Archive for September, 2008

Open Letter

Posted: September 30, 2008 in Uncategorized

Dear Mr. Policeman,

I’m writing you this letter today in an effort to get you to change your evil ways. My fellow drivers do not have the guts to write you such a letter, so I speak for the entire population of motorists today.

There are two things that concern me about your behavior, and both revolve around my time spent on the road. First, for the love of God, please stop pulling people over, on the highway, during rush hour. The Pavlovian response that this generates among drivers is maddening. While I understand that you have someone pulled over and do not feel the need to slam on my brakes, unfortunately my fellow drivers do not get this. Having someone pulled over on the side of the road, at 7:30 in the morning on a major interstate, with your blinking lights, gnarls traffic each and every time. Why not just do paperwork during this time of day? Or how about you eat some breakfast or hit the shooting range? There are plenty of other things to do and I’m sure your superiors will understand. I am quite confident that all will agree that we will take our chances on the road with the speeder/registration expirer/no-turn-signaler; we don’t need you during this time.

Secondly, when you are driving on the highway during non-rush hour periods, how about you drive the speed limit like the rest of us? Driving 10 mph under the limit tends to freak a lot of the other chicken shit drivers out and, again, slows down traffic. Personally I’m not scared of you and have no problem passing you while you are deciding to give your testosterone a whirl. However, much like the side of the road business, other drivers are scared of you and this fear causes the road rage to bubble up inside me like the horniness of a 13-year old boy seeing a Playboy for the first time. This could be easily avoided if you would just set your cruise to whatever the speed limit is and go on about your day. Fishing on the highway is not a good idea.

With the cost of gas going through the roof, adding more stop-and-go driving to our lives adds to our financial peril. Cut us a break here Mr. Policeman and let us go on about our day and you go about yours. Thank you.



P.S.–Oh, and can you find another hairdo than a flat top? Last time I checked you guys aren’t Marines. Thanks again.

If you ever see me get beaten up by the cops, put down the video camera and come help me, alright?
–Bobcat Goldwaithe



I Fought the Ball…

Posted: September 25, 2008 in Uncategorized

…and the ball won.

Tuesday evening friends, during one of my many athletic excursions, I was the victim of a softball in the mouth. Smooth grounder that Karma had different plans for as it raced along the ground towards my open and waiting glove. As the ball got about 2-3 feet in front of me, Karma threw a rock or something right in front of it so that the ball popped up and smacked me square in the mouth.

Many of you may ask, “Why didn’t you move?” Well, this isn’t The Matrix, and I’m not Neo, nor is this a Twix commercial where I can stop time to move out of the way of this speeding ball of leather and string and rubber. So in my mouth it went, and in pain I became. After spitting out quite a bit of my own blood, and checking to make sure all of my teeth were still present in my gumline, I decided to tough it out and truck along.

Wednesday was brutal. Every single one of my teeth hurt and I felt as though I was swimming in a sea of fog. For all those that are wondering, brushing your teeth with a lip the size of Rhode Island can be a challenge. As is eating. And drinking. And chewing gum. And talking. And just about anything else you can think of with your mouth. So today, 36 hours after my losing battle with a softball, I still look like a cross between Angelina Jolie, Bubba (Forrest Gump), and Carl Spackler (Caddyshack). I sound like a short bus kid when I talk and I’m relegated to drinking my beer through a straw. Thanks a lot Karma for reminding who’s really in charge here.

It’s in the hole!
–Carl Spackler



Posted: September 23, 2008 in Uncategorized

First off let me tell you that I am abandoning the rest of my Caribbean Chronicles. I got to writing about the last three days and it was pretty much the same thing: drinking, eating, more drinking, hangover, and more drinking. After awhile it becomes boring and I made the executive decision to pull the plug on that pilot. I will say, however, that covering the lamp in my drunken stupor on Day 2 was not a hot idea. I managed to (or the lamp did rather) burn a hole all the way through not only a Kenneth Cole shirt, but a Michael Kors shirt as well. Moral of the story: don’t cover a hot lamp with expensive shirts.

Second, allow me to scream, as loud as I possibly can, that MOVING SUCKS!!! I am now moving for the third time in two years (not a good average at all) and each time I am reminded of how much I would rather be jabbing my eyeballs with dry toothpicks than playing nomad. How is it that one always has a ton of friends when one is throwing a party, but when one is moving, you become the loneliest person on the face of the planet? I’ve never seen so many people with family coming into town in the middle of September in my life. There also seems to be an unusual number of funerals this weekend. Most people go to a funeral mid-week to get out of work, not on a Saturday…strange.

People, if you don’t want to help me move, all you have to say is “Are you fucking kidding me?” when I ask, “Wanna help me move this weekend?” Don’t tell me your best friend’s husband’s great aunt’s cousin died in Minneapolis and you have to take a horse drawn carriage to get there. Such convenient excuses always set off my Nancy Drews and just makes me want to hit you in the head with the closest available heavy object. Or if no heavy object is available, give you a Wet Willy with a urine covered finger.

So, alas, I will be moving this weekend with very little assistance. I guess I could pay someone to come do it for me, but then of course I could always pay for sex as well. In either case I’d rather do it myself than pay for it.

So is there any tread left on the tires? Or at this point would it be like throwing a hot dog down a hallway?
–Stewie Griffin


For some strange reason, even on vacation, I can’t sleep past 6:30 am. Normally this is all well and good but when one awakes with a terrible, tequila-induced headache, one is not in the best spirits.

Out of bed I rolled, and despite my throbbing temples and the “cat shit in my mouth” taste on my tongue, I threw open the curtains to reveal a sunrise that was obscured by the clouds of the approaching Hurricane Ike. That aside, it was still an awesome site and one that everyone should experience at some point in time.

I made my coffee and headed out to the patio with my beverage to enjoy the ocean view and smoke the first of what would amount to like 500 cigarettes that day. Once you are in flavor country it’s really hard to come back out of it. Judge me if you will, but I like to smoke. Sure it will most likely kill me, but ultimately something has to.

Once on the balcony it took me about 10 minutes to notice the mosquitoes hanging out on the walls. If any of you know me, you would know that this immediately alarmed me. For those of you that don’t, just know that mosquitoes love me. I am a mosquito repellant for those around me. Considering that fact I was naturally a little on edge seeing so many of the little bloodsuckers just hanging out, waiting for a meal. After about another 10 minutes I noticed that I had not been bitten yet. In fact, none of the mosquitoes had moved. I guess they had a long night of drinking too. Lazy bastards. Get up and do something with yourself.

After I had completed my pot of coffee, it was off to breakfast, buffet-style bitches. I suppose I could lodge a huge complaint here, but the buffet got better later in the week. Though on this first day, I didn’t recognize half of what was being served. I can, however, recognize seafood and there was a shitton of it. What is everyone’s facination with seafood? And for breakfast? I don’t get it. Makes me wanna vomit just thinking about it.

After a wholly unsatisfying breakfast, I grabbed beer #1 of the day, got all greased up, and hit the gigantic saltwater pool with the swim up bar. I should’ve probably put sunscreen on right away instead of tanning oil, but hindsight is always 20/20. Once I got acclimated to the pool and grabbed beer #2, I thought I would try out my swimming skills. I don’t fancy myself a very strong swimmer; never have. But I guess I must have been inspired by Michael Phelps because I seemed to greatly improve my aquatic skills. In fact, I would go so far as to say I was very torpedoesque under the water. I even got ballsy and opened my contact covered eyes under water. In addition to behaving like Flipper, I practiced my syncronized swimming skills by perfecting my underwater handstands. I think I’ve been playing the wrong sports my whole life.

For the remainder of the day I hung out in the pool and continued to abuse my liver. It’s amazing how water and alcohol can prevent you from realizing that you have become fried by the Earth’s closest star. After I returned to my room I took a nice long nap, only to wake up and notice that I looked like one of the colors of the American flag. It didn’t hurt too much but I think that’s probably because I was still a little intoxicated. However, the hot shower that followed my nap reminded me that my skin was covered in SPF nothin’ and that hot water+burned skin=OUCH.

No matter…burning skin aside I got dressed in fancy duds and headed out the the resort’s Japanese restaurant. I wasn’t particularly excited about this prospect due to the seafood factor, but I figured worst-case scenario was that if it sucked I would just order a burger from room service and leave the restaurant hungry. We were all seated at one of the Tepanyaki tables, chose our food (beef and duck for me please) and watched the chef tear it up. It was rather interesting to watch my food being cooked, but I couldn’t help but think I was on an episode of Iron Chef or something. It was also rather interesting to see me utilize chopsticks for the first time. It’s no wonder that Asians are always so skinny. My guess is they just give up after a while.

The food was delicious, that was the good part. The bad part was that I was sweating like a fat kid due to the sunburn, the nice clothes, and the scorching heat of the skillet right in front of my face. I wasn’t just perspiring a little bit, I was sweating like I had just run a marathon. And of course the sweat makes my hair wet and then what happens? Poof! Chow head.

I left the restaurant full and sweaty and ready for some more booze. After that it was pretty much a blur. I passed out on the bed and finally woke up at some time that I don’t remember. In my stumbling around I could not figure out how to turn off the desk lamp, so I threw a couple of shirts over it, and the gross top blanket all hotels put on the bed and passed back out.

Chopsticks are one of the reasons the Chinese never invented custard.
–Spike Milligan


Rain, rain, go away…

It absolutely fucking poured this morning on my way to the airport. I swear I saw an Ark floating down the highway. Oh, wait, maybe it’s the acid…I digress.

Minus the rain, the airport arrival and departure was uneventful. So uneventful that we can just skip right on past planes, trains, and automobiles and get right into the mix of it all.

As soon as I stepped my pretty little buns off the plane, even in the air conditioning, you notice how hot it is. Not like Arizona, I’m-in-an-oven hot, but that all-too-familiar I’m-slowly-tenderizing-in-a-crock-pot-hot. Thank God I was wearing a hat because otherwise I would immediately have Chow head.

Here are some tips for flying into Cancun:

–Don’t pack weed because there are dogs everywhere.

–If you are brave enough to pack weed, don’t pack it with food. There are dogs for that too.

–After you get your bags and get through customs, walk past all the dudes and dudettes in light blue button ups. They look like they are there to help you, but they are really just going to try and rope you into time share. No matter what they say or do, don’t trust them. It’s like dealing with a rabid dog: don’t make eye contact, just keep walking…FAST!

–Flashing cash will get you where you need to be a lot faster. It will also get you better drinks..more on that later.

After the long drive to the resort I am immediately floored by how awesome it is. Little did I know that I would have a butler for my stay at the resort. FUCKING SWEEEEET! As it is with all resorts, my room isn’t immediately ready so I get a few minutes to chill in the posh lobby and down a couple of Dos Equis’ before they whisk me away. I also get to puff on a few Camels whilst sitting in the lobby, which I also found to be awesome. I didn’t see anyone around me dropping dead from the fumes…maybe Mexico has it right.

With a small buzz goin’ on I’m lead to my room by my butler and, much like the lobby, it is posh. I won’t bore you with all the details but I will say that pulling back the curtains revealed a balcony with a couch and swinging chair, and the Caribbean ocean and adjoining beach. Not just a view of these features mind you, but the actual features.

I opened the mini-fridge to reveal a nice selection of alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages. I thought about drinking a Sprite, but I quickly realized that it is 3:30 pm, I’m in Mexico, and my buzz will go away if I don’t keep drinking. With that in mind I cracked open another Dos Equis and went on my way to explore the resort. My only complaint here is that the mini-fridge doesn’t seem to keep beverages that cold. However, I’m a trooper and I’ve learned if you drink it fast enough, you’ll never notice that it’s warm and so that’s what I do…all…fucking…week.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. I sweated alot. I ate a mediocre porterhouse (which they would not cook rare by the way. I like my beef to be bloody but alas they would not accommodate such a request and I don’t know how to say “bloody” in Spanish. I tried mooing but that just got me a weird look) and drank quite a few more beers (I lost count at 9). Somewhere in between I managed to take three or four shots of warm tequila and promptly passed out at a time that I do not recall.

Day one down and so far, so good.

Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.
–Benjamin Franklin


Parodic Melody

Posted: September 14, 2008 in Uncategorized

As I finish compiling my thoughts from my now completed Caribbean vacation, I had a song pop into my head. It seems as though it would be a disservice if I didn’t give some, um, special treatment to this tune.

You know the drill…pull up the song, come back, and sing along.

Ode to Bumming From Your Friends

What would you do if I rolled up a doob
Would you sit down and smoke it with me
Give me some weed and I’ll break out the bong
And we’ll spark it up and smoke some weed

Oh I’ll get high with a little help from my friends
Mm I’ll get fried with a little help from my friends
Oh gonna fly with a little help from my friends

What do I do when I’m all out of smoke
Does it not suck to be so unhigh
How do I feel when I’m scrapin the bowl
Are you sad because you can’t get kind?
No I’ll get high with a little help from my friends
Mm I’ll get fried with a little help with my friends
Mm gonna fly with a little help from my friends

Do you need any chronic
I need some sticky fresh bud
Could it be really chronic
I want some sticky fresh bud

Would you believe that I have lots of ganj
Yes, I was certain you would bring me a lot
What will we do if we can’t smoke it all
I’m not sure, but we can mix brownies with pot

Oh I’ll get high with a little help from my friends
Mm I’ll get fried with a little help from my friends
Oh gonna fly with a little help from my friends

Do you need any chronic
I just need some sticky fresh bud
Could it be really chronic
I want some sticky fresh bud

Oh I’ll get high with a little help from my friends
Mm I’ll get fried with a little help from my friends
Oh gonna fly with a little help from my friends

Yes I’ll get high with a little help from my friends
With a little help from my friiiiieeeennnndssss

Probably not my best work but I had fun writing it. My dogs left the room during this session because, well, frankly, my singing sounds like a cat getting hit by a train.

You can parody almost anything
–Bruce McCall


Mexican Food…For Thought

Posted: September 11, 2008 in Uncategorized

Later this weekend, I’ll be posting my play-by-play of my travels to the Caribbean this week. In the meantime, as I sit on a patio, attached to a room, on a beach, and as I sip what is probably my 435th Dos Equis over the past five days, I thought it would be fun to share a few quick observations.

  • Whomever invented the netting inside men’s swimming trunks obviously never spent a lot of time submerged in water. This person should be drawn and quatered. The tip of my weenus is now completely raw thanks to the combination of netting, sand, saltwater, and flesh.
  • Mexican mosquitoes are strange. I walked out on my patio one morning only to see about 50 mosquitoes hanging out on the wall and buzzing around. Yet, despite my juicy presence, I was left alone. This remained true until about midday when they feasted on my flesh. Most mosquitoes bite during dusk and dawn hours. I guess I’m just a snack for them and not one of the essential meals of the day.
  • Having a butler for your room is AWESOME!
  • For some reason I cannot buy a shot of Patron at a Mexican resort. Go figure.
  • I wonder how they choose what to leave in English vs. translate to Spanish on television. For example, the show “Girls of the Playboy Mansion” is “Girls of the Playboy Mansion,” but the movie “Tears of the Sun” is “Las Lagrimas Del Sol.”
  • Why can I say “gracias” freely with no problemo but I can’t say “adios?” I’m such an American.
  • Finding Mexican food at a Mexican resort is damn near impossible.
  • The maker of the little bracelets one must wear at a resort should make the edges out of satin or something. Try accidentally scraping that motherfucker on your beet-red, freshly burned skin. Hurts almost as bad a raw weenus.
  • Four years of Spanish, 22 years in Texas, two trips to the Yucatan and three trips to bordertowns and I still can’t figure out why they put exclamation points and questions marks at both the beginning and end of sentences.

That’s it kiddies; I don’t want to spoil the rest of my literary fun this weekend. I’m off to drink more tequila I probably don’t need; and eat more food I probably won’t like; and pass out in a bed that most likely has seen more action than a Bruce Willis movie. ADIOS for now (see, I’m learning).

One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.
–George Carlin