An Open Letter From My Liver January 31, 2007
Posted by mike in gin/health/sanity.10 comments
Note: It’s been a really rough day today. I found this letter by my bed stand this morning. Needless to say I have been depressed all day.
Dear Mike,
I have been patient and I have tried hard so very hard to adjust to the new life you have been living. I just don’t think sobriety is for me.
I think the thing that pisses me off most about this is the fact that you didn’t even consult me when you made your decision to temper your drinking (although from my point of view you might as well have stopped all together). You know we are in this together and any decisions you make regarding drinking has a profound impact on me.
I will always remember those nights and days in Key West when you were at your very best. Remember that day when we drank for 12 hours straight? God, I have never been happier. Oh sure, your wife was pissed at us, but who needed her anyway? We had everything we needed. You, me, Tanqueray, strippers, and Captain Tony’s. What more could a man and his liver ask for?
Then there were all those years in New Jersey. I still laugh about the day you got so drunk you couldn’t speak. Of course your wife had to go and ruin the moment because she thought you had had a stroke or something, but I tell you it was a proud moment for me.
Now here we are in Utah and I feel so abandoned and so alone. I mean look at me for Christ’s sake. I am half my normal size, the government no longer considers me a super-fund site, and I have actually been forced to process some old heavy metal poisons I found in your blood stream just to get through the day.
I am so sorry, but I am going to have to move on. There’s an old bum down by the entrance to Wal*Mart that I have had my eye on for quite some time. He doesn’t have the same taste as you and Tanqueray is probably not in his budget, but I suppose I could get used to 4 Roses wine and the occasional can of spray paint. I guess we all have to do what we have to do.
Good Bye Mike. It’s been fun and if you ever start drinking again, look me up. You know where to find me.
The Power Of The Knocker January 30, 2007
Posted by mike in boners: old and new.15 comments
My furnace is all fucked up and I am freezing to death.
Actually, that is not true. It does work, but it has to be manipulated very much like someone would have to manipulate a 52 year old man.
I went to the apartment complex management office to fill out a maintenance request form. The girl behind the desk was absolutely phenomenfuckingal.
“Hi,” she said with a perkiness only exceeded by her large pendulous breasts.
“Bleh,” I said, which is the 52 year old man’s way of saying “holy fucking shit you have nice knockers. “
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“Bleh, Bleh,” I said, which is the 52 year old man’s way of saying “Oh my God, I have never seen such huge knockers in my life. “
“Sir,” she said, “are you okay?”
“Bleh, bleh, bleh,” I said, which is the 52 year old man’s way of saying “My furnace isn’t working, can I bury my head in your knockers?”
“Oh, why yes you may,” which is the 52 year old man’s way of hearing something completely delusional.
What she actually said was, “Maintenance will be there as soon as they can. They are very busy right now.” Then she flipped her hair and blinked her eyelashes.
“Bleh, bleh, bleh, bleh,” I said, which is the 52 year old man’s way of saying “kill me now.”
At The Right Hand Of Satan January 28, 2007
Posted by mike in evil genius.9 comments
My Grandmother was a saint among sinners. She didn’t drink, smoke, swear much, use drugs or chew tobacco, but damn near everyone around her did partake of at least one or more of the aforementioned sins. Unfortunately for her, she inadvertently bred a family of addiction bent souls.
I grew up being obsessed by practical jokes and the more devious they were, the more delight I took in them. My poor Grandmother was all too often the target of these jokes because it was just so easy.
One day when she was taking her afternoon nap, I snuck into her room with a half empty bottle of Early Times bourbon. Bourbon was always easy to find around my house because it was my parents drink of choice. Today the mere smell of bourbon makes me gag, but that is a whole other story that almost involved a stomach pump. Anyway, while she was sleeping soundly, I placed the bottle of bourbon on her pillow right by her head and took a Polaroid picture of her and the bottle of bourbon.
Pure. Fucking. Evil. Genius.
In the picture, she appeared to have gotten drunk and passed out right there with the bottle next to her head. It was priceless. Even my mother was impressed. When my Grandmother woke up, I showed her the picture. She was obviously upset by it, especially when I threatened to show it to her church group if she didn’t behave.
Needless to say, from that day forward, I was never without a few extra dollars in my pocket. No, I didn’t extort the money from my poor Grandmother and her generous railroad pension. She gave the money to me freely out of the kindness of her heart.
Someday I will tell you about finding my sister’s bra somewhere where it shouldn’t have been. She was so thankful that I had found it for her that I had a personal slave for 6 months.
Things Could Only Be Slightly Better January 27, 2007
Posted by mike in helpful hints.20 comments
I have long hesitated to do this post for fear that I might offend my most loyal readers. I am not sure if any of you know this or not, but 99.99% of my readers are Italian-Americans or they know someone who is.
I am sure you are wondering how I know this, and I don’t blame you for questioning my data. If you would like proof, send me $500.00 and a self-addressed stamped envelope and I will provide you with all the complicated data you need in order to prove to yourself that Italian-Americans do indeed prefer this blog 10 to 1 over all others.
Sorry, I digress. Is it possible to digress before you even gress? Well apparently it is because I just did it.
Anyway, the point of this is, I have just recently discovered the best spaghetti sauce in the world and the phenomenal thing is it comes in a freaking jar. I am sorry to say and even sorrier to offend 99.99% of my audience, but Bertolli spaghetti sauce is the best spaghetti sauce I have ever eaten. Yes, even home made sauce made by loving Italian mothers with big knockers sucks by comparison. Bertolli Five Cheese Spaghetti Sauce in a jar is freaking phenominal.
You know, my recent culinary discoveries (potatoes in a can, gravy in a jar, and now spaghetti sauce in a jar) have all just improved my life so much. Now if someone would just invent vagina in a can and chihuahua in a jar, my life would be absolutely perfect.
Perfect I tell you.
I’m Probably Going To Hell For This January 26, 2007
Posted by mike in wtf.7 comments
Gray’s Anatomy star Isaiah Washington is going to rehab because he called fellow star TR Knight a fag.
Really?? Rehab for calling someone a fag. Imagine that.
I mean honestly, isn’t that just a little gay?
I guess TR Knight never heard the old adage that sometimes you have to call a spade a spade.
I know. I know. I am going to hell.
I’ll save y’all a spot.
Data?? We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Data. January 25, 2007
Posted by mike in evil genius.10 comments
You can ask anyone that knows me and they will tell you that I am really good at 3 things:
- generalizing
- stereotyping
- jumping to conclusions
As a matter of fact, I would be willing to bet that they would tell you that nobody is better at those 3 aforementioned things than me and that I can do all three with absolutely no effort.
So, armed with that little bit of useless information, I would like to make a statement:
All Mormon men are gay. No seriously. To me, they all appear to be gay. Oh I know what you are thinking….he’s generalizing. Well fuck yeah. I told you I was good at it.
Mormon men don’t necessarily seem gay in a creepy hanging out in the men’s room at the Greyhound Bus Station kind of way. They seem gay in a Richard Simmons limp-wristed “I just want to lick the world kind of way. ‘
I don’t really have any data to support my conclusion, but then again, I really don’t need any. See, there are two ways you can come to any conclusion. One is you can collect all kinds of complicated fucking data and then analyze it, organize it, categorize it, massage it and then let that data lead you to a conclusion.
Or, you can simply use my preferred method for reaching a conclusion by simply jumping to one. It’s so much more efficient. Besides, I have never been wrong and I have the data to prove it.
Someone’s Weighing His/Her Options (Possibly) January 24, 2007
Posted by mike in Uncategorized.8 comments
The following telephone conversation may or may not have happened.
Any similarities to any person or persons living, dead, or otherwise currently residing in Utah are purely intentional.
The author assumes no responsibility, implied or otherwise, for the interpretation of the content of this page. As a matter of fact, the author assumes absolutely no responsibility for anything at all, including but not limited to; unnatural acts between consenting adults, the sex lives of priests, genetic engineering being used for all the wrong reasons, and oil for food programs.
Possibly Someone (PS): I think the problem is that I am just burned out. I just don’t find this shit amusing anymore.There is nothing new and the only challenge left is dealing with Mormons.
Possibly Someones Significant Other (PSSO) : Well what else could you do. I mean we have debts.
PS: I was thinking I could become a Chihuahua farmer. Those little fuckers are selling for about a thousand bucks a piece now.
PSSO: That would never work. You would want to keep all the puppies.
PS: No, only a couple of them.
PSSO: A couple??
PS: Okay, maybe 10.
PSSO: See, that would never work.
PS: Okay, how about I become a cook.
PSSO: You mean a chef?
PS: No a cook. Chef’s have to pay attention and actually care about stuff. I mean a cook, like in a bar or something. You know, deep fried everything.
PSSO: You work in a bar? Wouldn’t that be like asking a child molester to babysit your kids?
PS: But I would get an employee discount. Besides, who the hell would ever ask a child molester to babysit? That would be stupid.
PSSO: My point exactly. It would be equally stupid to let you work in a bar. Let’s do the math: an employee discount + $6.00 an hour + your Gin habit = no home in about 1 week flat.
PS: Yes, but all those tips. I would be rich in no time at all. How about I work in a convenience store? There’s a bunch of those things around.
PSSO: What would you do in a convenience store?
PS: Sell beer, cigarettes and porn to minors.
PSSO: That’s illegal.
PS: Exactly. How else am I supposed to make any money working in a convenience store? You gotta be on your toes to get ahead in the convenience store game.
PSSO: I think you better find a way to not to be burned out anymore.
PS: I suppose starting a lawn mowing service is out of the question?
PSSO: A lawn mowing service in Michigan? You would only work 3 months out of the year. How much money do you think you could make in 3 months mowing lawns.
PS: Not as much as I would make as a Chihuahua farmer.
PSSO: Oh Jesus, I gotta go. *Click*
PS: Hello? Hello?
Synchronicity January 21, 2007
Posted by mike in Uncategorized.6 comments
In the grand scheme of things, the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald and the execution of Gary Gilmore are two unrelated events. On a purely personal level, however, both events have stuck in my mind for well over 30 years now.
The Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior on the 10th of November 1975. I was a whopping 21 years old and that was a long time and a lot of miles ago. On the morning of November 11th I was sitting in my “Animal Style” house on North Main Street in Mt. Pleasant Michigan watching the tragedy of “The Fitz” as it unfolded on the morning news. Yes, I was a news junkie even back then, although without cable TV and instant news like we have today I am not at all sure how I got my hourly news fix. Perhaps I hadn’t perfected my addiction yet.
Sometime during the news, my girlfriend Kim walked into the room and started talking to me about nothing of any importance. Actually, it might have been important, but its noteworthiness has been lost in time. Kim was a very pretty woman with long beautiful black hair and a dark complexion. She could have been easily mistaken for a Native American, but she wasn’t.
When I looked over at her I noticed something that took my breath away. She had cut her hair. Her long beautiful hair was now cut horribly short and the new look seemed to change everything about her.
“Do you like it,” she asked.
“Sure,” I lied.
The newsman said there were no survivors and that his heart went out to the families of the sailors that had perished on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
A few months later, in 1976 a little known character by the name of Gary Gilmore committed a couple of very cold-blooded murders. First he killed an attendant at a Sinclair gas station in Orem Utah and then he killed a motel manager in Provo Utah. Gary made the headlines because when he was found guilty and subsequently given the death penalty, he requested that he be executed by firing squad. Some speculated it was because of the concept of the Mormon Atonement. I am not sure I would give Gary that much credit.
Gary was executed by firing squad in the early morning hours of January 17th 1977. His last words were “There will always be a father.” According to Utah tradition, 5 gunmen were to be used but only one of those gunmen would actually have a bullet. The other 4 would be given blanks and that way, no one would know for sure who actually fired the fatal shot. Sometime later when Gary’s family was given the clothes he wore on the morning of his execution, they noticed that there were 5 bullet holes in the shirt he had worn. Apparently, the state of Utah wanted to make sure the job was done right.
Interestingly enough, that was the last night that Kim and I were ever together as “a couple.” We had both recently graduated from college and the whole world was ahead of us.
“The way I see it,” she said, “we either get married or we end it.”
“I’m too young to get married,” I said.
The next morning we walked out of each others life forever and Gary Gilmore was buried in an unmarked grave.
—Breaking News— January 20, 2007
Posted by mike in Uncategorized.8 comments
Ladies and Gentlemen we interrupt this blog to bring you this breaking news alert:
The President is a retard.
Our sources have confirmed that President Bush cannot—we repeat—cannot find his asshole with a funnel.
Our apologies as apparently we have the wrong picture up there for you. We will see if we can get that straightened out.
Please stay tuned for further developments.
In other news, Cankles (if you are eating,
on the verge of blindness, or at work, don’t click
on that link) has announced that
she is throwing her asshat into the ring. Our sources have not been able to verify her choice as a running mate, but we believe she has tapped a well-known, but seldom seen, Washington outsider to join her in her bid for the Presidency.
We will keep you posted as new details become available.
Now a word from our sponsor.
Another Friday Night In Utah….. January 20, 2007
Posted by mike in Uncategorized.10 comments
means I better get busy with that laundry.
My wife, my daughter and her boyfriend (my daughter’s boyfriend not my wife’s boyfriend) are going out to my favorite hometown hangout tonight to have a few drinks. Fuck allmighty.
Oh well, such is life. Guess I better get started on that laundry.
Oh, before I forget, the number 1 video on Google right now is called “Girl In Human Slingshot.” I have a little personal knowledge of this “device” since this video was shot at the home of the man that owns the company I work for. For obvious reasons, I won’t link to it, but it is pretty cool. What you don’t see on the video are the people that did not have good rides and sued the hell out of “the Utah millionaire.”
