Archive for the 'beer' Category

I’ll stop talking about my wiiner when I’m good and ready

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on May 6, 2008 @ 1:16 pm
in Mrs. ACW, awesome, beer, games, music, nerd stuff, ocd and sex
. 19 Comments

Because I’m thrilled that Mrs. ACW doesn’t look with scorn upon the Wii, the only video game system I’m aware of to have accomplished that feat, I am constantly encouraged to buy more games and accessories for our Wiiner.

So we bought Guitar Hero.

This has introduced a number of interesting behaviors that I’m sure will become full-blown OCD tendencies in no time.

1) It is impossible for me to not rock out while I am playing. I’m constantly dancing around and bopping along with the music, even if it’s The (remarkably shitty) Killers and the horrendous douchebag among douchebags, Brandon Flowers, he of the “ironic” pedophile mustache, is singing. I’m glad I got five stars on that song, because I’d hate to have to play it again. Seriously, does he realize that when he sings he sounds like a whiny baby with a poopy diaper? What a knob. If I have one wish it’s that The Killers and Fallout Boy eventually get into a rumble and they all die.

2) It is impossible for me to not drink while I am playing. Granted, I’ve only played twice so far, but finishing each song to take a swig from that fantastic, long-necked, brown-glass teat of diminishing fine-motor skills is about as close as I’ve come to paradise. I only wish that I could play and drink at the same time, sort of using the bottle like a slide guitar, but I’m not that good yet. And the game doesn’t really work that way. And I would probably break something. Shut up.

3) I have yet to master the “Star Power” usage. On the 360 it seemed to be a lot easier. Just pop the guitar neck up a little bit and viola: star power. With the Wii it can get a little temperamental, so the chance of you seeing me successfully execute star power is lesser than the chance of you seeing me successfully jerk the controller up and down like I’m some sort of spastic freak living in a fantasy world of tiny guitars that are attacking me for some reason and I’m trying to kill them. Also, I’ve yet to successfully pull off a star power activation combined with a Pete Townshend-esque guitar move, so until that day comes, I’m going to keep jumping and swinging my arm until I wind up hurting myself, which is the most likely outcome.

4) This is probably the worst one of all. Now that I’ve played a video game about playing a guitar, I totally feel like I can hang with people who actually know how to play guitar and talk about hammer ons, pull offs, harmonics, and fingering techniques. Double entendres aside, that is, which is what I would normally talk about if I heard those terms.

5) The best thing about Guitar Hero is that I can finally put into practice all the awesome band names that I’ve ever come up with. Seriously, I’m a band-naming machine. Need a band name? Just call me, I’ll do it for cheap. Ready? Here are 10 off the top of my head:

The Crap Monkeys
Flinger
The Gravymaker Express
The Rooster Pothole
Disco School
Satan’s Daycare
Forget the Alamo!
Windsock
Dreampickles
A Bucket Full of Pudding

Because I thought “Wiit Power” was too inappropriate

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on May 1, 2008 @ 9:34 am
in Mrs. ACW, awesome, beer, devil cat, food, happy hour, money, movies, potty humor and suhmuhmuh bitch
. 11 Comments

Before we get to the moist, throbbing awesomeness that is my post for the day, there’s some business we have to attend to:

blah blah blah happy hour blah blah tonight blah blah 6pm blah blah

Dougherty’s Irish Pub
223 W Chase St
Baltimore, MD 2120
(410) 752-4059

blah blah blah blah whatever blah be there, or be somewhere else: I know I will.

Anyway, on to the nonsense!

The night of the bachelor party I was actually hemorrhaging man points because I wasn’t actively engaged in the act of pickling my liver with as much alcohol as possible. In fact, I unfortunately spent the entire night maintaining a fine balance on the line between sobriety and mild buzz.

“Why,” you ask rhetorically because actually speaking to the computer is more than a little crazy, “would you deprive yourself of the sweet inebriating nectar that the gods themselves saw fit to excrete from their magical alcohol-producing organs so many Tuesdays ago for the benefit of all humankind?”

Because I was waking up early the next morning to go wait in line to buy a Wii. There. I said it. Are you happy?

Mrs. ACW and I have wanted to buy a Wii for some time now, but due to their relative scarcity we’ve been unable to procure one. Actually, we would have been able to get one a long time ago for about $600 on ebay, but Mrs. ACW refuses to sell her body on the street, and I just can’t bear to do another half-dozen equine-related porn movies. (I’m half-proud and half-nauseated to say I was second-assistant director on an official Harry Potter porn spinoff- More than a Man: Fisted by Firenze) Plus, let’s all finally admit that ebay is pretty much the squalid back alley of the internet, and that we want as little to do with it as possible.

The guy at Target told me to get there about an hour early because they expected there to be a line, and at 7am I was the only person waiting in line. And at 7:20am, I was the only person waiting in line. Thanks, Target guy, you unmitigated doucheface.

So I went home, fed the cats, jettisoned the previous evening’s mountain of snack food, had something to eat, and then went back to Target at about 7:45am to find myself the second person in line. Not too bad. A cold and boring quarter of an hour later and I was on my way home, not at all hungover but so exhausted that I may as well have been.

It wasn’t until many hours later that I was awake enough to actually set it up, and once I did I was immediately happy with our decision. It’s simply a fun gaming system. One of the things that surprised me is that you can even give your Wii a nickname, so I’ve dubbed ours, “The Wiiner”, which leads to hilarious conversations like this, “Have you played with the wiiner yet tonight?”
“No, not yet. I plan on working up quite a sweat later with the wiiner.”
“Excellent. The wiiner will definitely get you sweaty.”

And so on. For that reason alone I think everyone should get one.

I think I’m the only one who noticed the irony

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on April 30, 2008 @ 9:10 am
in awesome, beer, food, money, music and sex
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Last weekend I had the honor of joining a friend at his bachelor party, and I have to admit that I’ve never been to a more masculine bachelor party.

We started out at my brother’s house drinking beers (10 man points) and playing video games (5 man points) eating half a tub of party mix (2 man points) and somehow consuming three pounds of onion dip (15 man points).

From there we went to a barbecue place for dinner (20 man points) and filled our bellies with various kinds of meat served to us in heaps (18 man points, 23 double entendre points). One of the attendees bit the inside of his cheek while eating and started bleeding profusely (3 man points (yes, bleeding counts as something manly)) and decided to “cauterize” the wound by taking a huge swig of the bottle of hot sauce that was on the bar (35 man points). Numerous shots (15 man points) and PBRs (5 man points) were consumed before we headed off to the next bar.

We started with more shots (20 man points) but generally took things pretty easy, primarily having beers (5 man points) and shooting the shit (2 man points). I think, however, we get extra man points for getting one of the waitresses drunk (5 man points).

From there we went to Max’s in Fell’s Point where we had boilermakers (30 man points) and the bachelor had a pimp-cup full of some high-falutin’ hefewiess microbrew that clocked in at about 10% alcohol (27 man points).

From Max’s the decision was made to go to a strip club (25 man points), and while strip clubs aren’t necessarily my thing (-45 man points) I was happy to have one of the other guys buy me two 10-dollar Miller Lites.

Numerous table dances (40 man points), lap dances (50 man points), and public spankings (100 man points?) later, we were closing out the strip club (200 man points). We piled back into the limo- did I mention it was a stretch Escalade? (50 man points)- to head home.

So let’s see, ignoring the fact that strip clubs aren’t my thing, as a whole, we scored 681 man points for the evening with the only thing missing being a bare-knuckled street brawl between our bachelor party and some other douchebag’s bachelor party which would have netted us 500 man points. It would have been 1000 man points if someone was killed.

But, alas, we lost a few points on the way home. As we were careening through the streets of Baltimore, drunk and with visions of strippers named Sugarplum dancing through our heads, someone tuned the radio to Tiny Dancer by Elton John (-200 man points).

And we all sang along. (-300 man points)

At the top of our lungs. (-500 man points)

I guess it could have been worse. We could have been singing it quietly, holding each other and weeping (forfeiture of penis).

All in all it was an awesome night, even if the man points were all lost in a wash at the end.

I’m certainly not fucking him, but I am his biggest fan

Published
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on April 14, 2008 @ 10:27 am
in Mrs. ACW, beer, food, movies, music, people are idiots, potty humor and school
. 9 Comments

1) This Sunday morning Mrs. ACW and I woke up not quite hung-over, but not quite able to fully function with the rest of society. Though actually, now that I think about it, we were still superior mentally to the majority of the unwashed masses in our area. That’s funny, I never realized that for me to live as a normal, layabout, fast-food-eating, Norbit-watching, lottery-ticket-buying, Thomas-Kinkade-loving, Creed-listening mental-midget, I have to get completely shit-tanked out of my gourd to the point where my functional mental abilities are less than 50%. Jesus that’s depressing.

Anyway, yeah, because we were feeling a little bit stupid and completely lazy, we decided to meet our bodies halfway and give them exactly what they needed. For Mrs. ACW that was a double-cheeseburger from McDonalds (or as I like to call it, the master key to my personal flume ride of feces), and for me that was a McFlurry from McDonalds… coupled with two brainless movies from the old Redbox.

I was really hoping to watch Transformers, because I couldn’t think of anything dumber that might also be entertaining, but for the first time ever, they didn’t have it. So I scrolled through the dreck to see what else was available, trying to figure out if I wanted to rot my brain with an action movie or with a comedy, and also trying to figure out if I wanted to pay a dollar to rent any of these movies. Further, I had to pick movies that I knew Mrs. ACW didn’t want to see, because there’s no way she would let me lay on the couch watching movies she also wanted to watch while she was upstairs doing a mountain of homework. That would have pretty much been an instant crotch-punching, and I was in no mood to sustain a trouser-bashing to the old beanbag, so I went through the movies again.

I finally settled on The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean’s 13, and those of you who are cleverer than I was that afternoon will figure out quickly how Mrs. ACW chose to make fun of me for the rest of the day.

Figure it out yet? No? Okay, let’s go to the conversation in the car a few moments after I got both movies.

“Yeah, I rented The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean’s 13.”
“Isn’t Matt Damon in both of those?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess he is.”
“And?”
“And I guess I’m gay for Matt Damon.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t leave you alone while you’re watching those movies.”
“Why, because I apparently have a totally unconscious gay boner for Matt Damon’s chiseled features and sexy body?”
“Exactly.”

And so for the rest of the evening Mrs. ACW would wander downstairs to get something, check on me, and with a knowing look say, “Uh-huh. Just what I thought” and then walk away.

Semi-related video: I’m Fucking Matt Damon

Of popped-collars and douchebags

Published
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on March 31, 2008 @ 9:46 am
in Glen Burnie, Mrs. ACW, beer, bitches, devil cat, house, money, people are idiots and suhmuhmuh bitch
. 9 Comments

Saturday morning I woke at the crack of 11am to wrestle my cat to the ground before Mrs. ACW gave him his medicine. And by “medicine” I mean a savage beating. And by “a savage beating” I mean the anti-biotics that are supposed to be degunking his pee-maker.

Because I’m a cheapskate I opened the curtains rather than turning on the lights, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a car full of early-twenties popped-collar douchebags parking across the street from my house. The three of them got out of their late model E-class Mercedes featuring 18-inch z-rated tires and chrome rims. As would any rational person, I immediately hated them.

A few minutes later they returned to the car, opened the trunk, and got out a thirty-pack of Keystone Light and a white trash bag full of assorted swill. I wanted to burst out of my house, run into the street, and beat them to death with their canoe beer* and then take a dump on the hood of their car.

Given their beer choices, I was clearly witnessing the triumph of money over taste. I decided that life was too short to waste any more time on thinking about them, mentally wished them a happy afternoon pickling their livers, and went about my day.

Later that day Mrs. ACW and I left to go over my brother’s house to finish our taxes, and from there we went to see a play our friend is in.** After the play we went out for drinks with some of the cast, so we didn’t get home until about 2am.

As we were pulling into our driveway I noticed that someone had left the visor down in the Mercedes, and the lights on the visor were burning brightly, and looked like they would be doing so all night. And then next morning my theory proved to be correct. There was a tow-truck parked in front of the Mercedes, but alas, no popped-collar douchebag.

Eventually the tow truck left and the popped-collar douchebag emerged, and I have to admit that my level of schaudenfreude was so high that it was almost able to manifest itself physically. I was wandering around the house sneering at the thought of this douchebag having to pay out the nose to have his car towed just to be told that he had a dead battery and one of his idiot popped-collar douchebag friends could have given him a jump. The darkest part of my soul was giving birth to bitterness incarnate.

Then the better part of me thought, “It’s not his fault he’s a complete and utter douchebag with all the fashion sense of Meghan McCain. I’ll go give him a jump.”

Before I could go get him another tow truck came back, hauled his car up onto back of the truck, and drove away.

Oh well. At least I tried to do the right thing, even if it took a few hours. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s still a collar-popping douchebag that drinks shitty beer and has more money than taste, so maybe I’m still glad I didn’t help him.

*Drinking beer like Miller Lite, Bud Light, Keystone, Milwaukee’s Best Light, etc. is like making love in a canoe. Fucking close to water.

**Shameless plug. This play was hilarious, and our friend is in it, so if you’re looking for something to do, this is a cheap and highly-amusing way to fill your time.

This should get me through the morning.

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on March 17, 2008 @ 7:06 am
in awesome and beer
. 17 Comments

St. Patrick's Day 2008

It just kind of spirals into insanity

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on March 14, 2008 @ 9:57 am
in beer, food, house, jokes, meta blogging, nerd stuff, people are idiots and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs
. 5 Comments

Because I hadn’t done it for a while, I thought I’d take a spin through the old stats page to see how the mental deficients, drifting like flotsam on the currents of the intertubes, were washing up on the sparkling golden shores of my website. Here’s a smattering of dumb people using the internet, and some insight as to how their tiny walnut sized brains work:

“18 year old” “parents responsibility” “michigan”

I can see this one going one of two ways. Either it’s a kid trying to figure out how soon they can get away from their shitty parents, or it’s a shitty parent trying to figure out how long they can oppress the life of their child. Or maybe their trying to find out just how little work they need to do to not get charged for neglect by the state. Whichever way you slice it, they wound up on my blog, and probably got terrible advice.


rehomo beach

This one is a little astonishing, because I’ve never even typed “rehomo beach”, but Angy Hangy did in my comments, and her willy-nilly use of a neologism for a gay beach in Delaware landed me this search.


how to stop cats shitting in your yard

I wish I could help you dude. I really do.

he s looking at her boobs game online

Ah, Romania. Is there nothing you can’t do? What’s that? You can’t teach your citizens how to create a legitimate web search? Oh, well, no country is perfect. Except America. Seriously. Don’t fuck with us or we will bring you our democracy. We invented ass whoopin’ for the sake of ass whoopin’.

house

And what country could possibly have worse searches than Romania? America! Home of the mouth breathing idiot that has more time and money than taste or sense. Really, you just typed “house” into a search engine and immediately got what you were looking for? Do you go into the bread aisle of the store and pass out from shock when you see more than one kind? Also, why are you using MSN Live Search? You must be some sort of post-lobotomy lab-experiment in a competition with rats to see who has a better mastery of the internet, and too bad for you, the rats just identity thefted your mouth-breathing ass.

this is relevant to my interests origin

Another newcomer to the internet, this time from Australia. Bonzer, mate! I’m grinning like a shot fox that you found my website. Ace! We should hit the turps with heaps of Foster’s and a Bloomin’ Onion at the boozer! Well, I’ve got a cane toad in my clacker, so donger the cleanskin and sleepout the yabby and we’ll pozzy the spunk for a corker dingo’s breakfast!

Also, this is a personal note to the person who is still using Netscape 5.0 to access my site:

Who the hell are you!? Is Netscape Navigator 5.0 some sort of magical web browser that no one ever used but is capable of time-travelling 10 years into the future to read a shitty blog?! That’s awesome, but also kind of really lame. Oh, and by the way, September 2001 is really going to suck for you guys, so be ready for that. Also, you might want to stop buying any products from China, unless you’re really into lead. Um, I think that’s it. Keep it dopey double-fresh on the rewind, and hook-up your blingety for me. Yes, that’s how we talk in 2008.

Whimsy 3

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on March 6, 2008 @ 9:27 am
in Mrs. ACW, beer, food, jokes, people are idiots and travel
. 8 Comments

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m really phoning it in this week. You wanna fight about it? Anyway, before all this craziness with my family, my brother and our respective wives took a trip along the Mason Dixon Wine Trail and found, surprisingly, that all wine made in this area isn’t complete and utter cat piss, and is, sometimes, in fact, preferable to standard “drinkin’ wine on a Tuesday night” wines like Yellow Tail, for example. Wow, that last sentence looks like it just got tea-bagged by the comma monster. Whatever, if we weren’t supposed to use them they never would have been invented. Here’s a transitional sentence!

At some point during our trip through the Pennsylvanian hinterlands we started getting hungry and decided to stop in a tiny town comprised of a grocery store, Rite Aid, Italian restaurant, and tattoo parlor. Having consumed something on the order of all the wine in Pennsylvania, we opted for a modest 42″ pizza and two baskets of fried bric-a-brac. We’re still not exactly sure what we ate, but we think we might have had fried zucchini, fried cauliflower, and deep fried chicken fried steak fries, all slathered in a healthy coating of ranch dressing, of course.

The service was nice and prompt, and our waitress was nothing if not extremely friendly and attentive, but the menus left a little something to be desired.

You can see them below, but you really need to click through to flickr to see them full-sized in all their majesty. I imagine the restaurant owner, having spent a few hours working on the menus, sent for one of the town elders to review his work and instead got a barely literate sixth grade dropout. I’ve only looked at the menus twice, and each time I’ve found new stuff to laugh at, so I’m sure there are still some gems in there that I’m overlooking. Lemme know what you find that I missed.

menu

drinkmenu

The death post

Published
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on February 18, 2008 @ 9:52 am
in atheism!, beer, family, nostalgia, potty humor and suhmuhmuh bitch
. 38 Comments

It’s been a bad morning.

At some point last night I decided it would be an AWESOME idea to have a big, fat Screwdriver at 11:30. Sure, I’d started with some scotch at 6:30, then moved on to red wine, then on to a porter, then on to white wine, then back to red wine, then back to porter. It was at that point that I should have stopped, but my stupid drunk brain was like, “Dude. Dude. You know what would be awesome right now? A screwdriver! Yeah! Dude, it’s like, healthy ’cause it’s orange juice. Yeah, we should totally have one. Dude. Have I ever steered you wrong? Yeah. Awesome.”

And so there I was on the couch, screwdriver in one hand, remote in the other, barely able to focus on Ace of Cakes.

It should have come as no surprise to me that I had chest melting heartburn a few hours later, but upon waking I was like, “How on earth could THIS have happened?”

Nearly 8 hours later and the heartburn still isn’t completely gone, and I’ve got, as Angy Hangy put it so succinctly in a somewhat related email from last Friday, “liquid Drano” in my guts. I already dominated the bathroom in my house so thoroughly that when Sherlock poked his head through the door he immediately turned around and walked out. Before this morning I would have sworn that it was impossible for cats to gag.

Anyway, as I’m trying to pull my stupid, hungover ass together this morning, I got a call from my dad that my aunt had just died. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few weeks ago, and the cancer was extremely aggressive, so it’s kind of good to know that she’s not in pain anymore.

I know I deal with death differently than other people, and my aunt is no exception. It’s hard to say right now if I feel sad. I feel bad for my dad, of course, as well as my other aunts and uncles, my cousins, and their kids. I know they’re really upset. And I feel bad for my Grandmother, because it’s got to be painful to lose a child. But I’m really hard pressed to describe my emotions as sad. I’m contemplative, somber, and pensive, and I sympathize with my relatives, but I’m not sad. And now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever been sad to hear about someone dying. I always express my condolences, because I know death can really tear other people apart inside, but sadness eludes me.

I’ve never had someone extremely close to me die, like my brothers, parents, or my wife. But even when I was a little kid and my grandfather died, I kind of just accepted it. And I think about people that have died, and I miss them, of course, but my mind never dwells on it. It’s kind of like, “Oh, I miss the way he used to joke about how we had three kinds of stuffing at Thanksgiving.” And then my thoughts move on.

I speculate that part of my lack of reaction is because I don’t believe in an afterlife. I’ve accepted death as an inevitability, so the deaths of others, or thinking about my own death, don’t cause me discomfort. I don’t want to die, and I don’t want my loved ones to die, but there’s nothing I can really do about it, so there’s no point in worrying over it.

I’m interested in having a frank discussion about death in the comments if anyone else is interested. How do you react to death or loss? Do you believe in the afterlife? If so or if not, does this comfort you? I hope it goes without saying that today most necrophilia jokes won’t be tolerated, but humor is always welcome.

Blogger Happy Hour 12/28

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on December 26, 2007 @ 3:42 pm
in awesome, beer and happy hour
. 6 Comments

As is my tradition, I’ve copied this post directly from the person who is hosting the happy hour, in this case, Jon:

Um, Blogger Happy Hour?
Okie, dokie, happy hour time.

A couple of us were together on Wednesday this week and the notion of doing a happy hour before the year is out came up, and I Jon somehow got fingered to “host” it (ie ACW I pointed at me Jon and said “You do it!”). I’ve Jon’s got a couple of preliminary “definitely in”s, but I’m Jon’s expecting this to be a pretty low key affair, with people busy for the holidays and plus it being last minute.

Please come out if you’re game. Invite friends. I Jon sent out an email, but the email addresses I have Jon had on hand is was a somewhat random assortment. Just drop me Jon a line if you’re interested.

THE EVENT: Blogtimore Blogger Happy Hour

THE DATE: Friday, December 28th

THE TIME: 7:00pm sound good?

THE PLACE: Illusions, the magic bar in Fed Hill

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