As a youngster I would go for dinner at my grandparents house at least once a week. My Italian grandmother was an amazing cook and made some of the most glorious feasts (her lentil soup and pot roast can never be duplicated). After dinner we would retire to the family room to watch some Golden Girls. I recall my grandmother laughing hysterically at Sophia on a regular basis. Maybe it was because they had similar personalties. Or that they were both Italian. Or they were both five feet tall, one hundred pounds and intimidating as hell. Whatever it was, Estelle Getty will always hold a special place in my heart for being able to continually crack my grandmother's iron resolve.

Labels: death, family, nostalgia, pop culture

• For those with an aversion to evacuating their bowels in the in the woods, I present you the shit box.
• I like it when my pay-per-view smut is uncomplicated. This digital cable menu reminds me of my trip to Vegas when Wil and EZ were going through the Spank Vision listings. We stopped giggling like middle school girls huffing ether when we landed the she-male feature With or Without.
• It has to be tough living in Alex P. Keaton's shadow and all, but damn Andy, settle the fuck down. I long for the day when my friend working in the Boulder County DOC splits Andy Keaton's skull with a nightstick for getting "mouthy" in lock up.
  

Labels: boulder, ez, link goodness, poop, porn, sg crew, vegas, wil

The Women of Starbucks I supported because we all have that barista in our lives that make our mornings bearable with a cute smile and some fantastic breasts. The Women of Enron I rallied behind because Enron screwed a lot of its employees out of their retirement savings and, hey; nude business chicks! The Women of Home Depot I half-heartedly accepted as I once saw a semi-attractive female working in the lumber department at my neighborhood store and I may have been interested in seeing her naked if liquored up properly and nothing good was on television. The Women of Olive Garden I cannot and will not get behind due to the fact I have never seen an attractive female employee in my limited experience with the chain. An overweight, single mother with bad hair and a marinara-stained shirt on the other hand...

Labels: boobs, chicks, coffee, pop culture, porn

The pussy collective has developed into two well-honed killing machines. In the past three weeks I have disposed of three birds which has brought the kitty's confirmed kill tally to seven and a half (I received credit for two assists on the birds I had to close out with the back end of a shovel). Our cats have now refocused their murderous rampage on newer victims; bunnies. The past two evenings, the pussy collective has brought a bunny to the back door squirming in each one of their mouths. Have you ever heard a cute and timid bunny rabbit scream in agony? Much like the Madonna song La Isla Bonita, it is something you can never un-hear. The pussy collective has established their dominance in the wilds of our suburban neighborhood via the Way of Chuck Darwin. I will keep disposing of bodies, my sweet kittens, as long as you keep those rabbits from grazing on the freshly-seeded patch of lawn in the corner of the yard.

Labels: killing, kitty, pop culture, science, the greens

Two years ago today you foolishly took my hand in marriage. During that time, I have been unemployed twice (1, 2), made the neighbors suspect I was beating you when yelling "You dirty bitch!" at the computer while designing a website, bulged a disc, come home late countless nights from post-hockey drinking benders, continued my subscription to numerous men's smut magazines, remained dutifully absent from all Monday night plans during the fall/winter to drink with my Fantasy Football buddies, run down a couch on the highway and have never let you hold the television remote in my presence. In short, you are still the amazing, accepting and funny person that I fell in love with. I appreciate you more with each passing day and I love you just like Extreme; More Than Words. Happy second anniversary, honey. It is the cotton anniversary so let us pick up some righteous sheets that make it feel as if we were sleeping atop a marshmallow cloud. Or we can save our money and just get a giant box of maxi pads. Those commercials make them look like giant stingrays swimming. Just saying.

Labels: drinking, feelings, hockey, l-i-v-i-n, open letter, sg crew, wedding, wife

It is videos such as these that make me long for a time when MTV actually played music videos. A time when the Participation Ribbon Generation was not responsible for subjugating creative video ingenuity to an ancillary channel on digital cable in lieu of reality programming that long ago withered and died on the vine (please give me yet another reality show about former reality stars competing in the ultimate reality competition in order to win fabulous prizes that said former reality stars do not deserve). A time when Downtown Julie Brown and Kari Wuhrer filled my adolescent brain with impure desires. A time when one could easily cross the cultural void by watching Yo! MTV Raps and the Headbangers Ball in the same sitting. MTV sold out long ago and nothing short of a topless Audrina Partridge doing the Ed Lover Dance atop Spencer Pratt's dead body will make me cool with it.

Labels: music, nostalgia, pop culture

• Hannah Montana penis candy.
• "Raised to be tough" guy also not raised to lose drinking contests.
• Some scientists are claiming that for the first time in human history, the North Pole will be free of ice of this summer. If we can retroactively measure the North Pole ice pack back through Prehistory, then we should be able to stop Tila Tequila.
  

Labels: drinking, link goodness, pop culture, science, stupidity

Me: How is Dubai, my man?
Nick: It is a foreign country with Russian hookers and pirate DVD salesmen. How is Denver?
Me: About the same.
Nick: Ha!

Labels: denver, im convos, nick

DJ: Jesus in French fry format.
Me: The Son of God looks delicious!
DJ: Willy Porter does a song called "Jesus on the Grill" but he is talking about the grill of a truck...
Me: ...not a grill with a rack of ribs?
DJ: Right.
Me: Brings a whole new meaning to transubstantiation. I took a lot of communion as a young indoctrinated Catholic and if Jesus tasted like a brisket and French fries? I might not have strayed so far from the church.
DJ: "I am hungry! When is church?"
Me: Totally.
DJ: You could tell how good the barbecue was at a church by the size of the congregation.
Me: We could start the Church of the Holy Barbecue.
DJ: Or at the very least a restaurant called A Religious Experience.
Me: Where all the wait staff is dressed like Jesus during the crucifixion and instead of blood they are slathered in...
DJ: ...barbecue sauce?
Me: Yes! They slap down a pork sandwich in front of you and say, "The swine of Christ."
DJ: Ha!
Me: Oh man. I just had a really fucked up thought. Have a guy dressed up as Abraham, give him a sacrificial knife and have him bring a newborn baby out to a table. Just when he gets ready to slaughter the baby have the Mexican kitchen manager yell from the back of the restaurant (like the voice of God), "No Mas!" Then Abraham picks up the baby all nurturing and loving and says to the patrons, "Only kidding! Have some more brisket!"
DJ: Wow. You are right. That was fucked up.

Labels: dj, food, im convos, religion

With Hillary either conceding this weekend or waiting for an Obama assassination attempt, it looks like the impending presidential election will feature John McCain (R) against Barack Obama (D) and some third party hacks that are not relevant because they did not have enough money to run a competitive presidential campaign. As a declared independent, I find myself smack dab in the middle of the two major parties on most of the relevant political issues. I like to pay as little taxes as possible. I support gun ownership. I support re-separating the church from the state. I am fine with legal immigrants speaking Spanish, stealing jobs and paying taxes on their income. I am fine with women having the choice to kill their unborn children. I believe that global warming has little to do with human influence and is just a natural part of Earth's climate cycle. And lastly, I support establishing a democratic regime in Iraq that is friendly to United States economic interests. Blood for oil? Goddamn right. Spill more blood for oil, I say. Oil is freedom. Oil is the American way. It fuels vehicles, planes, truck fleets and riding lawnmowers. It brings food, living supplies, mobility and convenience to my doorstep. Why would I not want to protect that? Fight the good fight, troops. What ever peace mongering hippy yells "No Blood For Oil" at you is probably driving a Subaru Outback (which gets 20 miles to the gallon), shopping at Whole Foods (which gets their inventory transported in by long haul truckers getting 11 miles to the gallon), supports feeding the homeless (yet lives in a community with anti-panhandling laws) and complains about lackluster education (yet home schools their children or sends them to private institutions) should be dutifully ignored. So who do I vote for? An old war dog that wants to get his work down by the early afternoon so he can catch a quick nap before the early bird at the Sizzler? Or a slick, youthful, used car salesman that never really offers me a viable solution to any problem? Mix in everything I just posted with the fact that I have an intense distrust for politicians and government and here I am. Let the games begin!

Labels: politics, war