rev is the son of a couple of missionaries that spent a good portion of their lives in arizona with some of those desert indians that you hear so much about on the discovery channel or whatever. he got his start playing guitar at those old-timey big tent revivals, probably for a bunch of people dancing around with snakes and blabbering like they are speaking spanish pig latin.

apparently all the conservative practice paid off, because the show was really damn good. Reverend Brent played (all at once) an old-school resonator, a kick drum, a wash tub, a couple of cymbals, and (at times) a harmonica. to top it all off, he sang into a handmade microphone built out of an old Falstaff beer can. he played the really old-style gospel blues, like he was a white Blind Willie Johnson or something. tremendous.

he and his dog Hawk (as in the bird, not Hock as in at a pawn shop) stayed at the house after the show. it was very evident that he spends long hours on the road with his dog. i don't know if "socially awkward" is exactly the right phrase or not, but he certainly did not have much to say without being prompted with a direct question. i counted six times where he forgot what he was saying in the middle of a sentence when there was no interruption. i think he was just lost in another thought.

overall, a super nice dude. if you get a chance to see him play somewhere close to wherever the hell you live, you'll be sorry if you pass it up. his band page is myspace.com/reverenddeadeye if you want to check him out. if that seems like too much effort, you could just watch the video below.

currently on the white board behind the bar: I'm gonna period.

um, i guess that's all i have. i've been trying to finish this particular post for like two days. just no time, dudes. no time. emails? hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. mahalo.

i'm on it.

dave

consolers of the lonely

2009-01-28T09:05:00.000-08:00

to quote a famous evil baby, "victory is mine!"

if you enter the words hot, water, cornbread, and blog into the google search engine, the "apollo 18" entry of this humble weblog appears at a startling #38 on the list of over 56,000. while this may not seem initially impressive to the untrained eye, consider the fact that most of the results ahead of it are webpages with recipes, discussions, hints and tips, or other information about literal hot water cornbread.

by deduction, then, you are currently reading the world's foremost satirical blog with the words hot, water, and cornbread prominently involved, and i could probably be considered a leader in the field of blogs named after soul food. i'm pretty sure that i couldn't have done it without at least two of you. not any two in particular. it's just that i don't think most of the other hot water cornbread-related sites get a lot of traffic, really, so two people viewing this one once or twice a week is probably enough to jump this blog way up that list.

that said, i really don't have any concrete ideas about what else is left for me to accomplish. at #38 on google's search list, i've clearly reached the pinnacle of my chosen endeavor in just six short weeks.

rest assured, however, i'm not leaving the game with the championship ring on my finger. i'd rather fade away than burn out. i'm so committed to that principle, in fact, that i rarely use black tar heroin anymore.

let's get to some updates.

Uno Update:

Uno was intentionally, yet inappropriately referred to as "Library Chris" in my xmas haiku blog. the reasoning behind this was logical at the time, yet too tedious and mundane for even this blog, so i won't bore you with them.

some background - Uno is recently divorced from a girl who suddenly decided/realized/admitted to herself that she is a lesbian. much to my chagrin, i discovered that he is currently seeing (somewhat) a bisexual "lady". is lady the right word? i don't really know how that works. (editor's note: the author is confusing the term "bisexual" with the term "transsexual" here. "lady" is indeed appropriate.) regardless, i think it's tremendous that he is slowly easing himself into dating a heterosexual female.

i don't think he really likes her that much, but seeing as his only current mode of transportation is a motorized scooter (that, i swear to god, is called a "Ruckus") it probably works out pretty well for him on rainy days that she lives in the same apartment complex and owns a closed-top vehicle. i'm only saying that because a couple of months ago, he made a cardboard sign that says, "will give oral for a dry ride". that's gross on a lot of levels.

on sunday, Sweet Tits, the Brown One, the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World, and myself all piled into the Official SUV of Hot Water Cornbread and drove the hour and change to hang out with Uno and our mutual friend Cables. we met at a restaraunt called Trejo's, an overrated mexican joint whose only saving grace is the fact that there are video poker machines there, which helped me get rid of this $20 bill that had been giving me all kinds of trouble. oh, and the server/bartender lady was very nice, even though she was clearly infatuated with me and kept undressing me with her eyes. uncomfortable. plus, that role in my life is currently filled by the Starbuck Cougar. i'll let you know when i start taking applications again, Trejo's Kitten.

Casino Gambling Update:

from the mexican place, we hit one of the casinos in town. understand that Uno has given me volumes of shit in the past (and present) about my playing video poker. "the crack cocaine of gambling" he calls it. but i say that's just one man's opinion. well, his and several prominent gambling addiction experts. but that's a topic for another day.

what is important here, is that upon entering the gaming floor, this sonofabitch made an absolute fuckin beeline to the "Wheel of Fortune" slot machines, sat his happy ass down, and started pumping in twenties! to make a short story shorter, after lecturing me about the video poker (an undeniable game of skill) he got about six minutes of fun for his money (in a game with undeniably thin odds in his favor) and he didn't get to spin the wheel even once. suck it, Uno.

apart from that, nobody besides me and the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World cared too much about gambling, so after milling about for awhile, they all went to go drink at the casino bar while we played a couple of table games. blackjack for a little bit (no good) before we went over to a three-card poker table (reeeeally no good). she had never played before, and it's and easy enough game to learn, especially since it's completely about luck, and you really don't have many decisions to make. as it turned out, i really didn't have many decisions to make, seeing as how the best hand i had the whole time was a pair of tens. ridiculously poor luck this trip for everyone that gambled. although, the Sweetest Angry Cunt did seem to be very happy about the provision of several free whiskey drinks during the money-losing process.

Alcohol Drinking Update:

after losing our marijuana money at the tables, we joined the rest of the team briefly at the casino bar, before we headed back downtown to an underrated bar called Stray Cats. the place is always exceptionally clean, it's got perfect lighting, and a really cool pounded copper bartop. they have a decent whiskey and imported beer selection, especially for a place that isn't necessarily what would be considered an "upscale" bar. a couple of fun scotches like Glenfiddich and Balvenie, and some beers like Chimay and Duval that a lot of places don't carry. of course, i refuse to overpay for all that shit, so i just stuck with my Guinness, while Cables and Uno drank their various white trash beers, and the girls all killed Jim Beam whiskey drinks at an unreasonable pace.

i think we pumped about $50 into the damn jukebox while we were there, which unfortunately did not have the selection that we would have liked, but they obviously had enough acceptable choices to keep us sliding our dollars in. we rocked a bunch of old bluesy shit for awhile, Rolling stones and Leadbelly and The Band and whatever, before we really mixed it up with some Michael Jackson, Wu-Tang, and Modest Mouse. we stayed and drank and talked for a couple of hours before we decided to head back home, kissed everyone goodbye, and split. good damn times.

currently on the white board behind the bar: Mary Steenburgen ain't the boss of me.

i had really hoped to get to monday night in this post, too, but it's probably too long already. thanks to all of you that almost sent emails. since i requested them a week or so ago, i have received a total of zero, so i know that there must have been many of you that were brought to the brink of submitting a question or comment to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com, which i greatly appreciate. keep them almost coming, like a bad sexual partner. (ask a friend to explain what that means to you later, Brown One.)

i'm on it.

dave

strawberry jam

2009-01-27T00:37:00.000-08:00

so i just found out that my friend Daintch is going to be having a baby in eight months or so! exciting, right?

a few words for the father-to-be: welcome to hell, and in your face, you dumb bastard. didn't let me talk you out of getting married, so now you're suffering the consequences. i hope you choke on that newborn baby smell. and to top it all off, i swear that last night, getting into bed, i heard Sweet Tits' uterus growl, "feeeeeed meeee!". you make me sick, Daintch. congratulations.

let's get to some updates.

Starbucks Cougar Update:

o, Starbucks Cougar! where has the magic gone between us? things aren't the same as they used to be. your apron isn't tied tightly to accentuate your modest and understated cleavage ("skeeter bites" we called them in middle school) when i come in anymore. the days where you toss me a wink as you hand back my change are a distant memory. i don't think you were even wearing makeup yesterday! have you quit on what we once shared? was the depth of feeling between us a mirage? or are you just, like, on the rag or something?

Official Parents of Hot Water Cornbread Update:

i received one of the worst 10 phone calls in the history of Southwestern Bell the other day. my mother called me here at HWC headquarters last thursday. they were leaving for a short cruise and, as always, had waited until literally the last possible minute to let me know, so as they were talking, the ship's horn was blasting in the background. (for the record, HWC's genetic sponsors absoLUTEly love cruises. they go on one about every month and a half for the last four years. or so it seems to me, anyway. but i digress.)

if there were a transcript of the phone call, it would look something like this:

Official Mother of HWC: "hi, honey! i was just calling to let you know we're leaving for a four-day cruise! should be a good weekend, since we're going to be going to Pro-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-zumel for two days. just wanted to let you know in case y-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-and we didn't answer the phone. oh! here's your dad!:

Official Father of HWC: "hey, son! i guess your mom alre-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-but maybe the Cowboys will have a better season next year if they can ever repl-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-so that's probably the last time i ever deep-fry something in baby oil. okay! talk to you soon!"

HWC: hello?

Official Father of HWC: (indistinguishable chatter from what would have to be the ship's first mate [no homo] laying out all the cruise rules or what-the-hell-ever, followed by a click).

HWC Headquarters Update:

two things:

1. with much weeping and gnashing of teeth, we have finally tossed out the Official HWC 2008 Christmas Tree. it's a hard-fought battle every year. i'm a horrific procrastinator, and Sweet Tits loves christmas, so between her insistence that it stays, and my lack of willingness to really do anything about it, we tend to passively celebrate the birth of Jesus for an extra month every year. and just like every other year, it had to get to the point where the thing was a gd fire hazard before we took it our. i was 14% sure that it would crumble to powder when we tried to pick it up, but it somehow managed to stay mostly integrated on its way to the curb.

2. HWC should be going multimedia in the next two or three weeks, via the podcast. truth be told, HWC was originally supposed to be a podcast with myself and my friend Aaron. but things of course happen as they tend to, and it never got done, mostly because Aaron got busy touring around and i don't have the personality to carry something like that on my own. we will be drunk as shit and doing a couple of material-free recordings in a week or two, just to see how it all goes. if we like it, we'll post it. just be forewarned that it will not be any kind of finished product.

Currently on the white board behind the bar: Black Toy of Doom

i actually have quite a bit more to update, but don't have the necessary time to do it now. really eventful weekend, and i'll try to catch it all up in the next day or two. and forgive the self-indulgence, but i just re-watched the movie Adaptation the other day, and there is a scene in the following clip that has been stuck in my head. it starts about 3:15 or so. i would also like to use this video to dispute the Bitter Little Lamb's claim about one Nicholas Cage and his acting abilities. Nic and i implore you to suck it.

i'm on it.

dave

apollo 18

2009-01-18T23:18:00.000-08:00

so this post is named after that album by They Might Be Giants.

they're a cool damn band that's been around for 20-something years, and i don't think they've ever really slacked on the quality of their albums. there are some that i prefer to others, obviously. but i think one of the hardest things to accomplish (you know, if i were some kind of artist or creative type) is to maintain your own voice without becoming a ripoff of yourself. they write songs in reeeally diverse styles but are never so weird that you can't listen to them. their song topics range from belgian painters to divorce to the science of solar themodynamics to snack food. and i think that's all on one album.

they just seem like a couple of really smart guys that never let themselves get bored with their songwriting or ever started giving a shit about what is necessarily popular. they just worry about being good.

basically what i'm saying is this: if the only songs you know by these boys is "Istanbul (not Constantinople)" and "Particle Man", because they were featured on Tiny Toons back in the day, you really need to get your shit together. if you can't find about 20 of their songs that you really like, that's probably an indication that you don't have a soul. or you are mexican.

if i can make this damn blogspot machine work, i'll include a video. now don't get me wrong, their videos are as old and dated as anything C&C Music Factory ever produced, so don't judge them by that. but it will be a nice visit to the early nineties for those of you who were like 7 or something back then, and probably don't remember it as clearly as you should. (trust me, there are those that walk among us that were only 7 in the early nineties. and they look just like you and me.)

i bought a couple of their albums for The Girl recently. (she's nine and i'm trying to get her some of the basics in at an early age, so she doesn't grow up to be a total ass-hat. you know, TMBG, Dave Matthews, Bjork, etc.) it occurred to me that i've been listening to them since farking middle school, which works out to like 18 years, if you're keeping score at home.

my best friend in seventh grade, Greg, introduced me to TMBG. Greg was an asthmatic band geek who was mostly terrible at sports and put up with a lot of shit from a lot of people that i mostly lost touch with after we moved my senior year. best fact about Greg? he briefly dated the daughter of Dan Piraro, the dude that draws the "Bizarro" comic strip in the Dallas Morning News. one of my great regrets is that i didn't realize what a cool motherfucker he was until we were both in college. i owe a lot of my musical tastes to him being a damn visionary when he was 12. he was like my Rain Man of indie music, except he didn't get to drive the car slow on the driveway on saturdays. (definitely on saturdays. never on a tuesday. he's definitely an excellent driver.)

he had picked up TMBG from his cousin shane. shane was a Stephen Malkmus lookalike, and probably the first person that i was ever aware smoked pot. apart from that, he was a big Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chili Peppers fan, which was fine with me. but he also LOVED the Oklahoma Sooners. so there's a small part of me that would be ok if i somehow found out he was homeless.

ok! here's the video. i think.

let's get to some updates.

Union Baby Update:

Union Baby made it home from the hospital in one piece. unfortunately, she has not made it over to my house yet, so she is still waiting for her first sip of bourbon. and judging from the pictures i've seen of her, she is not at all happy about that fact. either that or she's trying to pass a kidney stone the size of a nickel.

when the time comes, though, i'll be ready. i think i'm going to go with Basil Hayden's which is a really nice, mellow, 80-proof whiskey that won't overload her baby palate like Bulleit or Baker's would, but it offers enough complexity to make it worth her time. or i may just give her a shot of Beam.

what i'm really excited about is getting her to call me Creepy Uncle Dave. the way i see it, that's the type of nickname that is better if it is self-applied.

The Middle One and Tiny Baby Update:

i swear to god, it's like i'm living with fucking raccoons.

but not normal raccoons that you can find at the river, being rascally or digging up clams or playing around with a shiny trinket.

i mean some very business-like and efficient raccoons with a detailed checklist that includes things like:

let the dog out of the house.
climb on top of the fridge to get the bag of double-stuf oreos that are hidden in the cabinet, and then consume them all. empty a bottle of nail polish onto the couch and spread it around with your stupid tiny babyhands.
leave little pieces of off-brand corn chips on every available horizontal surface.
smear yourself with Vicks Vapo-Rub.
taunt your parents with repeated diapers full of loose stools.

i'm sure that i am leaving something out here, but you get the idea. if you know a good gypsy that pays cash and is looking for a couple of healthy, white, blue-eyed male children to put on the black market, please contact Sweet Tits at her brand new email address - jesusrooseveltchristwhenwilltheyturn18@gmail.com

Cool New Stuff Update:

double sweetness at the mall. both the bookstore and the music store are closing up shop within the next week, so they both have almost everything at 50% off or better. the employees did not seem to be as happy about all the savings as i was for some reason. maybe they were all overdue for their cigarette breaks. or maybe they were sad because Barack Obama hasn't found them a new job yet, like he SAID he would, back when he needed our votes. (too soon?)

i don't really have time to go into detail on the superiority of any of these. a couple of them you will probably be familiar enough with already. the rest you can research on your own time. i can't spoon feed you all the time.

I Am America (and So Can You) - by Stephen Colbert
The Raconteurs - Consolers of the Lonely
Mogwai - Government Commissions
Led Zeppelin - Presence (which was recorded in 18 days back in the mid-70's, and has one of my favorite LZ songs, "Nobody's Fault but Mine")
More Information Than You Require - by John Hodgman (Daily Show/Colbert Report contributor)
The Fiery Furnaces - Rehearsing My Choir

Currently on the white board behind the bar: i am NOT going to Waco.

i'll try to do better next time. Mike and i are going to Little Rock briefly tomorrow for lunch with a friend/business partner of his, so maybe something cool will happen with that. or i might have some really cool sex or something. also, i only need five good emails to have enough to do a mailbag. i don't mean five MORE, just five. well, i guess technically i DO need five more.
hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. i'm just saying.

i'm on it.

dave

neverender

2009-01-14T13:52:00.000-08:00

just a quick shout-out to my friend yak, who spent either hours or a few minutes putting together the kickass new banner at the top of the page. anything he does is far cooler than this blog deserves. i owe him many blowjobs. we all owe him many blowjobs.

Currently on the white board behind the bar: Milk me.

and yes, it is a blatant ripoff of the hot water music logo. that's what i requested. except that instead of "ripoff", i use the word "homage".

i'm on it.

dave

come on, feel the illinois!

2009-01-13T09:24:00.000-08:00

you always hear how people don't change.

like "a leopard can't change its spots" or "a bulgarian whore can't hide her penis," my grandfather would always tell me. true enough. it IS difficult to maintain the tuck at times. believe me, i've tried. i even watched the Chris Terrell instructional video this weekend for some friendly tips (no homo). it was shot at a recent punk-rock festival after party, while the band was in Gainesville, Florida last year.

during the course of this video, Chris Terrell proceeds to strip down completely naked with two TOTAL strangers in their motel room, all three tucking the old bratwurst and taters and enacting the creepy Buffalo Bill scene from Silence of the Lambs as well as several familiar Charles Atlas poses. unnerving.

someone should literally flip a coin to decide which was more grotesque - this scene or the one in which the boys are dipping (freshly unwrapped) tampons into a mixture of vodka and kool-aid powder, before lifting them out and up by the string and slurping out the, um, not-so-kool-aid. when the video comes out on youtube, please pay special attention to catch the phrases "vagina rat", "bloody pussy shot", and Gary laughing like an iced-out maniac in the background. there are also several instances where Andy is referred to as a "Vermonter", which he is inexplicably and irrationally angry about months later.

let's get to some updates.

Mike Update:

Mike's baby with the ex-girlfriend finally got here two days ago. (21 inches, 7 lbs and 11 oz, for those of you keeping score at home). for the record, that's not meant to sound like she had been on a whirlwind world tour or anything. i just mean that she was born. for the purposes of this blog, she will be referred to as Union Baby. i may never explain why.

having a child is an odd choice for someone that generally dislikes people, (and those that wet their pants in particular) but he was exhaustedly elated by the time she finally popped out. i dare say he was far LESS surly than usual. a tremendous accomplishment taking into account how much he enjoys both sleep and food, and most of the day had been sleepless and foodless.

there was an opportunity for an extremely uncomfortable situation in the waiting room. it was just him for most of the day (against 15-20 of the mother's friends and family) until i got there around 6 pm. unfortunately for me, there were no jerry springer moments. there was only one guy that was a little bit snarky towards him in the hallway right after the baby was born, but he didn't do enough to earn a dick punch or anything.

regardless of any disagreements, everyone is on Team Union Baby now. Mike and the mother are both good people, and good people work things out for what is best and most important. as long as i don't get stuck changing shitty diapers or have to watch Mike breastfeed, i'm on board with all of it.

what i am not on board with: the fact i think i heard Sweet Tits' uterus swell as she was looking at pictures of the newborn. i will clearly be witholding physical affection for the next 18 months. have i ever mentioned that we already have three kids? we have three goddam kids.

Football Gambling Update:

good god. i don't think i can talk about this yet.

Brown One/Sweetest Angry Cunt Update:

the Brown One had a birthday party the same night Union Baby went Jim Morrison on that womb. i was unfortunately unable to attend. not unfortunate in the sense that i really love birthday parties. unfortunate in the sense that the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World had several world-class drunken moments.

my personal favorite? beligerently telling the Brown One that she definitively does NOT have the keys to the Brown One's car. "i JUST handed them to somebody! a person! a HUMAN BEING! i DON'T have them! JESUS!"

to be fair, she was equally apologetic upon realizing that the keys were, in fact, in her hand the entire time. you have to love it.

Currently on the white board behind the bar: Where's my owl cake?

i know it has been a week between posts (suck it, Smokey, i'm a busy sonuvabitch). i trust you all have used the time wisely and to your full advantage. if you feel you should thank me for not burning any of your precious time or to register a complaint about the quality of a post, you can reach me at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. or for pretty much anything else, really. just keep it close to reasonable.

i'm on it.

dave

our endless numbered days

2009-01-07T10:11:00.000-08:00

so, i may have a revolutionary new blog idea.

by revolutionary, i mean piggy-backing someone else's good idea, changing it just a little bit, and calling it my own.

at this point, all four of my readers should have had time to have visited the "Fuck You, Penguin" blog i mentioned recently. if you have not done so, it indicates that you are either unwilling or unable to click the link to this blog that i have made available for you in the top right corner of this page. for the stupid, lazy, and/or armless (hi, mom!) members of the audience, the premise of the blog is the author telling "cute animals what's what".

for example, let's say they have a photo of some cuddly-looking blob of koala in a tree, eating some eucalyptus, or a tin can, or a bratwurst or whatever they eat. he's sitting there, looking innocent and adorable, and the blog-writer will post a brief paragraph that berates him, usually with violent threats and swearing. usually something like, "you think we don't see you in that tree, koala? we do. because you are a big, heinously obese ass-hat that should be FACE-RAPED LIKE A DEAF-MUTE BOSNIAN REFUGEE! you make me sick, koala, because i know you think you're so damn awesome just because i want to snuggle up with you. you think you're hot snot on a silver platter. but you're really just cold boogers on a paper plate. that's what we in america call a "sick burn", koala! live with it!"

and so on. this was for illustrative purposes only. obviously, the FYP blogger would come up with something funny and pointed, that would make his/her readers laugh... AND think.

but just ponder this - what if there were a similar blog dedicated to the sinister antics of a single child? isn't it safe to assume that if you like "Fuck You, Penguin", you will LOVE "Fuck You, Tiny Baby"?

just consider the possibilities. countless pictures of my adorable youngest child, each with a brief yet obscene paragraph that offers insults and threatens physical violence. it would give child protective services all the evidence they would ever need to take him from the home.

let me know what you think.

in other news, i have reconsidered my decision not to do a 2008 in review posting. screw my friend Yak, with his superior and stylish blog that features things i don't know anything about or could even begin to comprehend. who needs it? my readers love my bland and inferior style, and they probably don't even care about what's really cool or new. so suck it, Yak.

for the record, the following "awards" are in no particular order, nor do they follow any particular logic. they are just kind of as they come to me. also, if it happens to be a book or movie or album, it doesn't necessarily mean it was released in 2008. just that i read/saw/heard it in 2008, which is really all that's important here. just so we're clear. also, i don't have a cool name for the awards, like the "Cornbreadies" or anything. sorry. so, without further delay:

Best Rock-n-Roll Musical Concert Show (3-way tie):

Wilco and Dr. Dog @ the Robinson Theatre, Little Rock - mike and i went to this show way back in february (i think), before he and She That Shall Not Be Nicknamed got together and ruined what was left of my life. Dr. Dog is one of my current 10 favorite listens, and neither of us had any idea they would be opening that night. extremely solid band, and tighter than i would have guessed for a bunch of g-d longhair, barefoot, crunchy vermont hippies. highlight of the show for me, however, was Wilco playing "via chicago", where they do this thing during the chorus that is like a dick-punch of sound. tremendous.

The Sideshow Tragedy @ Whitewater Tavern, Little Rock - another outing for mike and i, just before he went hetero. my first time to go to a show at Whitewater, which may be the best bar in the south. at least the most oddly-situated. if you haven't seen the Sideshow Tragedy, and you live in the south or midwest, i can guarantee you two things: 1 - they will be playing somewhere near you within the next four months, and 2 - you will not be sorry you paid to see them. they are just one of those bands, that, if you don't like what they do, you probably just don't like music. anyway, i got exTREMEly drunk on jim beam and guinness and was into the show emotionally in a way that i hadn't been at a concert in a really long time. i threw my hat at the bass player during one song, while telling him what a "sick motherfucker" he was at the top of my lungs. an excellent night. oh! i almost forgot it was the same night that we stopped at another bar in LR called Midtown, where i proceeded to take a ginormous shit that stopped up the toilet in the women's room! sorry, ladies!

The Teeth @ the Jackrabbit Lounge, Shreveport - they were really close even before this, but they absolutely became my favorite band (at the time) after i saw them live. got to talk and do some shots with them pre- and post-show. just really great, genuine dudes that gave just about everything they had onstage. lots of energy, really fun, and the crowd knew all the songs, which made it spectacular, since it was a smaller venue. i don't know what else to say here, except that now they are broken up and two of them, peter and brian, are in a new project called The Purples. also, i hope they all get their clitorises bitten off for not putting out at least one more album.

Best Moment Involving One of the Children I Own:

The Middle One singing onstage with John Elliott, Memphis - Sweet Tits took The Middle One to see some friends of ours (John Elliott and Raina Rose) perform at some kind of unwashed hippie dope-smoke-a-thon in Memphis. John was playing his first song ("give me what i want") when he noticed The Middle One singing along in the front row, word-for-word. he stopped playing, told the Middle One to come up on stage, and they started the song over, singing together, and John letting him carry some of the chorus all by himself. of course, when they were finished, everyone applauded for him, which he loved. Sweet Tits got some really nice video of the whole thing. i guess you would have to know a little bit about The Middle One to have an idea why this meant as much to me as it did. but screw you.

Best Excuse to Acquire Salmonella:

speaking of that trip to Memphis, Sweet Tits brought me back a piece of fried chicken from this place called Gus's that's somewhere around downtown. holy moses. by the time i got it, the chicken was like 6 hours old and room temperature. and still might have been the best piece of fried chicken i've ever eaten. it was like deep-fried sex, seasoned with black tar heroin. yum.

Most Heartless and Insensitive Moment for Me Personally:

this would clearly be the day that i found out that the proprietor of a particular locally-owned food establishment was either - a. dead as hell or b. incapacitated or in some kind of coma or something. "dammit," i said. " i guess we'll have to order some of that fucking papa john's bullshit." they had REALLY great handmade pizza there, you see, and i was perplexed as to why no one was answering the phone to take my order for a large sausage, mushroom, and basil. (for the record, he is/was a really great dude, and Sweet Tits and i had talked with him on a number of occasions. it was just in that particular instance, his well-being was completely overshadowed by my immense and pressing need for delicious pizza.)

Most Heartless and Insensitive Moment for The Girl:

i would think that at some point, for every invested parent, there comes a time when you look at your child and see the indelible mark that you have left on them, be it good or bad. my moment with The Girl came after this completely ludicrous wind and hail storm last spring. we were leaving the car wash and we passed a lexus with a back windshield that had been completely cratered in. "dad! look at that!" she said. "i know, baby," i replied. "it probably got caved in from the big hailstorm last night." "BOOM! SICK BURN!" she yells. prouder moments have been few and far between. i just wish that we had had the windows rolled up, so that Jimmy Lexus-Owner would not have shot my favorite child that well-deserved go-to-hell look.

Most Heartless and Insensitive Moment for The Tiny Baby:

that stupid bastard head-butted me right in the damn nose the other day. technically not in 2008, i know, but shit...

Favorite New Beverage (non-alcoholic):

those tasty little Starbucks Doubleshot cans! fast, totally delish, and they let me make lewd jokes to the Starbucks Cougar on occasion and pass it off as harmless banter. bwa-ha-ha, Starbucks Cougar. you are becoming ensnared in my web of charm.

Favorite New Beverage (alcoholic):

Baker's Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. mmmmmm. 7 years old. 107 proof. one of the Jim Beam small batch collection. a glass of Baker's is like a long, warm, painless coma that you don't want to wake up from. no ice, just the smallest splash of water to open it up some.

Best TV Show:

The Wire. not just the best for this year, but probably the best for any year. funny, tragic, sickeningly real, honest, intelligent, complex, well-written, and a minimum of bullshit. if you have never seen The Wire, i want you to quit your job, go buy seasons 1-5, and then sit down and watch the entire series beginning to end. you are allowed to get up to go to the bathroom and answer the door when the pizza dude gets there, and you had better pause the program when you do those things. there's just too much to keep up with to miss a minute or two while you are making a dookie. (dukey? dooky? how do you spell that?)

Most Disappointing Movie:

Burn After Reading by the Coen brothers. the only reason i didn't get up and leave in the middle is because it's the Coen brothers, and i kept expecting it to get good. the trailers looked good, and there were a couple of funny moments, but for the most part it just seemed like they were trying to remake Fargo or something. considering all their other fine films, though, i'm sure i'll get over it. i liked No Country For Old Men enough that they never have to make another good movie again.

Most Surprisingly Good Movie:

Batman Returns or Begins or whatever. the one with Heath Ledger they kept talking about all the time. i can't really say much that hasn't already been said about it, i'm sure. it was just really surprising that a movie that everyone said was so good was actually really fucking good. because everyone said those goddam spiderman movies were so awesome, but they mostly sucked cat labia.

Currently on the white board behind the bar - it's in the mog house, noob!

well, hell, i can't really think of anything else, but i'm sure there's quite a lot. my long-term memory is atrocious. if you are at all curious regarding my best or worst or whatever superlative for any given thing or circumstance, you should be able to reach me via electronic letter-writer-sender, which is hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com, and i will do my best to get to both emails. but time is in short supply, and there's always the chance that one of them will suck. so, you know.

i'm on it.

dave

you're my lover now

2009-01-05T09:14:00.000-08:00

unintended lack of posting for the last week. extraordinarly busy for the bar, with new year's eve and then the weekend following, of course. busy enough that i was unable to find time to write and post the "Hot Water Cornbread's Best of 2008" entry that i wanted to. but say-la-vee and shit. either way, it wouldn't have been as good or as good-looking as the similar column by my friend Yak (please see: blog, un-magical realism).

in addition, i have been fighting off what i believe to be either sars or the norwegian poon flu. i'm so jacked on Emergen-C, B-12 and Theraflu, there's a chance that i am technically unconscious as i write this (vegas currently has the odds on this at 12:1). i may also be floating in a very real, very Jimi Hendrix way.

can you overdose on things that aren't technically medicine? god, i hope so. i would love to find out what the treatment is for turning orange and being jittery enough to be employed at home depot as a paint mixer. as long as it doesn't affect my writing, i think that front porch kolache stonewall fencepost will speed limit banana mime vanilla gay mayor gorilla diaper.

let's get to some updates.

Live Music Update:

this past friday, three of my favorite people and Chris Terrell put on a rock-n-roll music show up at the bar. band is called the Infamous Jaguar Shark (www.myspace.com/thejaguarsharkband), and they have played there on a few occasions, most notably my birthday last may, which you probably missed. these boys always trick me into doing too many shots of whiskey (please see: Beam, Jim or Cock, Fighting) to properly do my job, but i don't hate them for it.

the Jag Shark brought with them a new jersey punk band called The Measure, made up of two upstanding young men (Tim and Mike) and another dude (Fid) and a chick (Lauren), both of questionable upbringing and eroding morals. i invited the new j-sians (pronounced to rhyme with "asians") to stay at the house, seeing has how we have ample couch space and fully-operational bathroom facilities. i personally love having bands stay at the house. it gives me the opportunity to wake them up FAR too early in the morning by blasting Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough", which is one of the regular highlights of my waking life.

the Infamous Chris Terrell somehow managed to make his way to the house with them at 2 am, after chatting up the singer (Lauren, just to be clear, who is in truth a very quiet and demure, non-judgmental vegan) for most of the night. i was still at work when i found out about this development, leaving Sweet Tits to deal with him on her own, completely unarmed. this was an issue.

Chris Terrell is the kind of drunk that has been known to break an entire cabinet full of dishes. and not notice. Chris Terril is the kind of drunk to start a fight with good friends while he is naked in their yard. and now, Chris Terrell (according to published reports from trusted sources) is apparently the kind of drunk to attempt making sweet, sweet love on the vegan lead singer of a new j-sian punk outfit in the middle of my hallway. this would have been less of an issue if Sweet Tits had been given the opportunity to place a moisture barrier between them and the carpet, so as to avoid leaving a ring.

to give something akin to equal time: Chris Terrell denies that his bare ass was seen bobbing up and down, and denies that there was any attempt on his part to, shall we say, "drill for vegetable oil". Chris Terrell is full of shit. we also found, during the course of conversation the next day, that he was unaware (or at least unclear) of the fact that a platypus is indeed a real animal. not, as he put it, "like a unicorn or something".

for the record, Chris Terrell is the kind of drunk that i could blog about every day, and never run out of material.

good god, good gravy. i love you so much, baby.

The Children I Own Update:

Tiny Baby has been eating most things that he can get his hands on. the rest of it (such as makeup, peanut butter, deodorant, cheese sauce, or paint) he has been smearing on his face and clothing. this has been an unpopular career move for the Tiny Baby.

however, his upcoming quarterly performance evaluation will be slightly better than the last one, when he still found it to be fashionable and amusing to flush non-disposable items down the toilet.

if you are reading this, please be aware that we have our eye on you, Tiny Baby. don't think you are too small to be punched out Soda Popinski-style. you have wobbly legs and poor motor control. you would not last much more than two full rounds with either one of us, sir.

One-Percenters Update:

there was a surprising lack of One-Percenters this new year's eve. people were strangely well-behaved and house-trained. last year, the amateur nature of our customers became very apparent, as i was asked insightful questions like, "do you guys carry Miller Lite?" "not sure," i replied. "i'll have to check with the manager. we don't carry a lot of specialties and imports. it's called Miller Lite, you say?"

there is an excellent chance it was the first night out of mom's basement for this particular gentleman. and maybe he had once seen an ad for Miller Lite when she let him watch "the talky-picture box" that one time for his birthday. and maybe thoughts of that beautiful fizzy yellow beer had stayed in his dreams since that moment, as yearned for the opportunity to drink one, just once. and maybe after i was an asshole about whether or not we carried it, he realized his whole life was a sham, and he went home and shot his mom, for keeping him sheltered and naive throughout his entire adult life, before turning the gun on himself.

sometimes, it feels really good to make a difference.

Currently on the white board behind the bar: let's hear it for sign language!

for the record, if anyone reading this did not understand the Soda Popinski reference above, do me a solid and ask another one of your friends about it. asking me would make me feel reeeeeally old. but if you can't find a better source, you can always email me at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. or with any other questions, for that matter.

i'm on it.

dave

howl howl gaff gaff

2008-12-29T08:12:00.000-08:00

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

red-headed stranger

2008-12-26T11:47:00.000-08:00

let's hear it for extended family.

i'm not talking about extended family like The Brown One has. they're all a bunch of savages, fighting each other with crude weapons for supremacy of the tribe, the right to eat the raw heart of the day's kill, or who's going to mate with the "magic pink-skin three-hole" that traveled with The Brown One from "the land beyond the sun". that's a very rare and extreme kind of danger that rarely exists outside the wastelands of southern california.

i'm also not talking about the extended family of someone i'm trying not to mention, whose conversation makes it possible to believe that narcolepsy is contagious. and airborne. "did i tell you about when i was raking leaves the other day?" "you will never believe how many different brands of tomato puree they have at the Albertson's back home!" "did you happen to be watching the TV Guide channel the other day when they did that interview with Male Nurse #3 from the last episode of ER?" sweet moses. you get the idea.

i'm talking about the kind of extended family that seems a little more like strangers every year. aunts and uncles and cousins whose names you sometimes kinda forget. you gradually share fewer and fewer inside jokes. you forget where they work before realizing that you don't care. everything gets a little more cordial, a little more professional, a little more sanitary. they all become a little more like "those really nice people that were at granny's house last year for christmas. remember? one of them had a baby and the other one was talking about quitting his job or something all the time".

then you think about it and realize that most of these people, at one point or another, had all laid eyes on your hairless nut sack (or whatever kind of weird equipment girls start with) way back in the day. they were doing you a major solid, getting you out of that urine/doody-soaked ass napkin that you used for pants before you knew how to "take the browns to the super bowl" and whatnot. and now? now it's all handshakes, half-ass hugs, polite conversation about current events, and generic, age-appropriate gifts because you don't give enough of a shit to know what they would really like.

god, that's depressing. i'm glad everyone's family is different.

let's get to some updates.

Cool New Stuff Update:

MF Doom Painting, by Seth Hudson - Seth is one of the most enigmatic people that i can imagine being friends with. we barely knew each other in high school, saw each other a few times during college, and have literally gone years without seeing/talking to him. that sonofabitch doesn't even respond to my text messages. yet, if i'm making a list, he's one of the ones i want to throw me into a random dumpster of medical waste when i die. he painted a portrait of my favorite hippity-hop rapper (MF Doom) and sent it to me for christmas. pretty cool MF yourself there, Seth.

Joe Pat Davis Update:

from what i understand (i did NOT fact-check this on webmd.com), the systems in your body briefly and painfully screech to a halt when you sneeze.

Joe Pat Davis has been my best friend since high school, so his trips to see me affect me much the same way. sleep patterns, meals, drinking, plans for the day, etc. - it all gets thrown out of whack while he's here, then resumes normally when he leaves, usually less than a day later.

he showed up last night about 10:30 or something. we were drunk beyond recognition by midnight. Sweet Tits drunk-dialed his de facto girlfriend around 1:30, yet was remarkably charming, polite and coherent, all qualities that generally elude her at such an hour, particularly at such a level of intoxication. exceptionally proud moment for me.

we dicked around for the better part of the morning (no homo) before not getting anything done around lunch time, and then burning through most of the afternoon lounging around. all in all, it was completely unproductive and pointless, and left me with a bit of a headache. just like a sneeze.

for the record, Joe Pat Davis owes me big. i followed his wishes and did not dub him "Sausage Hand" for the purposes of this blog. ha ha. Sausage Hand...

Bitter Little Lamb Update:

Bitter Little Lamb was mislabeled "Sullen Tangerine" in the previous post, with the xmas haikus. i was temporarily stunned and confused by the name of HER blog page, sullentangerine.wordpress.com, which you should visit if you care anything about poetry. she says it's bad poetry, but i'm far less judgemental than she is. however, i'm guessing if she hated it so much, she probably wouldn't post it at all. she's a good writer and her clients tell me she gives a hell of a hand job.

she also turned me on (no hetero) to a pretty funny blog that is worth checking out, if you aren't already aware of it. its fuckyoupenguin.blogspot.com, where the author claims that he/she "tells cute animals what's what". it's great. basically talking shit to the most adorable 5% of the animal population. perfect if you need something quick in the middle of the day to give you a laugh. gracias, Bitter Little Lamb. maybe Fuck You, Penguin will talk shit to you one day.

she also has provided me with a new reader! and she apparently shares all of your lukewarm feelings about the quality of my blog! hello to you, Beth, and merry christmas! someday, in ten years or so, i will have close to 20 readers, and i look forward to remembering this day. to commemorate, i dedicate the following haiku to you:

Beth
Hot Water Cornbread for this chick! read some quality blog? Beth says, "pbpbpbpththth!"

Currently on the white board behind the bar: I am the Future Cunt.

hopefully, i will have enough emails to do a mailbag edition soon. keep them trickling in to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com!

i'm on it.

dave

the weight is a gift

2008-12-25T07:50:00.000-08:00

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

dream that stuff was made of

2008-12-22T14:14:00.000-08:00

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

you in reverse

2008-12-19T22:01:00.000-08:00

(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

real gone

2008-12-19T12:08:00.000-08:00

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

who will cut our hair when we're gone?

2008-12-18T08:23:00.000-08:00

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