Irish Hotel

Unfortunetly, I can’t live without my cell phone. I have one of those smart phones with facebook, wordpress, email, texting, it is also a hibachi, oh and I can make calls too. It is great. Now, I never need to sit alone with my thoughts and think about how I am an empty shell of a human being that has more-or-less given up my dreams. My cell phone keeps those thoughts at bay – hurrah! Who needs introspection when you have status updates?

But, the cell phone is a double-edged sword. Think of all the times you have woken up in the am, under a toilet or some dude, with a vague memory of drunk texting. You’re not quite sure who you texted or what you wrote, but it is most likely extremely embarrassing in the light of day.

When I was dumped by a boyfriend in college, I drowned my sorrows in a gallon of gin. But before I went out, I gave myself the pre-drunk talk. You know the one. You look yourself in the mirror and tell yourself you are NOT, under any circumstances going to contact that guy no matter what. Yeah that never works, and it didn’t for me that night either. I woke up the next day and remembered laying on some random lawn trying to dial the phone, which I did successfully three times at 3 am (oh and if you’re wondering, I definitely left messages). But the worst was the text I later discovered in my sent messages that simply read “hey *ss hole, you’re the one that wanted to stay friends”, followed in quick succession by a text that implied we should still hook up. Classy.

A good friend of mine was doing some day drinking, drank herself sluty and texted a guy she knew through work “wanna hook up” at 6pm. He was most likely sober as a judge and eating at Applebees. He didn’t text back. Another friend had late night and was thinking about a dude that had been a few nights stand but not a boyfriend. He definitely went home from the bars, got completely nude, and texted this guy “I’m at my house come over. The door is open. Just got home”. Guess who woke up nude and alone. Yikes. Nothing subtle about that text.

What we need is an app. that would put locks on certain numbers in your phone so that you had to answer questions that no drunk could answer in order to make the call. Questions like those LSAT logic questions: Buses 1, 2, and 3 make one trip each day, and they are the only ones that riders A, B, C, D, E, F, and G take to work… That way we’d all be saved from ourselves because, let’s face it, not drinking is not an option.


Over 3,000 served

June 27, 2011


Militias: The thin stinky line between you and tyranny

The Google search box is a little, online confessional in which you can share your inner most thoughts and desires. You might be obsessing over an old flame, the origins of a curious rash, or wild Asian ass, and, unlike a priest, Google will reward your twisted mind with a glut of titillating images and text.

Take a look at your search history and it will tell you a lot about who you really are and the disturbing amount of little people porn you watch. Likewise, every 1,000 hits I take a cold hard look in the mirror and post the top search engine queries that bring friends and foes alike to

Yes, it is that time again. We have reached 3,000 all time hits, which is not impressive when you consider that Kim Kardashian has 7.8 million twitter followers – funny because if I wanted to hear what a giant ass had to say, I’d subscribe to Glen Beck’s tweets.

Any hoooo people continue to be obsessed with fat guy gun searches. Here are the various iterations– many appearing many times on the unedited list — that actually resulted in someone visiting

fat guy gun
fat guy with gun
fat guy with guns
fat man in pool lounge chair gun
hilarious fat man guns
guy pointing a gun at his penis
fat guy with a gun
fat guy guns
trashy gun guy
fat ass guns
fat with gun
fat guy with speed and gun
fat guys penis showing
gat guy with guns
fat gun guy
fat guy penis
fat guys cock
fat man with gun by crotch
fat man gun pointing to crotch
“fat guy” america gun

and the best…

necade guys fat guys pinus

And, here are some that make me think I shouldn’t blog drunk:

dudes and ladies in capes
babe on bike goat on bike
ninjas playing chess
obama kools
matador penis exposed
pathologic beard
ladies’ muff
my penis in a goat
how to make green meringue
pictures of scabbies in the early stages
boyfriend has obsession over his own poop
harry loves cock in his anal gland
fat guy masturbating
big oily titties
total crap porn
poop public stall

and, perhaps the most accurate one…

sh*t obsession blog

Seven Up Challenge

June 17, 2011

Walk of shame

I believe in pushing myself to achieve greatness. To climb that mountain, “because it was there”. To live like a motivational poster. To drink really, really potent beers…a lot of them.

Friends behold, I am currently living the Seven Up Summer challenge and loving it. I know you’ve heard of session beers — brews with low alcohol content made for long, polite drinking sessions. Snooze. That doesn’t sound like fun at all. No. In fact it sounds totally lame and devoid of any of the awesome reasons people have been drinking for the past 10,000 years: random public nudity; drunk showers; off color jokes; making out in bars; telling that Prague story, again, ugh.

So instead of getting a little drunk over a long session of boring the crap out of me, I have challenged myself to get bit quick all summer by only drinking beers with 7% alcohol content or higher.

I am now a few weeks into the challenge and, trust me, it is not for the faint hearted. If you take up the gauntlet – and I hope you do – you can expect a ten-fold increase in debilitating regret, blackouts, cocktail flue, and – since you’ll probably hangout with people who aren’t as sh*t faced as you are, there will be many, many more opportunities for the dreaded sober recorder.

This isn’t a like being Catholic, where you can pick and choose the rules you want to observe. This is serious. If you have any honor you’ll stick to these rules:

1) No exceptions – I don’t care where you are, you must ask the server, host, bartender what the highest alcohol content beer they have is. If it isn’t a Seven Up, order wine. You won’t comprise.

2) Drink twice a week or more – don’t kid me with your weekend drinking…grow a pair.

3) Higher the better – if there is a 10 point option and a 7 point option… well guess what you’re drinking.

4) Don’t apologize – trust me, you’ll have plenty of reasons too

So if you hate being able to get up and go to work before 11 am and if you are desperate to wring a few good years out of you over-thirty body…do it. Climb that mountain and join me. Like Brave Heart over the English, Churchill over the Nazis, and Jesse from the Saved by the Bell over caffeine pills, you too can rise up and be victorious.

Yeah, I know, you used to be cool in high school and everyone wanted your junk and sh*t. You  thought 30 was ancient and you’d never be old and lame. But guess what, you’re old and a douche and everyone, including your wife, kids and coworkers hates you because you still act like you are the teenage demigod that ruled his high school with an iron fist of coolness, just like Stalin did. People in the office barely tolerate your high-fives and ass slaps and your propensity to say “hey man” and your habit of calling women “girls”, and the ugly ones “sport”. Your bitterness is unmatched in the world. You hate your life, yourself, your children who aren’t as cool as you were, your wife who got fat and your boss who won’t promote your sorry ass. Life isn’t fair, is it douche?

Cheep JC Penny suits with pleated cuffed  38×34 pants
Sweat pants with worn, pilled fabric in the crotch
T-shirt touting the prowess of the “Bethesda Tigers” or whatever loosing girls soccer team you currently coach
Cock ring to keep it up on date nights with the wife

Cheap Scotch

Just for men touch of grey
Old Spice brute colon (just a dab in the nether regions)
Consistently smells of Bengay
back hair, that he is doing nothing about


Cyber chat rooms with “teenage girls” leading to an interview with Chris Hansen
Man caves
Cigar bars
High School reunions – his own, others, it doesn’t matter, he’s there

Emotional state
Goes from 0 to Rage in one pointed joke about the Giants
Cries at all NFL Films productions
Thinks of Brian’s Song when masturbating
3 drinks plus Billy Joel = bro hugging

“I was cool in high school” Douche Probably…
Got his middle management job because of his softball skill
Slept with the new administrative assistant; cried about it
Thinks Jerry McGuire is based on his life
Blames his small-hipped wife for his son’s lack of athletic abilities
As the head of the campus young republicans, initiated a campaign to draft Oliver North into the 1994 presidential election

Cuz you’re gross!

June 1, 2011

the contestant selection processes for Rock of Love

I poop in public. No, not in plain sight. I shamelessly use public toilets to make the magic. But, like all things worth doing, this is not without peril.

There are really only two public toilet options, multi stall and single stall. Each have their pros and cons.

In a multi stall, think in a mall (they still exist, right?), you have the advantage of time. When you get “hit” you can leisurely lay one without the embarrassment of the “second door check”. You know…when someone is waiting and they want you to hurry up so they jiggle the door handle. The time advantage is counterbalanced by an overall loss of privacy, especially important if you have considerable flatulence. In a multi stall bathroom you can get “the eye”. When, for a fleeting moment, you lock eyes with some *sshole looking for an open stall by peering through the crack between the frame and the door. Seriously, why do people do that?

All in all, I prefer the single stall like I have at work, my favorite place to leave one. But you can easily become known as a work pooper if you don’t follow my simple rules. 1) Know your enemy. If you’re sitting on something that is going to take a while, wait. Wait until the last possible second so when you go it is a quick draw. This is potentially dangerous for obvious reasons so keep a spare pair of pants in you desk drawer. 2) Evade lookouts. Since, I go like they teach you in drivers ed, at ten and two, I need to slip past the person whose desk is on the way to the facilities lest they start noticing my stops. 3) Miss direct. If you leave some streaks that multiple flushing won’t fix, take it head on. Casually mention that you have an upset stomach so that your coworkers will pity you and won’t know what a disgusting pig you really are. 4) Be subtle. If, like me, you need some good reading to do the plop plop. Be sure to fold and hide it in your pants when you leave the bathroom. Nothing is more embarrassing than being caught with a copy of your bosses resume under your arm (found it on the shared drive). Except maybe being caught with a copy of your bosses resume in your pants.

Ebony and Ivory

May 27, 2011

Sammy Davis Jr. and Ziggy Stardust

So…how many black friends do I need before people will tolerate my racists comments? Is it more than five? Because that seems low, but ten feels really high.

Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You must have noticed that if you’re white and you make it known that you are friendly with black people, other white people will totally accept your racists opinions as informed, perceptive insights.

All you have to do is say things like, “well, my roommate in college was black…,” or “the black guy at work says ‘s’up’ to me…”, or “in ’97, I went to a PM Dawn concert…”,  and no one will look nervously around when you talk about black people because you couldn’t possible be an ignorant racist.

For example, this white guy was talking to me and some friends and was saying some really offensive sh*t about how prison is college for black people and crap like that. Man I felt super uncomfortable, mainly because I am pretty sure that is both true and my fault. Anyway, I assumed he was totally racists but it turns out he once dated a black woman so it’s fine because he’s basically black anyway.

So, I’m going to try and make a bunch more black friends just to cover my bases. And, I won’t be satisfied by black acquaintances like other, less principled people might be. I won’t count the janitor I sometimes borrow money to, or the overnight crew at burger king who are beginning to recognize me and I won’t count people from Africa because, let’s face it, they’re too easy to befriend. No, I’ll only count genuine, mutually-beneficial, black-on-white friendships with no hidden agendas. Do they have a category for that on Craig’s List?


Is there a shortcut key for wiping your own ass?

Dear Boss:

Are you so clueless that you put this up where anyone could see it? Like I did during that conference call last week when you insisted on having us all hover around your office phone because you can’t work the Polycom.

This whole time, I thought you were just being a b*tch when you would make me email you files that can easily be found on the shared drive.  But now I get it…You are totally, ridiculously incompetent and can barely turn on your computer.

And you know what? I know your handwriting and that isn’t it. Which means, you made some poor lackey write this out for you and post it to your computer screen. Way to delegate, idiot.

The man that ham built

March 25, 2011

Sidney Poitier passed

You know those people who are super fat? Not regular fat, like that girl from the movie Precious (hey, I don’t feel good about that reference either), but so fat they are bedridden.  I am not trying to be an ass, it’s totally sad and sh*t.  I just don’t get how this happens.  See, by my figuring a person shouldn’t be able to gain even one pound over I-can’t-get-out-of-bed fat.  Otherwise how are they getting Arby’s 5 for $5 roast beefs? And, if one does manage to cross the threshold between “fat and ambulatory” to “flesh-pillow”, a few foodless days in bed should get them back in fighting shape.  Ahh, but some intervening assholes bring over chicken wings and a BK triple stacker for breakfast and this natural equilibrium is shot.  Nice job, dick.  You could at least attempt to encourage exercise by hiding steak-umms in some hard to reach folds.  Jeeze, have a heart people.

Micro Management Moment

March 3, 2011

As you know, I was recently elevated to the director level at work.  With my promotion comes a surprising lack of latitude for independent judgment as I continue to be managed as if I were a toddler with matches.  Today, for instance, I put together a purchase order of light snacks for a work event I am “in charge” of.  Being overweight, I consider myself somewhat of an expert in snacking and thought I was completely qualified to assembly an appropriate array of drinks, salty and savory treats and some fruit, for people who like pesticides.  Boy was I wrong.  Apparently, based on my boss’ reaction, I am woefully ignorant of proper noshing fair and am in need of strong correction.  The instruction I received — over an hour-long — was an exposition of capriciousness considering I had actually copied the purchase order from the previous event we hosted, which she had approved outright.  But now…green grapes had fallen from favor as I was directed with disgust to get red grapes because the green ones are too big, yogurt covered pretzels are now  “weird” and so alien that “people won’t know what they are” and so on.  Eventually, my entire list was thrown out and this is what replaced my totally normal snack bar: three different types of cookies, mixed nuts, Dunkin Donuts munchkins, a European tour cheese tray, red grapes, mini Reese’s peanut butter cups, mint M&Ms, coffee and tea.  No joke people.  That crazy-stoner-diet is what we are serving tomorrow.  I guess I shouldn’t have asked her at lunch time.

Have you seen this?

March 1, 2011

Flavor Savor Reinvented

Just in time for Xmas the knit beard hat combo.  Keeps you warm and manly.  Great for dudes, and ladies, lacking the ability to grow a luxurious face muff.

%d bloggers like this: