Tag Archives: Vacuum cleaner

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.

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


It seems I broke the vacuum cleaner and, in so much as I was the one using it when it broke, it’s true. Broken vacuum cleaners aren’t, in and of themselves, very interesting or funny outside of vacuum cleaner repair crowds (hint: This update is going to ROCK to vacuum cleaner repair fans!). What is funny to me at least is that according to my lovely wife, I did this on purpose.

When I asked her why she thought I broke it on purpose and because any answer she gave had a 100% chance of being blogged about here, I discovered the following:

  1. I broke it so I wouldn’t have to vacuum anymore
  2. I broke it so I could go buy a new one and get out of grocery shopping
  3. It could be fixed if only I knew more about how to replace small, lost plastic pieces that snapped off of a larger plastic piece
  4. Also I’m a dick for taking notes while she answers me.

Actually she’s right. I love buying new household appliances and enjoy in ways you cannot imagine, tormenting them. That’s right refrigerator, I’m looking at you and you’re next!

My confession follows. I viciously and with great malice in my heart snapped its thin metal telescoping handle of a neck with glee. “Take that you time sucking beast, never again will you keep me from video games, beer drinking or sitting on my ass watching TV!”

You can picture me doing a victory dance around the broken machine in my boxers if you’d like. I know I am.

In reality the vacuum cleaner is about 10 years old and that’s about three more than I expected of it. It was held together during its last few months with duct tape, hope and prayers. It had the intake power of a lung cancer victim and finding replacement bags was becoming so difficult that I was starting to wonder if you could just empty the old bag. Also yeah, it had bags unlike the new modern kind.

It was time for a new vacuum.

When it did break Dagmar was off shopping and I was allowed to stay home during one of those, “okay you can stay here if you do x, y and z chores arrangements.

The dearly departed is on the right.

(Hint: to any male reading this that is newly married. Always take these deals. You’ll win with more free time in the end, basically because men usually do a half-assed job at house cleaning)

When it broke I did think, “aww crap she’s totally going to think I did this on purpose.” As if tossing a few hundred dollars on a vacuum cleaner was something I found “fun”. Meaning, I can predict her reaction, but I cannot explain it.

So basically there are three ways the Oliver household is getting a new vacuum cleaner, assuming the German equivalent of a Kirby salesman doesn’t show up in the next hour.

I go to the store and buy it (most preferred method)

She goes to the store and buys it (second most preferred method)

We go together to buy it (unmitigated disaster ensues)

The first two options are about as close to a tie as they can get in my opinion.

The “I go to the store and buy it” will be the most cost effective of the three options, note I didn’t say cheapest, I said most cost effective. If I go alone I’m going to straight up throw money at this problem. Do they have optional beer holders on this model? Great, add that to the bill please. What’s that, the vacuum will synch with my iTunes’s library for an extra $50, sure add that too. It can answer the phone via your blender, shit we need that! How have we lived without that? Point is I don’t want to ever have to do this again so if I spend big on it, in my mind, the damn thing can be used to clean up after my wake, and you fucker’s better make a mess at my wake. I totally wanna see, cause I’ll be watching, vomit and crap!

The second option has its own appeal in that I don’t have to have to get off my ass and continue in my duties as Judge “boobieprofessor69” at ratemyrack.com … I kid but I cannot describe to you how little interest I have in buying a vacuum. Does it plug and suck up dirt? Great I’ll take it. The downside of Dagmar buying it is easy. First she’s cheap sometimes and vacuum buying would be one of those times. She’d return home with 8 million other purchases besides the vacuum cause all of you girls do that.

The biggest lie of any marriage or partnership is when you ladies tell us men, I’m only going into the store for one thing … you are all filthy, filthy liars and you know it. Confess, I demand it.

So if she goes to buy it, the vacuum itself won’t cost much – I mean it will actively shock you while you use it but it only costs like $20 – but she’ll come home with four U-haul trailers full of crap I didn’t know we wanted let alone needed.

The third and final (as in it feels like death final) option is that we go buy it together. Oddly the purchase of the actual item was pretty straightforward. A decent, yet sans beer can holder, model that I’m relatively sure our dearly departed vacuum would approve of was had without much debate. But then it starts. The endless gathering, the wandering the aisles of the store, examining this Rachel Ray egg yolk separator or fingering that Martha Stewart ‘stick-up-your-butt floral display guide’.

Look honey we don’t need new towels. I know because you shoved them all in those decorative baskets that, while look good I admit, ensure we only use the same towels over and over again. The towels at the bottom of the baskets have never touched human skin for Christ’s sake. Screw it if we get new towels can we leave? No? If we get the towels can we at least leave this aisle?

All department stores should have waiter service that serve drinks. That would solve these crisis moments.

So in addition to a new vacuum holder we have a new trash can even though I thought our old one was just fine in that it well … held trash! I also have to now remember a new trashcan bag size when shopping.

Oh the humanity.

There are things you can, after a certain number of years as a couple, predict about your significant other yet still not explain. I could, and did predict her reaction to the broken vacuum cleaner but I could not explain it, not for a million dollars could I do that. Her bizarre attachment to the device defies any logical explanation I can come up with. I mean sexual vacuum cleaner relationships are, if Google is to be believed, mainly a male phenomenon. And that sucks.

Certain things are just given preferential treatment here.

For instance when we lived in Italy we bought a very nice, very high-quality Italian leather sofa – mainly cause I was a huge fan of the band Cake back then but also because they’re known to last a lifetime. What did Mrs. Dagmar “I loved that vacuum more than you” Oliver do with great condition couch only seven years into its existence? Did you say she replaced it with some run-of-the-mill mass produced crap from Lazy-boy that will be lucky if it survives seven years let along a lifetime?

You’d of course be right.

So why is the death of the vacuum treated as if a dear family member has passed on and the couch is carelessly tossed into a room we never use? Hell if I know. Though oddly the vacuum did break in that room so maybe there’s a connection I’m not getting. Couch hates vacuum conspiracy theories aren’t as plentiful on the net as you’d hope.

Another example is it’s only in the last year or so that Dagmar’s relented and actually used the, brace yourself, dishwasher. That’s right for years Dagmar chose to wash every single glass, pot, pan, knife, fork and plate by hand.

I’d like to say I stood my ground and maintained that with a fully-functional dishwasher literally inches away I never washed dishes but we all know that truth … I washed me some fucking dishes. But the argument drove me nearly insane.

Gina and Dagmar maintain I take shitty photos of them.   I maintain they are cute no matter what, provided they are doing chick chores.

Gina and Dagmar maintain I take shitty photos of them. I maintain they had hot sexy bubble fights after this photo ...

They went like this.

Me: Just use the fucking dishwasher, its right there, fully-functioning and meant to free you of your domestic shackles.

Dagmar: No I don’t want to!

Me: They even have crap that makes sure the glasses don’t have spots on them. You just load it and press some buttons, magic happens, and presto-chango clean dishes …

Dagmar: Washing dishes relaxes me.

Me: If that’s true why are we arguing? Look maybe you should start doing the laundry by hand? Hell we can eliminate the electric bill if we just follow this to its natural conclusion.

Dagmar: I like to wash the dishes by hand!

I took to taking photos of her washing dishes in all kinds of situations. I have photos of her and GG washing dishes in Italy together because it became funny as hell to me to see her washing dishes when poor Josephine Cochran went through all that fucking trouble of inventing the first dishwasher.

did I mention I like boobs?

This photo would have been a 9.9 and not a 9.8 at ratemyrack.com but I couldn't draw a set of boobs using her moles ... that kind of stuff counts.

GG … btw I want to be clear I voted you a solid 9.8 (because we all know a straight 10 is a kids vote) on ratemyrack.com despite what rival judge tits4life may have told you.

He’s such a hater.

Then magically in this house the dishwasher joined such modern devices as the television, the iron the FUCKING CLOTHES WASHER which is basically the same kind of thing.

I can’t explain it other than I just said fuck it, buy some dishwashing detergent and just do it yourself Todd.

No matter how well you know someone, no matter the level of your understanding, you can predict but you cannot always explain.

So explain that to me …