Archive for the 'movies' Category

Now you can decide if you want to ever watch a movie with me

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on May 5, 2008 @ 10:34 am
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This past weekend I went to see Iron Man with some friends and despite every intention I had to have a good time, it was not meant to be so.

Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed the movie. It’s not going to win any awards or change the way movies are made, but it was an enjoyable comic book movie that didn’t take itself to seriously (I’m looking at you Superman Returns) or play things too stupidly (I’m looking at you Fantastic Four, specifically the vapid performance by Jessica Alba). It was just fun. One of us commented that it could have used more punching and explosions, and while that certainly wouldn’t have hurt things, I feel it is important to say I enjoyed it the way it was.

What really bothered me was the coterie of douchebags seated behind us.

Throughout the entire movie they were ridiculously irritating. They’d talk and make stupid jokes just until the point where I was ready to stand up and tell them to shut the fuck up when they’d clam up for a while. They’d throw popcorn at each other (or us. I’m not sure, but I gave them the benefit of the doubt) and I’d get hit a few times and wait for the next piece to hit me before getting up to tell them to stop throwing shit, but that piece would never come. The entire movie went that way. Five minutes of irritation every 15 minutes for 126 minutes. It was absolutely maddening.

It also didn’t help that the idiot man-child in front of me kept saying “boom” right before anything would explode, but his daughters were elbowing him in the ribs for that, so it was kept to a minimum.

(I’ve mentioned before about how OCD I am about movies, and you can read this if you want an extremely long digression.)

On the way out of the movie two members of our group went to the bathroom while my brother and I waited in the lobby. Outside I could see the dozen or so 14-year-olds, all with shit eating grins, carrying on and generally being awkward pubescent assfaces.

I wasn’t sure if they were the ones who had been such amazing dicks during the movie, but I didn’t see any other teenage groups in the theater with us, so I was pretty sure it was them. Despite that I was again willing to give them the benefit of the doubt and allow bygones to be bygones.

That is, until we were outside and one of the shrivel-dicks leaned toward me and said, “Yeah! Iron Man rocked, right guys?” at which point I lost it.

I was a ball of pure unbridled OCD rage and I was focusing my hate on the prick that had been unlucky enough to speak up. I’m not sure what I exactly said, but I’m told I called them all “cockbags” before getting in the face of the loudmouth. He kept backing away as I kept walking toward him, and I remember saying something along the lines of, “You little fuckers think you’re fucking funny? You like to throw shit and ruin the movie for everyone else you little piece of shit?”

Then one of the other kids told me to calm down so I got up in his face and started asking him the most ridiculous question I could think of:

“What’s your name you little shit?”
“What?”
“Tell me your name.”
“Nothing.”
“What’s your fucking name?”
“Uh… Joe.”
“Fuck you.”

Then I stepped towards him, he flinched, and I knew I had done enough. Or possibly too much. I’m still not sure. I never touched any of them, and I never would have, but I was still really fucking pissed. Then I remembered I had a bag of M&Ms in my pocket.

“You little fuckers think it’s funny to throw candy? Huh? You think that’s funny? Yeah, it’s real fucking funny. Let’s see how you like it.”

And I threw a huge handful of candy at them that I had been gathering into my hands as I was talking to them. I only hit 3 or 4 of them with the candy, but that was enough. I was done with them at that point.

I walked over to my friends and we started walking to the car. Once we were far enough away they started to laugh, and I could tell it was false bravado, but at that point I didn’t care what they were doing.

In retrospect I’m still not sure it’s something I would have done again in the same situation, but at the very least I hope the little shitfucks learn that if you irritate the wrong person at the movies, it could come back to bite you in the ass. Or throw candy in your face, in this case.

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.

For a title, see May 26, 2005. Yes, this is the second time I’ve done this.

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on April 15, 2008 @ 9:02 am
in Glen Burnie, Mrs. ACW, food, movies, people are idiots, potty humor, school and suhmuhmuh bitch
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Let’s see, what else did I do this weekend? Oh yeah, I threw out some of my clothes. Sounds boring, right? Not the way I tell it.

Mrs. ACW and I live the life many people dream about. We get home at about 5pm on Friday, cook turkey burgers and asparagus, eat them, and then do homework. Yes, many people are out, spending heaps of disposable income on drinks, food, drugs, and whatever genitalia makes their upper lip sweat and quiver (hey, I’m not here to judge; whatever tickles your pickle or frosts your cookie is fine by me), but none of them have the wrist-slitting joy of staying home and doing homework for four hours at the start of the weekend while not drinking or seeing any genitalia or putting any coke up our noses.

And the cherry on top of all of it? Mrs. ACW is on a diet, so she’s not eating any sugar, and since we don’t have any sugar free candy in the house, we had to go out the grocery store to insert ourselves amongst the other social superstars that can be found wandering the grocery aisles at 9pm on a Friday; frozen pizza in one hand, pint of ice cream in the other, bunny slippers on the feet and a loosely tied robe that leaves so little to the imagination that I may as well have his lumpy, asymmetrical baby-maker tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.

Less than thirty minutes later we’re home, have given up on homework, and are each a few pieces of sugar free candy deep into Hot Fuzz. An amusing hour and thirty minutes passes with nary to mar the occasion except a sudden onset of gas on my part that’s so violently offensive that I think I can feel hairs being singed off of my dangerous but exquisite backside.

After one particularly boisterous expulsion Mrs. ACW remarked that it sounded “hearty” or something along those lines. I had to agree. It was if I’d been grabbed around the torso and squeezed by the hand of a giant. It was as if I was completely out of control of my own body and it was venting pressure of its own accord. I learned a few seconds later what little control I actually had.

After a mad dash to the bathroom to learn that yes, I had in fact shat myself, I realized I was a twenty-seven year old man with no apparent control of his bowels. I immediately threw away my underwear and shorts, much to the bewilderment of everyone who has already heard this story.

“Why didn’t you just wash the clothes?” they ask, puzzlement clouding their faces.

Look, if I ever become so cavalier and casual with shit that I can look upon a beshatted object and think, “Hey, it’s just poop I guess,” please kill me, because I don’t want to live a life so well acquainted with the substance that our bodies forcibly eject on a daily basis.

I also jumped in the shower and gave the entire lower half of my body a complete surgical scrub down, because, once again, shit is gross.

Then I spent the rest of the weekend completely gun-shy because I didn’t want to fart and have to check and make sure my socks were still dry, so every time I felt a little pressure I had to get up, go to the bathroom, and make sure that the “football” didn’t make it into the “end zone” on a “quarterback sneak”, if you may allow me a football metaphor.

Lesson learned: not only does beef wreck me, but so does sugar free candy.

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

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on April 14, 2008 @ 10:27 am
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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

I nerd out about horror movies

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on April 10, 2008 @ 9:53 am
in Mrs. ACW, awesome, horror, i am so fucking awesome, movies, nerd stuff and people are idiots
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Every year Mrs. ACW rents us up some movies from Netflix, and not just the same old tired pablum that YOU suckers are used to watching (seriously, everything you like is stupid, unless I’m something that you like, and then that one thing is awesome, but it’s not enough to redeem your otherwise terrible taste), but the After Dark Horrorfest.

Now, some people aren’t into horror, so they employ other tactics to select movies that would make other people squirm and to provide themselves an ample amount of self-loathing. Us? We choose horror.

You may have heard me mention previously some of the movies we own: Barn of the Blood Llama (bad), Cannibal! The Musical (hilarious), or Dead Alive (awesome movie from when Peter Jackson was a horror director). But don’t get me wrong. I love some of these movies, but they are TERRIBLE. Just completely unwatchable. Blitheringly, mind-meltingly, horrid.

So I hope you understand when I say the movies for the After Dark Horrorfest are even worse.

The 2006 selections featured some real stinkers*, so unwatchable that Mrs. ACW and I chose to watch some of the movies in fast-forward rather than spend the time to see it at regular speed.

So far the 2007 Horrorfest has been about the same. The first movie we watched, Lake Dead, was just kind of stupid, but not quite bad enough that we watched it in fast-forward. They seemed like they were doing a cheap rip-off of Texas Chainsaw Massacre and House of 1000 Corpses. It was the same old, tired, played out theme of sexy 20-somethings going into the country and being killed by a family of inbred yokels for some reason.

The second movie, Tooth and Nail, was actually not too bad, but it could have been saved by not being a blatant mash-up of 28 Days Later and Firefly. Also, Rider Strong AKA Shawn Hunter from Boy Meets World, was in it. Also, all the “good” characters were named after cars, and the “bad” characters named after dogs. Now that I think about it, it was actually really ham-handed and kind of stupid.

Last night we got about 30 minutes into Mulberry Street, and the movie just couldn’t make up it’s mind about whether or not it ever wanted to get started, so we popped the ol’ DVD player into fast-forward. It reached the point where Mrs. ACW was reading Harry Potter and I was watching the screen flick by while narrating, “Okay, now there’s a rat. And the one guy’s upset. I think the rat bit him. Now he’s a rat. Now he’s trying to bite people. Oh, and the girlfriend just got bit. Now the daughter is on a bike. She’s biking home. Nothing’s happening. Nothing’s happening. There’s a rat. Nothing’s happening,” and so on. It finally reached the point where even in fast-forward the movie was still taking way too long to get to the end, so I started looking around to find something else in the living room that might be interesting to look at.

The thing that gets me is, these movies are advertised as “the content of these films are considered too graphic, too disturbing, and too shocking for general audiences,” when actually I think the problem is that the movies are either too stupid or too boring, which is really saying something considering how much money the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie made.

That said, I’ve got a real crap-factory at home right now in the form of SS Hell Camp. I wasn’t even aware of the genre of Naziploitation before I got this movie from Netflix, but apparently it’s just all around horrible. According to Wikipedia, it’s still banned in the UK! I have a bad feeling that once I begin to explore this super-niche sub-genre, I won’t be able to scrub its contents out of my brain. I’ll let you know how it is.

*Dark Ride, Unrest, and Wicked Little Things redeemed only by their special effects, Penny Dreadful being the stand out best, and The Gravedancers and The Hamiltons being unwatchably bad. I wasn’t even really interested in watching them in fast-forward.

My guilty pleasure song

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on March 28, 2008 @ 9:39 am
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You could mock me. I would certainly mock you.

You could scoff and tell me all the reasons why this song sucks.

Or, you could grow a pair and post your guilty pleasure song in the comments. But I really doubt anyone has a more embarrassing song than this.

Unless it’s this:

Negative bonus points if you’re married and didn’t explicitly ban this song at your wedding.

This not-a-meme-but-just-a-neat-idea borrowed from Stephanie.

Then, as tears of bubbling pitch stream down my face, my dark work will begin.

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on February 6, 2008 @ 11:46 am
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. 6 Comments

I’ve been evicted from my office today. We have a ton of people interviewing for some new positions, and we ran out of conference rooms, empty offices, and lobby spaces, so I’m sharing an office with my boss for the time being. I’m not exactly sure where I’ll be throughout the day, but I don’t think I have to explain that typing on a shared laptop in an office shared with your boss does not exactly provide the same level of anonymity as typing at one’s own desk with the monitor facing away from the door to the office.

Despite these setbacks, I’ve composed this entry in Word and when I have a second will copy and paste it to the intertubes.

I have a feeling that posts for Wednesday are going to become “movie review” type posts because Mrs. ACW leaves for class at about 6:15pm and doesn’t get home until about 10pm. That usually gives me time to watch about two movies. Three if they’re all short, and if I’m efficient with channel flipping and dvd swapping.

Last night I tried to watch 3 movies, but the first movie was so boring I couldn’t help but stop watching it. And if you read last week about my OCD around movies you’ll know that this means the movie must be really really really really boring and/or bad. This week I tried to watch “The Return” featuring Sarah Michelle Gellar, but after about 30 minutes when nothing had happened, I just turned it off in favor of my Netflixed dvd of The Avengers. And let me tell you something- the Avengers sucked. I’m not sure whose idea it was to have two people with British accents banter back and forth and occaisionally swap relatively not unfunny puns, punctuating the dialogue every thirty minutes or so with a stingy dose of action, but that person should be dragged through a swimming pool of peanut butter and thrown to grizzly bears.

Lucky for me Cinemax was showing A History of Violence, so I was able to watch SOMETHING that was good. So good, in fact, that when Mrs. ACW walked in the door during the last 5 minutes of the movie, the douchebag Sherlock decided to scamper out the front door and hide under the neighbor’s porch. Thanks a lot, fucker! So instead of lounging on the couch and watching the conclusion to an exciting movie, I was shoulder deep in 200 years of leaf detritus trying to get a hold of the walking shit factory.

I made it back inside just in time to see the credits rolling! Argh! You have no idea how crazy this makes someone like me. I can’t function. It’s like someone switched the prescription on my glasses without telling me, and I just have to deal with it. Add to that the fact that I don’t even have my own computer to work on today, and thus can’t search the internets for the final scene, and you’ll realize that I’m starting to mentally unravel at the seams.

Don’t be surprised if posts for the rest of this week amount to nothing more than, “Teddy bear want my bear teddy bear bear blanket where’s my bear blanket teaddy bear blanket bear teddy bear picnic tea party teddy bear picnic bear blanket satan bear blanket teddy satan bear ba’al teddy Beelzebub satan satan Lucifer bear hail satan satan sacrifice human sacrifice hail satan kill eat souls rend this world in twain and banish all souls to eternal torment and strife when a black icy wave of abysmal darkness envelops this plane of existence and expels all but hatred from the hearts of men teddy bear.”

You might be tempted to watch it now. Don’t.

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on January 30, 2008 @ 10:39 am
in movies, ocd, potty humor, sex and suhmuhmuh bitch
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I’m not sure how many people know how much I love movies. If I’m flipping through the channels looking for something to watch and I see the stars spinning up over the Paramount logo, or the TriStar pegasus running towards the camera, or the Universal globe, or the MGM lion, that’s it, I’m done for. Whatever the movie is, for good or for bad, I’m watching it. Even if I all I catch is the opening credits with the theme music starting, I may as well be shackled to the chair.

For example, I once won free tickets to the over-long and under-entertaining Four Feathers (I realize the recently departed Mr. Ledger was in it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t suck balls)*. Free tickets. FREE. And 7 hours into the first half of the movie when my friends wanted to leave, I was like, “No, let’s stay. I’m sure it will get better.” And two days later, it did get better when it ended. They must have shot that movie for 37 years for as long as it felt like it was. IMDB says it was only 130 minutes, but I’m pretty sure when I left I was collecting Social Security benefits.

A further example: Dr. T. and the Women. Dr. T and the Women is by far, bar none, the worst movie ever made. And I mean “worst” in every possible way. Everything about it was a horrible eye-sodomizing punch in the brain. The acting, the directing, the story, the music, the free merchandise distributed with the movie. Again, I got free tickets to see this movie, and even when I wanted to firebomb the whole theater before the opening credits were over, I still sat through the whole thing. They were giving out movie t-shirts before the movie, and once the movie was done I stood up, tore the tshirt they gave me into pieces, threw it on the floor, and stormed out of the theater. I hated every minute of that movie. I’ve never been so angry and unhappy in my life. I would gladly relive the horrible three month emasculation that was the breakup with my high-school girlfriend rather than ever watch that movie again.

Many people don’t believe me when I tell them how bad it is. Well, let me try to get you to where I am at this point. Imagine your least favorite movie. Whatever it is, Biodome, Chicago, Blair Witch, whatever, just picture watching it. Now, staple your genitals to a car battery, put your legs in a tree shredder, submerge your head in a bucket of shit, cover your left arm in leeches, and pay a sadist to peel the skin off your right arm. Imagining that? Good. That’s how the first 10 minutes of Dr. T and the Women feels. And I sat through the whole damn thing. I’ve blogged about my hatred of this movie before, if you’re interested, but I feel I must move on.

This is a transitional sentence!

I think there are two reasons why I’m so drawn to movies now. Part of it definitely has to do with the fact that I’m OCD and once I start something, I have trouble thinking clearly until I finish it. The other reason is that as a kid my parents never really took us to the movies. It was sort of a once yearly thing. I think they saw them as a big waste of money. I’m kind of inclined to agree with them, but still, my Netflix queue is 495 movies long, and it would be longer if Netflix allowed me to add any more than 500 movies. Case in point, I have the move “Medicine Man” in my queue which I’m pretty sure was roundly ignored by the entire planet, and yet, since I saw a commercial for it when I was 12, I still want to see it.

So what’s the point of all this? A pathetic attempt at self defense for the oncoming suggestions that I’m metro… because last night I watched The Lake House. Alone. I was flipping through the channels to see if there was anything I could watch before putting on Fast Food Nation, and I came across the Lake House just as the credits were rolling. Not knowing what it was, and OCD kicking in high-style, it took me about 20 minutes to realize I was watching dreck, but by then it was too late.

Lucky for me two of the themes of the movie are architecture and temporal relativity, otherwise I may have been bored out of my mind, and also luckily for me, this movie was really bad, which made it easy to laugh at. The cinematography was ham-handed and hackish at best, culminating in it’s crappiness on a wobbly zoom of Keanu in a reflection of a window and then holds there until he eventually sneezes. If it sounds stupid and confusing and dumb, you’re right, it is. But still, I watched it from beginning to end. From one tortured monologue to the next. Seriously, at points I was expecting the director to trot out holding a sign that says, “Here comes another tired and worn out cliche from chick flicks! Prepare yourself for the banality!” A little counter in the corner counting the cliches would have surely exploded within the first half hour. The movie was really that terrible.

I know some of you out there will want to argue with me. “But ACW, you have to admit, it was a sweet movie.” or “It was a good story, even if it was kind of stupid.” or maybe even, “Hey, my names Sandra Bullock and I was in that and I didn’t think it was that bad. At least, the cash wasn’t. Ch-ching! Ha ha, suckers!”

You are all wrong. The movie was terrible, and every DVD should be broken into a million pieces and stabbed into Richard Gere’s face lest he make another Dr. T and the Women. God how I hate that movie. I guess the fart and necrophilia jokes can wait until tomorrow.

*I think this counts as a “dick” joke.

This is where the title goes

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on January 24, 2008 @ 9:45 am
in Mrs. ACW, POS Tercel, bitches, movies, people are idiots, potty humor, suhmuhmuh bitch, the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs and work
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So, man, have I been a terrible blog owner lately. First there’s nothing to write about, then I go away for a week and a half, then I come back and again have shit all to write about. I can’t say exactly where I went, or what I did, but I did learn some new magic tricks and mind-reading games, as well as a few new drinking games. Because it’s always handy to trick someone into buying you a drink, and then playing a game that gets you so drunk you’re soiling your diapers less than an hour later. What? You don’t wear diapers? Oh. Well, neither do I. Moving on.

A buddy of mine has entered a short story in the Amazon.com short story competition. Because I’m a lazy bastard, I will use nearly the exact text he used when he told me to read it and write a nice review. “I’ve been selected as a semifinalist in Amazon.com novel competition, and I’m looking to shore up support for my book by getting anyone and everyone in the world to write reviews and post ratings for my book. In order to do this, obviously, I have to tell you where it is. It’s here.” So wander over and take a look at what’s he’s got going on, and be sure to give it a good review. Also, feel free to buy me something off my wishlist while you’re over there. Because I’m awesome.

Let’s see… what else is going on. I have a pretty big announcement for next week, so feel free to stop by on Monday to see what that’s all about. I’m not trying to be some hit-whoring blog-tease, it’s just that I haven’t written the post for the announcement yet. I can’t post something I haven’t written yet, jerks. Calm the crap down. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, the internet will go on.

Speaking of the internet, I haven’t yet had a chance to reacquaint myself with it since I’ve been gone outside of occasional dalliances into the ether in response to an email query. I’m completely and utterly behind news-wise. I have no idea what’s been going on in the primaries, or with the economy, or anything. The only news item I’ve heard recently was that Heath Ledger died, which sucks, because he always seemed to be one of those Hollywood types who wasn’t constantly stuffing his nose full of coke, shaving his head, and flashing his junk at the media. I think we’ve lost someone who could have been a fantastic lifetime actor, and that sucks. Proving there is no god, Richard Gere continues to live. Also, I have a flat tire. Woo hoo to spending money on shit I wasn’t anticipating!

The Missus and I were supposed to get tattoos for Holiday presents (the war on Xmas doesn’t end with the season, now does it?) for each other, and I’m struggling with ideas. I sort of had all my tattoo ideas laid out in my head, and when the guy at the shop advised me on why he thought one of my tattoo placement ideas wasn’t a good idea, it kind of sent my whole tattoo plan into flux. At the same time, I’ve been brimming with new ideas that I can’t get because I have a personal rule about waiting one year before getting an idea tattooed on myself. Also, please don’t suggest any ideas, because I don’t get stuff done that isn’t my own idea, and you might ruin a potential future idea I have. There’s nothing worse than seeing or hearing about a tattoo that I had only begun to formulate mentally.

I think aside from that stuff I don’t really have much going on right now, but you know I’ll let you know as soon as I see something bizarre/stupid/weird/funny. In the meantime, I will continue to sort through the ninety-hojillion emails I have left, and keep meeting with people. (This is, I think, my newest pet peeve. Almost worse than those that continually email me after having gotten my vacation message are people who schedule meetings back to back the day I get back to work. Don’t they realize I have better things to do then listen to them drone on about the decisions they reached in meeting when I wasn’t there?)

More likely a tarp, though. Fewer leaks.

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on January 14, 2008 @ 8:07 am
in Glen Burnie, Mrs. ACW, food, movies, nog and potty humor
. 10 Comments

What can be said about Stirring’s eggnog that hasn’t already been said about getting hit in the face with a warm sack of diarrhea?

eggnog

Actually, that’s a bad analogy. Stirring’s eggnog is like being told that you’re going to get the super-awesomest puppy that ever existed, when you instead end up with a dog that sexually assaults you.

Some back story: Mrs. ACW and I were doing some food shopping over the holidays and we opted to shop in a county with a higher-than-average tax bracket. The produce tends to be fresher, and the selection tends to be greater, and none of the cashiers are surly teenagers who lack the ability to add. The downside to all this is that the other shoppers have huge superiority complexes, entitlement issues, and feel that the world is owed to them, so they’ll frequently crash their carts into yours, fall down, and call triple A. Before you know what’s happening, you’ve been summoned to court to serve as a witness against yourself. Also, because these places tend to be whiter than a whitebread and mayonnaise sandwich, the “International Foods” aisle is typically Italian fare like spaghetti and pasta sauce. Occasionally you might find an old dusty box of taco shells that people keep buying to impress their house cleaner, and then returning the tacos after they fire the house cleaner. I imagine that most people in that area have owned those tacos for a day or two at least once. Suffice it to say, Mrs. ACW and I were not able to find the canned chipotle peppers on our list.

However, what they lack in diverse foods, they make up for in a new kind of eggnog. As we were wandering the aisles and gazing upon row after row of jarred peacock in truffle oil and ivory shavings, canned polar bear toes, and freeze-dried Irish babies, we came across the bottle of nog pictured above… and it cost $11. This makes it the most expensive nog purchase in my history of nogsumerism. Mrs. ACW looked at my joyful face, the price tag, and simply said, “That had better be some good fucking eggnog.” As you may have already surmised, it was not.

As soon as we got home I wanted to bust it open so I could try some, and since it was an eggnog cocktail concentrate, I would need to mix it with milk or liquor, sort of like the chai nog. So I mixed some up with some milk and took a sip… and it was weird. It tasted like the milk had gone bad or something. There was this weird biscotti-like taste to the nog. So I dumped in some bourbon… but that taste was still there. I dumped in even more bourbon and even more milk, but the horrible taste couldn’t be squelched. Mind you, the original recipe calls for 2 parts nog to 1 part milk OR liquor, and I was at about 4 parts milk AND bourbon to 1 part nog. It was like a party in my mouth and everybody had the trots.

For YOU people I went back and tried the filthy shit again before writing this post, and I was finally able to put my finger on what the taste was: licorice. It was like drinking eggnog through a straw made of black licorice. It’s absolutely repulsive, and I’m not sure what makes it taste that way, but when you can add so much booze and milk and the licorice flavor still comes through… well, I’d say we have a problem.

Then again, I also hate that shitty pre-liquored nog that you can buy, and I know lots of people who love it, so it might just be me in this case. Either way, I’ll never drink it again, and maybe it’ll save you about 11 bucks. And having to learn what it’s like to be hit in the face with a sack of warm diarrhea.

Until next year, thus ends the nog diaries. Like Sex in the City, but with less lactose intolerance.

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