Empty Anus, Filthy Hands

Sometimes our butts don't work the way we want them to. There can be timing issues, audio intensive issues, and of course issues involving our nasal passages. My issue revolved around timing.

So Joan and I were going to make an evening for ourselves and did a little bar hopping. Dive bar here, dive bar there, finally landing in our crawl-in-the-wall bar next door, about a mile from my place. Some wings and some drinks, some karaoke and some drinks, and the low low naughty rumble began to shake my inards. Damnit. This place is a DIVE; which I do love of course, but a crummy dive bar is not a place to have a seat and enjoy the miracle of a working gastrointestinal system. So I fought off the urge and the rumblings but I could tell this story was definitely going to have an ending in the locale we currently resided. After a decent fight I decided the battle was a loss anyhow and I trotted off to the crapper praying that I didn't return to my drink with crabs.

Bad news for Uncle Greg: The one toilet was filled with human waste of sorts, and was not flushing. Fucking gross. Really fucking gross. I'm out.

I returned to the table to a Joan who thought this situation was really really funny- and I guess it was pretty funny, funny enough that I'm writing about it hear I suppose, but at the time I was considering how much trouble I would get in if I took a crap in the corner of the bar; 'funny' wasn't really in me at the time, only turds were. Joan grabbed a bouncer and let him know that the crapper was buenoless. I did a jig in my painfu little head when I saw the man walk back to the bathrooms. Tick tock tick tock 5 more minutes and I should be able to get back to enjoying my humbling bar experience. I waited and waited and returned to the shitter once I saw the bouncer out of the can. I think perhaps I even jumped and clicked my shoes together in the air on the way. Threw open the stall door and voila! Same thing, no change, no flush.

Guuuuuuuuurgle gurrrrrgle gurgle. Time's up Greg, shit your pants or find an alternative. Point of no return has come and gone, any thought of running home real quick has now gone by. One stupid mile away and I can't make it. Time to get resourceful and fast. GROSS. I grabbed the WOODEN lid to the top of the toilet and put it on the ground. Fixed the two-part chain (half was chain half was some crazy peperclip combination that had come undone). Got on my hands and knees and got the water going again. Forced the flush with a lift of the bobber. Lid back on, did an extreme off colored disease inspection of the top of the can, ripped down the Wranglers and let 'er rip.

Back to the table and the rest of the eve was a sucess. However I did just have my hands in an awful shithole's shithole, on my hands and knees fixing a toilet full of drunk stranger's waste in a crummy part of town. Was it worth it? I'll give it a stalemate. It did resolve the issue and led to a kick ass evening, but it seriously was one of the nastier things I've ever done. Since I've been more aware of my bowel habits prior to going to nasty places. Another life lesson learned by yours truly.

Drinkin With A New One

Last evening the Bears played the Redskins and although I am not a fan of either it was a great excuse to get out and do some good old fashioned beer drinking during the week. One of my fellow employees, Mr. Ryan Beck, is a solid Bears fan and we have been talking about sharing a cold one for a while so I pounced on the opportunity. At about 9am when I first started thinking about drinking plans for the night I asked the lad if he'd like to join for the ball game. I recommended The Draft House, my local dingy funky cheap nasty slow crawl of a pub. I had forgotten that people of the normal human race aren't fans of such dives for the reasons of physical harm, emotional distraught, and disease. I like a bar where contracting an STD from your bar stool is a real possibility and I often forget that this concerns most other members of society. Ryan then recommended The Fox and Hound, a very nice sports bar down the street. His words were typed exactly like this:

RyanCras: 2 dollar pints and half off appetizers and more titties than you can throw your jizz at
RyanCras: ...and I DO throw my jizz

Recalling that I'm a sick weirdo and haven't been to a nice establishment in what could be years I obliged and continued with the day.

Here's the post work-day lineup for the game:

Me: Nuff Said.
Joan: Well seasoned and veteran drinker post 2 seperate stabs at AA
Steve: Current AA member who has burned the silly wagon down
Ryan Brannigan: Professional beer drinker and Bears fan to boot.
RYAN BECK: ?

Joan and I arrive to Ryan woofing down a dozen honey hot chicken wings and nursing a pint of brew. The game was a dull stalemate for most of the first half, and eventually Steve showed up. Beer, beer, beer, and Ryan orders a basket of soft pretzels with cheese sauce. And a diet pepsi. Unacceptable. If I am only good at one thing it is peer pressuring company into sin, and I wasn't about to have this Thursday turn into a diet cola how-was-your-day party. I arm wrestled Mr. Beck into another beer, knowing that just a couple beers force fed to our protagonist and he would crave it's sweet nectar the rest of the eve.

During the third quarter the 5th member of our party arrived, my roomate Ryan Brannigan. Now through the power of deliciousness, alcohol's firm grasp tightened as Mr. Beck watched the 4 of us drink faster and faster. The game ended with the Bears blowing it late in the fourth and I was ready to go. However my solid beer drinking compadres refused to allow me to wimp out. After all we were at a bar and bars do have all the requirements of good living and were we to leave clearly our quality of living would decrease. Time for some billiards. At this point of the night I have had a meager 6 or 7 pints. Ryan Beck looked over at me after finishing off his 6th or 7th and said "Seriously dude are you going to be at work tomorrow?" Ugh...yes of course, I've been concerned before when it's been 4:30am and I'm 46 cocktails deep, but a six pack has never kept me from anything but a better buzz. I now realized we were dealing with one of these guys that say things like 'Yeah but I'm not really much of a drinker.' Now I know it's my mission to get this poor guy plowed; luckily I didn't have to.

Beer beer beer, shot, beer. Suddently in the midst of a game Ryan Brannigan is approached by a gang of younger fraternity looking guys. "Wooooowoo any of y'all mutherfuckers drink beer real fast over here wooooh!" With the prospect of free beer Brannigan was in and joined their table. The frat dudes needed a 4th member of the team as they were one short...for a game of anhorman. Andchorman is a game in which two teams of 4 (or however many) get on either side of a long table and drink beer real fast. As soon as the player to your left drinks their beer real fast then you are allowed to start drinking your beer real fast. Finally the anchorman must drink their own beer real fast, and as soon as their beer is empty and back on the table beofre the opponent's anchorman you are winner of drinking beer real fast. I tried earlier to explain this game to my boss and he said that he too plays this game but with less rules. He calls it just drink your fuckin drink and he plays it all the time.

Outside for a smoke and the frat boys followed after a close match but Ryan's team did eek out a victory, somewhat numbing the pain of his Bear's loss. One of the frat dudes said to Ryan that he reminds him of this dude Dan he knows. Ryan said that Dan is his brother and they look very much alike and the crowd of testosterone filled strangers erupted into laughter. "Fuck yeah dude you're RYAN! DANNY'S brother!? Yo me and him fucked this girl on camera last year that dude is fuckin awesome!"

What a great introduction. Now our once simple about to drink newbie was clammoring to get involved in some anchorman action to and off he went. Let's just say that at 11 when we left there was little left of the man who's drinking skills we once questioned. Stumbling out of the bar he left us but this morning upon his arrival an hour and ten minutes late I messaged him to see how he was doing. Here was the answer:

GregCras: Did you survive the evening? How did it end for you?
RyanCras: ran 2 miles when I got home lifted some weights called my ex-girlfriend and rambled on her cell phone - no clue what I said. Then I called her ex boyfriend and best friend holly and rambled to them for an hour about how I hate the bitch and can't beleive she's doing what she's doing to me - thanks Greg

You're welcome buddy. It's what I do.

Fire Can Be Funny Too

My roomate and friend Ryan likes to cook. He even cooks well and not just well for a dude in a bachelor pad, but well for well's sake. This past Monday we were desperately hungover. I had just gotten home from work and wanted three things: 1)Bite the damned dog that bit me first 2) Put anything of nutrition into my belly and 3) Go to bed and pray for death. Luckily for me Ryan felt the same way and began cooking up some fried chicken. 3 eggs, bread crumbs, chicken and a boiling vat of oil on the stove- we are ready to rock. I poured a vodka soda, put some cartoons on, and awaited the chef to bring me my chitlins.

The crackling of chicken breasts crisping in the oil and the smell of boiling grease was putting a smile on my hungover world. Then the left side of the room went bright orange. Grease fire on the stove, good job Ryan. Rarely do you ever have to deal with fire on an emergency basis, and even rarer deal with it inside where God has not intended fires to run rampant. It's a pretty simple animal and there are only a few rules to control it; but when you have to deal with it on an emergency basis inside your tiny little apartment sometimes you lose your cool. Ryan lost his cool.

First thing I heard as I turned seeing my entire kitchen fairly ablaze was Ryan saying in a fairly panicked voice "uhhhhhhh no no no uhhhhh baking soda baking soda baking soda!" From my position on the couch I knew that Ryan was doing the right thing with the baking soda so I chose to instead of freak out and help enjoy my hangover and the vodka Sprite that was helping to ease it. Suddenly the 'fairly' ablaze kitchen became a Die-Hardesque explosion, large enough that from my humble seat on the couch I felt the heat come off the kitchen. Ryan was thinking baking soda, but somehow in his panic he founf FLOUR and SOMEHOW figured that since both were white and powdery they both probably had the same effect on fire. A fist full of flour got launched at the grease fire and in one quick GA-WOOSH Ryan and I were both in a panic.

Ryan's next instinct was a good one. Turn off the burner. The flames would die down in seconds and there would be no cause for concern. Ryan's instinct told his hand but his hand was not in great communication with his head. He turned off the wrong burner.

"uhhhhhhhhh uhhhhhhhh uhhhhhh oh no oh no oh no ok ok smother it!" comes out of the kitchen. Another good idea. Unfortunately the burner was still on 'blaze' so whatever Ryan was about to put on it was simply going to cook. First thing that he grabbed was going to be the glass lid of one of my pots. Good news: it worked. Kinda. At some point the blazing fire currently subduiing the flame was going to explode into a million pieces on my stove, allowing oxygen to once again ignite the flame and what will surely be a giant fireball will scorch my vaulted ceiling. I explained this quickly to our protagonist and he removed the glass cover- not exactly what I meant by my explanation. Instead of having the glass explosion ignite the flame Ryan introduced Mr. Oxygen to the flame; well at least the pot still has a lid I guess. Another GA-WOOSH and we were back at square one.

Finally Ryan came to his senses and realized that he had flipped off the wrong burner and with one quick turn to the left the excitement was over. The entire event took all of 15-20 seconds but godamn it was a great time. The apartment was completely filled with dark black smoke but my hangover was dulled by the adrenaline shots Ry had given me. Thanks buddy. The chicken was still delicious and we didn't have to use our renter's insurance for anything. Assuming nothing goes teribly wrong, uncontrolled fire in the home can be hilarious, and tossing flour at it can be a wonderful science experiment.

Big Blue Bear

Had lunch with Mr. Harper today and it ended with one of the greatest stories I've heard from the guy. Now I shall share it with you. Dave is from the Columbus OH area. Years ago before he moved out here Dave and his posse were looking for some silliness to find, and they found it in a six-foot tall stuffed toy bear. He also told me that there was no booze involved up to this point; I don't know whether to believe that or not but it's his story so I'll try to keep it as close to the original as I can. The idea comes to the crew that if they unstuffed the giant bear and cut a hole in the back they would have their very own bear suit. Now I don't know how much stuffing is in a six-foot tall bear but I figure it's a whole shit-ton of stuffing. Enough that Dave told me they covered his buddies entire basement floor with it. Dave climbed into his new bear suit and now it was idea time. They figured the bars were closing soon and they wanted to fuck with the late night crowd. The goal: get Dave stolen as a big blue bear. They drove around long enough to steal a balloon tied to a mailbox. Scored a For Sale sign. Stole a blinking construction warning sign.

All the elements were in place to cause some late night chaos. The crew went to the local pub and placed Dave in the parking lot with blinking sign, For Sale sign in lap, and balloon tied to his hand. At 2am the bar emptied out and a few fraternity dudes brought their truck up next to him. First they discussed stealing the big blue bear. Could success come this quick and easy? Negative. It turned into a "Naw dude kick it in the face!" Not good. "Naw dude hit it with the truck!!!!" The truck backed up through the lot and aimed it's grill at Davey the big blue bear. Not wanting to give up his joke but also not wanting to give up his mortality Dave waited it out until the truck's tires spun and took off at him. Dave jumped to his feet and watched as the frat dudes freaked out at the magically alive bear. They briefly lost control of their truck before peeling it back onto the street and taking off with one hell of a bar story in their pockets.

I don't know how Dave felt at this juncture but I would feel like I had gained magical powers. Next they got word that Dave's cousin and very dear friend Rob was down the block and would be leaving the party soon. If someone was going to steal Dave the big blue bear it was Rob. Rob and his friend Jason were very, very high. Very high. Dave sat on the curb, balloon in hand, blinker blinking, and For Sale sign once again in lap. Jason and Rob pulled up behind the big blue bear and Dave could hear them whispering under the heavy influence of devil lettuce that they should totally steal the bear. Rob hopped out and approached. Just when he was in reaching distance the big blue bear sprung to life, hands in the air, and belted out a raaaaaawr. Rob freaked and jogged away screaming while Jason hit the gas and took off into the night. The bear gave chase. Rob was now running from a menacing stuffed toy bear that magically came to life confusing the hell out of his once blissful buzz. After a 500 foot run the big blue bear began to speak mid run to him.

"ROB STOP RUNNING MAN! I'M YOU'RE COUSIN!!"
"HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW MY NAME BEAR!?"
"ROB IT'S DAVE YOUR COUSIN MAN!"
"HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW MY COUSIN DAVE BEAR!?"

Jogging + high and confused is awesome.

Dave finally corralled his pal and they got to enjoy a good laugh at the prank. Unfortunately Rob's ride had bugged out and left him. It was some time before Jason had the balls to come back and rescue him. Dave and crew were now hoofing around town looking for more fun things to do in a bear suit when the fuzz showed up. Everyone scattered except for Dave. The police flashed the lights and Dave the big blue bear was about to be investigated. As crazy as it may look, there is nothing illegal about being a stuffed toy bear in public, even at 3am.
"Excuse me uh...sir...what are you doing?"
"Just bein' a bear officer!"
"Er..so...have you been drinking sir?"
"Nope! Just bein' a big blue bear."
The cop started laughing (how couldn't you?) "Man I have seen some shit 16 years on the force, but this is just crazy! Uh, I hope you understand uh, Mr. Bear, but I do have to frisk you."
Now Dave the big blue bear is bent over, hand on a police cruiser, being patted down by a veteran officer of the Columbus police force- at which time a second cruiser pulled up and the loud speaker belted out through what I'm sure was stifled laughter: "Officer Rogers do you have that bear under control?"

Being a big blue bear must be so cool.

"Mr. Bear I have to run your license."
"Sure sir! Mind if I take my hand out of my paw though to reach in my wallet?"
So they ran Dave the big blue bear's record and it came out clean.
"Are you by yourself tonight Dave?"
"Sure am sir."
At which time Dave's crew who had been hiding in the bushes scattered giving the gag up probably thinking Dave was in some serious trouble. Also knowing the crew that Dave had in Ohio, several probably had warrants out. But the cop didn't care.
"Listen Mr. Harper can I give you a ride home?"
"Sure!"
"Um...are you gonna wear the bear suit in the car?"
"Yup!"

And there my buddy Dave was. Getting a friendly ride in a police cruiser at 3am in a big blue bear suit. Everytime you get into it with a member of the force, for better or worse, it's documented on your permanent record.

Dave the big blue bear is on his permanent record. What's on yours?


POST STORY:
Dave left Ohio for life in the desert. But the big blue bear stayed- and lived on. Dave said he heard stories of the bear making it to Ohio State, exchanging hands and faces. At one point the bear made it to another friend of Dave's who wore the bear suit through the drive thru at a Taco Bell. And ordered honey. When in a big blue bear suit you automatically become a comedian. The voice on the speaker told him that they don't have honey but they DO have Border Ices. Border Ice it is. When they pulled up to the window the clerks saw the bear suit- and so did the three state troopers eating there. The big blue bear did not see the officers run outside, but he DID see the 3 staties rush the car, draw their weapons, and order Mr. Bear out of the car. Just because you're a comedian does not mean that everyone thinks you're funny. The bear was handcuffed- no really, they didn't take him out of the suit, they cuffed him IN the suit- and was threatened with disorderly conduct. Man Ohio state troopers are tough on bears, but cheers to the big blue bear that day for being cuffed behind the back on the hood of his car; he yelled at the officers "Hey man is it illegal for me to order honey!? I'm a fuckin bear and I just wanted some honey!!"

Ich Herzen Hassen

I was VERY proud and excited a couple of weeks ago when I officially completed my final substance abuse class! It was a Tuesday and at 9:30PM I walked out of that wonderful and educational class for the final time. Although work was early the next morning and there was a big meeting with the administrator, I wanted to celebrate. Just a few drinks with perhaps a few friends. At 9:30 deep in the eve and on a whim AND on a Tuesday scoring a few friends was going to be tough, but I have perseverance like Kenyan's have stride. First priority: A lil potato wine. So I walked to the local mart and picked myself up a handle of the 80 proof clear stuff and a liter of el tonico. Couldn't get anyone on the cell to join me- but who the hell cares! I can be a great host to myself, I fucking rule and totally am okay partying with my own ego. After a short walk home it was time to crack the ice and open the gullet.

8 drinks later my ego must've went to the bathroom or something because I got totally bummed that no one wanted to celebrate my success of 2.5 months of pain in the ass classes, I was a graduate and I wanted to feel like it. At 11:30PM it should have been time to go to bed when my phone finally barked. My roomate Ryan. He had had a shit day and was at the local watering hole and had been drinking with one of the waitresses that just gotten off work. I demanded that I cheer him up with good times and cold vodka. He demanded he bring the waitress home because 'she was too drunk too drive.' I obliged. Company was on the way so good times were sure to follow.

Ryan was in an awful mood, cranky and stubborn. And I was wrong, the waitress was definitley too drunk to drive. I must have looked rather striking drunk on the couch becasue she kept slurring at me that I was very pretty. Gay but flattering- which was awesome since Ryan had brought her home. Now normally I would have the respect for a dear friend who had scored a drunk waitress and brought her home; be a good wingman and allow the pussy to fall in my buddies lap as he deserved. But Ryan was pissing me off with his grouchy mood on my winning night. And I was hammered drunk. And I was accepting these marvelously ludicrous phrases of praise and flattery with ease.

Now this lass was not skinny and not fat. Not hot but not ugly. Rock and roll hair, and handful of piercings and some visible tats. One feature she did have was unbelievably huge mammories. HUGE.

Some amount of cocktails later I was being my silly self and had made a Jew joke in passing. Not a goofy "so a black guy a white guy and a jew walk into a bar" kind of a thing, but something along the lines of "I'm hammered drunk so I think I should jew up my next drink a bit" kind of a phrase. No offense of course to any of my Philistiney friends. Instantly what I thought was just a fucked up rock n roll looking waiteress on my couch became a pissed off scowling offended bitch. She said something to the tune of "That's fucked up Greg, you shouldn't take that shit lightly."

Oops. Sometimes when you make a retard joke you're unaware that a member of the audience has a retarded brother and does not appreciate your silly disregard for certain other spices of humanity. This tasted like the case in hand. I was wrong though. With a humble face I quickly stammered out an apology, letting her know that I'm actually one of the most open minded people she's probably ever met and that I meant no offense with my silly Jewish joke. I made it to the final line of my embarassing apology but did not get to finish it. I told her "I'm totally cool with the fact that you're Jewish but-" and that's all I got out. Her face got even angrier and I got a "FUCK YOU THAT'S NOT FUCKING FUNNY," a middle finger, and then a free peek at those enormous sweater lumps. She ripped down the left side of her shirt with her left hand breaking out the jolly boobie. I don't think I need to explain to anyone reading this that I love tits, but this particular titty of interest was not a titty of love. Twas a titty of hate. Emblazened on it was a fucking swastika. This tattoo wasn't a cute little girl tat, this bugger covered the entire DD+ breasticle. Think Ed Norton in American History X. Now I know that most of us aren't fans of the nazi party, however you have to give the girl credit for the dedication to her craft. Putting a 7" swastika on your lady parts is definitley going to limit your sexual exploits. In addition to the cursing and exposure, she swung a closed fist with her right hand into her chest and then extended the fist into a flat hand.

I got the emblem and the sieg heil. Awesome.

Kinda.

As a fairly intelligent and fairly cultured man I was totally fascinated. Being a human being I was as shocked as I think I have ever been. Being an immature silly dude I have rarely laughed harder. My roomie brought home a drunk nazi and invited her into my home. Good job Ryan.

The three of us had a handful more drinks together and I picked her brain about what it was like to hate so efficiently. Good times. Thankfully I was only a little late and disheveled for the big meeting with the boss man that next morning. If you've never gotten to hang out with a dedicated bigot I suggest it, it can be worth writing about.

The Deviled Egg Mexican

Well this past weekend was something to behold. The amount of alcohol and pills consumed would have Hunter S. Thompson shaking his head in amazement and ebarassment. Such a weekend can only be had with the help of one of the finest boozehounds I know, Sir. Dave Harper. A day spent with Dave is assumed to be hard drinking, lots of fun, and the expectation of a ruined following day. Very rarely have I spent a full weekend with the guy, and I am now under the recognition that my 27yr old organs can possibly no longer keep up with such irresponsibility and destruction; but for the sake of a great story I suppose it's worth it.

Friday night my roomate Ryan had his next to last night at his bar gig across the street. At the end of his shift they gave him 6 Das-Boots from they're most recent promotions. 6 giant glass shoes for hard core beer drinking. Friday was a short night for me however and after a couple movies and drinks I quietly went to bed, but the boots are freakin' cool.

Saturday morning I woke up, cleaned up, took care of some home business, and started the video game + cocktail early afternoon. 3 drinks in and Dave stops by from work. Davey lives a decent drive to the East of me, but his place of business is next door- as a bug guy. In the mornings he drives to wherever the problem is in a company truck and sprays for roaches, scorpions, spiders, whatever little critter ails your home. So at 2pm he drops by, both of us with empty stomachs, and decide that we should have a few drinks before we start our adventure. 2 drinks a piece and it was off to adventure. But before we hopped into his bug-mobile, a great idea occured to us. Make a cocktail for the road- with a boot. Because before you officially do a little drunk driving you should always pour a giant 54oz vodka and cherry soda to take along with you. Especially whilst driving a company vehicle.

To the road we go, dropping off the bug-truck and then making our way to the Superstition Mountains out East at Dave's place. 54 ounces must have been the perfect amount because the last sip of the boot was finished off just as we pulled into his driveway. Now that we had arrived it was time to grab his girlfriend and go out to the new bar that opened up a few blocks away and have some wings and a burger for dinner. And 2 pitchers of beer. It should be noted here that before I even got to the bar I was feeling quite inebriated and was just drunk enough that I was damn near surprised to see that they were even serving me. Kick ass.

Back to Dave's with a dozen wings in the guts it was back to cocktail time. A friend of Dave and Rachele's showed up and we now have a fresh half gallon of vodka, a fifth of whiskey, and a 12 pack of brews. Normally this would be enough for a weekend's worth of work for a small family of 4 drinkers. Godamn I hate miscalculating. Dave dropped his pants early on and shook his cock about for a great naked shock value joke. Several games of hillbilly golf went down with several drinks. We started a campfire and played some guitar. We told some stories and laughed a little harder as the booze gauge began to burst at the seams. I have mentioned in the past some of the exploits of this household, and one of the knacks you will find at Dave's is that they have costumes- lots and lots of costumes. At some point in every drunk driven evening these costumes will come out, you can bet on it. They have 2 fine ones that are full bodied ketchup and mustard bottles. Awesome.

At some point in the evening Dave and I began to get a little low on smokes and we took the short trip next door to the gas station. Naturally Dave wore a mining light on his head in lieu of a hat- this is normal for Dave whether he is sober or not. Going into a store with Dave is the most unpredicatbly frightening thing you will ever experience, he truly gets off on making clerks piss their pants and does his best to make them just uncomfortable enough that they're worried- but not so uncomfy that they ring the cops. So he starts getting into it with the clerks about how he's trying to start the new 'I'm a miner' look and how convenient it is when you're in a dark place looking for your keys, drink, or whatever. With my face full of blood we got back to Dave's unscathed and when I went into the backyard I could see Dave dragging the infamous lifeguard chair from the Baby Pool Party over to his neighbor's wall. Dave and Rachele do not know this neighbor, all we can tell is that they have had music going all night long. Well, all night may not be the right words here, it is only 8:30PM at this point. For some reason I am just inebriated enough that I agree with Dave's idea and I also climb up the lifeguard chair with him and on the other side of the wall seperating the two yards is a very small, kind-faced Mexican man in his 40's drinking a beer by himself. We got to talking and I invited him over Davey's for a shot of whiskey. In an instant we were all in the kitchen with a strange Mexican man named Miguel doing shots of warm Seagram's together. 1hr later and Miguel was still hanging with us in the backyard.

We began to play Digital Camera Photo Hunt, one of my favorite drunken games where one person demands you get a picture of 'X' and it's your job to be as creative as you can to retrieve said picture. 30 minutes into the game someone (stupid memory...) asked to get a picture of Miguel in a deviled-egg costume. Now I would assume that this is an incredibly difficult task to get a complete stranger in a devilied egg outfit that looks totally rediculous, and have him being ok with a permanent photo of said Mexican. Not at Dave's house. Dave instantly had Miguel convinced, and slapped this terribly goofy giant round white wool costume over the guy, complete with giant yellow yoke on the front, and rounded off with a devil's tail coming out the rear end of it.

Got the photo, and as soon as I get a copy I will share it with you all.

Naturally I got into the costume phase of the night too, got buck naked and jumped into the ketchup bottle outfit. Why the naked thing had to happen I'll never know but I think I was trying to keep up with Dave's earlier random buck nakedness. A few party goers had mentioned wanting some pills, and Miguel came through. He told them that he had a shit ton of Vicadin over his place for some injury he sustained, but if they came over they had to be quiet and not rouse his wife and 5 kids. Dave and Rachele went over, and Miguel dumped an entire fistful of pills in their hands. 4 lonely pills would have been incredibly gracious. 25 may have been exuberant. Down the hatch went the Vikes and now things began to get fuzzy. I generally don't do drugs but will admit that a Vike every now and again has the ability to put a smile on my head. This is not late at night at all yet, but the fuzzy heads of drunk humans consuming 5 Vicadins at a time was taking it's toll. I found Rachele asleep on the chair in the living room, and decided to pick her up and put her to bed. I came back out, had a drink with Dave, and watched him melt onto his concrete patio. Once again I threw an arm around him, picked him up and put him next to Rachele. 30 more minutes and I was sound asleep too- the last thing I recall is realizing that I wanted to sleep in a bedroom not on the couch- but I could only find an air mattress which I drug into the bedroom that 'Cooch'-our 4th partier that evening- was sleeping. I was too hammered to figure out how to find a flat part of the room to land the air mattress so it ended up on such an angle that I couldn't see (why didn't I wear the damn mining light?) so that when I laid down I rolled right off it and face planted onto the ground. Considering to surrender to the carpet I remember that there was an entire other unused bedroom waiting for me. Stupid me. A good night sleep awaited with a little Vicadin demon stroking my head.

Sunday morning came with a night of 8 hours of rest. I was up at 7am. The standard water + aspirin + pancakes + bacon on a post Dave's house evening was taking place. Dave smoked a cigarette and it instantly caused him to vomit in his backyard. I made a few early morning phone calls and when I returned into the house everyone had gone back to bed. I am a trooper though damnit and I don't return to sleep! Football pre shows, setting fantasy football lineups, and eventually Dave woke back up. 10:15 am and it was time to punch the gift horse in the mouth. We inspected the kitchen to find 8 beers. No whiskey. No Vodka. Pound for pound including the drinks Dave and I had at my place and the bar and the boot on the ride over, we drank over an entire gallon's worth of pure booze and a handful of beers. Top that Robert Downey Jr.

Luckily I was once a boy scout and had snuck two flasks into my over night bag filled with vodka, and the cocktailing + football began. After an Eagles win and a Bengals win we were back on the party wagon. Just as the second flask kicked it, a pair of Dave's friends showed up with a 30 pack and a handle of vodka. Then Dave and I managed to get through the majority of a Spirit Merchants set for the meager crowd- but we've played for less! We haven't played in 5 months...it was awesome...

Naturally Dave walked out into the middle of our soire bare ass naked holding his junk in his left hand and smoking a cigarette with his right. At the end of the long Sunday I was starting to fade when the evil hiccups took control of my body. For those of you who know me if there is a hiccup involved in the Greg then lunch is coming up. I now recognize the problem and surrendered to vomiting also in Dave's backyard before the white flag went all the way up and to bed I went, just to wake up to dave at 6am for a lift home across the city. What a friggin weekend.

Stall! Stall!

My apologies to all my readers, work has been crazy and some new 'big brother rules' have been installed but I may have figured out how to get around it! Write from home you say? Nay! I couldn't afford our cable bill they have shutteth me off! Lucky for me everything has been quite drab out here in the desert and sooner than later I'll get the ability back to write daily. You haven't missed anything except for:

-A out of control drunken nazi invading my home
-An incredible 5 day bender that left me staring into God's flashlight 2 seperate times
-A 19 year old mormon begging me to record her in my destroyed studio
-Me destroying my studio
-Another classic but shorter bender leaving me at a Walmart at 7:30am
-The Amish finale back East!
-Me getting the flu! And recouping!
-Ending a fine booze driven night by asking a random drunk Mexican named Jose for a lift home in his crazy super built up Monte Carlo.

Nothing crazy. Stay tuned I'll be back sooner than later- probably tomorrow.

My Pal Ali

I've been fortunate enough to have my good friend Jayson Ali aka "Musi" (Pronounced Muz-zee as in short for Muslim as in the guy looks like a friggin terrorist and Alladin got in a fuck contest) be my director here at the school. He generally represents the weedeity of the department and I represent the boozeity- but do not be fooled my friends! Musi is a spectacular drinker and can often be found with a flask full of fancy vodka in his pocket for the just-in-case situation. Our former partner Dave was always known for his extreme drinking skills also, but could also play ambassador to the vices a bit. When I was playing weekly with The Spirit Merchants, Davey and I's band-which Jayson eventually joined too- Thursday was the show night; making Friday the painful...painful...painful day here at The Conservatory. We would play late, drink for free, and rock until 3 or 4 in the morning weekly. Since those days we have somewhat kept the trait of Thirsty Thursdays or whatever the hell you want to call it; you can often find one of the two troopers remaining with bloodshot eyes and unkempt hair on Friday mornings.

Here is the actual transcript of the IM Jayson sent me this morning first thing:

jaysonalicras: i think i am going to throw up

jaysonalicras: again

GregS CRAS: ?

GregS CRAS: no throwing up

GregS CRAS: you gotta quit being sick on the weekends, you can't call out on the weekend bro

jaysonalicras: lol

GregS CRAS: sick or brown bottle fever?

jaysonalicras: bbf

GregS CRAS: nice lmao

jaysonalicras: went to devils martini last night

jaysonalicras: 2 for 1 drinks

jaysonalicras: plus i know the bartender...

jaysonalicras: bad combo..

GregS CRAS: 4 for 1 Friend Special?

jaysonalicras: for me at least

GregS CRAS: i heart substance abuse

jaysonalicras: lol

Hours later Jay pulled up to my location (he works at our Tempe location and I in Gilbert) and plopped down into my office. Unshaven, hair matted down, sunglasses, I'm sure you know the look. Him and 2 friends went to Devil's Martini, clearly an appropriate name. They left with one car less- it was cab time- and one more in tow, I'm assuming a fantastically hot looking drunk Scottsdale bimbo. After closing the bar down it was off to his friend Chuck's house where the bottles went down and the bongs came up. While Jayson was pulling a handful of tubes and grabbing a bite of pizza, the sounds of a world class drunken screaming coitus session reverberated throughout the home from upstairs. But as most weeknight late night party sessions go, 8:30am was approaching way too fast. Jayson slept for a pair of hours and grabbed a 5am cab back to his car and got back home for a short nap before work. At 8:37am my fine Musi friend opened his eyes to a painful morning in which there was no time for the muchly needed hangover shower. Clothes on and out the door and I'm so happy he did. Sitting in my office looking at his hair it was clear which side he napped on the previous eve. Smelling of Robert Downey Jr., he was aware that at noon he could still be DUI potential as he prepared to leave back for Tempe. Good drinking Jay, good drinkin'.

On his way out our hungover protagonist spies the back right side of his car, and it is no longer flush. A giant foot long dent is embedded into it along side the trunk. Trying to console him we see that in conjunction with the sad hungover mysterious dent is a giant cock written in the dirt on his back window spurting wiener milk out the top like Krakatoa. I love next day mysteries even when they really really suck. And exploding cocks drawn in car windows is always entertaining to me because I am a giant child. Good job Jay, now it's Friday so go bite that summummabitch dog pal!

My Students are Drug Addicts

And thank God for that. Money's been a bit tight lately and tonight I have one of two remaining classes to attend to for a little court case that's been keeping me cheery for the past 7 months. The classes aren't free and are mandatory, and if I don't show it could be jail time for ole Uncle Greg. If I show but don't pay they send me home and it's the ole iron bars too. So last night I knew that the $0.78 in my laughable checking account would not cut it. I also am aware that said class begins right after work and so I have the next 4 hours to figure out how to conjure enough dough, $20-$40. Time to get resourceful.

First stop, time to hock my precious, wonderful Gibson Nighthawk. I love this guitar dearly but the truth is I haven't played it in years. I called up Guitar Center and inquired and was told it'll go between $400-$1k. Electricity Bill here I come baby! Now from what I remember (2 years ago, that's a lot of memories deleted and hazed via substance abuse) this guitar was in prestine condition! So that's what I told them at the GC. Now keep in mind that I also don't have a vehicle thanks to some jerkoffs who thought it would be funny to steal my license plate, so i also need a lift. Called a few friends, no luck. Asked a few peers at work, no dice. I'm not going back to jail over $20 so I humbly started dialing...students that i've gotten close to. Afterall I can always threaten them with a shitty internship or 'mysterious' failing grades! One student, Mr. Poe, lives in the same complex as I do, and I'll be damned it's his day off and he's home. Score. He agreed to pick me up and drive me the 10 miles to Guitar Center, and off we went (after I bummed a ride home from one of the Administration Representatives- godamn I'm a mooch but desperate times come a callin...)

Arriving at Guitar Center I proudly walked in, checked in my axe, and found the guitar tech. Of course I started talking the Nighthawk up, I love this guitar. I unzipped the case and presented my piece, and much to my shock, 'prestine' is not the phrase I would use to describe it. Other adjectives such as 'scratchy,' dirty, 'unpolished,' would be much more appropriate. i still know I can sneak $250 or so out of them. Right? I'm counting on this damned money! After 20 minutes the word came down from the higher ups. Nope. Although the axe still plays like a dream, she isn't the big titted blonde that like to show 'em at the local dive bar she used to be. . I felt totally dejected, like when someone tells you 'Ooooh Greg you can really do better' and you realize that you're dating the nasty girl with bad breath and even though she sucks great cock and tells you she loves you in reality she couldn't finish high school and works at the local fertilization plant. Damn. Well at least I get to keep my baby but the thought of mace wielding officers guarding my bunk every night is starting to make me nervous.

One more guitar shop to go. It's a local establishment, Mom & Pop style. I know that I'm not going to get as much for her, but even $150 will save my nuggets. So Mr. Poe was kind enough to give me a humble lift to shop #2. As we pull up the sign not only is unlit, but there's a fine reassuring sign that this guitar will not be sold proclaiming the words 'LEASE FOR SALE.' Sorry Mr. Poe, I've bummed a ride all over the city for nothing. I kindly offered to put $0.78 worth of gas in his ride and he declined. A new problem is developing also, and that problem's name is nicotine. Including my lust for Fleishman's Vodka is also a lovely addiction to smokes and the meter is reading two left. Back to the couch to regroup.

Eye spying my apartment a wall of Xbox games caught my sight. Now last time I sold a chunk of games I got about 12 bones for 15 games. Resale on old shitty games is not so hot despite the fact that I think that Worms Armageddon is a priceless piece of modern entertainment. So I painfully bagged up 13 games in hopes of at least getting enough for a surrendering pack of smokes and a bum bottle of Popov to drown the failing sorrows into. With no ride available now I hoofed it to the local video store and was told by the clerks that the 'gaming dude' isn't there. Jesus what a killer string of crap luck. But the deitys of luck are still out there and can be found with a little bit of time, effort, and resourcefulness. I opened the bag up at the counter and asked the guys if there's anything they could do for me anyhow. Thanks God these dudes are nerds, they liked the games, made a call to the stoned up gamer dude, and in what I imagine was a haze of thick smoke told them to just give me $2 a game. For anyone that's tried to hock games before you know that that is well overpaying for games that came out years ago. $28!! Even better the clerk told me "Fuck it dude we'll round it up to $40 to make sure we're not ripping you off Mr. Stefus." I love these guy's arithmetic! I damn near tipped the dude- damn near.

So I needed $20, $40 would have been perfect, but the need for smokes was taking control and I was willing to take the risk in hopes of a little leeway from my class counselor. So I've gone from hopeless to potential celebration mode, from Popov's to Fleishman's!! It's not really an upgrade but it is the truth. I took my Chevrolegs to the grocery store and skipped home like a guy who just scored $40 and was about to have an unexpected cocktail and smoke. Sweet! A happy Greg sat at home enjoying what was likely the last few hours of cable before it gets shut off anticipating the new South Park episode whenst a knock begat my door. Mr. Poe had returned with his brother, both with beers in hand, and invited me out to the pub next door. Already feeling guilty for spending money on booze that should have been saved for substance abuse counseling I declined- until they told me the beers and billiards was on them. I'm in.

PRELUDE STORY- 7 weeks ago my girlfriend decided she didn't want to drink anymore and wanted to smoke green leafs instead to avoid the hangover. That lasted for 4 days, but the bag of horticulture still existed in my freezer.

The bar was the bar, cold beer, good company, the usual. Now I've been partying with students after a harsh evening of despair, cheers to success! But at 11pm I knew responsibilities were calling me, I had class in the morning with these dudes and I'll be damned if I'm going to show the weakness of a hangover to students I've been drinking with. Mr. Poe offered me a ride home and on the way him and his friend discussed how they wish they had some devil lettuce to partake in. Come on up boys. $20 more in my pocket and one baggie of sticky stuff less, I'm buzzed, I'm up $60 on the evening, I have the full $40 for class, and I officially sold naughty lawn to my own students. Morals? Not for me officer, I don't keep ethics round here!

Don't judge me, -G

The Amish Have Amazing Hands

Last evening a wonderful friend of mine, we'll call her Michele to protect her identity, gave me a ring for a long overdue how-the-hell-are-ya phone call. We've both been busy and now that my traveling to Philly and NYC are over with her traveling is beginning. Amongst her's include a vacation to a very relaxing hippied out trip to the fine if not lame state of Vermont, a work trip to the incredible if not gay San Francisco, and a trip to the beautiful if not terribly shitty smelling city of Lancaster PA, Amish capital of the world. Lancaster has many delights, including the esteemed Auntie Anne's Pretzel College, proving once and for all that they're not only delicious but surely cult driven.

The Amish were once a proud, simple people, but it seems that over recent years their fine name has become tainted. Here's just a few news clips: (These are absolutley real)

-Arlie ******** was busted in a rare sting when an undercover agent bought raw milk from the Amish dairy farmer in an unlabeled container.

-Two young Amish men have pleaded guilty to conspiring to sell cocaine to young members of their community and could face up to 40 years in prison for their crimes...The two men bought cocaine from a Philadelphia area motorcycle gang called the Pagans, then sold the drugs to Amish youth groups.

Check out this line from a recent book about the Amish: "In some ways, the Amish trouble us, even torment us. We worry that without modern technology, higher education, the latest fashions, and unfettered freedom that they can be as happy as us."

With all the unchecked raw milk, undercover agents, motorcycle gangs, and cocaine issues (no wonder they can get those barns built so quickly) it's no surprise that Americans are starting to get wary of our bearded funny named friends in Pennsylvania. Some change had to have been made to protect their good name, and my friend Michele seems to have found it. An outlet to do good for the community, boost the local AND Amish community, and also find a way to release some of the terrible sexual tension those poor dusty genitals must deal with. AMISH DAY SPAS.

Go head and treat yourself to prove that I'm not totally full of shit and do a search online. Before I began writing this I was looking for an angle, and after searching google for "Amish Day Spas" I realized I didn't need one. There are HUNDREDS! Best tag line for any of them for those of you who know the Amish accent is "SAY 'SPAHH' IN MERCER COUNTY'S WORLD-CLASS DAY SPAS!" The comedic value of this is priceless. Picture a stout Amish gentelman in his mid-twenties straddling your favorite lady friend massaging her back with a 5 foot butter churning rod right after asking her if she'd like the emulsion treatment on her face. Love it. "Oh Ezekiel it feels so good, can you work my shoulders next?" God bless the concept, those burly farmer hands must be a sure-fire hit for the women-folk! Hot wax therapy you ask? No shortage of candle architecture here! I'm concerned that the vichi shower would likely be a boron scrub, those Amish do like to keep it from the land...and the haircut and style might not be the most exciting for East coast lookin', but that complimentary black cap will fix 'er right up.

Keep in tune for in a short couple weekends I'll have the full story and I'm SURE it can't be anything less than hilarious. Michele I'm waiting for the phone to ring! So throw your car down the road at ya and heavy at the spa you go!

1308

I believe that the saying is 'A true alcoholic can always find a way to get booze.' My roomate and I were just that alcoholic yesterday. It's been a rough month with being in Philly for a week and NYC for another, that's a great chunk of missed work. Bills are piling up and the bottom of the barrel has more than approached at this point. However shitty chains of events call for certain actions, and those actions come in bottles.

I get back from NYC to find that some dickhole has stolen the license plate off of my car. The bills have their own bills now, and the collectors are well into my ass at this point. My girl has broken up with me 4 times since I've been home (this is actually somewhat normal but it's still super stressful), and last night my ride bailed on me stranding me at work after I got my balls chewed into by some cunt of a mother of one of my students.

I am thirsty.

I also have the knowledge that I have $0.38 in the ole bank account and but one 5 spot in the wallet. I also have a bucket of pennies in the office and a small change jar at home. The mission is to get 2 good boozehounds drunk, and retain enough cigarettes to sustain both of us through it all. Ryan picked my late ass up from work with bucket 'o pennies in tow. First stop- the mailbox. We'll call it quality check, you never know when some kind family member sent out 20 bones just to say they were thinking about you and missed you. This can be the difference between a night of Thunderbird or a night of Chablis. Quality Check: Mailbox negative. But we were determined. Ryan found a small handful of change in his room and I grabbed my little jar and it was off to spend 8.9 cents on the dollar at the Coinstar!

We hit the road to the local Fry's and were snuffed out by shit luck. Coinstar needed a helping key from the manager and damnit we just didn't have that kind of time! So we went next door- to the other Fry's- God I love Arizona mass community planning- and on the way there we scored! Ryan had purchased a buy one get one free Parliament Light pack and had forgotten about the second pack in the door panel! Things are looking good and the booze diety's are smiling upon us so far.

$13.08. That's the magical Coinstar number.

To the booze section! Fleischman's Vodka 750ml on sale at $6.99. One liter of bargain tonic- $0.69. Ry to top it all off and make it close- Bud Light 32 oz'ers 2 for $5. We knew it was gonna be close but we braved the checkout line anyway. Beep beep beep beep the numbers kept increasing and we were damn near at $16 when I pulled out the last trick we had up our sleeves. The Fry's Super Shopper Discount Card. With one swipe of the magical black strip the numbers dropped back down, to $13.08 on the digits! It felt like winning the poverty stricken lil' booze lottery. This was going to be the tastiest hobo swill ever.

And now I write to you, my dear friends, with just a tinge of a cheap vodka hangover. Just what I was hoping for. Cheers!

From the Microphone to the Grave

Well I have made my return home to Arizona and now the blog. This is Monday of the first full week of work I've had in 3 weeks and I'm not looking forward to it. NYC was incredible, and my partner nor myself were never in real danger of getting arrested which was nice - and a first. Not to say we didn't break the law at all, believe you me there were plenty of alcohol, drug, and indecency charges that could have been filed. But no real danger.

The best story I came home with was our friend's at Blue Microphone, an excellent mic company. I met up with Eric from Blue on Saturday night and asked him how his booth was on the showroom floor. He told me that they had sent out 5 pieces to their booth from LA to NYC- but only 4 arrived. Imagine trying to show off all your new gear and software to potential clients and peers at the largest conference for your industry, but you're missing 20% of your equipment. That next morning at 4am they got a phone call from the lobby telling Blue that they had a package awaiting for them at their booth. In an empty dark room at The Javit's Center huge convention room floor, in front of Blue Microphone's booth- was a coffin. With dead body in tow.

Someone at DHL or UPS or whatever they used to send their packages must have mixed up the labels trading 'Ole Uncle Billy for a bran new Blue Woodpecker Microphone. Must've been a funny lookng urn. I know you want to feel bad for the family, but what about the dude who found the coffin by himself in a dark huge room at 4:30am? That shit would put me in therapy. I did recommend that he take a rival manufacturer's product and put it in the dead guys hand, then post a sign that says 'Bob used "X" Microphones,' but Eric then mentioned something about poor taste.

I did get to meet Les Paul and got a pic with him (see above), but no Bon Jovi. In fact I think that my boss misheard and it was Bongiovi or perhaps Englebert Humperdinck. I did see Boone from Anaimal House who is now on NBC's 'Damages', and I think I had a Snoop Dogg sighting too. NYC is a crazy place, lot's of walking. I drank all I could drink, ate all I could eat, and still I returned in better shape and a couple lbs. lighter. The last thing I learned was that trains rule. After playing tourist a little bit with the folks who joined me on our last day up, we took the train back towards Philadelphia. Amtrak was fast, comfy, and easy- the only thing simpler was the subway system in NYC which is nothing to be afraid of. It does smell a little bit like pee and sure you'll run into a few creeps but that's part of the fun of it. It was a quick reminder that vacation was over when I get home at 8am to go to work for the first time in a week and some jerkoff stole my license plate off my car. So no driving for Uncle Greg. Then I get to work and a client wants my head cuz one of my jerkoff students walked off the gig without so much as a 'Fuck you prick!' So it's back to the grind again, and I'm looking forward to another week of adventure.

This weekend was doused in a little vodka, the Diamondbacks proving they are not the better team this year as they slip to 3 games down to none, my girlfriend losing her keys somewhere in Chandler leading to a romantic early morning hungover hike around town, another hike over to a Chinese Buffet, and a dog park. Nice, quiet, & lame, which is just what I needed after the self punishment of last weekend. Welcome back me.

Flying Pill Box

Wed Oct 3rd

Well I should be somewhere over the Midwest by now on my way to the fine state of New Jersey. The usual late night laundry packing session went on flawlessly followed by a very short night’s sleep, one of my trademarks before getting on one of these airborne pill boxes. I’m on US Airways this time, and it’s just the same as every other airline I’ve flown. Shitty. I understand making the most out of your time and space when it comes to business economics, but when a city bus flat out ROCKS you In the comfort department I think it’s time to make some changes. In fact I ENJOY the city buses. And if you’ve been to Phoenix you know that the public transport is thin out our way, and the city bus is reserved for only the desperate and the ruined; but hell that adds to the personality of it. I’m pretty deft at striking up a conversation but not with the dullards you find on a cross country flight. That’s one of the beauties of flying Southwest for me- find yourself the best group of boozehounds and try to end up in line next to them, it’ll make for a much more entertaining flight in comparison to being the 14C gamble; which is where I’m sitting at right now.
I do commend the steward staff though. They have to put up with these ungodly dregs day in and out. I wonder if they fall asleep every night swearing that if they have to watch Evan All Mighty one more time they’ll eat the next bullet they can scrum up. I hear that Continental still serves chow on most flights as part of the flight. If I want a delectable egg sammich off this cart that will surely smash into my arm here in the next two minutes (fucking aisle seat) it’s going to run my ass $7. How is it that these seats were designed that my extremely undersized freak show shoulders can’t be within the boundaries of the seat? I would say that most of the ladies I know in this world have a wider shoulder berth than I do, what kind of fucking jerk off would do this to his fellow man?
Ah well soon I’ll be dining in a fine Jewish deli and then desert at an NYC Sake bar where I doubt I’ll be bitching about much. My roommate did try to rub it in that he scored tickets to a Tuaca Party; Tuaca by the way is my favorite I could live off the stuff for days. Well probably just hours, it’s no sippin tea if Uncle Greg has a glassful. But the Tuaca party is a body paint party, so he’ll be hangin with a bunch of hot nude lasses drinking my favorite before during and after dinner drink come Sunday. Maybe there was a tinge of jealousy, but somehow when I’m partying in Times Square with company credit card in hand and no real budget to adhere to I think that jealousy will be checked at the door to the nearest VIP club. But for now I’m just going to focus on that Jewish deli, because even that $7 egg sammich sounded tempting. Mmmmmmmmmmm airline mayo…

NYC Here Greg Goes

Well it's off to New York tomorrow morning for the Audio Engineering Society conference. By now I've been to a handful of these style of conventions, and this is my second AES. These soirees are bizarre little parties. Most in my industry are high level nerds with a passion for showing off and bragging. Add an infinite amount of booze and you have a very interesting mix of humans.


We just got word in today that on Friday Jayson and I will be partying at the legendary Avatar Studios for their 30th anniversary. With Bon Jovi. Cool. Last year we got to party with Steve Miller, the dude from T-Rex, and Billy Gibbons from ZZ Top in San Francisco. My goal this year is I'd like to at least meet Les Paul and at best take the man out to dinner. So I'm packing my best pocket protectors and massaging my liver, the party starts at 9:30am!


Ignoring all the cool recording studio parties, famous faces, kick ass hotel room in Times Square (I'm staying at The Crowne Plaza Times Square http://www.manhattan.crowneplaza.com/ Check it out!) I'm really looking forward to hanging out in New York. I spent 22 years in Philadelphia and for some bizarre reason never bothered to make the trip. Last time my department made the trip they got to witness pot delivery services complete with business cards and menus, but minus me. I don't know what to expect but I can assume late nights, lack of sleep, tons of liquid debauchery, and some good ole fashion East Coast livin'!


We've been invited to some cool studio parties, another one that I'm stoked about is Electric Lady Studios in The Village. Electric Lady is literally the studio that Jimi Hendrix built after receiving his recording bill the year before he passed away. He built the studio to avoid racking up more expensive bills, and died a few months after building completion. BBQ at World Wide Audio, Quad, Legacy, and a fistful of other legendary NYC studios.


Last year we did San Francisco which was way way cool, and the big comparison I'm interested in making between the two recording hubs is the crackheads. SF had some of the most amazing, captivating, and best dancing drug addicts I have ever seen. One of them approached my team and sang us the Roto-Rooter theme song before declaring to us and the cafe we were at and the world we live in that he had in fact just shit himself. Can you top that New York? I've already been instructed by several studio managers on the phone today to make sure that I keep my wallet in the front pocket of my pants, which was a quick blatant reminder that many studios are located in the hood, could my first mugging also be during this coming week of recklessness? Well go company dime go, I heart company credit cards. Me getting mugged would be the likeness of raping the elderly, it's still rape but it'd be pretty fruitless. Depending on what you're into I suppose. See you in New Jersey, Newark here I come!

The BPP Finale

Well that was everything I assumed it was going to be. The BPP was a smash success! The day started early beause I am a procrastinator and had prepared for the BPP with only ideas. My roomate Ryan and I decided to go with the Porn Pool over the last second idea Palsey Pool which included putting our wheelchair Zippy in the center of our pool. Our first obstacle was getting a pool. Swimming season is almost over out here in Arizona, so we got the bad news that WalMart and Target had no baby pools for sale. So I hit the horn and found a swimming pool specialty store and scored. They had just put a 4' baby pool on clearance for the off season. Score! $15 later and we had our pool. $8 porn mag from the liquor store around the corner. $10 in condoms, platic sleeves, and equipment to make a sign. $3 in chicken fingers at the deli (I was starving). And we had the makings of a porn pool. Also in our arsenal was a tube of Anal Eaze, a fist full of beads, a dildo, and an S&M whip; all of which came from my house from my personal stash, which was a quick reminder to myself of what a pervert I am. Yay me.

The first thing of note was the huge life guard chair in the center of the yard. It had crucifixtion sized nails sticking out all over the place and the design was complete fly by night. Awesome. Dave said he built a full sized life guard chair, but you take these things with a grain of salt. Good job buddy. Then team Porno Pool's arts and crafts began. A wonderful humbling experience is defined when you're cutting out hard core pornography and stuffing it into protective plastic sleeves in your buddies living room while guests you've never met before are entering the party. Try starting up a conversation with a member of the opposite sex you don't know while cutting out a 9" cock held in place by 2 huge fake tits. Blew the pool up, designed the sign, laid out the beads, dropped in the Anal Eaze, unwrapped a couple of condoms, wrapped one around the dildo, it was magical. The dildo sank tip first to the bottom of the pool but the hind end FLOATED! Like a diving stick in mature-people-pools! To top it all off, the cherry on the sundae, the Anal Eaze FLOATED! So when we were filling the pool with water the current from the hose made the butt lube fly around the little 4' pool, it was awesome. Hell YES! Sadly once it was at max capacity we discivered it had 2 little holes in it, side by side. So the porno pool was leaking and had a pair of holes, and I thought that kind of made it a little more pornoesque, so I was okay with it.

So here's the layout, the competition. A pirate pool. It was purchased, as is, so there was no add on creative extras. It was a dope pool though, complete with a water cannon and a slide, it dwarfed my little porno pool. The Rennaissance Era Pool was just a black tub, it looked like a horse trough. The provider claimed it was like taking a bath in 1862; I think the owner hadn't picked up a history book in a while. Ah the chronological science of a drunk. And Davey and crew provided the 4th pool, the Oktoberfest Pool! Dave had to work in the morning, so it was up to his teamates Rachele and Chris to decorate it. At 8:30 AM Dave gets a call fromthe ladies asking where a good place for bloody marys would be. The decor was bypassed for the need to intake tomatoe and vodka first thing in the morning, so it was just a plastic blue Oktoberfest-less pool, but the team dressed the Oktoberfest part well so that counts for a chunk of points. The 5th team couldn't find a baby pool for purchase, so he showed up in a pirate outfit to overtake other people pools, unknowing that a team of 4 had already established the pirate garb. However in team 5's defense he was a bad ass looking pirate. I however was unaware that this was a dress up party along with the whole dressed up pool thing, though in hind site I probably could have put 2 and 2 together; I just totally missed a sweet opportunity to dress up like a porn star, damn!

So the beer drinking began, and the usually keg o beer stuff starts taking place. Then a bucket of chalk was found and the grafiti began. Dave asked the crowd to please write the most awful thing you could think of on his walls and patio. "I heart racism, the holocaust is a joke, Jay (Team #5 and Pakistani) will steal you plane, Jews are all rich, white people have lots of stuff, If she's older than 15 I'm not interested, etc, etc." You got it Dave. I somehow doubt any responsible guests will be invited over to the Harper compound anytime soon, but then again somehow I doubt that that compound knows too many overly responsible humans. Dave finally kicked off the waterworks by putting on a pair of flippers and Jacque Cousteau-ing it into the Pirate Pool where Rachele and Jen were getting their feet wet. Appropriately 2 cups of beer were immediately dumped on his head. The party went as parties go, beer beer beer beer beer hillbilly golf, washers, and finally the usual surprise at 8:30 when the keg kicked and it was beer run time. 3 and a half cases of beer were rescued from the local Mart and the party was saved. There were no terrible injuries, everyone got hammered, and there was plenty of porn for all to see.

-Side note: upon the tedious task of picking out the perfect porn mag my teamate said that we have to make sure we get both kinds of porn so we have plenty of cock and plenty of tits for the mixed audience. I had to calmy remind him that straight porn contains both key elements all in one neat little nude package.

The BPP Prelude

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The Pong Crew

Well it's day two back to work after a vacation of wedding-ness, hot-tubs, friends, family, exceesive amounts of booze, hangovers more oppressive than chillin' with the Iranian president at a putt-putt golf course, whizzin' on floors, and attempted man on man accidental lovin. I guess that's where I'll start so it's documented. As my good friend Bill has stated in a recent email just now, Non is the blackout king. Dave, Non and I polished off a whopping 76 beers with a sliver of help from my girlfriend Joan. This does not include the handful of forsty ones inhaled at the bar earlier on this fine Tuesday. Generally I don't drink in this style anymore, but when you're hanging out with a few great old friends at the old college party house, sometimes binge chugging is called for and if there ever was three dudes to answer that call, Dave Non and I will be there to heed.

Ping Pong to the laymen is a simple recreational game reserved for YMCA's, rec rooms, and prison. To the three of us ping pong is s sacred ritual of alcohol abuse, and if you get close enough to our posse, it's damn near a right of passage. It has been literally years since I've played, and even more years since I've played with this particular crew of 3. 90 beers in the fridge the rituals began. Ping Pong lead to Volley Pong, Volley Pong led to Beer Pong, and finally Beer Pong led to Beer Die.

If you're unfamiliar with the fine game of Beer Die, look it up, but I warn you, there is no game that I know of that is more punishing, more destructive, more frightening to the organs of humans, than Beer Die.

I could tell you stories of the sport, of bringing the fiercest drinkers I know to their knees, but that's not what this post is about. This post is about Non; one of the fiercest drinkers I know by the way, and one of the ones who I have previously seen kneel down, get naked, vomit on oneself, and pass out from the mighty hand of this Thor of a game. Non sat out the first match and played the second- that's all it took. Now I don't want Non to come off as a pussy either, I mean before the game even got going we had already run a gauntlet of pro beer drinking contests for a solid 6 hours. But for the second time I've seen it, Beer Die swung it's mighty barley soaked hammer and squarley embedded it into my good friend's skull. Non gave the almighty stagger, stammer, stutter, mumbled something about having to go to bed, and waddled up the steps. White flag up, one man out, and mine was also to end shortly. A third game and Dave and I were done too.

Dave went up to his room where Non was also sleeping- Dave has two beds in his room, a floor bed set up and his own, across from each other. Non is sprawled between the two in a matter that Dave cannot get to bed. Dave does the kindly thing as opposed to kicking Non in the ribs until awakeness occurs and picks him up and places him on the floor bed. According to reports Non never missed a snore. Hours later, half in a coma, Dave awakens to the sound of running water in his bedroom, and of course it's Non pissing. One hand on the wall like a good drunk does, and whether it's true or not I'd like to believe that he was moaning too. A man can dream, right? Dave looked over and chose the ignorance is bliss route, sometimes good drunken sleep is more important than a man pissing on your bedroom floor. Ziiiiiiiip and it's back to bed for Non. Non staggered back to bed, bed went right when he should've gone left, and attempted to get in bed with Dave. As Dave shoved him back and away, Non's face only read "Why didn't the bed let me pass out in it like it usually does?" Another attempt failed thanks to the quick homophobic hand of Dave, and another look of confusion on Non's face. Another shove landed the poor guy in his own bed just feet away and this is wear my vacation ended, just hours before the flight home.


Generally in these writings I will try and stick with stories about me, sadly for Non and Dave my little life has been less than exciting since just 2 days ago, so cheers guys, you get the first post. Meanwhile for me it's a long day of work, substance abuse classes, finding $20 hopefully in an old jacket pocket, and AA. Followed by a few drinks at the bar.