Supplemental Jurisdiction

Answer: No.

In the past, I've said that the thing I hate the most is a stupid animated Christmas card featuring "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas.  Truly contempt worthy.  However, I now hate something else more:  that Heineken Light ad featuring "Don't Cha?" by the Pussycat Dolls. (I can't link directly to the video, but once you're on the website, click on "The Latest" tab, then on "The Ads", then on "TV Campaign.")

If the point of this commercial is to make me want to drink any light beer other than Heineken light, then Mission Accomplished.  Yeah, I'd even take a Milwaukee's Best Light over it, cause that's keeping it real.  There's only one reason you're drinking the Beast Light, and it is to get f'd up.  In college, it was also this same rationale that led me to purchase Natural Ice over Natural Light:  There is only one reason your buying Natural Light, and it isn't for the taste, so why not kick it up a notch to 5.9% ABV with Natty Ice?

By the way, while doing a quick search to make sure I correctly remembered the ABV of Natty Ice, I came across this valuable information on the A-B website:

   * Currently being test marketed
   * Natty UP is a robust lager with caffeine
   * Caffeinated beer with real beer taste ... not sweet
   * “Natty UP. party down”

Holy shit, they're making Natty with freaking caffeine in it now.  This is so you can drink even more Natty, as clearly indicated by their Wayne's World-esque slogan.  They should market Natty UP toward law students because this fills that niche of people who desperately need beer while studying for finals. 

Also glad to see Anheuser-Busch fully embracing the "Natty" nickname as well.

I go to a bar

I was involved in this interaction last night, while standing outside a bar waiting for a friend:

[Girl comes out of bar, smiles at me, I turn away.  Then, she notices a bike chained outside the bar.]

GIRL:  Oh my god, this bike is sooooo awesome!

[She starts to pet the bike like a golden retriever.]

GIRL:  Man, I want the perfect bike.

[I realize this girl is totally wasted and/or high.  I turn back around.]

ME:  Hey, how's it going?

Sometimes, I'm a bad man.

Obsession

So, last night I was watching VH1's "The Alternative" and after watching the video for "Zero" by the Smashing Pumpkins, I realized I'm kind of in love with D'arcy Wretzky.  So what if she does crack-cocaine?  I mean, that's going to get you a 3:1 100:1 sentencing enhancement over regular cocaine, but so what?  This is love I'm talking about, man.  Check out the video:

I admit, this makes me weird.  But I'm also a little bit tipsy while composing this, so give me some slack.  Anyway, word on the street is the Smashing Pumpkins are getting back together.  If D'arcy is involved, this is good news.

Why do I find her so attractive right now?  Is it because of the gin?  Probably.

[UPDATE]:  Now that I'm sober, I have to correct a few mistakes from last night's post (I'm used to this; I often make mistakes while drinking).  First, you can tell I wasn't quite right when I claimed the crack/cocaine ratio was only 3:1.  Shoot, Whitney Houston wishes.  Second, upon further review, I only find D'arcy Wretzky attractive in the Zero video, with her dark hair.  In everything else, I feel nothing for her.  Which is basically what I tell all my lady friends when they ask how I feel about them.  My heart is a black hole, people.

This is an intervention.

What I like about "Wednesday Wants to Know," courtesy Legally Blonde and The Namby Pamby, is that I don't have to come up with my own topic for that day.  Trust me, writing this crap four to five times a week is hard, even when I'm making up half of it. 

By the way, I'm getting slightly concerned about how often I write about alcohol.  I need an intervention.  An intervention where there are only hot girls and a keg of beer.  Oh, oh, and nachos.  Gots to have some nachos.  So, basically what I'm saying is I want to watch a basketball game, only with hot girls instead my usual fat, hairy friends.

Right, so onto the questions . . .

Question 1

a) What's the best drink to aid you to make your mind an etch-a-sketch?

Sidecar, made with cognac and cointreau.  If the bartender asks me what's in a Sidecar, I order a gin & tonic.

b) What will you sip/nurse/chug when you are in a social setting and you cannot appear to be a lush?

My standard: G & T. 

c) Some say you are being cultured, others say you are an alcoholic; when drinking alone, what is your poison of choice?

Usually just beer, but sometimes, when I want to show myself a good time, gin.  And probably some cheez whiz. 

Question 2: What has your drunk-ass done to embarrass the shit out of yourself the most?

Oh, I think it would definitely be this night.

Question 3: In your best Thomas Crown impression, what is the best way to debonairly buy a person you are attracted to a drink.

[Scene:  Local watering hole]
ME:  Yo, barkeep, send a martini to the fine looking gentleman across the bar.
BARTENDER:  Uh, you're the only one in here man.  You're looking at yourself in the mirror.
ME:  Dammit, I know!  And make it an appletini!

The New Math

This was a lost weekend.  Saturday was entirely filled with Man activities.  For 11 straight hours, an old friend and I watched basketball, drank Old Milwaukee (purchased for 41.46 cents a can), ate pork chops (with our hands and with no sides, just meat), and smoked cigars while freezing our asses off.  Life is good.

On Sunday, however, I got really creeped out, and not just by the guy in the apartment building across from me who always seems to be staring out his window and into my apartment.  (It is like a reverse Rear Window thing going on, only unlike Jimmy Stewart, I'm pretty sure this guy is naked and touching himself.)  I went to the contemporary art museum, and they had this sculpture, which is the most realistic mannequin you've ever seen.  Seriously, he's dressed like a guard, and last time I was there, my mother went up to it to ask it a question, totally thinking it was a real person.  Anyway, on Sunday I see they had a new one, and I thought, "Damn, that's a pretty realistic, although it is only slightly better than their old one."  I walked around the gallery, every now and then checking in on the new sculpture just to make sure, cause these things look freakin' real, like they belong in Madam Tussaud's, if Madam Tussaud's had good wax statues.

Eventually I convinced myself this is indeed a statue; it was in the same position that it had been since I arrived, which had been around 5 minutes.  Just as I was about to walk over to examine it, though, BAM!  It freaking moved!  I about wet my pants right there.  It was an actual museum guard who happened to be standing perfectly still for a solid 5 minutes, right next to a wax sculpture of another guard.  That is some surreal motherfucking shit, my friends, and it was entirely too contemporary for my ass so I high-tailed it back to my apartment, where I cracked open a Bud Light and tried not to think about the naked guy staring at me from across the street.

Domestic Dependent Drafts

Last night a bunch of us from work got together for a happy hour, where I had this conversation with our waiter:

ME:  I thought Boulevard's were part of the happy hour special.
WAITER:  No.  Only domestic beers.
ME:  Uh, Boulevard is made in this city.
WAITER:  Yeah.
ME:  Making it domestic.
WAITER:  I told you, only domestic beers are on special.
ME:  But not Boulevard?
WAITER:  I told you, only domestics, so of course not Boulevard.
ME:  Wait a minute, I'm confused.  What country are we in again?

Needless to say, I didn't get the happy hour price.

Pick-up lines

This is a line I heard at a bar frequented by law-type folks this evening. It involved a federal court clerk referring to a state court clerk:

"I'd like to preempt and occupy her field of regulation."

Nerds.

Fed. R. Evid. 801(d)(2)

The only time I've thrown up due to alcohol was when I was sophomore in college. One night, my friend Gene and I went to a bar known to serve minors, and partook of several pitchers of sangria. We then, unwisely, followed it up with several pitchers of Guinness. At some point, although I was still walking, and apparently talking, I actually lost consciousness. I don't remember anything. The next day a friend said he saw us at a local pizza joint, where I was proped up against the wall. My roommate, Mark, witnessed my return home, and was quite displeased with my subsequent behavior, which involved me falling on his floor, attempting to steal his beer, and then biting his ankle because it was the only thing left for me to do.

Mark then dragged me to my room, just to get rid of me, at which time I started singing "Old MacDonald's Farm." Of course he thinks I'm a country bumpkin (I am), and decides to exact his revenge at the same time. He dials Gene's number (who at this point in time is passed out in his room) with the intent of getting me to sing. Unfortunately he gets the answering machine. The result is the audio clip before you.

It's a celebration, bitches!

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Overheard in Kansas City

Like usual, this is less "overheard" and more "conversation I participated in." But here I make the rules. Note: The rules also say I'm dead sexy.

---------------------------

ME: How long did you quit drinking?

FRIEND: Not very long.

ME: So you broke open an emergency six-pack.

FRIEND: Yeah. And I cut my hand on the glass while doing it too. Luckily, alcohol thins the blood.

ME: Dude, that's a bad thing.

My Friends Are So Depressed

A couple of months ago, I was visiting my old roommates, staying with them in what has lovingly been termed the Roach Motel. (In fact, we had a party that weekend at the apartment, with the informal theme "Roachvemberfest." I say informal because some girl said we should probably not name it that on the evite if we actually wanted women at this party.)

Well, one of the roomies got blitzed one night, and the next morning he stumbled out of his bedroom carrying a sack. The following is a picture of its contents:

The three (3) silver things are jamaican beef patties, followed by pumpkin muffin, a slice of chocolate angel food cake, and a box of Entenmann's mini donoughts. Later he found another half-eaten jamaican beef patty in his room.

Apparently, when drunk, the kid gets real hungry. Especially for beef patties. But not hungry enough to actually eat all of it. In this apartment, SOP is to leave all this out in the common room for the roaches and mice, who take over during the evening hours.

So let this be a lesson: Drinking leads to poor decisionmaking.