onlydrinkhighlife

Steve Phillips - The Movie

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 04:23:00 +0000

Yesterday, it was reported that Steve Phillips, a baseball analyst for ESPN, was suspended for one week because he was having an affair with a 22-year-old production assistant named Brooke Hundley. Unfortunately for Phillips, the suspension is the least of his worries. Phillips is married and when he tried to break it off with the 22-year-old, she went nuts and started stalking and harrassing his wife and kids. She even left a letter on the door of his home addressed to his wife detailing the affair and slamming his marriage. The full letter can be found here. And believe it or not, that isn't even the worst part of this story. The worst part of this story is that the woman that Steve Phillips cheated on his wife with, and jeopardized his career for, looks like this:

I figured such a intriguing story has a good chance of becoming a movie, so I tried to come up with the perfect cast for the two leads.

The pick for Steve Phillips is pretty obvious: John Slattery of Mad Men fame.

I tried to think which young Hollywood star could best capture the unique look of Brooke, one person immediately popped in my head: the skater dude from Clueless.

I realize that he would have to put on some weight for the role, but I'm sure that Breckin Meyer would have no problem making that sacrifice for the opportunity to play such a star-making role.

Then inspiration struck. Forget the dude from Clueless. Sure, he's the perfect actor for the role, but he isn't the perfect character for the role. I admit, that my suggestion is a little out there, but once you see it, I think you'll agree that when it comes to the perfect portrayal of Brook Hundley, Junior Gorg is the only option. See for yourself, and just try to argue with me:

I've even come up with a title for the movie and created a mock-up movie poster to help drum up interest and get this thing made. The title and poster are based on the fact that this psycho looks like the modern day equivalent of Marla Hooch from A League of Their Own.

Randos

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 01:19:00 +0000

There is something about being at a major league baseball game that makes grown men retarded. Mental retardation is the only explanation for why 40 year old dudes sitting in $80 seats fight with each other and children over a 79 cent foul ball. It is even worse when these losers fight over a ball that's tossed into the crowd by a base coach or player at the end of an inning. Are they going to put it on their dresser in their bedroom like they are 8 fucking years old or something? "Yeah, this is a ball I caught at a Tigers game last year. Well, no it wasn't a home run ball. Actually, the first base coach for the Royals threw it into the stands after the infielders warmed up with it. He was trying to toss it to some kid, but it went through his hands and I managed to elbow him out of the way and found it underneath the seats. The kid looked like he was gonna cry and his parents started talking shit, but what I can I say? I wanted it more than the kid did and that's why it's on my dresser and not his. Hey, where are you going? What do you mean you have to work early tomorrow?

***************

I attribute a lot of Saved By The Bell's success to the fact that it used to be on 4 times a day, Monday through Friday when many of us were growing up. It couldn't be avoided. (Except by the kid at my school who didn't have a TV in his house. But even without a TV, he had still seen a couple episodes. After one of the few times he managed to watch an episode, he was telling me and my friends that Slater was his favorite character because he was so funny. We couldn't understand it, because everyone knows Slater wasn't that funny, so we verified he was actually talking about Slater. Mike Teevee-less answered "yeah, the guy with curly hair," so we kept asking him to describe what was so funny. As he went into detail, it became apparent that he wasn't talking about Slater, but Screech. Holy shit, did I want to beat this kid up when I realized that. For one, he confused Slater with Screech. Who does that? And two, he actually thought Screech was funny! I can't think of two better reasons for administering a beat down. Well I can, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, I've been wondering why no one ever aired reruns of California Dreams, the show that used to run after Saved By The Bell. If you remember correctly, the show was about "surf dudes with attitudes." It was kinda groovy.

I really think if TBS or USA would've picked up the syndication rights to this show and subjected kids to the reruns of it on a daily basis for 15 years like they did with Saved By The Bell, Jimmy Fallon might be begging Brent Gore to join a California Dreams reunion show instead of begging Mark-Paul Gosselar. I'll admit that it isn't as great as Saved By The Bell, but it was definitely better than that piece of shit, Hang Time.

And just because it's awesome, here's a clip of Mr. Belding getting to the bottom of things:

***************

Considering that she was a poor, ugly, nerdy girl who didn't fit in with the popular, rich crowd at West Beverly High, you would think that Andrea Zuckerman would just go with the flow and not insist that people pronounce her name as "AHN-drea" instead of the more normal "ANN-drea." But no, she had to be a complete bitch about it.

***************

One of the most underrated funny lines in Back to the Future is right at the end of the movie when Marty (SPOILER ALERT) returns to the perfect version of 1985 and Doc busts into the driveway saying he has to take Marty back to the future and that Jennifer can come along because "it concerns her too." Marty's immediate reaction is to ask "What, do we become assholes or something?"

I love the fact that that is the first thing that Marty's worried about. How great would it be if that was what the sequel was about?

***************

If I was in charge of the advertising campaign for the morning after pill, I wouldn't call it "Plan B" like they do now. That makes it sound as if needing the pill is something to be ashamed of. Instead, I would call it "Plan Be Awesome." As in, "I think I'm going to be awesome tonight and not make him wear a condom."

2nd Annual Booze 'n Bike Rally

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 02:16:00 +0000

On Saturday, July 11th, 2009, a group of friends and I participated in an event that challenged our bodies, our hearts, our minds, and our livers by participating in the 2nd Annual Booze 'n Bike Rally. That's right. For the second year in a row, we went on a pub crawl on our bicycles. The crawl was 22 miles long and included 18 bars. Each person was required to drink 1 beer per bar. At each Irish bar, an Irish Car Bomb was required, in lieu of beer. We began the sojourn at 11a.m. at the Crestwood Lounge. Last year I kept extensive notes and posted them here. However this year I decided to change it up a little. Instead of a running diary, I enlisted with my friend The Grodfather to help me write reviews for each of the bars we patronized. I've included the reviews below and added anything else I could remember from the day's events.

To commemorate the event, the Grodfather did something completely awesome and bought everyone yellow wristbands, like the kind Lance Armstrong wears. Except ours didn't have the phrase "Live Strong" on them. We live by a different motto: Bike Drunk.

We had more participants this year than we had last year, but only four returning riders, due to a variety of reasons including scheduling conflicts and people being lame. At the first bar, people began taking in who was missing from the previous year, which led to the following exchange:

"Why isn't Lizz doing the rally this year?"
"Her girlfriend wanted to go camping with friends, so she had to do that instead."
"Oooh, I don't blame her then. Her girlfriend is hot...you gotta lock that down."

Bar #1 - Crestwood Lounge

Description: A blue collar bar that features bikini-clad waitresses and, inexplicably, luau décor.

Price of a Miller High Life: $1.75 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: Coke. Or for a bikini-clad waitress’s ex-boyfriend to kick your ass for staring at his property.

Rating: 2 Stars (Docked half a star for not having any TP in the ladies room).

When riding up to the next bar, it looked they were closed and we'd have to come up with a quick Plan B. Delaney didn't hesitate: "Let's go next door to the 7-11 since they are giving aways free Slurpees today because today is 7/11, and then we can buy a fifth of vodka and pour it into them." The idea was a stellar one, but the second bar ended up not being closed, so the plan never came to fruition.

Bar #2 - East Side Mario's

Description: Casual neighborhood Italian restaurant and bar.

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – Miller Lite was $3.25 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: Free peanuts, cheap appetizers, and people in khakis and polos enjoying authentic “EYE-talian” cuisine.

Rating: 2 ½ Stars – Free peanuts is a plus but not having a High Life to wash’em down with is a minus.

On our way to the third bar.

Bar #3 - PY Stix (Nee Oceans 11, nee Jamie’s Again, nee Jamie’s Jammers II, nee Jamie’s Jammers)

Description: They were closed!

Price of a Miller High Life: Unknown

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A reason to turn around and go home to spend time with your family.

Rating: Zero Stars – A complete dick move by them by being closed when we wanted to drink there. No wonder they’ve gone bankrupt so many times.

When we hit this speed up we decided to just go to the next bar on the route and try to add another bar to the route later on in the day.

This is what a closed, shitty bar looks like.

The New Bar #3 - Mason’s Bar and Grill

Description: A local landmark where High Life is simply referred to as “Miller.”

Price of a Miller High Life: $2.95 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: The best burger in Livonia, and napkins proclaiming as much, as well as good honest folk with real lives and real stories. (It’s the salt of the Earth in this joint.) Their burgers really are the tits though.

Rating: 4 Stars – Don’t leave this place without eating a burger. For reals.

At Mason's, one of the riders got a banana out of their backpack and began eating it. Naturally, we started giving them a hard time. I mean they were eating fruit. In a bar. I don't even think that's legal. We cut them a break when they explained that they had a bad case of diarrhea and that eating bananas helped get rid of it. Can't really argue with that.

The banana: diarrhea's mortal enemy apparently.

Bar #4 - Plymouth Roadhouse

Description: Another bar with a bikini wait staff, but no Dalton! No Jeff Healy behind chicken wire either. (Yes, I know that Jeff Healy is dead, but still…just no excuse.)

Price of a Miller High Life: $2.75 a bottle. (The first bar to check I.D.’s.)

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A bikini wait staff that doesn’t seem to love the smell of cocaine as much as the staff at the Crestwood, and who are self-aware enough to work in a dark and dank bar so they can hide their embarrassing blemishes, cellulite, and scars.

Rating: The fact that the owner’s wife came to our table and gave us all free drink coupons was a nice show of hospitality and worthy of a bump of ½ a star in their rating: 2 Stars

After the above picture was taken, of Johnny and Chuck, the photographer told the guys to pose for one more picture and ordered Chuck to kiss Johnny. Chuck replied, without hesitation: "I want to kiss Johnny about as much as any other person in the world wants to kiss him." Needless to say, a second picture was not taken.

While drinking my High Life, I noticed that they had a food special going on. Me: Hey Andy, they're selling sliders for a buck here! Andy: Yeah, I'd need 2 bananas if I ate those.

Bar #5 - Paddy’s Pub

Description: An inauthentic Irish bar with faux Celtic décor.

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – We only ordered Irish Car Bombs, which were pricey. And delicious.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A place that looks like a finished basement from the late 70’s that features Guinness on tap.

Rating: 2 ½ Stars

Car Bombs at 1:25pm? Why not?

After downing his Car Bomb, 5 Mile bee-lined to the bathroom and promptly threw up. By the time he was done, most of the group had already left to start riding to the next stop. When 5 exited the bathroom, all the new friends he had made when ordering the round of shots offered to buy him a beer. 5 Mile declined, explaining that he didn't need it as he had to get going so he could meet up with the rest of the group and drink at the next bar on the route. I mention this because this may be the first time 5 Mile has ever turned down a free beer. EVER.

Bar #6 - Kickers

Description: A last minute addition thanks to PY Sticks not being open. They end up being closed as well. No rating or punishment for them, as they were not part of the initial route for a reason. This place sucks.

The New Bar #6 - Levan Wine Shop

Description: In keeping with tradition, we stopped at a party store to make up for the closed bar we weren’t able to patronize. And, no, “Levan” is not the name of a member of an 80’s R&B group. It is a road in Livonia, Michigan. However, “Levan” and “Livonia” are the names of the last two customer service reps you spoke with when you tried to lower your cable bill.

Price of a Miller High Life: $1.00 (comes with free paper bag to drink it out of).

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A party store.

Rating: 3 Stars

We all went into the party store and we each bought one loose bottle of beer. We then drank it in the parking lot and on the side of the building. Ten minutes later when we were finished our beers, Andy collected a few of the empties and went back into the store to return them to the same guy who sold to us. The guy gave Andy a look and asked "Havin' some fun today, huh?"

The party store's bathroom was quite spacious.

While we were drinking in front of the party store, a car driving by began honking wildly and slowed down enough so the driver could yell at us. "Hey that's not a bar! You gotta ride further down the road!!!" We were trying to figure out who the driver was when 5 Mile figured it out: "That's the dude who offered to buy me a beer at the last bar we were at! I told him I couldn't because I was on my way to another bar. I didn't realize he was gonna follow us there."

5 Mile's favorite expression happened to be written in cement in front of the party store.

The party store happened to be next to the Jewelry Factory of Livonia. Here in Metro Detroit, the Jewelry Factory's commercials are unavoidable, and always end with the company's employees slowly waving to the camera. For those of you lucky enough to have no clue what I'm talking about, here is the commercial.

Naturally, we decided to film our own version:

Bar #7 - Lake Pointe Yacht Club

Description: Yet another bikini bar. But this one is on a lake. There are no boats here, though. And certainly no yachts!

Price of a Miller High Life: $3.25 a bottle

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: Herpes.

Rating: 3 Stars

Group shot in front of beautiful Lake Newburgh.

Bar #8 - Buffalo Wild Wings (BW3’s)

Description: A national chain restaurant that prides themselves on their wings and offering a ton of different beers on tap. (Though they all taste the same.)

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – No High Life here, so we settled on Miller Lite at $3.50 a bottle

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: the oldest, plainest, wait staff this side of a Knights of Columbus. Think Carla from “Cheers” without the sarcasm but with all the kids and the no good ex-husband.

Rating: 3 ½ Stars (Surprisingly good service with as big of a group as we had.)

On the way to BW3's we passed Chuck's neighborhood and were surprised to see his family cheering us on with homemade signs. Later we found out that only some of his family was cheering us on. Chuck's little brother isn't a big fan of drinking, so he wanted to hold up a sign that read "Repent," but his dad wouldn't let him. So he explained to Chuck that when he made the sign for us he purposely left out an exclamation point and instead, inserted a period, because he was not excited about our event.

The "protest" sign.

Bar #9 - Bar Louie

Description: A fancy pants bar that caters to douche bags and old ladies who consider themselves “cougars.”

Price of a Miller High Life: $3.50! (Seriously, Bar Louie? $3.50? Fuck off.)

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: An overpriced drink and a snooty waitress.

Rating: 1 Star.

Bar Louie was the last place I took any notes other than for the reviews. For those wondering, the last note read: "Bar Louie = Gay."

Bar #10 - Champp’s

Description - A bar that tries to WAY too hard to be hip and happening and just ends up being way too loud.

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – Jarz bought everyone a Coors Light boomba for $4.59 a piece, because that’s just the kind of guy he is. (And because he didn’t pay for jack shit before or after Champp’s.)

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: a $35 sweatshirt to buy that has the bar’s name on it, so that when you wear it the next day and people ask you what you did last night you can smugly smile, point at your sweatshirt and say “I’ll give you three guesses!”

Rating: 2 ½ Stars.

Bar #11 - Claddagh

Description - A legit Irish bar.

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – Car Bombs again.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A bunch of affluent suburbanites from Livonia and Northville who want to show off their Irish roots by muscling down a Black and Tan. That and first daters…lots of first daters.

Rating: 3 Stars.

All smiles for the second round of Car Bombs.

Bar #12 - Doc’s Sports Retreat

Description: The self-proclaimed “Best Sports Bar in Livonia”

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a – They don’t serve High Life and I don’t remember what we bought instead.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: a place that licks balls.

Rating: 2 Stars (and that’s generous).

By all accounts, this is when the wheels began to come off (figuratively speaking). 5 Mile and Andy did Jaegerbombs in addition to their beers, we commandeered the jukebox, and people began performing the "Joe Baum" dance move in the middle of the bar.

The beat found 'em.

And for some reason that probably made sense at the time, I decided to steal an oversize cone from the parking lot and wear it on my head while riding to the next bar. It was way heavier than I thought and kept falling below my eyes. I have no idea how I didn't wipe out multiple times.

After successfully riding with this on my head, I placed it in front of the main entrance of the
next bar to see if people would respect the cone and use the other door. They did.

Bar #13 - George Murphy’s

Description: A bar located right off a golf course. Lots of polo shirts with pit stains in this place.

Price of a Miller High Life: $3.00 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: someone to tell you their bullshit story about how they almost broke 40 on the back nine but missed a couple 3 foot putts because the foursome in front of him didn’t properly repair their ball marks.

Rating: 3 Stars (But only if you’re sitting out on the patio, because drinking outside gives off the illusion that you’re actually doing something productive with your day. “Wow, it looks like somebody got some sun this weekend! Were you working hard out in your yard?” “Oh no, I was just crushing beers on the patio at G. Murhpy’s for about 5 hours and the patio umbrella was broken and wouldn’t stay up.”

Bar #14 - Coach’s Corner

Description: Neighborhood bar that has never given a free drink to anyone, for any reason, ever.

Price of a Miller High Life: $3.00 a bottle. (Though it’s better to buy a bucket of 5 at a time. It isn’t cheaper but the service is so bad, ordering 5 at once makes it easier on the waitress. Not that she appreciates it in any way, shape, or form.)

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: anyone connected, tangentially or otherwise, to Madonna College athletics and want to hear them rehash meaningless games that involve people you either don’t know or don’t give a shit about.

Rating: 1 ½ Stars. This place sucks donkey dick.

Bar #15 - Wintergarden

Description: A town pub with lots of wood furnishings. It is quaint, but highly flammable.

Price of a Miller High Life: n/a (too drunk to write down what we drank or how much it cost.)

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: a change of pace from every other bar in Livonia that is “lame as fuck.”

Rating: 2 Stars. (Gratuitious, but someone bought us a shot here, and I’m pretty sure that there weren’t any roofies in it.)

Somebody bought us shots along with our beers at this place. That probably wasn't a good idea because I'm pretty sure all of us felt like how Peter looks in this picture:

Of course I"m still okay to ride my bike, why?

Bar #16 - The Bench Pub

Description: An old school, hole-in-the-wall bar and proud of it. Recently remodeled to highlight their multiple dartboards, which is perfect for the numerous dart leagues and tournaments that they host.

Price of a Miller High Life: $2.75 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: An internet jukebox so that you can torment a blue collar crowd that doesn’t appreciate the music of Michael McDonald or Kenny Loggins and just want to play darts while rockin' out to Nickelback..

Rating: 1 ½ Stars. Fuck darts.

Bar #17 - O'Malley's

Description: An authentic Irish bar in the heart of Livonia that pays tribute to its heritage by having a regular karaoke to Don Henley songs on Saturday nights.

Price of a Miller High Life: Just Car Bombs, ma'am.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: A place with two apostrophes in its name. This place doesn't have much to offer.

Rating: 1 ½ Stars.

I'm pretty sure 5 Mile did 3 or 4 Car Bombs at this bar - no joke.

Bar #18 - The Stables (aka St. Able's)

Description: A windowless, smoky bar that is saved by it's unbelievable service. The waitstaff and bartenders are the best in the biz, people, and I'm not bullshitting. .

Price of a Miller High Life: $2.75 a bottle.

The perfect bar if you’re looking for: a Stablizer, which is a shot created by The Stables that is a concoction that includes a number of liquors, juices, and even some Miller High Life. It is highly recommended that you down one of these bad boys to "get stable" before your long drive home.

Rating: 4 ½ Stars.

The End of the Road

We made it to Stables and downed our Stablizers and waited in the parking lot for our friends and family to pick our drunk asses and our bikes up. A few people went straight home. Andy tried to head home on his bike, but was heading in the completely opposite direction and we were all too drunk to give a shit and let him know. We figured he'd figure it out sooner or later. The rest of us went back to George Murphy's to attend a benefit night that our friends were throwing. I'm happy to report that 4 hours later, the cone I had put in front of the main entrance was still in place and people were still using the other doors into the place because of it. I'm unhappy to report that 3 hours after that, I ended up throwing up. A lot. And through my nose. Somehow 12 hours of hard drinking turned my stomach into a neti pot.

Even with my night of barfing, I still don't think I ended up as bad as poor Peter, who suffered some injuries after taking a tumble off his bike. I'm sure his arm and leg will be healed in time for next year's rally, though I don't know if his liver (or any of our livers) will be. There's only one way to find out.

Final Booze 'n Bike Rally Tally:
22 Miles
17 Bars
15 Beers
15 Bikes
10 Hours of Drinking
3 Irish Car Bombs
2 Accidents
1 Stabilizer
1 Mystery Shot
1 Party Store
1 Debilitating hangover

Trade Deadline Look-alikes

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 05:53:00 +0000

The trade deadline for Major League Baseball recently passed and quite a few well-known players ended up getting traded. Many of the players traded bear an uncanny resemblance to some famous (and semi-famous) movie stars. As a public service, I've compiled a list of the players recently traded that have famous look-alikes

Jarrod Washburn - Jason Sudeikis.Jason Sudeikis has a recurring role on SNL as one half of an "A-Hole" couple that brings misery to innocent people. Hopefully Washburn will be able to make Detroit Tiger fans forget about Nate Robertson and Dontrelle Willis, the two A-Holes that have contributed absolutely zero this year.

Matt Holliday - Ethan Embry

Some of you may be wondering who Ethan Embry is. He was the bass player in "That Thing You Do," and the dude who was pining for Jennifer Love Hewitt in "Can't Hardly Wait." He was also in one of the worst movies ever that your wife/girlfriend probably loves: "Empire Records."

Jake Peavy - Danny McBride

If Jake Peavy was awesome, he would grow a mullet and mustache so that he looked like the spitting image of Kenny Powers, the washed up has-been pitcher Danny McBride plays in the HBO series "Eastbound and Down." As long as he started eating at White Castle on a regular basis, he'd fit right in with the rest of the south side of Chicago and endear himself to White Sox fans.

Cliff Lee - Bill Campbell

Cliff Lee looks so much like the guy who beat the crap out of Jennifer Lopez in the movie "Enough" that that might be enough for the violence-loving retards in Philly to embrace him no matter how poorly he pitches.

Scott Rolen - Randy Quaid

Scott Rolen doesn't know why they call it "Hamburger Helper" because it does just fine by itself. He also wants to know how you want your bun, light or dark?

Roy Halladay - Buford from "Raising Arizona"

I know that Roy Halladay didn't end up getting traded, but he was a big part of the trade talks and rumors and looks so much like the mouth-breathing kid whose family visits H.I. and Ed that I just had to include him. Hit the deck, boy!

Creepy Ginger Kid.

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 13:30:00 +0000

Talk about losing the lottery. You have a kid. He turns out to be red-headed. And fat. And creepy looking. AND he eats ice cream like this. In public. And on TV. This kid would crush a Ziggy Piggy.

Stories of Escalating Grossness.

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 21:17:00 +0000

I know that I haven't been updating this site for a while, but rest assured that I've still been collecting stories about my batshit crazy coworker. Please know that what I'm about to recount is jaw-droppingly inappropriate and pretty vulgar. Just remember that all of these stories occurred at work and in public.

A few months ago I was giving Batshit Crazy Lady shit about how much crap she had in and around her desk. She still had all the stuff I listed in a previous post, but now she had added a Halloween mask (even though its spring), a Santa hat (again, its spring), empty donut boxes, and a Thighmaster.

"Why in the world do you have a Thighmaster here? Take. It. Home! I haven't see you use it once since you've been here."

"I know, but I'm going to start to use it. Plus it's really good for my Kegels."

"Cankles?" I ask, already knowing that wasn't what she had said, but still hoping otherwise.

"No, Kegels," she replied.

"Jesus."

"Do you know what Kegels are?"

"Ugh, yes, I know what they-"

"They are exercises for vaginal muscles."

"I SAID I KNOW! You're really grossing me out."

"Are you going to report me to HR?" She's not worried, just curious.

"No, just stop telling me shit like that. Especially right before lunch."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll stop...it's just that they are really beneficial -"

"Seriously? You're still talking?"

"Okay, okay. I just wanted you to know, that's all."

"Thanks for the tip."

***

It was shortly after this conversation/horrifying revelation that I requested to move my desk away from hers. My boss, knowing full well how crazy Batshit Crazy Lady actually is, complied. But it wasn't long before her craziness crept back into my life.

At my new desk I sit next to a guy name T. He is easy going and laid back and we're about the same age so we get along pretty well. T and I both work a later shift than the rest of the people in our department. Unfortunately so does BCL. About a month ago, towards the end of the day, I see T and another coworker I'm friends with, Elle, both talking to BCL. They both keep laughing like crazy and covering their faces with their hands. They were laughing harder than I'd ever seen either of them laugh before. Though this piqued my interest to see what was so fucking funny, I knew better to get involved since they were talking to BCL, which is never good. Then an IM pop up on my computer screen. It is from Elle.

Elle: This lady is out of control. LOL. Can you hear what she's saying?
Me: Nope, and I don't think I wanna hear...she's crazy.
Elle: For real
Me: Yeah, I'm not joking. She's nuts.
Elle: And dirty too. You wouldn't believe what she's sayin
Me: I'd believe it. I used to sit next to her, remember?
Elle: She told T she only dates black guys.

(Both T and Elle are black. BCL is white. In case you were curious.)

Me: Of course she does.
Elle: And that she enjoys facials!
Me: Shut up. She didn't say that.
Elle: YES SHE DID!!!!!!!!
Me: Then she didn't mean it like that. She's retarded. She probably just meant massages.
Elle: No she meant it like the other facial
Me: Seriously, why would she even tell you guys that?
Elle: I don't fucking know! It's not like I asked her if she liked em
Me: Jesus, she is disgusting. What did she say when you and T started laughing?
Elle: She asked us what was so funny.
Me: She has to be retarded. Has to be.
Elle: I can't stop laughing...shes STILL talking about it!
Me: You're gonna make me throw up.

BCL then steps away from her desk and T comes back to his desk. T doesn't waste any time.

"That lady is off the chain! For real, man..."

"Yeah, I heard. Elle was IMing me about it. You know she couldn't have meant it like that."

"What? You mean about the facials?"

"Yeah, there's no way."

"Oh, there's no doubt she meant it like that. 'Cuz she kept going on about it. We started laughing when she first said it 'cuz it's so gross and like why would you tell your coworkers that? I mean I was already creeped out when she looked right at me and told me that she only dates black guys. And then she goes and tells us she likes facials. Me and Elle just busted up and she asks why we're laughing. She goes 'what is so funny about liking it when they finish on my face?' I thought Elle was gonna pee in her pants.

"You know...every time I think BCL can't possibly put a grosser image in my head, she comes back and does. What is her problem?

T stops laughing and gets serious. "Oh, she's got more than just one problem. Believe that."

***

Things were relatively slow after that, until the 60 year-old southern lady that sits next to plopped down at her desk on Thursday in a huff and exclaimed, "I don't even want to tell you what just happened in the bathroom!"

My response was immediate. "Yes you do. What happened?"

"It's Batshit Crazy Lady. That girl is sick."

"Oh dear God, what happened?"

"I can't tell you, it's just gross."

Now, I realized that I was talking to an old lady and was well aware that her idea of gross was probably much different than mine. Someone cutting a loud fart could be gross to her, while for my group of friends, cutting a loud fart is a proud accomplishment, worthy of a mass text informing everyone of the loudness and smelliness of said fart. So I knew I had to clarify what my co-worker meant by "gross."

"What, did she have some loud gas or something? Or a stinky doodie?" (My coworker is a sweet old lady I didn't want to offend her with coarse language, so I tried to be as polite as possible.)

"No, it wasn't that. C'mon that's what people do in the bathroom."

"Did she go number 2 and then try to show you?"

"Come on now, you're bein' silly."

"Well then what'd she do? Was she outside of the stall or inside it?"

"She was in the stall and me and another gal were both washing our hands at the sinks. And she was being...loud."

"Haha, she was being loud while pooping?

My coworker winces a little, raises her eyebrows and shakes her her head no.

I stop laughing when I realize she wasn't talking about pooping. "No!"

Her head switches from going left and right to up and down.

"NO!"

"I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know the gal next to me and she just looks at me and goes..."

My coworker then mouths "what." "the." "fuck?"

"Jim, she was being loud."

"Noooo!"

"I finally called out for her and asked if everything was alright in there and she says 'ohhhh yeeeaaaah.' Just like that. I can't even tell you what else she was saying. I just can't. I can't repeat it. That girl's a sick puppy though. I'll tell you that much!"

"Oh my god, that is disgusting. Who does that?"

"That's the worst part, Jim. She comes out of the stall and says "Whew, what a thrill!" And I make a face, because come on now. And she says ''You've never done that before?' Like I'm the weird one. I tell ya, she is NOT right."

"What did the other lady do who was in there? What'd she say about it?"

"I don't know. I'd never seen her before. She probably quit and went home after that."

I then ask her if she's going to tell our boss about it or go to HR. She gives me a look and says "Honey, if you're thinking I'm ever repeating that story to anyone else, you're more cuckoo than she is. She's gross and I'm done talking about it. She's gonna end up doing something around the wrong person, and then you watch the shit hit the fan."

I can't wait.

Know Your Audience

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Thu, 28 May 2009 04:35:00 +0000

Mother

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Sun, 10 May 2009 19:54:00 +0000

Mother,

On this day I wanted to give you thanks for telling me not to walk Glen Danzig's way, and for telling me not to hear his words., so I wouldn't hear what they mean and what they say.

Mother, thank you for trying to keep me in the dark for life and for trying to hide me from the waiting world.

Mother, thank you for telling me not to hold Glen Danzig's hand. And telling me not to understand. Oh Mother, thanks.

But Mother? Glen Danzig is not going to see the light. And if you want to find hell with him, he'll show you what it's like...until you're bleeding.

So Mother, don't bang heads with him, okay?

Love,

JFunk

A Night of Culture

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 02:54:00 +0000

I had to work yesterday for the first half of the MSU game, but was looking to go somewhere to watch the second half. I had talked to my buddy Kevin earlier in the day and he told me that he was at the bar with 5 Mile and Fake Jason Bennett. (He is fake because when my group of friends met him we already had a friend whose name was Jason Bennett and we needed a way to differentiate them, so we started calling him Fake Jason Bennett. But some of my friends like 5 Mile and Hodges and Bubs knew Fake Jason Bennett before they knew the Jason Bennett I was friends with, so they started calling him Real Jason Bennett. So basically we’ve made it more confusing than it ever was and accomplished nothing but giving the two Jason Bennett’s nicknames neither of them want.)

ANYWAY, I decide to meet them up at the White Rhino, where they’ve been since 2. (I didn’t realize this until I got there.) When I show up, the place is packed and Kevin is nowhere to be found. From the look and sound of it, 5 Mile and Fake Bennett aren’t the only ones who’ve been drinking all day. Everyone was loud and obnoxious. The place is the epitome of a Redford bar and has been a neighborhood staples for decades. (It’s the old Bullwinkles.) If you didn’t know where the bar was located and had to guess based only on the clientele, Redford would be one of your first guesses. I find 5 Mile and Fake Bennett sitting at the rail, and immediately realize they are both on walking blackouts.

5 Mile tries to put me in a headlock as his way of saying hello and Fake Bennett just keeps calling me a “sandbagging son of a bitch” and laughing. I fight off 5 Mile and tell him to relax only to have him stare at me – his eyes glazed like Krispy Kremes – and ask “what?” like he doesn’t know he's acting like an asshole. I can already tell this is going to be a shit show.

After telling me that Kevin left awhile ago to eat dinner with his family, 5 Mile gets up from his seat and lets me sit down so that he can stand and hit on the lady next to him. She was in her late 30’s and a bleach blonde. She had big boobs, but her gut made her look like she was doing an impression of a beanbag chair. Fake Bennett agreed with my assessment. How do I know this? Because he kept whispering it to me every 5 minutes. And by whispering I mean yelling.

“She’s got nice tits, but man I can’t handle that spare tire she’s got on her gut. Do you see it, JFunk? That gut? So many rolls dude! Big tits though!” I kept agreeing with Fake Bennett as quietly as possible, because I was pretty sure the Beanbag Lady or her boyfriend - who looked like he loved to fight and was good at it - would hear us considering that she was sitting right next to me and he was one seat away. But the close proximity of the boyfriend didn’t dissuade Fake Bennett’s brutally honest critiquing or 5 Mile’s blatant flirting. I don’t anything could’ve. They were fucking hammered and in their own world.

After about 20 minutes, Fake Bennett is nearly falling asleep. His girlfriend keeps elbowing him whenever his head is about to hit the bar. 5 Mile is still talking to Beanbag and has now made friends with her boyfriend and his meathead buddy. 5 Mile then decides that he and Fake Bennett need to drink the Raspberry Bombs that have been in front of them since I got there. Fake Bennett’s girlfriend wakes him up so he can do his. I watch Bennett down his shot and I grimace in sympathy. Fake Bennett immediately winces and puts hits head down on the bar and rests it in the crook of his bent elbow. He waits a beat and then gets up and race-walks to the bathroom.

I turn around to face 5 Mile to let him know that Bennett is about to barf only to see 5 standing like a zombie, with his chin completely covered in puke. I look down and there is a mess at his feet. He’s just standing there doing nothing.

“Jesus, 5 that’s disgusting. Wipe that shit off,” I yell as I throw a stack of napkins at him. He leaves the napkins, grabs the hard plastic mug that the Raspberry Bombs came in and proceeds to use the rim to scrape and collect the puke off his chin. Then he quietly pukes/spits a little bit more into the mug and places it on the back edge of the bar for the bartender to take it. He does this with no sense of urgency or embarrassment. At this point, I’m ready to throw up from the display. I pour some of my beer in the mug to cover up the puke a bit and give 5 some more napkins.

5 Mile then tries to explain his actions. “That wasn’t a Raspberry Bomb. That was a Cherry Bomb. I fucking hate cherry. I can’t do it. I fucking hate cherry. I don’t like anything cherry…except Hostess Cherry Pies. Seriously, I can’t do anything cherry – that’s why I puked.” Yeah, it was that cherry flavoring that made him puke, not the fifty shots he did before that. Fake Bennett returns from the bathroom and announces that he threw up 7 times. 5 Mile decides to celebrate this news by ordering another round of shots – this time making sure they are raspberry and not cherry.

For the rest of the game things went relatively smoothly. 5 Mile kept hitting on the Beanbag Lady and Fake Bennett had stopped dozing off and was now concentrating on trying to break up with his girlfriend. When the game ended, 5 Mile tried to collect on a $20 bet he made with the boyfriend of the beanbag before the game that State would win. They were joking around with each other about the bet, and the guy put a twenty on the bar under 5 Mile’s beer. 5 Mile didn’t notice this, so Fake Bennett leaned over and grabbed it when no one but me was looking.

“Bennett, put it back, man. You’re gonna start a fight over that,” I pleaded.

“Naw, it’s fine. They won’t even notice. I’ll use it to pay the tab anyway.”

He then filled out a Keno form and gave it to the bartender along with the twenty.

“How is that paying the tab?”

“Well once we win, it will.”

And that’s when I tapped out. I’d had enough. It was only a matter of time until one of these two drunks pissed the wrong person (or each other) off and cause trouble, and I didn’t want any part of it. There was no way I was going to catch up to them buzz-wise – not that I wanted to – and it’s no secret how little fun it is to be the only sober person in a group of drunks. So I waited until 5 was in deep conversation about Michigan versus State, and Fake Bennett was telling his girlfriend that he could kick her ass at ping pong and I got out of my seat and bee lined to my car, never looking back.

I don't hear from 5 again until this afternoon. We had the following text message exchange:

5 Mile: What a damn train wreck yesterday was. Holy hell.
Me: No shit. You were a mess.
5 Mile: Shit happens. It was all pretty much a disaster.
Me: Where'd you end up?
5 Mile: We went to Doc's and then stayed at Bennett's.
Me: How'd you get to Doc's? Do you remember it at all?
5 Mile: We got there by cab. I remember being at the bar and all that, just not leaving Doc's. End of the nite was a blur. Did make out with a twiz at Doc's tho...weird.
Me: I bet that twiz loved the taste of your vomit.
5 Mile: It was masked with beer and alcohol. She didn't stand a chance of knowing.
Me. So solid by you.
5 Mile: I'm a very clever lad.
Me: Ha. Classy too.
5 Mile. I'm all about class. It's my new thing.
Me: And now you get to be classy all over again on Monday nite.
5 Mile: It won't get rowdy like that again tomorrow. I can't do it if I wanna survive. Would make the week be garbage.
Me: Word.

Don't Call It a Comeback

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 04:20:00 +0000

Sorry for the lack of content on here recently. Here's a video montage of a bunch of TV reporters getting hurt to tide you over until I put up some original content.

He's a Chucker.

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 01:38:00 +0000

A ways back I linked to the prank war between these two dudes. This is the latest prank. It's pretty damn good.

The Worst Thing Ever.

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 02:00:00 +0000

While I was in Phoenix for the weekend, I met up with my dad's old college buddy, Doc. He's a great guy who is a ton of fun to hang out with and gets along with anyone. I had no doubt in my mind that he and my friends would get along swimmingly. We met up for drinks during the day at a Mexican restaurant and sat in their outdoor patio so we could enjoy the sun and the view. We didn't realize at the time how horrible the view would become.

It seemed like every female in the Phoenix had some ink on her skin, and our waitress at this place was no exception. She had a tattoo on her bicep, one on the back of her shoulder, and a big tramp stamp on her lower back with a bunch of writing on it. Because we're curious like cats, we struck up a conversation with the waitress and asked her what the writing was on her tattoo. She replied that it read either "Live, Laugh, Love" or "Live, Love, Laugh" but that she couldn't remember the exact order. She explained that her father used to always wear a necklace with this saying so when he died, she, her sister, and her brother all got the same tattoo with those words. I asked if her brother also got the tattoo on his lower back. He did not. I also wondered how she didn't know the correct order of the words considering that her dad wore the necklace and all the time and that she had a permanent tattoo of it. You would think you would know exactly what you're getting tattooed on your body. I kept these thoughts to myself.

Being the nice guy that he is, Doc kept talking with the waitress despite the depressing fact that her dad was dead. As he was talking I saw an old man with hugh, thigh-high leather boots on walking towards us. Trying to lighten the mood, I interrupted Doc, pointed out the old man, and asked the waitress if her dad had ever owned boots like that. Doc, 5 Mile, Willis, and I all started laughing, but the waitress didn't.

"That's nothing," she informed us. "Wait until you see his moose knuckle."

Doc turns to her and asks what she is talking about - and then recoils. He had just seen what she was talking about. We all turned to look at what had caused such a strong reaction - and then we all reacted the same way.

It was horrendous. I've never seen anything like it. It was a physical oddity.

"How did you know he was going to have...that?" I asked the waitress.

"He's a regular. He comes in here wearing that every week." she replied nonchalantly.

Doc was in shock. "I can't believe what I'm seeing. No one will believe it. Oh my god, this is unbelievable.

Doc continued, "I'm older than you and I think I've lived a full life. I've never, never, NEVER, seen anything like that. Goddammit. This guy just ruined my day. I might move back to Detroit 'cause of this guy. Willis, go over there and tell him I'll pay him $20 to sit on the other side of the table. I have the money too."

Willis declined and told Doc to do his own dirty work. Doc kept ranting.

"This guy has made me speechless. And you know me - I'm a pretty verbose and gregarious guy. And. I'm. Speechless. I'm ready to puke. I've lost my respect for humanity. I wish I was a member of the animal kingdom so I wouldn't have to know or experience this moose knuckle right now. I wish I didn't even know what a moose knuckle was. God, I hate that I'm seeing this. I can't even believe what I'm seeing. No one will believe it. No one. They'll just say "oh Doc's just exaggerating again.' Oh my god, this is unbelievable. Is this why Willis wanted to come here?"

I was in agreement with Doc. No one would believe us, and words couldn't accurately describe the monstrous spectacle we were subjected to. So I took out my digital camera and covertly took a few pictures. I've posted them below. You may not want to view them. Only scroll down if you want to be horrified.

I told you.

Summer

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 22:46:00 +0000

I spent this past weekend visiting my buddy WillisB in Phoenix. 5 Mile and Bubs also made the trip down, so we had a full wrecking crew. On Saturday night, we were at place called the Sandbar, and it was pretty jamming. Like any place that has a packed house there were a fair share of good looking people as well as a decent amount of fatties. At one point in the night two of these fatties barrel up to the bar and push me out of their way so they can order a drink. These girls were short and squat, both pushing two bills easy. 5 Mile sees this happen and looks at me, his eyes wide open in shock and asks "Can you believe that shit?"

I responded with a shrug of my shoulders, "At least I'm not stuck talking with her."

And then one of the girls in the group we were hanging out with decides to push me in to the fat girl next to me. I turn to the lady and immediately apologize explaining that I had said something sassy to a girl and that she had pushed me into her. I then said sorry again and went to turn away.

The lady grabbed me by the arm to stop me, because she had something she wanted to tell me: "You know fat girls like me get hit on more often than skinny ones do."

I just stared back at her. "Oh. Okay." I tried to turn to go again, but again she stopped me.

"You know my little 3-year-old girl looks just like Michele Tanner from 'Family Matters.'"

I tell her that Michel Tanner wasn't in "Family Matters" and that she probably means Urkel. She repeats that her kid looks like Michele Tanner from "Family Matters." Bill and 5 ask to see a picture, so that they can drag this out as long as possible.

I tell her again that she is mistaken and that her kid probably looks like Urkel.

"My kid doesn't look like fucking Urkel, alright?" she yells.

"What do you have against Urkel," I joke back. "Do you hate black people or something?"

"My kid is black."

Of course she is. Why wouldn't this conversation become more awkward?

I felt so stupid. I never knew that Danny Tanner's dead wife was black and that Michele Tanner was half-black. Before I could apologize, the lady continued.

"And my kid is going to be the next Beyonce, so I'm not going to have to work no more."

I was at a loss for words. I apologized again for bumping into her and told her that I hoped she would enjoy her night. But she wasn't done. And neither were the rest of my friends, who were enjoying the weirdness of this conversation too much to let it end. 5 Mile asks what her name is. She answers "Summer," and turns back to me. It's like she wants to make me jealous of her and her life.

"Do you know what Summer even means," she asks me.

"Um, the opposite of winter?" I reply. At this point I'm ready to jump off of a bridge to avoid this whack job. She ends up telling me what she thinks it means (which I forget, because I didn't care), then goes back to bragging about her kids. We then had this exchange:

Summer: My other baby's daddy used to be a model for Calvin Klein, so my 10 year-old boy is gonna be a big time model too, so I'm gonna be rich.

Me: Awesome.

Summer: But he's a midget.

She isn't joking.

Me: You call your son a midget? Like to his face? Don't you think that's mean?

Summer: Well, he is a midget!

Me: I know, but that's not really nice to keep calling him one.

Summer: He don't care. 'Cause he's an underwear model.

5 Mile: Really? So am I!

Summer: No, he actually models underwear.

5 Mile: So do I. I just modeled mine for the 15 girls waiting in line for the bathroom!

Summer: No, but he is for real. Do you want to see pictures?

Me: No, I don't think I need to be seen in public looking at pictures of 10-year-old boys in their underwear.

Summer: You know I could've modeled. I used to be 110 pounds.

Me: Well, I used to be in the 5th grade. Things change.

Before she could reply, I left her with 5 Mile. I think 5 Mile ended up making out with her. Or leaving shortly after me. I can't remember.

Best Bingo in Scrabble Ever.

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 08:04:00 +0000

It was worth 76 points.

Happy Valentines Day

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 21:59:00 +0000

What are you, the drummer?

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 19:49:00 +0000

Sometimes when I watch Letterman, I get the feeling that he is just a miserable fuck who is just as unhappy/bored with his job as anyone else. Because of this, it's always interesting to see him get fired up about something (like when he recently lit into the impeached governor of Illinois in an interview) or see him actually enjoy his own show, like in the two clips below.

I like this song a lot. The string section makes it particularly sweet. Those guys really get into it. I haven't seen a violinist rock out that hard since the final scene from "Revenge of the Nerds." I guess Dave hasn't either, because he fucking dug it too.

The Gaslight Anthem impressed Letterman as well. It's not hard to see why. The song rocks pretty hard. And if Billy Joel taught us anything, it's that you can't go wrong writing a song about good people dying young.

Hi, Billy Mays Here...

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 19:42:00 +0000

Word.

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 04:30:00 +0000

Ray Pruit speaks the truth:

Batshit Crazy Lady

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 16:24:00 +0000

So with my new job, I've recently moved my desk into a pod that I share with 3 other people. Each of us take up one corner and have our backs to each other. While I'd rather work in a private office by myself, with a door that locks, this setup isn't too bad. Except that I now sit by a lady who is batshit crazy. And doesn't hide it.

I first came into contact with her in meeting a few months ago. The meeting was about some stupid and simple change in procedure that everyone in the meeting already knew about. But we still had to sit through it so we could sign a paper saying we completed the training. The guy who was running the meeting knew that we already knew what was up, and we knew that we knew what was up so everyone was in unspoken agreement to burn through the thing as quickly as possible. Except for Batshit Crazy Lady. First off, she brought in a big notebook and was furiously taking notes in it - before the meeting even started. What the hell could she have been writing? Was she taking attendance? Did she think she was Harriet the fucking spy or something? Anyway, that immediately irritated me. So the dude running the meeting says he's gonna try to run through this as quickly as possible, and to keep things from getting bogged down, he asks that the group saves any questions until he is finished. He starts off explaining that this new process change needs to be done by everyone on the 1st of the month and on the 15th of the month. He says it as clear as day. BCL's hand - the one she's not scribbling notes with - immediately goes up. The speaker hesitates and then asks how he can help her.

"So we need to do this on the 1st of the month and on the 15th of the month?" BCL asks.

"Yes, or the next business day, should either of those dates fall on a weekend or holiday."

"And we do this every month?"

"Yes."

"On the 1st and the 15th."

This is when the audible sighs started. (From people other than me, believe it or not.) Seriously though, the room was completely silent when the speaker first said "the 1st and 15th." And it's not like we were in some huge auditorium. We were in a small office space, filled with less than 20 people. And the word "or" doesn't even sound like the word "and." This wasn't anything to be confused by. The speaker confirms again, that that is what he said. And BCL starts to ask another question. Keep in mind the speaker has gotten into about 90 seconds of his presentation so there was nothing that had to be clarified. The speaker again asks that everyone wait to ask any questions that they might have until the end of the meeting.

"But I still have a question about-"

A manager (apparently her manager) interrupts and tells her that he will meet with her after the meeting to answer any questions she still has. At that point I thanked God that I didn't have to deal with this lady on a daily basis.

Well, God ended up shitting on me and put me in the same workspace as her and in the same department. Her desk is now right next to mine. And it is as bad as I knew it would be.

This woman is socially retarded. You know how when people ask you how you're doing at work, they don't really mean it? Of course you know that. You realize it is just a way of saying hello. The person isn't taking a survey and doesn't actually care how you are doing. Just like when you ask someone at work how it's going, you don't want to hear any answer other than "good," "great," or "fine." It is understood that no one really gives a shit about how other people are doing at work. And if they actually do give a shit, they don't want to get into it while walking past your desk on their way to take a piss. Well this lady doesn't realize that. Every time my boss stops by to ask us how we're doing, she starts in on some rambling, pointless story.

"Oh, I could be better. Me and my boyfriend - well I don't know if should call him my boyfriend, but he's a guy I've been hanging out with a lot lately - we got into a big fight at Blockbuster last night. He didn't know what to rent, so I was suggesting good movies that I'd seen already, like "Legend of Bagger Vance" or "Rudy," but he wouldn't agree to anything!"

What the hell do you say to that? My response was to crank up the volume in my headphones so I wouldn't have to cringe listening to my boss feign interest in this black hole of a conversation.

And it's not just with greetings. Batshit Crazy Lady has an uncanny ability to make any interaction with her awkward and confusing for everyone in or around the conversation. The other day, one of the ladies I work with had to drop off a document for BCL. The lady dropping off the paper has worked at the company for years, and any sense of humor or frivolity or spark of life in this woman has been stripped away years ago. She is a no-nonsense, dour bitch. It's like she lived through the Great Depression and has never smiled or had fun since. I once sat next to her at a company lunch and as I was getting up to get myself a drink, I asked her if she wanted one because I saw that she didn't have a beverage in front of her. She told me that she didn't need anything because she doesn't drink when she eats. Now, I don't mean she doesn't drink alcohol when she eats. She doesn't drink anything when she eats. Ever. And why is that? "Because my mother didn't allow it growing up." Oh, okay. Not weird at all.

So what does Batshit Crazy Lady do when she is handed this document by this woman? Does she thank her? Of course not! That would be normal, so it doesn't apply. Instead, she asks this lady a question.

"Did you ever know?"

"Excuse me?"

BCL repeats the question, "Did you ever know?"

"Did I ever know what?" the Depression Lady asks back. She, like everyone else in the workspace has no clue what BCL is talking about.

"Did you ever know that you're my hero?"

That's right. Batshit Crazy Lady quoted a twenty year old Bette Midler song lyric to this woman. Why would she think that this woman knows what the hell she is talking about? She's probably never even listened to music, let alone the shit Bette Midler puts out. This is the same woman who has never had a sip of liquid with a meal in her life because 50 years ago, her mother didn't allow it. The fucking Amish aren't even that strict! No one on the planet would confuse this lady with someone you would pal around with or make retarded, awkward, jokes to for no reason. Except for the genius sitting next to me.

Then there is her desk. Holy shit, what a mess. When she moved in to the desk next to me, it took her 6 hours to move in all of her crap. 6 hours. It seems impossible, right? I mean how can it take someone that long to move from one cubicle to another. How much stuff can there be? Apparently, there can be a lot of stuff, if you don't limit it to things that are work-related.

She has a Sudoku book that is roughly the size of the Yellow Book pages. She has a box of Kleenex, a roll of paper towels, a box of handi-wipes, a bottle of hand sanitizer, a bottle of hand cream, a bottle of body moisturizer, a jar filled with hard candy, a basket filled with miniature chocolate bars, and a bunch of bananas. These are all on display around her computer on her desk. There are more things in her locked drawer, which she has transformed into a makeshit bomb shelter/disaster kit. In the drawer she has bottles of aspirin, Advil, Excedrin, DayQuil, Band-Aids, bandages, an ice pack, a heat patch, 4 cans of tuna fish, a box of crackers, a carton of cigarettes and a ziploc bag filled with about 30 lighters. I only know this, because she has offered me one of everything I've listed, numerous times. I don't know why she doesn't believe me when I tell her that I don't want a banana.

As annoying as this lady is, it's also really depressing. Not depressing in the sense that it's so sad that she's going to have go through life unknowingly bothering everyone she meets. That doesn't depress me, because I don't care about her. It's depressing because when I got promoted to this position I had a fleeting sense of accomplishment and pride. I say fleeting because those feelings disappeared when I realized that this lady got hired for the same position as I did. In the eyes of my company we are the exact same level. They interviewed her, interacted with her, and still found her fit to work the job that I had thought was somewhat hard to obtain. And now we both do the same thing. One of us just uses less bananas while doing it.

Awesome Feedback

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 23:09:00 +0000

I just received the following email about my John Tesh post from some wonderfully intelligent reader named Kathy:

AFTER SEARCHING FOR JOHN TESH, I FOUND THE SONG DEDICATED TO HIS MOTHER

"MOTHER I MISS YOU" HE IS EXCELLENT ON THE PIANO .....PERHAPS YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO

REAL MUSIC SUCH AS THIS ...WHEN YOU HAVE THE TIME , YOUR CHOICE IN MUSIC LOL IS VERY

BLEAK , YOU LISTEN TO OLD METALLICA , ETC ...AND OTHERS THAT REALLY ARE CRAPPY

R U A LOOSER ???? YES

Initially, I was going to dismiss this as some random email written by a moron. Then I realized that since Kathy wrote in all capital letters she must feel very strongly about her opinions, so the least I could is to take the time to consider her point of view. Then, I remembered that she likes John Tesh, which means her opinion means shit, so I decided to post this and make fun of her instead. Now who's the "looser," Kathy?

Hoagies and Grinders.

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 05:02:00 +0000

Ever since one of the best shows in the history of television ("Kid Nation") ended, I've been searching for a show to take its place. If the show "The Principal's Office" is anywhere close to as awesome as this clip, then I may have found a suitable replacement. It looks like the principal is taking their shit just for the benefit of the cameras and the students are acting out because of the camera as well, but these two dudes are genuinely funny so I gotta give them credit. It's quite possible that I will no longer use the word "goodbye" in 2009 and just use these guys' parting line instead.

Like Sleeve Of Wizard

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 06:19:00 +0000

By now I'm sure you all have seen the ubiquitous commercial for the Snuggie, which combines a blanket with the worlds largest sleeves. I'm not sure if it has a zipper or buttons in the back, or if you just wear it like a hospital gown. But let's be honest; who doesn't love the feeling you get when wearing hospital gown that it may fall off at any second? It's the perfect thing to wear outside on cold days when you want the warmth of a jacket, but still want something you can trip over. They come in three different colors, which I suggest taking advantage of if you plan on buying more than one, to avoid looking like you're part of a cult.

Unless you plan on sneaking into a Stonecutter's meeting.

Weekly Links

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Sat, 10 Jan 2009 01:38:00 +0000

Do you remember the "Wonder Years" episode where Kevin sucks at math so his no-nonsense teacher tutors him? If you're any kind of "Wonder Years" fan, you fuckin' better. So after the tutoring begins, things are going great. But then the teacher skips out on the last tutoring session right before the final exam, so Kevin throws a hissy and tanks the final on purpose. Then the teacher dies over the weekend. And Kevin rightfully feels like a piece of dump because he realizes that the teacher didn't ditch him, he was just too busy getting his ass kicked by cancer. But because this is Kevin's world and we're all just living in it, Kevin can't possibly fathom that something could be more important than teaching him how to factor polynomials. Then the principal says that before the teacher died, he left a new final for Kevin to take. Then Kevin really felt like a shithead, because he sees how much the teacher cared about his job and about Kevin. So an inspired Kevin retakes the test and dedicates it to his fallen teacher. Then the show plays a sad song and ends on a memoriam picture of the teacher from Kevin's yearbook. It was a sad ending and I'm not ashamed to admit it that one may get a bit teary if they aren't careful. You can watch the very end of the episode here. Anyway, the guy who played the teacher just died in real life. So now you can really let the waterworks go.

This report says that Donna is going to be showing up on the new "90210." I fucking hate Donna. She's the worst. But I love her ex-boyfriend, Ray Pruit, for obvious reasons. Now you can follow Ray on a daily basis.

You shoulda put a ring on it.

Here's another kid dancing, schooling a mascot at a basketball game. No, not the white kid, I'm talking about the black kid after him.

Here in Michigan, we don't have Sonic Burger's but we still have to sit through all of their commercials. So, I totally pick up what this girl is laying down.

Best customer ever.

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 02:30:00 +0000

Next week I start my new job at the Company. Apparently my customer service skills are so awesome that management has determined that I shouldn't waste them by trying to placate deadbeat customers who complain about their service getting disconnected due to nonpayment or by explaining to old milkshakes that the digital cable conversion in February doesn't mean that they have to buy an HDTV.

Instead, I get to deal with the real bitchy customers. The ones who threaten to sue us, or who have contacted the Attorney General, or who threaten to call up the FOX "Problem Solvers." Basically, my job will be to appease the customers who are causing the Company the biggest headaches. Fun, fun, fun.

Anyway, to commemorate my latest ascension up the corporate step-stool, I've decided to reflect back on the best customer call I ever received. As soon as I took the call I knew that I was a part of something special. I started taking notes, so as not to forget anything he said. I had always intended to write up an entry on here detailing the experience, but never got around to it and ended up misplacing the notes.

I found the notes today, and I'm glad I did. What follows is 100% real. I have not embellished for effect.

Me: Thank you for calling, how can I help you?

Customer: Hello? Hello?

Me: Hi, can you hear me?

Customer: Hello? Goddamn it, I hate these Jap-Chink phones! I can't hear shit. HELLO?

The guy sounds old and pretty haggard.

Me (louder): Sir, can you hear me? Hello?

Customer: Oh there ya are. Yeah, I wanna talk to someone about my cable bill.

Me: Okay, I'll be happy to help out with that. (I get his name and number and pull up his account information.) And what about the bill would you like to discuss?

Customer: How come the bill is high? It's horseshit. Did you guys raise the rates or something?

Me: Well sir, our records indicate that your balance for this month is higher than normal because of the pay-per-view charges on the account.

Customer: Are you talking about the "Jane Eats Joe" or "Joe Eats Jane" or whatever that shit is called?

Me: Uhh, yes sir. It appears that the pay-per-view charges were for adult movie titles.

Customer: Well that was my wife - not me! I might as well stick my dick in the TV for all the good those shows do for me.

Me: Okay, well even though you didn't order them, you still are responsible for them since someone in your household did order them.

Customer: Can I pay for that shit right now, over the phone?

Me: Yes, I can either process the payment for you for a $4 fee or I can transfer to you our automated system, which is free of charge.

Customer: So I gotta pay if you take the payment?

Me: Right, but if you do it yourself through the automated system it is free.

Customer: I can wipe my own ass myself too, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna do it!

Me: Okaaay, so you'd like me to take the payment then?

Customer: Yeah, yeah, what do I care about $4?

I take the guy's credit card info and submit the payment.

Me: Okay sir, you're all set. Is there anything else I can help you with today?

Customer: You ever been to Cancun?

Me: No sir, I haven't.

Customer: Good. Don't go. It sucks. Stay the hell out of all the Mexican countries.

Me: Okay, well is there anything else I can -

Customer: The Bahamas.

Me: The Bahamas?

Customer: The Bahamas is the place to go to get pussy.

Me: Hmm, well thanks for the advice.

Customer: But it's not free. You gotta pay for it.

Me: Good to know, thanks for clarifying.

Customer: You understand what I'm saying?

Me: Uh yeah, loud and clear. Things cost money in the Bahamas.

Customer: Naw, I mean are you having trouble understanding how I talk?

Me: Uh, no. I'm hearing you fine.

Customer: Because I don't talk too good because I got my teeth knocked out in a fight a ways back. I'm sure you can understand why, after listening to the way I talk. I got no goddamn patience for people.

Me: Well I couldn't tell. You sounded fine to me. Is there anything else I can help you with today?

30 seconds of silence.

Me: Sir, is there anything else?

Customer: No, no, no, that's all.

Me: Okay, well thank you for calling and I hope you have a good -

Customer: Okay. Rock 'n roll!

Click.

"Seat's Taken!"

onlydrinkhighlife@gmail.com (JFunk) — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 16:38:00 +0000

You know who I feel sorry for? Kids that have to walk to school. Not only because walking sucks to begin with, but because they miss out on the cathartic experience of riding a school bus everyday. I didn't appreciate it that much at the time, but looking back on it I now realize how great it was. The ride on the school bus gave slacker kids time to finish their homework before they got to school, allowed the nerds to finish their homework before they got home from school, allowed kids to ride in a vehicle without seatbelts, and allowed kids to do pretty much whatever they wanted.

The school bus was one of the only environments where a huge group of kids had practically no supervision. Think about when you were in the car with your family and how much shit you and your siblings could get away with because your parents were busy driving and couldn't effectively intimidate, punish, or enforce any rules from the front seat. Now multiply the number of kids by 20 and replace your parents with a bus driver. A bus driver that had no regular contact with either your parents or your teachers. A bus driver that got less respect than a substitute teacher and was less feared than a babysitter. A bus driver who wasn't allowed to ground you, hit you, assign extra homework or chores, or punish you in any meaningful way. That was the person in charge. It was essentially 40 kids isolated from the rest of the world with no authority figure anywhere. The only thing missing was a giant conch shell.

When I was one of the younger kids on the bus, I'll admit that it was pretty intimidating being on a bus filled with kids who could run wild. The back of the bus was filled with the older and cooler kids who could ruin your day if they wanted. My goal was to remain as anonymous as possible to avoid attracting any attention so I stayed near the front of the bus. But as each year passed, I'd gradually move closer to the back of the bus until finally I was one of the older kids and took up permanent residence in the back of the bus. Looking back on it, I don't know what Rosa Parks' problem was – the back of the bus was where it was at! It was prime real estate. She really missed out.

The school bus allowed kids to do whatever the hell they wanted, to whomever they wanted. It was a great way to let out pent-up frustration. There was nothing like salvaging a bad day at school by ruining someone else's day. Whether it was sneaking under seats to tie people's shoes together, or hiding their book bags, or throwing shit at cars, there was always something to do to alleviate the stress of the day or to inflict misery on the kids who you hated in school. And I admit that I did more than my fair share of making people miserable.

I didn't start out acting like a total asshole. I started off slowly, trying to gauge how much I could get away with and determining what the other kids on the bus would laugh at. I wasn't a big kid, so I wasn't a bully and didn't want to be one, because I still remembered what it was like to be one of the younger kids. I was a smartass and enjoyed pissing off people that I didn't like. Whenever I'd see people that annoyed me and was forced to be around them, it would ruin my day. I figured it was only fair to make them as miserable as they were making me. So I began to concentrate on doing just that.

There was one girl in particular who I couldn't stand. For the sake of privacy, I'll call her Sarah L. Actually, that's probably too obvious. I'll call her S. Little. I genuinely hated S. Little. She just bugged me to no end. Being a mean little snot, I naturally focused on her looks. I came up with the idea of giving her the nickname of "Shit-dusa." The thinking behind it being that - like Medusa - S. Little was so ugly that if you looked at her, you would turn to shit. Looking back on it, the insult was a little convoluted, but not a bad effort considering I was in the 5^th grade. To make sure everyone on the bus (like the 1^st and 2^nd graders kids) wouldn't have any qualms about adopting the new nickname for S. Little, I changed it to Poop-dusa, so no swearing was involoved. Not to brag, but it was a smart move because the nickname stuck and was a rousing success.

Then one day, Poop-dusa's mother came to my house to tell my mom how mean I was to Poop-dusa. And my mom, in spite of herself, laughed when she heard about the nickname. That was all I needed to realize that my actions on the bus had no real consequences. My confidence grew and my behavior worsened. I mean, I was expecting to be grounded, but all I had to do was stop using the nickname. That was fine by me; my mission had already been accomplished. It's like a guy starting the wave at a baseball game. Once the the wave catches on, it doesn't matter if the originator stops participating in it – the wave continues without him. Poop-dusa was my wave and I couldn't have stopped people from using that nickname even if I had wanted them to. (Which I didn't.)

After being told to lay off of Poop-dusa, I decided to set my sights on a bigger target. Literally. There was a kid on my bus who always bullied a lot of the younger kids. This kid was a year older than me and fat as fuck. He easily outweighed me by a hundred pounds and had a few inches on me as well. He was always disheveled and sweating. Joey was just a gross looking, baby gorilla of a middle schooler.

I decided to take a different approach in dealing with Joey. I would make fun of him and bug him until he reached his boiling point. He would then try to come after me and beat me up. I would jump over seats to avoid him and yell for the bus driver to get her attention. She would see Joey trying to fight me and would get him to stop. If he didn't listen and got a few punches in, she'd make him sit in the front of the bus for a few days. The punches hurt, but it was worth it to get Joey so frustrated and to see all the kids on the bus laugh at him for getting in trouble.

Joey wasn't stupid and quickly realized my intentions and would do his best to ignore me and not play into my trap. That just meant that I had to work harder at pissing him off. The usual stuff about his weight and sloppiness wasn't working on Joey; he'd heard all of it before and was becoming indifferent to the insults. I decided to throw a Hail Mary: I told Joey that my uncle was a cop and that the police were looking for a suspect with a belly button so big that a fist could fit inside it. I then quickly assured Joey that I wouldn't rat him out and that he could trust me. I had finally hit a nerve. Apparently Joey was sensitive about the size of his navel and he was pissed. No amount of yelling from the bus driver got Joey to calm down. I was trapped.

Joey got some good licks in before the bus came to his stop. Personally, I thought I took more punches than I deserved and felt like I should get my money's worth from the beating I just took. So I waited as Joey lumbered toward the bus's door. As soon as he stepped off the last step and onto the street, I yelled out the meanest thing I could think of, as loud as I could, to make sure Joey heard through the open bus windows.

"The only person who has a thicker mustache than Joey is his mother!"

I had taken the nuclear option. I had just insulted his mother and brought attention to the recent appearance of an awkwardly out of place, mid-puberty mustache that Joey had not yet shaved off: the two Achilles heels of any teenage Italian boy.

The bus erupted in laughter and I turned to look out the window to see Joey's reaction and to gloat that I had gotten the final word and come out victorious from our battle. That is when I saw the steam come out of Joey's ears. He was seeing red and charged the bus like a bull. There were still kids piling off the bus when I had yelled my insult and Joey was literally tossing these kids aside so he could climb back up the stairs and kick my ass.

I shrieked instructions to the bus driver. "Close the door! Close the door! Oh, shit…GO! Drive! DRIVE!" But it was too late. Joey had made it back on the bus and was walking right towards me. Accepting my fate, I brought my knees up to my chest and covered my head with my arms as Joey beat the ever-living shit out of me.

After Joey's fists got sore he walked off the bus and the bus driver closed the door. "Why'd you let him back on the bus," I asked.

"I couldn't have stopped him," she explained. "Plus, you deserved it."

I really couldn't argue with that logic.

I don't really have an end to this story, but let's just say that I learned my lesson and never made fun of anyone else ever again. Except the handicapped. And less fortunate. And ugly people. And by ugly, I mean fat. And by fat, I mean chubby. And by chubby, I mean ugly.