Archive for November, 2009

Moving pianos and shit

Thursday, November 26th, 2009

I was helping a friend move a piano recently.  As we tried to move the mammoth, we tilted, lifted, rolled, whatever the hell it took to get it down the stairs and out the door.  Now, the piano is the most extreme object I’ve had to move, but you go through the same shit trying to get a couch through the door, or kitchen table, whatever.  It occurred to me, especially when moving the piano, that moving pieces of furniture in and out of buildings is like one of those puzzles in one of the Saw movies.  You know, you need to solve the puzzle or you die.  Fucking ridiculous, man.  Moving this piano was literally a stupid fucking puzzle that would kill us if we didn’t do it right.  Especially when the anchor man was getting run over by the piano.  Seriously, this poor guy was about two inches from going down with the ship and becoming a Thanksgiving pancake.  Luckily, he survived, and we didn’t need to clean him up with a mop.  Happy  Thanksgiving, you didn’t die moving a piano.

Fuck Salad.

Thursday, November 26th, 2009

I recently went on a road trip.  The destination is currently irrelevant.  We were heading east from Chicago, along the Indiana and Ohio turnpikes.  We stopped at one of their nifty rest stops along the way.  You know, the ones with the eight thousand restaurants, five gift shops and optional sunroof.  There was a Fazoli’s kiosk in the joint, which we decided to visit.  Fazoli’s, for those of you who don’t know, is an Italian fast-food sort of joint.  For their combo meal options, they had a choice of a slice of pizza or a salad.  I saw the salad choice and immediately became offended.  My style of cooking consists of taking cholesterol and sauteing it in trans fats.  For dessert, we have a stick of butter rolled in powdered sugar and covered in hot fudge.  Seriously, fuck you, and fuck your salad!  The health option has been completely obliterated for me.  Enough is enough.  Don’t offer me a fucking salad, asshole.

The Real American Smokeout

Thursday, November 19th, 2009

Okay, so today is the Great American Smokeout, a day in which the American Cancer Society challenges smokers to quit for one day, in hopes that we will quit forever.  Sounds to me like the person who came up with this idea probably wasn’t a smoker.  Quitting smoking is hard enough without having to hear some jack-ass tell me that it’s time to quit.  I will quit in my own time, thank you.  I am proposing an  alternative.  I have noticed in recent years that the smoking population has been facing discrimination for our habit.  Most people would argue that, since we choose to smoke, that it isn’t really discrimination, since we could stop if we wanted to.  I call bullshit on that right now.  Smoking has been banned in workplaces and on airplanes.  I’m okay with that.  I don’t want people to be forced to sit near me when I’m smoking if they don’t like it.  That’s not what I’m trying to accomplish.  Restaurants.  I don’t mind when people smoke around me when I eat, but I know people do, and I’m okay with that.  But dammit, they have pushed us out of bars.  Bars are places that serve alcohol, and cater to a crowd of ADULTS.  Adults, who have the right to leave if they don’t like the atmosphere.  This is the part that makes me downright sick.  Nobody goes to a bar to do anything healthy in the first place.  Besides, there are usually no children in a bar (and if there are, you are in the wrong kind of bar).  I am sick of being pushed outside and treated like a lesser person because of how I choose to relax.

Here is what I propose.  If you are a smoker, then hand out a smoke or two to random people you see during the course of your day tomorrow.  If you are a non-smoker, but agree that smokers have the same rights as anyone else in this country, do the same.  Smokers, smoke a cigarette today for freedom.  Non-smokers, if you are fed up with this bullshit legislation that tells bars how to run their business, sport a smoke on your ear for the day.  I urge all people, not to be a prick about this, but to make others aware of this tyrannical law.  This aggression should not stand, but it is.  I am not trying to bring Joe Camel back; I just want a beer and a smoke again.

The state of Cleveland Browns football

Wednesday, November 18th, 2009

First off, I don’t give two shits about the Cleveland Browns.  I am a die-hard Cincinnati Bengals fan.  If anyone questions that, I grew up in Cincinnati, and watched them throughout the 1990s.  I am not a fan just because they kick ass now (and believe me, they do).  The Cleveland Browns are the worst team in the NFL.  Brady Quinn still sucks.  Eric Mangini must have a standing order with a liquor supplier in the neighborhood.  I mean, he needs something to make this season less bitter.  The Cleveland Browns football team is like one of those cheesy motivational improv-groups that go around to middle school and try to keep kids off drugs.  They are supposed to perform some kind of function, but you cannot figure out what that function is, no matter how hard you try.  It is really just sad.  But the news that got my jollies today was Eric Mangini telling Lebron James, if he wanted to play for the Browns, that Mangini would have a jersey for him.

This was a commercial for some dumb-ass company a number of months ago.  You remember the one where Lebron has a dream sequence where he actually plays for the Browns?  I do.  My head hurts thinking about it, but I do remember it.  I thought Cleveland sports hit rock bottom with Rick Vaughn Bobble-head night.  For those of you who don’t know, Rick Vaughn is a fictional character from the movie Major League, a film depicting the underdog Cleveland Indians as they rise through the ranks as their Cinderella season unfolds.  Point being, Cleveland baseball doesn’t have enough REAL sports heroes to immortalize in trinkets for 11 home games, so they use imaginary ones.  Seriously.  I visited Cleveland over the summer, and was present at the Indians-Tigers game, where they handed out Victor Martinez Bobble-heads.  This game took place the day after the Indians traded him to Boston.  Cleveland is the parody of a city.  It’s just by the grace of God they have sunlight.  But back to Lebron playing football.  What this means is that Eric Mangini saw a bad commercial, thought to himself, “We can’t get any worse,” and actually entertained the thought of bringing a fucking basketball star into a football game.  I couldn’t make this up!  I wish to hell I could!  I would be the greatest fiction writer in all the land, and I wouldn’t have to settle for this bullshit called a blog.  But Jesus, Lebron is going to get his neck broken.  I’m conflicted.  I don’t really want him to die, but I do want to see him make an ass of himself.  I never thought that not even one year after the Lions went 0-16 that ANY team would take their cellar seat so quickly, but if anyone can do it, it’s Cleveland.  Lebron James is the Harvey Dent of Cleveland.  That city has pinned all its hopes on him, and if he fails, Cleveland falls.  it is literally just so sad, I don’t think that it’s fair to go on anymore.  But I shall.  This whole thing was sparked by a comment that Lebron made to the Associated Press, claiming that he was high as hell COULD ACTUALLY HELP the Browns.  How fucking dumb is that?  I truly believe that Lebron James’s biggest fan is Lebron James.  He is the Kanye West of the professional sports world.  Ouch.  That has to suck.  I don’t really know what else to say here, so I’m getting out of here.

Regards,

The Reverend

Pub Runs

Friday, November 13th, 2009

I’m sure you are all aware of the idea of a pub crawl: hit a many bars as you can in one night.  I am here to bring to light a different approach to these.  It’s called a pub run.  The concept is the same, except you physically jog to all these bars, and you would ideally cover much greater distance.  The last one I went on covered about 6 miles, and included 9 bar stops.  That is probably the most fun I have had drinking with my friends.  There is a video of it; I’ve included the link.

This was the weekend of Bockfest in Cincinnati, a time where the local breweries release their spring brews, and turn it into a festival.  Cincinnati has many people of German ancestry, so beer is a big part of the culture.  We planned this particular pub run about a week and a half prior to the festival, and nobody could have predicted that the first weekend in March would bring a freak blizzard.  This certainly thinned the numbers at the festival, but we proceeded with our run regardless.  The blizzard meant that I didn’t have to work for the weekend, which was awesome.  For those of you familiar with Cincinnati’s layout, we started at Murphy’s Pub in Clifton, and proceeded through Over-the-Rhine to a bar called Milton’s.  We insisted that the bartender take a picture with us.  He agreed only after what we told him we ran over half a mile in order to get there.  After a beer there, we went to Bockfest Hall, which was a club called the Red Cheetah.  We drank a large beer there, and continued on with the night.  Mr Pitiful’s was just that: pitiful.  The service sucked ass, and the placed literally smelled like piss.  We did not stay.  We ventured about nine blocks southwest, to a place called O’Malley’s in the Alley.  That place rules.  This was the second time we made them a stop on our pub runs, due to our previous encounter with a guy named Pete, who bought us a pitcher of beer and gave us $20 to swing into Covington, KY on our journey.  Awesome, I know.  We had a few beers there, and continued on into Kentucky.  We ran to Molly Malone’s, and found it nearly empty.  We had a couple more beers there, and then proceeded to the half-way point of our trip, Hofbrauhaus in Newport, KY.  Much to our dismay, they were closed, and we were very thirsty.  Our saving grace on this trip was the fact that the convenience store across the street was still open, and they sold us a 6-pack of Budweiser 16-oz cans.  We thanked them, took the picture with the clerk, and left.  As we headed back across the Ohio River, we paused on the Purple People Bridge to kill that 6-pack.  Afterward, we ventured back through the blizzard-stricken downtown Cincinnati to Milton’s.  After one more beer at Milton’s, we began the extremely arduous run back to Murphy’s.  I say arduous because it was all uphill, and very steep uphill at that.  About ten minutes away from Murphy’s, I called the bar and asked them to have a couple of pitchers ready for us to drink when we got there.  Leo, the bartender, kindly obliged.  At this point, we get into the bar, and drink beer, warm up and get the ice out of our beards.  This was, by far, the best thing that we could have done for that night.

Guys, if you are looking for an interesting way to get noticed by women, pub runs are the way to go.  Honestly, the further you run to a bar, the more of a bad-ass you become.  You know the saying, “I think, therefore I am,”?  Well, consider this.  I run to the bar, therefore I am a bad-ass.  One of my party got lucky in one of the bathrooms along the way simply because we ran there.  It’s like hitting a home run in tee-ball.  It’s just sitting there; all you have to do is swing the damn bat.  It’s also a great way to put a new spin on an old concept, you know, shake things up a bit.  Those of you who don’t think you’re in shape enough to do this, I say this: I smoke a pack a day, and I still get through them.  They really are so much fucking fun, it’s unbelievable.  Watch the video.  It’s pretty poor quality, but it still so much damn fun.

Sex causes amnesia?

Wednesday, November 4th, 2009

There is a couple who had sex back in 2008.  I know, I was shocked too.  Seriously, they had sex.  Cool, huh?  Alright, enough.  Stop laughing perverts.  Well, they had sex, and the woman got amnesia from it.  That’s the funny part.  She knew who she was, but she didn’t know what day it was, how she got where she was, who the president was (granted it was 2008, so I would like to have forgotten that too), or anything.  She lay in a hospital bed, cracking the same jokes over and over.  According to research, she suffered from from something called transient global amnesia, or TGA.  The woman recalled having a headache the night before, and after that, “apparently, the next morning, [her] husband and [she] had intercourse.  From what [she] found out, there was an orgasm.”  No shit.  That’s usually what happens when you have sex.  Somebody usually has an orgasm.  At least what it said in my fifth grade science book.

Okay, as far as amnesia after sex goes, that dude is a god.  If I were him, I would feel like a freaking bad-ass!  That is ridiculous.  Holy crap!  That’s is talent!  For the single guys out there, I can;t imagine a greater gift than getting freaky with a woman, and then forgetting all about you.  You wouldn’t have to do that whole awkward thing if you never want to see her again.  You know what I’m talking about.  When you see her at a bar and are praying to any deity who will listen that she won’t notice you, but does, and you have to do that, “Oh, hey…,” and play it off.  Damn, that sucks.

Honestly, sex after amnesia is pretty common among males.  After sex, we forget that the woman is still in bed.  We forget that we wanted anything from her, we forget that we even had a conversation.  Sometimes, we forget her name!  Don’t look at me like that, it has happened to almost every guy out there, so don’t look at me like I’m some kind of insensitive asshole.  I know I am some kind of insensitive asshole, but don’t look at me like I am, dammit.  You all have fun, I’m signing off.

Traditional values = running your daughter over with car….

Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009

A 20-year old woman is dead after being hit by a car.  As stated in my previous post, I don’t write about people dying, but this one is just so damn bizarre I couldn’t leave it alone.  The woman was a 20-year old of Iraqi descent.  She and her family moved to America in the mid-1990s.  Her father had become upset over the way she dressed, and her resistance to his rules.  He believed she was becoming too westernized, abandoning traditional Iraqi values, so he ran her down with his car.  He then fled to Mexico, leaving his car, and got on a plane to Britain.  The Brits were kind enough to tell this asshole to turn around and get back to the US, where the law was waiting to put our cute western handcuffs on him.

Try to walk through this logic with me.  The guy thought his daughter was forsaking Iraqi traditions and values, so he ran her over.  With a car.  He used a western creation to kill a “westernized” person.  I’m sure he laughed at the irony all the way to Mexico.  What the hell, man?  The guy killed his own daughter for embracing a culture not his own?  Well, I don’t usually tell other people how to handle their business, but just maybe, that is an “Iraqi tradition” that is best allowed to die?  I don’t think that a little teenage rebellion (which is what appears to have brought down the wrath of Pops) should be punished by seeing if your daughter can outrun a car.  Maybe that’s a myth he has about us western folks: we can outrun cars.  If that’s what he really thinks, he is certainly misinformed.  I can barely outrun my skateboard when it gets away from me; a car is completely out of the question.  This guy is obviously crazy.  There’s no question about that.  I can understand wanting to still hold on to your traditions after you leave your home, but this is a level of insanity that is almost unbelievable.  What the hell did he think was going to happen?  Why the hell did he even bother moving here if he hates our culture so much?  What did he think was going to happen to his daughter?  He surrounded an impressionable child with a culture that he hates!  Do the math, what do you think the outcome is going to be?  I can’t think of a fitting punishment for this.  I would say chase that asshole around with a car, but I don’t think that will do it justice.  Wait, I figured it out.  Make that asshole sit around a shopping mall wearing whatever the fashion trend is this week, listening to nothing but rock, rap, punk, metal, and the pop music I hate so much.  Make him sit there and listen to all the material-obsessed youth traipse through there, speaking with the mental emptiness of a decapitated chicken.  For the rest of his natural life.  Is that torture?  Maybe.  But he deserves every last “LOL-OMG-FML”-ing minute of it.  That’s it for now, Rev. is gonna go make poor decisions.

Comment response

Monday, November 2nd, 2009

Recently, some random person asked me why I don’t write about serious news, like a terrorist attack or economic status.  Here’s the reason why I don’t.  There is nothing funny about a bomb blowing shit up and killing people.  It’s not even funny if it’s a bunch of clowns that got blown to hell.  I write about things that I can rip on mercilessly, not ones that just make me into a complete asshole.  I can’t make fun of terrorist acts.  I could probably make fun of the economy, but it’s taking of of that for me.  Nobody wants to read the funny side of a bunch of people dying, as if there is a funny side to it, and furthermore, I don’t want to write it.  So people, please, let’s keep the stupid questions like that one to a minimum.  You don’t want to be my next feature, and if you do, get some fucking help, because you are screwed the hell up.  Reverend, out…of words for now.

Woman reports drunk driver–herself….

Sunday, November 1st, 2009

I’m serious.  This is real.  A 49-year old woman was driving home from a bar, and called the police on herself for driving drunk.  She was instructed to pull over, put her hazard lights on, and wait for the police.  Being the law-abiding citizen, which she apparently is, she obeyed.  I’d have a joke for this, but I’m not that fucking funny.  This woman got herself a DUI.  Literally.  She called the police on herself!  How many drugs over what period of time do you have to take to be that damn stupid?  I don’t get it!  Why in the hell would you volunteer yourself for a night in jail and a DUI on your record?  What the hell?  God almighty, if you were so damn drunk and concerned with public safety, call a fucking cab!!  What the hell happened to this world?  I can’t wrap my mind around this one.  It may be the hangover, but I have one serious headache.  I’m going to go take about 300 aspirins and lie down.