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
Showing posts with label open letter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label open letter. Show all posts
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Monday, December 29, 2008
howl howl gaff gaff
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
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
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