Tag Archives: hadafewbeers.com

One hundred bottles of blog on the wall! Our 100th beer, I mean blog update


So here we are, the 100th update at Hadafewbeers.com.

Let’s fist bump in celebration. Go ahead and “blow it up” if you feel the desire. It’s that kind of party after all.

What our fist bump might look like if we were complete douches on The Bachelor.

What our fist bump might look like if we were complete douches on The Bachelor.

Seems kind of retarded doing another milestone update for this milestone, considering the Happy Birthday blog was just a month ago, but who cares? One hundred is a big number, and it’s a round number. Holy shit, it’s a BIG ROUND NUMBER! Actually I think “big round numbers” was the subject of a Dilbert cartoon that noted the only thing really special about 100 is that it’s big, and round — like boobs. 

But instead of looking back (again) on this craptastic crapfest of crap, I thought it might be better to thank a few people. I’d like to thank them mainly because they rock, but also because they help me suck less, a lot less, in fact.

Let’s start off with Fn Rotton which sounds kind of like Sex Pistol Johnny Rotten, only less cool. Fn Rotton, aka Fran, is my editor and she basically does everything she can to make me look like less of an idiot.

She's also threatened to stab me in the hand, through the computer, over hyphen useage.

She’s also threatened to stab me in the hand, through the computer, over hyphen-useage issues.

Clearly she’s only moderately successful, but look what she had to start with. Between yelling at me about my multiple spaces after periods; my retarded use of the single quotation marks (which this post was riddled with, you ass. ~ Editor); and words I think I made up, but are actually already words (or when I actually do make up a word, but I somehow still manage to misspell it), I’m not sure why she volunteered to edit this thing. She must be driven by some sort of sadomasochistic psychological abnormality. I would submit she could experience the same level of pain if she actually did pluck her eyes out, something she repeatedly threatens when I aggravate her. The closest I ever came to understanding why she edits this is when she told me, “because it’s ridiculous.” After that explanation, I learned some questions don’t need answers.

The original ad said "Fat Bastards" but the Society for the Protection of Fat Bastards was offended. Sensitive fat bastards.

The original ad said “Fat Bastards” but the Society for the Protection of Fat Bastards was offended, the sensitive fat bastards that they are.

Then, there’s Jesse. And let me be very frank — I don’t exactly know what the fuck Jesse does here. I only know that since he’s been doing it a lot of chicks on Twitter want to have sex with me. I also know I’m fat. I know I’m fat because at the Had A Few Beers Facebook page ads selling dieting information keep popping up. Fuck you Jesse, I’m not fat, I’m drunk.

Actually, Jesse works tirelessly to build an audience for this collection of dick jokes, boob references and who-knows-what. He does this, he explained to me, by stealing.

So, as with Fran, sometimes it’s best not to ask. Just trust, there’s nothing wrong with trust.

With any luck, by this time next year I’ll be able to thank Kevin. I’ll thank him by flying him on my private jet made of gold to a secluded island inhabited solely by beautiful, big tittied naked women. In the weeks, or maybe months to come, Hadafewbeers.com is going to move off of the WordPress servers and onto a self-hosted server, thanks to Kevin. I’m doing that because I want to run advertisements here and make a boobillion dollars. If that’s not feasible (and oddly enough, some folks think it’s not), I’d at least like this endeavor pay for itself..

That seems like a reasonable goal, and we all need goals beyond the usual, “I will now drink that beer in 8.75 seconds while in the downward facing dog position.” (That’s why my beer love has sustained all these years. Me and beer like to mix it up)

I promise the ads will not be a distraction, and will only infect your computer with photos of my testicles, because unlike Fran, Jesse and Kevin, I care about you, the readers.

My all-time favorite GG Cleavage shot.

My all-time favorite GG Cleavage shot.

And last, but certainly not least, I have to champion GG. Ain’t no fucking way I can forget GG. She sends me on-demand cleavage shots for use here. Like Fran she yells at me a lot. GG even had her own stalker her who was angry I referred to her boobs as boobs and not breasts (link, read the comments). For me, having an on-demand cleavage model already makes this blog a success. How many blog do you know that have one? That’s right, none! BOOYA! This shit is so tight it has an on-demand cleavage model! Thanks GG, and thanks the twins for me too, will you?

I wasn't kidding anyone was I? THIS is my favorite GG cleavage shot.

I wasn’t kidding anyone was I? THIS is my favorite GG cleavage shot.

There have been six different guest bloggers (not counting Fran – who runs the place) and I’d be a total asshat if I didn’t thank them all. Without exception, each of their pieces made me laugh, and now 100 posts later I’m envisioning what a tickle fight between the three female writers would look like. I’m envisioning it happening in bras and panties. Maybe just panties. Are you envisioning that too? Good.

Anyway here’s a list of each of their contributions and an exciting poll!  Vote for your favorite and vote for that favorite often!

Hot Blonde chick hates Valentine’s Day

Dude tries spicy lemonade diet, fails miserably

G-Gank Ganks the Gank

Shaezychick‘s not fond of boy in orange banana hammocks 

Hot Brunette chick’s pissed off at valentine’s day!

Guys and Gals can be friends!

Finally to all 60k+ of you that have read this thing so far, thanks. Seriously, it’s a lot of fun but if no one was looking, you can bet I wouldn’t bother.

Boobies!

Had a few beers gets hit with the crazy and I liked it.


Hey there …

How are you?  Comfortable I hope, I mean I hope you’re not reading this on a mobile device while being yelled at, made uncomfortable or otherwise pissed off.

But if you are then I hope this helps ease the burden …

Metaphorically I mean of course, not physically.   If you’re on fire at the moment then obviously reading this will not help with the searing and blistering pain.

Laughter, in this sort of case, is clearly not the best medicine and you should also put the fire out you idiot.

Geeze.

When I started this blog I considered two things.  I liked beer and chicks might send me photos of their boobs.

Nate fucking Silver I ain’t.  But I was half right.  I do like beer.

beards

See I had a beard, I liked beer and loved boobs, I was READY to start a blog.

It’s been an okay success though.   I mean I had a beard and a shitty cat video when I started this blog so how hard could it be?  Drink some beers, say ‘fuck’ a lot, put some plastic army men and dinosaurs on a BMW hood, set the blender to ‘evaporate any hints of professionalism you have left’ and serve chilled.

I gotten a few phone calls, a few emails, a few private messages and a few comments from people saying they really enjoy reading it and that’s all this is about.   If you laugh a bit while reading this then that’s all I want.  If you’re having a tough poop while reading this in the crapper and it ‘helps’ I’m happy.

The first, well in my mind at least, popular post was the one about visiting America after so many years in socialist … err I mean Europe.     It was so popular someone posted a mean comment which hell if that doesn’t equal read by 100 people I don’t know what does!

Then I got in trouble once at work about a few updates last summer so I knew I was hitting it big time because …

(Legal Team:  This is the, and I hate that he makes me do this, “The Had a few beers” legal team, which is stupid because I’m one person.  I, I mean We, have to interject here, Hadafewbeers and his employer entered into an agreement where both parties agreed to never mention the subject of said ‘blog post’ or ‘blog posts’ again.  It was further determined that the subject of the agreement never actually, conclusively, displayed his genital at any time during the incident.  I owe Todd a lot of favors because one time in Vegas …

((…  Hi, this is the Had a Few Beers Legal Team’s Legal team:  Look legal team, we’re not going into ‘the incident’ here, the Vegas incident of note is still under investigation and any mention of said ‘incident’ is out of line.))

… and five kittens died!)

… so I put my penis back in my pants, even though I didn’t want to, and signed the form.

So one full page of bullshit intro later, let’s talk about comments.   The bad comments I mean and by bad I mean weird and by weird I mean what the fuck.

Word press does a good job of weeding out the spam, I get to see them and they’re sort of funny but not really.   Dick-pill jokes only go so far you know?  If you just laughed at that last sentence I love you.

Other than that, when starting this I gave very little thought to comments other than, delete idiots, try to engage everyone else.

But I was unprepared for 32@yahoo.com … you can’t prepare for someone that considers a username and picks a number I realize but still I failed totally.   I just, when I saw his comments, hid them from you and I was wrong to do that .   I don’t know if he would have come back to talk to us, I think of him as a simple bird sweeping over this little blog while pooping, eating, scratching and then flying off.

On October 11th he, using basically a different username for each comment (but the same email address), made a series of HYSTERICAL comments that I stupidly hid as spam.   I don’t know if I had engaged him if he would have reengaged with me.  I just know that in retrospect, he was fucking bat-fuck crazy and I miss him.

Luckily they’re still there, I undid the did and now (I think) they’re visible.

The story about vacuum cleaners was what first attracted his brand of crazy to the Hadafewbeers.com wall of fame and he chimed in with an amazing four comments, under four different usernames in the span of 20 minutes.   I’ve never done the math on that until right now and all I can come up with is ‘good fucking job.’   Not even I’m that crazy about vacuums and I wrote words about them.

So let’s dive into the crazy shall we?  To ease some of the confusion, I’ve left the spelling alone and have bolded and italicized 32’s comments.

Sex, booze and vacuum cleaners … life in the middle lane

He wrote as Herold:   “Compliments and an evaluation are two words that are not synonomous.”

Which I don’t even know what the fuck that means but it gets better.

Regarding the same update, vacuum cleaners mind you, but with user name, The Half-Hearted Hardy Boy, he left the following comment (in a new font and type size I should add) that said:

 “Just because a woman already knows that her bosom is large does not make it O.K. to insult a man who tells her she is stacked, she ought to accept the compliment anyway, even if she knew it beforehand, thats the lady-like thing to do, thats called manners, something more women on our planet should have been taught.”

We can deconstruct “Just because a woman already knows (cause they don’t

generally know?) that her bosom (you mean tits right?) is large does not make it O.K. to insult a man …” later, the crazy gets SO much better.

This time as Kyle Mile but again in response to vacuum cleaners we have:

It’s not O.K. that women overreact and bellyache everytime somebody says something nice about their bosoms and rearends, thats childish, improper conduct thats not befitting true womankind or mankind. And an opinion and compliment are similar and somewhat different, but compliments have nothing to do with evaluation, an evaluation means being tested and judged,how can giving someone a compliment have anything to do with that? Why would I want to evaluate you with a compliment, notice how ridiculous that sounds in the same sentence those words combined?

It was after reading that I began to suspect a friend was fucking with me until the next comment, still on vacuums mind you, by Don Juan (a name he will keep for two comments and about a different post) wrote:

I could phantasize about what it would be like if my penis got caught in the middle of that bosom, couldn’t move, stuck between

did I mention I like boobs?

Dude, you want to do what to the who?  Jesus fuck! Look the photo was sent to me and I didn’t even have thoughts as debauched as yours … you fuck.

that deep cleavage, shot a load in the middle of her bosom, if it was with her bosom covered with a sports bra, that would look and feel heavenly.”

The fuck you say?  That one is one of my favorites.  It’s got it all and the crazy really comes to the top in a delicious layer of ‘what the fuck’ separated only by an undercurrent of ‘dead hookers in the basement’.   We’ve got his penis, sports bras and ejaculation.   It’s a trifecta if I ever saw one.   A lot of you ladies are going to be asking me for more info about Don Juan after that one, I’m sure.

Next Don Juan not only finds a new post to comment on, he educates us.     I feel better, hopefully you will too in a moment.

“Why do over half a million women have to act like boobs, by calling their breasts boobs all the time? Why not call them breasts instead, thats what they are, their not boobs, boobs would sound more like birds. And whats wrong with saying things like, dear, mademoseille, sweetcheeks, etc.? Overreaction to whistling men by women is not O.K. Women overreacting to compliments about their bosoms and rearends is not O.K. All compliments should have been O.K. but overreacting to compliments is not O.K. and to hassle men with those overreactions should have become a crime.”

This, THIS is an awesome comment.  It’s got oddly specific numbers (half a million) followed by some lessons in ornithology and concludes with some pondering about future U.S. Law.  Also all you bitches, I’m sorry all you mademoseilles, it would seem, have been put on notice.

Understand sweetcheeks?

Regarding the same topic, but with a name change to The Overreacter to compliments of the Breasts, not boobs, which he will keep until his tirade is concluded (I.e. two more comments) we learn  

“Why do so many millions of people throughout the world waste their hard earned money on harlots? Why do that many women, which is half the population think they need a free hand-out of money that usually is one hundred sixty dollars for a massage and sexual intercouse? That just cheapens the experience.”

I can answer this.   Because unlike you they don’t keep any live victims chained up in their basements?  Am I right?  I’m right aren’t I?   And what’s this $160 bullshit dude in downtown Frankfurt right now for like 50 euro you can … I’ve said too much.

Sadly only two more to go folks, believe me I miss him as much, if not more, than you.

Regarding the same post, I was ranting about the Secret Service’s ‘hide the salami’ fiasco down south, we have:   

“Our planet would have been a better place without harlotry,police,feminists,judges, and courts, as well as no armies of soldiers, and women who like to critique and critisize the compliments they get all the time even on this machine they can’t seem to keep their comments to themslves, who would have been as a race if we didnt have liars on our planet, including those who lie about compliments received.”

Okay dude we need the police and judges and I’m sort fans of both harlots AND feminists (the hot kind at least).   The crazy here has gone up to eleven, clearly.    And well shit if you dump the police and the judges then sure, get rid of the courts but … wait, you’re just fucking crazy aren’t you?

He is.

The last comment was made on a post that I absolutely, positively pulled straight out of my ass while drinking.   Ruth Sternberg, wife of a dear friend and a dear friend herself, once told me in a very personal manner (she posted it to my facebook feed) that Hemmingway allegedly said, write drunk, edit sober.   Sage advice except the post about what should happen at my funeral (I stand by all of it) was written drunk, edited drunk and published drunk.    Regardless the jokes just flew past dear The Overreacter to compliments of the Breasts, not boobs.  

Remember this is a post where I basically set the most outlandish, might as well have my funeral underwater, set of instructions for what should happen when I die.

“Why would he want anyone without shirts and brassiers on at his wake for, thats an odd request isn’t it?”

Yeah.  That’s the odd bit Overreacter, that’s the odd bit.

I still miss him.

Because banks are fun but making fun of the wife is ‘funner*’, I just want to say, ‘suck it hon.”


Just found out my credit score is better than my wife’s, which basically translates to, “don’t lend money to my deadbeat wife”.

And you people are always sticking up for her.

You’re all marks, she’ll con you.

The chickens have come home to roost.  Read on …

Basically it’s only like a 9 point difference because neither of us has made a move, credit wise, without the other’s involvement in a billion years.

So, why the difference you ask?  American Eagle, a 10% discount on all purchases made with a store credit card I answer.

You see earlier this year, when we went to the states and bought a crap-ton of clothes, because well it’s ‘Merica.  Someone, not this someone but the other someone in this fascinating and tawdry tale, fell for the ‘if you open an American Eagle Credit Card you can save 20% on all your purchases.”

So I’m in my boxers right now, wearing a stained wife-beater t-shirt  swilling beer preaching to Dagmar about the brilliance of investing in the future credit swaps of ‘who cares because I have a better credit score than you do so I’m smarter’.

Okay that’s not really happening because she’d punch me for doing it.  To clarify she’d punch me in the wiener.  There may be few life lessons I have learned throughout the years but not getting punched in the junk is one of the few I have taken to heart.

Scrooge McDuck

If I buy this house for 110k, repave the driveway, it’s totaly worth a cool million I’m sure of it. Scrooge McDuck (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Anyway like most of America we bought a house, at the absolute top of the market.  You remember the era.  It was when real estate would “never go down in value, and we could all keep flipping houses until we were Scrooge McDuck level rich, swimming in pools of money.”

It was literally right before you and I started to cry when we opened our 401K statements circa 2007 or so.

Flash forward to today and  home loan rates are no longer in the “who the fuck cares” percentile and she and I thought it might be time to get one of those sweet, sweet low-rate refinance loans.  We were pretty sure that a house’s interest rate shouldn’t be so close to the credit card that the two are on first a name basis.

And we were right.

This is the odd part, or maybe not considering our credit scores (suck it Ms. Lower than Mine Credit Score), the bank really just offered to send me 12 strippers and to send Dagmar a live-in pastry chef for one year.  Okay not really but they were like (imagine this said with a sexy voice), “We promise to service your loan Mr. Oliver.”

Anyway, tons of personal information later Ms. Sexy Voice** does credit checks and comes back with the something akin to the following, “you’re awesome Todd and I want to have crazy sex with you but there seems to be a freeze on your wife’s credit.  Can you call Equifax, Transunion and Experian and ask them WTF is the issue?  Then we can have the hot sex.”

Okay I paraphrased that last paragraph up there but point is there was an issue with her credit report.  To remedy this I called all three, a painful experience from Europe I assure you.

And here they are in order of best to worst.

Transunion makes checking your credit score so easy you’ll call them back tomorrow to do it again.

Literally I thought I was calling a friend.

Thansunion:  “Dude, I’m SO glad you called!  I just noticed on your CC that you signed up for bigbreastedamateurhousewifes.com.   That site is the tits dude!”

Me: What? That’s on my credit report? Jesus Christ get it off of there!

TU:  Relax man no one else can see it, I LOVE that site.   Check out Ms. Mulberry lane dude she’s insane.

Me: Okay, Okay I will shut up.  Is our credit okay?

TU: It’s the tits dude  …. Look man why don’t you call more often man we’re such good buddies!

Okay maybe they were a little too friendly.

Experian is run by Germans.  I’m sure of it.

Experian representative:  “Give me  zee numbers, (beep/boop/beep/boop), robot says your credit is okay.   Press 1 to continue, press two to destroy zee world.

I hit two and was put on hold.

Equifax stabs you in the eye and then, and here is the fun part, makes you give

Image representing Equifax as depicted in Crun...

Please to be removing your eyewear for the stabbing in the eye please. Image via CrunchBase

them money because stabbing you in the eye costs money.

Literally it’s crazy.  I was transferred to India where the following took place:

“Oh I see you are liking the boobs of wives that are your neighbors but not your wife sir.  This will be costing you twenty five American dollars sir.”

Anyway thought this amazing process, and a $25 dollars a month poorer charge, I’ve come to find out the bank put in the wife’s wrong SSN on the credit check.   But still at the end of the day it was worth the million dollar phone bill.

Finally I do have to point out that we have credit scores that are in the 800’s, pretty bad-ass. Or at least it seems that way until I remember that I’d have a credit score of you have to be kidding were it not for Dagmar. As she correctly reminded me I didn’t even have a credit card (I had a bitchin’ stereo though) when she met me let alone a credit score. Thanks … lady with the lower score than I.

*   Screw you Fran and others.  “Funner” is the word to use in this situation.

** It was really only a sexy voice in my head, but it was funner that way.

Stop F’ing with me Germany … also I feel a bit paranoid. We should go to the sauna.


Germany is fucking with me.

Or maybe it’s the weather that’s fucking with me.

It’s likely best if you imagine me as a meth addict saying those two things.   A meth addict that’s been awake for eight days, hasn’t showered for 10, is covered in sores and this has gotten way off topic.

Look, I know, just as I know I will write another retarded update to this blog that the gray clouds and constant drizzle are about to hit us but, at of this mid-September point it is all 70-degrees and sunny.   If the easiest job in the world is

Brussels, Looking Hot

Like this only in Germany and crap. (Photo credit: clappstar)

Phoenix weatherman (It’ll be hot and sunny tomorrow) the second easiest should be a weatherman in Germany (bring an umbrella!) and its taunting me because you can feel the weather SLOWLY changing but without any of that normal half cloudy, half rainy crap that September usually seems constructed of.

But I’m VERY sure that in all the Septembers I’ve been here in Germany (five of them if I recall) I’m pretty sure I was wearing a jacket at this point.   But not this fall, not this September, its 70 degrees in the afternoon and I should love it.

I should …

You see I grew up in Phoenix, hence the weatherman joke a moment ago, where the sun told you to shut the hell up and get back inside on or about March 1st and didn’t stop flailing your hide until about December 15th.

Dagmar grew up in another hot … oh wait it snows there in the winter.   Half-credit only honey and really it never was that hot when we visited.  Warm yes.   Phoenix hot?  No.

The point is we both like hot weather.   We love it.   LOVE it.  We’ve actually told friends we love hot weather with capital letters.   “Hi, we love hot weather with capital letters,” we said.   It was awkward.

But it’s a good job here in Germany.   Good people, interesting work and I’ve since learned (being from Phoenix) that snow is just water, it can’t hurt you and if you put on more clothes the cold can be tolerable.

Who knew?

Which brings me to the German saunas, always a popular topic if the word searches that lead people here are any clue (perverts!).    Besides sweating while naked next to total strangers, during warm weather, there are ample places to lie out in the sun at the Sauna we go to.   There’s also a heated pool and sleeping rooms and there’s even a natural lake, and back in July and August when the sun was just ‘a-rockin’ it was awesome to jump into its cold water.

Point is we both like to tan and if you can tan in the buff why not do it?  We even seek out the nude beaches here in Europe when we go on vacation, again if you’re going to tan and you can tan in the buff, do it.

I’ll giggle like a school kid on my death bed if the cause of my demise is skin cancer, and I’ll ask for a beer and a smoke after the diagnosis.

We went there all summer long and it was awesome.    Dripping with sweat from the good old sun Dagmar would ask me if I want to go to the next special ‘honey sauna’ and I’d laugh and laugh.

No dear, I’m covered in my own sweat at the moment and when I get tired of that there’s an ice-cold pool right there to turn-off the heat.  Why would I subject myself to being in a super-hot box when obviously Mr. Sun is right here more than happy to meet my needs, and I’m getting tanned to boot.   You’re ice sauna doesn’t do that does it?

We even talked another couple we’ve been friends with for years and years into coming with us by using phrases like, “look you’ve been in Germany for years, shouldn’t you at least try it,” and “wanna see my weiner?”

Cover of "National Lampoon's Vacation [UM...

Naked vacation with friends, we can invite Chevy Chase and make a movie … only it wasn’t. At all.

I had this whole idea that I’d blog about going to the naked sauna with friends and what that was like.  I even told Oh god my wife is German dude I would but in the end it was about as funny as unpacking the groceries.   Maybe even less funny, depending on what you bought.    They’re good friends, seeing them naked didn’t cause any bit of whacky-funny stories like you’d see in a National Lampoon Vacationmovie, damn it.

Friends if you’re reading this, thanks for nothing, assholes.

Dagmar’s going to proof read this in a moment and say something to the effect of, I thought this was about the weather?   And she’s wrong, because it is about the weather and the sauna because the two go hand in hand damn it.

Last week I scanned and scanned the weather.  I checked the iPhone weather app like I was expecting a call from my dealer, I hit refresh on weather.com and weather underground like a junkie.  I even asked the guy that empties our trash.   Everyone agreed, Saturday would be nice, clear with a high of 70 something.

So what happened Friday?   Sunny and 70 is the correct answer.  What happened Saturday?   Overcast with a 100% chance of rain on the way to the sauna?  Yes it was.  What happened Sunday?   Sunny with a temperature of 73ish you ask, yes it was.

Why are you fucking with me Germany?    Also I think the cops are watching from the retired German neighbor’s house across the street.   Yeah, I sound a bit paranoid.

So, what happened today after I drove home in the 70something degree weather with my windows down enjoying the clear blue sky?   Yeah, I Googled it.  There’s a dip on Thursday, with a chance of rain, but otherwise clear skies and 70s.

I’m totally buying tickets tomorrow, one more ride on the sun train.  Chase the dragon man  …