Drunken Dog Syndrome

I drink. I drink a lot sometimes. That may not come as a surprise to some. I am coming off 5 straight nights going out and have some minor chest pain, but that is despite the point. Although I haven’t been super polar bear drunk in a while, it is a show when it happens. Like a freight train full of Japanese fireworks, carrying death row inmates, driven by a drunken frat party into a gunpowder factory. Many stories from previous entries cover more on that topic, but I want to share a syndrome I have experienced every since college that has saved my life on more than one occasion – drunken dog syndrome.

Dogs often have a unique ability. When they get lost or are taken far from home, they are miraculously able to navigate back to their home despite overcoming odds and probably a lot of traffic lights. I don’t know if there is a scientific explanation for this and it doesn’t really apply to ever dog, but that doesn’t lessen how cool this feat is. Humans can have some semblances of this ability when driving, but it’s just not that same. However, there are a rare few that have a good case of drunken dog syndrome. These professional drunkards can knock off a bottle of Jack and a 6-pack and still make it back to their home each night. The kicker is most times the drunk doesn’t remember the actual action of getting home, yet they will wake up in their bed the next morning. It’s almost like they have drunken GPS. Here is an example to further proof my point:

So I go out in the city on a fairly normal basis and rely on subways and buses to get home each night. One particular Saturday night I was out with friends and started drinking a lot fairly early. And by a lot I mean enough to kill a small animal – possible a big mongoose. So around midnight, my memory fades and I only get flashes of what went on, but I woke up in my bed the next morning in my PJs. Over the next few days more memory comes back as the booze gets diluted in my brain. At 2:00AM I decided it was time to go home and head on my way. Keep in mind I still don’t remember all of this. What I did smashed out of my mind is impressive any way you slice it. I took 3 subways, a PATH train and walked about a mile to get back to my apartment – not remembering any of it. Now a cab ride and one subway would be easier, but I had to make 3 transfers and get off at the rights tops. I call this drunken behavior a superhuman ability, which is repeated on more than one occasion. I have never not come home when blitzed and always seem to not know how I got home. I stopped trying to figure it out a while ago, and just remained thankful I wasn’t waking up in bus terminals or subway cars.

Thus you could reasonable say that being a drunken dog has saved my life on several occasions…

Note: Keep in mind drunken dog syndrome applies only those who don’t drive because drinking and driving is just fucking idiot and horrible.

Brrr….Beer

Tackling Mascots

Quick hits for this one. I would like to tell you where the idea came from, but I was nowhere near a mascot during this thought so I am pretty sure my mind is a giant carnival. But my point – every time I see a mascot, whether it be Chucky Cheese, a Disney character or the Philly Fanatic I have the primal urge to get a running head start and spear tackle them out of nowhere. If you don’t know what a spear tackle is: you get a running start and about 5 feet away from your tackle object, you jump going fully horizontal to the ground hoping to hit the person so hard in the middle of their body that one of their kidneys turns to dust and you shatter 9 ribs. Essentially this kind of tackle pulverizes your body, but is hilarious. A good example of this is seen in Old School during the hazing scene when Will Ferrell runs and spear tackles “Spanish” into a fountain.

So yea – every time I see a mascot I want to spear tackle them. It’s not that I don’t like these characters, but I think something is built into human DNA, probably mostly in men, that triggers violent urges when an 8ft colorful cartoon character is within 20 feet. It may be some pent up anger from watching too many childhood cartoons like Barney, Looney Toons or Darkwing Duck (boo yea on that one!). I think it is a justifiable action because it is fucking hilarious. I bet many guys have this same urge, but have never acted upon it. Therefore, men of the world, I say go for it and tackle the Toledo MudHen or the Chatanooga Lookout because aggravated assault (only a misdemeanor) and a night in jail are way worth it.

Note: The only exception to this rule is Mr. Met. He is awesome because he head is enormous and he has a hot wife – Mrs. Met.

Brrr….Beer

Goldfdish & Barracudas

So I come to work this Tuesday having enjoyed the long holiday weekend and find all internet and email is down in my office. I spent a good part of the morning catching up on some stuff, but its lunch now and since I can’t get to any type of Internet I am going to rattle off blogs for the remainder of the afternoon. Don’t worry I have been writing things down on bar napkins, post-its and even my hand as creativity has come back to me in the last week.

So what are we talking about this Tuesday? Fishes. That’s right – not the little cracker versions (although they are the coolest snack food ever. I finished off half a bag of zesty nacho yesterday), but the kind swimming in the sea or your local fishbowl. So a good friend of mine who is in a good relationship was talking to me the other day, and through my normal distorted thought pattern another theory started to develop on sex for single people and those in relationships. Of course, what would a drunken polar bear theory be without animals or some far-fetched analogy…

When it comes to sex, those in relationships are like goldfish. I know it sounds crazy, but just hear me out. Whether it’s a regular goldfish bowl or a more elaborate aquarium fish get fed on a daily basis. You come home from work, grab the pellets or flakes for the fish and drop them in the top of the tank. The fish go crazy and snatch up all the food. After a while they even may know what time of day to expect the food (kind like a simpler version of Pavlov’s dogs salivating when the bell was rung). Fish in tanks have to do no work for their food and get fat and happy eating their fish food. Being in a relationship is the same thing. If you are in a relationship you don’t really have to work for sex, and it may not come daily for some, but it still is pretty much guaranteed and you don’t have to buy $14 martinis and pretend to be interested in the girl to get it. You come home for work or just do a movie night and you have a good chance at getting some. This constant stream of sex makes you just as fat and happy as the goldfish. Although there have been no studies, I guarantee with all the polar- bearness I have that guys in relationships get fatter because they don’t have to work for it anymore. Even those couples that are a little freaky/kinky/exotic are still like fish in tanks, but are more like fighting fish or those exotic fish you pay $80 for to look cool. No matter how many colors or stripes they have, they still live in fish tanks.

However, when it comes to sex, those single folk are like barracudas. Barracudas are some of the most wild, badass fish in the ocean. They roam the seas and have to work for their food. No magical pellets or flakes for them – they hunt for their daily feed and are in fierce shape. When a barracuda sees its dinner it goes into attack mode flying at its prey while avoiding all the obstacles of the sea. If the barracuda is not stealthy, smooth and fast it doesn’t eat. Even when fisherman drop chum (that bloody fish cocktail used to attract fishes), they still have to be careful not to got caught. Being single looking for sex is just like being a barracuda. Replace the sea with bars and the prey with women. Once a guy has found a girl that is attractive, he must be quick to beat out other guys, yet has to be smooth so the girl doesn’t think he is a big jackass. If he is not a good hunter he is going to get any for a long while. Whereas fish die if they don’t eat, single guys slowly turn more and more desperate until they turn into asexual beings. Also, just as a barracuda has to avoid being caught when fisherman drop chum in the water, single guys have to be careful too. Often a group of girls will dangle their one hot friend in the bar in hopes of attracting a group of guys – only to find out later that the group of guys has been trapped by ugly girls.

So to close – what kind of fish are you???

Brrr….Beer

Indy vs. Bond: Bring on the Duel

So it’s a huge week. First week of no school…like I am done forever. But more importantly Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skill comes out. Now its very rarely that I get excited for a movies and plan to see it a couple of weeks in advance, but Indiana Jones was basically my boyhood idol and still is. So here I am excited for the movie release. They are running marathons non-stop on all of the cable channels. Suddenly when I got home from work today I realized I hadn’t seen the first movie – Raiders of the Lost Ark – in something like 10 years. Therefore I threw it in the DVD player and here we are. Indy just escaped the giant rolling rock and is dodging arrows from natives.

It got me thinking (and by me I mean someone else proposed this). Who is better Indiana Jones or James Bond? I think they are both some of the most badass guys I know, but here goes the 11 round battle royale...

Clothing
Bond: Tuxedos, sharp and sleek and always perfectly fit
Indy: Worn down pants and cargo shirt, leather whip, revolver, leather jacket and the trademark Fedora hat
Winner: Although tuxes are great, nothing ever tops Indy's get-up

Fighting Ability
Bond: Knows how to fight in every manner it seems from karate to ass whooping
Indy: King of the good old fashion right hook
Winner: Bond does it all on the fighting front and takes this round

Weapon of Choice
Bond: Walther PPK-7 with silencer
Indy: Whip and revolver
Winner: Anyone can fire a gun, but wielding a whip as your only weapon most days? Indy takes this round.

Smarts
Bond: A world traveler and expert in gambling and all classy things
Indy: Professor at a college in CT, with a PhD and an expert archelogist
Winner: Indy's got the super smarts on this one. Hell, Short Round calls him Dr. Jones!

Ladies
Bond: He sleeps with every hot girl both evil and good. It is just amazing how easy it is for him
Indy: He has a main squeeze in each of the three movies
Winner: Bond takes this one by a mile - the notches on his belt are more numerous and hotter

Gadgets
Bond: Cars that shoot fly, motorcycles that shoot rockets, boats that become submarines. If you can think of it, master gadgeter Q can make it.
Indy: Um, revolver, cars?
Winner: Bond by a 4 miles (which he probably covers in 40 seconds in his nuclear-powered Vespa scooter...hahah)

Villians
Bond: Evil organzizers the world over and also a lot of pissed off Russians
Indy: The Nazis, crazy slave-driver who rips out people's hearts, the Nazis again
Winner: Its a close one, but two separate bouts with the Nazis gives Indy the edge

Humor
Bond: Always has some witty lines stashed away fro his female conquests of vanquished villians
Indy: Brings a gun to a sword fight, laughs at the women he eventually beds, and has jokes ready for everything
Winner: Again its close, and its probably the dry humor of the Brits, but Indy gets it

Theme Songs
Bond: Universally recognized songs and different for each movie
Indy: Dah duh da daaa - everyone knows those first four notes
Winner: Indy by a landslide

Body Count
Bond: Who the hell knows, but he has to kill at least 100 bad guys per movie with every sort of gun, bomb, missle, and sometimes even his own bare hands
Indy: More of a humanitarian and fan of the knockout, his body count is probably only 20 per movie
Winner: Bond by lots of dead bodies

Sidekick
Bond: He travels and works alone because he is sooo good at what he does
Indy: Various minor characters, Short Round, and his Dad (Sean Connery)
Winner: That little tike Short Round puts Indy over the age

By a 7-4 score Indiana Jones emerges triumphant over James Bond. Maybe I am biased because the new Indy movie is coming out next week and may change when Bond's new movie comes out, but I am sticking with Indy on this one

Country Music & Atlantic City

This one is going to be fun. Like lots of fun to tell. Last minute trip to AC came up and it was f’ing fantastic. Now although I didn’t text myself at regular intervals like I did for St. Patrick’s day I have clear recollection of my entire night. Without further ado…

Background: So my good buddy Trackpants called me at the beginning of last week with tickets to Gary Allan at the Hard Rock down in Atlantic City. Now Gary Allan is one of the most badass country musicians ever. He is from legendary Bakersfield, California and easily has over 10 tattoos all of which are awesome. After all the traveling over the past week or so I was really reluctant to go down and stay in yet another hotel and probably blow some more cash in a casino. Luckily those reservations lasted all of just one day.

3:00PM: Leave work and lots of emails and phone calls with hopes of country music and lots of booze

3:33PM: Get on NJT train to Trenton

5:40PM: Arrive 35 minutes late in Trenton and miss my connection to Philly, making me really late

5:54PM: Get on a SEPTA train for Philly with arguable the angriest commuters in the world. Apparently every train was late or running way behind. There was lots of cursing and such. I found it amusing as I typed away a memo on my laptop.

6:35PM: Finally get into the Philly train only to find Trackpants and PT (another new character is the story) are running way behind because Trackpants forgot he was driving a rental car and had to swap his out at the airport – what a Goddamn moron.

7:10PM: Finally get picked up and make the trek to AC

8:30PM: 2 trains, one traffic-filled drive and 5 and a half hours later and I am finally in AC. Too bad the concert starts at 9PM so that really didn’t leave much time for pre-gaming or so I thought. The three of us check in and speed-drink 3-4 Knight’s Head Light beers in 25 minutes. Good thing I can still pound them back and this beer is horrible.

9:20PM: Finally get to the concert to find the opening act, Jypsy, is 4 girls who play violins, sing and all other musically stuff while wearing really tight, colorful, short gym clothes. Their music is ok, but their outfits are better.

10:00PM – midnightish: The concert was unbelievable. Beer was tough to get at first, but great concert and get this – they filmed a music video for his new single at the concert which makes it that much cooler. Maybe I will get credited in the music video for rocking out – probably not.
Some time around midnight: I got separated from Trackpants & PT and got stuck behind two women on a really long escalator. So there I am riding along and Trackpants & PT are making such faces at me on the ground that these two women have to ask me who the two jackasses are waving at me. Needless to say one girl is very hot, while the other looks like a tranny. It was quite an amusing encounter and we later had sandwiches with them.

Midnight – 2:30AM: Texas Hold Em against the dealer at the Wild Wild West Casino for a while. Easily the most depressing casino in the world. They play old country music which is slightly amusing, but the clientele is utterly demoralizing. These people are on their last dime and gambling it all away. I proceed to break even, yet grow very angry because the drinks they are serving are watered down and tiny. I get up from the table to go visit Trackpants who is playing at a $25 Blackjack table. While standing next to him, he proceeds to go 11/14 racking up somewhere in the neighborhood of $500 in winnings while playing a lot of money on each hand.

2:30AM- 4:00AM: I am kind of drunk, but Trackpants is up $500 and PT netted $200+ on the craps table so we go to the bar to celebrate. I wasn’t that drunk, but the bartender flagged me anyway because I stuttered a little bit – oops. I think she just didn’t like me because I was having a good time.

4:00AM – 9:00AM I think?: Trackpants & PT finally decide to listen to me for once, and this just happened to be when I was having an inclination to play poker. So we go to Bally’s and hit up the no limit Texas Hold’Em tables. Now I play a fair amount of poker and can safely say I am little better than average, but keep in mind we have been drinking and I have been up almost 24 hours. So about the first two hours I am killing this table, taking pots while bluffing and go from $100 to somewhere in the neighborhood of $300-$400. I am smiling and pounding Red Bull and vodkas and quite a rate. Now I feel I must describe the table crowd so you can get an accurate picture. It is early Sunday morning in AC at a no limit poker table and all the players are guys in their 20’s. One guy is reading a book, others have headphones, one guy was drunker than I, and two guys were just huge jackasses. One guy, sitting to my left was f’ing awesome because he told me jokes and laughed every time I won a hand. Ok – back to the story, so its now about 6:40AM and I am thoroughly drunk and bleeding money by the $5 chip. I am so drunk that I am thanking the guys at the table for letting me play with them. The rest is a little hazy, but I busted out. I have now been up a long time and am exhausted. PT went back to the hotel and it took me two hours to get Trackpants up off the table so we could head back to the hotel.

9:30AM: Trackpants and I stumble into the hotel laughing and drunk as families are checking out. Check out time was noon, so we can get a couple hours of sleep before checking out. I walk into the hotel and faceplant onto my bed – I have been up 27 hours and probably have a Blood-Bull Level of 0.08

2:30PM: We all wake up way way way past the checkout time. We rush to get our shit together before we get charged another night. I am massively hungover

4:30PM: I get back to the Philly train station less than 24 hours from my last visit. I contemplate taking the SEPTA/NJT train back home, but decide to fork over the extra $23 and take Amtrak. I feel like a sheik traveling through Dubai with the comfortable seats on Amtrak.

7:10PM: After a transfer over in Newark and a PATH train ride, I finally make it back home, down $312, still somewhat drunk, probably with a heart-murmur from caffeine and not regretting any minute of my trip.
Brrr….Beer

I'M BACK!

OK – I am back. This was the longest span of blog posting, but I have been doing some traveling [I am currently in a Lincoln Town Car on my way home from work because I have been getting killed at work]. Now although I love blogging from the road there was no opportunity at all, but let me give you the numbers breakdown on the last week and half:

Flights: 4
Flights that were 22 minutes long: 1 and it was shorter than my normal commute to work
Airport bars visited: 3
Super 22 ounce beers drank: 6-8
Nights in a hotel: 5
Hotel or flight upgrades: 0
Flight delays: 3
Colleges visited: 2
Beers drank during college visits: 15-20
Graduate paper pages written: 28
Allergic reactions to pillow cases: 1
# of times getting lost running around Michigan State U: 1
Visits to Potbelly’s (the greatest restaurant ever): 4 in 3 days

Now this is no excuse for not blogging and I know there are people who travel every week, but I am a Polar Bear and we don’t go anywhere that far so it was a bit hectic.
I was thinking about going straight into my post, but I figured I would break them into two because then I get to use yet another picture of a scantily clad girl in a costume that is vaguely related to, at best, my posting…so keep reading

Brrr….Beer

Training Men

So I am riding in the elevator today about 4PM down to the bodega in my building which, despite its ridiculously small size, has ever major food snack I can think of. On my way down in the elevator I am minding my business and reading the news screen they have in each elevator. Yea – we are that high tech in our building. So there I am reading about some political crap about Obama or Clinton and here is the conversation between three mid 20’s women behind me:

Girl #1: [To girl #2] Big plans for the weekend?
Girl #2: Yea we are going to a craft fair and a farmer’s market and then to dinner at my parents. (I kid you not these were her exact words)
Girl #3: Wow, he [the bf] really agreed to that?
Girl #2: Yea, I have him well trained
Girl #1: Yes you do.


Ok – it was a short conversation and before I go into a tirade let me offer a point of clarification. I am a normal mid 20’s run-of-the mill quasi-chauvinist so get ready…

Trained? Seriously, I understand the concept and that women use it in conversation when referring to boyfriends, fiancés and husbands, but I take major issue in this. Now I bet you are going to think that I am going to go off and say that we aren’t dogs and can’t be trained. That’s just bullshit and we all know it. Guys are trained all the time. Women are good at it, mostly because they withhold sex and other fun activities until guys change their behavior. It’s like Pavlovian experiment with a modern twist. [Pavolv was the guy who rang the bell and dogs would salivate because they expected food…] Now to side with the women for a brief instance, I totally agree that all men should be trained at some point. You women help us grow up and learn that there are more things in the world than video games, beer, sports and cheeseburgers. Thank you for that in most instances, but here is my issue. Why can’t we train you???

If it were ever brought up in conversation – “training women” – it would be called sexist. Well how come it isn’t the same for women trying to change men. It’s a goddamn double standard. But let me use a little example to further clarify my point:

So Girl #2 has trained her bf mentioned above to attend a craft fair, farmer’s market and dinner with her parents. I am going to go out on a limb and say this bf will not enjoy this, unless her parents celebrities or bar owners. Regardless, the bf goes on this day of no-fun because he probably is very fond of his gf and she has “trained” him. Ok – still with me? Lets switch it around. It’s one week later, and the gf/bf’s apartment is now full of fresh fruits and vegetables (farmer’s market) and weird midget Swedish dolls (craft fair). It’s a big sports day and the bf wants to go to a baseball game and then hit up the bar with his friends later on to make a night of it. Because he is probably in a serious relationship, he wants his gf to come along. She squirms and pleads and makes a big deal of it, not wanting to sit through a boring baseball game or go out and pound beers at a place that isn’t a lounge. The guy has tried, by women’s standard to “train” his gf but she uses every excuse in the book [possible even ‘that time of the month’] to get out of it. It just ain’t fair.

So there we have it – women are far more resistant to “training” than men because they can always say no to sex, and thus they can control men. It just not that fair that our libidos are always going and we have no will power. Men aren’t [the majority of the time] asking women to go to a strip club, just a night out or to watch a football game. A little concession would be nice now and then..
Disclaimer part II: If you have made it this far you realize I am about as stereotypical as possible. There are always exceptions to the rule and girls who embrace these typical manly activities are awesome because they understand what really motivates men. In other words this tirade of a post was aimed at the majority of women…

Brrr….Beer

Eat My Brains.....Gain My Knowledge

Alright so unfortunately I haven't hooked up with any broads in several weeks. I know, it's a little troubling to me too. Most people feel that the worst part about this is that they don't get to hear some crazy story. I think the worst part about this is that I have to self induce my orgasms. Actually that's not the problem, I'd still be doing that anyway. It's that my forearm has to put in double duty.

I almost feel bad about not having a story. I say almost because I'm a self centered asshole who has never felt this thing I hear about called "guilt". So here's what I've decided to do for all of my loyal readers, all six of you......I'm going to shed some light on every day life for you guys, because obviously that's what you need. You need a creep like me to say some of the things that you've been thinking. So here's a few points that I feel need to be made..........

I hate smokers. They're usually assholes when it comes to blowing their smoke in your fucking grill. Do you know who I hate more? I hate douche bags who claim they're allergic to smoke. I was in a cab over the weekend and there was a sticker on the partition that said, "No smoking - driver allergic". Oh, really? You're allergic to toxic smoke that causes lung cancer, emphysema and cardiovascular disease, among other things? That's like someone saying they're allergic to bullets or being stabbed. Fucking assholes. I'm allergic to rancid Middle Eastern body odor that smells like week old cat piss. You don't see me putting stickers up about it.

Why do people make fun of someone when they pick their wedgie? Someone didn't want their underwear riding up their ass and therefore remedied the problem. Wouldn't that make you gay if you did want that shit all up in your crack and didn't pick it? Obviously it's a lot harder to spot someone not picking their wedgie so you wouldn't be able to make fun of them for it as easily. I thought about this when I was on the subway Friday and got a wedgie. I picked it. A girl saw me. At first I panicked. Then I realized that, what the fuck do I care, I'd be a tool if I wanted to walk around like there was something in my ass. Fuck her. Right then and there I mandated it reasonable for all mankind to pick wedgies.

If you're a dude who walks into a bathroom and there's empty urinals but you choose to piss in a stall anyway, the planet immediately should and will believe that you have a tiny penis and that you're a homosexual. Hey, if you have a tiny penis and are a queen or just want to be thought of that way, go for it. But if not, piss like a burly man in the urinal. I witness this all the time and wonder why dudes constantly do this. I even see this done when the urinals have walls for privacy! What are you fucking six years old? You can't tinkle if someone's nearby? No one's gonna look at your tiny dick so I don't know what you're so afraid of.

That's it for now. I'll add on if I think of anything else that I need to comment on or judge. Until then, I'll be hoping to stick my penis into another victim so you don't have to put up with this kind of bullshit.