Christmas came and went like my first college girlfriend; happy and magical in the beginning but quickly degenerating into a miserable coma-like limbo where my emotions froze and my body metabolized alcohol with the efficiency of a Nazi general. I made out with holiday gifts like two groping teenagers in a PG-13 movie. Aside from a pile of clothing and art supplies, I received high-ticket items from my lady (digital camera) and the parents (barbecue grill) and a most excellent scotch sampler from Jake (as I type this I am enjoying a nice glass of Oban). Posts in the next few weeks will be scant as I knock out a freelance gig, sexify the MB for 2005, snowshoe, play in a hockey tournament, polish off a scotch sampler and generally enjoy my time off from work. Peace on earth and all that shit. And fuck you, tsunamis.

Labels: drinking, hockey, jake, wife, xmas

My boss just gave me a bottle of Greg Norman Estates Shiraz 2002 for the holidays. I am assuming the Shark makes a pretty mean wine despite his colossal chokes in major tournaments. When it comes to wine I honestly do not know what is good and what is not (my experiences are limited to thumb hole jugs of Riunite and the assorted boxed blends of Franzia). It is time to break out the good glasses, honey. Daddy is bringing home some Christmas wine.

Labels: data slaughterhouse, drinking, sports, wife, xmas

Today in Colorado, the wind is as strong as a three hundred pound bull dyke high on angel dust being chased by the police. Jake has volunteered his comments section for your best blowing metaphors. My lady's Dad (an engineer working on the Rocky Flats Closure Project) informed us that the site is on lock down and all work has been suspended indefinitely due to dangerous gusts that have shattered windows and made a general mess of things.

Labels: colorado, jake, wife, wind

Jake: Breakaway glass.
Me: We need to get some of that. Then you can come over to my cubicle and say you do not like my designs and I will smash a bottle on the table and say, "Now I got to cut you."
Jake: Yes. We could get in a fight in the parking lot and throw whiskey bottles at each other.
Me: That would be awesome. We would have to make a scene in the office first. "You fucked my sister!"
Jake: "How was I supposed to know she was a stripper?"
Me: "Fuck you!"
Jake: "I was asleep anyway!"
Me: *flings a salad plate
Jake: *plate explodes against the wall
Me: "Outside, bitch!"
Jake: We will probably need some fake blood, too.
Me: Totally.

Labels: fighting, im convos, jake, tomfoolery

Sixty pound tumors, beating down old ladies with raw lumber and attacking Jesus statues with axes.

Labels: disease, random, xmas

In high school I listened to thrash metal almost exclusively. I considered Pantera to be the quintessential hardcore band (even overlooking their three pussy metal albums before the big thrash breakthrough Cowboys From Hell). They took hold of my immature teenage mind and led me to believe that punching people in the face was cool, tattooing "Unscarred" on your stomach illustrated that how tough you were and serenading a lady with the song This Love was the most efficient way to win her heart.* Back then I would have been downtrodden if Phil Anselmo and the boys broke up, but I doubt I would have dealt with my grief by firing six bullets at point blank range into Dimebag's head.

* During my sophomore year I made a mix tape that included This Love for my girlfriend, Crystal. I believed that she would enjoy the song and award me originality points for its placement amongst the cacophony of hair band ballads. Our relationship was over by summer's end (upon my discovery of cheap liquor and loose women) and I assumed the mix tape became a relationship casualty of war. Fast-forward eight years into the future to Crystal's wedding. While dancing with her during the traditional dollar dance, she mentions to me that she still has the This Love mix tape. Yeah, it is that easy.

Labels: death, glory days, music, pop culture

Today marks the 63rd anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. My great uncle Al was in the harbor during the attack and survived. Most of his shipmates and friends died that day. He went on to serve on another battleship (the name of which escapes me but he eloquently called it "A goddamn tin can"), fought at Guadalcanal and witnessed the famous/bogus flag raising at Iwo Jima. Uncle Al never gave me lectures on freedom nor filled my head with idealistic notions of patriotism. The only advice he ever offered me was to appreciate every day and maintain a good sense of humor. Sound advice from a man with a half-naked hula girl tattooed on his forearm.

Labels: family, history, war

The devil may be in the details but Jesus is in the X-Rays.

Labels: religion, tomfoolery

A term I just coined: whore wash. Inspired by Top Gun when Maverick flew into Iceman's jet wash and sent his F-16 into an uncontrollable tailspin thus resulting in the severe head trauma and death of his wingman Goose. Whore wash is when you walk through a woman's cheap perfume vapor trail causing the temporary overload of all olfactory senses.

Usage: When exiting the elevators after lunch today, I walked through a serious whore wash.

Labels: pop culture, whores

Before going on a three-day bender, get a babysitter. Better yet, do not have any children. Without responsibilities and another life to take care of, you can wallow in your selfish existence, hang out in garbage-infested alleys and smoke the rock until your heart explodes.

Labels: drugs, stupidity