Monthly Archives: August 2012

Spicy lemonade with a chance of hallucinations … guest blogger with a trendy weight-loss plan, what can go wrong?


This is part one of what I hope are many parts … Today another mystery guest (cause no one wants their real name associated with this thing) talks about day one a diet called ‘master cleanse’ or some such crap.

Here we go …

Today I kicked off day 1 of my 10 day Master Cleanse adventure. “What the F is that” you say? It’s pretty simple … and by simple I mean fucking-stupid crazy …

For ten days I will forego solid food for a “lemonade” mixture of lemon juice,

just lemonade, for ten days, what could go wrong?

maple syrup and cayenne pepper. That’s right. Ten days, no food, just spicy lemonade. You can get all the details here.

So how did it to come to this? I’m an American and I’ve lived in Germany for four years now. I really look forward to getting back home every year or so, just to take in some American culture: Shopping and eating.

Well, after two weeks of gorging myself on every restaurant chain in sight back home in the States, I’m at my heaviest. weight. ever. So what better way to follow up a two week saturated fat binge than to chase is with a crash fad diet? I mean, right … ?

Exactly. Which brings me back to day one. Weighing in at a depressing 192.2 lbs., this morning was my starting point and I’m now about to call it a day.

So far, I can report that I am fucking hungry as shit and I would gladly strangle a transient for the chance to chew on stale bread … Other than that, so far, so good! The lemonade is just enough to keep me from gnawing my arm off, but it is only day one. Apparently, day two and three are much harder … as are day 5, day 7, day 9, day 4 and 6, 8 and 10 too … God this is going to suck …

I’m looking forward to seeing what I can shed in just 10 days, though. Also any side effects that include hallucinations or the perceived ability to fly or see through walls would be sweet but I won’t count on it …

So anyway, if you ever wanted to watch someone live-blog eating their own arm, stay tuned …

Wife’s in the hospital and the medical profession is weird. Seriously you folks are weird.


The good news upfront.

The wife’s in the hospital for at least one night and I have total access to porn or I can blog.

I chose to blog so you know what kind of dork I am.  That or I’m typing this one handed.

It’s up to you which one you believe.

Okay, stupid jokes aside.  She’s fine, the doctor realized I needed a night to blog and kept her.

Okay this time I mean it.  No more jokes.  At least until we clarify that yes the wife is fine and that the doctor wanted to keep her at least over night to pump her full of some antibiotics cause he has a medical degree and who are we to question that?

She’s totally fine, they caught ‘it’ early and anyway she’ll be home soon.   Seriously.  She’s good.   I’m pretty sure spilling out too much of her medical condition, here, violates something.

It might have been in our wedding vows but I wasn’t really paying attention.  Something, something, something, don’t blog about this woman’s medical stuff, something, something.  It was in there I’m sure.

She’s fine and that’s not what this update is about, only it kind of is, but in a roundabout way.

This is more about you medical professionals.

From the person that checks you into the hospital to the nurse that takes care of you to the doctor that treats you … yeah you folks …

What the fuck is wrong with all of you?

Don’t get me wrong you’re all saints, salt of the earth really and I’ll never get how any of you do it.

Not in a million years.

I avoid the doctor like the plague, which is odd cause the plague could be the reason I finally see one.    The plague or gout, I hope its gout cause gout sounds medieval.

Me to my imaginary medieval wife: “Well I WOULD go out and earn a living as the town drunkard tonight honey but fucking gout you know?”

Her:  “You just like saying gout.”

And I do like saying gout, so I’ll say it now.  You know to get it out.

Gout.

But back to you medical professionals, all of you are saints namely cause, I couldn’t do it for a second.

Oh I could do it for a second.   Hell I could do it for more than that but eventually I’d snap.

There would be a patient, in the waiting room looking down and holding one of those plastic bag things you puke into in the waiting room, looking pathetic.

Doctor me: Just fucking puke already, Jesus.  Use your finger asshat, are you sick or retarded?

My bedside manner would be level ‘Hitler’.

You’re all so fucking nice.  Surrounded by sick and sick and some sick, you’re nice.

I’d be depressed as shit all day long.

“And why are you seeing the doctor today?  You’re vomiting blood?  Jesus that fucked up, you’ve got some weird shit that makes that happen and you’re prolly going to die or something, god this job sucks.  Fuck everyone that comes in here is sick.  Hang on the boss wants to see me, again.”

I know, I know, my mom was a nurse.  Bedside manner, don’t call the patient a fucking retard and never, never anoint the doctor with ‘holy water’.

Doctor leaving my wife’s room:  what are you doing?

Me: Blessing the ground you walked on with holy water.

Doctor:  That’s a bottle of ‘smart water’

Me:  I know I blessed it in the car last time I had a cigarette, totally snuck a beer while I did it too.

Doctor:  You’re some sort of “religious official?”

Me: Totally, Doctor of Divinity did it in the 90’s.  The internet was a bit wild-west, loosey-goosey back then.   Two hundred bucks and bam you’re a doctor of divinity, I’ll send you the link.  Dunno if it’s still active or not though.

Doctor:  Please stop following me.

Me: I get that a lot, go in peace my son.

For likely the same reason I’d make a great dictator, I’d make a shitty medical worker.  You folks don’t seem to realize (of course you realize but for the sake of the following very-weak joke, you don’t realize) that you hold all the power.   Are you cold?  Fuck off and ask NICELY for a blanket.  Are you comfortable? Fuck you I’ll adjust whatever I want on my whim, you sick person need me more than I need you.

Seriously the surgeon, cause it looked for a moment like my wife was going into surgery, that did the consult with my wife found me wandering later in the hallways looking for a bathroom.  It was a familiar face and I asked him if he knew where a bathroom was figuring he just ‘knew’.    Shortly after I asked I realized he was in a hurry to the next appointment but he took the time to help me find one.

DUDE you save lives, I have to pee.  Hell if it gets bad enough I’ll pee my pants, I’ll pee in one of the hospital’s plants, hell I can just hold it.  Go, sir, go and tell me it’s ‘that way’ and go save lives.

I’d punch each of us in the face.  That in fact WOULD be the bill for each question.

I’ll answer your retard question sir or ma’am but the answerer requires that I punch you, in the face, yeah government regulations.  Sorry.

Mesh panties and pink saline bullets is a party medical people … we’re on to you.

I’ll end with the fact that she and I laughed snot out of noses about some of the names you all give shit.   Your fuckers aren’t funny, or maybe you are, cause the names of shit that ‘must be checked every shift’ are fucking hysterical.

Seriously mesh panties and pink saline bullets (see photo)?

What the fuck kind of weird sex parties are you fuckers having in these rooms after hours and can we get invites?

Please?

I mean once she’s better of course.

How not to buy your wife chocolate


I hope this comes across in the self-help spirit I intend. I’m hoping some level-two husband, you know the kind diligently watching Oprah reruns with his wife in hope of someday achieving level 5 so he gets the “night out with the boys” pass and eventually the level 25 “yeah it’s just us going to Vegas honey — no chicks,” uber-achievement special ability.

Or am I mixing up video games and real life again? Let that be a warning to all you young husbands out there, eventually the reward becomes you’ll agree to paint the fucking kitchen plaid if she’ll just shut up and leave you alone for 5 minutes.

Next time, I cut you.

Her: Honey I think we should paint your man-cave pink and decorate it with kitten photos …

You: Do you mean right now?

Her: No, no. Next week.

You: Fine as long as it’s not right now.

You get the drift.

The lesson, if she assumes it’s for her, it’s for her. I care not if you have to re-climb Mount Everest to get another item, the item you have that she thinks is for her, Is For Her.

You can stop reading right now, right here. That’s it in a nutshell. It’s a shitty intor to this update but it’s the gist of it.

There’s of course a reason I bring this up and that was the worst way to intro this story in the history of any damned story ever but here we are.

There’s a small convenience store not too far from my office. Close yet far enough away to warrant a general office-wide shout, “I’m going to the shoppette, does anyone need anything.” We all do this, sometimes people do want something, and sometimes they don’t.

Today the boss’s sweet tooth got the better of him and he wanted a bar of German chocolate. I was going to the store because I wanted a cup of coffee and the wife indicated she’d like a cup too she works, almost literally, next door to the store.

Yeah, yeah Dick Fucking Tracey you figured out where I’m going with this. Give yourself a ‘had a few beers special-little detective badge’ and keep reading.

So going to the store, two coffees and one chocolate (no I don’t need a bag but thank you mister check out dude with the weird pentagram necklace) later I find the Frau.

Who snatches up the chocolate like it’s her birth rite and I should be honored that I brought it to her.

Queen Lord Emperor of Oliverdom: “I see you brought me chocolate worthless peon! I will forgive you this time, that it does not contain nuts or fruits or other wholesome goodness as you have also brought the juice of the coffee

This chocolate does not contain nutty goodness … take it away!

plant, hot as I prefer it, but do not make this mistake again or you will feel my wrath though hundreds of trips to Ikea. Now be gone!”

Okay it wasn’t that bad but I was like, ‘fuck, now I have to go back to the store.”

The boss pointed out, when I told him he owed me double the cost of the chocolate that next time he’d send me for flowers.

He’s a laugh a fucking minute I tell you …

I also noticed that when she came home, the chocolate was in her bag, unopened.

Finally yes, she insists I ‘bold’ the words ‘Queen Lord Emperor of Oliverdom’.

Cause if I don’t … Ikea.

Chicks are evil; a case study. Also I’ll go to bed when I want Mom!


Women are evil.

It’s because they are helpless little frail creatures unable to confront men that makes them evil.

If you ask a man married for more than 6 months if women are evil he will think for a moment and say, they can be.  Ask any man married longer than 6 months if women are evil and he will tell you stories.

This is a story.

As I just said women are frail creatures that like flowers, the color pink or purple and cats.  They like cats because cats kill stuff and that makes no sense at all when you think about it.

Men on the other hand are hulking brutes that invented things like guns, beer and playboy centerfolds.  We’re just smart enough to not kill ourselves at any given moment and sometimes we’re not all that smart then even.

Perhaps it’s not that women are evil it’s just that women are smarter and the ones that we’ve let into our daily lives (day after, after day, after day, after day, after … oh god I need a beer) they gain an understanding of how to manipulate our behavior without our ever knowing our behavior was manipulated until after the manipulation occurred and then damn, it’s too late, you’ve been manipulated!

Women are manipulating.

My wife’s under the impression that I stay up to late and, years ago, she was right.  It’s hard to use a brain at anywhere near functioning capacity when you routinely go to bed at 2 a.m. and have to wake up at 6:30 a.m. but lately, the last year or so, it’s been a reasonable, I think, 9:30 or 10:00 at night for me.

I’m old screw you and get off my .com kids.

Going to bed a bit earlier is a good thing but for her that means 8:00 p.m. because the cat needs milking in the morning and someone needs to feed the washer and dryer I guess.

Klause died a lot ... it's okay though we 'sexxored all the ladies' and were 'mad pimps" but we died a lot really

Klause died a lot … it’s okay though we ‘sexxored all the ladies’ and were ‘mad pimps” but we died a lot really. We were level fail mostly.

Truly I don’t need to be up until 1 a.m. reading scientific journals and … okay I was totally trying to get to level 78 on my super wizard on everdork, or worldofdorkness or you’re not my mom so shut up.

Anyway in my mind 9:30 is perfectly reasonable.  It gives me plenty of time to post “it is NOT” on Facebook and to like people’s photos of kittens.   I specifically do not share things that people say 99 percent of their friends will not share because I want to be in the majority for once.

So I use that time to NOT do things as well, pretty smart amiright?!?!?!

So last night came and at 8 p.m. the following (typical dialog) occurred.

Her:   It’s 8 and I’m going to bed are you coming?

Me:  Not yet I’ve got a lot of facebook liking about this whole Chickfila thing to do!

Her: What?

Me:  (with an eye-roll) Loser, are you new to the ‘net’ or what?  If you support gay rights you have to go on facebook and like all the Chickfila appreciation days posts you see … man go to bed, I have work to do.

Her:  Umm no, that’s not right Todd.  The folks liking the Chickfila appreciating day are supporting the company’s decision to give millions of dollars to anti-gay marriage groups.

Me:  No, that’s not … wait, they are against (quick Google) HOLY SHIT I HAVE LIKE 40 THOUSAND LIKES TO UNLIKE!
Her:  Come to bed soon.

I did go to bed is the point.   At 9:30 after a vigorous work out of my right hand index finger during operation ‘unlike’.

And slept like a baby.

I don’t know about you but I’m a one snooze on the alarm kinda person, sure sometimes we hit it twice but I try for only one personally.

The alarm when off, I smacked it, swore under my breath that someone should

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

legislate a 10 am start of work law or something and then at 6:40 a.m. did my duty and got out of bed.   Bathroom break taken care of I headed down stairs for a cup of coffee and scan of the headlines on the iPad only to discover some asshole invented a 5:40 a.m. and I was currently living in it.

If you don’t know what happened go but up and read the first paragraph again.   Part of her plan to get me to go to bed earlier is to start setting my alarm earlier.

Women are evil I tell you.

I fixed her though, I took a nap on the couch from 5:50 to 6:30 … it was a pretty good nap too.

Yeah, yeah the Olympics … yawn.


Kittens are cute, unless they're killing stuff ...

Kittens are cute, unless they’re killing stuff …

This is a Had A Few Beers Blog first.  This update is a confession, and its not going to be a popular one.  Most of you will exit out of this blog with haste, swear loudly for ever allowing yourself into being fooled into reading this in the first place.  

A few of you will vomit in revulsion.  Someone may in fact faint.

No. I don’t hate kittens (I love kittens).  I’ve never kicked a baby (I love babies) and I’ve never robbed an elderly person (more than once).

It’s just that …

The Olympics bore me.  

There I said it. 

Let the hate mail flow in. 

You see I was born without the sports gene.   I blame my Mom.   Dad’s side of the family has the sports gene, Mom’s side of the family clearly lacks it.

You see I’ll play your goddamn sport, I don’t care what it is I’ll go out on the field and utterly make an ass of myself trying hard and wrecking my body in the process but fuck if I care how professionals or Olympians (is there a difference) play it.   I’ll even enjoy playing (albiet poorly) it.  But I could care less about watching it.  

But I’ll play basketball with you and I’ll suck at it but I’ll try my best.  I’ll get creamed as in “OH SHIT THAT HURT,” by someone twice my size playing American football but I’ll at least get the ball a few yards closer to the goal before that happens.

But when it comes to watching any sport (pro or otherwise) on TV, here is my rating on a scale of one to ten of their importance to me.  Ten being more awesome than a topless beer drinking contest and one being equal to a math test.

College football:  1

Pro sports of any kind: -78

Army vs. Navy Football: 1.002

Army vs. Navy anything else: Who cares?

Baseball: My balls itch, I should Google why my balls itch.

Hockey: see next entry.

Boxing: Jesus, ouch!   Why the hell do they … okay 1.00000003.  No, no it’s like -1.0000001, screw that.

Golf:  I suck, and I had lessons too, GOD I really sucks -1,000,000!

Point is I don’t give a shit about most sports and surely don’t give a shit about the Olympics.   I don’t care if the Chinese swimmer snorted

What the hell do you mean the Chinese have six more medals than ... oh who gives a shit ...

What the hell do you mean the Chinese have six more medals than … oh who gives a shit …

performance enhancement drugs off the Olympic organizer’s penis, then looked into the camera and said “haha American I use ‘roids’ so f’ you”. 

I say load the bastards up on drugs.  We already KNOW what the limits of the human body can do and even if we don’t the difference is measured in like milliseconds.  

With dope these athletes will absolutely shatter the records.  The testing shouldn’t be a matter of ‘do they have performance enhancing drugs in their systems’ it should be do they have ‘enough performance enhancing drugs in their systems?’

Did competitor X from country Y just test positive for excessive amounts of feral-dog testicle extraction?  

Yes? 

This year's Olympic Games are sponsored by Anabolic steroids!

This year’s Olympic Games are sponsored by Anabolic steroids!

Great get them on the field and for the love of god let the fans know.

I’m also the guy that wrote to Lance Armstrong and recommended that he put a nitrous canister into his anus for added performance during the race’s final leg so I might just be outside the mainstream here.

My phone just buzzed and that’s means there’s an ‘important news update.’  This happened because I set my phone to only buzz when there are important updates.

Like you know when Madonna flashed her over 50-year-old ass at a concert in Rome ?   Those kinds of updates.   You know, important shit updates.

No the ‘news alert’ is about someone, and I assume it’s an American someone, won a gold in something at the Olympics.   You can be on a cereal box now, congradufuckinglations.

We are so doing this wrong.

Which leads me to the following statement;  fuck sports on TV all together.

Seriously fuck them, fuck the players, fuck the coaches and mostly fuck you, the fans.

What the fuck do they do?  Why did Joe Paterno have a fucking statue on campus in the first place?  Because he led a group of young men to better fight over a football than another group of young men? 

A football costs like what, twelve bucks, maybe twenty, I don’t know.  Maybe it’s a hundred bucks but for fuck’s sake please stop fighting over it assholes. You’re not heroes to anyone and the game is pointless.   It may be fun to watch, sure, but it’s fucking pointless.

Same with the Olympics, and oddly they piss me off more.  Let’s just play a thought game.   What if fucking Guam wins EVERY gold medal there is.  I don’t care what the contest, they win every gold medal there is in it.  

The day after the Olympics, Russia is still Russia, Germany is still Germany, China is still China and Guam is still Guam.  

I don’t get it, I never will.  

I see the appreciation for a talented sports figure, I do.  Anyone that has trained themselves to that level deserves a look; they deserve your ‘appreciation’ maybe but do they deserve the level of fame they achieve? 

Certainly they do not. 

The Roman’s got this crap right 2,000 years ago.   Gladiators, charioteers and actors were famous but they were the lower rung run of society and you wouldn’t be caught dead talking to one.  Okay maybe it shouldn’t be that bad but they’re not glowing examples of all that’s good in the world with the exception of Michael Phelps and the bong incident, which was hysterical and classic.

My boss reads this blog.   I know because he has had to ‘talk to me’ once, twice or every update about the content here. 

He love’s sports.

I don’t. 

One of the most interesting talks we’ve ever had (non-work related at least) is about the whole Penn state fiasco.   

Child molestation aside, and no you can’t ever put that aside, I’ll never understand why we elevate people who are basically either A: chasing something meaningless (the ball) or B: directing the chasing of something meaningless (the game result) to hero like status.

Why did we do that?  What beyond their ability to chase a ball around did they do to tell us they were good people?  Sure there are exceptions, but they prove the rule.  They chase a ball around a court for no purpose other than it pays well.  You followed the ‘ball’ well, why?  It paid a lot of money and/or fame and/or the attention it gets you that’s why.

The result makes no difference and my brain cannot swallow it.

You know an award I could get behind?  The award that thanks Guatemala, China, Japan, the U.S., Russia and that country we all hate, yeah that one, for putting a manned mission on Mars and returning them home safely.  That award means something.  

Not to you?   Fuck Mars you say?  I don’t agree but I can get behind your disagreement, let’s put it toward ending world hunger, disease, war or stopping me from ever blogging again.

Any of that is better than the amount of effort we spend on fencing, I don’t care what your nationality. 

Because seriously fencing, who the fuck fences?