Tag Archives: cleavage

What the #$%@ do you people want?


I bet this girl doesn't check her stats. She doesn't have to, what with her being hot and all. http://finsnation.typepad.com/

I bet this girl doesn’t check her stats. She doesn’t have to, what with her being hot and all. http://finsnation.typepad.com/

I quit. Really, I fucking quit. There should be a Blogging 101 class you’re required to take before you start this crap.  Lesson one, day one should read something like, “Stats are a fucking mystery to us all, we recommend sacrificing a virgin at dawn to ensure good stats.”

This blogging shit is hard because I’ve become addicted to stats. Fran (editor extraordinaire)  says I am a people pleaser. She claims I’m eager to do what ever anyone wants to keep ’em coming back. But I don’t even really know Fran. She’s just some broad in North Carolina who (brilliantly ~ Fran) edits this drivel into a fun easy read. (She hopes ~Fran)

I don’t know why I obsess about it.I get the same exact amount of nothing if one person or a million people read this, so my obsession is similar to following Justin Bieber’s career.  I mean, if his career tanks tomorrow, sure you’ll be sad (dork), but you’re not out much. Same here with this effort.

Still though, what the fuck do these numbers mean?

There was a big uptick in March. Why?  February was down — man, it was down!  Why did so few people come here in February?  Was it something I said? In December and January we were up, baby! We had a lot of hits then. What the fuck does all this mean?

It means jack and shit. Nothing. It’s as pointless as changing your profile photo in support of a political cause. Which should mean SOMETHING to some of you, but likely won’t because no one reads this shit that deep except Fran and Marni … Sometime Maggie, but usually not and — fuck, what is this about again?

What the fuck is interesting to read here? Really, what do you find interesting to read here?

I didn't make this. I actually found it on a blog about gutters. A gutter cleaning blog by a gutter cleaner. He also wants people to read his blog. http://www.sparkle-king.com/

I didn’t make this. I actually found it on a blog about gutters. A gutter cleaning blog by a gutter cleaner. He also wants people to read his blog.
http://www.sparkle-king.com/

I think we need a poll. A good old-fashioned honest to “jebus” poll.  A poll that not only says, “This is what I expect out of this retarded blog, but also, this is what I would like out of this blog,” because if stats have told me anything it’s all about you, and I’m fucking all ABOUT you, or at least making you happy.  That sounds funny but it’s really, truly, honest. (See, I told ya. ~Fran)

I want to write things you will enjoy and read.

So, in an effort to figure out the whys, we can and shall — I decree — take a no-shit poll.

It’s right there above this paragraph, can you see it?  For the first time in the history of “Had a Few Beers” we have an real poll. You can’t vote 12 times, you can’t vote for “I like ponies.” You can’t do anything but vote.

Like a good ol’ I-love-God-and-Country American, we’re gonna vote.

I’m curious to see the results. So please vote.  Or leave a comment, comments are also good.

I didn’t die! Send cleavage shots! Happy birthday to me …


I have some good news.  I’m not dead.

I managed to survive another 365 days in a row without being hit by a car, beaten to death by a topless gang of over-endowed women or liver failure.

Yeah. It’s my birthday.

It might be a sign of age when you have to, for a moment at least, think about how old you are.

I literally had to pause for a moment and do, ‘math’.

Okay I was born in 1970, that’s an even number and it’s the year 2012 that’s also an even number, I was forty not that long ago …. Shit I’m what 42?  No that’s not right, it’s always +1 to the year in October dipshit.  You’re 43.

Fuck, I’m 43.

Which I guess is a deal, only it’s not.   The last major milestone was being old enough to be the president and I have to admit that birthday goal just blew by me unnoticed.   The last birthday I gave a crap about was the 21st because beer is good.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.  We will get to birthday milestones in a moment.

As you will come to understand, I think birthday celebrations for anyone over the age of 21 are stupid but I have no issue with scamming the birthday system for personal gain.

Moar Boobs!

I didn’t die, send boob shots!

To every well wisher, well every well wisher with boobs, I have a birthday request, I want a cleavage montage.   Want to wish me a happy birthday?  Then send me a photo of your cleavage.  Nothing will make me happier than a photo of your cleavage.

It’s what I want.

It’s my ‘special day’ after all.

If you cared, you’d do it.

Make it happen.

And NO cheating for the love of god, I want photos of cleavage taken by you for this special day.  No reposting some old shot you’ve had on Facebook for the last 15 months, I want fresh, new, exciting and fun cleavage taken for me because I didn’t die.

So cleavage shots are my special wish, picture me blowing out the candles on my birthday cake when I see them.

Do it now, I’ll wait.

Okay, are you back, did you post you’re cleavage shot?

Thanks.

English: Soldiers and Staff from the Robertson...

I want to slap everyone in this photo. (Photo credit: Who Cares)

Now that we’re done with that can we talk, I mean honestly talk about birthdays?  Mine, yours, that dude in the cube next to you, everyone’s birthday, can we talk about them?   Lewis Black makes a great point in pointing out that when you’re eight birthdays are awesome because you get cool shit!  He uses a wagon as an example and he’s right, to an eight-year-old a wagon is great, you put crap in it, you move it around and bamo, birthdays are cool.

At 16 you can drive and at 18 you can vote (but you don’t) and at 21 HELLO booze and then, what the fuck are we doing, really …

What. The. Fuck. Are. We. Doing?

After 21 you’re just not dying, really that’s all you’re doing.   Everyone is aging, every moment of every day, why celebrate some arbitrary point that, in the grand scheme of things, is meaningless?

I don’t get it.

I have friends that hate their birthdays because they, ‘got older’.   Here’s a stop of the clue-train friends, you got older reading this.

Happy getting older!

I’ve caught crap from people, for good reason, for making fun of Christmas and they’re right.  I’m an asshole for making fun of Christmas because stripped to its bare bones Christmas is just a winter festival.   It’s dark out a lot, the foods going away and ‘fuck’ everyone is depressed.  Let’s all get together, be happy, eat a lot and give each other a ‘I hope you like it present’ because this is the worst part of winter and it’s about to get better, spring is coming …

Easter is a festival that celebrates planting really and let’s be honest Halloween was originally about harvesting, all good holiday ideas then and now.

Birthday’s I don’t get though, really I don’t.  I appreciate the efforts friends and family go through to make it special, I really do.  I just don’t understand, at a base level, the point of any of it.   I was fully expected to live another year … I didn’t do anything extra-ordinary to get here, I just did.  Hell if my bar tabs are any indication I did everything I could to prevent this from happening.

Shit I’m a failure in fact!  I kid of course.

There is one thing about this ‘birth’, ‘day’ I’m proud of though.   For the last three of my four birthdays I’m spending it at the Joint Multinational Readiness Center working indirectly with Soldiers.  When I retired from the military there was this, ‘woosh’ moment that a lot of people go though I think.   I’m not in uniform anymore, shit!

After so many years of wearing it, it’s kind of weird, or was to me at least.   Suddenly you’re not really a part of the team anymore, sure they recognize you, they thank you but you’re no longer in their camp if that makes sense.

Fortunately right after my retirement Nick Sternberg hired me here at JMRC and I remember thinking, during my birthday, “if I have to work an 18-hour-day on my birthday, doing it helping soldiers is the best way there is to do it.”

I hope I have an 18 hour day tomorrow.

A boob/cleavage montage will totally make that 18-hour day … WORTH not dying!