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.