square is considered an autonomous unit for mid-mall snacking.
Sorry I had to finish that quote. That quote rules. Brodie rules.
So very quickly I'm going to tell you the thing I learned about spending one hot, hot, summer being unemployed: it's FUCKING RAD. Ok. In lieu of telling you all the endless adventures we've been having, I'm just going to paraphrase with a short list of places I or we have broken the law in the last 3 months:
Detroit, Fox Theater, MGMT...
Muskegon
Holland
Blake's boat
Sharon's boat
Patrick's boat
Onekama
Frankfort (and subsidiaries, up there they get "towns" confused with "neighborhoods")
Indiana
Illinois, Chicago, thank you Eugene Hutz!!
DTE Energy music theater (fucking MAIDEN)
Good old GR
But what now, ladies? I know the weather is creeping up on “indoors” pretty quick, but seriously we want blood. So I'm going to give you some blood right now, with an ode to the man that made it look good. I know it was a month or two ago that this fallen maniac took his throne in Valhallah, but somebody asked me who Bob Probert was last week, and now I feel it's my civic duty to explain it. And to the idiot who asked me: I hope your teeth never grow back in, bitch. He will haunt your dreams.
Bob Probert was a Detroit Red Wing from '85-'94 and was the first serial killer to be completely state-backed and legit since Sir Francis Drake made a human shield of clerics in the 1500's. Bob Probert reinvented the ass-whooping. Bob Probert's mother was actually an Iron Maiden (the torture device, not the band), and his father was a Cannibal Corpse (like the zombie, not the band). Bob Probert carved Onterio out of a glacier with his bare hands and a beaver that he caught with the same bare hands and cranked his tail around real fast until the beaver's teeth started to chatter and not only was Ontario formed, but he invented the chainsaw. He later married that beaver and had a few little beaver/power tool babies. She also became a lesbian on her 60th birthday, but that's beside the point. Bob Probert once beat up a grizzly bear using a wolverine for a weapon. It was during this fight that he invented the over-the-head-jersey-punch, which was later gifted to Daren McCarty at a secret santa Christmas party. It was the greatest gift ever given. Bob Probert once beat the Kansas City Chiefs, the Cleveland Cavaliers, Northview High School's Varsity line, and Real Madrid in a football game. By himself. While he was drunk. And watching BJ and the Bear on TV. Yeah. That's who Bob Probert is, bitch.
There was a time before strikes and GAP ads (yeah I'm calling you out, Avery, you used to be tough), and pink panty-waist meltdowns, when a hockey player could skate back into the locker room at period break, and sit there for the whole time picking teeth out of his gloves and banging the visiting team's wives. Bob Probert was from that time. There was a time at the Joe where just hearing his name reverberating loudly down the concourse would send a stream of piss immediately flowing down every opponent's leg. There was a time when, if you just happened to have a game that night against the Red Wings, you had the choice between facing off against Kocur and Probie, or to bite a 45lb free weight in half. Many people chose that option, because they lost less teeth (on average) that way. That's who Bob Probert is, bitch.
RIP big guy.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
She torched his Neil Diamond albums last night...she torched Neil...you're right she is a monster (both start playing guitar in Spanish outfits)
"Thursday, August 24, 1972. A hot, sultry summer night, in California they call it earthquake weather, with the air hanging heavy over the open, glistening shell of the Greek Theater, over 4500 people comfortable in their broad seats, over the countless others, the "tree people", clamoring up the mountain and into the surrounding trees, casting eerie shadows against the walls, anything to have a glimpse of the stage and the man who will fill it. Hot August night, and many of the people had been there on Tuesday and Wednesday and will be there again on Friday and the nights after that because, after all, Neil Diamond has come back to the Greek.
Then, softly, the music begins, the lights dim. Slowly, the heavy fire doors roll back; the music rises, the stage is a smoky, opalescent jewel in the darkness. But one light shines brighter than the others, a white pool in the brilliance, and, for an instant, sound hangs suspended, only the air breathing.
Then he's there, the crowd exploding, Neil Diamond as casual as if it's the most natural thing in the world, those 5,000 people demanding his soul. And, for the next 107 minutes, he gives it to them, a spontaneous exhausting display of energy and sensuality. And the people are right there with him, screaming and cheering and applauding and beseeching, knowing all the words to all the songs but hearing them as for the first time, because that's what Neal Diamond gives them, singing as though he, too, were just discovering the heart and soul of the music, every number unique and exhilarating.
Too soon, almost before the moment is realized, it's over. The encore, the ovations, the bows-Neil Diamond has gone, in joy and triumph. And as the people begin to leave, reluctant, unwilling to relinquish the intimacy and the sensation, the silence again settles on the Greek, heavy and still until the next evening, when once again Neil Diamond will shatter the Hot, August Night....!"
Blam bitches! That was VERBATIM out of the cover of Neil's 1972 (you guessed it, Hot August Night) explosive live album on vinyl. I did not write that. Just in case there's still one of you out there that still doubts Neil's Majesty, DOWN ON ONE KNEE!Those people climbed mountains to see him. And then when they got to the tops of the mountains, they climbed trees. And when they reached the treetops they climbed the monkeys that were on the trees. And then the bugs that were on the monkeys. And then the clouds above but those people fell down the bugs and trees and mountains, cause, you know, clouds are just gas. Stupid tree people...And then they made eerie shadows and Neil played the shit out of some songs, and everyone went home all pie-eyed and glossy. It's all right there folks, covered. They must, have, had, a sale on, commas, though that day, or maybe, the, writer was still, stuttering, from the Glory of NEIL. I bet that's it.
Then, softly, the music begins, the lights dim. Slowly, the heavy fire doors roll back; the music rises, the stage is a smoky, opalescent jewel in the darkness. But one light shines brighter than the others, a white pool in the brilliance, and, for an instant, sound hangs suspended, only the air breathing.
Then he's there, the crowd exploding, Neil Diamond as casual as if it's the most natural thing in the world, those 5,000 people demanding his soul. And, for the next 107 minutes, he gives it to them, a spontaneous exhausting display of energy and sensuality. And the people are right there with him, screaming and cheering and applauding and beseeching, knowing all the words to all the songs but hearing them as for the first time, because that's what Neal Diamond gives them, singing as though he, too, were just discovering the heart and soul of the music, every number unique and exhilarating.
Too soon, almost before the moment is realized, it's over. The encore, the ovations, the bows-Neil Diamond has gone, in joy and triumph. And as the people begin to leave, reluctant, unwilling to relinquish the intimacy and the sensation, the silence again settles on the Greek, heavy and still until the next evening, when once again Neil Diamond will shatter the Hot, August Night....!"
Blam bitches! That was VERBATIM out of the cover of Neil's 1972 (you guessed it, Hot August Night) explosive live album on vinyl. I did not write that. Just in case there's still one of you out there that still doubts Neil's Majesty, DOWN ON ONE KNEE!Those people climbed mountains to see him. And then when they got to the tops of the mountains, they climbed trees. And when they reached the treetops they climbed the monkeys that were on the trees. And then the bugs that were on the monkeys. And then the clouds above but those people fell down the bugs and trees and mountains, cause, you know, clouds are just gas. Stupid tree people...And then they made eerie shadows and Neil played the shit out of some songs, and everyone went home all pie-eyed and glossy. It's all right there folks, covered. They must, have, had, a sale on, commas, though that day, or maybe, the, writer was still, stuttering, from the Glory of NEIL. I bet that's it.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Where the hell have you been? Oh me? Just around...
Don't ask...it's been crazy. Let's just say, our absence involved Dinosaurs, some chest hair and well, other things inappopriate for children's eyes.
So it was Neil Diamond's half birthday a few days ago and I totally forgot to send you a card and fill your socks with Matzo ball soup in celebration. Hope you're not mad! Here's a little Neal to brighten your day anyway. This song makes me want to carry a torch barefoot into the night while the giant flag proudly waves overhead and the ocean covers the shore with huge foamy whitecaps and a majestic eagle soars and lets out a thunderous cry (CAAAAA!) and Neil's sparkly shirt guides all ships to safety and freedom. And liberty. And sandwiches that have chicken breasts instead of buns. God bless this country...
So it was Neil Diamond's half birthday a few days ago and I totally forgot to send you a card and fill your socks with Matzo ball soup in celebration. Hope you're not mad! Here's a little Neal to brighten your day anyway. This song makes me want to carry a torch barefoot into the night while the giant flag proudly waves overhead and the ocean covers the shore with huge foamy whitecaps and a majestic eagle soars and lets out a thunderous cry (CAAAAA!) and Neil's sparkly shirt guides all ships to safety and freedom. And liberty. And sandwiches that have chicken breasts instead of buns. God bless this country...
Monday, January 11, 2010
"Hey everybody, we're all gonna get laid
Alright alright alright! We’re finally back. Who missed us? Who missed spontaneous and unnecessary curse words being directed at you for no reason, bitches? Who missed miles of long, rambling sentences, made-up words, and largely pointless, bulleted lists? Well we’re back for good and thanks very much to Justin Stover for telling us we really were funny, even though I’m still quite sure that through all that benevolence and heroic beard hair, it was probably just manners…that’s besides the point. So in lieu of our billions of awesome stories and emotional adventures, strengthening us both physically and mentally, shaping strong, fierce women in the face of every adversity (with the exception of race, gender, religious affiliation, education, upbringing, stereotyping, etc), I’m just going to paraphrase 2009 for you real quick:
You know what? None of your business. But we all had a little dick on our chins at some point. So there.
So 2009 is over, and six days in, 2010 already has a best film (according to the radio, its 9, whatever that is). Glad that’s out of the way. Now if I could just kick this existential life crisis we’ll really be cooking…but I wanted to kiss off 2k9 at least a little, because some of the shit that happened this year is really unbelievable. The Press acts like the biggest news story of the year is the divorce of Jon and Kate, sorry Obama! The Red Wings take a bone-broke single-season shame spiral, everybody almost gets to call in dead with the incurable death flu, Jack White plays the drums with his penis, and Stephtendo DS finally moves upstairs.
Get ready to get a little shame on your shirts (unless you’re wearing a shame bib or have a shameWOW!), here is a little list of things that were embarrassingly awesome about 2009:
• The Lonely Island Incredibad. T Pain, Jack Black, and Julian Cassablancas (how we’ve missed you!) back up the lily-white punk thugs from SNL for an excellent satire album, complete with behind-the-scenes Padme and why the Space Olympics is the best idea ever. Spurting catch phrases all over the place like “its all about the Hamiltons baby,” “Like A Boss,” and of course “I’m on a boat, bitch!” this album is everything Sandberg needed to cement a job when SNL stops trying to censor him. Check out “Boombox” for life-lesson joy. Shortay!
• The ubiquitous touch screen cell phone. Everybody has that shit now. Thank god, finally a way to avoid talking to or making eye-contact with your friends that are near you, when the ones that aren’t are far more interesting! No, I don’t want to see your new app that makes you even more annoying when you try to show everybody your new app.
• Jacob. At least if this Twilight shit never goes away the rest of us girls who don’t read the books and prefer their men with a little color and tone and hair that doesn’t totally suck will have something all underage and ripply to oogle all creepy like while our eyes are glazed over and drool pools in our lower lip as the media continues it’s relentless assault. Vampires totally suck. Now somebody get that poor kid a towel! He’s always so wet!
• Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. This just really had to happen. Now that’s what I call a happy ending!
• The giant blue dong in the Watchmen. The movie was so-so, but we got there late on opening night and had to sit too close to the IMAX screen…to this day when I close my eyes I can still see it glowing…
• Just Haven’t Met You Yet by Michael Buble. Besides the fact that I think he wrote that about me, this infectious little number is adorable and the video is adorable and Buble is adorable and just when you thought W-lite played xmas music all year…I warn you though…if you decide to YouTube this based on my recommendation, it will be plastered into your skull for the next three weeks minimum. It’s like the awesome Canadian version of Montezuma’s revenge. My last trip to Family Fare, all I got was an artichoke and a dirty look from a thousand year old lady for taking all her raisins or something like that…some bitches get everything. I don’t even like raisins…
• Good Little Friday. Day off, sunshine, bottle of El Toro, Bubba, KP, Stephtendo, the sprinkler, all-you-can-eat lake perch, Mad Libs, Busch Lite, karaoke, Little Feat, and Jake Busey. I don’t think I missed anything…but Bubba? (grabs boob, pushes up) I have some bad news…
• Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus. Yes, it surprised me too. Picture this: 12:30 am New Years Day and the room is full of sweaty hammered hipsters wearing various levels of formal undress. They are dancing and blah blah blah, and the DJ plays this song. They went ape shit! Everybody was indeed throwing their hands up and bobbing their heads like yeah. Damn Miley! Your totally retarded party jam is actually awesome! Now how the hell does your cardigan make you a normal girl again?
• Star Trek the movie. Ha ha! You thought I was serious…nerd please.
• Sarah Palin. Man that bitch is rogue! I want to be rogue like her! She is so rogue and mavericky and stuff with her security and awesome five chapter manifesto about how magical it is to be rogue. Ready for her plan for world domination? A talk show. At least maybe the unwashed masses will be ready when the moose population of northern Alaska decide to annex Wasilla…just try it: Next time you sit down to a lovely plate of nachos or Hot Pockets or pigs-in-a-blankets, don’t just eat them, go rogue on that shit! Don’t just talk to the people at the bank, go rogue! Keep your cash in a coffee can under the floorboards of your trailer. The only way for America to move forward is to regress to the golden age of pioneering mountain men.
• Heavy Metal. I know it isn’t new, but you simply can’t beat watching your two dearest friends emerge from the pit SOAKED in blood and thirsty for more. GWAR ’08 was nothing compared to GWAR ’09. More blood, and more space jizz than you can see through. While, Cannibal Corpse is just like watching Dethklok live, and the etiquette within the pit is surprisingly civil. KP screams “Just Hit Me! AAAHHHH!” and these sweaty, tattooed crazy people are all like “sorry, sweetheart”. The balloon animals were just plain nice.
• Neil Diamond. He just is. And January 24 is his 69th (yeah!! fist pump!) birthday so we better see you all Diamond-And-Dashing and frolicking all over the West Side spreading the Gift of Neil to anyplace with a karaoke machine. Don’t forget your chest wig! More to come on this one…
• Scareyoke. I know we talked about this before so there is no excuse why we shouldn’t see you there. Just say the grossest thing you can possibly think of to your friendly server and there will either be a drink special or harassment case in it for you!
• ArtPrize.
• Our new kitty. His name is Soren and he is just an adorable little guy. We got him at Lollapalooza (thanks, Jesse!) and he’s blonde and wonderful. If you would like to send him a check, please contact us and we’ll hook you up with an address but we are in charge of making soup and knit goods for him, so please restrict your gifts to monetary items only. Thank you.
If you’ve made it all the way to the end of this list, you’ll be able to see why we needed TShirtSize:Awesome back…times is tough! Slim pickins! Well we’re going to try our best to recover some of the face that we lost in ’09 and make ’10 a little less super-lame. I have a list of nerds to pound that is 10 miles long. If you want to help me, jump on our little wagon and help de-lame this town! See you soon!
You know what? None of your business. But we all had a little dick on our chins at some point. So there.
So 2009 is over, and six days in, 2010 already has a best film (according to the radio, its 9, whatever that is). Glad that’s out of the way. Now if I could just kick this existential life crisis we’ll really be cooking…but I wanted to kiss off 2k9 at least a little, because some of the shit that happened this year is really unbelievable. The Press acts like the biggest news story of the year is the divorce of Jon and Kate, sorry Obama! The Red Wings take a bone-broke single-season shame spiral, everybody almost gets to call in dead with the incurable death flu, Jack White plays the drums with his penis, and Stephtendo DS finally moves upstairs.
Get ready to get a little shame on your shirts (unless you’re wearing a shame bib or have a shameWOW!), here is a little list of things that were embarrassingly awesome about 2009:
• The Lonely Island Incredibad. T Pain, Jack Black, and Julian Cassablancas (how we’ve missed you!) back up the lily-white punk thugs from SNL for an excellent satire album, complete with behind-the-scenes Padme and why the Space Olympics is the best idea ever. Spurting catch phrases all over the place like “its all about the Hamiltons baby,” “Like A Boss,” and of course “I’m on a boat, bitch!” this album is everything Sandberg needed to cement a job when SNL stops trying to censor him. Check out “Boombox” for life-lesson joy. Shortay!
• The ubiquitous touch screen cell phone. Everybody has that shit now. Thank god, finally a way to avoid talking to or making eye-contact with your friends that are near you, when the ones that aren’t are far more interesting! No, I don’t want to see your new app that makes you even more annoying when you try to show everybody your new app.
• Jacob. At least if this Twilight shit never goes away the rest of us girls who don’t read the books and prefer their men with a little color and tone and hair that doesn’t totally suck will have something all underage and ripply to oogle all creepy like while our eyes are glazed over and drool pools in our lower lip as the media continues it’s relentless assault. Vampires totally suck. Now somebody get that poor kid a towel! He’s always so wet!
• Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. This just really had to happen. Now that’s what I call a happy ending!
• The giant blue dong in the Watchmen. The movie was so-so, but we got there late on opening night and had to sit too close to the IMAX screen…to this day when I close my eyes I can still see it glowing…
• Just Haven’t Met You Yet by Michael Buble. Besides the fact that I think he wrote that about me, this infectious little number is adorable and the video is adorable and Buble is adorable and just when you thought W-lite played xmas music all year…I warn you though…if you decide to YouTube this based on my recommendation, it will be plastered into your skull for the next three weeks minimum. It’s like the awesome Canadian version of Montezuma’s revenge. My last trip to Family Fare, all I got was an artichoke and a dirty look from a thousand year old lady for taking all her raisins or something like that…some bitches get everything. I don’t even like raisins…
• Good Little Friday. Day off, sunshine, bottle of El Toro, Bubba, KP, Stephtendo, the sprinkler, all-you-can-eat lake perch, Mad Libs, Busch Lite, karaoke, Little Feat, and Jake Busey. I don’t think I missed anything…but Bubba? (grabs boob, pushes up) I have some bad news…
• Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus. Yes, it surprised me too. Picture this: 12:30 am New Years Day and the room is full of sweaty hammered hipsters wearing various levels of formal undress. They are dancing and blah blah blah, and the DJ plays this song. They went ape shit! Everybody was indeed throwing their hands up and bobbing their heads like yeah. Damn Miley! Your totally retarded party jam is actually awesome! Now how the hell does your cardigan make you a normal girl again?
• Star Trek the movie. Ha ha! You thought I was serious…nerd please.
• Sarah Palin. Man that bitch is rogue! I want to be rogue like her! She is so rogue and mavericky and stuff with her security and awesome five chapter manifesto about how magical it is to be rogue. Ready for her plan for world domination? A talk show. At least maybe the unwashed masses will be ready when the moose population of northern Alaska decide to annex Wasilla…just try it: Next time you sit down to a lovely plate of nachos or Hot Pockets or pigs-in-a-blankets, don’t just eat them, go rogue on that shit! Don’t just talk to the people at the bank, go rogue! Keep your cash in a coffee can under the floorboards of your trailer. The only way for America to move forward is to regress to the golden age of pioneering mountain men.
• Heavy Metal. I know it isn’t new, but you simply can’t beat watching your two dearest friends emerge from the pit SOAKED in blood and thirsty for more. GWAR ’08 was nothing compared to GWAR ’09. More blood, and more space jizz than you can see through. While, Cannibal Corpse is just like watching Dethklok live, and the etiquette within the pit is surprisingly civil. KP screams “Just Hit Me! AAAHHHH!” and these sweaty, tattooed crazy people are all like “sorry, sweetheart”. The balloon animals were just plain nice.
• Neil Diamond. He just is. And January 24 is his 69th (yeah!! fist pump!) birthday so we better see you all Diamond-And-Dashing and frolicking all over the West Side spreading the Gift of Neil to anyplace with a karaoke machine. Don’t forget your chest wig! More to come on this one…
• Scareyoke. I know we talked about this before so there is no excuse why we shouldn’t see you there. Just say the grossest thing you can possibly think of to your friendly server and there will either be a drink special or harassment case in it for you!
• ArtPrize.
• Our new kitty. His name is Soren and he is just an adorable little guy. We got him at Lollapalooza (thanks, Jesse!) and he’s blonde and wonderful. If you would like to send him a check, please contact us and we’ll hook you up with an address but we are in charge of making soup and knit goods for him, so please restrict your gifts to monetary items only. Thank you.
If you’ve made it all the way to the end of this list, you’ll be able to see why we needed TShirtSize:Awesome back…times is tough! Slim pickins! Well we’re going to try our best to recover some of the face that we lost in ’09 and make ’10 a little less super-lame. I have a list of nerds to pound that is 10 miles long. If you want to help me, jump on our little wagon and help de-lame this town! See you soon!
Thursday, September 24, 2009
“Your highness, when I said that you are like a stream of bat's piss, I only mean that you shine out like a shaft of gold when all around it is dark"
Hear ye! Hear ye! Good morrow strapping gentlemen! Stef and KP straighten their nerd caps, lace up thine olde (and stinking!) tights, and make haste for the annual Reniassance Festival in odious Holly Michigan. And it was Armed Forces day. And Biker day...didn’t see one soldier. Or biker.
Hath ye lain eyes on this creepy nerd shit? I didn’t even feel comfortable laughing because they were so for real. I choked down more giggles than the cast of High School Musical chokes down…nevermind. I’m just really glad we brought beer.
I feel like I should clarify a minute, we had an experienced escort. We didn’t just up and decide to go do this, and while KP might be a nerd, she isn’t even CLOSE to this magnitude. We knew a guy who could get us in. After a long night of no way!’s and nuh-uh’s in response to Austin telling me what actually goes on in one of these things, it was decided that in the spirit of adventure we make a day of it. Austin at 10am: we’re bringing beer. Driving up to the entrance of the fair, Austin had to comment to all in the backseat "Act like you belong here and don't laugh" which was promptly followed by me and Trotter giggling uncontrollably at the guy dressed like Merlin walking around the parking lot. We drag our sorry asses out of the car and head straight to the fair, we walk in and KP immediately goes "I need a beer right now".
And how glad I was that we did. Here’s the deal with the Holly Renaissance Festival: over four acres of permanent structures including a complete castle and fort, a children’s dell, bars, food venues, stages for all the various shows, and about 100 shops for craftsmen to sell everything from leather goods to battle axes to honey sticks. It has been operating for 30something years. It’s fancy. I was picturing a bunch of tents and booths with portable fairground food and chubby weirdos skipping around in corsets and tights. This was MUCH BIGGER, and oddly more real. These people went to the 9’s for this getup. There were about 1000 adults there (grown-ups, mind you) all dressed right to the hilt in these incredibly labor intensive costumes. Strange enough, I was expecting far more “tourists” like myself walking around and gawking at the freakshow. But there were a TON of people dressed to look the part. Maybe more than half. Now is time for a sip of beer. Try not to swallow funny when lord Grimmiere or something accosts you with a hand puppet of Queen Elizabeth and a 100% RIDICULOUS accent that he kept slipping in an out of. He’s serious when he says “good morrow!”, so you have to keep a straight face. Pbphhhhhhthh.
The shows were something in and of themselves. They pick the more convincing dorks to recruit viewers for Spanish dancers, comedy routines, sword fighting routines, sword fighting comedy routines, gypsy dancers, belly dancers, music…you get the drift. Poor Trotter (or Veronica, as he shall be referred to from now on) got dragged on stage by the popular Washing Well Wenches and had the dorks positively eating out of his hands. He was great. So between sips of beer and stifled laughs you meander over to ye olde giant turkey leg stand and have yourself a giant turkey leg (every bit as hilarious as it sounds. Delicious too!) and check out some of the wild life, maybe witness some horrible actors performing horrible comedy, or sword fighting, or sword fighting comedy or whatever that kid dressed in leather told us to watch. It’s damn hard for me to explain how real this all is. Then, when you’ve wiped the gristle from your chin and washed it all down with a few blessedly sedating meads, it’s time for the full-contact jousting.
Surprisingly, while it’s the biggest draw (where were all the bikers, Austin???) for the fair, the jousting was pretty lame, and very obvious about the staging. The knights were all in full mail (which was cool) but watching them take a foam-rubber staff to the chest going half-speed in front of some kind of princess in a tower (cause, you know, they had one built) could have been SO MUCH cooler than it actually was. Come on sir Auric, I want to hear some insults being tossed around! Gimme a little of thine medieval trash talking. Shut that swine-born strumpet up! Call him a lily-livered breath of dog! Call his mother a goat-mouthed whore! Don’t pick some little kid out of the audience to be your girlfriend (eew) and then proceed to get your ass fake-kicked in a poorly executed display of D-grade stunts. The jousting was kind of a bust.
And there was actually a queen, and a court, and witches and pirates, and an old white samurai, and barbarians and Mongols and shit. Okay. I am all for escapism. I like fiction and sweet action movies about dinosaurs and debating conspiracy theories and Jimmy Buffet and all that stuff, but this went a bit far. Why in the hell would you want to live in the middle ages anyway? there were no matches, mirrors, deodorant, Gameboy DS, helicopters, can coolers, weapons made out of bike chains, Crystal Pepsi, muscle cars, cutoff jeans, PEZ dispensers, temporary tattoos, record player/CD player combos, cheesy gordita crunches, snap bracelets, and Reebok Pump sneakers. They were savages. Sure, the kindly folk of medieval times lived in a land where magic was real and full of grandiose heroes and chivalry, mythical creatures roamed free and granted wishes to lonely travelers, virginity was still a virtue, and, oh yeah, more than 2/3rds of the population of England and eastern Europe was wiped out by the plague.
Alright. So I can’t completely wrap my mouth around the fair completely (yeah, I know…), I will say that we ended up having tons of fun. A pleasurable time was had by all, and while I’ll never go back, the company was top shelf and we ended up having a blast. Friends go see that shit, friends don’t allow each other to get involved (though they’ll probably send Mike an invitation by traveling minstrel, and the show shall forthwith be called the Washing Well Wenches and Veronica show). If you’re really into gross tits and primitive weapons, the Holly Renaissance Fair is for you. If you think the people who like gross tits and primitive weapons are funny, than the Holly Renaissance Fair is for you too. Just don’t laugh in their faces. And bring beer. Thank you, Austin, for making that day rule.
Hath ye lain eyes on this creepy nerd shit? I didn’t even feel comfortable laughing because they were so for real. I choked down more giggles than the cast of High School Musical chokes down…nevermind. I’m just really glad we brought beer.
I feel like I should clarify a minute, we had an experienced escort. We didn’t just up and decide to go do this, and while KP might be a nerd, she isn’t even CLOSE to this magnitude. We knew a guy who could get us in. After a long night of no way!’s and nuh-uh’s in response to Austin telling me what actually goes on in one of these things, it was decided that in the spirit of adventure we make a day of it. Austin at 10am: we’re bringing beer. Driving up to the entrance of the fair, Austin had to comment to all in the backseat "Act like you belong here and don't laugh" which was promptly followed by me and Trotter giggling uncontrollably at the guy dressed like Merlin walking around the parking lot. We drag our sorry asses out of the car and head straight to the fair, we walk in and KP immediately goes "I need a beer right now".
And how glad I was that we did. Here’s the deal with the Holly Renaissance Festival: over four acres of permanent structures including a complete castle and fort, a children’s dell, bars, food venues, stages for all the various shows, and about 100 shops for craftsmen to sell everything from leather goods to battle axes to honey sticks. It has been operating for 30something years. It’s fancy. I was picturing a bunch of tents and booths with portable fairground food and chubby weirdos skipping around in corsets and tights. This was MUCH BIGGER, and oddly more real. These people went to the 9’s for this getup. There were about 1000 adults there (grown-ups, mind you) all dressed right to the hilt in these incredibly labor intensive costumes. Strange enough, I was expecting far more “tourists” like myself walking around and gawking at the freakshow. But there were a TON of people dressed to look the part. Maybe more than half. Now is time for a sip of beer. Try not to swallow funny when lord Grimmiere or something accosts you with a hand puppet of Queen Elizabeth and a 100% RIDICULOUS accent that he kept slipping in an out of. He’s serious when he says “good morrow!”, so you have to keep a straight face. Pbphhhhhhthh.
The shows were something in and of themselves. They pick the more convincing dorks to recruit viewers for Spanish dancers, comedy routines, sword fighting routines, sword fighting comedy routines, gypsy dancers, belly dancers, music…you get the drift. Poor Trotter (or Veronica, as he shall be referred to from now on) got dragged on stage by the popular Washing Well Wenches and had the dorks positively eating out of his hands. He was great. So between sips of beer and stifled laughs you meander over to ye olde giant turkey leg stand and have yourself a giant turkey leg (every bit as hilarious as it sounds. Delicious too!) and check out some of the wild life, maybe witness some horrible actors performing horrible comedy, or sword fighting, or sword fighting comedy or whatever that kid dressed in leather told us to watch. It’s damn hard for me to explain how real this all is. Then, when you’ve wiped the gristle from your chin and washed it all down with a few blessedly sedating meads, it’s time for the full-contact jousting.
Surprisingly, while it’s the biggest draw (where were all the bikers, Austin???) for the fair, the jousting was pretty lame, and very obvious about the staging. The knights were all in full mail (which was cool) but watching them take a foam-rubber staff to the chest going half-speed in front of some kind of princess in a tower (cause, you know, they had one built) could have been SO MUCH cooler than it actually was. Come on sir Auric, I want to hear some insults being tossed around! Gimme a little of thine medieval trash talking. Shut that swine-born strumpet up! Call him a lily-livered breath of dog! Call his mother a goat-mouthed whore! Don’t pick some little kid out of the audience to be your girlfriend (eew) and then proceed to get your ass fake-kicked in a poorly executed display of D-grade stunts. The jousting was kind of a bust.
And there was actually a queen, and a court, and witches and pirates, and an old white samurai, and barbarians and Mongols and shit. Okay. I am all for escapism. I like fiction and sweet action movies about dinosaurs and debating conspiracy theories and Jimmy Buffet and all that stuff, but this went a bit far. Why in the hell would you want to live in the middle ages anyway? there were no matches, mirrors, deodorant, Gameboy DS, helicopters, can coolers, weapons made out of bike chains, Crystal Pepsi, muscle cars, cutoff jeans, PEZ dispensers, temporary tattoos, record player/CD player combos, cheesy gordita crunches, snap bracelets, and Reebok Pump sneakers. They were savages. Sure, the kindly folk of medieval times lived in a land where magic was real and full of grandiose heroes and chivalry, mythical creatures roamed free and granted wishes to lonely travelers, virginity was still a virtue, and, oh yeah, more than 2/3rds of the population of England and eastern Europe was wiped out by the plague.
Alright. So I can’t completely wrap my mouth around the fair completely (yeah, I know…), I will say that we ended up having tons of fun. A pleasurable time was had by all, and while I’ll never go back, the company was top shelf and we ended up having a blast. Friends go see that shit, friends don’t allow each other to get involved (though they’ll probably send Mike an invitation by traveling minstrel, and the show shall forthwith be called the Washing Well Wenches and Veronica show). If you’re really into gross tits and primitive weapons, the Holly Renaissance Fair is for you. If you think the people who like gross tits and primitive weapons are funny, than the Holly Renaissance Fair is for you too. Just don’t laugh in their faces. And bring beer. Thank you, Austin, for making that day rule.
Friday, September 4, 2009
"Before we start, I'd just like to say the campers you're about to see suck dick! But nevertheless, please welcome them."
Here it is….the girls of TShirt Size Awesome are back online!!! Bitches!!! And we’ve been busy!
So I know it looks like we’ve been in hiding since the Wings lost the cup (which we won’t even start to talk about…we seriously were in hiding for a while...even typing this is bringing me back to a very black place that my therapist told me I must not return to…oh god…) anyway, old KP and Stef were in hiding for a while but we finally pulled our black veils off and came outside (blinding! But why has it been so cold this summer???) and typical of us girls, did a bunch of awesome shit anyway. I don’t even know where to begin it’s been so awesome. Here are few of the lessons that we learned:
1) Unsalted Roasted Almonds. Unsalted. Roasted. Almonds.
2) Cadillacs and Dinosaurs. Just look it up.
3) The good people of Indiana really are not good people. They are really idiot assholes who can’t fix cars and are probably at home right now trying to fellache themselves even though it’s physically impossible. Indiana sucks.
4) Chicago, namely Millennium Park and Grant Park (Lollapalooza ROCKED) are cool, even if you have to drive through Indiana, which sucks.
5) The wings are gross at Quaker Steak and Lube. But the name is awfully clever.
6) Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. If you don’t read books, and especially if you think that Jane Austin was really just a propaganda ad produced by tampon companies to sell more tampons, than you should read this book. And remove your tampon because you could seriously use it to thwart the onslaught of the undead for long enough to put some serious steel between you.
7) I am undesirable unless you’re half-gay, and KP’s bf doesn’t have a car. Not a lot of wiener coming out of that equation…ah shit.
8) Don’t eat a 5/3rd burger. No matter who you are or who’s watching you on TV. I mean…gross.
9) Geocaching. Look it up because geocaching=superfun even though we only found 1 so far. Look up the one about how East Grand Rapids used to be a giant amusement park called Ramona Park that housed gambling halls, burlesque shows, and prostitutes as well as a big roller coaster and caramel corn stand. Take that, stupid lady in the black BMW van thing that cut me off in the parking lot of D&W the other day. It’s gonna cost extra for your stylist to get all that sin and depravity out of your hair. Ha!
10) Tequila during the day can be really fun (and will probably lead to you getting your picture taken with an E list celebrity who knows the surviving members of Little Feat!). Unlimited lake perch…not so much a good idea. The perch was delicious though. Ugh.
11) Probably you should pay your gas bill once in a while, loser.
12) It is really fun to spray Jesse with a hose.
13) David Bowie. Let that be a lesson to you.
And I’m sure there are others, but we aren’t really that good at…you know…learning things. Plus we were too busy sipping classic cocktails on a sandy beach or jetting off to the cliffs of Machu Pichu or whatever (working.) to really remember a lot. Or maybe it was the drugs. Ohh yeah…
So I know it looks like we’ve been in hiding since the Wings lost the cup (which we won’t even start to talk about…we seriously were in hiding for a while...even typing this is bringing me back to a very black place that my therapist told me I must not return to…oh god…) anyway, old KP and Stef were in hiding for a while but we finally pulled our black veils off and came outside (blinding! But why has it been so cold this summer???) and typical of us girls, did a bunch of awesome shit anyway. I don’t even know where to begin it’s been so awesome. Here are few of the lessons that we learned:
1) Unsalted Roasted Almonds. Unsalted. Roasted. Almonds.
2) Cadillacs and Dinosaurs. Just look it up.
3) The good people of Indiana really are not good people. They are really idiot assholes who can’t fix cars and are probably at home right now trying to fellache themselves even though it’s physically impossible. Indiana sucks.
4) Chicago, namely Millennium Park and Grant Park (Lollapalooza ROCKED) are cool, even if you have to drive through Indiana, which sucks.
5) The wings are gross at Quaker Steak and Lube. But the name is awfully clever.
6) Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. If you don’t read books, and especially if you think that Jane Austin was really just a propaganda ad produced by tampon companies to sell more tampons, than you should read this book. And remove your tampon because you could seriously use it to thwart the onslaught of the undead for long enough to put some serious steel between you.
7) I am undesirable unless you’re half-gay, and KP’s bf doesn’t have a car. Not a lot of wiener coming out of that equation…ah shit.
8) Don’t eat a 5/3rd burger. No matter who you are or who’s watching you on TV. I mean…gross.
9) Geocaching. Look it up because geocaching=superfun even though we only found 1 so far. Look up the one about how East Grand Rapids used to be a giant amusement park called Ramona Park that housed gambling halls, burlesque shows, and prostitutes as well as a big roller coaster and caramel corn stand. Take that, stupid lady in the black BMW van thing that cut me off in the parking lot of D&W the other day. It’s gonna cost extra for your stylist to get all that sin and depravity out of your hair. Ha!
10) Tequila during the day can be really fun (and will probably lead to you getting your picture taken with an E list celebrity who knows the surviving members of Little Feat!). Unlimited lake perch…not so much a good idea. The perch was delicious though. Ugh.
11) Probably you should pay your gas bill once in a while, loser.
12) It is really fun to spray Jesse with a hose.
13) David Bowie. Let that be a lesson to you.
And I’m sure there are others, but we aren’t really that good at…you know…learning things. Plus we were too busy sipping classic cocktails on a sandy beach or jetting off to the cliffs of Machu Pichu or whatever (working.) to really remember a lot. Or maybe it was the drugs. Ohh yeah…
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
You guys might not know this, but I consider myself a bit of a loner. I tend to think of myself as a one-man wolf pack
May 7th?!?!?! OMG WTF TXT?????????
Where the hell have we been? I was pretty sure that robot was just flicking me off but apparently he meant business.
Anyways, is anyone still out there??
Should we give you a little something, something??
Here's a quick what for as to where, what and who we have been doing in the last two months.
KP had a birthday
Stef is currently having a birthday (today!!)
KP has gotten herself a permanent John, one that some might actually call a boyfriend.
Stef's has just contracted a few more STD's. Her checklist of "Sexually Transmitted Disease I need to get before I die" has gotten significantly shorter.
The Red Wings lost the Stanely Cup, then lost Hossa, Conklin, Hudler, Kopecky and Samuelsson. Sad.
KP is taking a trip to Nerd Con in San Diego next week and will talk non stop about it afterwards.
Stef turned 42 today. Still lives at home with her cats, and still blatantly gropes teenage ass as often as she can.
Scareoke is still going strong.
Anything else?? What would you, our reader, like to know? Anybody? Hello??
Where the hell have we been? I was pretty sure that robot was just flicking me off but apparently he meant business.
Anyways, is anyone still out there??
Should we give you a little something, something??
Here's a quick what for as to where, what and who we have been doing in the last two months.
KP had a birthday
Stef is currently having a birthday (today!!)
KP has gotten herself a permanent John, one that some might actually call a boyfriend.
Stef's has just contracted a few more STD's. Her checklist of "Sexually Transmitted Disease I need to get before I die" has gotten significantly shorter.
The Red Wings lost the Stanely Cup, then lost Hossa, Conklin, Hudler, Kopecky and Samuelsson. Sad.
KP is taking a trip to Nerd Con in San Diego next week and will talk non stop about it afterwards.
Stef turned 42 today. Still lives at home with her cats, and still blatantly gropes teenage ass as often as she can.
Scareoke is still going strong.
Anything else?? What would you, our reader, like to know? Anybody? Hello??
Thursday, May 7, 2009
"I'm freakin pumped! I've been drinking green tea all goddamn day!"
I’m actually writing this one hour from Game 4 Round 2 and I’m predicting right now that Nedermeyer or that FUCKING REDICULOUS bald-headed troll-doll looking ref from Tuesday is going to have to be carried out on a stretcher or in several Petrie dishes by the time our boys get through with him. They should really give Marian Hossa a gun. Or a Samurai sword. Or a monkey with a Samurai sword and a gun. Badass. I actually wrote a song about it, in fact. Stuff like this is always better visualized in song, especially with sweet 80’s synth riffs.
Sung with a Swedish/Russian/Czeckoslovakian accent to the tune of 99 Luftballons by Nena.
You and I in a little pawn shop, bought Hossa a gun with some money we got
Set him free, game four, round two, with flack jackets just for me and you
In the locker room, home team’s side, Scott Neidermeyer sits with a gleam in his eye
Getting massage from a towel boy as 99 Detroit Red Wings skate by.
99 Detroit Red Wings, sharpening their hockey skates
panic boys, they’re warming up
up and down the hockey rink.
Ozzy stretches out his thigh
Rafalski prepares to punch someone in the eye
Hudler’s down for a little fun
And Marian Hossa has a gun.
99 Red hockey gods
break away two minutes in
Neidermeyer creeps around
to poach their shots behind the goal
two interferences don’t get called
an off-sides and a penalty
Hossa knocks one in off his glove
and the stupid ref says he doesn’t see.
99 Red Angry Men
Can’t believe they haven’t tied it
Datsyuk loses his freaking head
Zeterberg talks crazy shit
Pads are flying fans are crying
The ref was straight up fucking lying
Hossa reaches in his pants
As 99 Detroit Red Wings go by.
99 cops flooding in
ready for a hostage crisis,
it’s all over and we’re sitting pretty
in this shame-filled Disney city
when Hossa’s hand came from his pants,
it wasn’t heat that he was packin’
faced with his gigantic *censored *
they hung their heads and walked away…
in shame, of course. From what I hear it’s Hossa who should be called “the Mule.” You were robbed, buddy. Do you know what happens to people that rob people? Cause’ I do. I know what happens ‘cause I’ve seen both Kung Fu and Walker Texas Ranger.
Round
House
Kick,
that’s all I’m saying.
Sung with a Swedish/Russian/Czeckoslovakian accent to the tune of 99 Luftballons by Nena.
You and I in a little pawn shop, bought Hossa a gun with some money we got
Set him free, game four, round two, with flack jackets just for me and you
In the locker room, home team’s side, Scott Neidermeyer sits with a gleam in his eye
Getting massage from a towel boy as 99 Detroit Red Wings skate by.
99 Detroit Red Wings, sharpening their hockey skates
panic boys, they’re warming up
up and down the hockey rink.
Ozzy stretches out his thigh
Rafalski prepares to punch someone in the eye
Hudler’s down for a little fun
And Marian Hossa has a gun.
99 Red hockey gods
break away two minutes in
Neidermeyer creeps around
to poach their shots behind the goal
two interferences don’t get called
an off-sides and a penalty
Hossa knocks one in off his glove
and the stupid ref says he doesn’t see.
99 Red Angry Men
Can’t believe they haven’t tied it
Datsyuk loses his freaking head
Zeterberg talks crazy shit
Pads are flying fans are crying
The ref was straight up fucking lying
Hossa reaches in his pants
As 99 Detroit Red Wings go by.
99 cops flooding in
ready for a hostage crisis,
it’s all over and we’re sitting pretty
in this shame-filled Disney city
when Hossa’s hand came from his pants,
it wasn’t heat that he was packin’
faced with his gigantic *censored *
they hung their heads and walked away…
in shame, of course. From what I hear it’s Hossa who should be called “the Mule.” You were robbed, buddy. Do you know what happens to people that rob people? Cause’ I do. I know what happens ‘cause I’ve seen both Kung Fu and Walker Texas Ranger.
Round
House
Kick,
that’s all I’m saying.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
"You know how when you grab a woman's breast... it feels like... a bag of sand."
Well well babies, let’s blow the lid off this playoffs season already! Way to school ‘em Red Wings! Check this out quick:
1) Welcome on board for 11 more years, Johan Franzen! Ken Holland, in addition to being a primo general manager and all around excellent awesome dude, is a total genius. Now give me Hossa! Maybe even Hudler!
2) Two words: beard season (siiigh)
3) Yes, there is a real picture of me and Darren McCarty out there.
But unfortunately for everyone, much, much, graver news has just crossed my desk (and by crossed I mean somebody just left it on there with no post-it note, referendum, or paper clip. And there is a coffee ring right on here. Temps, I tell ya). Virgins who just got married and seventeen year old future prostitutes who think they’re doing their “guys” a favor: listen up. COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE IS NO PLACE TO GET SEX TIPS!!! Not only are they the same exact ones every issue since the days when sleeping around was considered “modern” and to be kinky was to shave your beave down to a scraggly little patch, but they aren’t even good. Here’s a few from the most recent list of “ways to make your man melt” or whatever stupid vernacular they’ve managed to drool out this week:
Be Just as Gung Ho for Sex as a Guy
According to a survey in Australian Cosmo, 38 percent of readers have gotten it on with a guy within 24 hours of meeting." By thrusting your hips up and down, placing your hands on his butt, pulling him into you and kissing him hard, you can direct the action.. That's not to say you shouldn't go for a ride. Try pushing him onto a chair, unzipping his pants, going down on him for a few seconds, then climbing on. He won't know what hit him, but he'll be happy as hell. For the ultimate in rough 'n' ready fun, try one of Cosmo readers' favorite bed games, called the Randy Wrestling Roll. Start by lying on your side facing each other, with your thigh flung over his hip, and guide his penis inside you, then entangle your arms and legs and start rolling around on the bed or carpet as you thrust into each other. The goal? See who can end up on top most often — but in this game, everybody wins.
Seriously? The one tip that I didn’t already know from every film, television, and book I’ve ever seen featuring business time, that wrestling thing, that isn’t even sexy. Eew, in fact, no way. And that other stuff about grabbing his penis and kissing him hard??? There isn’t a culture that ever made it past two people in the whole world who doesn’t know that stuff. And there’s more.
Push Your Booty Boundaries
You can steam things up at home by moving outside the bedroom and doing it on top of a sturdy table kitchen counter, bathroom sink, or hood of a car that's parked in your garage. Things get even hotter in Greece, where they boldly go where most cultures are too shy to venture. "Both men and women here enjoy anal sex, and no one considers it a big deal," says deputy editor of Greek Cosmo, Margarita Michelakou. Like bringing sex toys to bed or using flavored lubes, anal sex is just another option for spicing things up.
Another giant duh. Spice it up by moving to the kitchen? Whoo boy! Lets not get carried away! Even if you’re observing the roommate rule and not getting busy where the other one eats/sits/washes dishes, I bet any one of us could come up with more exciting places. And sex toys? Even the oldest trick in the book isn’t that obvious. So, since this kind of stuff is what all you virgins and newlyweds have to go on when exploring what Mystery calls the “Venuvian arts” (man, what a tool), Me and KP here are going to do you all a favor and compile a little list of T Shirt Size:Awesome sex tips that might actually work (pardon me, this might be a little candid for any of you who might have had a shred of respect for us before):
1) Compare his performance in the sack to an animal. Loudly. If you’re pleased; a tiger, gorilla, alligator, or T Rex are good options. If you are displeased; a piglet, parakeet, or broccoli usually get the point across.
2) Flavored lube, blah blah blah. How about you try orange marmalade, sausage gravy, or Tabasco sauce, you giant baby.
3) Generally, a man will do your bidding if you emasculate him enough, both in public and in times of intimacy. Unless your bidding is for him to marry you. Or like you. Or take you seriously.
4) It is okay for a woman to initiate sex, but don’t give that shit away for free, girls. $25 dollars an hour is both reasonable and fair.
5) When you’re all in the middle of it, don’t ask me. Tell me. “Can I kiss you?” is completely sissy and inappropriate.
6) Every fella out there says they appreciate a lady who wants her hair pulled a little. So fellas? Don’t get weirded out when a lady tells you to pull her freaking hair already. Jeez.
7) While the occasional talking is expected to some extent, avoid chatter and Chit-chat. Don’t talk about dinner, doctor visits, or your partner’s sister's abilities in the sack. Not cool.
8) Some potential dinner conversations that might turn a lady on: your tool belt, your love of cooking, or that time you saved a thousand kittens from a burning orphanage (but it’s no big deal). Possible dinner conversation turn-offs: how awesome you are at everything, how wasted you got, how wasted you are, your mother’s cancer, and anything you ever read in Cosmopolitan Magazine.
9) Sex in the City isn’t anything like sex in the country. It’s dustier, grainier, and the people are less attractive.
10) While it’s nearly unavoidable not to picture Burt Reynolds in the throes of passion, don’t call him Burt Reynolds, unless he really is Burt Reynolds. Usually mentioning Burt in the sack ends in a conversation about how awesome Smokey and the Bandit is, which is fine, but again, not sexy.
11) The kitchen, bathroom sink, or the hood of a car are fine, but try these smacktastic locations: bait shop, preschool, port-o-john, or combination baitshoppreschoolportojohn.
12) Busting out of the bathroom dressed like Han Solo is A-OKAY. Busting out of the bathroom dressed like Chewbacca is A-OKAY. Looking like Chewbacca without a costume is a little yucky.
13) Names and the shouting of names can be sticky wickets. Write it on the back of your hand to avoid an awkward situation.
14) Hot dogs, hoagies, burritos, Popsicles, bologna, French bread, and pickles are all shaped like penises, so make sure your lady eats one of each on every date to get her all greased up and in the mood.
15) Please remember, a little uncomfortable is fun at first, and above all, you’re both already naked, so what is there to be shy about? You’re both there to, so have a little fun.
And ladies? In reference to Cosmopolitan Magazine, ever notice that while you’re sippin’ on your double iced skinny soy with whip during a break from your profesh (we should totally plan a vacay by the way, me and my peeps need to do some serious chillaxin’) and flipping through this month’s totally amazing issue of Cosmo (referred to by themselves as “the bible”, if I EVER hear anybody I know do that, slap city, bitch) featuring some bland starlet with one hand on her hip and one hand on the top of her head, smiling blankly through her blonde highlights on the cover, that THAT MAGAZINE HAS BEEN EXACTLY THE SAME ISSUE EVERY MONTH FOR SINCE IT’S CREATION? Ever notice that? How the embarrassing moments and the articles about fun females (she totally works sixty hours and can somehow balance that with cribbing amazing threads, making her man melt, and drinking 300 appletinis per week!), clothes, and whatever else nonsensical fodder in between Candie’s ads is always the exact same shit every time? Do they really think that’s helping anyone? OMG!!!!
Saying things like “peeps” “profesh” “vacay” “crib” “amazing” “man candy” “nooky” “cannoodle” and “convo” do not make you sound intelligent, fun, or fearless. They make you sound ridiculous. Everybody else, you can thank me later. Love!
1) Welcome on board for 11 more years, Johan Franzen! Ken Holland, in addition to being a primo general manager and all around excellent awesome dude, is a total genius. Now give me Hossa! Maybe even Hudler!
2) Two words: beard season (siiigh)
3) Yes, there is a real picture of me and Darren McCarty out there.
But unfortunately for everyone, much, much, graver news has just crossed my desk (and by crossed I mean somebody just left it on there with no post-it note, referendum, or paper clip. And there is a coffee ring right on here. Temps, I tell ya). Virgins who just got married and seventeen year old future prostitutes who think they’re doing their “guys” a favor: listen up. COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE IS NO PLACE TO GET SEX TIPS!!! Not only are they the same exact ones every issue since the days when sleeping around was considered “modern” and to be kinky was to shave your beave down to a scraggly little patch, but they aren’t even good. Here’s a few from the most recent list of “ways to make your man melt” or whatever stupid vernacular they’ve managed to drool out this week:
Be Just as Gung Ho for Sex as a Guy
According to a survey in Australian Cosmo, 38 percent of readers have gotten it on with a guy within 24 hours of meeting." By thrusting your hips up and down, placing your hands on his butt, pulling him into you and kissing him hard, you can direct the action.. That's not to say you shouldn't go for a ride. Try pushing him onto a chair, unzipping his pants, going down on him for a few seconds, then climbing on. He won't know what hit him, but he'll be happy as hell. For the ultimate in rough 'n' ready fun, try one of Cosmo readers' favorite bed games, called the Randy Wrestling Roll. Start by lying on your side facing each other, with your thigh flung over his hip, and guide his penis inside you, then entangle your arms and legs and start rolling around on the bed or carpet as you thrust into each other. The goal? See who can end up on top most often — but in this game, everybody wins.
Seriously? The one tip that I didn’t already know from every film, television, and book I’ve ever seen featuring business time, that wrestling thing, that isn’t even sexy. Eew, in fact, no way. And that other stuff about grabbing his penis and kissing him hard??? There isn’t a culture that ever made it past two people in the whole world who doesn’t know that stuff. And there’s more.
Push Your Booty Boundaries
You can steam things up at home by moving outside the bedroom and doing it on top of a sturdy table kitchen counter, bathroom sink, or hood of a car that's parked in your garage. Things get even hotter in Greece, where they boldly go where most cultures are too shy to venture. "Both men and women here enjoy anal sex, and no one considers it a big deal," says deputy editor of Greek Cosmo, Margarita Michelakou. Like bringing sex toys to bed or using flavored lubes, anal sex is just another option for spicing things up.
Another giant duh. Spice it up by moving to the kitchen? Whoo boy! Lets not get carried away! Even if you’re observing the roommate rule and not getting busy where the other one eats/sits/washes dishes, I bet any one of us could come up with more exciting places. And sex toys? Even the oldest trick in the book isn’t that obvious. So, since this kind of stuff is what all you virgins and newlyweds have to go on when exploring what Mystery calls the “Venuvian arts” (man, what a tool), Me and KP here are going to do you all a favor and compile a little list of T Shirt Size:Awesome sex tips that might actually work (pardon me, this might be a little candid for any of you who might have had a shred of respect for us before):
1) Compare his performance in the sack to an animal. Loudly. If you’re pleased; a tiger, gorilla, alligator, or T Rex are good options. If you are displeased; a piglet, parakeet, or broccoli usually get the point across.
2) Flavored lube, blah blah blah. How about you try orange marmalade, sausage gravy, or Tabasco sauce, you giant baby.
3) Generally, a man will do your bidding if you emasculate him enough, both in public and in times of intimacy. Unless your bidding is for him to marry you. Or like you. Or take you seriously.
4) It is okay for a woman to initiate sex, but don’t give that shit away for free, girls. $25 dollars an hour is both reasonable and fair.
5) When you’re all in the middle of it, don’t ask me. Tell me. “Can I kiss you?” is completely sissy and inappropriate.
6) Every fella out there says they appreciate a lady who wants her hair pulled a little. So fellas? Don’t get weirded out when a lady tells you to pull her freaking hair already. Jeez.
7) While the occasional talking is expected to some extent, avoid chatter and Chit-chat. Don’t talk about dinner, doctor visits, or your partner’s sister's abilities in the sack. Not cool.
8) Some potential dinner conversations that might turn a lady on: your tool belt, your love of cooking, or that time you saved a thousand kittens from a burning orphanage (but it’s no big deal). Possible dinner conversation turn-offs: how awesome you are at everything, how wasted you got, how wasted you are, your mother’s cancer, and anything you ever read in Cosmopolitan Magazine.
9) Sex in the City isn’t anything like sex in the country. It’s dustier, grainier, and the people are less attractive.
10) While it’s nearly unavoidable not to picture Burt Reynolds in the throes of passion, don’t call him Burt Reynolds, unless he really is Burt Reynolds. Usually mentioning Burt in the sack ends in a conversation about how awesome Smokey and the Bandit is, which is fine, but again, not sexy.
11) The kitchen, bathroom sink, or the hood of a car are fine, but try these smacktastic locations: bait shop, preschool, port-o-john, or combination baitshoppreschoolportojohn.
12) Busting out of the bathroom dressed like Han Solo is A-OKAY. Busting out of the bathroom dressed like Chewbacca is A-OKAY. Looking like Chewbacca without a costume is a little yucky.
13) Names and the shouting of names can be sticky wickets. Write it on the back of your hand to avoid an awkward situation.
14) Hot dogs, hoagies, burritos, Popsicles, bologna, French bread, and pickles are all shaped like penises, so make sure your lady eats one of each on every date to get her all greased up and in the mood.
15) Please remember, a little uncomfortable is fun at first, and above all, you’re both already naked, so what is there to be shy about? You’re both there to, so have a little fun.
And ladies? In reference to Cosmopolitan Magazine, ever notice that while you’re sippin’ on your double iced skinny soy with whip during a break from your profesh (we should totally plan a vacay by the way, me and my peeps need to do some serious chillaxin’) and flipping through this month’s totally amazing issue of Cosmo (referred to by themselves as “the bible”, if I EVER hear anybody I know do that, slap city, bitch) featuring some bland starlet with one hand on her hip and one hand on the top of her head, smiling blankly through her blonde highlights on the cover, that THAT MAGAZINE HAS BEEN EXACTLY THE SAME ISSUE EVERY MONTH FOR SINCE IT’S CREATION? Ever notice that? How the embarrassing moments and the articles about fun females (she totally works sixty hours and can somehow balance that with cribbing amazing threads, making her man melt, and drinking 300 appletinis per week!), clothes, and whatever else nonsensical fodder in between Candie’s ads is always the exact same shit every time? Do they really think that’s helping anyone? OMG!!!!
Saying things like “peeps” “profesh” “vacay” “crib” “amazing” “man candy” “nooky” “cannoodle” and “convo” do not make you sound intelligent, fun, or fearless. They make you sound ridiculous. Everybody else, you can thank me later. Love!
Friday, March 20, 2009
"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day."
Well, well! it certainly has been a busy week for the girls at TShirtSize: Awesome! KP and I have been pleasantly busy attending hockey games and intelligent people discussion groups (which thankfully only last one more week and no, it’s not anything court ordered), Beth finds herself in the middle metro-sexual non-sexy youth sandwich, and ol’ Kasey seems to have gotten her tongue tied in a knot with some special John, enough to keep it out of other people’s, for a change. Way to go, Kasey. Beth, you’re a loser.
Special thanks to all our friends from (and the new ones that we made, Daniel, you are one creepy dude) the Annual St. Patty’s Day Pub Stumble, which had record turnout (and record staying power, we all did it!!) and record fun. Record temperatures and adorable servers also played a large part (all I’m saying ladies is go to Graydon’s Crossing) and fun and merriment and poor grammar was had by all. Cheers! Erin Go Braugh! That means “Go To Ireland, you wannabe lush!” in Gaelic. Hey, fuck yooo, Rosetta Stoone! Here are a few other things I’ve learned:
• The term “honeymoon” actually dates back to Babylonian times, when it was customary for the parents of the bride to supply the groom with all the mead he could drink for an entire month after the wedding. Moon=month, honey=main ingredient in mead, get it?? Ha!
• The word “cocktail” comes from the implements used to stir drinks during the early days of the American bar, when they used pheasant feathers to decorate the walls, and would pick said feathers off the wall to mix drinks.
• The cocktail known today as the ‘Tom Collins’ comes from a practical joke barmen used to play on each other in the Wild West, back when pride actually mattered to people. If you were looking to mess with a dude just because, you’d walk up to him and tell him that you just heard Tom Collins up the street slandering his honest name, you know, calling him lazy or his mother a ninny or Yankee-lover (or whatever they said back then), and the dude would fly out the door in a blind rage and beat to pieces the first city slicker he didn’t recognize, no matter if his name was actually Tom Collins or not. Funny, huh!?! Boy, what a good joke! Bet you didn’t see that one coming, innocent bystander! Here is (according to the Playboy Bartender’s Guide) how to make a Tom Collins:
2 ½ oz gin
1-2 tsp. Sugar
1 oz lemon juice
Iced club soda
Garnish with lemon slice, lime slice, or maraschino cherry (optional)
Here’s how (according to the Playboy Bartender’s Guide) to make a City Slicker:
2oz brandy
½ oz triple sec
1tbsp. Lemon juice
eew.
Here is how to make a shoe smell:
Your stinky feet.
Damn, I’m good!!!
And speaking of cocktails, I really want to let you all in on the best known secret and future tradition of the girlies of TShirtSize: Awesome and all of their 5,000 friends…Scarey-oke live on Wednesday nights from the most haunted bar/brothel left in Grand Rapids! Nick Fink’s in Comstock Park! You all should come! For serious! Hosted by suckah commentator and for real awesome dude Bubba (of BubbaHasSpoken, but he is actually really nice. Unless you’ve had a tracheotomy recently…) this bar seriously gives me the major willies because for the past 150 years it’s been a whorehouse. And they haven’t done much with the place, if you know what I mean. (Here’s the premise. It’s got velvet wallpaper, jet black leather booths, uneven floors, high back wooden booths and smells like vomit.) And what do we do when something gives us the serious willies?? Sing to it! Really well! There’s a lot of hidden talent and hilarious drunk hillbillies running around that joint, and no matter who shows up, it’s guaranteed to be a real blast. At least super entertaining. Just don’t even look at the beer list, or attempt to proposition any of the wildlife, contrary to popular belief, it is NO LONGER A BROTHEL. Except for me and KP. Who tend to bring the brothel with us…
Super double-special thanks to local legend and dynamic celebrity superpower Sam Kenny (remember? From the other post?) for totally tearing that shit up with high kicks, Michael Jackson moves and enough spins to make me dizzy. And seriously, Ryan??? Where did you come from, dude??
Not only is the clientele usually an adventure, but you’ll sound like Mel frickin’ Torme on the mike. Get on out there.
Nick Fink's, Wednesday nights, Comstock Park. Awesome. Terrifying. Awesome. Here’s a video interpretation of the excellence that Scarey-oke is:
And just a little reminder, today and April 10th are your last chances to come sit behind me and KP at Friday night Griffins games and get angry at our horn-blowing and throw popcorn in our hair. Or get really laced on dollar beers and slam 4 hot dogs for no reason. Boosh! See you in the playoffs, babies!
Special thanks to all our friends from (and the new ones that we made, Daniel, you are one creepy dude) the Annual St. Patty’s Day Pub Stumble, which had record turnout (and record staying power, we all did it!!) and record fun. Record temperatures and adorable servers also played a large part (all I’m saying ladies is go to Graydon’s Crossing) and fun and merriment and poor grammar was had by all. Cheers! Erin Go Braugh! That means “Go To Ireland, you wannabe lush!” in Gaelic. Hey, fuck yooo, Rosetta Stoone! Here are a few other things I’ve learned:
• The term “honeymoon” actually dates back to Babylonian times, when it was customary for the parents of the bride to supply the groom with all the mead he could drink for an entire month after the wedding. Moon=month, honey=main ingredient in mead, get it?? Ha!
• The word “cocktail” comes from the implements used to stir drinks during the early days of the American bar, when they used pheasant feathers to decorate the walls, and would pick said feathers off the wall to mix drinks.
• The cocktail known today as the ‘Tom Collins’ comes from a practical joke barmen used to play on each other in the Wild West, back when pride actually mattered to people. If you were looking to mess with a dude just because, you’d walk up to him and tell him that you just heard Tom Collins up the street slandering his honest name, you know, calling him lazy or his mother a ninny or Yankee-lover (or whatever they said back then), and the dude would fly out the door in a blind rage and beat to pieces the first city slicker he didn’t recognize, no matter if his name was actually Tom Collins or not. Funny, huh!?! Boy, what a good joke! Bet you didn’t see that one coming, innocent bystander! Here is (according to the Playboy Bartender’s Guide) how to make a Tom Collins:
2 ½ oz gin
1-2 tsp. Sugar
1 oz lemon juice
Iced club soda
Garnish with lemon slice, lime slice, or maraschino cherry (optional)
Here’s how (according to the Playboy Bartender’s Guide) to make a City Slicker:
2oz brandy
½ oz triple sec
1tbsp. Lemon juice
eew.
Here is how to make a shoe smell:
Your stinky feet.
Damn, I’m good!!!
And speaking of cocktails, I really want to let you all in on the best known secret and future tradition of the girlies of TShirtSize: Awesome and all of their 5,000 friends…Scarey-oke live on Wednesday nights from the most haunted bar/brothel left in Grand Rapids! Nick Fink’s in Comstock Park! You all should come! For serious! Hosted by suckah commentator and for real awesome dude Bubba (of BubbaHasSpoken, but he is actually really nice. Unless you’ve had a tracheotomy recently…) this bar seriously gives me the major willies because for the past 150 years it’s been a whorehouse. And they haven’t done much with the place, if you know what I mean. (Here’s the premise. It’s got velvet wallpaper, jet black leather booths, uneven floors, high back wooden booths and smells like vomit.) And what do we do when something gives us the serious willies?? Sing to it! Really well! There’s a lot of hidden talent and hilarious drunk hillbillies running around that joint, and no matter who shows up, it’s guaranteed to be a real blast. At least super entertaining. Just don’t even look at the beer list, or attempt to proposition any of the wildlife, contrary to popular belief, it is NO LONGER A BROTHEL. Except for me and KP. Who tend to bring the brothel with us…
Super double-special thanks to local legend and dynamic celebrity superpower Sam Kenny (remember? From the other post?) for totally tearing that shit up with high kicks, Michael Jackson moves and enough spins to make me dizzy. And seriously, Ryan??? Where did you come from, dude??
Not only is the clientele usually an adventure, but you’ll sound like Mel frickin’ Torme on the mike. Get on out there.
Nick Fink's, Wednesday nights, Comstock Park. Awesome. Terrifying. Awesome. Here’s a video interpretation of the excellence that Scarey-oke is:
And just a little reminder, today and April 10th are your last chances to come sit behind me and KP at Friday night Griffins games and get angry at our horn-blowing and throw popcorn in our hair. Or get really laced on dollar beers and slam 4 hot dogs for no reason. Boosh! See you in the playoffs, babies!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
"So come up to the lab and see what's on the slab. I see you shiver with antici... pation"
I’d like to, before continuing, pretend that that last post never happened. Here is a little list of things to think about so you can easily erase that last one from your memory:
• Puppies
• Tim Curry as Dr. Frankenfurter from Rocky Horror Picture Show
• A robot and a chimp becoming friends, slowly, after the robot earns the chimp’s trust by holding its hat and actually giving it back later.
• Things you’d name your chimp if you had one. I think I’d go with Ricky, or Patrick. I like Patrick.
• Ingredients that would be tasty in chili, even though they aren’t commonly found in chili, like Chicken Nuggets, fried egg, or bacon.
• Other things you could be doing besides reading this blog…
• Drinking, cause that’s what I’m doing. Must….forget….aaaah!
• Justin Stover
And speaking of Justin Stover, do we have some more excellent local entertainment for you! Justin combines sweet indy tunes with cheery pop and a little bit of funness (amen!) to create the beautiful, well-made songs that you can hear if you go to see him at Rocky’s or the Whiskey Lounge. And, he’s like the 2nd friendliest guy in this whole town, besides Sam Kenny, whom we also eagerly endorse. In fact, if you like Sammy, then you’ll enjoy Justin live too, and since it’s impossible to not like either of them, everybody’s happy, right?
For serious though, Justin has a fuzzy, sugary, slightly sexy sweetheart of a voice that compliments both songs and appearance deliciously, and is easy to get all gooey over both on recordings and live. Very rarely can I say that every singer/songwriter out there can be palatable and even enjoyable without a band behind him to fill in holes, but Justin is one of those guys who, stand-alone, will sweep you off your feet with adorability, sincerity, and talent. And, he has a rockin’ beard. Check him out at the Whiskey Lounge on April 17 or on MySpace HERE , and you might find out about Grand Rapids’ own version of Feist who’s another wildly talented pixie little thing, Sam Crane HERE
Note: This isn’t Motley Crue, folks. And while I’m sure Justin would appreciate a little flashie flash from the ladies who are feeling his sensitivity and intelligent-but-still-a-regular-guy song lyrics, please just sit there and sip your cocktail and appreciate the ambiance and rock out in your head. You can listen to KISS on the way home.
• Puppies
• Tim Curry as Dr. Frankenfurter from Rocky Horror Picture Show
• A robot and a chimp becoming friends, slowly, after the robot earns the chimp’s trust by holding its hat and actually giving it back later.
• Things you’d name your chimp if you had one. I think I’d go with Ricky, or Patrick. I like Patrick.
• Ingredients that would be tasty in chili, even though they aren’t commonly found in chili, like Chicken Nuggets, fried egg, or bacon.
• Other things you could be doing besides reading this blog…
• Drinking, cause that’s what I’m doing. Must….forget….aaaah!
• Justin Stover
And speaking of Justin Stover, do we have some more excellent local entertainment for you! Justin combines sweet indy tunes with cheery pop and a little bit of funness (amen!) to create the beautiful, well-made songs that you can hear if you go to see him at Rocky’s or the Whiskey Lounge. And, he’s like the 2nd friendliest guy in this whole town, besides Sam Kenny, whom we also eagerly endorse. In fact, if you like Sammy, then you’ll enjoy Justin live too, and since it’s impossible to not like either of them, everybody’s happy, right?
For serious though, Justin has a fuzzy, sugary, slightly sexy sweetheart of a voice that compliments both songs and appearance deliciously, and is easy to get all gooey over both on recordings and live. Very rarely can I say that every singer/songwriter out there can be palatable and even enjoyable without a band behind him to fill in holes, but Justin is one of those guys who, stand-alone, will sweep you off your feet with adorability, sincerity, and talent. And, he has a rockin’ beard. Check him out at the Whiskey Lounge on April 17 or on MySpace HERE , and you might find out about Grand Rapids’ own version of Feist who’s another wildly talented pixie little thing, Sam Crane HERE
Note: This isn’t Motley Crue, folks. And while I’m sure Justin would appreciate a little flashie flash from the ladies who are feeling his sensitivity and intelligent-but-still-a-regular-guy song lyrics, please just sit there and sip your cocktail and appreciate the ambiance and rock out in your head. You can listen to KISS on the way home.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
"He once got our dead battery goin' by mixin' bird feces and spit, cause there's like acids in it, eh?"
K so since we are now acclaimed on the NealNet and live in the Nealiverse, I’m going to: 1st) Shout out to my Japanese brothers and sisters and all our fans down-under! Blimey, mates! Domo Arigato!
2nd) Write something that has nothing whatsoever to do with Neil Diamond. Even though it kind of does, but not really.
10 REASONS WHY CANADA IS AWESOME (in no particular order. In fact, maybe you can put them in your own order, and we can discuss. I’d like that.):
1) Kyle Quincy
2) Mathieu Dandenault
3) Ed Belfour (yes I know he’s old now, but Damn!)
4) Kris Draper
5) Kirk Maltby
6) Darren McCarty
7) CHRIS OSGOOD
8) Steve Yzerman
9) Mike Babcock
10) Scotty “killabitchwithoutevenflinching” Bowman
Hahaha! How awesome was that sweet trick I just played on you! Sike!! Ok I have a different list of things that are awesome about Canada (again, in no particular order):
1) Some common stereotypes associated with Canadians: Beer, hockey, mullets, moose, beavers, political neutrality, and friendliness. Common stereotypes associated with Americans: obesity, arrogance, ignorance, extravagance, and McDonalds (I’m going to hear it for this one).
2) Thanks to their immaculate Nationalized Health Care system, all Canadian men are at least 33% better looking than everywhere else in North America. Ever been to Windsor? Even the border guys and bums got it going on. Hello, nurse!
3) The official food of Quebec is called “Poutine” and includes such delicious ingredients as French fries, gravy, and cheese curds. How are we still the fat ones?
4) Let’s be honest, while everyone really wanted high school to be like Sweet Valley and West Beverly, we all know it was really more like Degrassi.
5) SCTV, Kids In The Hall, You Can’t Do That On Television, Dan Akroyd, Mike Meyers, John Candy, Barenaked Ladies, Trivial Pursuit, Pictionary, Alex Trebek, Cirque du Soleil. Also, Canada has the longest designated street in the world, coming in at 1178.3 miles. Do those guys know how to party, or what??
6) The zipper was actually invented in Canada. Thank god! Buttons are a total pain in the ass.
7) Canadian bacon = ham. Canadian geese = bird more prominent in the United States than the bald eagle by far. Canadian tuxedo = jean jacket and jeans. This begs the question, are these things really of Canadian origin, or did the Canadians just take a bunch of sweet stuff and put their name on it? Either way, that took some thought.
8) “slap a bitch” is actually a legal term in Canada. If they actually had a dictionary there, I’d show you, but they don’t so if you want proof, just go ask a Canadian for a Canadian dictionary and they’ll, you know, prove it.
9) While to the rest of the world, Canada seems to enjoy peaceful neutrality, Northern friendliness, clean cities, and undisturbed wildlife, I just want you to know that Calgary is like the murder capitol of the whole world and there is so many miles of uncharted wilderness that no one would ever have even the slightest chance to find you if you went missing…you want to know how they stay so happy pal? Just test ‘em.
10) Ryan Reynolds.
*Bonus (because while my logic is impenetrable, there isn’t yet concrete enough evidence for the zealots): Jesus was actually born in Canada. Just think about it for a second: how many nativity scenes have you seen covered in snow? How often does it snow in the desert? Did you see that guy’s beard? I’ll bet there’s even a hidden passage in the bible that was lost in translation about how baby Jesus was laid in a manger lined with maple leaves and wrapped in Joseph’s (his friends called him “Broseph”) old flannel shirt and then the baby Jesus was visited by angels and they wiped a gossamer hankey on his widdle nosie, which they passed on to a group of trappist monks who took it back to Belgium (how do you think all those Belgians learned French?!?) and used it to make the world’s first (and to this day, finest) beer. I rest my case.
2nd) Write something that has nothing whatsoever to do with Neil Diamond. Even though it kind of does, but not really.
10 REASONS WHY CANADA IS AWESOME (in no particular order. In fact, maybe you can put them in your own order, and we can discuss. I’d like that.):
1) Kyle Quincy
2) Mathieu Dandenault
3) Ed Belfour (yes I know he’s old now, but Damn!)
4) Kris Draper
5) Kirk Maltby
6) Darren McCarty
7) CHRIS OSGOOD
8) Steve Yzerman
9) Mike Babcock
10) Scotty “killabitchwithoutevenflinching” Bowman
Hahaha! How awesome was that sweet trick I just played on you! Sike!! Ok I have a different list of things that are awesome about Canada (again, in no particular order):
1) Some common stereotypes associated with Canadians: Beer, hockey, mullets, moose, beavers, political neutrality, and friendliness. Common stereotypes associated with Americans: obesity, arrogance, ignorance, extravagance, and McDonalds (I’m going to hear it for this one).
2) Thanks to their immaculate Nationalized Health Care system, all Canadian men are at least 33% better looking than everywhere else in North America. Ever been to Windsor? Even the border guys and bums got it going on. Hello, nurse!
3) The official food of Quebec is called “Poutine” and includes such delicious ingredients as French fries, gravy, and cheese curds. How are we still the fat ones?
4) Let’s be honest, while everyone really wanted high school to be like Sweet Valley and West Beverly, we all know it was really more like Degrassi.
5) SCTV, Kids In The Hall, You Can’t Do That On Television, Dan Akroyd, Mike Meyers, John Candy, Barenaked Ladies, Trivial Pursuit, Pictionary, Alex Trebek, Cirque du Soleil. Also, Canada has the longest designated street in the world, coming in at 1178.3 miles. Do those guys know how to party, or what??
6) The zipper was actually invented in Canada. Thank god! Buttons are a total pain in the ass.
7) Canadian bacon = ham. Canadian geese = bird more prominent in the United States than the bald eagle by far. Canadian tuxedo = jean jacket and jeans. This begs the question, are these things really of Canadian origin, or did the Canadians just take a bunch of sweet stuff and put their name on it? Either way, that took some thought.
8) “slap a bitch” is actually a legal term in Canada. If they actually had a dictionary there, I’d show you, but they don’t so if you want proof, just go ask a Canadian for a Canadian dictionary and they’ll, you know, prove it.
9) While to the rest of the world, Canada seems to enjoy peaceful neutrality, Northern friendliness, clean cities, and undisturbed wildlife, I just want you to know that Calgary is like the murder capitol of the whole world and there is so many miles of uncharted wilderness that no one would ever have even the slightest chance to find you if you went missing…you want to know how they stay so happy pal? Just test ‘em.
10) Ryan Reynolds.
*Bonus (because while my logic is impenetrable, there isn’t yet concrete enough evidence for the zealots): Jesus was actually born in Canada. Just think about it for a second: how many nativity scenes have you seen covered in snow? How often does it snow in the desert? Did you see that guy’s beard? I’ll bet there’s even a hidden passage in the bible that was lost in translation about how baby Jesus was laid in a manger lined with maple leaves and wrapped in Joseph’s (his friends called him “Broseph”) old flannel shirt and then the baby Jesus was visited by angels and they wiped a gossamer hankey on his widdle nosie, which they passed on to a group of trappist monks who took it back to Belgium (how do you think all those Belgians learned French?!?) and used it to make the world’s first (and to this day, finest) beer. I rest my case.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies
So, the Academy Awards were on last night. I was able to catch the last 45 minutes or so of the show and it was ok. Kate Winslet blah blah blah, Sean Penn blah blah blah. I just noticed that, even though Mr. Hugh Jackman is a ridiculously attractive male specimen (and by ridiculous I mean RI-DAMN-DICULOUS, what was going on there? Couldn’t they have spread that out a little? Why give it all to one man for godssakes!), it feels as if he is trying to be like someone Stef and I are familiar with.
Someone with chest hair and perfectly coifed locks who sings like a god…
Play it now
Play it now, my baby
Cracklin rosie, make me a smile
Girl if it lasts for an hour, thats al right
We got all night
To set the world right
Find us a dream that dont ask no questions, yeah
The Grammy’s new what would make the ladies wiggle in their seats, the Academy could learn a thing or two!
Here are a few myths about Neil that Stef heard which only seem to make him cooler somehow…
o When he is in town, and he doesn’t know you personally, you are not to look Mr. Neil Diamond in the eye. He isn’t as bad as Prince, but he doesn’t want you all looking at him either. He’s just a man, folks.
o He wants his water at 27 degrees Fahrenheit. Not 26, not 31. God help you if that shit is room temperature.
o He must have fresh baked goods delivered to his room every hour on the hour as long as he is in town. Muffins! Now!
o He requires a whole floor to himself for a dressing room. He allows the band and crew a floor as well, but his must be on top because no one is above Neil Diamond
o He may be the Jewish Elvis, but he still leaves decent tips. And by decent I mean he’ll allow you to live as long as you don’t fuck up the modest 7,000 items demanded on his rider.
o Neil once starred in a film with Sir Lawrence Olivier (that’s Hamlet, to you) called “The Jazz Singer” in 1980 that was a re-make of an old Al Jolson film from the 20’s. Except instead of a black man crooning his way into the predominantly white world of high-end entertainment, he was a Jew breaking into the (predominantly Jewish…?) world of show business. Dude, that’s like, deep.
o Neil Diamond taught Chuck Norris everything that he knows.
Someone with chest hair and perfectly coifed locks who sings like a god…
Play it now
Play it now, my baby
Cracklin rosie, make me a smile
Girl if it lasts for an hour, thats al right
We got all night
To set the world right
Find us a dream that dont ask no questions, yeah
The Grammy’s new what would make the ladies wiggle in their seats, the Academy could learn a thing or two!
Here are a few myths about Neil that Stef heard which only seem to make him cooler somehow…
o When he is in town, and he doesn’t know you personally, you are not to look Mr. Neil Diamond in the eye. He isn’t as bad as Prince, but he doesn’t want you all looking at him either. He’s just a man, folks.
o He wants his water at 27 degrees Fahrenheit. Not 26, not 31. God help you if that shit is room temperature.
o He must have fresh baked goods delivered to his room every hour on the hour as long as he is in town. Muffins! Now!
o He requires a whole floor to himself for a dressing room. He allows the band and crew a floor as well, but his must be on top because no one is above Neil Diamond
o He may be the Jewish Elvis, but he still leaves decent tips. And by decent I mean he’ll allow you to live as long as you don’t fuck up the modest 7,000 items demanded on his rider.
o Neil once starred in a film with Sir Lawrence Olivier (that’s Hamlet, to you) called “The Jazz Singer” in 1980 that was a re-make of an old Al Jolson film from the 20’s. Except instead of a black man crooning his way into the predominantly white world of high-end entertainment, he was a Jew breaking into the (predominantly Jewish…?) world of show business. Dude, that’s like, deep.
o Neil Diamond taught Chuck Norris everything that he knows.
Friday, January 30, 2009
"I am, I said To no one there And no one heard at all Not even the chair"
Saturday January 24th, 2009 was Mr. Neil Diamond’s 68th birthday. After the ceremony, the ritual sacrifice (it was a head of lettuce, Mr. Diamond may require a sacrifice, but he is not cruel), and cleansing at the temple, me and KP decided to celebrate the only way we know how, by making giant asses out of ourselves. Hilarity, and genuflecting, ensues.
First things first, you all owe a huge debt of gratitude to Mr. Neil Diamond. And a head of lettuce. But mostly gratitude.
Neil Diamond is one of those few American treasures who realized that he couldn’t hide from his genius, and ended up shaping the face of this country throughout the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and now. That’s some pimp shit. And I had no idea until only a few short months ago the cornerstone that this man is. Here’s kind of how it went:
So picture this, me and KP are cruising to the Bahamas in my sweet vintage MG convertible down Route 66 like back before it was just a highway and all those cool diners and shit were still there. I had my horn-rimmed kittycat sunglasses on and she was sporting a bitchin’ pink neckerchief, and we were a couple of wild and free career girls from the city, just enjoying our wildness and freeness. I had a Neil Diamond CD from the library that I thought I would, you know, just check out. Glory Road: 1968-1972. That’s like four years, and there were 50 songs and they were ALL REALLY BEAUTIFUL.
KP: can you please take that out, we’ve listened to it like 1000 times.
Stef: can’t you hear how great he is???
Have you ever seen rays of sunshine enter our atmosphere, travel millions of miles per hour direct from the sun and strike my CD player at just the right angle to light up the whole world? Yeah. It was like that. And now everybody thinks I’m crazy because all I ever talk about is how great Neil is. Well he is, just check him out.
Anyway, our impromptu round of Diamond and Dash (putting Neil songs in the jukebox all over town and then leaving before that Slipknot guy catches us. He’s scary.) took us to the Holiday Bar on the Westsiiide, and wouldn’t you know? They had karaoke.
Now what were a couple of chicks like us doing in a joint like that? I don’t know either, but within fifteen minutes we had all eleven people in that place singing Sweet Caroline and clapping along. The Karaoke master himself kept asking us to sing more Neil (by the way, no Karaoke master has ever asked us to do more songs, they usually try to take our spare change and ask us how ashamed we are to tarnish the ancient art and to please leave) he claimed not to know the songs, but sang along with us to such hits as Cherry Cherry and Cracklin’ Rosie.
He was cool. Plus, besides my new mom who TOTALLY ROCKED Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song and that guy who “couldn’t talk, but keeps trying to sing,” even the guy who was sleeping on the bench thing in the front was showing a little love for Neil Diamond. Around midnight we decided to spread the wealth elsewhere and tip our bartenders generously (after sharing whiskey shots with our new friend Timmy ? To Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show!), the locals were all “don’t leave! I put in another Neil song!” it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I mean, it was touching. It was like giving Christmas presents to little kids when it isn’t Christmas, or watching a puppy being born and then giving it a Christmas present after all the grossness has been cleaned away.
So please, next time you find yourself half in the bag and a little disoriented from the scenery, with a microphone shoved in your face and the command to Sing! still ringing in your ears, spread the gift of Neil. It really is the gift that keeps on giving. And check out the wildlife at the Holiday Bar sometime if you’re in the mood for adventure, you might even spot me and KP there, but please don’t tell my mom.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
"Why does it say paper jam when there is no paper jam? I swear to God, one of these days, I just kick this piece of shit out the window."
I woke up this morning and there was about 2 more inches of snow on the ground. Why?? What the hell?? This shitty white stuff needs to stop.
This is what I hate
And this
Now you may ask, "Hey KP why don't you stop being such a dummy and move someplace warm?"
Well, my response is "I have a career thing started in this hell hole and I can't get out of it."
So I have spent most of the morning trying to figure out some new career options for myself as well as for Stef.
These are the job openings I have found that seem promising:
LUXURY HOME CLEANER (WEST MAUI)
Working at West Maui's luxury homes.
Experience picking up after rich people is a plus, but we will train you if you are a responsible, reliable person. Just don't steal.
+++Spiritual Caregiver+++ (GUAM)
Former exiled flamboyant Head-of-State seeks Spiritual Caregiver for longterm metaphysical relationship. Duties to include: sensual mental abuse, wanton disregard for personal space, and virtual cyber-bathing (only as needed). SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY! Compensation: VERY LUCRATIVE
Pest Control Route Manager (Cayman Islands)
If you have 3-5 years experience as a Pest Control Technician, or just want a job where you aren’t stuck in a cubicle all day, this is the job for you.
These were totally legit job postings on craigslist. NO JOKE!
This is what I hate
And this
Now you may ask, "Hey KP why don't you stop being such a dummy and move someplace warm?"
Well, my response is "I have a career thing started in this hell hole and I can't get out of it."
So I have spent most of the morning trying to figure out some new career options for myself as well as for Stef.
These are the job openings I have found that seem promising:
LUXURY HOME CLEANER (WEST MAUI)
Working at West Maui's luxury homes.
Experience picking up after rich people is a plus, but we will train you if you are a responsible, reliable person. Just don't steal.
+++Spiritual Caregiver+++ (GUAM)
Former exiled flamboyant Head-of-State seeks Spiritual Caregiver for longterm metaphysical relationship. Duties to include: sensual mental abuse, wanton disregard for personal space, and virtual cyber-bathing (only as needed). SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY! Compensation: VERY LUCRATIVE
Pest Control Route Manager (Cayman Islands)
If you have 3-5 years experience as a Pest Control Technician, or just want a job where you aren’t stuck in a cubicle all day, this is the job for you.
These were totally legit job postings on craigslist. NO JOKE!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
"And here's something else you forgot to factor in - we're not that drunk."
Stef and KP attend 101.3’s First Annual Brew Ha Ha. Needs more Brew, and definitely more Ha Ha.
First of all, beer and humor should go together. Humor doesn’t even have to really be humorous, as long as there’s beer involved. After paying fifteen dollars (plus a finski for parking) to get in and not be allowed back out for food, here are a few suggestions for making your own sponsored event worth the fifteen dollars and synthetic-cheezy nachos:
* If beer is advertised, especially in the TITLE OF THE EVENT, there should be beer present. Enough beer present for the whole night, and for everyone there.
* If you’re going to charge for “live entertainment” at the caliber of which was present, you’re going to need a lot more beer.
* A middle-age man running around making crappy gay jokes in a lavender leotard showing his ass crack is entertaining, but not entertainment. Even in the getup, that guy needs some new material. I know that gay men have anal sex. Got it.
* Demanding that I pay an additional 5 spot for a 12 oz. Micro brew is one thing, but do not insult me by taking my 5 in exchange for a ticket, that I immediately hand over to (insert generic adjective animal here) brewery guy only to watch him pour a bottle out into my glass. Just don’t. And please don’t tell anyone that I just gave up 5 for a bottle of Leinenkugel. Pouring a bottle in front of me is just a soggy “fuck you for even showing up.” Ouch. Blow me, then ouch.
* Beer tasting should be an experience, not whatever this was. These breweries should be proud of what they do. There should have been brew masters and sales reps present, not a bunch of DeltaPlex employees fumbling with caps and looking at you blankly when you ask if the double or triple is better. I don’t know shit about beer and I was getting blank stares. I should now be well-informed enough to only order your (adjective animal) beer from now on. But I’m not, so it’s back to Miller Lite I guess.
* If you’re trying to get your patrons all fucked up in order for them to enjoy the sub-par entertainment and not laugh in your stupid face that looks like a mix between Micky Rourke and chewed-up steak next time you charge $15 for anything, please make sure that this is your only goal, and there are other fun things for drunks to do than sleep in the
chairs where we were told there would be comedy. They should be drinking without knowing what’s really going on. I got duped into giving up my hard-earned bucks; now dupe me into having fun.
* Do you know how easy it is to make drunken people laugh? Duh! Everything is hilarious to a drunk person, hence we should all be pacing anxiously for next year’s event, and we’re not. Me and KP are practically retarded (especially after a few brewskis) and we still didn’t think that shit was funny. In fact, watching the Bimini Brothers was sad and a little uncomfortable. This was not a good venue for them, and sooner or later, boys, it might be time to hang up your shorts. Write different dick and gay jokes, at least. Instead of taking my top off and screaming for an encore of the “Levitra” song, I really just wanted to go home. Or watch the Wings lose to San Jose (after a commendable and valiant attempt, which we did), and it was still better than the first annual Brew Ha Ha.
Official verdict? LAME. You won’t see us next year. However I did find a nice Brown Ale that I quite enjoyed and KP liked the porter…
First of all, beer and humor should go together. Humor doesn’t even have to really be humorous, as long as there’s beer involved. After paying fifteen dollars (plus a finski for parking) to get in and not be allowed back out for food, here are a few suggestions for making your own sponsored event worth the fifteen dollars and synthetic-cheezy nachos:
* If beer is advertised, especially in the TITLE OF THE EVENT, there should be beer present. Enough beer present for the whole night, and for everyone there.
* If you’re going to charge for “live entertainment” at the caliber of which was present, you’re going to need a lot more beer.
* A middle-age man running around making crappy gay jokes in a lavender leotard showing his ass crack is entertaining, but not entertainment. Even in the getup, that guy needs some new material. I know that gay men have anal sex. Got it.
* Demanding that I pay an additional 5 spot for a 12 oz. Micro brew is one thing, but do not insult me by taking my 5 in exchange for a ticket, that I immediately hand over to (insert generic adjective animal here) brewery guy only to watch him pour a bottle out into my glass. Just don’t. And please don’t tell anyone that I just gave up 5 for a bottle of Leinenkugel. Pouring a bottle in front of me is just a soggy “fuck you for even showing up.” Ouch. Blow me, then ouch.
* Beer tasting should be an experience, not whatever this was. These breweries should be proud of what they do. There should have been brew masters and sales reps present, not a bunch of DeltaPlex employees fumbling with caps and looking at you blankly when you ask if the double or triple is better. I don’t know shit about beer and I was getting blank stares. I should now be well-informed enough to only order your (adjective animal) beer from now on. But I’m not, so it’s back to Miller Lite I guess.
* If you’re trying to get your patrons all fucked up in order for them to enjoy the sub-par entertainment and not laugh in your stupid face that looks like a mix between Micky Rourke and chewed-up steak next time you charge $15 for anything, please make sure that this is your only goal, and there are other fun things for drunks to do than sleep in the
chairs where we were told there would be comedy. They should be drinking without knowing what’s really going on. I got duped into giving up my hard-earned bucks; now dupe me into having fun.
* Do you know how easy it is to make drunken people laugh? Duh! Everything is hilarious to a drunk person, hence we should all be pacing anxiously for next year’s event, and we’re not. Me and KP are practically retarded (especially after a few brewskis) and we still didn’t think that shit was funny. In fact, watching the Bimini Brothers was sad and a little uncomfortable. This was not a good venue for them, and sooner or later, boys, it might be time to hang up your shorts. Write different dick and gay jokes, at least. Instead of taking my top off and screaming for an encore of the “Levitra” song, I really just wanted to go home. Or watch the Wings lose to San Jose (after a commendable and valiant attempt, which we did), and it was still better than the first annual Brew Ha Ha.
Official verdict? LAME. You won’t see us next year. However I did find a nice Brown Ale that I quite enjoyed and KP liked the porter…
Monday, January 19, 2009
"Your answer is buck. Well, that must be your wager, so let's check your answer, futter. Hmmm, buck futter. I don't get it."
OK so now that I’m all graduated and shit (mostly, anyway…), I would like to drop a little knowledge on you guys. I also want to know a little bit more about all of our readers for catalogue and compatibility purposes (shut up, dick, there are more readers than it looks like. Respond! It’s so easy!). After all, the countdown has started to WatchTheDogShow,DrinkTooMuchWildTurkey,AndTryNotToKillYourself Day is underway, and mama wants a date this year!
Here’s a quick list of my turn-ons:
1) Face/chest hair
2) Power tools
3) Plaid
4) 2 cans of Miller Light
5) Monster trucks
6) Sports
7) The analogical argument
8) Karate
There are so many more, not to mention the ultimate aphrodisiac: dirtball, shredding, ass-grinding rock & roll. Cock rock. Works every time. Wow, that was shameless. Anyway, in order to learn a little more about you guys, and maybe for you guys to, in turn, learn a little about yourselves, we at TshirtSizeAwesome have devised a little personality test for you to take, you know, so we can all pinpoint for sure why you’re not as cool as Chuck. Man, that guy rules. Here goes (you might want paper or a napkin or something):
1) You’re walking down a long hallway and come to a fork. Do you:
a) go left toward the bright lights and animal noises
b) go right toward the creaking door and ominous calliope music
c) step over it and continue down the hall
2) If your uncle was on fire, would you blow him out?
a) yes
b) no
c) depends on which uncle
3) Pandas or Koalas?
a) Pandas, totally
b) Koalas, totally
c) Mike Ditka, totally
4) You’re playing live stand-in for Ted Nugent’s band at the Pantheon during a thunderstorm while the pope is in town. What guitar do you use?
a) ’64 Telecaster with a double G and pink foil
b) Gibson vintage with whammy bar and snakeskin graphics
c) Sharkmaster 99 with triple chord pickups and testicles hanging from the fretboard
5) Which ingredient does not belong in a cake?
a) butter
b) sugar
c) woodchips
6) Which type of wood goes in Budweiser’s fermenting tanks to give it that fiber-y taste that is so appealing to hillbillies?
a) beechwood
b) cedar
c) morning
7) your friends have nicknames like:
a) Biff, Speedy, Wanker
b) Johnson, Jones, VanHelsing
c) Jimmy Steve, Jimmy Joe, Jimmy Jim
8) You’re at a Subway. You get
a) Meatballs with salt, pepper, and extra Parmesan
b) Club with lettuce, tomatoes, and peppers
c) On the subway
9) The train leaves station “A” going 75 miles per hour heading north/northwest. A different train leaves station “B” heading somewhere else completely.
a) Is it going to Boston? I like Boston and I’d like some chowder, yo.
b) Need more info. I didn’t go through eight years of evil medical school to be called “Mister”, thank you.
c) What?
10) Who would win in a fight between George Bush and George Foreman?
a) fair or prison rules?
b) Which one has the tank?
c) Mike Ditka
11) What is the first thing you always pack on every trip you take to Reno?
a) credit card and gun
b) leather bustier, chaps, and gun
c) burrito and gun
12) If you were walking down a beach and found a magic jinni, you’d wish for:
a) cold, hard, cash so you can buy Ryan Seacrest
b) a really sweet coffee pot
c) taco flavored lip gloss
d) that you didn’t just waste all this time on this personality test.
OK now for the scoring:
Mostly A’s: Robot. You are a robot from the future so don’t worry when the real robots take over, because you’ll be straight. I hope you like staples!
Mostly B’s: Dinosaur. You are a dinosaur, but one of those cool ones with the big plates on their backs and cool horns and stuff. With a grenade launcher, you’ve got a little rebel left in you. Robots or the possibility of another ice age? Bring it on!
Mostly C’s: Margarita. You are a margarita and margaritas are delicious. Whether or not you are blended or on the rocks is purely left to fate. Stick it to the man! Learn a few dirty words in Spanish, Punto!
Mostly D’s: Yeah but you can’t, jerkface. Ha!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
1st Official Nerd Post of 2009
Stef is going to be so mad at me after this but I don't care.
I have been bored a bit at work lately and a very interesting website has come to my attention. The reason I enjoy this so much is because, like Stef, I enjoy trash talking animals (mostly our cats) and inanimate objects.
So check it out:
Fuck you, Penguin!
I have been bored a bit at work lately and a very interesting website has come to my attention. The reason I enjoy this so much is because, like Stef, I enjoy trash talking animals (mostly our cats) and inanimate objects.
So check it out:
Fuck you, Penguin!
Monday, January 5, 2009
Kyle Quincy saves the day once more!
If you look at your timeline of Awesome (fig. 2.14 on p. 7 of your textbook), you will see (with the exception of Japan, who has pretty much been consistently awesome since the time of the Samurai. No piece of their pop culture that makes it over here is any less than completely adorable. Fruits Magazine! Pikachu! Dr. Do! Hello Kitty! Supa good time fun pleasure! Herro boy!) that there are definite ups and downs. In the 1100’s, for example, Awesome was in a lull because the Crusades and the Black Plague were decidedly not awesome. But by the 1500’s it was again riding high with male wigs, my man Bill Shakespeare, and the aforementioned Samurai. But when it comes to music, no generation gap caused an increase as enormous as the 1980’s, and a devastating plummet as tragic as the 1990’s. The 80’s were textbook Awesome. The 90’s totally sucked.
What’s my point? I found myself in the possession of a ticket to see the band Candlebox on a few Monday night's ago at the Intersection. After locating them on my timeline of Awesome and seeing them all lumped in the icy depths with the unforgivable suckage of Collective Soul, Toad the Wet Sprocket, the Verve Pipe (sorry, yo), and Creed, needless to say, I was not expecting much. But, it was a great show! They kinda rocked a little bit. Age hasn’t been much of a hindrance to these guys (especially the singer and lead ax man. Call me! Please! I’ll make you a casserole!) and there was enough gratuitous shredding and cussing that any dirtbag rock snob and aging groupie (like me) would get a little rock, in and around the mouth. Steph from downstairs was fun, the opening band A Verse Unsung channeled a little Beastie Boys rowdiness, and Grand Rapids’ own Fled 5 proved that they were more than just a dummy corporation set up to net ass. So for dinner that night, I had a little bit of crow with my chicken tenders and will officially go on the record to say that Candlebox does not, in fact, suck (except for that acoustic guitar thing. The song wasn’t too bad, but why stop the rock? You had me at “FUCK Y-Y-Y-Y-YEAH!”) like I thought they did. The 90’s in general though, still sucked balls. Write that down.
Me and KP were not, however, granted the luxury of Walking with the Dinosaurs at Van Andel a few weeks ago. Tickets were $80. What the fuck? How am I supposed to buy more drugs if I have to spend $80 every time I want to see a freaking dinosaur? Not cool, man. So here’s how I imagined it would be instead:
After the first T Rex (which was an adorable baby. Rhaa!) ate six children in the VIP seats, me and KP were exchanging nervous glances and thinking what luck that our seats were not front row and that KP finished her hot dog prior to the dinosaurs coming out of their dressing rooms (which were very big, indeed). It was actually a decent, quiet little showie show, until after half-time, when the carnage really began. Their marching band did a neat little medley of Queen songs and the dance team was actually pretty good (even though two of the velociraptors tore each other completely to pieces during “Bicycle”) but there was a pyrotechnics problem near the “We Are The Champions” finale that began the chain of events that eventually led to the part where me and KP were making out with a couple of hot fire fighters off-duty on a plane to Maui. Let me digress…
One of the strobes popped a fraction of a second before cue, which spooked the triceratops into spearing the rump of the brontosaurus right before it was supposed to do it’s one-man (lizard?) rendition of the car scene in Grease (this car is systematic…). It being a bit of a princess as it were, it refused to go onstage so the mastodon had to do it instead, which, you know, he was fine with until the brontosaurus got jealous and so he lumbered on stage, which is about the time when everybody (including the crew and roadies) realized that these were not robots, but actual dinosaurs. Oops! There was blood everywhere.
I know what you’re thinking, and believe me I thought the same thing, hey! Aren’t brontosauruses the sweet, lumbering, vegetarian hippies of the Paleolithic age? Weren’t they non-violent? Hell no! That thing was kicking some major ass until the mastodon’s crazy-eyed buddy stegosaurus came to his rescue and started talking some mad shit. Then all the dinosaurs got in on it and dino-wars was really cool for the first fifteen minutes, until they turned on the audience and started picking people out of the upper bowl like Skittles. We decided that we should probably bail. And lucky for me, KP had previous dino-wrestling experience because if it weren’t for her subduing that paleosaur at the last minute, we might have never made it out alive. Thank god the Van Andel made exits that were only big enough for people (in this case, the few raggedy, limbless survivors) and not dinosaurs because that gave us the precious time we needed to escape before they busted down all the walls and went on a rampage down Monroe Avenue.
And who do you think was currently checking into the Marriot Courtyard across the street on a trip to visit his buddies in Grand Rapids while on vacation from the L.A. Kings? Mr. Kyle Quincy! If you’re still breathing in the West Michigan area right now, you have him and him alone to thank. He, thanks to his Canadian upbringing, (with the help of KP and a few other trained dino-wrestlers they had to call in from Special Forces) was able to round up almost all of the marauding dinosaurs from the area before it was too late and they tore the entire town to bloody stumps and entrails. Mind you, I said most of the dinosaurs, most. The rest, about the fire fighters and Maui, you can piece together yourselves. Aloha!
What’s my point? I found myself in the possession of a ticket to see the band Candlebox on a few Monday night's ago at the Intersection. After locating them on my timeline of Awesome and seeing them all lumped in the icy depths with the unforgivable suckage of Collective Soul, Toad the Wet Sprocket, the Verve Pipe (sorry, yo), and Creed, needless to say, I was not expecting much. But, it was a great show! They kinda rocked a little bit. Age hasn’t been much of a hindrance to these guys (especially the singer and lead ax man. Call me! Please! I’ll make you a casserole!) and there was enough gratuitous shredding and cussing that any dirtbag rock snob and aging groupie (like me) would get a little rock, in and around the mouth. Steph from downstairs was fun, the opening band A Verse Unsung channeled a little Beastie Boys rowdiness, and Grand Rapids’ own Fled 5 proved that they were more than just a dummy corporation set up to net ass. So for dinner that night, I had a little bit of crow with my chicken tenders and will officially go on the record to say that Candlebox does not, in fact, suck (except for that acoustic guitar thing. The song wasn’t too bad, but why stop the rock? You had me at “FUCK Y-Y-Y-Y-YEAH!”) like I thought they did. The 90’s in general though, still sucked balls. Write that down.
Me and KP were not, however, granted the luxury of Walking with the Dinosaurs at Van Andel a few weeks ago. Tickets were $80. What the fuck? How am I supposed to buy more drugs if I have to spend $80 every time I want to see a freaking dinosaur? Not cool, man. So here’s how I imagined it would be instead:
After the first T Rex (which was an adorable baby. Rhaa!) ate six children in the VIP seats, me and KP were exchanging nervous glances and thinking what luck that our seats were not front row and that KP finished her hot dog prior to the dinosaurs coming out of their dressing rooms (which were very big, indeed). It was actually a decent, quiet little showie show, until after half-time, when the carnage really began. Their marching band did a neat little medley of Queen songs and the dance team was actually pretty good (even though two of the velociraptors tore each other completely to pieces during “Bicycle”) but there was a pyrotechnics problem near the “We Are The Champions” finale that began the chain of events that eventually led to the part where me and KP were making out with a couple of hot fire fighters off-duty on a plane to Maui. Let me digress…
One of the strobes popped a fraction of a second before cue, which spooked the triceratops into spearing the rump of the brontosaurus right before it was supposed to do it’s one-man (lizard?) rendition of the car scene in Grease (this car is systematic…). It being a bit of a princess as it were, it refused to go onstage so the mastodon had to do it instead, which, you know, he was fine with until the brontosaurus got jealous and so he lumbered on stage, which is about the time when everybody (including the crew and roadies) realized that these were not robots, but actual dinosaurs. Oops! There was blood everywhere.
I know what you’re thinking, and believe me I thought the same thing, hey! Aren’t brontosauruses the sweet, lumbering, vegetarian hippies of the Paleolithic age? Weren’t they non-violent? Hell no! That thing was kicking some major ass until the mastodon’s crazy-eyed buddy stegosaurus came to his rescue and started talking some mad shit. Then all the dinosaurs got in on it and dino-wars was really cool for the first fifteen minutes, until they turned on the audience and started picking people out of the upper bowl like Skittles. We decided that we should probably bail. And lucky for me, KP had previous dino-wrestling experience because if it weren’t for her subduing that paleosaur at the last minute, we might have never made it out alive. Thank god the Van Andel made exits that were only big enough for people (in this case, the few raggedy, limbless survivors) and not dinosaurs because that gave us the precious time we needed to escape before they busted down all the walls and went on a rampage down Monroe Avenue.
And who do you think was currently checking into the Marriot Courtyard across the street on a trip to visit his buddies in Grand Rapids while on vacation from the L.A. Kings? Mr. Kyle Quincy! If you’re still breathing in the West Michigan area right now, you have him and him alone to thank. He, thanks to his Canadian upbringing, (with the help of KP and a few other trained dino-wrestlers they had to call in from Special Forces) was able to round up almost all of the marauding dinosaurs from the area before it was too late and they tore the entire town to bloody stumps and entrails. Mind you, I said most of the dinosaurs, most. The rest, about the fire fighters and Maui, you can piece together yourselves. Aloha!
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