Grow up you alcoholic whore.
Archive for category Satire
Everyone has something they spend their money on, and one thing that never ceases to amaze me is our American super-human ability to spend money on shit we don’t need.
Now before you cry “pot calling the kettle black” I will be the first to admit that I am guilty as charged. I have a penchant for cigars and scotch. My $120 Humidor full of $200 worth of cigars and the $80 bottle of scotch adorning my liquor cabinet are testaments to that. Everyone has something they spend money on, and like it or not it’s part of our American way of life. My brothers ride dirt bikes; my dad has a motor home; my father-in-law is into ham radios; my thing is cigars and scotch. “One man’s trash is another’s treasure,” as the old saying goes.
My wife’s thing? Coach purses.
We took a trip to our local Coach Outlet store recently. As we walked in, there was a greeter conveniently giving out “20% off” coupons.
Anytime that happens, I ain’t getting out of there without her buying something. My wife’s a sucker for a sale.
Anyway, I’m looking around the store. The “trash vs. treasure” theme was apparent early on, when I spotted a $120 men’s wallet.
I’d never spend $120 on a wallet. That’s fucking ridiculous. It had better be made of gold, or spontaneously spit out money on its own, or give me the occasional hand job while it’s in my pocket, or fucking something for $120. But people buy them all the time. There was a guy who just happened to purchase one while we were there.
My wallet? $12. Had it for 3 years and counting. Pisses me off that I actually have to go through the pain of buying one every so often.
But, remember we all have something we spend our money on. If you don’t, well then consider yourself lucky.
But the Coach saga gets worse.
I spotted a bin full of pink, heart-shaped plastic bags a bit larger than the palm of your hand. They were heavy and full of sand.
I held it up to my wife and asked her “What the fuck is this?”
My wife shook her head. She had no idea.
One of the Coach attendants overheard me and politely responded with, “It’s a paperweight.”
“What?” I asked.
“It’s a paperweight.”
I looked down at the price of this paperweight.
It’s a plastic bag full of sand.
And then the attendant says “We have a sale on that and the matching heart-shaped Coach mouse pad.”
I look down at the price of this mouse pad.
I smiled and responded with my usual smart-ass sarcasm, “Well, you know, I can get paperweights for free. I got connections. A good rock will do. Those are free.”
She smiled and said “Well, it’s for the girl who already has everything.”
I guess what I’m saying is that everyone in America has something, a “vice” as it were on which they spend their disposable income. “Disposable” is a very appropriate word, because that is exactly what we’re doing.
So the next time you want to criticize someone for throwing their money away on something that makes them happy, take a look at your own expenditures and be sure you’re not the pot calling the kettle black.
Let the (Sort of Related) Rant Begin:
And, on a more serious note, you should feel fortunate you live in a place that gives you the opportunity to spend your money on shit you don’t need. There are a lot of people in this world who don’t have that luxury. I mean, we live in a country where we have TV shows about other people buying a house, called House Hunters and call it entertainment. That show makes me sick.
I’ve seen third world conditions first hand, and to hear those people complain about their kitchen “not being as quaint as we’d like it” makes me want to stop them from procreating.
That’s why the rest of the world hates us. Oh. That, and because we’re idiots.
See you next time.
I love scotch. Scotchy, scotch, scotch. Here it goes down, down into my belly. . .
– Anchorman Ron Burgundy
This one goes out to all the ladies. If you have a man who loves Scotch, my hope is that maybe what follows will help you to understand him a little better.
At the ripe old age of 36, I have become a Scotch Man.
I was previously a Whiskey Man, but I feel like I am part of a new club, as it were, you know, “running with the big dogs” now. I keep asking myself why it took me so long. I could have been enjoying it all this time. I guess it’s better to have found it late, then never to have found it at all.
My analogy for what Scotch means to me at this point in my life, goes like this:
Imagine that you have never had cake before in your entire life. Ever. No cake. None. Never in your entire life. Now, imagine going without it for 36 years, and all of a sudden you try it for the first time. Think about it. I mean, it doesn’t even have to be good cake. Imagine taking a bite out of that beautiful cake triangle. You close your eyes as you savor the taste. You find the most delicious combination of frosting and cake, and savor it over and over again. Isn’t that one of life’s little treats?
It’s one of the most beautiful words in the English language.
That’s what Scotch is to me right now in my life. It too, is a new, delectable treat to be savored. The rosy fumes coming up from the glass, the taste as it goes down, the finish. The smell alone relaxes me. It’s a beautiful thing.
That’s the good news. . . . There’s one little problem, though. Let’s go back to our little cake analogy.
What would you want to do after you have tasted cake for the first time? . . . .
That’s right, you’d want to try every possible flavor of cake on the planet. Chocolate with Chocolate frosting, Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting, Raspberry Marble with Vanilla Frosting, and the ever-popular “Death by Chocolate” Cake.
“Why is that a bad thing,” you ask? Well, let’s apply this idea to trying out every Scotch on the planet:
Have you ever looked at the price tag on a good bottle of Scotch? If you have been reading my posts, you know that I’m the type who enjoys the finer things in life. A cheap $10 bottle of Scotch simply won’t do. . . . No. . . . I’ve got to try all the good stuff. The 18+ year Scotches. You know, the Scotch that at one point flows over the thighs of virgins as part of the distillation process.
I mean, I’m fucking loaded, but I’m not that loaded. I’m not the type that can afford to bathe in the stuff.
Mmmmmmmmmmm. . . . Scotch bath. . . . . . . . . .
Anyway, my plan is three-fold:
- Buy the good Scotch as I can afford it, and drink it only on the weekends. In other words, put myself on a Scotch ration/budget, which is either fucking awesome or horribly pathetic, depending on your attitude about booze.
- Order Scotch at bars to try out different brands, which is still expensive on a per-glass basis, but at least I’m not blowing ~$100 per bottle on it.
- Get advice from you people. Suggestions are, of course, welcome.
So that’s my plan anyway.
It’s very exciting for me, and it really enhances my life. I can’t wait to try out new Scotches. It’s an adventure for me.
Well, it’s getting late and I have a Scotch bath waiting for me. See you next time.
I’ve compiled a list of reasons why we don’t have kids. Here they are:
- Kids are money-leeching, whiny little germ factories. Ask any parent.
- So I can keep having sex, smoking cigars, drinking, and swearing. I am sure my life will be shorter, but alas, I will fortunately miss out on those miserable last 10 or so years of life where every bathroom visit starts with, “Ohhh, it hurts to pee”.
- We love sleeping in on the weekends, or sleeping in, in general. Enough said.
- Money. Cruise last year? Paid for in cash. Trip to Europe this year? Cash. Monthly supply of booze and cigars? Cash.
- For the Environment. Lifetime energy use per American over is 20,000 kJ. I have no fucking idea how much that is, but I’m sure it’s a lot. The average American will use 32 gallons of water a day, 5 pounds of food per day, and 1,025 gallons of oil per year (sources available on request). This means I can still do good for the environment all while buying an SUV and selling baby seal pelts out of the back seat.
- So I can keep gaming. Still looking for a good MMO that isn’t just like every other damn MMO ever made.
- So I am not tempted to put my kid on the phone. Parents, please don’t have your kids answer the god damn phone. Although you understand them just fine, and I’m sure they’re making progress with their language acquisition, no one else understands what the fuck they are saying at age 4, nor does anyone else care. Even worse is when you tell them what to say because you think it’s cute. Besides, I called to talk to you, not to that drunken midget of yours you call a child.
- We don’t have to be the people who bring the crying kid on the plane. I am a firm supporter of child sedation for travel, by the way.
- Because we like to have nice things. Cigar Humidor? Spotless. And, have you ever taken a look at the inside of a parent’s car? I cringe at the thought.
- So I don’t have to teach them “responsibility”, or whatever.
- Not needing to have a gun collection to show off to my daughter’s potential dates. You think I’m kidding? I’m not.
I’d like to hear if anyone else has good reasons why they don’t have kids. Put them in the comments below.
How can anyone not be fascinated with Curling?
Whenever it’s on the Olympics I watch it, and I sometimes find myself cheering. If you still can, you might want to watch the Russian women, especially Liudmila Privivkova. I’m not usually into blondes, but holy crap I’d watch her throw rocks all day long, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, how the fuck does one train for Curling? Do you have to lift weights and shit? What do you have to do to get geared up for Curling? I mean, I’m sure you have to practice, but is it like a day of practicing your craft, then off to the gym? Do you study videos of the other teams? Get used to the cold by standing in a fridge? What?
If you’re a sweeper, do you volunteer to sweep people’s kitchens during your “off-season”? Is there an off-season?
Do you think during the Olympics, at some of the surrounding Vancouver bars, the men’s teams would taunt each other?
Great Britain starts off with, “Hey, USA team, you throw like fags, assholes.” We chime back with, “Oh yeah, you’re lucky I need to save my energy for tomorrow Nigel, or I’d literally sweep the floor with your gay British face. Why don’t you brush your teeth every once in a while.” Then Nigel’s teammates have to hold him back. “Save it for the match, old chap.” Or whatever British people say to each other.
That’s how it goes down in my head anyway.
Classless? Possibly. Too soon? Debatable. Funny? Definitely.
CollegeHumor puts together something that has not been discussed in the geek world: the idea that the Death Star destruction by a small Jedi squad was maybe a little, too easy. Well maybe in back alleys, private homes and sci-fi conventions, but not many other places. The truth is out there somewhere, and if you pay attention, maybe you too can decide what is truth, and what is fabricated by those completely out of touch with reality and should do something meaningful with their lives. Clear you mind, just as the “truthers” have done.