Harlots, bosoms and Tucker Max …

I can’t give this blog the love it deserves at the moment because, work.  I’m on another business trip and sadly this one isn’t filled with strippers and angry Dagmar phone calls about said strippers.

Seriously I’m working crazy hours until Halloween so I’m not sure what I’ll be able to put up here.   Either it will be incoherent, half-sleep deprived, half-drunk rants like this one or you’ll just have to come up with your own boob and beer jokes.

Here is a free, non boob and beer joke though.

What do you call a deer with no eyes?   No eye-deer.

Okay I’m sorry I really shouldn’t do this when I’m tired.  That was just sad.

I do have two odd things and here they are.

The first, the one I hope to write about soon involves about ten bat-shit crazy comments I received here last night/this morning.  All by the same dude, different names but all the same dude.   I deleted them all because if anyone’s going to use the words harlot, bosom and sin on this blog it will be fucking me.    They were retarded but they COULD be funny because harlot, bosom and sin are hysterical words, if used right.

Trust me it will be funny, they’re deleted but saved.   All you harlots have been warned.  I suggest you wrap your bosoms up into brassieres and just fucking wait damn it.

The second, less funny but interesting thing, I want to talk about is Tucker Max.

Tucker Max (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Yeah, yeah get it out of your system now, 42 year old Todd finds Tucker Max interesting what a tard.

Fuck you, this is why.

Tucker, while funny and juvenile and <insert adjective here> is still Tucker there are, and I’m sure lot of fans know this, the moments where he’s really in the zone.   You can see a lot of his influences and you can really appreciate what a great fucking writer that dude is.

This is what I just read,

“The rules your parents teach you to live by are very different than the rules the world actually runs by.  Most of the conventional wisdom is not only wrong, it’s a lie told to us by people who want to control us.  It doesn’t help us, it helps them.”

By the ticket take the ride …English: Hunter S. Thompson, Miami Book Fair International, 1988 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If you’re a Hunter S. Thompson fan and don’t see a lot of HST in that, try harder.   I’m starting to discover I love rereading Tucker Max, just as I love rereading HST.  Each time you reread it, you find something new.  His stories are funny at first glance but, maybe more so in the later books, they have brilliant bits.  I think I read that he was influenced by HST, and that fits, but …

But …

But …

But I need to go to bed, early mornings and all.

Also boobies.

German flowers, atheists and the bathroom … an update about nothing

I just tried to revive something that was dead, well mostly dead.  It has a pulse but its faint and thread bare and any other medical-sounding terms I might have heard somewhere.

It was something I wrote a while back and didn’t upload to here cause well, it sucked.   It was written drunk, edited while sober and pronounced dead about a minute ago.

So basically this is another update where I say I got nothing.   The last time this happened I told you Condoleezza Rice was hot, and she is.

So how about a few random bits of stupid observations about stuff.

Germans, the god-damn Germans

Maybe they will pay, maybe they wont. Okay it’s Germany they will.

German’s, at least here where I live, honestly plant fields of flowers and then put a barrel (think of it as a piggy bank) on the edge of the field, with a price for each type of flower and trust the shit out of everyone.   Funny point is it works.  Germans, My non German-ass included, dutifully pay that money, even when no one is looking.   I have full faith that in America someone would drive a 4×4 into the field, and then do donuts, at night just to be a dick.  No one would pay the price and the little knives that hang on the bottom of the pricelist that are used to cut the flowers would all be stolen on day, nay, hour one.

Seriously, some farmer plants a ton of different flowers.  Puts a barrel in the field with some dull knives and gives the customer the price of each flower.   Customers here cut the flower (with or without the dull provided knife) and deposit the knife in its place and then put money in the barrel.

Someone in America given the same situation, and you know it’s true, would totally poop in the barrel after destroying the flowers, stealing all the dull knives all the while facebooking about it.

Germans are so fucking trusting you but buy into the system, fuck it 14 sunflowers cost 10 Euros and I’m the dick if I don’t pay it when no one’s looking.

Dagmar looks over 90% of these updates.

Dagmar is SO goddamn sick of my sense of humor and after this many years who can blame her?  When she reads these updates, and occasionally laughs out loud, I yell out, “what, what part was funny?”

Really I do.

Look I was an enlisted public affairs dork for the U.S. Army for 20 years.   Years ago that mean you, ‘were the editor of the base/fort/caserne/camp’s newspaper.”   So if you spelled Caseme Ederle that way (and I did) in the headline you got a lot of shit when the paper hit the street in the morning.   Dagmar understood and lay in bed with me at night copy editing, so fuck I trust her edits here.   She doesn’t make many edits here, which scares the shit out of me.

I do go back in and change shit here when I see an obvious mistake but they are mostly on 20% of the updates mainly, the ones she hasn’t seen.

Mostly.   Read that last word in voice of the little girl in the movie Alien’s II.  “They mostly edit at night, mostly.”

I’m an atheist.

I had this big-ass idea in my head about how I would ‘come out’ about my atheism and then beer happened.   There’s a lot of news right now, a lot of books, a lot of talk about atheism but really, who cares?  If you believe in a higher power, good for you!  I think you’re wrong but why should I type a lot of words, put a lot of thought and effort into … into what?  Converting you?   You’re not going to be converted and I’m not going to become a believer in a higher power.    I’m kind of pissed off at atheists that are yelling in the media right now.  We’re a barely oppressed minority, chill.  Facts will eventually beat out believe, every time.   Really guys, chill.  We’re getting there.  Yelling, screaming, hell proselytizing, only adds noise.

Fact will beat out fantasy, every time.  Wait.

Okay maybe that does deserve its own update later.

I don’t understand the bathroom, specifically the shower …

This is likely more to any guys reading this, ever read the shit on the bottles your lady has in the shower?

Really, I mean really read it?

WTF, let’s spell it out cause using the capital letters doesn’t do George Carlin justice, What the fuck are you ladies doing in the shower?  Really what’s a sleep mask?  It’s in a bottle with a squeeze top.

(Dagmar breaking in:  Really that’s funny? I bought that crap six years ago, in Afghanistan, and it’s finally used up.   It’s a wonder my hair hasn’t fallen out.  Really Todd?)

Okay I actually just went up into the shower and looked.  It’s not a face mask, its better it’s restorative hair mask and something that is titled “sleep”.

Just a bottle called fucking, “sleep.”

The actual text

It also says and I directly quote:

RELAX BEFORE SLEEP.

 Lavender Essential Oils and Vanilla

Absolute help calm feelings of

stress so you can sleep better.

Seriously there are typos here that would make Hunter S. Thompson cry but, what the fuck is that, really what is it?  Absolute help calm feelings I want to punch you right now.

Today I add two new badges to my resume, degerate gambler and best teammate ever — you’re welcome Team 8

I think I have a lot of ‘badges’ in this life.

“Drunken idiot?”  Check.

“Loud-mouth political hack?” Oh yeah.

“Idiot with a blog that thinks his opinion matters?” Both of my hands are up.

“Person that obsesses over boobs too much?”  I’m looking at boobs right now which explans the awkwsentance that you read … I mean yes, that’s me too.

But today we can add two new ones.

Degenerate gambler and best team mate ever.

See, I was on a bowling team.   Which is retarded and uncool, and to hell with you honey “The Big Lebowski is a GREAT movie and therefore bowling is actually pretty cool, unless it is really dorky and yeah it’s really dorky.

Chew on that sentence MS Word Grammar Checker!  It’s such a train wreck, I’m proud of it actually.

Not quite the purple jesus

Anyway our office team sucked.   We sucked so bad we didn’t even have a name; our name was literally, “Team 8.”  We came in eighth out of eight teams so maybe the name was fitting but really we didn’t give enough of a crap about bowling to even give ourselves a proper name.   I suggested, “Lebowski’s little league” but retracted the idea when it was suggested we only drink white Russians while ‘rolling’.

No can do teammates.  Beer or death.

Team eight it remained.  Our team’s level of ‘notgiveashitery’ was epic, and I’m oddly proud of that.  Of the ten or so games we were scheduled to play, I think we made four.  Because well its summer, I have to go on a business trip, my ass hurts, something good is on TV and it’s on a fucking Tuesday night for Christ sake.

But even though we suffered from toxic-levels of ‘notgiveashitery’ we faithfully paid our dues, because even though we couldn’t be bothered to actually, you know, SHOW UP we all felt it was important to give the league money.  I’m proud of us for that.   As a team we gave two-shits by the end of it about showing up but god we’re paying our dues!

So yesterday the league captain or league general or league ‘his-royal-majesty’, whatever the hell he’s called, phoned me.   The league was over, they wished we had participated more, maybe we could come back this fall when things have slowed down and most of ‘Team Eight’ isn’t scattered across the planet and try again.  And, by the way, I have an envelope of money for all of you, it’s not much, about $130 and when can you pick it up.

Through a set of circumstances that sum up with I had tomorrow off and bowling league king/high-priest/his honor never ever left the bowling alley we agreed that I would meet him at the alley at 2 p.m.

Fast forward to 2 p.m. today and a few apologies, my guys travel a lot for work, I travel a lot for work, yeah maybe next time, the fact that it was a Tuesday was troublesome we’ll try again, just give me the envelope asshole, thanks for your time, better luck next time, you’re team couldn’t even pick a name for fuck’s sake and I had an envelope with $130 and like 70 cents in it.

Now again I was not working today, except for a quick trip into the office to handle a few items earlier, I was done for the day.   Going home and drinking beer while watching day-time TV has about as much appeal to me as bowling does so … but wait, this bowling alley, like many overseas on military bases, it has a slot-machine room.

I had exactly three U.S. dollars in my pocket (I know because I was buying a beer when this idea came to me) and an unopened envelope with $130 that belonged to my team mates.

“Yeah, I’m going to gamble my team mate’s winning away,” I said to myself taking my first swig of pilsner.   “And when I lose it all, I’ll quote Hunter S. Thompson quotes to myself as I drive home,” cause nothing says fun like quoting HST to yourself when you drive home after losing $130 on  slots, the sucker bet of any bet if there ever was one.

When I hit the winning series a live band started playing and like four hot topless chicks came out with balloons and okay nothing happened I just thought good was good enough. Actually I just thought, “this will be funny on my blog.” Cause I’m a dork like that.

I cashed out at $330 figuring an increase in profits of ‘math is hard’ was good enough.  That’s right Team eight, I took our ‘winnings’, well our ‘earnings’ well our “money the league gave us because we sucked” and made that $32.50 each of you had coming into $82.50, cause I’m a good dude.

If we ‘roll again’ we’re “Lebowski’s Little League” and I get a fucking exception to policy on the White Russian Rule.

I’ll totally wear the white bathrobe though.