The Book of Jerome

It’s official: I am the world’s least desirable friend. Within the past couple of years, several of my closest friends have moved almost literally as far away from me as they could without leaving the country. In typical fashion, I’ve written a long overdue sendoff for the most recent McGillicutty evacuee, without whom I will probably devolve into some humorless douche who tells tasteful, appropriate jokes. You know the drill, I’m gonna miss you fuckers and all that.


¹Yet again, the prophet appeared before the multitude.

²“Not you again…” they said unto him.

³“Lo,” the prophet said. “Tis I, come yet again to warn thee of the third Horseman of the Ablakalypse! Wouldst thou have me not?”

⁴“There’s a-fucking-nother one?” the crowd cried in disbelief. Several among them shit their pants at the mere notion.

⁵“Aye! Surely by now ye know the terror of the horsemen, each more horrid than the last, yet still more fearsome than the next. In fact, I’m not quite sure why thou still opteth to live in this place, but I digresseth. Lo, people!” the prophet lowered his voice as the crowd grew quieter, “feareth plenty, for I am here to warn thee of the one they call ‘The Jerome.’”

⁶The men began to whisper and the women chattered nervously.

⁷“We have heard this tale, old man” someone shouted dismissively from the crowd.

⁸“Aye,” cried another, “tis just a legend.”

⁹“FOOLS!” the prophet yelled. “My story hath yet but just begane, For the Jerome traveleth not alone. ¹⁰He rideth in tandem with his partner, the only yet Horsewoman of the Ablakalypse, the Laureaux!”

¹¹The crowd stared at him incredulously. The prophet continued, “the Laureaux possesseth the ability to, no matter the obstacle, reach around it and get to the goal.”

¹²“REACH AROUND?!” came an anonymous female voice from the crowd.

¹³“Aye, reach around,” the prophet confirmed. ¹⁴“Thine only comfort is that these two, united by the unholy powers of the Ablakalypse itself, rideth atop a beast so mammoth, so massive, so grotesque, so undeniably gigantic that thou shall see it coming, shall hear its footsteps hours, nay, days before it arriveth, the Jereaux on its back, plumes of heavy smoke billowing from their mouths. This tank of a creature, whom they calleth ‘Frank,’ standeth fathoms wide by fathoms high, his chest larger than thy moons.”

¹⁵“Prophet,” the crowd replied, “our tunics runneth over with shite still. Why dost thou torture us so?”

¹⁶“Tell me, crowd, how dost thou expect to survive if I do not warn thee?” the prophet questioned.

¹⁷The crowd consulted each other. “Well, what if we shall outsmart the Jerome,” they replied.

¹⁸“But the Jerome is a genius…for he hath outsmarteth Charles Onions!” countered the prophet, his energy building. Stunned, the crowd met again.

¹⁹After a few seconds they responded, “Then we shall hurleth at him with all our might the weapon of our peoples, the flying disc,” they proposed, now confident of their impending victory.

²⁰“BUT THE JEROME WILL CATCH THEM ALL!” The prophet’s voice increased tremendously in both pitch and volume. ²¹Though the people were scared, they could barely take him seriously for how ridiculous he sounded. “And he shall countereth with the weapon of HIS people, a ball of ivory, which he shall hurleth at thy shins.”

²²“He couldn’t!” a woman exclaimed.

²³“He wouldn’t!” a child shouted.

²⁴“OHHHHHH, BUT HE SHALL!” the prophet prophesied. He continued, “though formidable in violence, the Jerome’s true power resteth in what he hath writ, for it is as they say, the pen is mightier than the sword.”

²⁵The people asked unto him, “is that a euphemism for something?”

²⁶And the prophet did reply, “What? Oh, no, I’ve never seen his weiner or anything if that’s what you mean.”

²⁷Tired of all the nonsense, the eldest elder in the group stepped up. ²⁸“Get on with it, prophet,” he said.

²⁹“Lo, elder, none of this compares to the Jerome’s most vile tactic” the prophet continued.

³⁰The crowd felt their bowels ready to explode. ³¹“What could it possibly be?” they cried in alarming unison.

³²“The Jerome shall…” the prophet trailed off. He paused to gain strength, as if what he was about to say would exhaust him. “The Jerome shall stealeth thy clothes and he shall weareth them for eternities, lifetimes, ages! So long that thou shall forget thy even possessed thine own clothing!”

³³Everyone present that day fainted. ³⁴As they came to, they witnessed the prophet putting the final touches on a drawing in the sand. “People,” the prophet said as he pointed towards the ground in front of him, “come see thine end.” The crowd looked before them and saw:

³⁵As they looked up, they were surprised to find the prophet still standing before them.

³⁶“Lo!” the crowd cried. “Ye remain!”

³⁷No sooner had the prophet finished his sentence than the ground rumbled beneath everyone’s feet. In the distance, an eclipsing shadow loomed. From atop the lumbering chestnut mass rose an endlessly thick stream of stanky smoke. ³⁸And the prophet did shit his pants. ³⁹The crowd, having witnessed the soiling of the prophet, shathed their pants a third time.

ACL Awards 2010

Welcome, everyone, to the 3rd Annual Austin City Limits Awards Ceremony! I’m your host, F. McGillicutty. ACL took place in Austin this past weekend, and my lovely lady friend and I were in attendance for the 4th straight time (I didn't do awards for our first time). Sir Fats didn’t make it out this year, but I’ll assume it’s only because Weird Al wasn’t in the lineup. If you’re still reading this blog you know what’s about to happen, so without further fanfare, I present to you…the winners:

The Surprise of the Year Award for 2010 goes to The Sword. These guys, minus their chubby I-ain’t-got-time-to-stay-on-beat hipster drummer, look like Spinal Tap and sound like Black Sabbath from 30 years ago. (I originally typed “20 years ago”…holy shit I’m getting old…) My wife checked these guys out before we went to Austin, and I thought they sounded pretty aight. Come to find out, they fucking rock. The crowd, full of overweight misfits and middle-aged metalheads, rocked along with devil fingers hoisted nearly as high as their owners. Great show, great image, great band.

Runner-up: Nortec Collective Presents: Bostich + Fussible
Their write-up in the ACL program describes their style of music as “a fusion of Norteño…and Techno.” I don’t know how to explain it any better, but all you really need to know is that everyone at this show was dancing. Everyone. Except me. And this guy:

(In case you can’t tell, he’s being carried out of the park because he’s too drunk to stand up on his own. This was around 5:30 on the first night.)

Second Runner-up: M.I.A
I know M.I.A isn’t really a surprise artist per se, but we were about to pack up and leave right before she came on. We ended up staying for damn near the whole set, which was filled with gunshots, lasers, and plenty of volume.

The Kiss My Dick Award for 2010 goes to all the bands that performed on Sunday. We kinda wanted to see Dawes and Yeasayer, but we’d already seen the latter perform in Dallas, and just two bands ain’t reason enough to stand in the sun with a bunch of grumpy douchebags all day. Kiss it, Sunday. All of it.

Runner-up: The Strokes.
Insert Strokes CD, press play, save $180.

Second runner-up: Ryan Bingham
Ryan, your show was really good, but your forcefully over-graveled voice makes Sling Blade sound like Allison Krauss. Get real, guy.

The Most Likely to End Up In Hell award goes to me, for several reasons, but specifically for taking a picture of a young woman whose calves were wildly disproportionate in size. When I realized she had palsy, I deleted the picture. Shut up, I don’t want to talk about it (except to say that the difference in calf-size was tremendous and that she was pretty hot (aside from the tremendous difference in calf-size, I mean).

The “Alright, Guys, Surely We Can Figure Out a Way to Make a Rap Concert Sound Better Than This” Award goes to Ninjasonik. These guys were the effing worst and no amount of gimmicky lines (“Somebody’s gonna get prennant”) or even gimmickier remixes (“Do the Bartman”? Really?) could save their show. If you really want to know what they’re like live, step on a bass drum every second for 5 minutes and yell “NINJA FUCKIN’ SONIK WE ARE SONIC FUCKIN’ NINJAS” non-stop with one of your friends. Congratulations, you are now a sonic fuckin’ ninja.

The Funniest Artist Award goes to Dan Black. After getting the crowd to clap with the beat, he acted like every clap was affecting his body sexually. When he’d had his fun he muttered into the microphone, “Ooh ACL, you’s a bad bitch!” Also, every time he sang the line“Let my loneliness get blown away” from his smash-hit “Symphonies” he did the jerk-off motion with his hands. Classic comedy.

Runner Up: Mayer Hawthorne for recounting a story wherein one of his fans asked for an autograph and said “you’re Michael Buble, right?” So maybe his fan is really the funny one, but whatever. The crowd got a pretty good chuckle out of that one.

The Bands That Obviously Know What They’re Doing Awards for this year go to:

The Black Keys – We couldn’t really get close enough to feel like we were a part of the show, but we could hear them pretty well, and damn can these guys play. Just sit there, close your eyes, and listen.

Matt and Kim – These two really rocked the crowd. We were pretty far back, but their vibe carried halfway across the park. Really good stuff.

Miike Snow – Our first show of the weekend, and a great way to start.

Gogol goddamn Bordello – So much energy. I wish they had played more songs I knew (namely “American Wedding”), but you have got to see these crazy fuckers perform live. They could write an entire song about how much they hate my guts and I would love it.

The Unfortunately Small Crowd Award goes to Dan Black. Actually, it was a fortunately small crowd for us. My lady friend, who has a musical boner the size of an elphant for Dan Black, was able to get pretty close to the stage with minimal effort. I heard variations on the following conversation several times throughout the show:

Shirtless frat guy 1: “Who is this guy?"
Shirtless frat guy 2: “I dunno, but he’s really good!”
Shirtless frat guy 1: “Yeah! Beer and New Balance and shit!” *fist pound*

If Dan Black doesn’t have a bigger stage and a bigger crowd next year, you’re all assholes.

Runner-up: The Sword
The Sword rules and more people should know it.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for. The award of all awards, the reason people attend ACL in the first place...drum roll, please...

And the winner of 2010's Maddest Hatter Award is this fuckin' guy:

Come on, buddy.

Well, that does it for 2010. I know I say this every year, but within the first 10 minutes of arriving at ACL, I swore to God I would never come back. The crowds were insane, the walk to the park was interminable, the heat was ridiculous even in October, but before the first night was even over I was planning on buying tickets for 2011. If you like music, road trips, cleavage, and overpriced beer, I strongly encourage you to attend next year’s festival. I’ve been 4 years running and it keeps getting better.

D-R-A-M-A

Dear readers, if you still exist, you might have noticed I haven't posted in months. The reason is simple: I've written my first novel. It is being released in paperback this fall. This is the cover:

It is exactly one page long and has been reproduced in its entirety starting...NOW:

To my wife, who puts up with that goofy picture of me yelling way more than she should have to.

INTRODUCTION

On a recent flight from Dallas to Atlanta, I overheard the conversation on the following page. Everything inside quotation marks is exactly as it happened (for serious). Everything else is all in my head, though I'm pretty sure it was also in our protagonist's head.

CHAPTER 1
"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"

Harold awoke in a daze, his eyes opening slowly.

"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"

"I'm sorry?" Harold mumbled, still not entirely sure someone was even speaking to him.

"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"

"I'll have a water."

The stewardess, steady as ever, had seen this coming. She hesitated for only a moment, punctuating her annoyance. Her tone sharpened.

"I don't have that, sir, I have pretzels, peanuts, or cookies."

Harold's mind reeled. Time seemed to stop, though he couldn't shake the feeling that time was moving faster for everyone around him. No water, he thought. Jesus Christ, how long have I been asleep? He attempted to gather his confidence, but the look on his face gave him away. He was so completely lost.

Get it together, Harry. Tell the lady what you want.

"Pretzels, please."

He immediately and almost literally tried to pull the words back into his mouth as he furrowed his brow and silently asked himself: What the fuck are pretzels? Before he could even attempt to think of an answer to his own question, there was a flash of blue light mere inches from his face. Harold's world was upended again as he tried to differentiate left from right, up from down. He would have bet everything in his pockets that the pilot was doing barrel rolls.

"Sir?"

Until now, Harold was plunging from everything he knew into madness. This simple word, however, reached out over the ledge and grabbed his hand at the last possible second. He instantly snapped back to life despite his heart feeling like it was still falling. As he regained his equilibrium, the blue light came into focus. He turned toward it and was able to make out what appeared to be a small, blue bag with the word "Pretzels" on it. Underneath the package was a square, white napkin. Underneath that, a woman's hand. Harold was angry with himself, ashamed. He should have had his shit together at this point, but no water? What the hell?

"Ah, thank you," he replied with an embarrassed smile.

Ohh, that's right, Harold thought as he took his snack from the woman. Memories of pretzels past came flooding back. His reminiscing was cut short, however, as he heard a familiar phrase come from behind him. Familiar, but still, for all his efforts he couldn't quite place it. The phrase would come to haunt him for years. It was fainter now, like a haunting echo. A reminder of some terror from his past, but what, exactly? That free-fall sensation crept up on him again.

"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"

He was brought back to his senses by the sound of a loud crunch. Looking down at his hands he could see he had a death grip on his pretzels, his subconscious's way of ensuring the waterfall of sweat pouring from his palms didn't send the pretzels crashing to the ground. Oh, goddammit, he thought as he gently brought his head back to rest on his seat. I wanted motherfucking cookies.

THE END

The Raoul: A Pictorial

Recently Raoul posted a picture on facebook that was just too perfect. He was wearing simple clothing on a simple background with an object in is hand...all the elements needed for an easy Photoshop or nine. I racked my brain for a good while and came up with some pictures that at least made me laugh. I hope they do the same for you. Side note: At this point, if you know Raoul in real life and didn't know him to be "Raoul," well, I feel bad for you, son.

Here's the picture I started with:

The first step was to remove the phone to allow for other items. I had to do a little rebuilding of the clothing and the straps, but it turned out much better than I thought I was capable of (read: it was a totally awesome accident):

I call this one "Thundercats! Hoooooooooooooo(rah)":

Here we see the Raoul on the verge of making it rain:

And here we have the Raoul mid-bow just seconds before whipping your ass:

Speaking of ass-whippings, here's the Raoul partaking in a little rochambeau:

You think he was just born with those skills?:

Here's the Raoul in his most natural environment:

In case you didn't know, the Raoul has been in Hawaii for some time now. I imagine this is what he looks like most days:

And finally, I fucking KNEW it!

Alright, that's enough of that. Special thanks to:
-The hooker in the blow job picture. It took several days of photo-shoots to get that one right, but she was a good sport.
-Morgan Freeman for being.
-Raoul for giving me free reign to do whatever I wanted to that picture. A lesser man would object to being on the internet in a coconut bra.

U.S. Fuckin' A.: A Fairly Ridiculous and Somewhat Skewed Look at The United States of America's Olympic Performance History

If you know me, you know just how insane for America I am. You can see then how frustrating the world has been for me lately, given the increased competition among the world's superpowers. Even the most hardcore patriot has trouble finding areas in which the U.S. truly dominates the world anymore. I mean, it's old news that the U.S. has never lost a war ever and always wins wars always and it's not like the dollar is respected internationally like it once was. So how is a guy like me supposed to measure the success of his country without referencing money or war (support our troops)? Athletics you say? I can run with that.

Recently I Googled "olympic medal count by country" and was directed to this Wikipedia page. It's an impressive table, but I didn't feel it adequately portrayed the sheer dominance of America. Hell, all the other countries are even written in the same size font! At least bold America's results, for Christ's sake. Anyway, after I got done reading this obviously-made-by-a-Communist chart, I decided to run my own numbers. After a few minutes of data entry into Excel, some fascinating (if not obvious) stats began to surface. Now, I had originally intended to calculate some fairly complicated statistics on the data, but I keep forgetting to bring my TI-83 home from work. Instead I put a variety of Excel functions to work in order to illustrate my point and came up with the following Top 5 Winningest Nations lists (NOTE: The following lists are based on nations who have won at least 100 total medals in all the Olympics they've appeared in, because if you haven't won at least 100 at this point, why do you even bother showing up at the games anymore?):

Total Medals:
1. United States - 2548
2. Soviet Union - 1204
3. Great Britain - 737
4. France - 730
5. Germany - 719

That's right, the U.S. more than doubles the 2nd place nation, which doesn't even exist anymore. That means the U.S. more than triples its closest competition...and we're just getting started. Here's a further breakdown of those numbers:

Total Gold Medals:
1. United States - 1016
2. Soviet Union - 473
3. Germany - 233
4. Italy - 227
5. France - 218

Total Silver Medals:
1. United States - 824
2. Soviet Union - 376
3. Great Britain - 258
4. France - 239
5. Germany - 235

Total Bronze Medals:
1. United States - 708
2. Soviet Union - 355
3. France - 273
4. Great Britain - 263
5. Germany - 251

Does anyone else have an erection yet? Good. Now let's look at the average amount of medals won per nation per Olympic Games. These numbers are a little misleading because there are way more medals up for grabs during the Summer Olympics and there have been 5 more Summer Games than Winter Games. Still, the evidence is clear: America kicks serious ass. (NOTE: For this category I discarded the results for nations that were no longer in existence, because there's no way for their numbers to ever get worse, and that's not fair.)

Average Total Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 55
2. Russia - 35
3. Germany - 30
4. China - 26
5. Great Britain - 16

And again, a breakdown of the domination:

Average Gold Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 22
2. Russia - 12
3. China - 10
4. Germany - 10
5. Italy - 5

Average Silver Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 18
2. Russia - 11
3. Germany - 10
4. China - 8
5. Great Britain - 5

Average Bronze Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 15
2. Russia - 12
3. Germany - 10
4. China - 7
5. France - 6

Noticing a pattern? Now let's look at a breakdown of what percentage of total medals are Gold, Silver, and Bronze per nation.

% Gold Medals
1. China - 41%
2. United States - 40%
3. Italy - 36%
4. Norway - 36%
5. South Korea - 35%

Alright, so we can't win EVERYTHING, but 1%? Check with me in 2012 and we'll see what's up.

% Silver Medals
1. Spain - 43%
2. Bulgaria - 39%
3. Greece - 39%
4. Denmark - 37%
5. Belgium - 36%

OH NO WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPEN-oh wait...Silver? B.F.D.

% Bronze Medals
1. Ukraine - 49%
2. Poland - 45%
3. Romania - 40%
4. Austria - 39%
5. Denmark - 39%

The U.S. could not be found on this list because it was too busy trying to find a container big enough to hold all its Gold medals. It's still looking. Here now are some more interesting numbers that demonstrate the obvious:

Get this: The United States accounts for 19% of all Gold medals ever won. Put another way, nearly 1 out of every 5 Gold medals ever won in the Olympics belongs to an American.
...15% of Silver medals ever won.
...13% of Bronze medals ever won.
...16% of Total medals ever won.

Also, the U.S.'s Gold medals total (1,016) is 26 times the average amount of Gold medals won by other nations (39).
...Silver medals total (824) is 21 times the average amount of Silver medals won by other nations (39).
...Bronze medals total (708) is 17 times the average amount of Bronze medals won by other nations (41).
...Total medals total (2548) is 21 times the average amount of total medals won by other nations (119).

Some of you may be thinking "Sure, but America has more people than a lot of countries." Alright, Nancy, let's take a look at medal winnings per capita:

Total Medals:
1. Norway - 9.20E-05
2. Finland - 8.49E-05
3. Sweden - 6.47E-05
4. Hungary - 4.64E-05
5. Switzerland - 3.96E-05

Gold Medals:
1. Norway - 3.31E-05
2. Finland - 2.65E-05
3. Sweden - 2.03E-05
4. Hungary - 1.59E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.14E-05

Silver Medals:
1. Norway - 3.17E-05
2. Finland - 2.65E-05
3. Sweden - 2.07E-05
4. Hungary - 1.43E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.38E-05

Bronze Medals:
1. Finland - 3.19E-05
2. Norway - 2.72E-05
3. Sweden - 2.37E-05
4. Hungary - 1.63E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.44E-05

*Ahem* Moving on...

Some of the last things I considered were "What if the USSR was still in existence?" and "What if I counted all of the different variations of Germany as one nation?" Would either of them measure up to America? *scoff* See for yourself:

Nation	# Games	G	S	B	T	G/T	S/T	B/T
United States	46	1016	824	708	2548	.3987	.3234	.2779
All Soviet Team	30	702	613	669	1984	.3538	.3090	.3372
All German Team	41	528	542	548	1618	.3263	.3350	.3387

From this table we can see a few things:
1. Germans sure are athletic for a bunch of white men (by "men" I'm referring also to German women, because, come on...)
2. If the USSR was as good at existing as it was at the Olympics, the world would be a redder place.
3. The Germans really love finishing in 3rd place.
4. Even giving other nations the benefit of the doubt, the U.S. still destroys the competition.

Well, that's all the real stats for this monstrous post. If you'd like to see just how ridiculous this got, you can download the original spreadsheet here (NOTE: If you actually look at this thing, you should know that I estimated the population of East and West Germany by taking the population of Germany and dividing it in half because the logic in that is flawless. For the population of Czechoslovakia, I combined the current populations of Slovakia and The Czech Republic. Can you tell the difference? I didn't think so.). Also, I'd like to personally apologize to Sir Fats. I know he only comes here for the pictures, but I spent more time on this spreadsheet than I care to divulge and, frankly, the numbers say it better than Photoshop can.

BONUS SECTION
Holy Shit (Or "Things I Discovered While Writing This Blog"):

• Japan has 1/3 the population of the United States, but all of Japan could fit inside Montana.
• Only 3 nations have competed in all 47 Olympics: France, Great Britain, and Switzerland.
• Originally I calculated the population of the USSR as simply twice Russia's population as a joke and got 283,854,594. Then I added up the populations of all the current nations that used to be a part of the USSR and got 285,230,673, which is remarkably close when you consider I was estimating hundreds of millions of people.
• I cannot spell "Bulgaria" correctly on the first try, ever.
• If there's ever another draft, fuck Canada, I'm moving to Norway.

Pick-Up Schmucks

I seem to get hit on by guys quite a bit. Context clues lead me to conclude a few different things. First, and this I take as a compliment, apparently I look gay. Second, I must look relatively easy. Third, I’m not completely repulsive in terms of appearance. You might think it’s weird that I get hit on specifically by guys, but when you consider the passiveness of straight women, the wedding ring on my finger, and the fact that I frequent gay bars, it’s not so unusual…usually.

It can definitely be flattering to be hit on. I’m not sexually interested in men, but who doesn’t like to be told “I find you attractive”? In most cases I can just say something like “Ahh, thanks. I’m straight, so you’re probably better off spending your time on another guy…sorry.”

I used to humor people, but on one occasion someone bought me a shot, found out I was married, and then insulted my wife, which resulted in me uncharacteristically threatening to beat the shit out of him. Now though, a quick “thanks, but no thanks” usually does the trick.

However, every now and again I have no idea how to react to a situation. Someone either says something ridiculously weird or goes way over the top. For example, “I love the taste of your hair” is a little weird and something like “I want to fuck you right where you are standing” is a little strong. I haven’t actually heard those exact lines, but once you hear the stories below, you'll see how those would be appreciated.

One time I was walking my dog. A man who looked and sounded EXACTLY like Amante Kabundi (that’s for all zero of you that went to high school with me) pulled up in a pimped-out, silver Dodge Magnum. He slowed to a stop as he neared me and rolled down his window. This is how that went:

Amante Lookalike: Do I get to get walked next?

Fuckmurder McGillicutty: Excuse me?

AL: Can I be next?

FM: What?

AL: Do I get to get walked next?

FM: Um, if you...want to???

AL: Do I get to get walked next?

FM: What???

AL: Nevermind, baby.

And then he drove off. I don’t even know if it was a pickup line. Maybe he really needed to be walked. This probably happened a year ago and I still haven’t figured it out. I mean, hell, I answered his fucking question with what at the time seemed like a quick way to disarm him, but in retrospect was probably the answer that was most likely to result in me winding up on the business end of some dude’s butthole…but then he asked it again. If any of you figures out what this guy wanted, please let me know. It’s been bothering me for awhile now.

Then recently as I was, incidentally, walking the dogs at night, a car crept up to me with its windows down. Coming to a complete stop in the middle of the road, the driver said quickly “vant koompani?” I did my damnedest to ignore him and just kept on walking down the sidewalk. Apparently he thought I was playing coy, because he sped off, turned around, and drove by a second time, but I picked up the pace and got back inside before he had a chance to lay his smooth, Russian mumble on me again. I could maybe understand if I was walking down the street with my pants around my ankles, but I had my dogs with me. Suppose I did vant koompani. What would I do with the dogs? How do I know he’s not into beastiality and he's just using me to get to my animals? The scariest part about this guy was that I’d be willing to bet he was using that line because it’s actually worked before. Who are these people?

Then, get this, a few weeks ago I was at a gay bar. Some dude said to me “If I had to fuck your wife to be able to fuck you, I would.” I didn’t know what else to do but laugh. Just so we’re clear, “If I had to fuck your wife…” are the words least likely to get you laid by me, next to “It’s good to see you, son.”

But this guy didn’t stop. No, he proceeded to drunk at me “My dad is Irish and my mom is Brazilian so I really like guys with red facial hair and green eyes…I think it’s really hot.” Then he stared suggestively at me.

Some of you might have never seen me, so for the sake of the story I need to include a brief physical description of myself here: I have red facial hair and green eyes.

From context clues I gathered that this joker might as well have been staring suggestively at his father. I don’t have anything to say about this that could make it any more hilarious/disturbing, so I’ll just ask you to read it again and let it simmer in your brain for a minute. This is, without a doubt, the worst pickup line I have ever heard. If you’ve heard worse, I’d love for you to share. Bad pickup lines are goddamn entertaining (at least I hope, considering that was the premise around which I based this entire post).

!!!BONUS PICKUP LINE!!!: one time my wife was dancing at a bar and some joker got all up in her business and said “Damn, girl…you built like a soap dish!” First person to decipher that one gets $50.*

*No they don’t.

Bucket List: The Third

Let’s all just forget that I haven’t posted anything in several months and move on, ok? Frequenters of my blog might recall a little ol’ thing we around here like to call the bucket list. Well it’s back, baby. Despite Raoul living it up in Hawaii (seriously…he’s getting paid to blow things up, drink beer, and go to the beach), we put our heads together yet again and realized there is still so much to accomplish before we die. We've compiled our third list of stuff to do before we suck the bucket below. At this point you should know the drill, but in case you’ve slept since my last bucket list, here are the rules: I’m odd, Raoul is even, and Morgan Freeman is fucking evil.


1. Suck the poison out.
2. Escape from prison.
3. Swallow something whole.
4. Earn more nicknames than anyone.
5. Learn to tell time without using a watch.
6. Hang low.
7. Spell “bourgeoisie” correctly without having to look it up. Dammit.
8. Throw a dart through someone’s ear.
9. Masturbate outside.
10. Perform an exorcism.
11. Create my own flag.
12. Armwrestle an albino.
13. Wear someone’s name out.
14. Put someone in their place (see #12)
15. Start a mosh pit in a grocery store.
16. Audibly scoff at a jury’s verdict.
17. Revel in someone’s glory (preferably mine).
18. Commit perjury.
19. Feel the burn.
20. Find a hooker to change my diaper.
21. Make a comeback.
22. Navigate using only the stars.
23. Swing it to the drums.
24. Own a compound.
25. Swing it to guitar.
26. Get stationed in Area 51.
27. Swing it to the bass in the back of my car.
28. Own a hyperbaric chamber.
29. Finish my voodoo training.
30. Take over Hollywood.
31. Stick to someone else’s guns.
32. Get a Purple Heart. (possible, given Raoul is now a Marine)
33. Throw a ball back.
34. Kill a human. (also possible)
35. Complete my manifesto.
36. Score 300 on the USMC PFT. (that's short for the United States Marine Corps Physical Fitness Test. "I bet I can do it," you might say. "Doubtful," I would counter. To get a perfect score of 300, you've got to do 20 pull-ups (sorry ladies), 100 crunches within 2 minutes, run 3 miles in under 18 minutes, and eat an entire cake in 3 seconds. *snicker*)
37. Yell “show us your tits” somewhere.
38. Remember that other thing I wanted to put on my bucket list.