Irish Wake Style… Pt.2

1 09 2009

If you haven’t done so already make sure to check out the first installment of this 2 part series.

Now, where did we leave off. Oh that’s right our faithful hero had made it home after a very long night of drinking, and had his manliness insulted.

I awoke early afternoon and RPG had already headed off to work. Luckily enough because of my extensive pre-game preparations before I headed out to Boston, I was indeed not hung-over. Some may say that this is a glorious turn of events, and other that know me really well might say that drinking excess amounts of Jack Daniels and not having a hang-over may actually be a sign of alcoholism.

Jury’s still out.

I got a call from RPG roughly around 1 something seeing if I wanted to get some lunch. Of course I hadn’t eaten, nor really done anything, so I agreed. He left work a bit early and we rolled to Coolidge Corner Clubhouse. Not going to lie, this was one of my favorite places on the trip to Boston. We enjoyed some jack and cokes in pint glasses, and some delicious huge sandwiches, and then some more Jack and cokes. It was a glorious place. I probably could have stayed there all day and night, but we had things we needed to do.

We headed home and began to do work. And by doing work I mean pouring Jack Daniels into flasks and taking shots before heading to Fenway park. the greatest place on earth. Seriously.

We headed to La Verdad, a bar outside Fenway, to meet up with RPG’s roommate. Probably my favorite sub pot/side story of the whole weekend that I wasn’t really able to exploit much was that RPG’s roommate happens to be moving out near the beginning of September.

I was wondering if any of you remember the theatrical performance Riverdance? You know Michael Flatley who’s feet look as if they are moving independently of his body? Well, as it happens if you thought Riverdance was no more, you my friends are 100% wrong. Riverdance is alive and well AND touring the country come this September. How do I know this you may ask?

Apparently, RPG’s roomate is indeed a dancer in Riverdance! That’s right, lets let that marinate for a bit.

Riverdance. My mind was immediately filled with questions. Have you met Michael Flatley? Can you move up the ranks and become lord of the dance yourself? Are you coming to Portland? What accent do you have? Oh, Australian? Cool.

So let me get this straight. You’re a dancer. You’re Australian. You dance for Riverdance. And I’m the one giving out the gay vibe?!?! Gotta love Boston.

We finished a couple of beers then headed into Fenway for what was going to be a glorious night of baseball. After picking up two bottles of Coke RPG and I found our way to our seats. Upon finding them I couldn’t help but notice that we had gotten seats in the Ted Williams era of Fenway park. You know the time many years ago that man was built like teacup Yorkshire Terriers. Turns out, RPG and I are not built like teacup Yorkshire terriers. We’re men. And were larger than the original designers of Fenway had in mind. We crouched in like sardines only to look down and see the wirey frame of Riverdance sitting comfortably in his seat, all sprawled out enjoying the copious amounts of space allotted to him. Gotta be something said for being a dancer.

The game began as did our drinking of the Jack Daniels. We had both managed to pour our entire flasks into a 1 liter bottle of coke. We sat there and watched as things began to get ugly. The Sox were facing the Yankees from the North in what was a pretty important game. The Yanks jump out to an early lead (like the first couple pitches) and I had thought to myself, maybe I’m going to be in for a long night. I was right.

At one point in the 5th inning I believe, I had finished my Jack and Coke and moved on to beer. The 5th inning had taken so long because we were getting ROCKED. Like bad. I thought maybe I could drown my sorrows in a Fenway Frank (the only hot dog I’ll eat in this world) but to no avail. Nothing was working. The Yankees began pouring on runs and I sat looking on more and more defeated. It was about this point in the game where things took a real turn for the worse. I looked over at RPG and said..
ME: “This is getting really ugly. I’m not sure I can handle much more.”
RPG: “I know. Maybe you shouldn’t come to Fenway anymore.”
ME: “Is it sad that I was just thinking the same thing.”
RPG: “I’m being serious.”
ME: “No, really. I know.”
RPG: “This sucks.”
ME: “Man, fuck this. I’m not going out like this. There will be no mourning. From here on out I’m celebrating this Irish Wake Style!”
RPG: “Fuck.”

(sidebar: I’ve never actually been to an Irish Wake, but on TV they always show people drinking a lot. RPG lived with me through college and had seen me celebrate Irish Wake style many times. I just felt that with America’s foundation being built on some of the Irish’s decisions to immigrate here, I would indeed honor them the best way I knew how. Even if it was stereotypical, and completely false.)

And with my last statement it was indeed “on.” I left my seat for another Fenway Frank, and to procure two more beers. One was in fact for RPG, but unbeknown to me, RPG had also gotten up after me to procure some beers. When I returned to my seat he was nowhere to be found. I focused on my beer for it was my only solace for what was happening on the field. RPG returned with two beers in his hand. Apparently he had gotten the same idea, and gotten another beer for me. So there we were. In our tiny seats. Dropping back beers like our Irish grandma twice removed had just passed. And to be honest. Life was good. We moved down a bit after Fenway had starting clearing up a bit. I told RPG, no matter how bad it got, we weren’t leaving till Sweet Caroline. I flew across this damn country for some all American baseball at one of America’s most beloved ballparks, god dammit, I’m not leaving till I sing Sweet Caroline, sung by none other than one of America’s most beloved artists, Mr. Neil Diamond!


(sidebar again: I was drunk at this point.)
(another sidebar: Not my video. For reason to be explained)

The 8th inning came and went. We left Fenway and it was 18-10 or something god awful. I will say this. Yankee fans sure have become a little more tame in recent years. Years past, I would have been getting an earful from Yankee fans that traveled to Fenway. Not so much. Smart Yankee fans (oxymoron) know that while they may have overall dominance in the world of baseball, we have indeed handed their ass to them for the last 10 years. So, the walk from Fenway to the Cask N’ Flagon was indeed delightful. Aside from not having any booze.

We got inside the Cask, and I proceeded with my declaration of Irish Wake style celebrations. We ordered up 2 more Jack and Cokes, and watched as the sluts made there way inside the bar. Now, typically, this would make me a very happy person. Sluts, jack and coke, and being in Boston. However, while we were at the Cask, they still were showing the last couple bits of the game. Just enough for my poor eyes to witness, another 2 run home run! That was it. Couldn’t take it anymore. Two more Jack and Cokes were ordered and devoured.

It was about this point that I had realized my iPhone battery had died. I figured no big deal. I’ll miss all my friends texting me from their drunken nights back home, and just text them tomorrow. I was excited because I had gotten a number of great pictures, and video of everyone singing Sweet Caroline. Life was good.

At about 2 something am, we decided it was all said and done. We took a cab home to sleep off our depression of losing that last game. We got outta the cab, walked up stairs to RPG’s apartment and began to settle in, when I realized something. I was missing my phone. I searched all 12 of my pockets (I was wearing cargo shorts.) and it was nowhere to be found. I searched high and low beliving that it could be somewhere in the apartment already. No luck. We went outside and searched the area between being dropped off, and the apartment. No luck. The phone was gone. Like Ben Afflecks directorial debut, Gone Baby Gone. (which was also set in Boston. But this was about some kid, not exactly a phone. However, I feel that if anyone had lost an iphone, the feeling is similar right? too far?)

We walked upstairs defeated. Now what happens next depends on who you ask. If you ask me, in my hazy state I went upstairs and passed out in a deep depression. However, if you ask RPG, we went upstairs I grabbed the bottle of Jack and began chugging from the bottle. And then went to bed. Toss up. I’m not sure who to believe.

The rest of the trip was a bit sad. I had lost my iPhone, and we had only been together for 6 days. She was good to me. And so I was sad to have lost her. I’d like to think she found someone who was better than me. A Lawyer, a doctor, maybe even a Red Sox/Celtic, but who knows. It’s difficult to see your life without someone you love. Especially if you think she left you in a cab to be with the driver.

RPG and I killed our day be reliving college and not getting up from the couches for a good 6-8 hours. We rallied after a stunning win by our beloved Red Sox that night, and met up with some more wonderful friends of RPG. The night indeed wasn’t as taxing on my body as the other, but drinks were had, as were laughs and good times. I concluded my Boston trip by flying out 715 am with just enough booze on my breath for the mother with a 3 month old sitting next to me, to give me a dirty look. The look was returned for having a 3 month old sitting next to me. Touche lady.

I made it home safely. Exhausted. Hung over. A bit depressed. But that was one of the greatest vacations I’ve had in a long time. I love me some Boston. I look forward to my next trip.

Until Next Time…

email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com





Irish Wake Style… Pt. 1.

26 08 2009

It had occurred to me that I haven’t written in quite some time. I knew that most of that has been because I haven’t had much to write about. It was also because I knew that I would be headed to the wonderful city of Boston later on this month.

It started on the day of my birthday, where I had won a lottery to buy Red Sox tickets online. I called up my old college roommate RPG, and took the plunge. After literally waiting online in the queue for 45 minutes I was finally in. I had gotten 4 tickets for a Friday night game in August. I was all set.

However, after using my Target credit card, I realized that with my current income it would be difficult to purchase some airfare. So I waited.

I plugged away at the Gym, hoping and trying to find ways to come up with some money. Airfare wasn’t cheap either at the time. At one point, a friend of mine from radio contacted me and asked if I would be interested in a part time gig. I was a bit intrigued and asked for some info. Apparently it was a gig to DJ at a new 18 and up strip club that was being opened up. He mentioned it would have been an extra 200-250 a weekend. I can’t say I actually didn’t contemplate this current career choice. But I stuck with my morals and still kept the streak alive.

So my income was low, and I made an executive decision to buy a plane ticket anyway. And of course, I did it the American way… on credit.

So I was committed. There was no stopping me. I was headed to Boston. The next part of this blog, is dedicated to bringing the truth of these events to light. To expose the myths and rumors of such events. The names have been changed, but, if you know me, this probably won’t matter anyway.

I had decided that in order to enjoy this trip and to eliminate carrying extra electronic devices, I would indeed decided to buy a brand new iPhone 3gs. I had planned on tons of mobile uploads to facebook, and twitter updates, along with new videos, and a photo collection to rival Annie Leibovitz, minus 15 year old slut pictures.

I had gotten up at 5:30 am to board my plane early Thursday morning to make it into Boston early enough to enjoy Happy Hour. I slept for a portion of the plane ride, then delved into the book Bowerman, that JDub had let me borrow. Before I knew it, I was touching down in Boston.

I grabbed my one carry-on bag and bolted out to the pick-up area for RPG to come get me. Now, I had lived on the East Coast for some time, and had known exactly how the summers where out there. However, it had been such a long time since I had been out there that I had forgotten one key element, humidity.

It was a nice 80 something degrees when touching down, but getting outside the terminal I had almost immediately began to sweat. It didn’t help I was wearing my hooded sweatshirt. I was disgusted. I cannot stand being hot, and being hot and sweaty is just down right Devil like.

RPG arrived shortly and I was saved by his blasting air conditioning of his jeep. We drove to his apartment where we quickly started with the festivities. And by festivities I mean drinking.

I had prepared my liver, and other internal organs, by constantly reminding them that they would indeed be under pressure this coming weekend. They knew it was coming, so there would be no excuses during this trip. RPG had put two options for the night on the table. One, we would drive to Gillette Stadium and take in a Patriots game. Two, we go downtown and drink our faces off. I asked him to find out how much it would cost to hit up the Pats game and we’d take it from there. Turns out, the game would be at LEAST 70 bucks for some pre-season games.

It was quickly decided to “fuck that” for 70 bucks was money that could be well spent elsewhere (Read:Booze) So downtown we went. RPG informed we would be meeting up with some of his good buddies from around town. Nothing could prepare me for what was to happen next.

We sat down and got some drinks at a wonderful bar called Rattlesnakes. RPG’s friend B showed up and informed us that his girlfriend JP would be a bit late and that she had a funny story for us.

Initially when I meet new people I hold out a bit, turns out I tend to judge people. And, I generally don’t like new people. However B and JP had a story that made me instant friends for life. They had been walking down the street when they ran into Derek Jeter and Jorge Posada. (For those that don’t know they play for the Yankees.) They were in town early for the game and apparently were walking amongst the common folk of Boston. I would also like to point out they were hand and hand with each other, and Jeter was carrying Posadas Bed, Bath, and Beyond bag. (I may have embellished this part. Creative privileges) Anyway, so they notice Jeter and Posada coming close, and Jeter looks to JP and asks “Hey do you know where the Mandarin Hotel is?” To which my new friend JP looks at him and says, “Like I’d tell you.”

New. Best. Friend.

As I got to know my new two best friends it was revealed to me that not only does JP love to watch 90210 (like me) she also loves my blog (like me. I showed her on my iPhone) but also her and B were in the processes of creating a company that would sell granola clusters. I told them of the hippy-ness that is the Pacific Northwest, especially Oregon, and how that would be an instant hit. Of course, this is not entirely true, because I for one, hate hippies, and I’m not that big a fan of granola. However, I’m a huge fan of Honey Bunches of Oats, and the giant clusters in that cereal and if they are anything like this, consider me sold! You can check the website here… and help out my new best friends!

RPG, JP, B, and I had done some pretty sweet damage at the bar because we were pretty wasted. It was decided we’d make one last stop and call it a night. Apparently some people had jobs the next day and it wasn’t cool to be hung-over. (JP was in the most trouble for not only was she 105 pounds I’m pretty sure she drank her weight in Sangria, Tequilas Shots, and pitchers of margaritas.)

We boarded the T and were on our way to a bar close to home. JP and B said they were along for the ride, and at the very last second they snuck out of the T like Ninjas! It was up to RPG and me to carry on! Apparently JP and B have never been in the Army, because they obviously don’t believe in the motto leave no man behind. It’s cool, keep your jobs.

RPG and I had made it to one last bar. We were about 20 minutes into our second drinks and having a lovely debate that we usually end up having when something strange happened.

Minding our own business, a nice young lady decided to come up and strike up a conversation between her and me. It went a little something like this.

(By the way, she just came up to us and interrupted our conversation)

Girl: So you think you’re hot? (looking directly at me)
Me: Uh, um, like temperature wise, or like attractive?
Girl: Like you think you’re really good looking?
Me: Well, I mean, I don’t think I’m particularly ugly.
Girl: But like you think you’re really hot.
Me: Are we talking overall, or just in this bar?
Girl: In this bar, you think you’re really hot!
Me: Um, I mean, I may give myself top 5. I guess.
Girl: You’re definitely top 2. Top 2 for sure.
Me: Is Tom Brady over there beating me out for number one? (It wasn’t actually Tom Brady; it was indeed some dude wearing a Brady jersey.)
Girl: Hahaha… you’re funny.
Me: Thanks?

And with that she left. That was it.

Until another 20 minutes passed and she made another approach. I figured someone hotter had rolled into the bar and she wanted to tell me that I had been indeed knocked down to number 3, but that wasn’t the case. Turns out, she had an even more important line of questioning.

Girl: So you’re not gay?
Me: Excuse me?
Girl: You’re not gay? You’re straight?
Me: Yeah, I’m straight!
Girl: Oh I just really thought you were gay.
Me: Am I really giving off that big of a “I’m gay” vibe?
Girl: I dunno, I just figured you like really gay.
Me: Wait, so am I still top 2 hottest in the bar?
Girl: Yeah totally!
Me: Nice. I’ll take that.

After RPG had come up from air from laughing so hard, we decided it was probably time to go. We finished up our drinks and made the trek back to RPG’s place for some much needed sleep. Friday, was going to be a long day.

To Be Continued…

Until Next Time

Email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com





Oh Captain, My Captain…

28 06 2009

Would you believe me if I were to tell you at the ripe ole age of seven, I was watching movies from Francis Ford Coppola?

You’d call bullshit right?

That my friend would be where you are wrong.

You see, many moons ago while I was just a young lad, I often took trips to California to visit my grandparents in San Diego. During most of these trips my grandparents would make sure that my brothers and I had a great time and filled our summer with amazing memories.

We’d often hit up the San Diego Wild Animal Park. Or the San Diego Zoo. One time we were even treated with the opportunity to visit Miramar Marine Base. (It used to be Miramar Naval Base, and the reason that’s cool, and the reason you should care, is because that’s where they filmed Top Gun. Remember the scene where Charlie is dissecting Mavericks flying, and he gets all pissed? Remember that darkened room? Yeah? I was in there. I sat there where Maverick, Goose, Iceman, and Sundown all sat. Aside from my job at the radio station, this is the only time I really namedrop anyone. However, I have since stopped, cause Tom Cruise is a crazy bastard.)

In addition to all those cool activities, my grandparents made sure that we attended Disneyland at least one day while we were on vacation there. Many of my now existing fears and loves are because of these trips to Disneyland.

My love of pirates? Pirates of the Caribbean.

Fear of the Ocean? Captain Nemo’s Submarine ride.

Hatred of the Outdoors and Cold? Matterhorn.

Back in 1986 one of my new loves was just forming. See, music television had just hit the airwaves, and there was one such a gentleman that was ruling them. His name was Michael Jackson. He was great. Billie Jean was the coolest video. Mainly because he had a tiger in it. I had no fucking clue what was going on, but dammit tigers were awesome. I can remember back then that I often attempted to copy the King of Pop. I had a red jacket that I thought rivaled that of MJ. However, mine was a Members Only jacket, and the only zipper was the one down the middle. I felt that even though it lacked that many number of zippers that MJ’s did, being red, it was very much the same.

Much like any kid my age, MJ’s dance moves were legendary. I can remember a rumor flying around school that Tommy had actually done the Moonwalk. I mean the actual Moonwalk. Not just dragging your feet slowly as you walked backwards like so many other kids in school could pull off. (me included.)

Summer rolled around, and it was indeed time to make it to California for the traditional summer vacation trip with my brother. At the beginning this seemed as if it was going to be just another trip to Disneyland. Seeing as there was no internet at the time information on your favorite Pop star was few and far between unless you heard it on the morning show of a radio station your parents didn’t want you listening to under the bed covers in your room. So being 7 years old, I may have missed out on the fact that my favorite Pop star of the time, and all around cool guy, was indeed going to be at Disneyland.

No, not quite in person, turns out that after his 4th nose job (not a stat I’m making up by the way) MJ was working on his new Sci-Fi image and career. Enter….

Captain EO!

For those of you who haven’t seen this piece of work let me fill you in. Disney took the reigns and produced a “state-of-the-art” 3D movie that would be featured in their theme parks. Starring none other than Michael Jackson, and some BAD ASS effects. When you’re 7 people, 3D is amazing. And the glasses are cool. Not only did it star MJ, but Academy Award Nominee Angelica Houston, and directed by Francis Ford Coppola.

No shit. Francis Ford Coppola.

Apparently at the time, not only was it the coolest movie I’d ever seen in my life. It was also the most expensive per minute movie in the entire world.

I feel as if my words in writing this don’t give this cinematic masterpiece it’s due. So with that being said throw on your 3D glasses and enjoy all that is, Captain EO!

and part two

I’m not sure it works, but if you have some 3D glasses I suggest you put them on and enjoy…. Man this brings back so many memories.

I left that day satisfied beyond all belief. My new found musical pop hero was in the coolest movie I had ever seen. I was at Disneyland. And to take home with me I bought the flying little thing as a plush toy…
Captain EO Fuzzball

I can remember seeing Captain EO a couple times over the next couple years. My grandma always sat through it with me, and always complained about the music of the movie. Another Part of Me by MJ became one of my favorite songs of my childhood years.

The good news, I can watch Captain EO on YouTube, and pick up Another Part of Me on iTunes. And even though he may have been clouded by some “extra curricular” activities, I’ve got some fond memories of The King of Pop. He truly was a talented musician.

Plus, everything is so much cooler when your 7.

Until Next Time…

Email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com





I’m Still A Virgin…

22 06 2009

First things first.

I would like to announce that I have indeed changed the address of this blog. It’s now, SarcasmAsAWeapon.com, which is what should have done in the first place, but I’m a bit slow. So feel free to update your bookmarks, or bookmark it in the first place.

With that outta the way, I shall now get to the meat of this blog.

You see, I’m not your typical guy.

Don’t get me wrong. I love many of the same things that men do. I love fast cars, actions movies, I love sports, I love eating wings and drinking some beers, I love whiskey, I enjoy a nice cigar here and there, I love Vegas, and gambling, and not showering for a couple days.

With that being said, there are a few things that I also enjoy that don’t necessarily make me gay, but it makes me look gay.
I like to go shopping.
I enjoy The OC, 90210, and The Hills
I spend a lot of money on clothes.
While not completely metrosexual, I do put some time and effort into my appearance.
I have an insane collection of shoes. And I’m not talking about Air Jordans.
Speaking of, I love shoes.
I’ve seen my fair share of musicals, and reference them in conversations.
I hate camping and being dirty. (aside from playing sports.)
I don’t really care for the outdoors whatsoever.
I don’t believe you should wear socks and sandals.
I don’t think you should wear a black shirt with a brown belt.
I spend too much money getting my hair cut.
I really liked Hitch.
I have some “interesting” titles in my iTunes collection.
I spend too much on grooming supplies.

But the kicker…. I don’t like strip clubs.

I’ve never been to a strip club in my life. I don’t understand them. I don’t get them. Wait, let me take that back. I totally understand them. I totally get it. However, for me it’s always been a mystery to me. Why would a perfectly smart dude got spend money on getting cocked teased? Blows my mind.

I mean put it this way… no man would buy Rock Band, open the box, and realize he couldn’t push the buttons!! Or, he wouldn’t take his hard earned cash to a car dealership, give them all his money, for him to smell the interior then 15 minutes later see another dude with his dream car! Yet, when it comes down to naked women, men will do a lot of crazy things.

While other men’s propensities for strip clubs is not the subject, my disdain for them is. I’ve gone 30 years of my life without setting foot in a strip club. Most of it was due to the fact that I’ve been in relationships in most of the years I was supposed to be out getting ripped and seeing naked women dance around. I guess I just thought that I was already getting laid on a consistent basis so what’s the point of seeing some other chick take their clothes off. Oh, and I was getting laid for free. Now, admittedly I paid for sex in different ways, like having to see some pretty messed up chick flicks, but the reward was always pretty worth it.

So I guess I just missed out on a time when I had tons of expendable cash to help support higher education goals of today’s women.

The Streak, as it shall be forever called, was in jeopardy this past weekend as I reunited with my college roommates for one of their bachelor parties. My good friend Gibbs was there and as we had talked in the weeks prior to the event, there was mention of indeed visiting a strip club. Gibbs is happily married, and like me, has grown a bit past the strip club stage. That, and he went about a month ago. But Gibbs, like me, wasn’t very keen on the idea of attending another strip club. Sadly, this was the goal of the groom Big P. He had his mind made up and was determined to go. He was really looking forward to it.

Gibbs and I had a plan.

Back in college we drank a bit. We may have made a Drink-O board that rivaled Bob Barkers Plink-O board. Some may have said we had a problem. We just figured we were accomplished. We haven’t changed much since then, so all of our drinking tendencies are all pretty much the same. I tend to swear a lot and Gibbs is a close talker. Big P, on the other hand, Big P is a different animal all together. Seeing as how Big P is a really big man and a National Champion CheerleaderPower Stunter one would assume that Big P can handle his liquor. And to be honest, if the man would slow down a bit, he could probably out drink the both of us combined.

Big P, however is no marathoner. Big P is a sprinter when it comes to his drinking. As is the case, Gibbs and I devised a plan to see to it that we indeed missed the strip club. I received a text earlier from Gibbs asking me a great tequilla for Big P to drink. I responded by letting him know my buddy swears by Don Julio. And so it was.

I arrived Saturday afternoon to the boys already immersed in a game of beer bong. However this wasn’t your typical game. The cups were filled with water and the boys were drinking from cups they had to the side of the table. Turns out, the cups to the side were filled with their beverage of choice. In this case, Big P’s was filled with roughly 8 shots of Don Julio and some Sprite. When I asked the boys, why they didn’t just play regular beer bong, the informed me that this was indeed “dirty.” This coming from the same guys that after spilling a pour of Don Julio on the plywood table top, proceeded to lick it up.

Our plan was in motion. It was like George Clooney and Brad Pitt in Ocean’s Eleven. (Gibbs, go ahead and pick whichever one you want to be. I’m cool with either, however, I’d kinda rather be Clooney. Pitt kinda seems like a little bitch. Aside from Fight Club.) Big P was diligently killing cup after cup of Don Julio. In most cases, I’d be a bit appalled that someone was treating such a fine liquor like a two dollar PBR, but shit, it was all a part of the plan.

Roughly around 10:30 (which unknowingly to me, is prime strip club time) the rest of the natives were getting a bit restless. In fact I remember a shout, “Big P, it’s 10:30!” “We gotta get going!” It was about at this point that Gibbs was taking out his revenge for The Dark Knight weekend of hockey beatdowns. He was indeed whooping my ass 10-2 in some NHL 2001. We decided that we should put down the PS2 controllers and start rallying the troops. This took longer than expected for some were still eating, some were smoking, some were finishing up a game of beer pong.

Around 11:15, our plan had been determined a great success. We had lost Big P for a good 10 minutes. When we started scouring the house, someone had gone to the side of the house, where a patch of grass was now wilting under the immense pressure that was the dead weight of a 300lb Power Stunter. Big P had passed out in the front lawn. We of course rushed to his side…. to take pictures. He remained there for sometime. I figured it was all over, and the rest of the guys would been crestfallen and resign themselves to continue PlayStation and Beer pong.

And then it happened….

The taxi pulled up and honked. The mighty beast was awaken!

Big P arose from the grass to not only walk like a infant taking his first steps, but to yell out… SHOTGUN! Big P was back. Clooney and Pitt had been foiled. I volunteered to drive some of the others toward their preferred destination of some place that was indeed a euphemism for sex. Something like the “Hot Box” or “WildCats” or “Giggles.” The name isn’t particularly important. We arrived in splendid fashion. I couldn’t find Big P or Gibbs. I scoured the parking lot that was only brightened by the amber glow jetting out from the front door lights. And then I saw them, Big P, doubled over with Gibbs hand on his back. Big P was indeed puking. This had to have been it… it had to be over!

Sadly, one of the guys in our group knew the owner of the Club, and astonishingly they were allowed to proceed inside. It was tough… The Streak was alive. Yet so close to it becoming over. I didn’t want to go in. Yet the golden lights that back lit the naked lady figures on the doors called to me like the Yellow Brick road of OZ. (PS that was a reference to The Wizard of Oz. Not HBO’s prison Drama OZ. Again, please refer to the list above. It doesn’t make me gay, it makes me look gay.)

(Cue internal struggle.)
I should go in.
No I shouldn’t.
I should go… I’m just supporting higher education.
The streak is alive. THE STREAK!
There are naked ladies… I haven’t seen one in a bit, aside from the ones that appear on this 13 inch screen.
They have STD’s in there.
Maybe one will like me.
You don’t make enough to enjoy yourself in there!
THEY’RE NAKED!
THE STREAK!

The Streak. The streak was kept alive. A shit storm of smack talking rained down from some of the boys including calling me gay. And “loving the cock.” However, as it stands… I’m 30 years old. And I’m a strip club virgin.

I’m pretty okay with that.

Until Next Time…

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com





S.A.W…

31 10 2008

It’s October 31st folks, and where I come from that makes this Slut Appreciation Weekend, in more common terms, Halloween. 

It’s the only time of the year where any girl can dress like a complete whore and it’s is totally socially acceptable. Not only is it acceptable, it’s encouraged. I for one love this idea. I for one am all in favor of this idea. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if this happened maybe once or twice more a year.  I mean what actually happens in the month of May? Nothing. 

August? Even More nothing. 

So number one, I propose S.A.W be held at least twice more during the year. 

And number two, I propose Halloween ACTUALLY be renamed as Slut Appreciation Weekend. I feel as if this will clear up a number of issues of Halloween. 

Lastly, I would like to take a moment to honor someone who paved the way for S.A.W. to become what it has today. A true visionary, a pioneer of S.A.W. Someone who shaped the future and gave hope to women of the future… Ladies and Gentelman… I give you … 

Kelly Taylor!

 

Kelly set a precedent for all future Halloweens. Guys, I do believe we owe Kelly Taylor a huge debt of gratitude. For she has shaped a future like this….. 

This is a future, I want to be a part of. 

 

Thank you Kelly Taylor… Thank you. 

Happy S.A.W. Everyone.

Until Next time…
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com





And Then We Rocked Our Faces Off…..

2 08 2008

“In history of Rock 301 we learn about the history of rock music.”
“And the we ROCKED OUR FACES OFF!”

-Muarice, Accepted

Yes its true. I started out this blog with a quote from Accepted. If you haven’t seen it, it’s not a bad movie to rent. That quote is one of my favorites from the entire movie. Surprisingly it is also what I did most of saturday afternoon.

You see, I was just chilling at home with my lil brother and we were obviously both bored. We have a stockpile of old Playstation 2 games, along with some scattered Xbox games. For Christmas last year we were able to procure a Playstation 3 and so some of our older games are just plain sucky.

With that in mind we gathered up all of our un-played games, and I even threw in my Xbox to take to Game Stop to trade them in for some new games. Our ultimate goal was to get NCAA 09 so that I could play my friend Haggy online and never have to leave the comforts of my AC at home. I could also see epic battles of Ducks and Beavers for months before the real thing actually took place.

Our gaming geek who runs his shop like well oiled machine finally was able to tally up all our trade ins. Coming to a grand total 170 dollars. With that the wheels in my head began to spin. And my little kid inside me (who’s not nearly as repressed as the fat kid.) looked around the store for something… ANYTHING worth 170 bucks.

Sidebar. When I get bored I have a tendency to solve my boredom in perhaps a little unorthodox way. Retail Therapy. That’s right. I like to buy things. It makes me feel better. Now, I don’t go all woman and shop for clothes or shoes I tend to buy electronics, video games, and movies. Although I’m not going to lie, a nice pair of shoes can solve a lot of problems. (which also reminds me, that last statement doesn’t make me gay, it makes me look gay.)

So after glancing around the store, I found it. I knew it had to be mine.

Me: “Hey dude, how much is Rock Band?”
Gaming Geek: “it’s $170.”
Me: (with eyes lit up) REALLY?!?!”
GG: “uh, yeah.”
Me: “We’ll take it!”
GG: (at this point obviously not amused with my antics.) “cool.”

So it was ours. We took our store credit and traded it in for Rock Band! Then I purchased NCAA 09 to cure my retail therapy, because we didn’t actually “buy” Rock Band.

I’m not kidding you when I say it felt so much like Christmas morning. My bro and I hurriedly took the huge box downstairs to unpack and set up the glorious drum set, mic, and new guitar. Packaging was strewn across the basement like a tornado had hit. But I can promise you, we had that thing set up in record time!

Can I tell you how much fun we had!!! It was amazing. I played Guitar and my bro played drums. We played so long that he developed a callus/blister on his hands. My legs began to hurt from standing in a guitar playing rock stance for so long.

Our band, Basement Brothers, is looking for two more members. We need bass and vocals. It would totally help your chances if you were hot in either case. In fact, it may be the sole purpose we pick you. So gear up the vocal chords, head to Best Buy to pick up your bass guitar, and give me a call. We’ll hang out, rock our faces off, and my mom may even make us brownies.

If you’ve never seen the Rock Band in it’s glory then check out this video of the Best Buy employees doing a little morning meeting.

Ps, this meetings actually take place about once a month. The usually begin at 7 in the morning on a Saturday. BB management feels this is the best time to get all the store employees in once spot at one time. Every meeting consists of the managers doing some sort of “training.” No one listens, and 99% of all the younger store employees are either hung over, or still rip roaring drunk. There have been many times where Gibbs, Big P, and I all rolled into the Best Buy morning meeting and had booze seeping outta every pore. The best was the management would usually get us a nice little breakfast spread, and nothing soaks up booze like 5 or 6 maple bars. Trust me.

I’m not sure if it was just our store, but we never did anything cool like that. EVER.

Of course, it’s probably because we were all still too drunk to Rock our Faces off!

By the way… See something in the internet you’d like me to rant about… or think is funny… or you think I might enjoy it… the feel free to email anything you’d like to…

SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Until next time.





Memorable Memorial

29 05 2008

First things first.

I saw Indiana Jones, twice. And I thought it was great. There are some people out there who are going to say, it sucked. It was cheesy. It had too many special effects. Harrison Ford “mailed it in.”

Well I say go eff yourself!

I don’t really mean that.

wait.

Yes I do.

For those of you old enough to have seen any of the previous three Indy movies in the theaters, then this one is going to bring back all the fun you had the first time. Right down to the theme music at the very end. I’m not going to say it was the best out of the 4… cause it wasn’t. But it was fun and I liked it. So go out and see Indiana Jones. It’s fun and it’s a great summer popcorn movie. No more no less.

I may even be excited if Shia Lebouf takes on the role as the new Indy, I mean his name is Henry Jones the 3rd. nice…..

Now that I’ve got Indy out of the way, it’s time to talk about how much booze I consumed over the past couple of days. Normally I’ve been sticking to my workout regime and by that I mean cutting back on the numbers of days I tend to drink. I’ve waned it down from a solid 5 outta 7 days, to a solid 1 maybe two a week. With that being said, I’ll have it be known, that just because my days of drinking have diminished, my intake has not.

This however was not the case this past weekend. My good friend Leeds rolled into town from China. Yup, China. And nope, he’s not Chinese. He’s not even Asian. Just a good old white boy from Oregon who’s job has taken him to China. Leeds and I attended the same high school. We’ve known each other for a couple years. He’s been gone a couple of years, so when he comes to town we usually try to drink till we can’t stand celebrate.

In past years, some of the festivities have included, me standing on a chair and challenging someone to a fight, Leeds singing the Ricky Martin classic “She Bangs” to some random cougars, and the biggest celebration ended by Stampy driving me home and me puking in the front lawn of my parents house. Class 24/7 folks.

So this year was unlike no other… we proceeded to our favorite Irish bar and got some dinner and proceeded to drink ourselves silly. And by silly I mean drunk off our asses. Go us. It was a celebration unlike any other. Stampy bought some wonderful shots for these two ladies who proceed to a.) treat him like he may have leprosy and b.) believe he may have roofied both the shots. (I would have gladly taken both the shots to prove that neither of the shots had been roofied, but I’m pretty sure that would have completely defeated the purpose of buying shots for women. Jury’s still out.)

All in all I believe there were a total of 8 rounds of drinks. Sadly there were no renditions of She Bangs, however there was a rousing version of Sweet Caroline that we felt necessary to back up the band. All in all a good night. Leeds went back to China this Monday with some great memories, and some equally fuzzy ones.

We got together with some other friends the next night, and again the booze flowed. Had a great time discussing my latest idea of “NapNation”®

Picture this, you’re at work, and you get off at 5:00 yet you were planning on meeting friends, at 7:30 to get drinks/see a movie whatever. You are thinking, home is too far away to drive home, and you really don’t want to stay late at work. You’re exhausted and you could really use a nap…. This is where NapNation® comes in!

NapNation® is where you could stop by and rent a bed/room for a pretty decent rate. The room would be filled with all sorts of magical relaxing agents to help you get a decent little nap in before meeting up with your friends. And trust me, most of my friends have asked me many a questions about the logistics of NapNation® and I am here to inform you I’ve thought about many of them. Please hold all your questions till the end.

Anyway, I’m basically just saying this to prove that I have wonderful ideas when I’m drunk.

So finally the end of Memorial Day came with a wonderful trip up to Seattle to see the Red Sox take on the Mariners. I would like to say that this trip was without booze, but that would be blasphemy against the great American tradition of beer, baseball, and processed cheese. For the most part the weekend was pretty tame and walking around a sunny Seattle was a pretty great treat, considering Seattle has like 4 sunny days a year. I’m pretty happy that I got to witness at least one of them.

Jdub and I ventured down to the Pyramid Brewery about 2 hours before game time to catch the Celtics v Pistons on TV and drink some overpriced beer. Well, the inside of the bar was extremely packed. It was basically standing room only…. and it was packed with Sox fans. Which was awesome. Nothing like outnumbering the home teams fans at their own ballpark and bars. It was like the 18th street Vatos rolling into the 12th street Dragons yet all the Dragons had something more important to do then defend their turf.

So there we were minding our own business taking in the sights of the bar. We were quickly surrounded by some very interesting characters. The first two were a lesbian couple oddly enough from Portland. Next, was the fruit vendor, the 6’4 firefighter, and his buddy…

Now if this group already sounds hilarious, it was. It was the perfect group for our own reality show. Somehow we all became aquatinted and once the booze started flowing things became a little more funny. First was the fruit vendor. It was a sad little story watching him trying to run game on one of the lesbian women. And he would give up either. He kept trying and trying, almost pretending as if he didn’t hear her say…. “I’m not any good at sucking.” “I’m a lesbian.” “Me and My girlfriend….” All of these were direct quotes, and all of these did nothing to deter our friend the fruit vendor.

Speaking of the fruit vendor, at one point our friend the 6’4 firefighter asked us all… anyone from the east coast?? To which most of us replied no, I mentioned that I had lived in Londonderry New Hampshire, but other than me the only one to respond was the fruit vendor. To which he replied in “an outta nowhere” Boston accent, that he was indeed from some east coast town. (I can’t honestly remember which one, for the shock and awe of the accent rendered me speechless and deaf.)

Literally after about a hour and a half fruit vendor was still running game on Lesbian number one. It was mighty impressive the determination on this guy. At one point we found out that the two lesbians actually were from the same area as Jdub and I. After a little more conversation, we found out that Lesbian number two is actually a cop with Jdubs ex-boyfriend… More hilarity ensued over the making fun of how dorky Jdubs ex-bf was, but even more hilarity ensued when lesbian number one proceeded to get very very intoxicated.

At one point someone joined the group late and brought some girl along with him. To start they weren’t very talkative, and well lesbian number one took a great exception to this. At one point, she looked over at Jdub and I and exclaimed (and not quietly mind you) “that girl he brought, she’s like the fucking ice queen.” To which I laughed and brought up the scene from Saving Silverman. The one with the graph chart of how much fun was had….
“Before Ice queen joined the group, we were at an all time high of fun. 98%. After ice queen showed up we were at an all time low in fun. Zero fun.”

As we all discussed what we did, and what made us awesome (other than being sox fans) lesbian number one shouted, to the 6’4 firefighter… “fuck you’re like the coolest person here, you run into burning buildings, my girlfriend gets shot at with real bullets, this dudes a fruit vendor, and I sling coffee at starbucks. What the fuck do you two do?”

(at this point I must interject another little story about Fruit vendor. Remember when we were talking about the east coast and his Boston accent magically appeared? Right, well right at the point lesbian number one mentioned he was a fruit vendor, he turned to the group to proclaim… “it’s very profitable situation.” To which I couldn’t help but notice, muther fucking fruit vendor NOW has a lisp? Holy hell….)

I mentioned I worked in radio which was met with awe, and Jdub replied something about events etc etc and being awesome. Lesbian one was impressed. We had made it to coolness in the eyes of a drunken lesbian. Life goal completed.

After two hours of drinking, and endless running game we decided to part ways from the group. We all said our goodbyes and good lucks to the Sox.

More beers were had at the game and the Sox went on to win 5-3. It was a great night for baseball and a great trip to be had. I’m not sure if JDub has heard from her ex-bf yet, but I’m pretty sure there is going to be some sort of mention. I mean those lesbians were funny.

Which brings me to the moral of this story….

beer, baseball, and processed cheese has the power to bring us all together. As fans. As Humans. And as a Nation. God Bless America.

and lesbians.