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
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
neverender
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
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
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
come on, feel the illinois!
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
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
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
our endless numbered days
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
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
Monday, January 5, 2009
you're my lover now
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
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
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
Friday, December 26, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
the weight is a gift
hey, kids. pour yourself some hot cocoa or a mug of room-temperature bourbon and gather round the old fireplace. it’s time, once again, for Hot Water Cornbread’s Annual Xmas Scattershot Haiku Update Special!
for those of you unfamiliar with the original xmas story (please see: Bible, The Holy), it all started a couple of hundred years ago, in the olden-timey days. those were better, simpler days, when presidents still had funny names, like grover, millard, and andrew. men were men, but women could still pee standing up. and, hell, a high-class prostitute would only run you about a quarter. it was kind of like Deadwood, but with less swearing.
the language was far more flowerifical and ornatilating, too. people were dying of cholera in the streets, coughing up blood while lying face-down in their own sewage. but they still took the time to say things really nice and fancy-like. that’s a lesson you kids could learn today. too many of you take the easy way out with your omg’s and your lol’s and your wtf’s.
every winter, families would send out a letter to everyone they knew. this letter would be full of haikus that passed on the latest information about all their friends and family. these haikus were often personally embarrassing to their subjects, but hey, it’s better than dying from consumption or sexual torture by indians, right?
in that tradition, we here at Hot Water Cornbread take a special pride in carrying on that legacy every xmas. join us now, as we go through the address book on our phones, just like those early pioneers and captains of industry, and provide seventeen-syllable updates on a wide variety of friends, family, and loved ones. these are not in any kind of order. nicknames and aliases will be used to make it so you can’t sue me. so suck it.
let’s get to some updates.
Britney Spears
blonde slut rides again! (no pun intended). I ain't calling it "comeback".
Big Dumb Chris
you irish fuck. add “DUI” to resume. NEVER fucking blow.
Sullen Tangerine
massage therapist. hates hand job jokes. no happy ending for her here.
Bettie Page
dead. great. gives all those mopey bitches just one more thing to whine about.
Owen Wilson
chin up, kid. Phoebe will give you the love you need. if not, try Chandler.
Library Chris
only lesbian that doesn’t like him is the one he’s divorcing.
Mike
run, dude! mexican border still open. I won’t tell babymama.
Paul Newman
we'll miss you, cool hand luke. (does this mean no more tasty salad dressing?)
She That Shall Not Be Nicknamed
text Sweet Tits. call her. wine/dine her. she’ll show you the “li’l man in the boat”.
Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World
no more DUI class! Does this mean she’s not an alcoholic now?
Tom Cruise
Did you think that arm wrestling Matt Lauer would make you seem more sane?
The Brown One
“Rancho Cucamonga”? honestly, Mexican. come from a real town.
Dungeon Master
i swear to god – he’s got tickets to Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
NKOTB
why tour again, dudes? needed reason to start sucking each other off?
The Girl
damn, you suck at Tetris! just one more way ol’ dad is better than you!
The Middle One
i already regret getting you that goddam Wall-E for xmas.
The Tiny Baby
xmas present for me? how ‘bout you stop banging your head on the floor?
Charlton Heston
since his hands are now literally cold and dead, can i get that gun?
Official Brother of Hot Water Cornbread #1
honestly, dude. you’re 29. think you could stop getting bigger, ass?
Official Brother of Hot Water Cornbread #2
don’t discuss music with me. Coldplay? are you fucking serious, ass?
Tony Alamo
finally jailed that bastard. "Dad/Preacher touched my no-no again, mom!"
Official Grandparents of Hot Water Cornbread
how are you feeling? not well? how’s that will looking? no, seriously…
David Duchovny
sex addict, huh? divorce? and your show is overrated. (no x-files)
Currently on the white board behind the bar: The Nuge Abides.
honestly, if you already know of the existence of this blog, there is an excellent chance that I love you dearly (vegas has the odds on this at 1:2) and you have either been a friend for a very long time past, or you will be a friend for a very long time in the future. or you’re family. we at HWC headquarters wish everyone a great and merry xmas, no matter what you are doing. god (or whoever) bless you. don’t forget that hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com is the best (and really only) place to send me any disparaging comments or remarks. later.
i’m on it.
dave
for those of you unfamiliar with the original xmas story (please see: Bible, The Holy), it all started a couple of hundred years ago, in the olden-timey days. those were better, simpler days, when presidents still had funny names, like grover, millard, and andrew. men were men, but women could still pee standing up. and, hell, a high-class prostitute would only run you about a quarter. it was kind of like Deadwood, but with less swearing.
the language was far more flowerifical and ornatilating, too. people were dying of cholera in the streets, coughing up blood while lying face-down in their own sewage. but they still took the time to say things really nice and fancy-like. that’s a lesson you kids could learn today. too many of you take the easy way out with your omg’s and your lol’s and your wtf’s.
every winter, families would send out a letter to everyone they knew. this letter would be full of haikus that passed on the latest information about all their friends and family. these haikus were often personally embarrassing to their subjects, but hey, it’s better than dying from consumption or sexual torture by indians, right?
in that tradition, we here at Hot Water Cornbread take a special pride in carrying on that legacy every xmas. join us now, as we go through the address book on our phones, just like those early pioneers and captains of industry, and provide seventeen-syllable updates on a wide variety of friends, family, and loved ones. these are not in any kind of order. nicknames and aliases will be used to make it so you can’t sue me. so suck it.
let’s get to some updates.
Britney Spears
blonde slut rides again! (no pun intended). I ain't calling it "comeback".
Big Dumb Chris
you irish fuck. add “DUI” to resume. NEVER fucking blow.
Sullen Tangerine
massage therapist. hates hand job jokes. no happy ending for her here.
Bettie Page
dead. great. gives all those mopey bitches just one more thing to whine about.
Owen Wilson
chin up, kid. Phoebe will give you the love you need. if not, try Chandler.
Library Chris
only lesbian that doesn’t like him is the one he’s divorcing.
Mike
run, dude! mexican border still open. I won’t tell babymama.
Paul Newman
we'll miss you, cool hand luke. (does this mean no more tasty salad dressing?)
She That Shall Not Be Nicknamed
text Sweet Tits. call her. wine/dine her. she’ll show you the “li’l man in the boat”.
Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World
no more DUI class! Does this mean she’s not an alcoholic now?
Tom Cruise
Did you think that arm wrestling Matt Lauer would make you seem more sane?
The Brown One
“Rancho Cucamonga”? honestly, Mexican. come from a real town.
Dungeon Master
i swear to god – he’s got tickets to Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
NKOTB
why tour again, dudes? needed reason to start sucking each other off?
The Girl
damn, you suck at Tetris! just one more way ol’ dad is better than you!
The Middle One
i already regret getting you that goddam Wall-E for xmas.
The Tiny Baby
xmas present for me? how ‘bout you stop banging your head on the floor?
Charlton Heston
since his hands are now literally cold and dead, can i get that gun?
Official Brother of Hot Water Cornbread #1
honestly, dude. you’re 29. think you could stop getting bigger, ass?
Official Brother of Hot Water Cornbread #2
don’t discuss music with me. Coldplay? are you fucking serious, ass?
Tony Alamo
finally jailed that bastard. "Dad/Preacher touched my no-no again, mom!"
Official Grandparents of Hot Water Cornbread
how are you feeling? not well? how’s that will looking? no, seriously…
David Duchovny
sex addict, huh? divorce? and your show is overrated. (no x-files)
Currently on the white board behind the bar: The Nuge Abides.
honestly, if you already know of the existence of this blog, there is an excellent chance that I love you dearly (vegas has the odds on this at 1:2) and you have either been a friend for a very long time past, or you will be a friend for a very long time in the future. or you’re family. we at HWC headquarters wish everyone a great and merry xmas, no matter what you are doing. god (or whoever) bless you. don’t forget that hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com is the best (and really only) place to send me any disparaging comments or remarks. later.
i’m on it.
dave
Monday, December 22, 2008
dream that stuff was made of
i swear to god, this dog better start shitting soon.
about a month or so ago, we adopted this miniature male schnauzer from The Brown One. she wasn't home very much, and started to feel guilty (perhaps rightfully so) about not being able to spend any time with him. between her school, work, and moderate (yet consistent) drinking schedules, he spent most of his days alone, so she was mercifully and understandably looking for a new home for him.
we were a bit apprehensive at first. we have not had good luck with canines, as a general rule. our first dog ever, a beagle named gracie, ran away so often and so far, it was like she was trying to rack up her frequent "goddam that dog!" miles for a vacation in europe. the last time she got out, she ended up at the house of some hunt-happy gun nut that was so pleased with her we decided just to let him keep her.
next up was pilar, a wire-haired black-and-white puppy we rescued from the pound. preternaturally obedient and well-mannered, we were both pleased and impressed, happy to have made such an astute selection. that is, until she quit eating, started puking a yellowish slime, didn't want to walk at all, and eventually stopped drinking water. yes, it was parvo, kids. we asked the vet if it was curable. "yes," he said, "but it can get pretty costly. over a thousand dollars, generally. it depends on what kind of hero you want to be." as it turns out, i had no inclination to be a hero for more than about $150.
maebe, named after the character from the tv show Arrested Development, followed. she was a pretty red-brown pit-lab mix, who also turned out to be clinically insane. we thought she was just stupid, seeing as how we could not train her to do one damn thing, up to and including not digging in the trash, not ripping the face off of stuffed animals, not hacking into our email accounts, and not having sex with cats. but we found out how wrong we were when she snapped at a friend's two-year-old. you know that movie, the Sound of Music? there's a song in it called "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" that one of the nuns sings about Julie Andrews' character. well, if that song had been written about maebe, the answer would be, "get Sweet Tits' dad to shoot her in the back of the head and bury her near a train track north of town". not terribly lyrical, i know, but sometimes, when you try to bite a child, bad things happen.
our current "man's best friend" applicant, max, has mostly been terrific. he doesn't dig in the trash, he's great with kids, well-behaved, knows a couple of tricks, doesn't bark much, sleeps all night, enjoys frequent naps, and travels with no anxiety. he does, however, have what i would refer to (if i were a scientist) as a "shy colon". this dog will not shit when we walk him. we take him out like 10 times a day, for 10 minutes a go. no shit. at all. we're spending almost 2 total hours outside with him, yet he remains unfazed and unaffected. this would not be a problem if was not consistently and sneakily leaving his crusty turds on the floor outside the room of The Middle One.
unlike myself, Sweet Tits has not quite reached zen. so the fecal leavings of our shaggy, adorable boarder tend to affect her emotionally. anger, to be more specific about which emotion. what max doesn't realize is that he does not have quite a big enough "balance" in the "love bank" with her to be able to make a "trust withdrawal" of that size, and that if he does not stop with all the "overdrafts", she will "close his account" by "cutting off his fucking head".
let's get to some updates.
The Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World and The Brown One Update:
the two left last wednesday for the promised land, california - where it's mostly legal to smoke dope and for two dudes to get married and put it in each other's butts, but some-hoo, smoking a cigarette is like eating a live baby. lemme tell ya, fella, i just don't get it.
The Brown One comes from a loosely-affiliated group of hunter-gatherers living in a collection of shanties and lean-to's known as "Rancho Cucamonga", which lies on the outskirts of a slightly larger village called "Los Angeles". she had planned to visit her family over the holidays for their yearly pagan mexican rituals, sacrificing a white virgin to "hay-soos" and eating jerky made from the labia of many exotic jungle cats. somehow, through powerful hypnosis and a healthy dose of ghb, convinced The Sweetest Angry Cunt to accompany her on this journey.
mapquest lists the drive at 22.67 hours (vegas has the over-under for this listed at 23.5 hours). yet through skillful navigation, careful planning, and forward-thinking, the girls somehow made the drive somewhere between 27-28 hours. look, ladies. just because you have a car full of marijuana cigarettes, shrooms, and open whiskey bottles doesn't mean you have to drive half the speed limit to avoid attracting attention. slow drivers attract attention, too. i'm just saying.
we'll check back with the ladies when they have something substantial to report.
Football Gambling Update:
on this front, i'm a little pissed. my bookie (who i refer to as The Gay Pimp because his last name is literally a shade of purple) was refusing all of my calls and text messages, so i was unable to place any of the bets that i had intended for Week 16 (please see: upsets, historically strong week for). unfortunately for me, i had planned on betting several underdogs, both to cover and to win outright. had i been able to place these bets as planned, it would have been a very profitable weekend for a blogger who shall remain nameless (please see: truly, yours). especially since it would have been the weekend of the year with my biggest potential win/loss, as i would be betting a large number of games for double my usual wager.
as it stands, i lost five dollars from a bet with a liquor store clerk. in the baltimore-dallas game, i gave him the ravens +11, confident that their rookie quarterback would have trouble on the road in the LAST GAME EVER held at Texas Stadium. especially with the cowboys' defense playing so well over the last couple of weeks, and the team still desperate for a win to stay in the playoff hunt! baltimore won the game outright. eff it.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Try a Billy-Bob! (i wish i were making that up.)
one correction before we go our separate ways: Big Dumb Chris was incorrectly listed last blog as my only follower (no cult). that honor clearly belongs to my good friend Yak from the dallas area. suck it, Big Dumb Chris.
keep all those great emails coming to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com and i'll keep posting the best ones!
i'm on it.
dave
about a month or so ago, we adopted this miniature male schnauzer from The Brown One. she wasn't home very much, and started to feel guilty (perhaps rightfully so) about not being able to spend any time with him. between her school, work, and moderate (yet consistent) drinking schedules, he spent most of his days alone, so she was mercifully and understandably looking for a new home for him.
we were a bit apprehensive at first. we have not had good luck with canines, as a general rule. our first dog ever, a beagle named gracie, ran away so often and so far, it was like she was trying to rack up her frequent "goddam that dog!" miles for a vacation in europe. the last time she got out, she ended up at the house of some hunt-happy gun nut that was so pleased with her we decided just to let him keep her.
next up was pilar, a wire-haired black-and-white puppy we rescued from the pound. preternaturally obedient and well-mannered, we were both pleased and impressed, happy to have made such an astute selection. that is, until she quit eating, started puking a yellowish slime, didn't want to walk at all, and eventually stopped drinking water. yes, it was parvo, kids. we asked the vet if it was curable. "yes," he said, "but it can get pretty costly. over a thousand dollars, generally. it depends on what kind of hero you want to be." as it turns out, i had no inclination to be a hero for more than about $150.
maebe, named after the character from the tv show Arrested Development, followed. she was a pretty red-brown pit-lab mix, who also turned out to be clinically insane. we thought she was just stupid, seeing as how we could not train her to do one damn thing, up to and including not digging in the trash, not ripping the face off of stuffed animals, not hacking into our email accounts, and not having sex with cats. but we found out how wrong we were when she snapped at a friend's two-year-old. you know that movie, the Sound of Music? there's a song in it called "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" that one of the nuns sings about Julie Andrews' character. well, if that song had been written about maebe, the answer would be, "get Sweet Tits' dad to shoot her in the back of the head and bury her near a train track north of town". not terribly lyrical, i know, but sometimes, when you try to bite a child, bad things happen.
our current "man's best friend" applicant, max, has mostly been terrific. he doesn't dig in the trash, he's great with kids, well-behaved, knows a couple of tricks, doesn't bark much, sleeps all night, enjoys frequent naps, and travels with no anxiety. he does, however, have what i would refer to (if i were a scientist) as a "shy colon". this dog will not shit when we walk him. we take him out like 10 times a day, for 10 minutes a go. no shit. at all. we're spending almost 2 total hours outside with him, yet he remains unfazed and unaffected. this would not be a problem if was not consistently and sneakily leaving his crusty turds on the floor outside the room of The Middle One.
unlike myself, Sweet Tits has not quite reached zen. so the fecal leavings of our shaggy, adorable boarder tend to affect her emotionally. anger, to be more specific about which emotion. what max doesn't realize is that he does not have quite a big enough "balance" in the "love bank" with her to be able to make a "trust withdrawal" of that size, and that if he does not stop with all the "overdrafts", she will "close his account" by "cutting off his fucking head".
let's get to some updates.
The Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World and The Brown One Update:
the two left last wednesday for the promised land, california - where it's mostly legal to smoke dope and for two dudes to get married and put it in each other's butts, but some-hoo, smoking a cigarette is like eating a live baby. lemme tell ya, fella, i just don't get it.
The Brown One comes from a loosely-affiliated group of hunter-gatherers living in a collection of shanties and lean-to's known as "Rancho Cucamonga", which lies on the outskirts of a slightly larger village called "Los Angeles". she had planned to visit her family over the holidays for their yearly pagan mexican rituals, sacrificing a white virgin to "hay-soos" and eating jerky made from the labia of many exotic jungle cats. somehow, through powerful hypnosis and a healthy dose of ghb, convinced The Sweetest Angry Cunt to accompany her on this journey.
mapquest lists the drive at 22.67 hours (vegas has the over-under for this listed at 23.5 hours). yet through skillful navigation, careful planning, and forward-thinking, the girls somehow made the drive somewhere between 27-28 hours. look, ladies. just because you have a car full of marijuana cigarettes, shrooms, and open whiskey bottles doesn't mean you have to drive half the speed limit to avoid attracting attention. slow drivers attract attention, too. i'm just saying.
we'll check back with the ladies when they have something substantial to report.
Football Gambling Update:
on this front, i'm a little pissed. my bookie (who i refer to as The Gay Pimp because his last name is literally a shade of purple) was refusing all of my calls and text messages, so i was unable to place any of the bets that i had intended for Week 16 (please see: upsets, historically strong week for). unfortunately for me, i had planned on betting several underdogs, both to cover and to win outright. had i been able to place these bets as planned, it would have been a very profitable weekend for a blogger who shall remain nameless (please see: truly, yours). especially since it would have been the weekend of the year with my biggest potential win/loss, as i would be betting a large number of games for double my usual wager.
as it stands, i lost five dollars from a bet with a liquor store clerk. in the baltimore-dallas game, i gave him the ravens +11, confident that their rookie quarterback would have trouble on the road in the LAST GAME EVER held at Texas Stadium. especially with the cowboys' defense playing so well over the last couple of weeks, and the team still desperate for a win to stay in the playoff hunt! baltimore won the game outright. eff it.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Try a Billy-Bob! (i wish i were making that up.)
one correction before we go our separate ways: Big Dumb Chris was incorrectly listed last blog as my only follower (no cult). that honor clearly belongs to my good friend Yak from the dallas area. suck it, Big Dumb Chris.
keep all those great emails coming to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com and i'll keep posting the best ones!
i'm on it.
dave
Friday, December 19, 2008
you in reverse
(no homo).
sometimes at the bar, as with any job, you have to find ways to have fun with the guys (no homo). for awhile, it was Big Dumb Chris and i taking turns burning each other with canned air. our respective ladyfriends did not care for this game, particularly. mostly because it left glowing red welts on us that lasted for 3-4 weeks. at some point, the game eventually devolved into our own version of the cold war (please see: relations, U.S.-Soviet), where the two of us would not pass closer than within 10 feet of the other, our heads on swivels.
then, all of us moved on to knocking things out of each other's hands with hard downward slaps (no homo). this was a particularly fun game with things like wallets, cigarette packs, or waffle house leftovers. anything that splats or scatters is a good target. one piece of advice - this is not a good game to play with anyone that you are currently trying to have sex with. extremely counter-productive.
our current pastime is the "no homo" game. basically, it works as follows: any time you say something that could be even vaguely construed as homoerotic, you immediately follow it with the phrase "no homo". it's a pre-emptive verbal ban on a gay joke that could be made based on the previous statement. think of it as a cootie shot for the gay joke.
a tremendously easy game once you get the hang of it. after long, you will be intentionally saying overtly homoerotic things just for the chance to insert that at the end (no homo). and it extends to other things (no homo). for example, "i need to stop by the gas station and hit the pump (no auto)". or, "this mongolian beef is delicious (no asian)".
i don't care if it sounds lame. don't judge.
let's get to some updates.
Starbucks Cougar Update:
i realize that i did not introduce the Starbucks Cougar in my first post, and this should be remedied, as she plays a significant role in my life. namely, she is a mostly attractive, 40-something starbucks barista whose name i don't know, and who does not know mine. however, one day a couple of weeks ago, she happened to ask me about what i was working on at the time, so i know that she is "into my shit" as the kids say. i am mildly smitten.
sadly, i have nothing to report on the Starbucks Cougar. i have not been to the local 'bucks in the last two days, and she was unfortunately off the previous two times i visited. presumably, she misses me greatly. i tip quite handsomely.
One-Percenters Update:
well, they got me twice in the last week. curses! last saturday, the two ipods belonging to mike and me were stolen from the dj booth (please see: misdemeanor, class b). and then last night, one of our customers felt it appropriate to smash in the window on the driver's side of my vehicle.
oh, don't worry, nothing was stolen. thank god. it would have been really difficult to replace the package of diapers in the back or the 87 food wrappers, or the 4.7 pounds of various mixed cereals jammed into the seams of the back seat. it was broken just to break something (please see: vandalism and/or mischief, criminal). second time i've had a window broken there, and i'm pleased to say that it gets easier to deal with emotionally. i wasn't really surprised when it happened or even that angry about it now.
i didn't even bother filing a police report. they would never be able to catch the criminal masterminds behind this malicious act, despite the fact that they would probably stop all current investigations to focus all their resources and manpower to bringing the window-smasher to justice. i just don't want to put the city through all the drama and media attention that tends to accumulate with such a high-profile crime situation.
old patrick swayze's character Dalton really knew what he was doing, buying that old beater when he went to work at the Double Deuce (please see: House, Road).
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Maybe partying will help!
ok. going to help some fucktards catch a buzz. as always, contact me or send me something wacky at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com if you have a moment. and thank you for your comment, Big Dumb Chris. you represent 100% of my subscribed fan base as of my third posting. god bless you, sir.
i'm on it.
dave
sometimes at the bar, as with any job, you have to find ways to have fun with the guys (no homo). for awhile, it was Big Dumb Chris and i taking turns burning each other with canned air. our respective ladyfriends did not care for this game, particularly. mostly because it left glowing red welts on us that lasted for 3-4 weeks. at some point, the game eventually devolved into our own version of the cold war (please see: relations, U.S.-Soviet), where the two of us would not pass closer than within 10 feet of the other, our heads on swivels.
then, all of us moved on to knocking things out of each other's hands with hard downward slaps (no homo). this was a particularly fun game with things like wallets, cigarette packs, or waffle house leftovers. anything that splats or scatters is a good target. one piece of advice - this is not a good game to play with anyone that you are currently trying to have sex with. extremely counter-productive.
our current pastime is the "no homo" game. basically, it works as follows: any time you say something that could be even vaguely construed as homoerotic, you immediately follow it with the phrase "no homo". it's a pre-emptive verbal ban on a gay joke that could be made based on the previous statement. think of it as a cootie shot for the gay joke.
a tremendously easy game once you get the hang of it. after long, you will be intentionally saying overtly homoerotic things just for the chance to insert that at the end (no homo). and it extends to other things (no homo). for example, "i need to stop by the gas station and hit the pump (no auto)". or, "this mongolian beef is delicious (no asian)".
i don't care if it sounds lame. don't judge.
let's get to some updates.
Starbucks Cougar Update:
i realize that i did not introduce the Starbucks Cougar in my first post, and this should be remedied, as she plays a significant role in my life. namely, she is a mostly attractive, 40-something starbucks barista whose name i don't know, and who does not know mine. however, one day a couple of weeks ago, she happened to ask me about what i was working on at the time, so i know that she is "into my shit" as the kids say. i am mildly smitten.
sadly, i have nothing to report on the Starbucks Cougar. i have not been to the local 'bucks in the last two days, and she was unfortunately off the previous two times i visited. presumably, she misses me greatly. i tip quite handsomely.
One-Percenters Update:
well, they got me twice in the last week. curses! last saturday, the two ipods belonging to mike and me were stolen from the dj booth (please see: misdemeanor, class b). and then last night, one of our customers felt it appropriate to smash in the window on the driver's side of my vehicle.
oh, don't worry, nothing was stolen. thank god. it would have been really difficult to replace the package of diapers in the back or the 87 food wrappers, or the 4.7 pounds of various mixed cereals jammed into the seams of the back seat. it was broken just to break something (please see: vandalism and/or mischief, criminal). second time i've had a window broken there, and i'm pleased to say that it gets easier to deal with emotionally. i wasn't really surprised when it happened or even that angry about it now.
i didn't even bother filing a police report. they would never be able to catch the criminal masterminds behind this malicious act, despite the fact that they would probably stop all current investigations to focus all their resources and manpower to bringing the window-smasher to justice. i just don't want to put the city through all the drama and media attention that tends to accumulate with such a high-profile crime situation.
old patrick swayze's character Dalton really knew what he was doing, buying that old beater when he went to work at the Double Deuce (please see: House, Road).
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Maybe partying will help!
ok. going to help some fucktards catch a buzz. as always, contact me or send me something wacky at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com if you have a moment. and thank you for your comment, Big Dumb Chris. you represent 100% of my subscribed fan base as of my third posting. god bless you, sir.
i'm on it.
dave
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