Tag Archives: Iraq

Summer is here and you winter people can suck my sunshine …


Summer is here and I want to thank some people. Mainly, the ladies. You girls are 98 percent of the reason summer rocks in the first place.

Take the most beautiful woman in the word and dress her up for a ski trip. She’s got nothing on the allure of a woman in a summer dress.

Cover of "Summer Lovers (Full Screen Edit...

Mmm summer. (Full Screen Edition)

Sorry, it’s like a scientifically proven fact or something — a woman dressed for warm weather is always sexier than a woman dressed for cold weather.

Basically, without ladies summer is just sweaty man balls and body odor. To deny this simple fact is to say that water is not wet, birds don’t fly and this blog is funny.

If you don’t believe me please choke on a giant box of cold weather.

Another reason summer rocks is Germany!  Have you been to a park in Germany when it’s nice out? If not, you’re missing out. Germans are cooped up in a frozen box of international rain, hail, snow and sleet for like 90 percent of the year.

When the sun does finally come out, baby, the clothes come off.

Germans will strip down to skin the moment the mercury says its hot — and you really, really have to appreciate that.

Say what you want to about the unattractive men, hot chicks lay out naked in the park! What is not to like?

There aren’t even any downsides of summer.

“Oh it’s too hot,” you say? Well “fuck you,” that’s what I say. Summer is better and that’s a fact. I can even back that up with anecdotal evidence because nothing says “fact” like anecdotal evidence.

People who like winter must admit there are parts of it they don’t like,  such as shoveling snow, scraping ice off the car windows, driving on icy roads, Rudolf poop on their roof, or finding dead Santas in the chimney. It is inevitable that window lovers find something about winter they don’t like.

Not us summer lovers though! Nope. We love every last sticky bit of it. We even embrace that with summer comes the potential to die in the desert of thirst or sport a look reminiscent of crispy bacon.

You know why? Because its better than dying of hypothermia. Give me dying of heat stroke over that shit any day.

When I was in Iraq, my boss and I had a joke that only we found amusing. He is from Texas and I hail from Arizona. If anyone knows hot weather, we know hot weather. Thus, when the temperature would reach (literally) 130 degrees, while we were wearing body armor, we would say to each other, “It’s hot, but at least I’m not cold.”

And we fucking meant it.

If you think it ain’t that bad to be in 130 degree temperatures while wearing body armor and sitting in the back of a HMMVW where the metal truck bed is just cramming the heat into your eye holes, then undoubtedly you’re a summer person.

Summer is just better in every conceivable way. You people can go stick your frozen heads in the freezer and suck cold ice if you don’t agree with me.

English: Twin Peaks Summer Bikini Contest in 2011.

I have no clue who this chick is but, really, who cares. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If I understand anything about the popular TV series Game of Thrones*, it’s that in addition to showing a lot of hot naked chicks, (just like summer) the characters die a lot which sucks because a Game of Thrones summer is four-years long or some shit.

That awesome if I don’t consider the alternate — a four-year-long winter. That would break me faster than the rath Gordon Ramsey’s rain down on me if I served him a flaccid souffle.

So again, all you winter people can suck it for a few short months. We summer people are happy. HAPPY I tell you, and if you’re a winter person here in Germany, have pity on us summer folks, it will be just a few-short weeks until you’re once again relishing in your dreadful cold and pale-gray bliss.

Until then, we people of the SUN will be out in it. In fact, why the hell am I typing this at all, I should be outside…

* Actually I don’t know crap about the series, I watched all of season one drunk off my ass and apart from a lot hot naked chicks can’t tell you much of anything about it.

Trash Can Wars Part 2 … Crossing the Rubicon


I can’t do this anymore.

Rebellion, open and honest rebellion, is my only option. The oppressed must rebel.

I have no guns, mind you. No weapons, save a bayonet I bought for like $5 in Iraq years ago. But desperate times, my friends, call for desperate measures.

I speak, of course, of my wife’s retarded – I mean insane, I mean full-blown weird – decision to remove the trash can from the house.

Moar Boobs!

I honestly just blogged, twice about a fucking trash can. Everyone deserves some boobs.

I talked about it here. But if you don’t want to read that, let me sum it up quickly.

My wife decided, for reasons that escape any known or sane definition of logic, to do away with the trash can. The MAIN trash can, mind you (the one in the kitchen), has been removed from the house entirely. In the trash can’s place we are currently using – and I couldn’t make this up if I tried – convenience store plastic bags hanging from the door knob.

Don’t try and work through the “why” of this command decision. There isn’t any way to rationalize it. It is devoid of reason and without logic. There is no, it-helps-with-recycling aspect to it. In fact, I’m pretty sure it does the exact opposite since all trash goes into the same plastic bag.

Ease can’t be the reason for the change. The small bags fill up every time someone farts. The only purpose, I can surmise, is to annoy the living hell out of me. Something an actual trashcan never did.

A beer ad from Brazil! I was trying to find a trash can full of beer cans and instead found this. You are very welcome.

A beer ad from Brazil! I was trying to find a trash can full of beer cans and instead found this. You are very welcome. ~Fran

Trust me on this one – TOTAL pain in the ass.

Besides filling up at a rate of every second, my wife insists the handles of each plastic bag be tied before being removed from the house. Because obviously, an untied plastic convenience store bag holding coffee grounds, empty beer cans and egg shells is tacky as hell, or an affront to god.

Or something.

Anyway, rebellion, or something akin to rebellion, is brewing. Soon I’ll be meeting with like-minded individuals (the cat) to discuss in hushed tones the revolution.

We’re on the cusp of blood being spilled. Well, not blood exactly, but at the very least beer and that’s c0mpletely fucked up.

The following exchange just took place.

“Damn, Todd! If you would just take the trash out when it’s full, I wouldn’t get mad,” she said.

“You know what would make this a lot simpler, using a trash can,” I explained. “It’s an ancient invention that has proven its worth throughout the ages. Having little bags the size of a fucking coin purse to deposit our waste into is both stupid and stupid. It’s stupid twice. It makes literally no sense. Logic cannot be applied to the decision, that YOU made. It’s impossible to logically justify this decision from any firm standing.”

The Angry Eye

Your logic has logic in it. This makes me mad. (Photo credit: jcgoforth)

At this point she became pissed.

“I’m doing it because of beer cans!”

That was her answer. I can’t explain it. You can’t explain it either.

Her logic is that there would be  too many beer cans in the trash can if we used the actual trash can. There are too many, thus the trash can is no longer going to be used. I also might add that we have a newly purchased, fully functional trash can, that she banished to the basement some weeks ago.

Now… I’ll be fair, I’ll be honest, I’ll bare my soul here. This blog is called Had A Few BEERS for Christ’s sake, so yes, the receptacles that deliver beer’s sweet, succulent love into my belly are eventually in need of disposal. My love, nay, devotion to beer produces (gasp) empty beer cans.

In our last house it was verboten to even place a beer can in the kitchen trash (I used the one in the garage to dispose of my empties). So her argument holds no water, or trash, as the case may  be.

So I think I’m going to take a G-gank approach to this problem and

just put the fucking trash can back in place. When confronted I will tell her it’s there because it’s stupid to not have it there. I’ll also use phrases like, “Because I said so.” “Trashcans are not evil.” “Who has the penis in this house?”  And, “Please honey, can’t we have a working trashcan, please?”

I’d type a lot more of this, but I obviously have a tiny bag of trash to take out.

I have restored the trash cans to their rightful place in the Oliver Republic.  Much like Caesar I fully expect to be stabbed.   Oh well, the die is cast.

I have restored the trash cans to their rightful place in the Oliver Republic. Much like Caesar, I fully expect to be stabbed. Oh well, the die is cast.

Finally, to anyone reading this and thinking, but what about Germany’s recycling laws, I’d like to reply, yes.

A fast note to Had A Few Beers readers: Fran, the awesome person who edits this, recently had surgery for chick stuff or a rotten gallbladder, or circumcision, I wasn’t really listening. Seriously though, I hope everyone reading this takes a moment to wish her a speedy recovery. (Fran you’re awesome and I hope you feel better, sans gallbladder).