The sparsely posted on MB was experiencing some down time while Jake configured servers and did some technical shit that you probably did not care about nor appreciated. The website is back online now upon meeting with a therapist and listening to its Cure music library.

Labels: geekery, jake, music

A recipe for Guinness ice cream. Before that tattooed freak Jake turned the wife and I on to Guinness Floats (two scoops of vanilla ice cream and one pint of Guinness Stout) at the Exchange Tavern one hazy evening, I would have cringed at the thought of a Guinness-based ice cream. Now all I have to say is, "Fuck yes."

Labels: decadence, drinking, jake, wife

There is nothing I can say about Lesbian Turkish Oil Wrestling except its arrival to the scene was long overdue. Jake, Gay Joe and myself discovered the national Turkish all-male sport back in the Data Slaughterhouse days which yielded many discussions and one inappropriate IM buddy icon that Joey rocked for two solid years thanks to a useless human resource department and a devil may care attitude. I am proud that the Turkish Oil Wrestling organization finally acknowledged the Women's Movement and decided to let oiled-up dykes grapple with each other in the Turkish tradition. It looks like Daddy just found a new show to record on the HD DVR.

Labels: data slaughterhouse, jake, lesbians, tomfoolery, turkish oil wrestling

Saturday saw the send off for my buddy Wil who is walking the Earth for the next six months to a year. He will return home whenever his money or his transsexual hooker sugar daddy connections dry up (literally). We procured a limo for his last evening in the city and took a dive bar tour of Denver in style. Some highlights:

• The limo was compliments of one of my work clients who hooked us up with an amazing deal. He gave us a two week old Mercedes Benz limo for the night and stocked it with complimentary beer, gin, whiskey and champagne. The whip was so new that the stereo could only play CDs as the sound system was like the Death Star in Return Of The Jedi and not yet fully operational. We only brought one CD between the seven of us. Said CD was a shitty local techno band and ended up being fired from the limo window by night's end.
• At My Brother's Bar, they have bacon listed as a menu item.
• Number of individuals in our group that ordered bacon: 2.
• Number of individuals that asked the waitress to "Look away" as he attempted to pick up and eat a strip of bacon that fell of the floor: 1.
• The Hilltop, my favorite college-era haunt, did not fail to disappoint (except for the omission of "Ballad Of The Green Berets" from the jukebox which was the traditional way to close all drinking benders back in the day). While walking into the bar a guy came out yelling "Who needs some blow? Some meth? Some X?" While sitting at the bar some troll-looking kid was attempting to start a fight with the a gentleman three times his size. The bartender encouraged smoking after asking if we were cops and than proceeded to light up and "fuck the anti-smoking laws."
• Changing the name of a strip club from Cheerleaders to The Player's Club does not make your joint instantly classier. You still have to wash the vomit and sweaty ass from the carpet.
• Number of individuals in our group that had their wife pick them up from The Player's Club: 1.
• Number of individuals in our group that lost an electronic device sometime during the night: 2.
• Number of individuals in our group that were called by the limo company with the whereabouts of their lost electronic device: 1.

Be sure to rubber up in the jungle, Wil. Once you establish your white warlord presence in Belize, we will be down to slaughter cattle with machetes in front of the locals as a lesson not to cross you. In short, be safe and enjoy your adventures.

Labels: bacon, decadence, denver, dj, drinking, ez, jake, wil

Me: Interesting.
Jake: Meh. She does not stun me. Who cares if she can play some golf?
Me: I guess it is nice to know that she is not just a useless hot bitch. She can hit the shit out of a golf ball, too.
Jake: Give me Heidi Klum playing with her tits any day.
Me: Well, duh. Her tits are fantastic.
Jake: "Great knockers!"
Me: The Seal thing baffles me. I bet she is a size queen. It is the only explanation.
Jake: Hmmm. Never thought of that.
Me: Him and Edward James Olmos could be brothers with all that shit on their faces.
Jake: Ha! Seal had lupus. Cut the guy a break. He is just trying to get by.
Me: I do not call banging Heidi Klum "Getting By." I call that "Out Punting Your Coverage." "Getting By" is laying wood to someone like Britney Spears.
Jake: That is not "Getting By" that is "Giving Up."
Me: Nice.

Labels: boobs, im convos, jake

• Jake got more ink over the weekend. Two words: fucking huge. At least something will be able to take the attention away from cock dagger now.
• DMX loves dogs like Mike Vick.
• Congratulations to 2007 Miss Teen USA Hilary Cruz (from Colorado; represent). I trust your response during the question and answer segment was not anything like this.

Labels: jake, link goodness, stupidity, tattoos

Jake: Amber marries Amber Doll.
Me: That doll looks a million times better than she does.
Jake: Ha!
Me: I would probably take a run at that doll but be creeped out the entire time while doing so. Then again, that describes sex with my ex-girlfriend so I might be able to handle it.
Jake: I have a feeling I would get in the middle of it and be like, "This is weird." It would be like jerking off in the shower and realizing halfway through that it is not going anywhere. Sure you keep at it for a while, but eventually your arm just wears out.
Me: No way. Once I am in that doll, I am committed. It is a lot like sex with the dead or bestiality; once you crossed the the penetration threshold, all bets are off. You do not just pull out and acknowledge weirdness in the middle of it. You have to finish and than punch the doll in the throat for judging you afterwards.

Labels: im convos, jake

During the height of my binge drinking days I could drain things down my gullet that would curl the stomach of a goat; straight whiskey, Irish Car Bombs, Natty Light and tequilas that do not even deserved to be named. I was blessed/cursed with an abnormally high metabolism and a steel stomach that allowed me to absorb alcohol faster than your average frat boy. Enter this past Saturday. The wife and I watched some Roller Derby with Jake and crew downing numerous tall boys of PBR in the process. I came home to spend a good clip on the toilet cursing the PBR and saddened that my once iron constitution is now broken.

Labels: drinking, jake, tomfoolery, wife

These past few weeks the wife and I have been up to our tits in UHauls, moving boxes, giant tupperware containers and throngs of able-bodied help throwing our furniture around for the promise of free food and liquor (including one tattooed freakshow who has visited the new crib twice since moving day but has yet to bring over any housewarming scotch). Amidst the chaos we only lost one small mirror that the wife purchased on clearance at Marshalls. While the wife was conveniently out of town I spent the past few days unpacking, trimming juniper bushes, raking leaves, committing genocide on the ant colony in the mud room, configuring the entertainment center and setting up my office. My Dad gave me a bevy of tools; rakes, shovels, hedge clippers, an extension cord, a pruner, a hatchet, a lawnmower and a gas trimmer that came with the spoken caveat, "Don't tell your mother I gave it to you. I just bought it last summer." A housewarming party will be imminent. Bring scotch.

Labels: jake, l-i-v-i-n, moving, the greens, wife

• Mr. Belding (Dennis Haskins) and Tony Romo singing a cover of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" with Metal Skool. Good times. I think I will email Metal Skool and offer to redesign their site. Yeesh. What they got there now looks like an aborted fetus.
  
• Behold the model index of the 2007 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. Enjoy wasting the rest of your day, boys. (Except for you, Gay Joe. Go find a homosexual site where dudes are dressed in SS uniforms and whipping each other or something).
  
• Jake's half sister is a transient pervert that likes to tie people up and drink their blood.

Labels: boobs, jake, link goodness, pop culture, swimsuit issue

Last night I watched the Avs home opener from a luxury suite at the Pepsi Center (the boys lost to the Stars 2-3 in OT). The old man, Jake, Nels and Aaron were also in attendance. My pops was responsible for the hook up as he procured the tickets through assorted work connections. The suite came equipped with a private bathroom, assorted domestic beers, food platters, period-by-period stat sheets and a computer with internet connection. Our luxurious time was surrounded by famous radio personalities with fake cans (Clear Channel suite next door), one drunk fan trying to start an "AVS RULE!" cheer (seats below us) and the now infamous silver bucket of happiness. The life of an unemployed artist is glamorous and fulfilling.

Labels: colorado, jake, sports, unemployment

Me: Then there are these fucking guys.
Jake: I like how you lead into that.
Me: (bows).
Jake: Dude thought the obituary picture was cute? Never mind that she died in a motorcycle crash.
Me: Yeah. She's dead, fellas. How about you try to tap the living, first?
Jake: Well, I would rather they try this than rape Tommy's little sister.
Me: I would rather them not rape anybody, dead or alive. I do like how they bought condoms. That was thoughtful.
Jake: Yes. You don't want to catch maggots.
Me: Or get the corpse pregnant. What were the other dudes going to do while their boy got his Ted Bundy on?
Jake: See if he liked it and then take a poke if it was any good?
Me: Yeesh. There are sloppy seconds and than there are sloppy seconds with a dead body. That is the lowest rung on the sexual deviance ladder. While we're on the topic, I'm thinking they should have bought some lube with those condoms, too.
Jake: Totally.
Me: You know, a guy I play hockey with kind of looks like one of those animals. His name is Dave. He probably has sex with the dead, too.
Jake: Nice.

Labels: im convos, jake

The 15th Great Easter Bunny Hunt will commence this weekend in New Zealand. Teams of shooters will converge on the country's rabbit population and an Easter bloodbath will ensue. Nothing says 'Christ Has Risen' like animal extermination (except for maybe the Jesus Chops). I would love to participate in this event because I am fucked in the head. I know Jake is down.

Labels: easter, jake, killing

• The rise and fall of an Indian reservation drug dealer. Jake digs the bear claw tattoos prominently displayed on homegirl's sweater puppies. He would. The guy does shit like this on the weekends.
• A dissertation on the NBA logo. The article argues whether the logo should be redesigned to reflect the current culture of the league or remain the way it is. I say redesign the logo to something that is indicative of the modern NBA; a tattooed kid with cornrows that cannot play defense and has no outside shot but can dunk like a hungry police officer at a coffee shop.
• Good to hear that Hank has not lost his edge.
• Tanith Belbin has made me a fan of Olympic ice dancing. There. I said it.

Labels: drugs, jake, link goodness, music, sports

After my discussion with Jake and much deliberation, I decided this would be the mix tape I would create for the Son of God:

1. Jesus Built My Hotrod - Ministry
2. So Fresh, So Clean - Outkast
3. Down On My Knees - The Crucifucks
4. The Man Comes Around - Johnny Cash
5. Kill The Poor - Dead Kennedys
6. Holy Diver - Dio
7. When I Get To Heaven - Ice Cube
8. Killing in the Name Of - Rage Against the Machine
9. Sister Christian - Night Ranger
10. Sympathy For The Devil - Rolling Stones
11. If You Love Someone Set Them On Fire - Dead Milkmen
12. Epiphany - Bad Religion
13. Something To Believe In - Poison

I know Jesus was a subversive hippy and would probably enjoy some Grateful Dead, Phish, Widespread Panic and Cat Stevens, but that is not the point. The purpose of the mix tape is not just to throw on a bunch of music that the recipient likes and is familiar with. Making a mix tape for someone is the ultimate truth; it strips down all the walls society builds up around human relationships and then rebuilds them through the majesty of song. That, and if you give a mix tape to girl hopefully it will get you laid.

Labels: jake, music, pop culture, religion, tomfoolery

Jake just strolled into my office with a belated Christmas gift; The Modern Drunkard, which gives me a reason to drink every day. Thanks for enabling me, Jake. I admire your immense liquor cabinet.

Labels: drinking, jake, tomfoolery

• The Philadelphia Flyers Have a Time Machine: Installment Five. I would also like to add the obligatory "Fuck the Flyers" for any hockey fans (Jake, Gary) who may harbor the delusion that I cheer for that asshole organization that took Foppa away.
• Pierce Brosnan requests that James Bond sex scenes be more explicit. I think he sums it up best: "What Bond needs is a good, palpable killing sequence and a good sex scene." I can get behind that, Mr. Brosnan.
• Jason Sehorn should be beaten with a sock full of quarters. Seriously. Marc Bulger over Tom Brady? The only thing that guy ever did right was landing this.

Labels: hockey, jake, link goodness, perez, pop culture, sports

Links Jake would have sent me this morning if he was not unplugged in Boston:

• Diseased monkeys threaten San Juan, Puerto Rico.
• A cockfight grenade attack.
• Pig tattooing.

Labels: death, jake, link goodness, monkeys, tattoos

In a few short hours, I will be on a plane headed for Chicago and the 2005 HOW Design Conference. Once the conference concludes, the future wife and I will be hanging around the Windy City for a few days. We will be back in Denver next Thursday only to leave for Oregon the following Saturday to visit with our in-laws for the week. Posting will be minimal to none on the MB during this time. If you start going through withdrawals consider Jake, Boing Boing, /mark or Fleshbot your methadone. Especially Fleshbot. They have dirty pictures and stuff.

Labels: /mark, denver, how design, jake, travels

Jake: I sent my brother-in-law the screaming dad mp3. His reply was: "Man, I miss New England. It has been a long time since someone's dad called me a cunt."
Me: I am incorporating that into my verbal arsenal when I have a son. I will call him Mary, Cinderella, ballerina and cunt. Every once and awhile I will call him son, just so he does not commit suicide.
Jake: I am going to stick with "Boy" mostly. "Hey boy, get me a beer" or "Hey boy, mix daddy a martini. And do not cock it up like you did last time."
Me: Good times.
Jake: Yes.

Labels: c-bomb, im convos, jake

Much like a keg of PBR in a university fraternity house or Paris Hilton on an aircraft carrier full of cocaine, I am tapped. I just do not have it today ("it" referring to the creative magic that makes me money and causes the ladies undergarments to moisten). While searching for inspiration that was non-porn related, I found a video of the best hockey fight I have ever witnessed. Then Jake sends over Jam On It by Newcleus. Any moment now I expect Turbo to bust out the storage room and do the electric worm past my cubicle. Things are starting to look up.

Labels: fighting, hockey, jake, music, pop culture, tomfoolery

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 (barbeque 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

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

Jake: Giant squids.
Me: The giant squids are taking over.
Jake: Yes. I have long thought that tentacles were the only things that might trump thumbs.
Me: Regardless, we still have the larger brain.
Jake: Yeah. But you give the same brain to a species with thumbs and to a species with tentacles and the tentacles just might be more useful than thumbs.
Me: Agreed. Squids could definitely hold more weapons with their tentacles. This is assuming of course, that they become amphibious, run aground and grow giant brains.
Jake: Right. I mean, they could spread just one tentacle over an entire keyboard. In order to compete with that, we would have to type with our fingers, wrist and elbow.
Me: Can they control sectional elements of their tentacles? Like in the instance of typing?
Jake: I think so. A tentacle is not sectional though. I think it is just a big bunch of muscle.
Me: So they cannot type?
Jake: I think they could.
Me: I am not sure. I am going to need to see a cross section of a tentacle in order to determine.
Jake: Here you go.
Me: That settles it. The squids can type.

Labels: im convos, jake, science

Congratulations to Jake and Heather who exchanged nuptials over the weekend. I was bestowed the honor of best man and spent the weekend drinking with Bostonians (hearing "Fucking Jeetah" and "This yeah the Swaks are gonna win it," on numerous occasions), viewing schizophrenic artwork, discussing the many uses for Marshmallow Fluff and watching Neal dance like a homosexual club kid full of horse tranquilizers to "Mambo Number 5." Click here for some hot Flickr action.

Labels: jake, sports, wedding, weekend that was

A weekend of heavy drinking caused me a Sunday morning hangover that could rival a Kennedys (minus a sex assault and driving a bitch into a lake). The recap:

Friday. I attend the Great American Beer Festival at the Denver Convention Center. The Great American Beer Fest works as such: assorted beer brewers from all over the United States set up keg stations in a large convention hall. Attendees are given an empty one-ounce glass upon entry. Assorted brewers pour beer into the one-ounce glasses. Attendees shoot glasses of beer. This process is repeated for four hours. Our group becomes intoxicated quickly. I run into two sisters I went to high school with who are both wearing cowboy hats and have the following exchange:

"Courtney, how is everything going?"
"Good, Matt."
"How is your sister doing?"
"Ask her. She is standing right next to me."

The evening degenerates into immature drunkenness. A member of our group throws a road cone into a public parking lot for no apparent reason and hits a car. A large man in a jumpsuit passing by proclaims, "Hey man, that ain't cool" to which the cone thrower replies, "Keep on walking, Devo." The cone thrower later orders a $20 sampler platter at Old Chicagos, eats most of it and then smear s the remainder of it onto the gentleman next to him. The evening concludes with our heavily intoxicated group standing outside of Old Chicagos waiting for our ride where a Ford Explorer with twenty two inch rims is urinated on, a foreign cab driver is yelled at for not using his mirrors and a biker riding down the sidewalk is kicked and told to buy a handlebar bell to alert pedestrians that he is coming through. The biker proceeds to ring his handlebar bell when he reaches the end of the block.

Saturday. Jake's bachelor party starts off at a Westminster dive bar called On The Rox. A meth addict shooting pool gives Jake marital advice. We consume $5 pitchers of beer and watered down whiskey. Our group becomes intoxicated quickly. Unbeknownst to us it is Karaoke night. Jake attempts to sing "What's Going On" by Marvin Gaye, but ends up talking through most of the song as our group heckles him unmerciful. We proceed to the Brunswick Zone where we bowl three games, smoke cheap cigars and drink numerous buckets of Coronas. After our games, we retire to the bowling alley lounge where unbeknownst to us it is Karaoke night. The evening concludes with a drunk hairbag singing Karaoke to Slayer's "Seasons in the Abyss," Jake's fiance cleaning puke out of her car, drinking a nightcap poured by a fat bartender in a sports bra with a large tattoo on her breast and me calling an Asian coworker "Spanish" while I dominate him in air hockey.

Labels: denver, drinking, jake, l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, tomfoolery, weekend that was

Jake knows of my adoration for women’s tennis (more specifically, of my adoration for Maria Sharapova). Today, as I ate lunch from home, he calls.

Jake: Turn it to ESPN.
Me: Why?
Jake: Just do it.

I turn the channel to see Maria Sharapova, adorned in her little skirt, grunting, moaning and serving heat to Japan's Ai Sugiyama at Wimbledon. In a well-played tennis match, Sharapova won 5-7, 7-5, 6-1. She will now face Lindsay Davenport in the semifinals. It is moments such as these that reinforce why I am friends with Jake.

Labels: chicks, jake, sports

A woman loses her leg in an escalator mishap at Coors Field. Jake brought up a great point regarding escalator safety. Whenever you step onto a moving walkway, you need to be prepared like a boy scout in case some shit goes down. Some may just jump over the handrails to avoid amputation. Me? I plan on using a fat lady as a human surfboard.

Labels: injury, jake, tomfoolery

It is late and Mark and I have been communicating since 9 o'clock post meridian via instant messenger about this silly blog. After tonight I realize that my coding abilities are as horrific as Michael Jackson's face. Regardless of my technical ignorance this site is now blogging like a motherfucker. Please notice that commenting is now also available. This welcomes you to open your cry hole and interject some worthless opinion that only nine people will eventually read. Props to Mark and Jake for helping this graphic designer stumble into the future. You boys are the gravy on my mashed potatoes.

Labels: /mark, jake, technology