onlydrinkhighlife

The Beauty of Facebook

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Mon, 03 May 2010 00:57:00 +0000

Like most people, I routinely ask myself why I'm still on Facebook. The allure of finding old friends has worn off, replaced with the frustration of ignoring requests to help people on Mafia Wars or reading status updates that are neither humorous or interesting. For days and days upon end, Facebook offers very little entertainment value and I find myself visiting the site out of habit more than anything. But every once in awhile, Facebook offers up something that guarantees that I'll stay hooked for months to come. Facebook's latest offering to me came today.

Earlier this week, a former classmate from elementary school requested to be my friend. I accepted the request and went about my business. When I logged on today, I was alerted that I had been tagged in a photo by that classmate. So of course I immediately clicked on the link to see what the photo was, because I hadn't seen this person in a number of years and was curious to see what the picture was of.

The picture was some random photo from a class trip in middle school and I looked gawky as hell in it. Oh well. The picture was part of a collection that another kid that I went to school with uploaded to Facebook. I wasn't friends with the kid, but still wanted to see the rest of the collection to see who else I recognized.

I acted like the typical Facebook stalker and clicked on the profiles of anyone I recognized and killed some time without finding anything particularly interesting. Then, I found the profile of the guy who was the absolute weirdest kid in my middle school. Jackpot! He was a spaz, a nerd, a social outcast, and proud of it. Sometimes he was nice enough, but usually he was surly and purposefully weird as fuck. He shook his dandruff on people and would wear the same shirt for days in a row. I couldn't wait to see how this piece of work turned out.

Well it turns out he is gay. If I had really thought about it, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised by that. But I have to admit that I was. And in the grand scheme of things, him being gay is not a big deal. But again, I have to admit that I acted like I had just found irrefutable proof that Tom Cruise was gay. In my defense, though, he also identified himself as a swinger, so some of my giddiness was justified. I took a screenshot of the guy's profile and emailed it to my friends who also knew the guy, with the hopes of brightening their day.

I was about to close the page when I noticed that the guy had his own online diary. Well I couldn't pass that up. So I clicked on the link and dove in. The first few posts I read were what I would've expected; weird pop-culture references that I couldn't place and some notes about some nerd shit on the Web. Then I clicked on a post where the guy was bitching about some screw-ups that his bank made that left him short on cash. Again, stuff that people typically bitch about online. But then I read the comments and was led one step closer to comedy gold. Someone commented on the guy's financial situation and asked if there was anything he could do to help. My former classmate responded by saying that people could help by buying some stuff from his online store, which he then linked to.

Did I click on that link? Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I did!

And my nosy behavior was well rewarded. After I scrolled down past a number listings for various used books and cd's for sale, I came across an item that I was definitely not expecting to see. My former classmate had decided to put up his copy of "The World's Best Handjobs Volume 3: Daddy's Best."

As soon as I read the title, I couldn't stop laughing. Then I saw the asking price: $68.38.

I nearly died. There were just too many things that were funny about this situation. For starters, the guy is selling used fetish porn. And is not shy about it! And the price. How did he come to that exact figure? Is that really the price the market will bear?

I mean, the guy is in such financially dire straits that he's forced to sell used porno, but refuses to sell this porn at a bargain. He'd rather starve than sell "The World's Best Handjobs Volume 3" for a cent less than $68.38. I'm sure his reasoning is that he knows that whoever buys it is going to get a lot more than $68 worth of enjoyment out of it - because God knows he has. And if people don't want to spend nearly $70 on used handjob porn, then maybe Volume 5 is a better match, which is also for sale for $43.98 and is presumably worth every penny. It has to be - it's obvious that this shit means a lot to the guy, otherwise why would he set such a steep price? And if this is the used price, how expensive are pristene versions of the "World's Best" collections?

Needless to say, the revelation of what this guy is willing to sell online spawned a number of unanswered questions. But for me, the biggest question is if you're going to sell something so gross, why wouldn't he go to greater lengths to ensure his anonymity so that friends, co-workers, and acquaintances can't find out about it by going to his Facebook page and clicking their mouse 5 times?

BBBQ

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 06:22:00 +0000

I do solemnly swear to objectively and subjectively evaluate each Barbeque meat that is presented to my eyes, my nose, my hands and my palate. I accept my duty to be an Official KCBS Certified Judge, so that truth, justice, excellence in Barbeque and the American Way of Life may be strengthened and preserved forever.

This past weekend I took the above oath – with my right hand raised – to become a certified judge for barbeque competitions. And I’m not embarrassed to admit that the pride and sense of accomplishment I felt was not minor. This type of certification isn’t handed out just willy-nilly. You have to earn it.

The way I earned my certification was by attending a 6-hour class run by the Kansas City Barbeque Society. Apparently these guys are the gold standard for judging barbeque competitions and are the driving force behind the TLC show “BBQ Pitmasters,” which follows the lives of people who barbeque competitively. I had seen the show a few times and enjoyed it (it was no “Pawn Stars,” but still good). My friend Scott was also a fan of the show and was intrigued by the whole world of competitive barbeque. How do people get into competitive barbequing? What are the rules? Who decides who the judges are? What criteria do they judge on? How do you become a judge? So he went on the Internet and figured out that the KCBS holds classes throughout the country to certify barbeque judges. Once he found out that the KCBS was holding a class near us, it was a pretty easy decision. We sent in the registration fee (which included membership into the KCBS) and prepared to become official barbeque judges.

As the class neared, I kept getting more and more nervous about it. I didn’t know what to expect from the class and was worried that it’d be a big letdown. I mean, I was expecting to get to eat a ton of awesome food as part of the class and if that didn’t happen, I’d be pissed. Scott shared the same concerns and admitted that he was going into it with low expectations just so he wouldn’t be disappointed. Though he still believed it would be worth our time and money: “Dude, nobody in the world has big enough balls to charge people 75 bucks to learn how to judge barbeque and just tell them ‘if you like the food rank it high, and if you don’t like it then rank it low.’ People would kick the guy’s ass if that’s all they got for their money. There’s not way they pull that shit. They gotta give us actual food to judge. At least I hope the do…”

The day of the class finally arrives. It’s held on a Saturday morning and starts at 9:30. As I’m shuffling my tired ass out the door to meet up with my four other friends that are taking the class with me, I see my little brother’s buddy passed out on my couch. He wakes up, looks at me groggily and says “Good luck at your hot dog eating competition!” then goes back to sleep.

As we’re driving to the class, my friends and I are guessing how big the class will be. The consensus was that there couldn’t be more than 10 total people in the class, because seriously, how many people are as retarded as we are and want to become a BBQ judge? Well the answer to that question is 60. The class was packed. People came from Iowa, Indiana, Canada and all across Michigan to attend this class. It’s safe to say I was taken aback.

The class was being held in the activity center of a church with a bunch of tables of 6 set up in front of a dry erase board. We were introduced to the leader of the class, a gruff but nice southern gentleman outfitted in a Canadian Tuxedo. He explained that barbeque was his life and his passion: “Some people golf, some people ski, my wife and I…well we barbeque. We enter barbeque contests 30 weekends out of the year and I teach these classes the rest of the time. We love it.” Obviously.

He started by extolling the benefits of the KCBS and noted that there are 2 sitting State Supreme Court justices that are members. Then he defined what barbeque entails, saying that true barbeque involves cooking through indirect heat. Then he started to lose me by going into the different barbeque methods: “Pretty much anything goes as long as it’s indirect heat. You got your Oklahoma Joe’s method, your Jambo Pit, your Big Green Egg, your pellet cookers, or you can do it like Ronnie K’s Smoke On The Water and use cook shacks, standard Weber’s, coal houses or the good ol’ smokers.” Uhhh, what? I looked around to see if anyone knew what the hell he was talking about, and to my surprise, people were actually nodding their heads in recognition!

He went on to explain that competitive BBQ consists of 4 categories: chicken, ribs, pork, and brisket. For each category, a competitor fills up a Styrofoam box with 6 separate pieces of meat (6 pieces of chicken in one box, 6 ribs in another, etc.). Competitors have the option of surrounded the meat with a garnish. Each judge then rates the entries on appearance, taste and tenderness on a scale of 2 to 9, with 9 being “excellent” and 2 being “inedible.”

It became pretty apparent pretty quickly, that I was a stranger in a strange land. The instructor and many of my classmates were throwing out terms I’d never heard of and cracking inside jokes about the better-known BBQ competitors and their methods. Many of the other people taking the class wanted to start competing in events that KCBS judged, so they were asking very specific questions about shit I couldn’t care less about. Like what constitutes pooling or puddling of sauce (which involves creating an area for “dipping sauce” and is a huge no-no when competing and is punished with a disqualification), what types of garnish can and can’t be used (“don’t even think about red-tipped cabbage, because it’s not allowed”), and if rib tips can be submitted in the ribs category (“a rib isn’t a rib if it doesn’t have a bone in it, so you’re not gonna win with rib tips if that’s what you’re thinking”).

People were not shy about asking stupid questions and didn’t seem to notice the instructor roll his eyes whenever he had to field the really stupid ones. It seemed like people kept getting hung up on how to rate the food and what they should factor in.

The instruction did not hesitate on setting us straight:

Q: How do we determine what is the amount of tenderness?

A: It should feel good in your mouth.

Q: Is there anything specific you look for in excellent barbeque?

A: It should be an emotional experience. You should be willing to drive to Milwaukee to get some barbeque that good.

Q: How much should we factor in the flavor of the barbeque sauce?

A: Did I say anything about this being a sauce competition?

Q: Should we rank an entry lower if they decide not to garnish the presentation box?

A: This is a meat contest not a garnish contest.

Q: Will the contestants know who is judging their entries and will we know whose food we’re judging?

A: It’s a double blind judging system. So you don’t have to worry about anyone coming after you with a gun if you rate them low.

Now it may sound like this guy was joking around about being chased with a gun and that his gruff demeanor was just an act. It wasn’t. He kind of reminded me of Wilford Brimley in The Firm or in the Seinfeld episode where he’s the United States Postmaster General – basically this guy didn’t fuck around. If he was assuring us that we wouldn’t be chased by a contestant with a gun for giving someone poor marks, it’s most likely because at one point a judge was chased by a contestant with a gun and that he has made the necessary changes to the judging process to prevent the threat of gun violence from happening again.

After everyone’s questions were answered, they finally let us dig into some good ol’ barbeque. They took us through a mock BBQ competition and all of us were able to test and rank the four types of entries. We tested and rated three different chicken entries, three rib entries, two pulled pork entries, and two brisket entries. It was a ton of food and a lot of it was really, really good. But the fuckers around me were acting like they were sitting at the judges’ table for Top Chef or some shit. They were being ridiculously picky and really low-balling the scores. You’d think someone who cleaned their plate and was licking sauce off their fingers would rate the food a little better than “average.” It quickly became apparent that the people who were judging like assholes were the ones who planned on entering BBQ competitions in the upcoming year and were just trying to come off as knowledgeable. It didn’t work.

Wilford Brimley helped direct us a bit on how lenient and strict we should be with our rankings and then took the final few minutes of the class to peddle some KCBS merchandise and announce upcoming BBQ competitions in our area. After a final check for any remaining questions, he led us in taking the aforementioned oath. We had done it; we were now official KCBS judges and eligible to experience all the fame and prestige that came with that title.

It was a long day, but the class did not disappoint. With just a 6-hour investment and a nominal one-time fee, my friends and I were able to ensure that we have the ability and opportunity to not only eat a shitload of free barbeque, but to give our opinion on that food and have people care. It’s okay to be jealous.

"California Dreams" Reunion

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 14:32:00 +0000

About six months ago on this site, I wondered why the show “California Dreams” – which followed “Saved By The Bell” on Saturday mornings – wasn’t more popular and why stations like TBS weren’t airing reruns of the show. I also mentioned how awesome the theme song was and that Jimmy Fallon should be begging for a reunion of the cast. Well wouldn’t you know, but the other night Fallon did just that: He reunited the cast of "California Dreams" and had them sing the theme song with The Roots.

The lessons here? The first is that “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon” should hire me as a writer. The second is that I’m awesome for being so far ahead of the curve on identifying what's cool and funny in pop culture and remaining so humble about it.

The Hardchorus

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 03:42:00 +0000

Phoenix and DC

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 20:04:00 +0000

A while back, I ran into my friend DC at the bar. I hadn’t seen him in awhile, and I had a good time hanging out with him. DC has a way with words and doesn’t really give a fuck about anything, so he always has a good story to tell. One of my favorite stories of his is about him visiting my buddy Bill in Arizona. DC gave me permission to write about the story on here. (He's the kind of guy that you want to make sure you get permission from.) To make it easier on me, I’m going to write the story in his voice, just as he told it to me.

So I got to visit Bill in Phoenix. March Madness was going on when I was out there so we were drinking all day long. At night we end up going to some bar and meet these girls. Bill tells them some shit about me just breaking up with my girlfriend and that I need to be cheered up because I'm all depressed, and this girl starts eating it up. She was good looking, I guess. She had huge fake tits. I mean huge. And really fake. It was pretty obvious with the shirt she was wearing. Shit, she could've been wearing a Triple Fat Goose coat and you still would've been able to tell her tits were fake. But who cares, ya know? Tits are tits.

So anyway, she's all about it, so I end up leaving Bill and go back to her place with her. She lives by herself and so we don't waste anytime and go at it. Then right afterwards she starts acting fucking crazy. Like nuts. She starts telling me how much it sucks that I'm only gonna be in town for the next three days and that she's gonna miss me. Dude. I don't even know this girls NAME. What the fuck is she talking about, ya know? So I was like yeah that sucks...ANYWAYS. Then she starts saying how we gotta figure out what we're going to do for the rest of the weekend. At this point I'm ready to fucking jumpoff her balcony just to get out of there. So I play that off and she calms the fuck down and we're just laying there in her bed. She gets up to go to the bathroom and turns to me and says "I just realized that no one in the world knows where you are right now. I could kill you right now and no one would ever know." And then she laughs and goes and takes a piss or shit or whatever.

But seriously, what the fuck? I mean she was right: she could kill me and no one would ever know. So my first thought was that maybe I should kill her first, because no one she knows knows that I'm here. But then I thought I should just bolt, because who the fuck knows what's up with this girl and it might be my only chance. So I grabbed my clothes and my shoes and fucking ran out of there, and didn't look back, cuz I didn't want her to run out of her place and see me in the parking lot.

I get a safe distance away and realize I left my fucking Oakleys at her place. A $200 pair of sunglasses that I just bought gone with the wind because of this bitch. Fuck it though, it was worth it because if I would've stayed there she might've killed me. Or I might have killed her.

So now its like 2 in the morning and Bill's not answering his phone and I have no clue where I am, where he is, where he lives, or how to get back to anywhere. Basically I'm fucked. I was walking down this main road and must've been near a college because I kept walking by these house parties filled with Mexicans and meatheads just yelling shit at me. It was the fucking worst, dude. Honest to God, everyone in Arizona must drink and drive because it seemed like every time a car passed me, the people in it were throwing empties at me. Bottles of beer just whizzing by my ear while they're calling me a cocksucker and faggot. It was like payback for any bad thing I've ever done in my life. I just had to shut up and take it because if I said anything or gave a look, I was gonna get my ass kicked by some Mexican gang and anyone I know who could've helped me out was a thousand miles away. All I could do was take off my chain, wrap it around my fist and hope I could find a motel to crash at. I probably looked so fucking pathetic.

Anyway, it's like 3 in the morning and I stumble into this town and see a cop standing on the sidewalk. I've never felt so relieved in my life. So I go up to him and ask for help. "Excuse me sir, but do you know where the closest hotel is? I'm not from around here and got separated from my friends and really need to sleep." He just looks at me and starts to give me shit! "Turn around," he says, "and take three steps." So I do and I realize I'm right in front of a hotel. "And he's being sarcastic and shit and asked if that was close enough for me, so I just looked at him, waited a second, and then told him to go fuck his mother and went inside.

He probably saved my life, but seriously, I didn't need to take shit from this asshole; I was drunk as fuck, my life was threatened by some random chick that I probably caught something from, I lost my brand new sunglasses, and I just went through a gauntlet of flying beer bottles while being called a faggot. Just tell me where the hotel is and mind your fucking business, ya know what I mean?

So I walk up to the hotel counter and I realize that this hotel is pretty nice. I ask for a room and the dude behind the counter tells me the room is like 200 bucks or some shit. Fuckin' perfect. Of course it is. Banging this chick is costing me half a grand now. But what am I gonna do, ya know? So I pull out a credit card and give him my license and the guy takes it and says "Oh you're from Michigan? I went to Michigan State. Lemme see if I can give you a discount." So he knocks fifty bucks off the bill. It's the only good thing that happened that night.

So I pass out and finally get a hold of Bill the next morning. I'm waiting in the lobby for him to pick me up and he pulls right up to the door with "Jessie's Girl" blasting. You could hear it from inside the lobby. Everyone's lookin' around and I get up, with no suitcase, looking like dogshit, and slowly walk tothe car. If anyone who I had passed on the street the night before had seen me right then with an 80's song blasting, getting picked up by a dude, they would've been like "See? I told you he was a faggot." But whatever, it was funny. Bill couldn't stop laughing. And I still got laid. Oh, and I never did catch anything from that chick. I don't think she was clean, but either way I didn't get anything from her. Which is good, because I would've killed her the next time I was out there to see Billy.

Phil Collins's Girlfriend Hates Him More Than You Do

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 04:21:00 +0000

Everybody knows that Phil Collins was the absolute shit in the 1980’s. He was in the zone that decade and a majority of his output - both with Genesis and as a solo artist - was indisputably awesome. Despite his commercial success and legions of fans, there were people that couldn’t stand Phil Collins. I call those people assholes. Phil Collins calls them his exes. Just take a look at his songs from that era and it is apparent that pretty much anyone who had a relationship with Phil treated him like a piece of shit.

“Misunderstanding” (1980)

Misunderstanding - Genesis

Phil starts off with bad news and it keeps going downhill from there. His date is late and he’s stuck in the rain waiting for her. Then he figures out she stood him up. Ouch. Then he admits to partaking in some minor stalking by calling her repeatedly and driving by her house. And his reward for that behavior? He gets to see some other dude walking out of the girl’s house after (presumably) boning her. That is some mean shit to put Phil through. Why did she have to lead him on like that?

“No Reply At All” (1981)

No Reply At All - Genesis

Phil gets to experience the dreaded silent treatment. “Look at me, you never look at me/Ooh, I’ve been sitting, staring, seems so long/But you’re looking through me/Like I wasn’t here at all/No reply, there’s no reply at all.” Well that sounds like fun.

“I Don’t Care Anymore” (1982)

I Don't Care Anymore - Phil Co...

Phil reaches a breaking point and stands up to the bully that is his girlfriend. She keeps talking shit about him and making fun of him, so he finally breaks up with her. Just think about how badly she had to treat him to make a sad sack like Phil be the one to end the relationship. Phil Collins doesn’t dump. He gets dumped. That’s his thing.

“That’s All” (1983)

That's All - Genesis

Phil’s got another doozy on his hands, and this one likes to bicker: “I could say ‘day,’ and you would d say ‘night’/tell me it’s black when I know that it’s white.” He knows that this isn’t healthy, but he can’t help himself. He’s learned to like the abuse.

“Easy Lover” (1984)

Easy Lover - Phil Collins

Another relationship with a girl who treats Phil like shit. His buddy Phillip Bailey tries to alert him: “She will play around and leave you/Leave you and deceive you/Better forget it/Or you’ll regret it.” But does he listen? Fuck no.

“Against All Odds” (1984)

Against All Odds (LP Version) ...

Phil manages to find himself a girlfriend who finally sees him for the catch that he is: “You’re the only one who really knew me at all.” Yet she’s still walking away from him. Not only that, but she won’t even let him down gently: “I wish I could make you turn around/turn around and see me cry.” She won’t even turn around? When the whole song is Phil pleading for her to just look at him, you know he’s dealing with someone who couldn’t care less about him.

“One More Night” (1985)

One More Night - Phil Collins

Phil is pleading with a girl he loves to give him a chance to tell her how he feels. By now, Phil is so beaten down that he realizes that his efforts will be fruitless: “I know there’ll never be a time when you’ll feel the same/And I know it’s only words/But if you change your mind you know that I’ll be here/And maybe we both can learn.” This broad thinks so little of him, that Phil can’t even fathom that this girl would ever think of him the same way he thinks of her. It is becoming apparent that Phil has given up hope on being in a loving and healthy relationship. Now he’s just settling for small victories like getting one more night or getting the woman he loves to turn around and look at him while he cries.

“Sussudio” (1985)

Sussudio - Phil Collins

And the women in his life have finally gotten him to speaking jibberish. Yet another song about Phil crushing on a girl who doesn’t know who the hell he is. Which is weird, because in 1985 Phil was pretty fucking famous. How did she not even know his name? I wouldn’t date someone now - 25 years after his career apex - if she didn’t know who Phil Collins was and didn't enjoy his music. If this girl that Phil fancies has never heard of him then that means that she has horrible taste in music, has been in a coma, or is retarded. All three of those should be deal-breakers for not only Phil, but for all of us.

"Take Me Home" (1985)

Take Me Home - Phil Collins

Phil’s family had him committed and put in a mental hospital. This is an act of love and concern if the person being committed is actually insane or unstable. However, when the person is sane enough to write such a kick ass song as this one and is only sent away because his friends and family had their fill of listening to Phil bitch about his failed relationships then it just seems drastic and mean.

“Invisible Touch” (1986)

Invisible Touch - Genesis

“She don’t like losing, to her it’s still a game/And though she will mess up your life/You’ll want her just the same…” Okay, maybe Phil is insane. Is Phil drawn to manipulative women or is there something about Phil that makes normal women become mean and abusive once they get to know him?

“Throwing It All Away” (1986)

Throwing It All Away - Genesis

Well the title pretty much says it all, doesn’t it? Yet again, somebody is breaking up with Phil and willing to throw everything away just to end the relationship. It’s like he’s the abusive husband from “Sleeping with the Enemy” or something. Seriously, it couldn’t have been that bad. Even Phil can’t believe it: “Who will light up the darkness? Who will hold your hand? Who will find you the answers when you don’t understand?” The apparent answer to all three of those questions is “I don’t give a shit,” because she still ends up leaving him, driving Phil to hurl the empty threat that “someday (she’ll) be sorry.”

“Something Happened on the Way to Heaven” (1989)

Something Happened On The Way ...

At this point Phil begins hating himself as much as everyone he’s ever dated hates him. “We’ve had our problems, but I’m on your side.” He’s taking the side of the most recent woman who has become sick of him and left. This song finally lets us in why people tend not to like Phil: “You can run, and you can hide, but I’m not leaving unless you come with me.” Um, Phil, it isn’t considered leaving if you’re still in the presence of the person who wants you out of their sight.

If you think about it, Phil Collins is practically a saint. He suffered years of abuse from a variety of women and spun it into hit records for our listening pleasure. After reading this, you may start to feel sorry for Phil Collins since he obviously had a rough love life in the 80's and was treated like an asshole for all those years. I felt the same way while writing this piece. But then I remembered that this is the same guy who wrote "I Can't Dance" and I didn't feel so bad for him anymore.

That said, we should be thankful that we had Phil Collins in our lives in the 1980's and that he had such horrible, horrible women in his. He has made a significant contribution to the soundtracks of grocery stores and dentist offices throughout the country that cannot be forgotten nor ignored.

Hey Man

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 05:09:00 +0000

Here is a video I made that features every single "Hey man" in the movie "Dazed and Confused."

Steve Phillips - The Movie

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 04:23:00 +0000

Yesterday, it was reported that Steve Phillips, a baseball analyst for ESPN, was suspended for one week because he was having an affair with a 22-year-old production assistant named Brooke Hundley. Unfortunately for Phillips, the suspension is the least of his worries. Phillips is married and when he tried to break it off with the 22-year-old, she went nuts and started stalking and harrassing his wife and kids. She even left a letter on the door of his home addressed to his wife detailing the affair and slamming his marriage. The full letter can be found here. And believe it or not, that isn't even the worst part of this story. The worst part of this story is that the woman that Steve Phillips cheated on his wife with, and jeopardized his career for, looks like this:

I figured such a intriguing story has a good chance of becoming a movie, so I tried to come up with the perfect cast for the two leads.

The pick for Steve Phillips is pretty obvious: John Slattery of Mad Men fame.

I tried to think which young Hollywood star could best capture the unique look of Brooke, one person immediately popped in my head: the skater dude from Clueless.

I realize that he would have to put on some weight for the role, but I'm sure that Breckin Meyer would have no problem making that sacrifice for the opportunity to play such a star-making role.

Then inspiration struck. Forget the dude from Clueless. Sure, he's the perfect actor for the role, but he isn't the perfect character for the role. I admit, that my suggestion is a little out there, but once you see it, I think you'll agree that when it comes to the perfect portrayal of Brook Hundley, Junior Gorg is the only option. See for yourself, and just try to argue with me:

I've even come up with a title for the movie and created a mock-up movie poster to help drum up interest and get this thing made. The title and poster are based on the fact that this psycho looks like the modern day equivalent of Marla Hooch from A League of Their Own.

Randos

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 01:19:00 +0000

There is something about being at a major league baseball game that makes grown men retarded. Mental retardation is the only explanation for why 40 year old dudes sitting in $80 seats fight with each other and children over a 79 cent foul ball. It is even worse when these losers fight over a ball that's tossed into the crowd by a base coach or player at the end of an inning. Are they going to put it on their dresser in their bedroom like they are 8 fucking years old or something? "Yeah, this is a ball I caught at a Tigers game last year. Well, no it wasn't a home run ball. Actually, the first base coach for the Royals threw it into the stands after the infielders warmed up with it. He was trying to toss it to some kid, but it went through his hands and I managed to elbow him out of the way and found it underneath the seats. The kid looked like he was gonna cry and his parents started talking shit, but what I can I say? I wanted it more than the kid did and that's why it's on my dresser and not his. Hey, where are you going? What do you mean you have to work early tomorrow?

***************

I attribute a lot of Saved By The Bell's success to the fact that it used to be on 4 times a day, Monday through Friday when many of us were growing up. It couldn't be avoided. (Except by the kid at my school who didn't have a TV in his house. But even without a TV, he had still seen a couple episodes. After one of the few times he managed to watch an episode, he was telling me and my friends that Slater was his favorite character because he was so funny. We couldn't understand it, because everyone knows Slater wasn't that funny, so we verified he was actually talking about Slater. Mike Teevee-less answered "yeah, the guy with curly hair," so we kept asking him to describe what was so funny. As he went into detail, it became apparent that he wasn't talking about Slater, but Screech. Holy shit, did I want to beat this kid up when I realized that. For one, he confused Slater with Screech. Who does that? And two, he actually thought Screech was funny! I can't think of two better reasons for administering a beat down. Well I can, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, I've been wondering why no one ever aired reruns of California Dreams, the show that used to run after Saved By The Bell. If you remember correctly, the show was about "surf dudes with attitudes." It was kinda groovy.

I really think if TBS or USA would've picked up the syndication rights to this show and subjected kids to the reruns of it on a daily basis for 15 years like they did with Saved By The Bell, Jimmy Fallon might be begging Brent Gore to join a California Dreams reunion show instead of begging Mark-Paul Gosselar. I'll admit that it isn't as great as Saved By The Bell, but it was definitely better than that piece of shit, Hang Time.

And just because it's awesome, here's a clip of Mr. Belding getting to the bottom of things:

***************

Considering that she was a poor, ugly, nerdy girl who didn't fit in with the popular, rich crowd at West Beverly High, you would think that Andrea Zuckerman would just go with the flow and not insist that people pronounce her name as "AHN-drea" instead of the more normal "ANN-drea." But no, she had to be a complete bitch about it.

***************

One of the most underrated funny lines in Back to the Future is right at the end of the movie when Marty (SPOILER ALERT) returns to the perfect version of 1985 and Doc busts into the driveway saying he has to take Marty back to the future and that Jennifer can come along because "it concerns her too." Marty's immediate reaction is to ask "What, do we become assholes or something?"

I love the fact that that is the first thing that Marty's worried about. How great would it be if that was what the sequel was about?

***************

If I was in charge of the advertising campaign for the morning after pill, I wouldn't call it "Plan B" like they do now. That makes it sound as if needing the pill is something to be ashamed of. Instead, I would call it "Plan Be Awesome." As in, "I think I'm going to be awesome tonight and not make him wear a condom."

2nd Annual Booze 'n Bike Rally

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 02:16:00 +0000

On Saturday, July 11th, 2009, a group of friends and I participated in an event that challenged our bodies, our hearts, our minds, and our livers by participating in the 2nd Annual Booze 'n Bike Rally. That's right. For the second year in a row, we went on a pub crawl on our bicycles. The crawl was 22 miles long and included 18 bars. Each person was required to drink 1 beer per bar. At each Irish bar, an Irish Car Bomb was required, in lieu of beer. We began the sojourn at 11a.m. at the Crestwood Lounge. Last year I kept extensive notes and posted them here. However this year I decided to change it up a little. Instead of a running diary, I enlisted with my friend The Grodfather to help me write reviews for each of the bars we patronized. I've included the reviews below and added anything else I could remember from the day's events.

To commemorate the event, the Grodfather did something completely awesome and bought everyone yellow wristbands, like the kind Lance Armstrong wears. Except ours didn't have the phrase "Live Strong" on them. We live by a different motto: Bike Drunk.

We had more participants this year than we had last year, but only four returning riders, due to a variety of reasons including scheduling conflicts and people being lame. At the first bar, people began taking in who was missing from the previous year, which led to the following exchange:

"Why isn't Lizz doing the rally this year?"
"Her girlfriend wanted to go camping with friends, so she had to do that instead."
"Oooh, I don't blame her then. Her girlfriend is hot...you gotta lock that down."

Bar #1 - Crestwood Lounge

Description: A blue collar bar that features bikini-clad waitresses and, inexplicably, luau décor.

Price of a Miller High Life: $1.75 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: Coke. Or for a bikini-clad waitress’s ex-boyfriend to kick your ass for staring at his property.

Rating: 2 Stars (Docked half a star for not having any TP in the ladies room).

When riding up to the next bar, it looked they were closed and we'd have to come up with a quick Plan B. Delaney didn't hesitate: "Let's go next door to the 7-11 since they are giving aways free Slurpees today because today is 7/11, and then we can buy a fifth of vodka and pour it into them." The idea was a stellar one, but the second bar ended up not being closed, so the plan never came to fruition.

Bar #2 - East Side Mario's

Description: Casual neighborhood Italian restaurant and bar.

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – Miller Lite was $3.25 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: Free peanuts, cheap appetizers, and people in khakis and polos enjoying authentic “EYE-talian” cuisine.

Rating: 2 ½ Stars – Free peanuts is a plus but not having a High Life to wash’em down with is a minus.

On our way to the third bar.

Bar #3 - PY Stix (Nee Oceans 11, nee Jamie’s Again, nee Jamie’s Jammers II, nee Jamie’s Jammers)

Description: They were closed!

Price of a Miller High Life: Unknown

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A reason to turn around and go home to spend time with your family.

Rating: Zero Stars – A complete dick move by them by being closed when we wanted to drink there. No wonder they’ve gone bankrupt so many times.

When we hit this speed up we decided to just go to the next bar on the route and try to add another bar to the route later on in the day.

This is what a closed, shitty bar looks like.

The New Bar #3 - Mason’s Bar and Grill

Description: A local landmark where High Life is simply referred to as “Miller.”

Price of a Miller High Life: $2.95 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: The best burger in Livonia, and napkins proclaiming as much, as well as good honest folk with real lives and real stories. (It’s the salt of the Earth in this joint.) Their burgers really are the tits though.

Rating: 4 Stars – Don’t leave this place without eating a burger. For reals.

At Mason's, one of the riders got a banana out of their backpack and began eating it. Naturally, we started giving them a hard time. I mean they were eating fruit. In a bar. I don't even think that's legal. We cut them a break when they explained that they had a bad case of diarrhea and that eating bananas helped get rid of it. Can't really argue with that.

The banana: diarrhea's mortal enemy apparently.

Bar #4 - Plymouth Roadhouse

Description: Another bar with a bikini wait staff, but no Dalton! No Jeff Healy behind chicken wire either. (Yes, I know that Jeff Healy is dead, but still…just no excuse.)

Price of a Miller High Life: $2.75 a bottle. (The first bar to check I.D.’s.)

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A bikini wait staff that doesn’t seem to love the smell of cocaine as much as the staff at the Crestwood, and who are self-aware enough to work in a dark and dank bar so they can hide their embarrassing blemishes, cellulite, and scars.

Rating: The fact that the owner’s wife came to our table and gave us all free drink coupons was a nice show of hospitality and worthy of a bump of ½ a star in their rating: 2 Stars

After the above picture was taken, of Johnny and Chuck, the photographer told the guys to pose for one more picture and ordered Chuck to kiss Johnny. Chuck replied, without hesitation: "I want to kiss Johnny about as much as any other person in the world wants to kiss him." Needless to say, a second picture was not taken.

While drinking my High Life, I noticed that they had a food special going on. Me: Hey Andy, they're selling sliders for a buck here! Andy: Yeah, I'd need 2 bananas if I ate those.

Bar #5 - Paddy’s Pub

Description: An inauthentic Irish bar with faux Celtic décor.

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – We only ordered Irish Car Bombs, which were pricey. And delicious.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A place that looks like a finished basement from the late 70’s that features Guinness on tap.

Rating: 2 ½ Stars

Car Bombs at 1:25pm? Why not?

After downing his Car Bomb, 5 Mile bee-lined to the bathroom and promptly threw up. By the time he was done, most of the group had already left to start riding to the next stop. When 5 exited the bathroom, all the new friends he had made when ordering the round of shots offered to buy him a beer. 5 Mile declined, explaining that he didn't need it as he had to get going so he could meet up with the rest of the group and drink at the next bar on the route. I mention this because this may be the first time 5 Mile has ever turned down a free beer. EVER.

Bar #6 - Kickers

Description: A last minute addition thanks to PY Sticks not being open. They end up being closed as well. No rating or punishment for them, as they were not part of the initial route for a reason. This place sucks.

The New Bar #6 - Levan Wine Shop

Description: In keeping with tradition, we stopped at a party store to make up for the closed bar we weren’t able to patronize. And, no, “Levan” is not the name of a member of an 80’s R&B group. It is a road in Livonia, Michigan. However, “Levan” and “Livonia” are the names of the last two customer service reps you spoke with when you tried to lower your cable bill.

Price of a Miller High Life: $1.00 (comes with free paper bag to drink it out of).

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A party store.

Rating: 3 Stars

We all went into the party store and we each bought one loose bottle of beer. We then drank it in the parking lot and on the side of the building. Ten minutes later when we were finished our beers, Andy collected a few of the empties and went back into the store to return them to the same guy who sold to us. The guy gave Andy a look and asked "Havin' some fun today, huh?"

The party store's bathroom was quite spacious.

While we were drinking in front of the party store, a car driving by began honking wildly and slowed down enough so the driver could yell at us. "Hey that's not a bar! You gotta ride further down the road!!!" We were trying to figure out who the driver was when 5 Mile figured it out: "That's the dude who offered to buy me a beer at the last bar we were at! I told him I couldn't because I was on my way to another bar. I didn't realize he was gonna follow us there."

5 Mile's favorite expression happened to be written in cement in front of the party store.

The party store happened to be next to the Jewelry Factory of Livonia. Here in Metro Detroit, the Jewelry Factory's commercials are unavoidable, and always end with the company's employees slowly waving to the camera. For those of you lucky enough to have no clue what I'm talking about, here is the commercial.

Naturally, we decided to film our own version:

Bar #7 - Lake Pointe Yacht Club

Description: Yet another bikini bar. But this one is on a lake. There are no boats here, though. And certainly no yachts!

Price of a Miller High Life: $3.25 a bottle

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: Herpes.

Rating: 3 Stars

Group shot in front of beautiful Lake Newburgh.

Bar #8 - Buffalo Wild Wings (BW3’s)

Description: A national chain restaurant that prides themselves on their wings and offering a ton of different beers on tap. (Though they all taste the same.)

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – No High Life here, so we settled on Miller Lite at $3.50 a bottle

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: the oldest, plainest, wait staff this side of a Knights of Columbus. Think Carla from “Cheers” without the sarcasm but with all the kids and the no good ex-husband.

Rating: 3 ½ Stars (Surprisingly good service with as big of a group as we had.)

On the way to BW3's we passed Chuck's neighborhood and were surprised to see his family cheering us on with homemade signs. Later we found out that only some of his family was cheering us on. Chuck's little brother isn't a big fan of drinking, so he wanted to hold up a sign that read "Repent," but his dad wouldn't let him. So he explained to Chuck that when he made the sign for us he purposely left out an exclamation point and instead, inserted a period, because he was not excited about our event.

The "protest" sign.

Bar #9 - Bar Louie

Description: A fancy pants bar that caters to douche bags and old ladies who consider themselves “cougars.”

Price of a Miller High Life: $3.50! (Seriously, Bar Louie? $3.50? Fuck off.)

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: An overpriced drink and a snooty waitress.

Rating: 1 Star.

Bar Louie was the last place I took any notes other than for the reviews. For those wondering, the last note read: "Bar Louie = Gay."

Bar #10 - Champp’s

Description - A bar that tries to WAY too hard to be hip and happening and just ends up being way too loud.

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – Jarz bought everyone a Coors Light boomba for $4.59 a piece, because that’s just the kind of guy he is. (And because he didn’t pay for jack shit before or after Champp’s.)

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: a $35 sweatshirt to buy that has the bar’s name on it, so that when you wear it the next day and people ask you what you did last night you can smugly smile, point at your sweatshirt and say “I’ll give you three guesses!”

Rating: 2 ½ Stars.

Bar #11 - Claddagh

Description - A legit Irish bar.

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – Car Bombs again.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A bunch of affluent suburbanites from Livonia and Northville who want to show off their Irish roots by muscling down a Black and Tan. That and first daters…lots of first daters.

Rating: 3 Stars.

All smiles for the second round of Car Bombs.

Bar #12 - Doc’s Sports Retreat

Description: The self-proclaimed “Best Sports Bar in Livonia”

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – They don’t serve High Life and I don’t remember what we bought instead.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: a place that licks balls.

Rating: 2 Stars (and that’s generous).

By all accounts, this is when the wheels began to come off (figuratively speaking). 5 Mile and Andy did Jaegerbombs in addition to their beers, we commandeered the jukebox, and people began performing the "Joe Baum" dance move in the middle of the bar.

The beat found 'em.

And for some reason that probably made sense at the time, I decided to steal an oversize cone from the parking lot and wear it on my head while riding to the next bar. It was way heavier than I thought and kept falling below my eyes. I have no idea how I didn't wipe out multiple times.

After successfully riding with this on my head, I placed it in front of the main entrance of the
next bar to see if people would respect the cone and use the other door. They did.

Bar #13 - George Murphy’s

Description: A bar located right off a golf course. Lots of polo shirts with pit stains in this place.

Price of a Miller High Life: $3.00 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: someone to tell you their bullshit story about how they almost broke 40 on the back nine but missed a couple 3 foot putts because the foursome in front of him didn’t properly repair their ball marks.

Rating: 3 Stars (But only if you’re sitting out on the patio, because drinking outside gives off the illusion that you’re actually doing something productive with your day. “Wow, it looks like somebody got some sun this weekend! Were you working hard out in your yard?” “Oh no, I was just crushing beers on the patio at G. Murhpy’s for about 5 hours and the patio umbrella was broken and wouldn’t stay up.”

Bar #14 - Coach’s Corner

Description: Neighborhood bar that has never given a free drink to anyone, for any reason, ever.

Price of a Miller High Life: $3.00 a bottle. (Though it’s better to buy a bucket of 5 at a time. It isn’t cheaper but the service is so bad, ordering 5 at once makes it easier on the waitress. Not that she appreciates it in any way, shape, or form.)

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: anyone connected, tangentially or otherwise, to Madonna College athletics and want to hear them rehash meaningless games that involve people you either don’t know or don’t give a shit about.

Rating: 1 ½ Stars. This place sucks donkey dick.

Bar #15 - Wintergarden

Description: A town pub with lots of wood furnishings. It is quaint, but highly flammable.

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a (too drunk to write down what we drank or how much it cost.)

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: a change of pace from every other bar in Livonia that is “lame as fuck.”

Rating: 2 Stars. (Gratuitious, but someone bought us a shot here, and I’m pretty sure that there weren’t any roofies in it.)

Somebody bought us shots along with our beers at this place. That probably wasn't a good idea because I'm pretty sure all of us felt like how Peter looks in this picture:

Of course I"m still okay to ride my bike, why?

Bar #16 - The Bench Pub

Description: An old school, hole-in-the-wall bar and proud of it. Recently remodeled to highlight their multiple dartboards, which is perfect for the numerous dart leagues and tournaments that they host.

Price of a Miller High Life: $2.75 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: An internet jukebox so that you can torment a blue collar crowd that doesn’t appreciate the music of Michael McDonald or Kenny Loggins and just want to play darts while rockin' out to Nickelback..

Rating: 1 ½ Stars. Fuck darts.

Bar #17 - O'Malley's

Description: An authentic Irish bar in the heart of Livonia that pays tribute to its heritage by having a regular karaoke to Don Henley songs on Saturday nights.

Price of a Miller High Life: Just Car Bombs, ma'am.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A place with two apostrophes in its name. This place doesn't have much to offer.

Rating: 1 ½ Stars.

I'm pretty sure 5 Mile did 3 or 4 Car Bombs at this bar - no joke.

Bar #18 - The Stables (aka St. Able's)

Description: A windowless, smoky bar that is saved by it's unbelievable service. The waitstaff and bartenders are the best in the biz, people, and I'm not bullshitting. .

Price of a Miller High Life: $2.75 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: a Stablizer, which is a shot created by The Stables that is a concoction that includes a number of liquors, juices, and even some Miller High Life. It is highly recommended that you down one of these bad boys to "get stable" before your long drive home.

Rating: 4 ½ Stars.

The End of the Road

We made it to Stables and downed our Stablizers and waited in the parking lot for our friends and family to pick our drunk asses and our bikes up. A few people went straight home. Andy tried to head home on his bike, but was heading in the completely opposite direction and we were all too drunk to give a shit and let him know. We figured he'd figure it out sooner or later. The rest of us went back to George Murphy's to attend a benefit night that our friends were throwing. I'm happy to report that 4 hours later, the cone I had put in front of the main entrance was still in place and people were still using the other doors into the place because of it. I'm unhappy to report that 3 hours after that, I ended up throwing up. A lot. And through my nose. Somehow 12 hours of hard drinking turned my stomach into a neti pot.

Even with my night of barfing, I still don't think I ended up as bad as poor Peter, who suffered some injuries after taking a tumble off his bike. I'm sure his arm and leg will be healed in time for next year's rally, though I don't know if his liver (or any of our livers) will be. There's only one way to find out.

Final Booze 'n Bike Rally Tally:
22 Miles
17 Bars
15 Beers
15 Bikes
10 Hours of Drinking
3 Irish Car Bombs
2 Accidents
1 Stabilizer
1 Mystery Shot
1 Party Store
1 Debilitating hangover

Trade Deadline Look-alikes

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 05:53:00 +0000

The trade deadline for Major League Baseball recently passed and quite a few well-known players ended up getting traded. Many of the players traded bear an uncanny resemblance to some famous (and semi-famous) movie stars. As a public service, I've compiled a list of the players recently traded that have famous look-alikes

Jarrod Washburn - Jason Sudeikis.Jason Sudeikis has a recurring role on SNL as one half of an "A-Hole" couple that brings misery to innocent people. Hopefully Washburn will be able to make Detroit Tiger fans forget about Nate Robertson and Dontrelle Willis, the two A-Holes that have contributed absolutely zero this year.

Matt Holliday - Ethan Embry

Some of you may be wondering who Ethan Embry is. He was the bass player in "That Thing You Do," and the dude who was pining for Jennifer Love Hewitt in "Can't Hardly Wait." He was also in one of the worst movies ever that your wife/girlfriend probably loves: "Empire Records."

Jake Peavy - Danny McBride

If Jake Peavy was awesome, he would grow a mullet and mustache so that he looked like the spitting image of Kenny Powers, the washed up has-been pitcher Danny McBride plays in the HBO series "Eastbound and Down." As long as he started eating at White Castle on a regular basis, he'd fit right in with the rest of the south side of Chicago and endear himself to White Sox fans.

Cliff Lee - Bill Campbell

Cliff Lee looks so much like the guy who beat the crap out of Jennifer Lopez in the movie "Enough" that that might be enough for the violence-loving retards in Philly to embrace him no matter how poorly he pitches.

Scott Rolen - Randy Quaid

Scott Rolen doesn't know why they call it "Hamburger Helper" because it does just fine by itself. He also wants to know how you want your bun, light or dark?

Roy Halladay - Buford from "Raising Arizona"

I know that Roy Halladay didn't end up getting traded, but he was a big part of the trade talks and rumors and looks so much like the mouth-breathing kid whose family visits H.I. and Ed that I just had to include him. Hit the deck, boy!

Creepy Ginger Kid.

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 13:30:00 +0000

Talk about losing the lottery. You have a kid. He turns out to be red-headed. And fat. And creepy looking. AND he eats ice cream like this. In public. And on TV. This kid would crush a Ziggy Piggy.

Stories of Escalating Grossness.

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 21:17:00 +0000

I know that I haven't been updating this site for a while, but rest assured that I've still been collecting stories about my batshit crazy coworker. Please know that what I'm about to recount is jaw-droppingly inappropriate and pretty vulgar. Just remember that all of these stories occurred at work and in public.

A few months ago I was giving Batshit Crazy Lady shit about how much crap she had in and around her desk. She still had all the stuff I listed in a previous post, but now she had added a Halloween mask (even though its spring), a Santa hat (again, its spring), empty donut boxes, and a Thighmaster.

"Why in the world do you have a Thighmaster here? Take. It. Home! I haven't see you use it once since you've been here."

"I know, but I'm going to start to use it. Plus it's really good for my Kegels."

"Cankles?" I ask, already knowing that wasn't what she had said, but still hoping otherwise.

"No, Kegels," she replied.

"Jesus."

"Do you know what Kegels are?"

"Ugh, yes, I know what they-"

"They are exercises for vaginal muscles."

"I SAID I KNOW! You're really grossing me out."

"Are you going to report me to HR?" She's not worried, just curious.

"No, just stop telling me shit like that. Especially right before lunch."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll stop...it's just that they are really beneficial -"

"Seriously? You're still talking?"

"Okay, okay. I just wanted you to know, that's all."

"Thanks for the tip."

***

It was shortly after this conversation/horrifying revelation that I requested to move my desk away from hers. My boss, knowing full well how crazy Batshit Crazy Lady actually is, complied. But it wasn't long before her craziness crept back into my life.

At my new desk I sit next to a guy name T. He is easy going and laid back and we're about the same age so we get along pretty well. T and I both work a later shift than the rest of the people in our department. Unfortunately so does BCL. About a month ago, towards the end of the day, I see T and another coworker I'm friends with, Elle, both talking to BCL. They both keep laughing like crazy and covering their faces with their hands. They were laughing harder than I'd ever seen either of them laugh before. Though this piqued my interest to see what was so fucking funny, I knew better to get involved since they were talking to BCL, which is never good. Then an IM pop up on my computer screen. It is from Elle.

Elle: This lady is out of control. LOL. Can you hear what she's saying?
Me: Nope, and I don't think I wanna hear...she's crazy.
Elle: For real
Me: Yeah, I'm not joking. She's nuts.
Elle: And dirty too. You wouldn't believe what she's sayin
Me: I'd believe it. I used to sit next to her, remember?
Elle: She told T she only dates black guys.

(Both T and Elle are black. BCL is white. In case you were curious.)

Me: Of course she does.
Elle: And that she enjoys facials!
Me: Shut up. She didn't say that.
Elle: YES SHE DID!!!!!!!!
Me: Then she didn't mean it like that. She's retarded. She probably just meant massages.
Elle: No she meant it like the other facial
Me: Seriously, why would she even tell you guys that?
Elle: I don't fucking know! It's not like I asked her if she liked em
Me: Jesus, she is disgusting. What did she say when you and T started laughing?
Elle: She asked us what was so funny.
Me: She has to be retarded. Has to be.
Elle: I can't stop laughing...shes STILL talking about it!
Me: You're gonna make me throw up.

BCL then steps away from her desk and T comes back to his desk. T doesn't waste any time.

"That lady is off the chain! For real, man..."

"Yeah, I heard. Elle was IMing me about it. You know she couldn't have meant it like that."

"What? You mean about the facials?"

"Yeah, there's no way."

"Oh, there's no doubt she meant it like that. 'Cuz she kept going on about it. We started laughing when she first said it 'cuz it's so gross and like why would you tell your coworkers that? I mean I was already creeped out when she looked right at me and told me that she only dates black guys. And then she goes and tells us she likes facials. Me and Elle just busted up and she asks why we're laughing. She goes 'what is so funny about liking it when they finish on my face?' I thought Elle was gonna pee in her pants.

"You know...every time I think BCL can't possibly put a grosser image in my head, she comes back and does. What is her problem?

T stops laughing and gets serious. "Oh, she's got more than just one problem. Believe that."

***

Things were relatively slow after that, until the 60 year-old southern lady that sits next to plopped down at her desk on Thursday in a huff and exclaimed, "I don't even want to tell you what just happened in the bathroom!"

My response was immediate. "Yes you do. What happened?"

"It's Batshit Crazy Lady. That girl is sick."

"Oh dear God, what happened?"

"I can't tell you, it's just gross."

Now, I realized that I was talking to an old lady and was well aware that her idea of gross was probably much different than mine. Someone cutting a loud fart could be gross to her, while for my group of friends, cutting a loud fart is a proud accomplishment, worthy of a mass text informing everyone of the loudness and smelliness of said fart. So I knew I had to clarify what my co-worker meant by "gross."

"What, did she have some loud gas or something? Or a stinky doodie?" (My coworker is a sweet old lady I didn't want to offend her with coarse language, so I tried to be as polite as possible.)

"No, it wasn't that. C'mon that's what people do in the bathroom."

"Did she go number 2 and then try to show you?"

"Come on now, you're bein' silly."

"Well then what'd she do? Was she outside of the stall or inside it?"

"She was in the stall and me and another gal were both washing our hands at the sinks. And she was being...loud."

"Haha, she was being loud while pooping?

My coworker winces a little, raises her eyebrows and shakes her her head no.

I stop laughing when I realize she wasn't talking about pooping. "No!"

Her head switches from going left and right to up and down.

"NO!"

"I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know the gal next to me and she just looks at me and goes..."

My coworker then mouths "what." "the." "fuck?"

"Jim, she was being loud."

"Noooo!"

"I finally called out for her and asked if everything was alright in there and she says 'ohhhh yeeeaaaah.' Just like that. I can't even tell you what else she was saying. I just can't. I can't repeat it. That girl's a sick puppy though. I'll tell you that much!"

"Oh my god, that is disgusting. Who does that?"

"That's the worst part, Jim. She comes out of the stall and says "Whew, what a thrill!" And I make a face, because come on now. And she says ''You've never done that before?' Like I'm the weird one. I tell ya, she is NOT right."

"What did the other lady do who was in there? What'd she say about it?"

"I don't know. I'd never seen her before. She probably quit and went home after that."

I then ask her if she's going to tell our boss about it or go to HR. She gives me a look and says "Honey, if you're thinking I'm ever repeating that story to anyone else, you're more cuckoo than she is. She's gross and I'm done talking about it. She's gonna end up doing something around the wrong person, and then you watch the shit hit the fan."

I can't wait.

Know Your Audience

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Thu, 28 May 2009 04:35:00 +0000

Mother

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Sun, 10 May 2009 19:54:00 +0000

Mother,

On this day I wanted to give you thanks for telling me not to walk Glen Danzig's way, and for telling me not to hear his words., so I wouldn't hear what they mean and what they say.

Mother, thank you for trying to keep me in the dark for life and for trying to hide me from the waiting world.

Mother, thank you for telling me not to hold Glen Danzig's hand. And telling me not to understand. Oh Mother, thanks.

But Mother? Glen Danzig is not going to see the light. And if you want to find hell with him, he'll show you what it's like...until you're bleeding.

So Mother, don't bang heads with him, okay?

Love,

JFunk

A Night of Culture

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 02:54:00 +0000

I had to work yesterday for the first half of the MSU game, but was looking to go somewhere to watch the second half. I had talked to my buddy Kevin earlier in the day and he told me that he was at the bar with 5 Mile and Fake Jason Bennett. (He is fake because when my group of friends met him we already had a friend whose name was Jason Bennett and we needed a way to differentiate them, so we started calling him Fake Jason Bennett. But some of my friends like 5 Mile and Hodges and Bubs knew Fake Jason Bennett before they knew the Jason Bennett I was friends with, so they started calling him Real Jason Bennett. So basically we’ve made it more confusing than it ever was and accomplished nothing but giving the two Jason Bennett’s nicknames neither of them want.)

ANYWAY, I decide to meet them up at the White Rhino, where they’ve been since 2. (I didn’t realize this until I got there.) When I show up, the place is packed and Kevin is nowhere to be found. From the look and sound of it, 5 Mile and Fake Bennett aren’t the only ones who’ve been drinking all day. Everyone was loud and obnoxious. The place is the epitome of a Redford bar and has been a neighborhood staples for decades. (It’s the old Bullwinkles.) If you didn’t know where the bar was located and had to guess based only on the clientele, Redford would be one of your first guesses. I find 5 Mile and Fake Bennett sitting at the rail, and immediately realize they are both on walking blackouts.

5 Mile tries to put me in a headlock as his way of saying hello and Fake Bennett just keeps calling me a “sandbagging son of a bitch” and laughing. I fight off 5 Mile and tell him to relax only to have him stare at me – his eyes glazed like Krispy Kremes – and ask “what?” like he doesn’t know he's acting like an asshole. I can already tell this is going to be a shit show.

After telling me that Kevin left awhile ago to eat dinner with his family, 5 Mile gets up from his seat and lets me sit down so that he can stand and hit on the lady next to him. She was in her late 30’s and a bleach blonde. She had big boobs, but her gut made her look like she was doing an impression of a beanbag chair. Fake Bennett agreed with my assessment. How do I know this? Because he kept whispering it to me every 5 minutes. And by whispering I mean yelling.

“She’s got nice tits, but man I can’t handle that spare tire she’s got on her gut. Do you see it, JFunk? That gut? So many rolls dude! Big tits though!” I kept agreeing with Fake Bennett as quietly as possible, because I was pretty sure the Beanbag Lady or her boyfriend - who looked like he loved to fight and was good at it - would hear us considering that she was sitting right next to me and he was one seat away. But the close proximity of the boyfriend didn’t dissuade Fake Bennett’s brutally honest critiquing or 5 Mile’s blatant flirting. I don’t anything could’ve. They were fucking hammered and in their own world.

After about 20 minutes, Fake Bennett is nearly falling asleep. His girlfriend keeps elbowing him whenever his head is about to hit the bar. 5 Mile is still talking to Beanbag and has now made friends with her boyfriend and his meathead buddy. 5 Mile then decides that he and Fake Bennett need to drink the Raspberry Bombs that have been in front of them since I got there. Fake Bennett’s girlfriend wakes him up so he can do his. I watch Bennett down his shot and I grimace in sympathy. Fake Bennett immediately winces and puts hits head down on the bar and rests it in the crook of his bent elbow. He waits a beat and then gets up and race-walks to the bathroom.

I turn around to face 5 Mile to let him know that Bennett is about to barf only to see 5 standing like a zombie, with his chin completely covered in puke. I look down and there is a mess at his feet. He’s just standing there doing nothing.

“Jesus, 5 that’s disgusting. Wipe that shit off,” I yell as I throw a stack of napkins at him. He leaves the napkins, grabs the hard plastic mug that the Raspberry Bombs came in and proceeds to use the rim to scrape and collect the puke off his chin. Then he quietly pukes/spits a little bit more into the mug and places it on the back edge of the bar for the bartender to take it. He does this with no sense of urgency or embarrassment. At this point, I’m ready to throw up from the display. I pour some of my beer in the mug to cover up the puke a bit and give 5 some more napkins.

5 Mile then tries to explain his actions. “That wasn’t a Raspberry Bomb. That was a Cherry Bomb. I fucking hate cherry. I can’t do it. I fucking hate cherry. I don’t like anything cherry…except Hostess Cherry Pies. Seriously, I can’t do anything cherry – that’s why I puked.” Yeah, it was that cherry flavoring that made him puke, not the fifty shots he did before that. Fake Bennett returns from the bathroom and announces that he threw up 7 times. 5 Mile decides to celebrate this news by ordering another round of shots – this time making sure they are raspberry and not cherry.

For the rest of the game things went relatively smoothly. 5 Mile kept hitting on the Beanbag Lady and Fake Bennett had stopped dozing off and was now concentrating on trying to break up with his girlfriend. When the game ended, 5 Mile tried to collect on a $20 bet he made with the boyfriend of the beanbag before the game that State would win. They were joking around with each other about the bet, and the guy put a twenty on the bar under 5 Mile’s beer. 5 Mile didn’t notice this, so Fake Bennett leaned over and grabbed it when no one but me was looking.

“Bennett, put it back, man. You’re gonna start a fight over that,” I pleaded.

“Naw, it’s fine. They won’t even notice. I’ll use it to pay the tab anyway.”

He then filled out a Keno form and gave it to the bartender along with the twenty.

“How is that paying the tab?”

“Well once we win, it will.”

And that’s when I tapped out. I’d had enough. It was only a matter of time until one of these two drunks pissed the wrong person (or each other) off and cause trouble, and I didn’t want any part of it. There was no way I was going to catch up to them buzz-wise – not that I wanted to – and it’s no secret how little fun it is to be the only sober person in a group of drunks. So I waited until 5 was in deep conversation about Michigan versus State, and Fake Bennett was telling his girlfriend that he could kick her ass at ping pong and I got out of my seat and bee lined to my car, never looking back.

I don't hear from 5 again until this afternoon. We had the following text message exchange:

5 Mile: What a damn train wreck yesterday was. Holy hell.
Me: No shit. You were a mess.
5 Mile: Shit happens. It was all pretty much a disaster.
Me: Where'd you end up?
5 Mile: We went to Doc's and then stayed at Bennett's.
Me: How'd you get to Doc's? Do you remember it at all?
5 Mile: We got there by cab. I remember being at the bar and all that, just not leaving Doc's. End of the nite was a blur. Did make out with a twiz at Doc's tho...weird.
Me: I bet that twiz loved the taste of your vomit.
5 Mile: It was masked with beer and alcohol. She didn't stand a chance of knowing.
Me. So solid by you.
5 Mile: I'm a very clever lad.
Me: Ha. Classy too.
5 Mile. I'm all about class. It's my new thing.
Me: And now you get to be classy all over again on Monday nite.
5 Mile: It won't get rowdy like that again tomorrow. I can't do it if I wanna survive. Would make the week be garbage.
Me: Word.

Don't Call It a Comeback

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 04:20:00 +0000

Sorry for the lack of content on here recently. Here's a video montage of a bunch of TV reporters getting hurt to tide you over until I put up some original content.

He's a Chucker.

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 01:38:00 +0000

A ways back I linked to the prank war between these two dudes. This is the latest prank. It's pretty damn good.

The Worst Thing Ever.

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 02:00:00 +0000

While I was in Phoenix for the weekend, I met up with my dad's old college buddy, Doc. He's a great guy who is a ton of fun to hang out with and gets along with anyone. I had no doubt in my mind that he and my friends would get along swimmingly. We met up for drinks during the day at a Mexican restaurant and sat in their outdoor patio so we could enjoy the sun and the view. We didn't realize at the time how horrible the view would become.

It seemed like every female in the Phoenix had some ink on her skin, and our waitress at this place was no exception. She had a tattoo on her bicep, one on the back of her shoulder, and a big tramp stamp on her lower back with a bunch of writing on it. Because we're curious like cats, we struck up a conversation with the waitress and asked her what the writing was on her tattoo. She replied that it read either "Live, Laugh, Love" or "Live, Love, Laugh" but that she couldn't remember the exact order. She explained that her father used to always wear a necklace with this saying so when he died, she, her sister, and her brother all got the same tattoo with those words. I asked if her brother also got the tattoo on his lower back. He did not. I also wondered how she didn't know the correct order of the words considering that her dad wore the necklace and all the time and that she had a permanent tattoo of it. You would think you would know exactly what you're getting tattooed on your body. I kept these thoughts to myself.

Being the nice guy that he is, Doc kept talking with the waitress despite the depressing fact that her dad was dead. As he was talking I saw an old man with hugh, thigh-high leather boots on walking towards us. Trying to lighten the mood, I interrupted Doc, pointed out the old man, and asked the waitress if her dad had ever owned boots like that. Doc, 5 Mile, Willis, and I all started laughing, but the waitress didn't.

"That's nothing," she informed us. "Wait until you see his moose knuckle."

Doc turns to her and asks what she is talking about - and then recoils. He had just seen what she was talking about. We all turned to look at what had caused such a strong reaction - and then we all reacted the same way.

It was horrendous. I've never seen anything like it. It was a physical oddity.

"How did you know he was going to have...that?" I asked the waitress.

"He's a regular. He comes in here wearing that every week." she replied nonchalantly.

Doc was in shock. "I can't believe what I'm seeing. No one will believe it. Oh my god, this is unbelievable.

Doc continued, "I'm older than you and I think I've lived a full life. I've never, never, NEVER, seen anything like that. Goddammit. This guy just ruined my day. I might move back to Detroit 'cause of this guy. Willis, go over there and tell him I'll pay him $20 to sit on the other side of the table. I have the money too."

Willis declined and told Doc to do his own dirty work. Doc kept ranting.

"This guy has made me speechless. And you know me - I'm a pretty verbose and gregarious guy. And. I'm. Speechless. I'm ready to puke. I've lost my respect for humanity. I wish I was a member of the animal kingdom so I wouldn't have to know or experience this moose knuckle right now. I wish I didn't even know what a moose knuckle was. God, I hate that I'm seeing this. I can't even believe what I'm seeing. No one will believe it. No one. They'll just say "oh Doc's just exaggerating again.' Oh my god, this is unbelievable. Is this why Willis wanted to come here?"

I was in agreement with Doc. No one would believe us, and words couldn't accurately describe the monstrous spectacle we were subjected to. So I took out my digital camera and covertly took a few pictures. I've posted them below. You may not want to view them. Only scroll down if you want to be horrified.

I told you.

Summer

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 22:46:00 +0000

I spent this past weekend visiting my buddy WillisB in Phoenix. 5 Mile and Bubs also made the trip down, so we had a full wrecking crew. On Saturday night, we were at place called the Sandbar, and it was pretty jamming. Like any place that has a packed house there were a fair share of good looking people as well as a decent amount of fatties. At one point in the night two of these fatties barrel up to the bar and push me out of their way so they can order a drink. These girls were short and squat, both pushing two bills easy. 5 Mile sees this happen and looks at me, his eyes wide open in shock and asks "Can you believe that shit?"

I responded with a shrug of my shoulders, "At least I'm not stuck talking with her."

And then one of the girls in the group we were hanging out with decides to push me in to the fat girl next to me. I turn to the lady and immediately apologize explaining that I had said something sassy to a girl and that she had pushed me into her. I then said sorry again and went to turn away.

The lady grabbed me by the arm to stop me, because she had something she wanted to tell me: "You know fat girls like me get hit on more often than skinny ones do."

I just stared back at her. "Oh. Okay." I tried to turn to go again, but again she stopped me.

"You know my little 3-year-old girl looks just like Michele Tanner from 'Family Matters.'"

I tell her that Michel Tanner wasn't in "Family Matters" and that she probably means Urkel. She repeats that her kid looks like Michele Tanner from "Family Matters." Bill and 5 ask to see a picture, so that they can drag this out as long as possible.

I tell her again that she is mistaken and that her kid probably looks like Urkel.

"My kid doesn't look like fucking Urkel, alright?" she yells.

"What do you have against Urkel," I joke back. "Do you hate black people or something?"

"My kid is black."

Of course she is. Why wouldn't this conversation become more awkward?

I felt so stupid. I never knew that Danny Tanner's dead wife was black and that Michele Tanner was half-black. Before I could apologize, the lady continued.

"And my kid is going to be the next Beyonce, so I'm not going to have to work no more."

I was at a loss for words. I apologized again for bumping into her and told her that I hoped she would enjoy her night. But she wasn't done. And neither were the rest of my friends, who were enjoying the weirdness of this conversation too much to let it end. 5 Mile asks what her name is. She answers "Summer," and turns back to me. It's like she wants to make me jealous of her and her life.

"Do you know what Summer even means," she asks me.

"Um, the opposite of winter?" I reply. At this point I'm ready to jump off of a bridge to avoid this whack job. She ends up telling me what she thinks it means (which I forget, because I didn't care), then goes back to bragging about her kids. We then had this exchange:

Summer: My other baby's daddy used to be a model for Calvin Klein, so my 10 year-old boy is gonna be a big time model too, so I'm gonna be rich.

Me: Awesome.

Summer: But he's a midget.

She isn't joking.

Me: You call your son a midget? Like to his face? Don't you think that's mean?

Summer: Well, he is a midget!

Me: I know, but that's not really nice to keep calling him one.

Summer: He don't care. 'Cause he's an underwear model.

5 Mile: Really? So am I!

Summer: No, he actually models underwear.

5 Mile: So do I. I just modeled mine for the 15 girls waiting in line for the bathroom!

Summer: No, but he is for real. Do you want to see pictures?

Me: No, I don't think I need to be seen in public looking at pictures of 10-year-old boys in their underwear.

Summer: You know I could've modeled. I used to be 110 pounds.

Me: Well, I used to be in the 5th grade. Things change.

Before she could reply, I left her with 5 Mile. I think 5 Mile ended up making out with her. Or leaving shortly after me. I can't remember.

Best Bingo in Scrabble Ever.

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 08:04:00 +0000

It was worth 76 points.

Happy Valentines Day

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 21:59:00 +0000

What are you, the drummer?

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 19:49:00 +0000

Sometimes when I watch Letterman, I get the feeling that he is just a miserable fuck who is just as unhappy/bored with his job as anyone else. Because of this, it's always interesting to see him get fired up about something (like when he recently lit into the impeached governor of Illinois in an interview) or see him actually enjoy his own show, like in the two clips below.

I like this song a lot. The string section makes it particularly sweet. Those guys really get into it. I haven't seen a violinist rock out that hard since the final scene from "Revenge of the Nerds." I guess Dave hasn't either, because he fucking dug it too.

The Gaslight Anthem impressed Letterman as well. It's not hard to see why. The song rocks pretty hard. And if Billy Joel taught us anything, it's that you can't go wrong writing a song about good people dying young.

Hi, Billy Mays Here...

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 19:42:00 +0000

Word.

noreply@blogger.com (JFunk) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 04:30:00 +0000

Ray Pruit speaks the truth: