A smoke is a smoke

I saw this linked on the 9:30 board and thought it was worth sharing. Like we all haven't been there before....

Man leaps from speeding car in pursuit of a puff. Drunk went out window after cigarette blew away, Ark. police say

http://msnbc.msn.com/id/7964860/?GT1=6542

Chow Chow Chow

So I have been going on comment-wise with this group of monolithically retarded genetic misfits called the “player haters” and their pals since I first posted about their little club. The volume of their comments and “mano y mano emails bro” (if I were just enough of a prick to post those...oh the humor I could share), picks up around 3:00 each day. I’m guessing that's when they get home from daycare and fire up dad's computer to IM all the bitches and freak on the haters and masturbate to promo pictures for “Herbie the Love Bug” (starring Lindsay Lohan).

One poster in particular outside of the "player haters" inner circle has taken me to task for my supposed high-school attitude towards drinking that I illustrate on this here blog. I have a "what high school did you attend" comment under his name and several similar anonymous posts, (one called me Sport-O!), so I'm gonna lump them all together under his umbrella for the sake of this post. Guilt by association, that happens to dickheads fairly often.

He posts under the nom de plume of CatCiao and is, as far as I can tell, a self-styled sophisticate who "loves the ladies" and is "single in the city". In my experience that pretty much translates to "I make a dick of myself around women" and "I pay for escorts on a regular basis".

CatCiao posts his pithy witticisms with a picture of a spinning tire rim attached for emphasis. Now, how am I supposed to take criticism from someone like that? What’s next, how to wear my visor at a jauntier angle when I go to Sequoia's and bop my bald sunburned head to the sound of Young MC and the Bare Naked Ladies? How best to stand in line in the rain outside of some dumbass club while 19 year olds make fun of me and get to go inside because they have underage girls with them? No thanks.

To be fair I do my research when deciding to write about someone out in the nethersphere. I have toiled in the inanity and turgid waste of the "socialite" circle of dcBlogdom to try and learn more about this Jedi master of smoothness that felt it was his place to lecture me on my home court. So now let's all take a gander at the interests of the bon viant, (posted in his blog profile), in question to get to know him better.

CatCiao’s interests - Tuna & Yellowtail Sashimi with a pulse on a 60' Hatteras, off color posts, trees, beauty.

Oh.....my. It seems he could be the singer of a high-school emo band based on that. He's calling me juvenile? I knock around a little further and find this gem on a blog run by a young woman pondering why she gets hit on by older men, (specifically CatCiao) -

"CatCiao said...It could be about intelligent conversation and good skills set in the sack. V, let this old cat take you out for a cocktail or five and I can expound upon this for you."

Hahahaha. Sure. If only she knew the joys of having some gin-blossomed, fat-bellied, baldheaded, action-slacked wearing windbag laying on top of her like a sack of cement and gulping air like a landed tuna squirming on the dock. Oh the thrills she could have.

More CatCiao-ism's off various blogs for your entertainment. I have not made these up. Note the repeated ;) to illustrate that "it's all good gurl, just funnin' with ya".

" here is a change up - buy me drinks, I'll let you hit on me, and accept an invite to your flat. ;)"
" Join me for bible study class Friday night? ;) "
" I almost went blind reading my mother's Vogue as a young boy."
" Funny, I imagined him buck nek-ed, smoking a cigar, sitting on the toilet and smelling each perfume sample... ;)"
" guns give nuts erections."
" I bound from bed around 9 a.m. make a beeline for the ice maker and diet coke, grab my fags...inhale"
" I will be dusting off my flip flops after Memorial Day."
" Gentlemen, virtual cigars are in order! Lite up... "

Yeah.

I think I'll keep doing things my own way but thanks for the concern.

Giving the dog a bone

Last night I was having a leisurely beer at the Galaxy Hut listening to and thoroughly enjoying some AC/DC when two guys in track jackets sat down at the bar. Giving the dog a bone starts playing....

Guy 1 - "What is this shit?"
Guy 2 - "I think it's Jet, that band sucks." ::waves hand at bartender::
Guy 2 - "Hey, can you put on some different tunes...this is pretty bad."
Bartender - "No."
Guy 1 - "What a dick"

I never have a 10 gallon container of kerosene and a flamethrower handy when I need them.

Skeletons....on my table.

We went to buy flip-flops at noon.
13 hours later.......Five grand later......Good lord...

1.75 liters of Tequilia.......and mixers and other assorted nonsense. I'm going to pay for this later...good lord. Billy says to say hello, the Mrs. has hit the hay. My fingers are losing dexterity. All is well. I do have a swanky sofa so I have that going for me...

So fuck off.

Haha.

Dad's bitching Lexxus

For those of you who don't live in D.C. this post is about the kind of retarded bullshit wankers that my beloved hometown is infested with. Masses, no hordes really, of poorly dressed but highly effected dudes who live with their parents that think they're massively cool and swanky badasses.

They inhabit clubs and lounge style places all over town standing around looking squirrelly at each other all night and hating the guys who are actually there with women (being miserable). The guys at the bar with real live women in attendance are usually there in deference to their wives/ girlfriend's desire to hang out with her girlfriends and/or her hairdresser. I have at times been that guy, (salt of the earth husband that I am) and seen these puffed up chest hair sticking out of their TJ Maxx procured Alfani half-poly shirts up close and way too personal. The signature move is to ram their crotches into the back of any poor female who happens to be standing in front of them at the bar. They drink expensive cocktails poorly and for that and many more reasons illustrated below they deserve all the disdain that can be heaped upon them.

The bozos hang in packs which are sort of like bands where everyone thinks their shit is tremendously greater than everyone else's (obviously true in my case). They stand around and high-five and jerk each other off till 2:00 A.M when the bouncers tell them to get the fuck out or be killed, just like bands do. They all yell, "SEE YOU LATER PLAYER" and the like to the bartenders and staff on their way out to foment the illusion that their presence in the club has something more to do with popularity than the sad truth that they are simply brainless enough to stand in line to get into a bar and they carry a gold card that daddy gave them when they turned 24 and finished their first semester of community college. The bartenders nod at them, wish they would all burn in hell, and go about their business.

Post-clubbage the cadets (sans any women anywhere) go find some diner to infest and make stupid jokes to the waitress who fantasizes about putting rat poison in their overly sweetened and creamed coffee. Eventually the night winds up and they all hug a second longer than they should in the parking lot and go home alone. Upon arrival they creep in the house timidly and go to their rooms to silently masturbate so as not to wake up moms and dads. Another badass Saturday night for the party crew!

I mentioned that these freaks are similar to bands in their delusions and pack mentalities but at least bands produce something. True, most of it is shit, but they do SOMETHING. The club hangs do little but generate parking ticket and DWI revenue for the city and provide elusive targets for my vehicle when they spill into the streets late at night.

A friend of questionable intent sent me a link to the "D.C. Player Haters!" http://www.dcbachelor.com/2005/dc-player-haters which pretty much exemplifies the mindset and utter idiocy of said club hangs. Please check out the site so you can see the uni-browed monstrosities that make up this "gang". If you can stop laughing at the scarves and hair gel that makes them look like they lost a bet in a bukake parlor peruse the site for untold humor, wholly unintended in the way in which it presents itself.

I give you.....the DC Player Haters with their self described and unedited by me descriptions, (believe it or not) in black and my observations red.

DC Bachelor - I specialize in hating on people who try too hard to be cool, like the girls who dance on club couches. (rest of paragraph....."and blatantly ignore me when I try to talk to them until they tell me to fuck off when I get too persistent. Eventually their boyfriends take notice of me and I go and stand against the wall with the rest of my "crew" to avoid having to actually engage in what could be construed as badassery. Sometimes I catch myself subconsciously fondling my wiener in public places which is a bad habit that I want to do something about but my dad says he won't pay for me to see a therapist. What a prick!!!")

EUGENIUS - Eugenius’ specialty is hating on the “fake bitches” that front in the club. I'm pretty much on board with the theory that Eugenius masturbates six to eleven times a day to Cinemax and argues with his mother a lot. That’s about the extent of his “bitch” interaction.

VODKA BOY - VB hates on the supposed wannabe ballers who can’t hold a candle to his true player pimp status flame. No wonder he has so little to say. When you make Richard Simmons look like Charlie Bronson there's not a lot of legitimate "hating" to be done out there.

SPANIARD - Spaniard is unique in that his hating is directed at only one person: the DJ. Spaniard can only nod his head sideways at the constant trainwreck mixes that DC DJ’s have to offer. Hmmm.....my guess is Spaniard's tastes in music are slightly less interesting yet just as pretentious as an interview with Madonna about how a woman's period changes when she hits her forties and the glorious way it makes her Chakra radiate through her pants. Based on this description it also seems that his neck is bolted stiff, (“Spaniard can only nod his head sideways”) so if you see some Frankenstein looking pervert drinking a Cosmo and lolling his head uni-directionally next time you’re at the Chi-Cha lounge you have probably found your man.

INSOMNIA - Our resident metrosexual, Insomnia hates on the whack-ass styles that the DC people try to show off in the club. His critique of the trucker hat style was known before Ashton Kutcher ever made it popular. He is not gay. Gay is inconclusive, massive pussy.....confirmed. Here is one of his INSOMNIA'S awesome rants that he contributed to the site (with my commentary inserted).

Pizza Day by INSOMNIA... Alright this is a good one. (Enter dementia into evidence as exhibit A your honor). Monday night I bought myself a pizza for dinner and come home (dad's house) to dine. I have a slice and then run off to the gym (GROUP SHOWER NITE WITH THE CREW......WHEE!!!). I come back and its gone (Egad!). Turns out my brother (parasite) thought my dad (full time occupation wondering what the hell he did to deserve this whining lazy bastard as his offspring) bought it (which my father never shops at jerrys only pizza hut) (Fascinating! If you find this story sends you spiraling into a pure vegetative state feel free to scroll to the end...it doesn't get much better) and ate the entire thing. I let that one slide (Phew!) and said don't let it happen again. (BADASS!) Wensday (eh?) I bought a pizza for my dad and I, and one for my dinner on Thursday night. (Solid diet, no wonder the chicks find these "men" irresistible) On wensday (eh?) night I called my brother and told him, "Sean I am buying this pizza for my dinner tomorrow so don't go off eating it again this is my dinner". (BADASS!) I also told my father that the other pizza would be my dinner for the next day. (If I was said father I would piss all over the pie during this conversation just for giggles). Thursday afternoon I called my brother and told him not to eat my dinner for the second time. (Solid afternoon...must be a high pressure career). So anyhow I get off of work and come home. (dad’s house) WAIT!!!... (NO!) My pizza isn't there. (EEK!!!) I ask my father "have u seen my pizza?” (or my baseball?) His response, "I don't know where it is". (If that response was accompanied with a hanging right cross to the jaw I don't think it would be considered out of order) I notice an empty pizza box with no fucking pizza!!! (Call CSI...we have your new Greg). I am furious at this point. (BADASS!) Called my brother and cussed him out. (VENTI BADASS WITH AN EXTRA SHOT!) His first response "I didn't know it was ur pizza"...Bullshit!!! (If the CSI thing doesn't work out we have a new interrogator for Guantanamo Bay) After telling him? (AS IF!) Then a few minutes pass and more cussing...(GIMME A BADASS BISCOTTI AND A TIN OF BADASS BREATH MINTS!) "Dad told me I could eat it”. (HHAHAHA!!! I don't think dad was talking about the pizza at this point!) That's right Mr., "I don't know where it is", (et tu Papa...et tu?). I went off on both of them. (BADASSERY ABOUNDS!) I started to kick things off the floor (very manly) and cussed both of them out. (At this point if I was said father I would piss on the son, fuck the pizza) They said I was being childish!! (This just doesn't need any beefing up from me) Well fuck them. (Stamps foot, cries, thinks about masturbating...does so). Anyhow I am right, (so true) its rude and disrespectful to do that shit. (Moving out and having one's own refrigerator to safeguard the pizza...not an option).

I think Insomnia's family would be completely within their rights to drown him in a burlap sack thrown into the Anacostia River.

End of profiles….

So you see kids, this is the kind of thing that is endemic to D.C. nightlife which is why I hang primarily with the retards at the local bar. At least those dopes are self-actualized about the fact that they're massive losers that no woman would want to spend time with and pretty much keep to themselves. The guys above me with the stupid superhero nicknames, no such luck and I bet there’s none forthcoming. This type of delusion is 4 LYF PLAYAH!!!!!

Nasville - Updated

Nashville updates...and more!


Further Update: Rock Dude's flight is delayed and he is PISSED!!!!!! He's on the phone with his "manager" saying, "WEATHER AIN'T MY PROBLEM MAN!!!!!!" Fantastic. I almost hope my flight is delayed as well so I can see if he hits full on meltdown and gets tossed from the airport.

Update: Wireless networks in airports that allow one to drink Bloody Mary's and tip-type away are a good thing. It allows me to catch up on the blog, catch a buzz and pass the time. Airports are great for human observation and critiquing. To wit;

Years ago Henry Rollins put out a spoken word CD where he described, "Rock Dude", that inhabits every airport in America. It was spot on and very, very funny and as it turns out still very accurate more than ten years later. I am sitting next to Rock Dude at the bar. Thinning long hair, tight girl jeans, Zildjian t-shirt, anvil briefcase, shades (on), looking very rock. He's drinking white wine. I am typing to avoid the staring/laughing urge that is inhabiting every fiber of my being. Rock dude is on the cell phone talking loudly about, "the gig", so we can all overhear and be impressed by the mere presence of such a rocking mofo. Rock dude just ordered another white wine. HAHA!

There's apparently problems with the logistics of the gig but, "Whatever man, they can't do anything about our rocking." (Real direct quote). He's killing me. More later.

Dateline: Nashville

Eavesdropping on the dude next to me talking on his cell phone and eating breakfast....."lotsa gurls gonna be heartbroken today...Kenny Chesney got up and murried....some actress......Renee ur sumthin ur other....yup....they got murried barefoot....only known each other fur a month....met at the soonahmee concert it says....yup.......I'll bring the article home....yup....yup.....yup.....how's Angel and Brianna......good.....good....yup......ah it's OK....free HBO but I don't like nuthin on there....yup....yup......yup........I took a cab....could'n talk a lick of inglish.......yup....Oh I know it......Oh I know it....Oh I know it....yup.Very affirmative this guy.

AnywayI have been travelling hither and yon and all so the blog has been neglected. Sorry.

I've rocked them all, (all four of them)

Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi is playing on the classic rock station right now. They played Sweet Child o' Mine earlier today. Where does the time go?

Pretty good trip to Atlanta. I asserted my awesomeness on that town like the aforementioned General "Good Times" Sherman at a poorly attended open mic that happened to be going on where Kevin and I were getting hammered. The bar was called American Pie and had the best buffalo wings I have ever eaten, scantily clad waitresses and an excellent bartender who got me mightily drunk. Swanky times indeed. Open mic patrons in Atlanta are pretty similar to the ones in D.C. only with a bit more of a laid back fashion attitude. Bad music in jeans is preferable to bad music in Savane Action Slacks but still, bad music all the way around. Thank god I was there to entertain me in the manner that I deserve. The night gave way to day and the job was the job and soon I was off to the 8th circle of hell known as Hartsfield Airport Airport to wing my way back home.

For those not in the know Hartsfield Airport is slightly less a pleasurable place to spend time than Abu Ghraib on colonoscopy day. It reeks of just simple badness and it takes fucking forever to get from where you happen to be to where the fuck you need to be. They cancel flights with the enthusiasm of a network administrator Photoshopping flesh tone and nipples over Lindsay Lohan’s bikini top and generally employ the mindless, the soulless and the heartless to administer the daily operations of the place.

I was on a packed to the gills flight home and had high maintenance heading home from a conference pain in the ass carrying way too much shit with her full width of the middle seat occupying ass harridan sitting next to me. These women are great, undaunted by the earbuds in my ears, the desperate wedging of my body into the wall of the airplane to put as much space between us as possible and the open magazine that I was affixed to with a death glare she considered me open for the business of inane yammering.

Her – “Are you from Washington?”
Me – “Yes”
Her – “Where do you live”
Me – “Virginia”
Her – “OH ME TOO!!!! Where in Virginia do you live?”
ME – “Springfield”
Her – “OH DO YOU KNOW PEGGY TWOTONS?”
Me – “No”
…..blissful silence……3….2……1…….
Her – “Were you in Atlanta for work?”

Don’t let the laptop and blue pinstripe suit get in the way of asking a pandering question to someone who clearly has no interest in your existence as a carbon based lifeform you goddam hag you.

Me – “Yes”
Her – “OH THAT’S GREAT WHO DO YOU WORK FOR”
Me – “I can’t say, it’s classified.”
Her- “Oh my that sounds SO exciting!”
Me – “…………………………………………………………………..”

Please note that the plane has not even left the goddamn ground at this point.

Her – “I was in Atlanta for training and we had so much fun but I can’t wait to get back home to see my family….I bet the house is a wreck!!!!”
Me – “…………………………………………………………………….”
Her – “I really like your suit, it’s very nice”
Me – “It was my dad’s. I started wearing it after he died.”
Her – “OH THAT’S NICE!”
Me – “……………………………………………………………………..”
Her – “Are you married?”
Me – “I’m gay, I’m not allowed to get married.”
Her – “Oh.”

And blissfully the conversation came to an end. She did mental gymnastics staring at my wedding ring for the rest of the trip and she was on the verge of opening up her cavernous yap a time or two as even conversation with a scary homosexual might be preferable to the vacuum of silence surrounding her but she held off. When the drink cart came she ordered a diet coke and I got a double bourbon on the rocks. She was horrified, not only was she sitting next to a gay but an alcoholic gay!!!! I loosened my earbuds to let some sound escape and cranked up “The Retard” by the Afghan Whigs. I think Greg Dulli’s demonic howling was the last straw. She twitched her lard ass around and frittered nervously and then turned to the poor sap across the aisle.

“Are you from Washington?”

Haha, take that sucker!!!!!

General Sherman's Decorating Tips

Burn it down baby.

I'm heading to Atlanta in a couple of hours which should be a'ight. A solid 24 hour trip for about 45 minutes of actual work....weirdness. Oh well, I go where I am told.

The show Friday was good, sent Wesley off with maximum rocking and rolling and shots, (me and Philito anyway....we drank Wes and Ben's for them just to be nice guys), and all the hoi hoi a joy joy that comes with last shows and that kind of change.

No update on Ali Baba as of yet that I can post. Total insanity...poor Baba.

I think those round pour spouts that have replaced the traditional carton opening on orange juice containers were invented by vengeful wives. There's nothing quite like hammering down half of a half of a gallon of orange juice straight from the carton along with four aspirin at about 4:30 in the morning to forestall a hangover after a solid evening at the bar. But now....you spill it all over your face trying to wedge that little valve thingy up to your mouth while getting your nose under the top edge of the carton. Not that such a thing happened to me last night leading the Mrs. to wake up and ask what the hell was wrong with me or anything....I'm just pointing it out in general terms. Mean bitches those orange juice hags.

I had a dream last night that a 3' tall version of Tom Delay and I were having a "Grumpy Old Men" style go-around at a motel called the Tiki Lounge. At one point in the dream I said, "who cares what you have to say you angry little munchkin" and he charged me and tried to bite me in the nuts. It was pretty odd and I wish I could recall more of the dream than I can. I know that at various points Jon Belushi, the Olsen twins, Trey, Philito, the Mrs., and Ving Rhames all made appearances at the Tiki Lounge. I think I need to lay off the pastrami before dinner, that shit was pretty disturbing.

I got a kickass new Hanoi Rocks t-shirt in the mail yesterday. I won it on eBay. Amazingly it appears that I was the only bidder....surely a technical glitch. It says, "dead by Christmas" (title of one of my favorite Hanoi songs) on the front and Hanoi Rocks on the back. I love it dearly as should all of you.

I'm meeting up in Hotlanta tonight with my old roommate Kevin who years ago had the good sense to ask me to be the best man at his wedding. Should be fun and hopefully I will get some good stories to tell from the evening.

Rock it.