Saturday, April 28, 2007
Politics Go So Good With Beer
So much, so much to say.
Since I was gone I wanted to say that thanks to this year's Chicago Bears . . . defense really doesn't win championships. So take that, you smart-ass pundits.
At work they just moved this guy who sat by us who was a real big Jesus-guy at the same time as he was a real big gigolo. Obviously, I know him as the Jesus-Gigolo. And it's so great that they moved him because he was a real nice, friendly guy I wanted to kill because he wouldn't stop laughing. Laughing at what? Oh, at women he thought were pathetic and easy and at all the non-Jesus people who weren't lured into going to church with him. Rather than try to converse with this mental giant, I avoided him, kind of like how Walter never really said anything to Jesus. "8-year-olds, Dude." My thoughts exactly.
My current favorite Pixies song is "I've Been Tired". Not just because I have been. But because it's funny and politics does go so good with beer. "Excuse me pleeeaaase?"
I'm drinking Black Dog Ale, right now. Out of . . . Montana, I think. It's really good. Flavorful. It's a real good beer for anybody who's had too many light beers lately. This is the kind of beer that proves to the drinker -- damnit, it's meant to have taste.
I'm so into this band, Lesser Birds of Paradise, that I wish I could be their drummer. They're from Chicago, so I probably didn't do myself a whole lot of good by just ripping the Bears. It's not that the drumming would be that much fun to play -- just regular rock. But the songs are so good, you just want to play on them. They know how to produce and mix. That's a lost art. They do this harmonization on one track that's so perfectly imperfect, you'll never hear it done better ever.
It's so wet around here, that we're pretty much screwed, I think, with regard to the mosquito situation. There's so much standing water that they're just multiplying exponentially. I go running and hit clouds of these things so thick I think they'll pick me up and take me to their leader.
I'm eating my wife's strawberry ice cream dessert as I write this. It's been in the freezer for more than a week since she told me she'd chop off my balls if I touched it, so I think it's fair game. Hell, it's partially freezer-burned, so I think I'm doing a service here, taking care of some good dessert before it goes bad. Things have actually been pretty good on the home front, and I think that is mostly to do with my wife's current obsession, which happens to be Trader Joe's sun-dried tomato, basil hummus. As long as that hummus in in stock in our fridge, things are copasetic around here. But if that hummus runs out . . . let God have mercy on the soul of the poor bastard who has to deal with my wife.
"running on empty, he's coming around, has had his plenty, and when I found, that the light is blinding, the streets are clear, and reveal these findings . . . ."
Since I was gone I wanted to say that thanks to this year's Chicago Bears . . . defense really doesn't win championships. So take that, you smart-ass pundits.
At work they just moved this guy who sat by us who was a real big Jesus-guy at the same time as he was a real big gigolo. Obviously, I know him as the Jesus-Gigolo. And it's so great that they moved him because he was a real nice, friendly guy I wanted to kill because he wouldn't stop laughing. Laughing at what? Oh, at women he thought were pathetic and easy and at all the non-Jesus people who weren't lured into going to church with him. Rather than try to converse with this mental giant, I avoided him, kind of like how Walter never really said anything to Jesus. "8-year-olds, Dude." My thoughts exactly.
My current favorite Pixies song is "I've Been Tired". Not just because I have been. But because it's funny and politics does go so good with beer. "Excuse me pleeeaaase?"
I'm drinking Black Dog Ale, right now. Out of . . . Montana, I think. It's really good. Flavorful. It's a real good beer for anybody who's had too many light beers lately. This is the kind of beer that proves to the drinker -- damnit, it's meant to have taste.
I'm so into this band, Lesser Birds of Paradise, that I wish I could be their drummer. They're from Chicago, so I probably didn't do myself a whole lot of good by just ripping the Bears. It's not that the drumming would be that much fun to play -- just regular rock. But the songs are so good, you just want to play on them. They know how to produce and mix. That's a lost art. They do this harmonization on one track that's so perfectly imperfect, you'll never hear it done better ever.
It's so wet around here, that we're pretty much screwed, I think, with regard to the mosquito situation. There's so much standing water that they're just multiplying exponentially. I go running and hit clouds of these things so thick I think they'll pick me up and take me to their leader.
I'm eating my wife's strawberry ice cream dessert as I write this. It's been in the freezer for more than a week since she told me she'd chop off my balls if I touched it, so I think it's fair game. Hell, it's partially freezer-burned, so I think I'm doing a service here, taking care of some good dessert before it goes bad. Things have actually been pretty good on the home front, and I think that is mostly to do with my wife's current obsession, which happens to be Trader Joe's sun-dried tomato, basil hummus. As long as that hummus in in stock in our fridge, things are copasetic around here. But if that hummus runs out . . . let God have mercy on the soul of the poor bastard who has to deal with my wife.
"running on empty, he's coming around, has had his plenty, and when I found, that the light is blinding, the streets are clear, and reveal these findings . . . ."
