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25Jan

One Great Upside to Marriage

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Marriage is not ALWAYS like this, just mostly.

So, you’re afraid of marriage huh? I’m sorry to hear that, you want some ointment for that? Truth is, marriage is a pretty darn nice thing to be involved in, if you find the right person and neither of you are selfish, self-important walrus taints. If you’re someone who always has to come first, who’s always got to have things “just so” and feels that your own feelings and desires are the single most important thing EVER, then do us all a favor. Don’t get married. Don’t go out in public. Just climb up the nearest cliff and jump off. We don’t need your kind.

If, however, you’re capable of caring about others, and you’re one of those rare people who actually have the unique ability to put yourself second in line once in a while, then you might be marriage material. Additionally, if you can find someone similar you’re doing even better. Congratulations, get hitched! It’s not that hard to do, a few bucks at the courthouse and you’re done.

Unless of course you’re marrying an average woman. I don’t mean average in terms of looks, personality, sexual prowess, skill at Dungeons and Dragons. I mean average in that most women have a dream wedding pictured in their minds and it’s your job to make sure they get it. Keep in mind, the wedding isn’t about the guy. It’s never about the guy. Your best bet is to go along quietly to pick out china patterns, blenders and flowers. Suck it up big boy, she puts up with YOU afterall. It’s really unfair to her if you think about it objectively.

So you make it through the circus of a wedding, you’re now deeper in debt than college loans could have ever possibly hoped to achieve, and you’re married. To the same person. Every. Freaking. Day. And you know what? It ain’t so bad.

Here’s the thing, the minute you get married you’ve entered into a partnership with another human being who’s also willing to let you have sex with them, every other Tuesday whether you need it or not. But in agreeing to marrying you, they now get to split the bullshit that life throws at you on the regular. Remember back when you were single and the car would break down? You’d look in your bank account and basically the ATM would spit out a receipt with this image on it?

madbro 300x273 One Great Upside to Marriage

Yeah, there's nothing even remotely close to money in your account

So you’d sit there, wondering how you were going to get to work, what you were going to eat and how you were going to get your car fixed. You’d run out of ideas and get blindingly drunk on mouthwash and Nyquil just so you could forget about your troubles for a few fitful hours of sleep. It was awful. But now you’re married!

That means she gets to help you deal with the huge slice of shit-pizza that the Pizza-verse has dealt you. While you’re walking to the bus stop to get to your low-paying, unfulfilling job, she’s able to call around for the best quotes on repairs and vice versa. You’re able to hunt down friends who owe you a favor or know a guy who’ll do the work on the cheap while she’s at her low-paying, unfulfilling job somewhere.

And remember balancing the budget? Trying to pay everything each month? Not only do you have a partner in racking up those debts, but you also have a partner in juggling them around each month so that you don’t get something turned off at the wrong time. ”So, we skipped the electric bill last month, this month we can skip the water bill to pay the electric bill. If it rains, we won’t have to worry about having water anyways.”

On and on this cycle goes. You’re still getting dumped on, but it’s being spread across two people now. You and your partner. The Jackie Chan to your Chris Tucker. The Cagney to your Lacey. The Spongebob to your Patrick. Well, that last one might be a little bit suspect.

But you can see how it works. Marriage absolutely has it’s challenges, anyone who tells you differently is either a) lying or b) happily divorced. Marriage, in my experience, has many more positives than negatives. The biggest plus for me? Knowing that at least once a month, I get to have sex, guaranteed. Whether I need it or not.

20Jan

Don’t Squeeze the Charmin

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Dear God! Do you people EAT it or what?

Or rather, don’t abuse it. Make it last. Use just enough to get clean and move on. Hah? Am I asking too much here? Maybe I am.

Last Thursday, six days ago as I’m writing this, I purchased a 24 pack of toilet paper. Not the cheap, thin, gotta use half a roll every wipe, store brand either. This was the premium stuff. Nice, fluffy, thick and durable. Hell, it even had aloe added to it so that it conditions as it cleans. It was glorious. Now, here’s the statistics. In my house, as of right now, there are 5 people. Myself, my wife, and three of our sons. (Our oldest son is currently in basic training for the Army National Guard). We’re dealing with 5 asses in this house. Just 5. No more, no less. F-I-V-E.

To my knowledge, nobody is binging on Jamie Lee Curtis’ “Make you shit” yogurt, and none of us are into laxatives as a recreational drug. While I don’t personally make a notation everytime someone grunts out a growler, I do know that on average, a human being drops maybe two deuces a day. After chili night, maybe more, but we haven’t had any chili in a long time. We also don’t consume a lot of bran, fiber or other bacterium that might make one’s bowels open wide and let forth with a flood that will cover the Earth for 40 days and 40 nights. I’m trying to say, we’re fairly regular in the stink bomb department.

So, I bought 24 rolls of paper six days ago. In six days, to use that up, you’d have to burn through 4 rolls a day, almost an entire roll per person in the house. My kids aren’t near as big as I am, so I’m assuming their usage is less than my own. Less field to tend, less material used. That’s besides the point. I know for a fact, I can buy 4 rolls of toilet paper on Monday, and it will last me nearly two full weeks by myself, barring any trips to Golden Corral on “seafood night”.

Somehow this family has managed to decimate 24 rolls, that’s nearly 500 feet of butt wiper. In less than six days. Now, I know there’s the occasional wasted roll, where the kids decide to just unwind the entire thing because, why wouldn’t they? And I know there are instances where a woman has to wipe throughout the day that don’t involve bringing a few friends to the lake. And that’s fine too. With nearly 500 feet of ass swab, over the course of 6 days, that’s a usage rate of 83.3 feet of paper per day. Nearly 17 feet per person. SEVENTEEN FEET!!!! That’s 10 + 7 ya’ll. It’s nearly 3 grown-men tall. That’s a whole lot of cleansing power right there.

I’m under the assumption that these people I live with are eating it or hoarding it for the coming apocalypse. I can’t think of any good reason a family of five should run through enough toilet paper to make Mr. Whipple touch himself. What makes it bad is that I’m the only one who ever suffers for it. The wife somehow has magical powers of extending the last roll as if it were lamp oil and she were crossing the desert on her way out of Egypt. And the kids? Hell, they think using toilet paper just slows them down.

I’m lost folks. Does this happen in your homes or am I living on top of some ancient Indian burial outhouse?

18Jan

Hockey Season’s Here!

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Twice as many laughs as the original, so what's two times none?

Whoopty shit. Anyone watch hockey? Anyone? Bueller? I don’t. I did, but I don’t anymore. And I only watched it for a few games during the championship series back when the Anaheim Mighty Ducks were playing for the title. And even then I only watched it to support Emilio Estevez and his plucky team of misfit children do well. I mean, how could you NOT root for them to do well? That’s quite the accomplishment for a mediocre Hollywood actor and a team of semi-literate children to earn their way into the Stanley Cup finals.

But anyways, I live in South Carolina. We don’t have cold weather for more than a few hours a year. We do have an ice hockey rink somewhere nearby, but I think it’s more of an indoor fishing pond these days. What I’m saying is, nobody in this state even gives a damn what hockey is. If it’s not football, or baseball or basketball, at the collegiate level, it doesn’t really amount to much of a thing. These, by the way, are the same people who think it’s perfectly reasonable to sell Grits with every meal you order in every restaurant in the state, so maybe there’s some correlation there. (I’m saying, South Carolinians aren’t very smart or diverse.)

So I saw on my Facebook feed that Hockey Season is here and Miller Lite is asking us what three things we couldn’t live without. Because it’s hockey season. And a hat trick is a thing in hockey. Apparently a thing based on threes. I don’t know. It’s stupid if you ask me. I’m really struggling to figure out what the hell 3 things I couldn’t live without might have to do with hockey. The two don’t seem to go together in my mind.

I imagine they’re hoping I reply with “Miller Lite, Hockey and Boobs!!!”. Well, I’m not about to pander to these corporate shills. My three things are: Miller Lite, Boobs, and Boobs. See that? No hockey for this guy. Sorry.

18Jan

Stop SOPA Now

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I’m participating in the blackout campaign to protest the SOPA legislation that is threatening to take away a lot of our rights and privileges on the internet. I am however supporting those sites who are participating. Reddit.com, for one, is having a 12 hour blackout to protest this.

Additionally, if you go to Google’s homepage, you will see a black bar across their logo. It’s an amazing collaborative of web site administrators and businesses coming together to fight for what they know will be devastating to the way the internet works and the livelihoods of literally millions of people all over the country.

You can learn more about SOPA and the protest to kill it off here: American Censorship or here at Down Against SOPA.

16Jan

WWE/Pro Wrestling – An Addicition

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I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I watch WWE programming. For those not in the know, get outta here. For those that do know what WWE is, then keep reading.

I grew up as a fan of the WWF. Note: the World Wildlife Foundation forced the World Wrestling Federation to change it’s name to prevent any “misunderstandings” in the public conscience. Apparently people would think they were donating to help save King Kong Bundy from taking a body slam, only to find out it was to protect an endangered koala bear or something. When I was a kid in the 80′s, I remember tuning in to USA network every weekend to watch clips of shows they taped during the week. I’d get so invested in what was going on between George “The Animal” Steele and Macho Man, that it was all I could think about. I knew it was “fake”, but I didn’t care. It was stupid, it was silly and it was big muscle bound idiots banging each other into ring posts for 20 minutes at a time. It was, simply, FUN. No thinking required, check your brain at the door and have fun.

As I got older, the product changed. It went from Hulkamania and Macho Madness to something more like a teenager’s guide to dick jokes. I’m not against a good dick joke, but these weren’t GOOD dick jokes. They were sophomoric attempts at toilet humor that fell short more often than not. Everything they did was vulgar. I like vulgar in small doses. I don’t like it for 3 solid hours. Not many people do. So I drifted away from the product.

Then, about 3 years ago, I re-discovered WWE. It had been almost a full decade since I last watched any of it. And you know what? They cleaned it up since I had left. It got silly again. Sure, they have their moments where the occasional “ass”, or “bitch” slips out. They still make awful jokes and have terrible storylines, but that’s what I grew up with. It was good because it was hokey. You didn’t REALLY believe that the Ultimate Warrior was a cosmonaut from a distant galaxy sent here to purge the WWE of inferior beings. You enjoyed what he was saying precisely because it was so bat-shit insane.

Over these last 3 years, I’ve found myself paying to watch their PPV events. A lot. In fact, the first full year of following, I think I paid for EVERY ONE of their 14 events. At roughly $40/show, that’s….well, what am I a Math major? It’s a lot of money to waste on scripted entertainment. Or is it? I’d spend about the same taking my kids to the circus and buying snacks, toys, etc. That’s easily a $200 day for us. Going to a movie? Again, that’s easily a $80 proposition for my family. So it balances out. The kids seem to enjoy the shows, they’re not invested in it by any means, but they know the performers, they enjoy them and it’s fun.

What I’m getting at is, I plan to start a weekly series here at BellyBillboard talking about that week’s shows. They broadcast RAW on Monday nights (a live show) and SmackDown on Friday nights (a taped show). I’m not going to try to do a grading scale like so many pro wrestling columnists do, I think it’s pointless. And I’m not going to try to do anything like Brandon Stroud does over at the sports web site, WithLeather. There’s no way I can be as funny or entertaining as he is when it comes to pro wrestling. But what I will do is break down the parts that I liked, that I hated and that I thought were completely ridiculous. Hopefully you’ll enjoy this new feature. If you don’t, well suck it. It’s my blog and I’ll do what I want.

Let me know your thoughts on Pro Wrestling, good, bad or pure hatred in the comments section. Expect my first article sometime this week.

12Jan

A short interview with Cracked.com’s John Cheese

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I’m not a journalist, hell I barely have enough command of the language to type this silly-shit on a daily basis. However, I do read a lot. Most of it is ridiculous nonsense like Dean Koontz novels and shampoo bottles, but nonetheless, I try to be somewhat literate.

Anyhow, if you’re not familiar with Cracked.com, I don’t know what to say other than you need to get out from under that dog turd you’re living in and check it out. It’s the web version of the (now-defunct) magazine, Cracked. I was an avid fan of their magazine and Mad magazine. Both were great to read when you were me. If you grew up fat, lonely and isolated from the world, they were like friends that knew exactly what to say to cheer you up. But I digress, in discovering Cracked.com over two years ago, I became familiar with their regular columnists. John Cheese is absolutely one of the best they have. He writes from a personal point of view that many people would be afraid to even attempt.

In his articles, he has discussed parenting issues, life lessons, general observations, and perhaps most intriguingly of all (is that a word?) his own personal addictions and the constant struggle to remain sober. The way he attacks these issues, specifically the personal demons, is simply amazing to me. He speaks from the heart, and manages to lighten the mood with humor. Any addict knows that there’s precious little that’s funny about being an addict. And yet, without fear, without reservation or shame, John Cheese gives us a glimpse into that world. His world. And, he’s pretty good at making dick jokes too.

So without further ass-kissing, let me share with you the 5 question interview he graciously agreed to do with me through his Tumblr account at: http://johncheesecracked.tumblr.com

Question 1: How were you able to become a professional writer?

John: It took years. We’re talking like 12 or so? Something like that. I’ve told the story of how I lost my job due to a back injury, and started writing for Cracked to help fill in some of the financial gap. But at the heart of it, it just took an insane amount of work. Writing constantly and making sure it wasn’t just a string of words — that the article actually meant something. Cracked saw that I was able to do that consistently, and they offered me a column spot based on my proven work.

Question 2: Was your goal to be a humor writer, or do you have more serious interests you’d like to pursue?

John: I always wanted to make a living as a comedy writer, so I’m very happy with where I’ve ended up. I do have a book that I’m working on which is a lot more serious than my Cracked stuff. Hopefully, I’ll have something to show later this year.

Question 3: What are your goals now? I’m assuming you had different goals when you were starting out.

John: Right now, I’m working on becoming more of a face on Cracked. As in more of a recognizable personality. I’m not much of a performer, so I can’t see myself doing many videos, though that seems to be the route one has to take in order to get a full-on recognizable personality. People tend to skip over author names, so even with the high traffic of articles, writing alone won’t do it. I have to dive into other projects.

Question 4: Would you stop by South Carolina some time and eat BBQ with me?

John: I have friends in Greenville, so if I’m ever down that way, I’ll take you up on that.

Note: I know he’s just being kind by saying this. But I do make one hell of a mean rack of ribs. Just sayin’, I mean, check it out: BlackEyedPigz Baby Back Ribs

Question 5: Can I write anything on my gut for you?

John: <you’ll see what he chose when I get the photos done>

So thank you, John, for your time and patience with such a pitiful interviewer as myself. I don’t have any illusions that my writing will ever be on par with yours, but you do inspire what I do. If that might cause you trouble with job security, I can edit that part out.

12Jan

Sibling Fights – UFC For The Parenting Crowd

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Not only am I too old for this shit, I'm about three beers away from passing out.

Do you have kids? It has to be plural, KIDS (emphasis on the S) because otherwise this isn’t news or current events for you, it would have to be history. Assuming, of course you grew up with siblings. I did not. I was an only child and it was glorious. I got all the toys on Christmas, I got the big birthday parties, oh I was living large back when I was just a wee lil’ Gutmeister. All the treats were mine, all the stuff was mine. Mine, Mine, Mine! Then I went and figured out that Sex Ed wasn’t a cautionary “Well it could happen to you” sort of thing. It was a damned guarantee. Still I wasn’t convinced.

We had our first son together in February of 2000. Then, in December of 2002, another one popped out. Finally, the fourth one arrived in May of 2004. It wasn’t until that one made his way into the world that I realized exactly what was causing all this pregnancy nonsense. I had some friends try to tell me what was going on, but I wasn’t willing to believe that something that was that much FUN could possibly have such long reaching consequences. I mean, 18 years before you can kick them out? What is this, Soviet Russia? Ugh.

Well anyways, having not grown up with any brothers or sisters of my own, I found it interesting to watch how my boys interacted with one another. Most days, it’s a grudging acceptance that they have to live with one another, some days they genuinely seem to enjoy the others’ company, and most days it’s a death match. They go out of their way to aggravate one another and sometimes that makes me laugh. Usually when I’m drinking. The rest of the time, I fear that I’ll have to step in between these mammoth children of mine (12 year old is 125lbs at 5′ 1″, and 9 year old is 120lbs at 4’10″, both baby Huey-like). I’m getting too old for that stuff. Much like Lt. Murtaugh in Lethal Weapon, I am indeed, getting too old for this shit.

And the fights, oh the fights. They’re rarely physical, it’s almost like Jerry Springer’s greatest hits, just prior to furniture flying, droopy trailer park boobs slopping around and “security guards” putting the Full Nelson on the guests. Mostly screaming, nasty remarks, hate filled vitriol that would make the Pope cry on Easter Sunday. I mean, if I didn’t know better, I’d think they hated each other. But no, they love each other, they just have a twisted, Saturday-Night-Main-Event way of showing it. It’s like when Hulk Hogan had to fight his best friend Andre the Giant. Only for real for real.

On the other hand, it can be entertaining when they keep the volume down. ”I hate you” isn’t part of their vocabulary. Not usually anyways. And if they do use it, they qualify it with things like, “I hate you and I hope you crap your pants on your bike!”. Or, “You keep on and I’m going to put your face so far in the toilet you can tell me what I had for dinner last night”. I have to give it to them, they’re nothing if they’re not creative.

When it does escalate into violence, I make sure my aging, yet stunningly good-looking, ass isn’t anywhere in the vicinity. I let their Mom work it out. In fact, the one time they came to fisticuffs (yes, we live in the 1920′s) she had to tackle and then pin the 9 year old to the living room floor for about five solid minutes until he cooled down. I really wish I had been here to see her tackle him, but I did get to see the pin. And let me tell you, there’s nothing the WWE has ever done that looked so technically sound. I even made her a “Champion of the Living Room” belt, and she didn’t appreciate it.

What I’m trying to say is, you can take the sibling rivalries, the fights, the picking ons, etc, and you can make them entertaining, or you can stress over them. Or, you can do what I do and that’s run out for a quick 12 pack at the store, and hide in your garage. Either way, I win.

09Jan

Don’t Stop to Think – It’s Not All It’s Cracked Up To Be

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Yeah, let that sink in for a minute. Thinking is the root of all problems that I have. At almost 37 years of age, I’ve come to the conclusion that thinking isn’t really getting me anywhere. It used to, but not anymore.

When I was a younger Gutmeister, I was always thinking and then attempting to do what I was thinking about. I had about a 95% success rate with that method. Think it up, plan it out and execute it. Pretty straightforward. Then, I got married and we had kids. Lots of kids. Like 4 or 12 or something, I’ve lost count. The point is, they have managed to screw with my brain’s inner workings so much that now I can’t follow that simple three step process anymore. It’s aggravating to say the least.

At one point in my life, I was fully capable of having a rational thought. Of seeing it, visualizing it through completion and understanding the steps I would need to take to accomplish that thought. For example, I used to enjoy working on my truck. I had a mini truck, because I was mad-cool-radical to the max. I wanted to lower it, install a stereo system, etc. Towards that end, I would go out and climb under the truck, look around, see the parts I needed to change out and order the new ones to replace them with. Then I would read instructions, think about them a bit and get to work. Within a weekend, my truck was scraping pavement. Remember, I was ultra-cool-totally-to-the-max, so I had to have a ride that showed off that side of me.

Now, I try to read the instructions on the shampoo bottle. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. Somehow, between Lather and Rinse I lose my train of thought. I find myself thinking about where someone’s shoes have gotten off to. Or worse, where my shoes have gotten off to. My shoes always used to be in the same spot I left them when I was single and childless. It was an amazing process. Just the way nature intended it to work. You take off your shoes, you go watch Win, Lose or Draw with Burt Reynolds, you come back and BAM! there’s the shoes you took off an hour ago. Right there by the door where you left them.

These days, I can take off the shoes, put them by the door, walk into the kitchen, walk immediately back out and it’s like a really bad Indiana Jones script. Carolina Gutmeister and the Curse of the Misplaced New Balance. It’s awful. I don’t know where they go, or how they get there, but I do know that after an hour or so of fruitless searching, I do what all married men do best and I ask my wife. She points out that she has no idea, but to try looking in the attic. I don’t know why either, but usually she’s right. Somehow those damned shoes made their way into the attic, under a pile of Christmas decorations that we haven’t touched for 8 months. I suspect it’s either paranormal activity or my children trying to insure that I’m bat-shit insane before they grow up and I become their problem. They want me locked in an institution before they graduate High School so that they don’t have to worry about Dad coming to live with them.

Additionally, let’s say I’m working on the sink in the bathroom because it’s leaking for some unknown reason. I’ll be in the middle of cramming my mammoth ass under the cabinet to reach the pipe with a wrench, and I’ll think about something else. Well, at that point I may as well give up working on the sink because much like sleep walking, when the thought passes, I’ll find myself squeezed into a bathroom vanity with water dripping down my face, much like the world’s lamest Chinese Water Torture device, holding a wrench and not have any idea what the hell I was doing just now.

07Jan

Politics suck

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I love you, you love me. Politics suck, can't you see?

And they suck because they try to make everything black and white, there’s no real allowance for grey areas with politics. Republican vs. Democrat, Red State vs. Blue State…it’s all a bunch of crap. Nothing is ever as cut and dried as they would like you to believe, and it’s time that stops. Think about it, who doesn’t like a nice shade of purple? Hah? Merge a little red with a little blue and you have Barney. Everyone loved Barney back in the day. Then it became cool to hate him too, so maybe America is just too cynical and too selfish to try to get along. I mean, what fun is there in being happy? If you’re not pissed off about something, you’re not happy. Yet, being pissed off seems to kill any happiness you might expect to achieve, so we’re in a paradox here.

Here’s the way I see it, and there will probably be plenty of people who comment to disagree with me. You’re welcome to do so, just understand that I’m smarter than you, I’m sexier than you and I don’t care what you think. This is my little slice of the internet. And yes, I love all comments, good or bad, I’m not a complete butthole, let’s call it a 45% butthole to nice guy ratio at BellyBillboard.com

I’ll break it down the way I see it, I have my beliefs, but I think there’s a lot of good in both ways of thinking, just not a COMPLETE and TOTAL good in either way of thinking. The problem is, nobody is willing to concede one inch in any disagreement anymore. They’re willing to give it all away, just for the sake of not compromising.

Republicans: Want less government
Democrats: Want more social assistance

There’s nothing wrong with either of those, in theory. I don’t mind helping those that need a leg up, and I don’t want Uncle Sam digging into my pocket every day either. This is a prime example of where compromise needs to be made. Think of it as High School, if you will. Even if you won’t, that’s kind of where I’m going with this. In High School, nobody wanted the “man” hassling them. We wanted to be allowed to make our own decisions, and play by our own rules. We understood that we were breaking the system’s rules by doing that, but we rarely (if ever) hurt anyone doing it. However, on the flip side, there were kids that weren’t able to cope with life. The system had to protect them, as they had as much right to an education (or lack thereof) as we had. They were given a few privileges or special treatments to insure they could survive 4 years with a bunch of assholes. This is a good balance.

Republicans: Strong, traditional family values
Democrats: Acceptance of all types of families.

Again, these are the best parts. I think the American family should be honored and preserved, I just don’t think that the American family has to be a Man, a Woman, and 2.8 children. It could be two men, two women, a dude and his alpaca, as long as they behave themselves, I don’t see a problem. Also, don’t make eyes at me, you freaky Alpaca, or I’ll beat your ass.

Republicans: Pro-Business
Democrats: Pro-Worker

Frankly, this one baffles me. Why should unionized workers be ostracized? They just want rights, and sure, there are plenty of examples in the media where unions take advantage of a situation, but there are also that many more instances of businesses taking advantage of workers. Don’t you want the right to make a living wage? I do. I don’t get a living wage, I make about 10 cents a year with this blog, before taxes. I just want to be able to dispute my employer’s b.s. without fearing for losing my job. In a non-union job in South Carolina, you will basically be living an episode of the Flintstones where Mr. Slate can just scream “You’re Firrrrrrrrrrred!” at your face and you have to suck it up. Thanks, but I don’t ride a dinosaur to work. Let’s be civil for the love of Miller Lite.

Republicans: Less taxes
Democrats: More taxes

This is the one issue that I side completely with the Repubs. Sorry, I work too hard for my money to give it to you. I understand the necessity of taxes. and I pay my fair share on time, without delay. But stay out of my pocket. I don’t want to subsidize every stupid idea you have just because you don’t have to work for a living. Sure, West Virginia has benefited greatly from Senator Byrd’s glad-handing over the years (look it up, every bridge, road, building, etc has his stupid name on it), but the rest of us suffer for it. I’d rather choose where my money goes, thank you very much. It’d be like having your big brother bully you into buying Skittles, when you’d rather have M&M’s.

Republicans: Religion first
Democrats: Religion if you want it

This is another divisive issue. Your extremists are either 100% Religion or 100% not. There’s no inbetween with them. They try to have it one way, with no room for any difference. I won’t get into my beliefs, it’s really not much to talk about, but I will say this. You have a right to believe or not believe whatever you prefer. It’s a personal decision you get to make, much like what you would like to have piled high on your sub at Subway. You want cucumbers, pickles and toe cheese, go right ahead, just don’t make me eat it.

Basically, what I’m saying is that we need to find a way to work together, to blend the extremes into something that everyone can at least tolerate. You don’t have to LOVE it. Hell, you’d be insane if you liked everything our government handed you. But you should at least be able to accept it, and say “Well, yeah, they got the badger breeding bill passed, but we at least have our wine cooler Wednesdays recognized in the process”.

I don’t think it’s asking too much to just simply get along for the sake of getting along. Our society, especially our ONLINE society, has gotten to the point where everyone feels they have a right to not only be pissy about something, but to get it changed to suit them. Quit with that shit, you don’t get everything you want Princess. If we’re all paying for this pizza, I want two slices without anchovies. No, I won’t pick them off, you simply concede that anchovies suck and I don’t want them. Or you pick them off for me. If you want them, and have to have them, fine. But I’m not touching those salty little bastards. I can promise you this. I won’t start a campaign to ban or restrict the use of anchovies, simply because I don’t like them. You’re welcome to them, but don’t force them down my gullet.

04Jan

Why I Hate Bars

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All bars look like this, right?

I’m not talking about the little signal indicators on your iPhone, calm down nerds. At 36, almost 37, years of awesomeness, I’ve never really liked going out to the bar. Sports bars like Hooters, Buffalo Wild Wings, etc don’t count because they’re restaurants, not bars.

And the reasons I don’t like them are plenty. I plan to bore the everloving hell out of you with those reasons, right now.

1.) Prices. Holy shit, the prices. I don’t understand why a beer that costs me 50 cents at the store when I buy 12 of them, should cost me $3.50 at the bar. The waitress isn’t offering me any special favors with it. It’s not like they run “Buy a Beer for $3.50 and get a hand job for free” specials. It’s simply 12 ounces of the same cheap beer I have at home, only they opened it for me.

2.) People. I’m an avowed person hater. Not any particular person, mind you. Just people in general, especially when they’re in public sharing the same space with me. They’re ignorant. They believe that they’re the only people occupying that space at any point in the day. Don’t bump into me jackass, you can’t miss seeing me. I’m 300lbs of sexy wrapped in man-fur. You will not avoid noticing that I’m in your path.

3.) More people. Specifically the “dudes”. They’re at the bar looking to one-up each other in conquests for the evening. Whether they’re trolling for bar tramps, seeing who can handle the most Jager-bombs before a trip to the emergency room is necessary or simply trying to “out-guy” each other. You know what I mean? Out-guy’ing each other is a testosterone fueled contest that nobody can win and everyone else suffers for having witnessed it. The guy with the loudest dirty jokes, the guy who makes friends with everyone else in the place, simply because he’s too drunk to realize he shouldn’t be approaching me. Sorry, dude, I get stabby when ex-frat boys show up next to me on the bar stool and want to “pal around”. You don’t need that appendix anyways.

4.) Bartenders. Yup, the very person who you need the most when you’re at the bar, I hate. It’s one of three people, always. You’ve got the hot chick bartender. She’s barely interested in you or your alcoholic needs, but she bends over the coolers at least 42 times per hour to show off her tramp stamp and her surgically enhanced cleavage to insure that your drunk ass tips her at least $5 for a $3.50 beer, every time. You’ve got the “too-cool-to-be-here” guy. He’s the bartender that’s aloof for no particular reason. Can mix one hell of a drink, but otherwise hates you for existing because you’re not as cool as he is, and you never will be. Ever. And finally, you’ve got the grizzled old bartender. The guy who belongs in a saloon out west somewhere, constantly drying the same glass, watching the game and grumbling about America’s Youth. You dare interrupt Matlock to ask for a beer and you’ll get the most jurassic stink-eye you’ve ever received, and a hex will be placed upon your very soul.

5.) The bathrooms are biological disasters. Do you even stand near the toilets in there? I don’t. I hang back about 3 feet and aim high. I’m not risking bumping any part of my anatomy into those festering porcelain chambers of malaria, smallpox and bovine herpes. Thanks but no. I’ll just pee on the floor.

Yup, 5 good reasons to hate the bar. I’ll stay home with my fridge full of Miller Lite and my tv remote firmly in hand. As a bonus, I have kids who are always happy to bring me a beer so that I don’t have to risk ruining the ass groove in my couch. Life is pretty good when you avoid the bars.

As an addendum to the above, I’ll reference the Cantina scene from Star Wars, episode IV. Too many people get their arms cut off by rogue Jedi-in-training farm boys, and with all that blaster fire between smugglers and bounty hunters, who can relax?

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