Friday, June 29, 2007

I'm a Movie Star


Did you know that? Did you know I'm starring in a major motion picture? Me. Did you know? see? (I'm the one on the right, assholes)

To Our Faithful Readers:

As many of you know, this blog is written in the spirit of jest. Chalk full of insider jokes, some readers may find themselves puzzled or offended by its content. If you are among this group but can't help returning to this space, incessantly, for your daily fix of wit and charm - please refer to 1906's first entry where its mission is clearly stated. Never shall we shy away from taboo topics, tasteless jokes or golden opportunities to clown a loved one. If you are known to the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse and you've done something outlandish in our presence, then I assure you that your egregious act will find its way to the 1906 blogspace. Take solace in the fact that everyone is a target, mainly ourselves, so if you committ a public gaffe - chances are it will be knocked from the headlines within a week. Of course, we will curteously abstain from using anyone's given name so your employer, family and friends can't trouble you over the retarted shit you do. Be well friends and thank you for the wonderful support.

Why Alec Should Move to Greece

or Tehuateneho... say it with me....

From NYTimes, Friday, June 29
"WASHINGTON, June 28 — With competing blocs of justices claiming the mantle of Brown v. Board of Education, a bitterly divided Supreme Court declared Thursday that public school systems cannot seek to achieve or maintain integration through measures that take explicit account of a student’s race.

Voting 5 to 4, the court, in an opinion by Chief Justice
John G. Roberts Jr., invalidated programs in Seattle and metropolitan Louisville, Ky., that sought to maintain school-by-school diversity by limiting transfers on the basis of race or using race as a “tiebreaker” for admission to particular schools.

Both programs had been upheld by lower federal courts and were similar to plans in place in hundreds of school districts around the country. Chief Justice Roberts said such programs were “directed only to racial balance, pure and simple,” a goal he said was forbidden by the Constitution’s guarantee of equal protection. "

“The way to stop discrimination on the basis of race is to stop discriminating on the basis of race,” he said. His side of the debate, the chief justice said, was “more faithful to the heritage of Brown,” the landmark 1954 decision that declared school segregation unconstitutional. “When it comes to using race to assign children to schools, history will be heard,” he said."


Goddamn it folks, I just don't know what to do with myself and this country we're livin in sometimes. all the time. I just dont fit and it starts to hurt right below yer chest and right above yer stomach. that hollow ache like when a girl dont call ya back, ya know?


People throw around words like "quotas" and the logic cited above (“The way to stop discrimination on the basis of race is to stop discriminating on the basis of race,”), because at first glance, at first thought, at first consideration, it all makes sense. Of course quotas are bad. Of course discrimination, positive or negative is bad. Color blind is good. Equality = everyone being treated the same, right? Right?


And damn, if it were only so simple.


On issues of race, particularly when it comes to education, the lines are far more blurried, the history's far more complex. You've got to take structural barriers to equality into account. When you've had a system that's been biased and prejudiced against a people for hundreds of years, exceptions have to be made to level the playing fields. It's like a Keyensian approach to socio-economic policy., Yeah, it'd be great if the invisible hand worked on it's own, but sometimes the government has got to help push it in the right direction.


Living at 1906 it has become glaringly, starkly and disturbingly apparent as to how significant the racial divide is in this country. It's so much bigger than a boy from Bucks County, Pennsylvania could ever have imagined. It makes it so i wonder if we can ever be fully integrated.
I'm a cynical man in a cynical time and nothing i've seen so far in these 25 years has led me to believe that the good works and the good workers are really out there. not any more. folks are angry. folks are tired. folks are hungry for something, anything. and when children under 8 shout "white boy" to me from the slides and swings on their playground, well, that's a damn hard pill to choke down, folks. damn hard. and i'm tired of keepin it down.


We're not there yet. We've still got to push. That's why affirmative action is not inherently bad. That's why quotas are still necessary. We haven't made it yet. Post- the civil rights movement, laws were brought in line to tear down the structural barriers, but we need more time to let them settle. we're not ready to peel back those layered laws just yet.


sometimes the world takes on a rosy hue that's not really there, that makes it hard for someone sittin on their supreme court chair to see. I wish roberts could hang with us at 1906 and talk to Wayne. And talk to the kids around the corner throwing their football, riding their bikes... maybe he'd see that we're not ready to get rid of active-integration policies. my heart gets so sick sometimes, it's all i can do but to drown it in spanish wine.

This Guy Incites Race Riots


Just look at him; doesn't he make yer anti-semitic blood boil?

Monday, June 25, 2007

Square Peg --> Round Hole

Sadly, we live in a time void of social reasoning. Drones walk aimlessly about this earth without even a sliver of self-awareness. The odds of meeting a person with common sense and a caring thought are akin to the odds that Paris Hilton isn't currently face up to a gas station glory-hole. Every day our world gets more confusing and people grow increasingly terrible at life. In essence, some things were not meant to be, some people were not meant to do, some talent will remain untapped and many attempts at fusion will repeatedly fail.

Notable Square Peg --> Round Hole scenarios (aka these things don’t mesh and will remain estranged until merciful death):

1906

Al --> himself
Nate --> sobriety
Baby Gorilla --> not, un, anti - jugglin'
Tom --> vagina


And Beyond (our outside contributors and readers)

Ti-May--> military ban on masturbation (see previous blog post)
Paul Simon --> Art Garfunkel
Brad --> Caps (see drinking game of the week)
K. Lee --> Mud Creek & Albert Pujols
Robbie --> Our Nation’s Capital & writing a blog entry
Joseph --> Fun
Dave --> Sundown
Tranny --> Men who aren’t gay
Laura --> Chest hair
Steven C --> An unkind word

…And Way Beyond (outsiders that we like to make fun of)

Naked Within --> Gay Without & a dog
Dane Cook --> A joke
R. Kelly, U1 & She who shall remain nameless --> Bladder control
George Bush --> Recognizable brain activity
Mel Gibson --> Alec Gross and people of his ilk


I don’t want to take all the easy ones so I’ll stop there. Readers may add new names to the list or new qualities to existing members. If you post them in comments section, I will add them to this working entry.

Notes From the Field

A Special Guest Blog From a Member of the Armed Services

Greetings from the fucking cradle of civilization...

Let me first briefly state that this guest spot on the 1906 blog is an honor in the truest sense of the word.

Although I won’t claim to be stuck in the most dangerous part of Iraq, there are apparently still douchebags around trying to wax me and my platoon. Not cool. In fact, a total dick move. Nonetheless, my biggest moment of hostile confrontation to this date has come from within the ranks. A snitch? An attempted fragging? Did a bully take my pudding at dinner? The unit chaplain? Of course, all those possibilities seem a bit far fetched…all except the last.

About a week ago I was hanging in the building where my soldiers live. This building also happens to house some staff officers with whom I’ve become good friends. I often make it a point to swing by and see my buddies whenever I’m at the building checking on the soldiers. Following an evening patrol, the platoon decided to grill some meat and not get toasted off some non-alcoholic Beck’s. After downing a lot of wieners (HAHA get it! Obvious gay reference even though I can’t be openly homosexual in the Army!) I went over to see my buddies and watch an episode of Weeds for a little while. I left their room after a good half hour or so to get my radio that I had left in one of the Joe’s rooms. Apparently they had been listening to our old commander shitting himself on the radio, so we all mocked him for a bit, then I said my goodbyes and went back to DVD watching. When I returned to their room, my friends seemed a bit distraught and quickly told me that the new chaplain (who I forgot to mention also lives in the building) had been inquiring as to why a Playboy was in one of the bathrooms. As a brief background, pornography, alcohol, and sex are banned here. This, I think over a continuous period of 15 months, is a reasonable requirement of young men in their early twenties. Well, our unit’s new man of God proceeds to tell my friends he wants to take punitive actions against the culprit who would dare own such filth and who probably even masturbated to it.

This warning from my friends irritates me for two reasons. One, the chaplain is going around making substantial threats against my guys without consulting me, as is protocol being that I am in their immediate chain of command. Two, he’s fussing about Playboy? Come on, man. I don’t think anyone has been busted for having a Playboy since 4th grade. I sure hope the chaplain never inspects my laptop’s “C” drive. Third, who jerks it to Playboy anymore? Whacking to Playboy is equivalent to getting drunk off a six-pack of Smirnoff Ice. It’s for beginners only.

(Editor’s note: It turns out the magazine had been left behind by the previous occupants of the building.)

Since he is new to the unit, I feel that this might be the appropriate time to go introduce myself. At first, I try the nice guy approach and tell him that I am sorry if he felt offended by the dirty mag and that I will tell my platoon to keep their reading material in their room. I thought that this was an appropriate and reasonable offer, but I was apparently wrong. It seems our new chaplain was the kind of guy who used to tell on himself in grade school. He jumps on his soapbox and tells me that as chaplain his duty is to set the “ethical climate” in the unit and looking at boobs detracts from that goal. Wrong chaplain!! Your job is to plan golf tournaments, listen to people’s bullshit problems, and make us feel awkward when we swear around you. You’re not a real officer. You don’t bust balls.

My reasoning with him is of no use. I tell him these guys got enough to deal with. They don’t need to have the worry that someone in their own unit is out to get them. This line of argument proves futile and he counters me with the fact that some Iraqi national who does maintenance in the building might get offended. He is again wrong on multiple counts. It’s a myth that these people are too religious for porn. They like porn as much as the rest of the world. They just prefer it involve goats. And finally, last I checked, we were doing enough for this hell hole. Why celebrate one birthday in Iraq, when you can have two?! I forget what else was said, but I started being a dick right back to him and let go of any language restraints I formerly used in the presence of holy men.

Needless to say, the first and probably last conversation between me and the chaplain ended less than amicably. It’s pretty cold when we pass each other outside. But that’s okay. I don’t think God likes that guy either. It’s sad that my platoon and I have to worry about mortar attacks and roadside bombs. Now we have an addition to the list of what to avoid: the chaplain folks, the fucking chaplain. Enjoy life, people.

Peace in the Middle East,

Cpt. Common Sense

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Throw a Party - Hold the Pretension

Despite my preference to dress predominantly in the image of a hobo, I am capable of displaying class. In particular, when called for, in a mandatory social setting. The opera - if ever - would be a wonderful time to ditch the lid, trim the stubble and slide that carefully kempt beer gut into threads of tailored silk.

Humbly following the words of the legendary Omar Little: “a man got to have a code” - I’ve established several notable rules to guide my life. Not the least important of which is:

Life Rule 12-C) When an event features a baby-gorilla sized woman in an “Eric the Red” Helmet, belting out sounds unheard to even Wilt “1,000” – you best suit up.

Throughout history, Opera has provided a haven for large women. There they control the crowd, own the stage and bask in the glory of their tremendous soft pallet. Fortunately, the stage isn’t the only place large women can attract a crowd. Plus-sized divas are more than welcome at 1906’s parties and in my experience they generally come with a noble calling. Their mission is submission - their method: suffocation. When I see a pair of basketball sized tigos smothering a drunken imp, I know everyone’s in for a good time. Not for nothing, but the emerging prevalence of hip-hop culture has afforded plus-sized women a cult following; the same can’t be said for tiny little elf-men. Obviously, heavyset women aren’t required to put on a spectacle but everyone in 1906 has come to party and big girls are encouraged to get down too.

While conversation is surely an acceptable social lubricant, reclining in the corner with your immediate social circle hardly qualifies. As host of a party, you’re required to not only provide a haven for juvenile behavior, but exude inspiration that forces attendees to ask the question “how do I be like Him?”

It’s not enough that guests politely step out of their comfort zones, people must knock them bitches down with a sledgehammer, proclaiming “you’re done, son”:

  • The debutante desperate to let her hair down, must pound a car bomb with the prematurely balding intellectual.
  • The closeted meatgazer, in need of an inconspicuous thimble-spindle, has an obligation to approach the Hip-Hop Flatly shaking his ass for those too polite to flee from anal warts.
  • At the very least, the out-of-touch whiteboy must spit the lyrics, line for line of Whoomp! There It Is and Regulators. Mount up!

Furthermore, it’s entirely pointless to create a buzz around an event and invite a boatload of honored guests, only to proclaim the spot “overcrowded” when an unaccompanied minor spills red wine on your carpet.

So what if a braggadocios neighborhood kid who’s buzzing like Courtney Love and sporting the “I got kills teardrop tattoo” wanders in uninvited? Shit, give that mothafucka a beer. Big deal if he wasn’t built to handle binge drinking Big-10 alumni style. It’s entertaining to see four beers go down as three too many and watch the punk develop delusions of Stringer Bell.

It falls on the host(s) to provide their party with a vibe. For five hours +, the host gets to be Moses guiding the flock through beer filled estuaries and parted seas of Irish whiskey. Next time your invitations go out, send them with reckless abandon. Prepare for a mess, a fucked toilet or two and definitely expect several passed out mopes populating the living room floor.

In conclusion, when throwing a party, Johnny Drama should not serve as the model he’s proven to be through countless other life situations.*

* Watch Entourage this Sunday for further explanation of Drama’s hosting failures. Also come back to this blog (sometime in the future) to read the 1906 take on the hilarity of Entourage.

Women are from Venus

Women can seem very irrational, perplexing and down right confusing to a man. We men have such a hard time understanding the female psyche, as seen by our constant struggle to not upset these fair creatures. It is extremely rare that any member of the male sex really gets a peek into the mind of our counterparts. Recently, I was privy to such an opportunity. Due to an e-mailing mistake, I was sent a story, which was not for my eyes. As a student of all things female (you have to understand your enemy to take them down) I was first surprised and then delighted by the contents of my inbox and further intrigued by the story held within the errant e-mail. I have published this on the blog in the hopes of educating men and improving male- female relationships on the whole. Male readers of 1906 and Beyond, please take close note of the story below and respond with your comments and observations.


“So girls,

Sometimes people read the last page of the book before they start it, so why don't I just begin this story with the ending. Definition of classy: Sitting in your OB-GYN's waiting room, wearing what you wore the day before, praying to God they aren't going to test your blood sample for blood alcohol level, and you're they're for an AIDS test and full STD scan.

Yes, that was me. This morning. Full story:

So sweet Brittany invited me to her law firm's summer associate happy hour last night. A Tuesday night, I have a long week of work still ahead of me so I am thinking this will consist of me and Brittany having a couple drinks, meeting her fellow co-workers, and then probably having a lovely dinner with her and Jeff. Sounds like a good night, it’s better than sitting at home watching my old Sex and the City DVDs. Did my presumptuous plans of a quiet peaceful evening take place?

Not exactly….First of all, here is a secret for you ladies: the law firm young associate happy hour is a freaking gold mine for young Chicago ladies. You need to immediately hit up this circuit. Why you might ask? For the following reasons:
1) Free Drinks - they literally feed you beers.
2) Hot Law Students and Lawyers
3) Ugly Girls- except for Brittany and I - hottest girls there BY FAR - and she's taken, so works splendidly well for me - instant wing man.

Side Note: We need to coordinate and put together a calendar of these type of law firm happy hours. If we want the type of man who can and will treat us like the princesses we are then we need to develop a Chicago Summer Associate Happy Hour Crashing League (CSAHHCL). Let’s talk!

So, at this oasis of sugar daddies, I ended up chatting with a very, very cute young lawyer named Brian. He's 29, a graduate of U Chicago and Duke, and very cute. Did I mention he's really cute? He asked for my number earlier in the evening, and we parted conversational ways, but then, lo and behold, he ended up sitting next to me and basically we spent the rest of the night drinking, dancing, and doing shots by the bar. We left at 11, although in my drunken mind I thought it was 3 am. A short cab ride later he some how duped me into coming back to the condo he owns. So fast-forward this morning, he has to be at work at 10, I have a prescheduled doctor's appointment at 10:45 blocks from his office (and close to his condo). How's this for an image? Walking last night's hook up to work. When you get to the Starbucks by his office you grab some coffee and say good-bye. You have the awkward discussion of doing something next week (although you don't really believe he's actually going to call you). He hugs you, kisses your cheek, says, "It was nice to see you." and then goes, "Wait, I guess I should say nice to meet you."

I'm walking around Starbucks like a hooker, still drunk, and talking to Miss Johnson. Get to the doctor, and oh my god; I am praying they do not test my blood alcohol level. Also, I feel like the biggest whore ANYWAY for getting an AIDS test and STD scan, (I seriously wanted to scream at the doctors and nurses - I don't sleep around! My ex-boyfriend cheated on me with some college whore!), combined with going home with someone I met the night before (I guess my timing was good this way I could kill two birds with one stone).

Drinks at the happy hour: $0
Cab ride home with hot rich lawyer: $0
Morning after coffee from Starbucks; $0
Ending up at the OB-GYN’s office for an AIDS test and STD scan in your clothes from the night before after going home with a different guy than the one who was the reason for the doctor’s visit in the first place:
Priceless.”

Celebrating 94 years of God


AD. Its such a funny little acronym. Now my Latin is a little rusty, but I believe AD stands for Anno Domini. For the less educated it means After Death, which makes absolutely no sense, unless Jesus died at birth... idiots. Anno Domini is translated into our language, English, as "In the year of our lord". That makes more sense doesn't it? Now that we understand the meaning of Anno Domini, I can more clearly convey to you the epic (as in Planet Earth epic) discovery I made the other night while stumbling home from the bars.

When ones mind is inebriated, he sees and processes things in a totally different light. Sometimes that light can become holy, and revelations are made. On my walk home, I passed by a church. A church I had passed by many times before. I don't know if it was the 100 ounces of Banana Mad Dog 20/20 circulating through my system or a call from an even higher power (I know its hard to think of something more powerful than Banana Mad Dog 20/20), but I noticed something on this Church's sign. It said, "Celebrating 94 years of God". I was dumbstruck. My whole life changed in an instant. Questions flashed through my head. What year does that make this? Was my Grandfather born Before the Common Era (BCE for the idiots)? Is God still alive and living in Florida? What time is it? 4:30 anti meridian (am, guys)... fuck I have to work tomorrow. How did I get so drunk? Wait, God is only 94 years old? I am freaking out.

So I went home and did some research... well first I got on a calculator and did some quick math; 2007-94= 1913. 1913? Could this be the true 0 Anno Domini? I then Googled: "1913 the year of our lord". Nothing. So I decided to find out more about the year itself. My tired and hazy toxic banana induced eyes scanned my screen for answers. It all began on Wednesday, January 1st... 1913. Wikipedia describes the year 1913, as common. The year our lord and savior was born is hardly "common" don't you think? It is for this reason that I no longer believe Wikipedia to be a trustworthy source. Woodrow Wilson was our leader in the political sense, I wonder if he knew a prolific spiritual leader was born during his tenure ship as president.

In 1913, the New York Giants fought a wily Philadelphia Athletics team in the World Series. The Giants had just come off yet another pennant win, and the Athletics were hungry newcomers to the big show. For the third straight year, much like the Bills and Broncos of the 90's, the Giants fell short of a World Series ring. There was much celebrating in Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love. God likes brotherly love, and probably had something to do with their upset. Across the Pacific in Australia, the Wallies began construction of their new capitol, Canberra. Because the criminals could not decide on Melbourne or Sydney as the capitol city, they compromised and made boring Canberra which is located smack in between the two larger cities. Only God's divine intervention could get these convicts to actually come to an agreement on something. Moving over to the Balkan states, freezing weather stopped everything, except the massively popular production of straw hats, which were selling like hotcakes in the almost Soviet Russia. Why straw hats you ask? My answer to you would be, only God knows. Back in the states, a great civil rights hero, Harriet Tubman, passed away of pneumonia. It was ironic that a new hero would be born that very same year... God. 1913 was also the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg. God's birth would bring peace to the world... until World War I began a year later. But I don't blame God, he was only one year old. An infant cant stop Fascists. One last final miracle that occured in 1913, or as I now call it 0 Anno Domini Novus ( the New year of our lord). In an amazing display of compassion and humanity between two bitter rivals, Italy returned Da Vinci's Mona Lisa to its rightful owner, France. Only God could have fashioned such a fine example of camaraderie between two countries on the cusp of battle.

Yes, some may say the sign could have been a simple misprint. Some say that it is obvious that the church meant to say "Celebrating 94 years of worshiping God", commemorating the fact that the church opened in 1913. Yet, I choose to believe otherwise. I will leave it up to you, the readers, to decide for yourselves. My life will never be the same, but that's between me and the wisdom 94 years has given God.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

To Lube or not to Lube: Riding Dirrty

Our readers have spoken and this installment of the 1906 exploration of self-love came as a suggesstion from our audience. This week I am going to examine the Road Trip Wank, AKA Riding Dirrty.

This is what one reader had to say about this technique:

“I have enjoyed it on many occasions and on many road trips. I find it best when driving on a more rural road as less traffic allows the driver a more relaxed pleasure. For better or worse, you can ejaculate before arriving at your destination; thereby ameliorating the need to jerk off in your buddy’s shower after you don’t pull. (see supra “To lube or not to lube”, May 31, 2007). Moreover, it provides the perfect opportunity to get those frustrations out after you didn’t pull, slept on your buddy’s floor and pissed yourself.”

Let’s be honest fellas, we all know exactly what frustrations he is talking about.

Pros:

Add A Little Excitement: Breaks up the monotony of long trips
No Need For No-Doz: Wakes you up when you’re falling asleep at the wheel
Resume Builder: Makes you a more marketable employee by improving your multi-tasking skills
Helping Hand (Or Otherwise): Can be a team sport
Milk Me: Innate danger increases adrenaline flow which betters the experience with an effect similar to that of prostate manipulation
Kinky: If you are in to voyeurism passing trucks, vans, and SUVs get a front row seat to your self-exploration

Cons:

Danger: Possibility of wrecking your car
Umm, I Hit A Deer?!?: Tough to explain to the police officer that your reckless driving resulted from you masturbating while driving
A Mess to Be Made: Difficult to clean up errant shots which are more likely than usual due to your split attention on the road and on your "vehicle"(however, if this is the return portion of your road trip, you can use dirty clothing)
Double Danger: Using visual stimulation further decreases your focus on the road
Creep Factor: Even if you are into voyeurism, creepy truckers who haven’t smelled a woman in atleast 2 months are watching you- that can be an awkward realization upon hearing their horn honk

Overall assessment:
This score is a range from 2 to 4 Palms (out of 5). 2 Palms because it is hard to fully appreciate the experience since there is so much going on: stearing, touching, breaking, moaning, honking, singing, dancing, flatulating, poking, bruising, etc.. . This gets 4 Palms when teamwork is involved- no explanation necessary.

PS- I suggest not trying this while on 95 driving southbound through Richmond- Let’s just leave it at that….

Monday, June 18, 2007

What's In A Name?; or A Seemingly Endless String of Endearments


Hamilton, Ham, Hammy, Hamil, Hambone, Bone, Boner, Bones, Bones St. Fuillien, Schmoner, Schmamilton, Schmamil, Camel, Mamel, Mamilton, Mamwhich, Hamwhich, Spamwhich, Spamilton, Sequoia, Baby Gorilla, Baby G's, Baby-illa, Amy Good Gorilla, Amy, The Clan McNaughton, McNutt, McNutter, McNutter-Butter, MacNutt, Mr. MacNutt, Mr. Mac, Dese Nutts, McMamilton, McBones, McBoner, Magnuson, Magnus, Maximus MacNutt, Frank Hamilton McNutt IV

Friday, June 15, 2007

Drinking Game of The Week: Slap The Bag


This one I'm up in the air about. Do I really want to do this? It sounds like it would be rather painful in that A-1 spot (you know, "it gets you here, and here"), on either side of the under-jaw. Plus, I don't think you could help but vomit if you play this correctly. Also, make sure you do this in someone else's home. If we're talkin' red wine here, you ain't never gonna get these stains out...

Simple. Get a bunch of friends/Krazee Eyez and a few (or many) boxes of wine. Remove the bags of wine from each box. Get an office type chair, one in which the seat spins.

Did you find friends/krazee eyez (from the streets) and boxes of wine and a spinny chair? You did? Great. You're my friend, now.

Okay, so everyone get in a circle around the chair and put Krazee Eyez in the chair. Spin Krazee Eyez in the chair while he chuggs as much wine as he can. Everybody in the circle should yell and jump around a bit and slap the bag of wine as it spins past you as hard as you can. If you knock the bag out of that person's hand well, that's awesome. You've got that satisfaction goin for ya. As for the person in the chair, if they haven't fallen over and vomitted yet, they're allowed to sit out for the next few rounds.

Okay, here's my take on it: Sounds like a blast. Physical contact, drinking, shouting, etc. But I gotta say, I'm getting to that point in my life where I just don't want to do this. I don't want to gulp down bagged wine while being spun in a chair and slapped. I don't. So fuck you.

I do, however, want to watch this happen and perhaps officiate over it. If anyone out there wants to do this and needs a ref, I'm your man. I'll even bring my own black and white striped shirt and a whistle. Just don't get wine on the shirt, mate.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Jerry Falwell Blues



Oh Jerry Falwell?
Where have you gone?
Oh Jerry Falwell?
Have we done something wrong?

All the dancers on Stonewall Street
Well, they haven’t gone away
We’ve thrown all our bibles
But those fags are all still gay
They hold youth recruitment meetings
At the YMCA
And at the starbucks they serve coffee
Soy milk latte, hazelnut and AIDS
No, all the cocksuckers on Stonewall Street
They haven’t gone away

Oh Jerry Falwell?
Where have you gone?
Oh Jerry Falwell?
Have we done something wrong?

I checked out my basement
Found it crawling with the Jews
Despite all our donations
They still run the liberal news
Why won’t they return to Israel
So the lord can be renewed?
Abortionists and lawyers
They’re members of the ACLU
Yeah, despite all our donations
This place is crawling still with Jews

Oh Jerry Falwell?
Where have you gone?
Oh Jerry Falwell?
Have we done something wrong?

Well, the Negroes they still dance and sing
And we all clap our hands
It’s funny when they use big ole words
They can’t possibly understand
But despite our gerrymandering
Their votes can count like a white man’s
But their dirty streets and cracked out kids
Keep them from miscegenatin’ the heartland
Oh, the Negroes they still dance and sing
Polluting Jesus’ land

Oh Jerry Falwell?
Where have you gone?
Oh Jerry Falwell?
Have we done something wrong?

Now them tiajuana mamas
Flow like tequila cross the sand
Like cock-a-roaches they show up
In every crack and crevice in this land
With their beep-boop-bop-boop spainish talk
And their virgin mary scams
They’re taking all America's jobs
And hospital bed pans
We’ll build a wall, electrify a fence
Collars round their necks and hands
And send ‘em back to mexico’s slums
Like tequila cross the sand

Oh Jerry Falwell?
Where have you gone?
Oh Jerry Falwell?
Have we done something wrong?

And them Musselmans, them turban heads
Lord knows they’re not to blame
Their dirty bombs and training camps
All in Muhammed’s name
The unwitting sword in our Lord’s hand
They do his work without complaint
Their acts Retribution
For all our sinful ways
Atheists and abortionists
Evolutionists and Gays
Oh those Musselmans, those turban heads
Jesus knows they’re not to blame

Oh Jerry Falwell
We miss you now you’re gone
Your words rang like truth throughout the land
Like a mocking bird’s sweet song
Oh Jerry Falwell
How will we stand?
With Robertson, Haggard and Our Man Billy Graham
Oh Jerry Falwell, Jerry Falwell
We’ll still save God’s land!

Monday, June 4, 2007

Drinking Game of the Week: Caps - Tournament Edition

Traditionally, popular drinking games are split into two categories – those that focus on skill (baseball, beer chess, etc.) and those that simply need a keg (hockey, power hour, etc.)*. Caps is the rare breed of game that places utmost importance on both. Unlike its counterfeit contemporary Beer Pong, a game of caps does not result in the consumption of a finite amount of beer and competitively riveting games have required upwards of a thirty-pack of Booch Light. Moreover, to achieve success at Beer Pong you need about as much skill as a lobster handed virgin trying to unhook his first bra.

Caps remains altogether a special breed of drinking game; a competitive player must employ the Novocain-like end-over-end throwing technique and hone their game with hours of practice. Additionally, if you don’t have a beer gut – or haven’t unknowingly pissed on room full of people - you probably aren’t ready to handle the rigorous drinking aspects of the game.

The aforementioned combination of hand-eye coordination and beer-guzzling prowess makes the game uniquely competitive and has inspired the establishment of the Mid-Michigan Caps Circuit (MMCC) and the annual East Lansing Caps Championship (ELCC). June 2, 2007 marked the 2nd annual ELCC and ringers flocked to EL from places as far as Frisco, DC and Louisville.

The festivities kicked off with a pre-tournament BBQ and Chef Kelly strategically cleared the house with some fierce Habenero sautéing. Once the air’s toxicity level had returned to breathable, the brackets were graphically constructed, teams united, and seedings drawn. With a total of 10 teams, the competition was stacked; forcing two play-in games. In one such game we had our first taste of semi-drama: trailing 9-2 – Future Hos Wifey (FHW) still hadn’t made a shot. According to the tournament rules (see attached) this transgression must be paid in the form of a naked run through the host neighborhood. The House was abuzz with the thought of pre-bridal titties floppin’. Sadly, the boners were halted as FHW stepped up and drilled the biggest shot of her adult life. However, FHW and Mr. Reddy proved to be an ill-fated team when they allowed 10 straight points in their next game. Celebrations occurred, chants were created, and once again chubbies sprouted up like spring lilies. Alas, those chubbies were twice thwarted when Husband-to-be Hos – fearing for the safety of FHW – defined the term “man” and bore her cross. Hos joined Mr. Reddy in the traditional tube-sock garb and together they made magical nude poetry complete with high-knee gallops around the light pole (unfortunately you will not see pictures of this on the Internet - I've seen them but you wont).

Hos’ chivalry proved to bring him great Karma, as he and his partner J (the physical embodiment of Tyler Hansborough, with the spirit of John Starks) tore through the competition. On the ropes only once – in the semifinals, Hos ended Byrd’s threat of a game winner with a double, and J Starks came through with some subsequent daggers of his own.

The finals proved to be a snooze fest as an overmatched Sammy and Barsie played from behind, never causing a stir. Money was paid out ($120 each for the winning team) and increasingly expensive cash games became the new mode of competitive expression.

By this time, two kegs lay empty and only the true heavyweights remained. Dubs and Nate (donning a sick Ken Griffey Jr. batting jersey), still reeling from an embarrassing premature tournament exit, evoked the power of Indigo Montoya calling on father to “guide their swords”. After forcing Kenney to join Reddy and Hos in the annals of tournament naked runs, Dubs and Nate built a steam of momentum and stayed steadily rollin’ rocks. In the end, Dubs and Nate left casa de Hosler with a combined $670 (including all of the tournament winnings) from Sammy, Kenney, Byrd, J and Hos.

The oft ridiculed uber-team lost the tournament but in the end they won at life. Until next year…
*Stay tuned to see these featured in our Drinking Game of the Week column.

An Adult Film Proposal: Jail Guards go to Paris



Dear Century Regional Detention Facility,

I am writing this letter in the interest of the Adult Film Industry. We have excitedly been awaiting the incarceration of Paris Hilton. As we all know, the hotel heiress has already exploded onto the voyeur scene in several home videos that have entertained millions of viewers VIA the Internet and bootleg DVDs. Ms. Hilton has an awesome star power, and many fans await her next big release. With your help, we hope to produce the first in an awesome new genre of adult films... Porn-reality. As Ms. Hilton has unknowingly already "burst" onto this very new and exciting scene, we have a feeling she will be more than willing to partake in this piece of history. What if she does not hop on board you ask? She is in jail, who cares. The true reality of this situation is Ms. Hilton WILL need some form of sexual sustenance while she serves out her time, and WILL fall under the seductive spells of a burly prison guard who goes buy the "pen name" of Handsome B Wonderful. It will be a riveting story line with "hot" blow jobs abound.

I wanted to give you a couple ideas we have been shooting around the production room.

A Basic overview

Ms. Hilton is nervous. She is now in Prison. Voice over of interviews which will be taken afterwards will express how nervous she really was. Ms Hilton will then comment that being nervous is one of her biggest turn ons. She is waiting for her daily visit from Larry Diggs, the burly guard that brings breakfast to her cell. The way his big arms dwarf the bowl of cereal and glass of orange juice makes her quite squeamish, if you catch my drift. This relationship will then blossom into a beautiful mesh of reality and fantasy... "Hot" fantasy.

How do you write a script to reality you ask? We simply put the pieces in place which are necessary for certain transgressions to occur. We all know Ms. Hilton's character will crumble under the prospect of big press and endless droves of fans showering her with attention. There are other ways we can assure her cooperation in the form of "forget me nows", a special drug mostly utilized in the illusions business. Yet, I feel Ms. Hilton will not be the issue in all of this. We are more concerned with you as a prison's reaction. As we say in the porn industry, any press is good press right? So you allowed the filming of a reality porn show staring the heiress to the Hilton fortune. Worse things have been happened. The Holocaust for example. When people question you about your decision to go along with the project, just mention all the poor souls at Virginia Tech. Tell them we should be more worried about gun control, and then talk about the over crowding problems we are experiencing in today's prison system, because so many people are shooting and killing each other for no reason with weapons which are too easily acquired. That will fix it, and the reporters will praise you for your humanity.

I hope this letter has been both intriguing and convincing. You are on the cusp of an historical event. Hop on and ride it hard.

I remain the same.