What you're about to see is the greatest internet video of all time.
In my mind this is the type of thing the internet was invented for; nearly 34 minutes of people hurting themselves, shit blowing up, and anything else that is awesome. The only thing that could make this better would be if they put a picture of my privates on this video. Because believe you me, my thing is worth all the tea in China. Nevertheless, ENJOY!
Monday, October 6, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The Hangover Cure: An American Necessity
Sitting here on "The greatest Sunday in the history of Sundays," RvD and I have had a little discussion on hangovers. Most notably, the fact that I have not had one either of the past two Sundays. As the weather has become more "Big-Bob Friendly" according to Fussy Joe, I've noticed my enjoyment of drinking increasing. Last Saturday was the end of Josephest, and I started drinking delicious Busch Lights at around 1:30. I watched Demolition Man, Talladega Nights and played about three hours of Rock Band....all before the sun went down. We went to a karaoke bar in the evening, and around approximately hour 15 of drinking a new karaoke experience was born. My evil twin, Joe's buddy Orlando, apparently has the same taste for Budweiser fueled singing in front of a room of strange folks. R Von D, Fridge and Orlando karaoke will henceforth be known as DFO Speedwagon. RVD and I did several shots to celebrate how good we were at singing. I drank for about 12.5 hours and really thought I was doomed on Sunday morning. Woke up around 10AM and felt like $1,000,001. I actually felt GOOD.
Anywho, yesterday I walked to a local BBQ celebrating the end of my work's softball team season. I brought a 12 pack with me, figuring this would be an easy kind of night that I would only need 12 beers for and then I'd come home around midnight. Instead, I finished my backpack of beers by 10 and started drinking from the keg. I convinced 3 of my coworker pals that it would be a good idea to sneak out of the party and head down to a local watering hole. At this point I had consumed around 16 beers total, I believe. Once arriving at the Skellig, we ran into RvD and Fussy Joe. RVD and I had a heated exchange with some personal insults being hurled towards one another. (He forgot to take his crazy pills and I was being hurtful and intoxicated.) He pushed me and I accidentally bumped into a woman of small stature.
Bouncer (to Ryan): "You need to go now."
Baron Von D (to Bouncer): "I know."
Joe and I had a good chuckle at Von D's expense and thought about how much he must have been fuming on that lonely walk home. We did a celebratory shot. This put me at (best estimate) 18 beers and 2 shots as my total consumption for the evening. I took a cab to my ladyfriend's house after leaving The Skellig and slept there (I'm sure she was thrilled with my decision to show up at 1:30am smelling like stale beer and bbq food.) I didn't want Ron Von Don smothering me in my sleep. I woke up at 8:30 this morning without even a hint of a headache. I was as amazed as you are, loyal reader. I had two orange cream popsicles for breakfast and had ladyfriend stop at Starbucks so I could get some caffeine into my system.
The moral of these stories is that I for some reason have recently become completely immune to hangovers. Everybody has their own! I generally don't value anyone's opinion but my own. Today, we'll be exploring some of my close pals' own personal hangover cures.
1. MKenn
-1/2 tin of Grizzly Straight
-Rye and Ginger
-The Outdoors
-Black People Music
2. R von D
-Gatorade
-Video Games
-Anna's Taqueria
-Acute Anxiety Medication
-Being left alone
3. Duchess von D
-Pizza
-Advil
4. Gregoire
-5 mile run or 25 mile bike ride
5. Ladyfriend
-As much ice cold non-fat milk as humanly possible
6. Fussy Joe
-"The Grease"
For the longest time, I was the hangover king of the world. I used to feel so horrible after an evening of tough drinking that I would make the people around me suffer too. Even if they were strangers that I walked by in a gas station. My hangover cures used to depend on the situation I was in. If I was on a long car ride home from Connecticut or Plymouth I would usually get at least one Monster Energy Drink and put my window down regardless of the weather. Fresh air was the key component. I would rather freeze my tits off and end up with a chapped face than be overhung when I got home to my parents house and had to face their disappointment, disgust, and shame. Back in those good old days when I used to get hangovers and I didn't have a long drive ahead of me, I used to retreat to my bedroom, watch at least 2 Star Wars movies, drink gallons of water and try to overdose on multi-vitamins.
Bottom line is that we all clearly are borderline problem drinkers in that we've had enough opportunities to develop our own personal cures for hangovers. I suggest you all either copy my lifestyle exactly so that you no longer have those rough mornings or enroll in "the program" to get your life straight.
Dig,
Fridge III, Esq
Anywho, yesterday I walked to a local BBQ celebrating the end of my work's softball team season. I brought a 12 pack with me, figuring this would be an easy kind of night that I would only need 12 beers for and then I'd come home around midnight. Instead, I finished my backpack of beers by 10 and started drinking from the keg. I convinced 3 of my coworker pals that it would be a good idea to sneak out of the party and head down to a local watering hole. At this point I had consumed around 16 beers total, I believe. Once arriving at the Skellig, we ran into RvD and Fussy Joe. RVD and I had a heated exchange with some personal insults being hurled towards one another. (He forgot to take his crazy pills and I was being hurtful and intoxicated.) He pushed me and I accidentally bumped into a woman of small stature.
Bouncer (to Ryan): "You need to go now."
Baron Von D (to Bouncer): "I know."
Joe and I had a good chuckle at Von D's expense and thought about how much he must have been fuming on that lonely walk home. We did a celebratory shot. This put me at (best estimate) 18 beers and 2 shots as my total consumption for the evening. I took a cab to my ladyfriend's house after leaving The Skellig and slept there (I'm sure she was thrilled with my decision to show up at 1:30am smelling like stale beer and bbq food.) I didn't want Ron Von Don smothering me in my sleep. I woke up at 8:30 this morning without even a hint of a headache. I was as amazed as you are, loyal reader. I had two orange cream popsicles for breakfast and had ladyfriend stop at Starbucks so I could get some caffeine into my system.
The moral of these stories is that I for some reason have recently become completely immune to hangovers. Everybody has their own! I generally don't value anyone's opinion but my own. Today, we'll be exploring some of my close pals' own personal hangover cures.
1. MKenn
-1/2 tin of Grizzly Straight
-Rye and Ginger
-The Outdoors
-Black People Music
2. R von D
-Gatorade
-Video Games
-Anna's Taqueria
-Acute Anxiety Medication
-Being left alone
3. Duchess von D
-Pizza
-Advil
4. Gregoire
-5 mile run or 25 mile bike ride
5. Ladyfriend
-As much ice cold non-fat milk as humanly possible
6. Fussy Joe
-"The Grease"
For the longest time, I was the hangover king of the world. I used to feel so horrible after an evening of tough drinking that I would make the people around me suffer too. Even if they were strangers that I walked by in a gas station. My hangover cures used to depend on the situation I was in. If I was on a long car ride home from Connecticut or Plymouth I would usually get at least one Monster Energy Drink and put my window down regardless of the weather. Fresh air was the key component. I would rather freeze my tits off and end up with a chapped face than be overhung when I got home to my parents house and had to face their disappointment, disgust, and shame. Back in those good old days when I used to get hangovers and I didn't have a long drive ahead of me, I used to retreat to my bedroom, watch at least 2 Star Wars movies, drink gallons of water and try to overdose on multi-vitamins.
Bottom line is that we all clearly are borderline problem drinkers in that we've had enough opportunities to develop our own personal cures for hangovers. I suggest you all either copy my lifestyle exactly so that you no longer have those rough mornings or enroll in "the program" to get your life straight.
Dig,
Fridge III, Esq
Thursday, October 2, 2008
My Roommates Are Trying To Kill Me: Day 3
We pick up where we left off.
I got up yesterday morning to a very feminine knock on my door. I opened the door, eyes half open to see Fussy Joe standing at my door. He was smiling. Naturally I inquired as to why he was looking at me the way he was, and he then pointed to my feet where I saw a 3/4 full bottle of Pepsi with something white on the top of the dark liquid.
"Is that grated cheese?" I asked.
"Why yes, yes it is," The Fussy One said with a smile "it's got some jelly in there too."
So that was my breakfast. A bottle of Pepsi, grape jelly, grated Parmesan cheese, and just for a little kick, nine whole packets of sugar waiting for me at the bottom of the bottle. Little did this Lilliputian turd know that I have the ability to chug just about anything, so I poured the Pepsi into a pint glass and took the whole thing down like a champ. Hey, at least they turned the volume up, so to speak, and got away from the bags of sour skittles.
The rest of my day was uneventful, I almost fell asleep at my desk, walked around JP prospecting new clients, and bought two new DVDs at the Best Buy down the block. Upon returning home, I found the Fridge in the kitchen making what I consider to be the best dinner I have ever seen. He was cooking chef trimmed, low-fat breasts of chicken with mixed vegetables over white rice. Little did he know that I was gazing around for something to stab him with so I could steal his dinner, but I stayed my hand and opted for some cold pizza as an appetizer to what was to come later on.
So Fussy Joe comes home with the same squinty-eyed shit eating grin on his face. I was playing Call of Duty on XBox Live when I hear Fussy's infamous "ENJOY!" coming from the kitchen. Placed in front of me where two slices of bread, I didn't know what was inside, and to be honest, I really shouldn't have looked, but the sandwich contained the following:
Two pieces of multi-grain bread
Two pieces of sliced chicken
Mayonnaise
Soy Sauce
Grape Jelly
Salt
Hot Cocoa Powder
Marshmallows
Spit (probably)
I took several quick bites of the sandwich and knew that I was in trouble. It was so salty that my throat closed the second it was inside my mouth (that's what she said). I hated it so hard, but I was not going to let that little midget a-hole get the better of R Von D...so I endeavored to persevere. I got the brilliant idea to make the sandwich into two open-faced halves with the chicken, hot cocoa, and jelly on one side and everything else on the other. Looking back, I should have eaten the salty half first because the chicken and jelly went down no problem. It actually wasn't as bad as I had originally made it out to be. The soy sauce, salt, and mayo side proved to be a bit of a challenge. Maybe it was too salty. Maybe it made me gag. MAYBE I had to get up and dash for the trash can. MAYBE I didn't make it in time. MAYBE I threw up on my pants thirty seconds before my girlfriend walked in the door and I had to run around the house cleaning myself up before I said hello to her. Things happened too fast to recall in such detail, but she had no idea what had just happened until Fussy Joe told her about it hours later when he came home from his Gay Pride night at Margaritas.
After that, I sat on the couch with my steady gal, drank three shots of Pepto, and watched "Forgetting Sarah Marshall." Nothing better than a pleasant evening with a good movie and good company. Then Fussy Pants came home and ruined everything. He kept going on and on about how the rest of the week is going to be torture and asking me if I wanted any dessert. I calmly explained to him that for a little pup he does a lot of barking but not a whole lot of biting. Of course, he took offense to such a comment and went in the kitchen to make me a shake. The shake was:
Milk
Soy Sauce (his new go-to)
Mustard
Mayo
Piss (probably)
I got a whiff of this stuff and knew right away I wasn't going to get it down. However, in a bit of psychological warfare, I added about a shot and a half of Johnnie Walker to the drink. He thought I was doing it to look tough, but I was actually doing it to take away some of the mustard and soy sauce smell. Funny thing about milk and mustard is, when combined, they tend to have an adverse effect on each other, and the milk curdles instantly. Nothing like mustard and sour milk to get your stomach going. Seconds later, I was bent over the sink, throwing up the entirety of the shake. BUT, I did manage to get the whole thing down, so it still counted.
The good news is, I was actually able to sleep last night and the Sox won, so the night wasn't a total loss I guess. I must admit though that my confidence in my abilities is a little rocked after last night, but I have only a day and a half to go, and the stupid retards didn't make my breakfast today so I got another freebie. Also, I lamented last night to my special lady that I really am starting to miss vegetables. Like, really. The little fat guy is really starting to miss his greens.
And then there was evening, and then morning. The Third Day.
I got up yesterday morning to a very feminine knock on my door. I opened the door, eyes half open to see Fussy Joe standing at my door. He was smiling. Naturally I inquired as to why he was looking at me the way he was, and he then pointed to my feet where I saw a 3/4 full bottle of Pepsi with something white on the top of the dark liquid.
"Is that grated cheese?" I asked.
"Why yes, yes it is," The Fussy One said with a smile "it's got some jelly in there too."
So that was my breakfast. A bottle of Pepsi, grape jelly, grated Parmesan cheese, and just for a little kick, nine whole packets of sugar waiting for me at the bottom of the bottle. Little did this Lilliputian turd know that I have the ability to chug just about anything, so I poured the Pepsi into a pint glass and took the whole thing down like a champ. Hey, at least they turned the volume up, so to speak, and got away from the bags of sour skittles.
The rest of my day was uneventful, I almost fell asleep at my desk, walked around JP prospecting new clients, and bought two new DVDs at the Best Buy down the block. Upon returning home, I found the Fridge in the kitchen making what I consider to be the best dinner I have ever seen. He was cooking chef trimmed, low-fat breasts of chicken with mixed vegetables over white rice. Little did he know that I was gazing around for something to stab him with so I could steal his dinner, but I stayed my hand and opted for some cold pizza as an appetizer to what was to come later on.
So Fussy Joe comes home with the same squinty-eyed shit eating grin on his face. I was playing Call of Duty on XBox Live when I hear Fussy's infamous "ENJOY!" coming from the kitchen. Placed in front of me where two slices of bread, I didn't know what was inside, and to be honest, I really shouldn't have looked, but the sandwich contained the following:
Two pieces of multi-grain bread
Two pieces of sliced chicken
Mayonnaise
Soy Sauce
Grape Jelly
Salt
Hot Cocoa Powder
Marshmallows
Spit (probably)
I took several quick bites of the sandwich and knew that I was in trouble. It was so salty that my throat closed the second it was inside my mouth (that's what she said). I hated it so hard, but I was not going to let that little midget a-hole get the better of R Von D...so I endeavored to persevere. I got the brilliant idea to make the sandwich into two open-faced halves with the chicken, hot cocoa, and jelly on one side and everything else on the other. Looking back, I should have eaten the salty half first because the chicken and jelly went down no problem. It actually wasn't as bad as I had originally made it out to be. The soy sauce, salt, and mayo side proved to be a bit of a challenge. Maybe it was too salty. Maybe it made me gag. MAYBE I had to get up and dash for the trash can. MAYBE I didn't make it in time. MAYBE I threw up on my pants thirty seconds before my girlfriend walked in the door and I had to run around the house cleaning myself up before I said hello to her. Things happened too fast to recall in such detail, but she had no idea what had just happened until Fussy Joe told her about it hours later when he came home from his Gay Pride night at Margaritas.
After that, I sat on the couch with my steady gal, drank three shots of Pepto, and watched "Forgetting Sarah Marshall." Nothing better than a pleasant evening with a good movie and good company. Then Fussy Pants came home and ruined everything. He kept going on and on about how the rest of the week is going to be torture and asking me if I wanted any dessert. I calmly explained to him that for a little pup he does a lot of barking but not a whole lot of biting. Of course, he took offense to such a comment and went in the kitchen to make me a shake. The shake was:
Milk
Soy Sauce (his new go-to)
Mustard
Mayo
Piss (probably)
I got a whiff of this stuff and knew right away I wasn't going to get it down. However, in a bit of psychological warfare, I added about a shot and a half of Johnnie Walker to the drink. He thought I was doing it to look tough, but I was actually doing it to take away some of the mustard and soy sauce smell. Funny thing about milk and mustard is, when combined, they tend to have an adverse effect on each other, and the milk curdles instantly. Nothing like mustard and sour milk to get your stomach going. Seconds later, I was bent over the sink, throwing up the entirety of the shake. BUT, I did manage to get the whole thing down, so it still counted.
The good news is, I was actually able to sleep last night and the Sox won, so the night wasn't a total loss I guess. I must admit though that my confidence in my abilities is a little rocked after last night, but I have only a day and a half to go, and the stupid retards didn't make my breakfast today so I got another freebie. Also, I lamented last night to my special lady that I really am starting to miss vegetables. Like, really. The little fat guy is really starting to miss his greens.
And then there was evening, and then morning. The Third Day.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
My Roommates Are Trying To Kill Me: Day 2
As you are well aware, Fussy Joe, Fridge, and his idiot brother K-Rock have concocted a plan to end my life. They are well aware of my weakness for bets, money, and food and have chosen to exploit this in an attempt to break my psyche and weaken my otherwise superior physical makeup. If this were me pulling off this bet, I can assure you that there would be Danny Ocean-esque precision involved using certain combinations of food that would assuredly get the results I wanted. While I will not divulge any of that information here (for these three idiots are no doubt reading this), I will tell you that my cronies have been somewhat lacking in their creativity.
If you remember, Monday night I was greeted when I got home with a peanut butter and sour skittle sandwich along with a vicious energy drink. I then told Joseph that I really didn't like the whole "sour" aspect of my meal, so what do you think I got for breakfast on day 2? You guessed it. More sour skittles. The imagination that could have gone into something like that probably could have produced several high-end Tim Burton movies, right? Bravo boys, you got me. A little water took the sourness right off those little things and I was on my way to work another twenty hour day.
As an aside, I made 60 bucks slingin' pies last night and my girlfriend now refers to me as Papa Gino. Moreover, I met my first legitimate whore last night. No seriously. 
She came into the establishment last night from the halfway house around the corner and bought a Pepsi. I couldn't imagine what she needed to chug a soft drink for, but she seemed hell-bent on drinking it as fast as she could. Weird, right? I wonder what she was up to. Perhaps she was parched from the walk. She was a real handsome gal though, a classic beauty. 5'3" 300-400lbs, crooked teeth, and a "mom" tattoo on her boob. Charming gal.
She came into the establishment last night from the halfway house around the corner and bought a Pepsi. I couldn't imagine what she needed to chug a soft drink for, but she seemed hell-bent on drinking it as fast as she could. Weird, right? I wonder what she was up to. Perhaps she was parched from the walk. She was a real handsome gal though, a classic beauty. 5'3" 300-400lbs, crooked teeth, and a "mom" tattoo on her boob. Charming gal.Moving along, I got home and what did I find was for dinner? Oatmeal, cumin, pepper, and YOU GUESSED IT...sour skittles. The Brain trust really broke the bank when they came up with this plan huh? I swear to God you'd find more originality in an hour of Carlos Mencia stand up. You'd find more creativity in a special needs classroom on bouncy-ball day. I swear I come up with better plans to smite my enemies during a mid-afternoon nap. Basically everybody sucks but me.
However, my dear reader, the lack of creativity and originality has only awoken something hidden in me for a long time. When I was a boy of seventeen (thirty years ago?!? HAHA you're hilarious K-Rock! Old jokes are funny!), I was notorious for taking jokes too far. That boy has been gone for some time now, but it seems as though he is on his way back home. When I was a kid, I had a colleague who could get me to jump off roofs of summer camp bathrooms by uttering the simple phrase "you won't do it." Well, that boy is on his way to Waltham with each passing day, and he has enlisted the services of some very powerful and sociopathic allies.
And then there was evening, and then morning. The second day.
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