Archive for the 'happy hour' Category

It’s really frustrating to not pick up the spare

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on May 2, 2008 @ 9:15 am
in Mrs. ACW, awesome, happy hour, nerd stuff, ocd, potty humor, sex, suhmuhmuh bitch and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs
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The happy hour last night was pretty cool. As usual, there’s never enough time to get to really talk to everybody, so there are some folks that I would have liked to talk to that I didn’t really get a chance to talk to. To those people I say: your loss.

Also to those people who ridiculed me for having to leave early to feed my cats, I’ll have you know that since Wookie was starving she ate so fast that when she threw up a few minutes later I could see that she hadn’t even chewed any of her food. Her vomit is on YOUR hands.

Finally, Charissa wanted me to tell a story about how I saw a little kid with poop on his face jump out of a car or something. This is what she thinks my blog is about. Well, besides it being a lie, because everyone knows I would NEVER lie, the thought of a kid with poop on his face actually kind of grosses me out. Apparently Charissa is into that short sort of thing.

Let’s commence with the narcissism!

My favorite event on Wii sports is bowling. But like everything in my life that I enjoy, once I begin to enjoy it I also try to start finding a way to measure it. Unluckily for me the Wii measures how good/bad I am at bowling for me, so I’m constantly playing games as fast as I can just to see if I’ve improved rather than slowing down and enjoying the game for what it is: a distraction from the restraining order issued by Zack Efron and the entire cast of High School Musical that keeps me out of New York. Wait. What? That’s not even close to accurate. What I meant to say is that the stats distract me from playing the game as a game.

So I’ll try to keep that in mind as I slow down and try to have more fun with game until I don’t get a strike and find myself screaming at the remaining pin, “Go down you fucking slut! FUCK YOU!” and then angrily mumbling to myself about how the game cheats.

Then I usually switch to boxing so I can punch the bejesus out of a goofy looking cartoon boxer and alleviate some frustration. It’s a nice healthy workout.

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
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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.

Blogger Happy Hour 12/28

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on December 26, 2007 @ 3:42 pm
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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

Cigarette tax & Mountain Showers

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on November 2, 2007 @ 9:40 am
in Mrs. ACW, beer, food, happy hour, meta blogging, money, potty humor and sex
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Hey, okay, first of all, don’t forget about the happy hour tonight. It’s gonna be superawesomefantastic! With a side of greatgoodjustokay! And a dash of nicealrightiguesssortoffun! And everybody gets a free blowjob from Jwer’s mom! Just like every day except you don’t have to hear her whine for bus fare home.

Anyway, I’ve been taking lots of pictures lately, and since it’s Friday and I pretend to care about the people that read this blog, I’ve combined two short posts into one medium length post! You can pay me later.

The first thing I saw the other day was this:

mountain showers

Mrs. ACW and I are cheap, so we buy off-brand soda from the grocery store because it’s pretty much the same as the regular stuff, but I draw the line at a product called “Mountain Showers”. Primarily because for some reason I think it shares the name with a feminine hygiene product. Second of all because I don’t want to know what kind of perverted niche sex fetish goes along with a term like “mountain showers”. It probably involves cramming your ass with gravel before having anal sex and then making dumptruck beeping back-up noises before your “shower” your partner with a “mountain” of stones. (Look for this practice in the next Republican family-values hypocrite scandal next week.)

The other thing I saw was this:

cig tax

Mrs. ACW and I were buying booze, because we need it to cope with one another, and they had this up at the counter. I took one look at the over the top fear-mongering propaganda and wondered what group was behind it. Flipping it over gave me my answer right away.

cig tax 2

If you can’t read the small print at the bottom, it says that it was paid for by Phillip Morris USA. I’m glad PM is so altruistic that they’re simply looking out for the poor, downtrodden smoker. They can’t possibly have any other motive to intentionally misrepresent the truth. They just care SO MUCH about the little guy that they really REALLY want to help. Really.

Well Phillip Morris can eat a bag of dicks, and then go take a mountain shower with… let’s say… Roscoe Bartlett.

Don’t forget: Happy Hour this Friday at Holy Frijoles! Everyone is invited! Pass it on!

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on October 30, 2007 @ 9:05 am
in awesome, beer, happy hour, meta blogging and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs
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What: The October/November AKA Octovember Blogger Happy Hour.

With: Your hosts! Me Danielle and Charissa.

Who: Baltimore Bloggers. Any Bloggers. Blog Readers. People Known By Acronyms on Other People’s Blogs. Me and You and Everyone We Know.

Where: Holy Frijoles, 908 W. 36th St., Hampden

When: Friday, November 2nd, 6pm.

Why: Beers. Bloggers. More beers. More Bloggers. Margaritas. What’s not to love?

All right now, mark your calendars, post away and spread the happy hour love.

Looking forward to seeing you there!

(Lifted almost verbatim from Danielle’s blog)

Here’s a story about staining my deck

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on October 18, 2007 @ 9:30 am
in Glen Burnie, POS Tercel, bitches, happy hour, house and people are idiots
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After a flood of comments of people asking me to talk about staining my deck I had something of an epiphany: you people are losers. Really? You want to hear about the tedious and tiresome process of me staining my deck over the period of 3 weekends? Wow. What a bunch of fucking nerds. I tell you what, come out to the happy hour on November 2 and I’ll tell you all about the deck. I’ll drone on and on, ad nauseum, much like I do on this here blog except it’ll be “real life” and therefore “just as boring”.

Anyway, I suddenly have a story about the shitty starter on my shitty Tercel going to shit. (I swear, I’m like a walking thesaurus.)

Last weekend my Tercel was having some trouble getting started, so after an entire afternoon wasted trying to find a copy of a Chilton’s guide for a 96 Tercel (surprise! It doesn’t exist!) and finding a retailer that carries a replacement starter for a 96 Tercel that doesn’t cost a hojillion dollars, I decided that I’d just let the car sit in the driveway until I figured out exactly what I needed to do to fix the car quickly and painlessly. So I borrowed my parent’s old, beat-up, never-gets-driven pickup truck to use in the meantime.

I drove the truck back down to my house and parked it in one of the spots in the nearby apartment complex. Now, I must admit that I have a rather ample driveway, but I didn’t want to park the truck in it because whereas 2 cars are comfortable, 3 cars are a pain in the fucking ass. Plus I went out of my way to park the truck in a spot that’s furthest away from any of the buildings, and in a spot that almost never has a car in it, and at the end of a row of 45 other empty parking spaces that are closer to the building. The truck sat in that spot for a whole day and the closest car that parked to it was 4 spots away.

I walk outside yesterday and see my (drunken, shirtless) neighbor talking to a guy as they’re peering inside of my truck. The guy leaves and goes inside the apartment complex, and my neighbor starts wobbling back to his door.

“Hey, is there something wrong with that truck?” I call out. The neighbor wobbles over to me and goes on at length about how a) the truck doesn’t have a parking pass for the apartment complex, b) the guy he was talking to lives in the complex and though he’s nice he wouldn’t trust the guy as far as he could throw him, and he’ll probably call the rental office about having the truck towed, c) that’s why people always park in front of our house, because they’re shacking up with someone in the apartments, and d) they’ll probably tow the truck.

I explain that it’s my truck and he says b, a, d, c. So I say that I’ll move the truck and he says d, b, c, a. I say, “Okay, I should probably move the truck then.” He says, c, d, a, b. This went on for about 15 minutes, and this is why I don’t exactly relish speaking with my neighbor. The repetitive feedback loop of information really wears on my already tenuous grip of sanity.

I was finally able to get my truck moved and figured the whole thing was over until about 30 minutes later when a tow truck came rumbling down our street. He did a lap of the apartment complex and not finding a red truck moved on… until he spied it in my driveway.

I could see from the window that his tiny squirrel-powered brain was churning away, trying to come up with a suitable reason for trespassing in order to tow the truck, and after the smoke poured out of his ears I guess he decided to move on. Or maybe his brain told him, “Need eat. Then poopy.”

But at least I learned something from the apartment-douchebag: territorial suburban pissing contests aren’t just for homeowners anymore.

November Blogger Happy Hour

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on October 2, 2007 @ 2:49 pm
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What: The October/November AKA Octovember Blogger Happy Hour.

With: Your hosts! Me Danielle and Charissa.

Who: Baltimore Bloggers. Any Bloggers. Blog Readers. People Known By Acronyms on Other People’s Blogs. Me and You and Everyone We Know.

Where: Holy Frijoles, 908 W. 36th St., Hampden

When: Friday, November 2nd, 6pm.

Why: Beers. Bloggers. More beers. More Bloggers. Margaritas. What’s not to love?

All right now, mark your calendars, post away and spread the happy hour love.

Looking forward to seeing you there!

(Lifted almost verbatim from Danielle’s blog)

Clusterfunk

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on May 17, 2007 @ 9:44 am
in Mrs. ACW, awesome, happy hour, movies and nerd stuff
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1) NPR Junky has a wrap up of the demolition derby with more pictures. She has a really good track-fire picture that features the visibly pregnant woman in the booty shorts and bikini top. It should be noted that the pregnant woman was INSIDE the fence separating the crowd from the dangers of derby cars and track-fires.

2) Last night I watched American Dreamz, and it’s one of the funniest movies you’ve never seen. I can understand why it only took in about half of what it cost to make it; it skewers America unmercifully. A certain percentage of the population support the president, and the war in Iraq. Of the group of Americans that DON’T support the president and the war, a large percentage enjoy watching American Idol. The remaining group, that I assume is quite small once you remove president and war supporters and American Idol fans, will thoroughly enjoy this movie. As long as they’re not Hugh Grant haters.

Now that I think about it, who even gave this movie the greenlight? It seems like it was built for a niche audience.

3) After I finish my daily work for the day, my boss has insisted that I photoshop an image of one of my coworkers into various amusing poses. Some days this job is awesome.

4) Oh, and happy hour is tonight. I may or may not be there. The wifey’s got strep throat, and I enjoy playing the role of doting husband.

Because it’s easier to steal

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on May 9, 2007 @ 5:00 pm
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The May Baltimore Blogger Happy Hour. You can see the original post here, but for the purpose of “great rehashment”:

When: Thursday, May 17th, 7:00 pm
Why: Why not? Plus, I Snay needs to get pissed.

Where: Crease Restaraunt & Bar
523 York Road
Towson, Maryland

Questions? Shoot me Snay an e-mail at the address on the sidebar on his blog.

Do you think he got that name on Ellis Island?

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on April 5, 2007 @ 10:25 am
in happy hour and sex
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A while ago my brother Mokie was at a bar to see a friend’s band, and while in the bathroom he noticed this:

03-25-07_2135

I’m pretty sure that Glen Burnie is one of the last places in Maryland that still provides condom machines. Which is ironic because you can’t swing an abandoned baby by its umbilical cord around here without hitting a pregnant teenager who’s smoking and drinking a beer out of a paper-bag. You may recall that I found a condom machine in The Wharf Rat at the last blogger happy hour. But that machine just dispensed condoms. Sure, one of the condoms was a French Tickler, but it was just condoms. You have to come to Glen Burnie to find a condom machine that also dispenses “novelties”.

It was only a year ago that I got this “Rubber Check” novelty from a dingy bar in the Dirty Burnie, and at this point, you may see a pattern developing. Apparently my brother and I have a penchant for finding out what type of horrible crap we can get to fall out of the condom machines. In this most recent case, it was “Porn O’ Plenty”.

pop2

Can you imagine if some poor Irish bastard was actually named Porn O’ Plenty? He would be the greatest Irish porn star after Colin Farrel. The name is just so meta. He could be in a movie called Porn O’ Plenty, about himself, Porn O’ Plenty, and what would the movie feature? Well Porn O’ Plenty of course, and by that I mean a veritable human mountain of slithering, sweaty copulation. It’s so meta!

pop3

Anyway, you can tell the porn is going to be fresh because it was packaged in 1981. That means that the woman on the cover has probably already had the “I was young and needed the drugs” talk with her children. Starlets can’t live on booze alone. They need coke to get that glazed-over, dead-eyed look that the men love. Also, what the hell is a “Federal Pharmacal”? It’s not quite a pharmacy, and it’s not quite a pharmaceutical, but it’s federal, so you’ll probably wake up with an aching orifice and a case of the clap.

pop4

The whole thing then unfolds to reveal a little pink piece of paper. Little pink pieces of paper typically don’t provide the proper medium for portraying pornography, so you’ve got to wonder at this point what the hell is actually inside this so-called Porn O’ Plenty.

pop5

Oh, hooray! It’s a horrible chain letter! If you can’t read the letter, I’ll reproduce it for you here:

-CHAIN LETTER-

Dear Friend,

This chain letter started with the hope of bringing relief and happiness to all tired husbands.
Unlike most chain letters, this does not cost money.
Simply send a copy of this letter to six of your married friends who are equally tired.
Then bundle up your wife and send her to the man on the top of the list and add your name to the bottom of the list.
When your name comes to the top of the list you will receive 16,487 women and some dandies.
Have faith in the letter- ONE MAN BROKE THE CHAIN AND GOT HIS OLD LADY BACK.
Don’t let this happen to you!
Sincerely,
A GOOD FRIEND

P.S. At this time of writing, a friend of mine had received 356 women. They buried him yesterday and it took seven undertakers 36 hours to get the smile off his face. AGAIN, I SAY, HAVE FAITH.

Ignoring the misogyny inherent in suggesting that women and wives can be treated as a commodity that can be shared and traded without any regard to their health or well-being for the benefit of some lecherous old man’s dream of booting his wife and getting a nubile young bride with all the perkiness of a candy-striper sent to satisfy his lascivious and salacious urges, this is still one of the unfunniest things I have ever read. Off the top of my head I can think of about a dozen things that would be funnier than that chain-letter, the stupidest of which would just be the word “BONER” printed in all caps with an exclamation point and no explanation whatsoever to the poor sap who bought the thing.

I just can’t wrap my mind around how stupidly bad it is, and on top of it, I have no idea what they’re talking about when they say “and some dandies”. Do they mean that some of the women will be quite good looking, suggesting that the bulk of women would be horrible old hags? If that’s the case, then why the smiling dead guy? By dandies do they mean gay men? I just can’t figure it out, and it hurts my brain that something so utterly devoid of humorous content would be able to dominate as much of my time as it already has.

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