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
Showing posts with label brown one. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brown one. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, December 22, 2008
dream that stuff was made of
i swear to god, this dog better start shitting soon.
about a month or so ago, we adopted this miniature male schnauzer from The Brown One. she wasn't home very much, and started to feel guilty (perhaps rightfully so) about not being able to spend any time with him. between her school, work, and moderate (yet consistent) drinking schedules, he spent most of his days alone, so she was mercifully and understandably looking for a new home for him.
we were a bit apprehensive at first. we have not had good luck with canines, as a general rule. our first dog ever, a beagle named gracie, ran away so often and so far, it was like she was trying to rack up her frequent "goddam that dog!" miles for a vacation in europe. the last time she got out, she ended up at the house of some hunt-happy gun nut that was so pleased with her we decided just to let him keep her.
next up was pilar, a wire-haired black-and-white puppy we rescued from the pound. preternaturally obedient and well-mannered, we were both pleased and impressed, happy to have made such an astute selection. that is, until she quit eating, started puking a yellowish slime, didn't want to walk at all, and eventually stopped drinking water. yes, it was parvo, kids. we asked the vet if it was curable. "yes," he said, "but it can get pretty costly. over a thousand dollars, generally. it depends on what kind of hero you want to be." as it turns out, i had no inclination to be a hero for more than about $150.
maebe, named after the character from the tv show Arrested Development, followed. she was a pretty red-brown pit-lab mix, who also turned out to be clinically insane. we thought she was just stupid, seeing as how we could not train her to do one damn thing, up to and including not digging in the trash, not ripping the face off of stuffed animals, not hacking into our email accounts, and not having sex with cats. but we found out how wrong we were when she snapped at a friend's two-year-old. you know that movie, the Sound of Music? there's a song in it called "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" that one of the nuns sings about Julie Andrews' character. well, if that song had been written about maebe, the answer would be, "get Sweet Tits' dad to shoot her in the back of the head and bury her near a train track north of town". not terribly lyrical, i know, but sometimes, when you try to bite a child, bad things happen.
our current "man's best friend" applicant, max, has mostly been terrific. he doesn't dig in the trash, he's great with kids, well-behaved, knows a couple of tricks, doesn't bark much, sleeps all night, enjoys frequent naps, and travels with no anxiety. he does, however, have what i would refer to (if i were a scientist) as a "shy colon". this dog will not shit when we walk him. we take him out like 10 times a day, for 10 minutes a go. no shit. at all. we're spending almost 2 total hours outside with him, yet he remains unfazed and unaffected. this would not be a problem if was not consistently and sneakily leaving his crusty turds on the floor outside the room of The Middle One.
unlike myself, Sweet Tits has not quite reached zen. so the fecal leavings of our shaggy, adorable boarder tend to affect her emotionally. anger, to be more specific about which emotion. what max doesn't realize is that he does not have quite a big enough "balance" in the "love bank" with her to be able to make a "trust withdrawal" of that size, and that if he does not stop with all the "overdrafts", she will "close his account" by "cutting off his fucking head".
let's get to some updates.
The Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World and The Brown One Update:
the two left last wednesday for the promised land, california - where it's mostly legal to smoke dope and for two dudes to get married and put it in each other's butts, but some-hoo, smoking a cigarette is like eating a live baby. lemme tell ya, fella, i just don't get it.
The Brown One comes from a loosely-affiliated group of hunter-gatherers living in a collection of shanties and lean-to's known as "Rancho Cucamonga", which lies on the outskirts of a slightly larger village called "Los Angeles". she had planned to visit her family over the holidays for their yearly pagan mexican rituals, sacrificing a white virgin to "hay-soos" and eating jerky made from the labia of many exotic jungle cats. somehow, through powerful hypnosis and a healthy dose of ghb, convinced The Sweetest Angry Cunt to accompany her on this journey.
mapquest lists the drive at 22.67 hours (vegas has the over-under for this listed at 23.5 hours). yet through skillful navigation, careful planning, and forward-thinking, the girls somehow made the drive somewhere between 27-28 hours. look, ladies. just because you have a car full of marijuana cigarettes, shrooms, and open whiskey bottles doesn't mean you have to drive half the speed limit to avoid attracting attention. slow drivers attract attention, too. i'm just saying.
we'll check back with the ladies when they have something substantial to report.
Football Gambling Update:
on this front, i'm a little pissed. my bookie (who i refer to as The Gay Pimp because his last name is literally a shade of purple) was refusing all of my calls and text messages, so i was unable to place any of the bets that i had intended for Week 16 (please see: upsets, historically strong week for). unfortunately for me, i had planned on betting several underdogs, both to cover and to win outright. had i been able to place these bets as planned, it would have been a very profitable weekend for a blogger who shall remain nameless (please see: truly, yours). especially since it would have been the weekend of the year with my biggest potential win/loss, as i would be betting a large number of games for double my usual wager.
as it stands, i lost five dollars from a bet with a liquor store clerk. in the baltimore-dallas game, i gave him the ravens +11, confident that their rookie quarterback would have trouble on the road in the LAST GAME EVER held at Texas Stadium. especially with the cowboys' defense playing so well over the last couple of weeks, and the team still desperate for a win to stay in the playoff hunt! baltimore won the game outright. eff it.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Try a Billy-Bob! (i wish i were making that up.)
one correction before we go our separate ways: Big Dumb Chris was incorrectly listed last blog as my only follower (no cult). that honor clearly belongs to my good friend Yak from the dallas area. suck it, Big Dumb Chris.
keep all those great emails coming to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com and i'll keep posting the best ones!
i'm on it.
dave
about a month or so ago, we adopted this miniature male schnauzer from The Brown One. she wasn't home very much, and started to feel guilty (perhaps rightfully so) about not being able to spend any time with him. between her school, work, and moderate (yet consistent) drinking schedules, he spent most of his days alone, so she was mercifully and understandably looking for a new home for him.
we were a bit apprehensive at first. we have not had good luck with canines, as a general rule. our first dog ever, a beagle named gracie, ran away so often and so far, it was like she was trying to rack up her frequent "goddam that dog!" miles for a vacation in europe. the last time she got out, she ended up at the house of some hunt-happy gun nut that was so pleased with her we decided just to let him keep her.
next up was pilar, a wire-haired black-and-white puppy we rescued from the pound. preternaturally obedient and well-mannered, we were both pleased and impressed, happy to have made such an astute selection. that is, until she quit eating, started puking a yellowish slime, didn't want to walk at all, and eventually stopped drinking water. yes, it was parvo, kids. we asked the vet if it was curable. "yes," he said, "but it can get pretty costly. over a thousand dollars, generally. it depends on what kind of hero you want to be." as it turns out, i had no inclination to be a hero for more than about $150.
maebe, named after the character from the tv show Arrested Development, followed. she was a pretty red-brown pit-lab mix, who also turned out to be clinically insane. we thought she was just stupid, seeing as how we could not train her to do one damn thing, up to and including not digging in the trash, not ripping the face off of stuffed animals, not hacking into our email accounts, and not having sex with cats. but we found out how wrong we were when she snapped at a friend's two-year-old. you know that movie, the Sound of Music? there's a song in it called "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" that one of the nuns sings about Julie Andrews' character. well, if that song had been written about maebe, the answer would be, "get Sweet Tits' dad to shoot her in the back of the head and bury her near a train track north of town". not terribly lyrical, i know, but sometimes, when you try to bite a child, bad things happen.
our current "man's best friend" applicant, max, has mostly been terrific. he doesn't dig in the trash, he's great with kids, well-behaved, knows a couple of tricks, doesn't bark much, sleeps all night, enjoys frequent naps, and travels with no anxiety. he does, however, have what i would refer to (if i were a scientist) as a "shy colon". this dog will not shit when we walk him. we take him out like 10 times a day, for 10 minutes a go. no shit. at all. we're spending almost 2 total hours outside with him, yet he remains unfazed and unaffected. this would not be a problem if was not consistently and sneakily leaving his crusty turds on the floor outside the room of The Middle One.
unlike myself, Sweet Tits has not quite reached zen. so the fecal leavings of our shaggy, adorable boarder tend to affect her emotionally. anger, to be more specific about which emotion. what max doesn't realize is that he does not have quite a big enough "balance" in the "love bank" with her to be able to make a "trust withdrawal" of that size, and that if he does not stop with all the "overdrafts", she will "close his account" by "cutting off his fucking head".
let's get to some updates.
The Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World and The Brown One Update:
the two left last wednesday for the promised land, california - where it's mostly legal to smoke dope and for two dudes to get married and put it in each other's butts, but some-hoo, smoking a cigarette is like eating a live baby. lemme tell ya, fella, i just don't get it.
The Brown One comes from a loosely-affiliated group of hunter-gatherers living in a collection of shanties and lean-to's known as "Rancho Cucamonga", which lies on the outskirts of a slightly larger village called "Los Angeles". she had planned to visit her family over the holidays for their yearly pagan mexican rituals, sacrificing a white virgin to "hay-soos" and eating jerky made from the labia of many exotic jungle cats. somehow, through powerful hypnosis and a healthy dose of ghb, convinced The Sweetest Angry Cunt to accompany her on this journey.
mapquest lists the drive at 22.67 hours (vegas has the over-under for this listed at 23.5 hours). yet through skillful navigation, careful planning, and forward-thinking, the girls somehow made the drive somewhere between 27-28 hours. look, ladies. just because you have a car full of marijuana cigarettes, shrooms, and open whiskey bottles doesn't mean you have to drive half the speed limit to avoid attracting attention. slow drivers attract attention, too. i'm just saying.
we'll check back with the ladies when they have something substantial to report.
Football Gambling Update:
on this front, i'm a little pissed. my bookie (who i refer to as The Gay Pimp because his last name is literally a shade of purple) was refusing all of my calls and text messages, so i was unable to place any of the bets that i had intended for Week 16 (please see: upsets, historically strong week for). unfortunately for me, i had planned on betting several underdogs, both to cover and to win outright. had i been able to place these bets as planned, it would have been a very profitable weekend for a blogger who shall remain nameless (please see: truly, yours). especially since it would have been the weekend of the year with my biggest potential win/loss, as i would be betting a large number of games for double my usual wager.
as it stands, i lost five dollars from a bet with a liquor store clerk. in the baltimore-dallas game, i gave him the ravens +11, confident that their rookie quarterback would have trouble on the road in the LAST GAME EVER held at Texas Stadium. especially with the cowboys' defense playing so well over the last couple of weeks, and the team still desperate for a win to stay in the playoff hunt! baltimore won the game outright. eff it.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Try a Billy-Bob! (i wish i were making that up.)
one correction before we go our separate ways: Big Dumb Chris was incorrectly listed last blog as my only follower (no cult). that honor clearly belongs to my good friend Yak from the dallas area. suck it, Big Dumb Chris.
keep all those great emails coming to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com and i'll keep posting the best ones!
i'm on it.
dave
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