FOUR COURSE MEAL: PART TWO

SOUP OR SALAD: TRANSGENDER MODELING

If you can model a bra and a pair a boxer briefs, then my friend, you have a gift. I think of it as having an Ace in your poker hand, it’s no different than going into a job interview and having more skills than the other applicants. More skills mean more of a chance of getting hired. So if you’re a clothing company and you only need one model on the payroll, why not hire a person who rocks a C cup and packs heat on daily basis? That is how you succeed as a small business, asset management! Would your little world really be that disrupted if Kate Upton was “Swinging Dixie” or if Hugh Jackman was a little hollow down south? Let’s face it; we have bigger things to concern ourselves with. However, I’m not sure I could deal with a transgender James Bond. That situation is actually fine how it is, so not everything needs to be ruined with a stupid petition.

PALATE CLEANSER: ALEX RODRIGUEZ

You can’t win them all, as for A-Rod, he can’t seem to win anything lately. I guess that’s what happens when you’re booed by the fans, overpaid, batting under .270, lacking personality, jealous of Derek Jeter, popped for PED’s twice, suspended for two seasons, over-dramatic with your comments (i.e. “fighting for your life”), ratting on other players, filing lawsuits, losing appeals, complaining to the media, not clutch in the playoffs, not fan friendly, overall a complete shame to the game of baseball. Bud Selig’s tactics for nailing A-Rod were certainly dirty, but it doesn’t make Alex any less of a disgrace to the uniform. Go away and don’t ever come back.

PRIME RIBBING: PATENT TROLLS

Probably the dirtiest player in the business, essentially a Patent Troll is a company that files obscure and very generic patents for just about any type of product or service, (none of which they actually created) and as soon as the patent is granted, they turn their lawyers loose on larger businesses to basically extort them of large sums of cash. In many instances, the larger companies quietly hand over a certain dollar amount and this makes the trolls go away for a while. In more depressing scenarios, the legitimate business being sued cannot afford to either settle or fight these assholes in court for various reasons, either they can’t afford the legal fees or if the troll lives in another state or country, it makes travel costs plus political lobbying a mountain the company can’t traverse. Currently the Iron Man of Podcasting, Adam Carolla is being sued for $3 Million by Personal Audio, a company located deep in the heart of Texas, which has been granted a patent for “a system for disseminating media content representing episodes in a serialized sequence"…sounds like a generic pile legal Horses#$t, right?  Thankfully, due to the Ace Man’s pride, legal team and ability to crowd source additional funding, he may very well win this battle and in the long run, save the entire podcasting community. Also note that he started his podcast roughly two weeks before the patent was filed for. I recommend watching this one closely.

ICING ON THE CAKE: THE OLYMPICS

Ah, good ole Russia. Where men are men and the bathrooms are out of order…in some places they never were in order. The opening ceremony was actually quite enjoyable, it reminded me of ‘Rocky IV’ when he fights Ivan Drago. As far as the all issues that have been reported in the first couple weeks, I’m not going to put all the blame on Big Red. How about the IOC that gave Sochi the greenlight to begin with! Maybe they would have been smart enough to know that maybe it wasn’t the best time to have the Olympics in Russia. I’m sure a committee member fell asleep during the voting process, and next thing we know, the water is yellow, the toilets don’t work and stray dogs are disappearing all over Sochi. But I’m pretty sure if the Jamaican Bobsled team takes home the gold, all this jibba jabba will be a minor afterthought. I now pronounce The Hunger, I mean Olympic Games OPEN!!!

YOUR LOCAL WEATHER FORECAST

Flurries are expected, run for your lives!!! Or better yet, don’t. Wasn’t watching the weather something that retired seniors did when they weren’t catching the six A.M. transit bus to IHOP for the early bird special or stroking out on a par three golf course? Haven’t we all laughed as we drove by that all-wheel drive BMW or 4x4 Jeep buried in a snow pile just off the highway? That’s what paying thousands of dollars more will get you: a white wash, a tow truck bill and public embarrassment as hundreds of commuters point and stare at your $40,000 driving machine balls deep in a snowbank, or if it’s a Subaru…scissoring the snowbank.

        As you pull into your little apartment with your $4,000 front-wheel drive Honda after laughing off some highway calories, what’s the first thing you do when you get inside? Check the weather channel? WRONG. What’s the point? You’re going to log into your facebook account and see what your old boyfriend Travis is nailing as of late. “He’s with Raquel? That fat bitch, what a slam-pig!” So wondering weather there will be a chance of flurries later on that night will be the least of your concerns.

        Yet, the trend lately is to absolutely terrify every one of you and keep you glued to the television or computer as they show you Doppler radar, satellite imaging, three day forecasts, wind chill temperatures, areas affected, rain/snowfall amounts and whatever graphic garbage they can make up to throw on the screen to deter you from going back out and having revenge sex on your ex-boyfriend…yes, Travis.

        The reporting on weather events successfully filled the news void between school shootings and legalizing Marijuana. You hit your favorite news site and big bold letters it reads, “Giant Storm threatens Northeast” or “Massive cold front halts air travel” or “hundreds fall ill on Caribbean Cruise Liner”. Even though the last headline is totally off topic, like the first two, it’s a crap news story. If you live in the northeast, you expect snow, its called winter and it shows up for about four to five months every year. If your flights are constantly cancelled by the aftermath of cold fronts, consider moving south, I hear there’s this thing called the Equator and the closer you move to it…the warmer it becomes. Check Wikipedia, I’m pretty sure it’s accurate. If you’re on a cruise ship and you get sick, what did you expect when you stepped onboard alongside 4,000 other fat middle-aged white people all diving for the same crab legs at the buffet table?

        Weather reports, nine times out of ten, are almost completely useless, and when the weather does play a serious role, your local weather personality misses the ball and you end with over a dozen people dead in Atlanta with nightmare traffic accidents.

        I’m glad DirecTV dumped the Weather Channel, they’re antiquated and show nothing but YouTube videos about tornados. If there’s a hurricane or massive wildfire, then this is worth paying attention to if it’s in your area, other than that, Winter Storm Rico isn’t stopping me from heading out into the snow and taking home Travis’s ex-girlfriend.

        Another thought to consider, stop naming storms. Was Super Storm Sandy really appropriate? What did Sandy ever do to you? She’s a nice lady! If you’re a news organization and you truly want to frighten people, how about Tropical Storm Hitler or Cold Front Caligula? I’m pretty sure Winter Storm Sandusky would have all the kids fleeing indoors.

        I can’t stand when people talk about the weather; it’s a sign of poor conversation skills, maybe if the teachers unions had any common sense, they would incorporate   these ideas in their classrooms and then this may stop the trend of bad news stories like if you should stock up on canned goods this weekend instead of doing…Raquel.

        You want to know what the weather is? Look out the f%#in window.

FOUR COURSE MEAL

APPETIZER: EULOGY

On a lighter note, everyone can rejoice in the knowledge that death forgets no one. So don’t worry, you’ll be invited to at least one party in your life and you’ll most likely be the center of attention, unless cousin Tommy shows up with his Armani Coat, four-door Jaguar and swimsuit model wife, then you may have to settle for second place. At least you’re in for nice long nap that won’t be interrupted by someone’s annoying car alarm.

Now who’s the poor sap that has to prepare your words of farewell? I mean, consider all the things you’ve done wrong in your life and the fact that someone else has to stand up at the podium and paint a halfway decent portrait of your sorry ass for twenty minutes. It was pretty funny that your funeral invites went out on facebook. At least you kept up with the times. Most importantly, who gets your 1997 Toyota Camry with 238,000 miles? Maybe God needs it, I heard times are tough up in Heaventown and layoffs are rumored.

TOSSED SALAD: JUSTIN BIEBER

      I’m confused, wasn’t the Lamborghini that Bieber was drag racing a rental? Who the hell would lend a $200,000 convertible to a clown under the age of 25 for a paltry $1,500 a day? Well it’s legal and the company did, to a hyper-spoiled Canadian pop star that after two beers resembles a Taiwanese bantamweight boxer wobbling back to his corner in the 11th round of a title fight.

       You’d think that all 140 pounds of the Biebs would learn something from Paul Walker’s tragic mishap, but instead he’ll put together a Delta Force like legal team and never serve a day of the potential 18 months in prison. However if in fact incarcerated, I’m sure he could brush up on his “twerking” skills.

MAIN COURSE: SUPERMAN VS. BATMAN

            I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but after a thousand movies, hundreds of sequels and dozens of reboots, I’ve decided to finally throw in the towel. I am, without a doubt, a fan of ‘Man of Steel’ and ‘The Dark Knight’ trilogy. But after so many opportunities to cast Joseph Gordon-Levitt or recast Christian Bale…you end up with Ben Affleck? So apparently Bruce Wayne is from Dorchester, Mass and has a wicked ‘Southie’ accent. I would go purely for the comedy aspect, but I’m drawing the line with this one. I will NEVER watch this movie and as a blockbuster fanatic, this statement sits perfectly fine in my stomach. If you look at the calendar of theater releases, there plenty of huge popcorn flicks coming to satisfy my palette for the next five years. I’m sure once the sequel to Avatar draws near, the buzz for this will quickly fade.

DESSERT: LEGALIZED PROSTITUTION

            Oh forget about making weed legal, you want to lower stress levels in this dying country and save everyone from a possible mall shooting? How about monthly mailer with deals and discounts from the local “Purple Fox”, your neighborhood friendly brothel? Before you start getting offended, don’t worry; right next to the ‘Purple Fox’ there’s the lady friendly ‘Prince Broadswords’. Imagine this as an anniversary present for that bored couple. Also it would certainly clean up the streets, not mention the IRS would be seeing a lot more revenue coming (…ha…) their way. Imagine all the road rage fading into oblivion as your commute home just became more relaxing. This is exactly what the new healthcare mandate is missing…Happy Endings! Why take Prozac when your health plan could include a “rub ‘n’ tug”? 

ALL APOLOGIES

Do any of these sound familiar:  “To those I have offended”, “If I’ve upset anyone”, “If you were hurt by my actions”? What does this really mean anyway? I understand you want to say sorry to your parents because you turned out to be a crappy kid, but after that, apologies sort of lose their usefulness. Seriously, if the US military launches a cruise missile and it crashes a cupcake party at a school somewhere in Afghanistan, I’m not sure sending over an Ambassador to basically say “hey, our bad.” is going to make the situation better.  But this is an extreme example, the garbage apologies I’m referring to are the ones fired off by celebrities and comedians who have corporate ties and have to issue a meaningless apology in order to appease that bored group of basement dwellers, the soccer mom lobbyists, and the one politician spearheading the movement in order to grab more votes so he can continue to steal taxpayers money.

One that sticks in my head is Tiger Woods (who isn’t a comedian…but I still laugh at his robot voice). Essentially he was boinking Waffle-House waitresses while he was married, and one night his wife took a golf club to his Escalade; it’s a big enough vehicle, no way she could have missed that hole-in-one. Obviously the news groups ran with it like an Olympic torch and it quickly turned into one the largest news stories in the last ten years, larger than Kim Kardashian’s wedding(s). After a while, Tiger offered an apology via a press conference and after about a year, all his sponsors who dropped him, came crawling back to his newly grown goatee and he was back in business giving all the press a giant Nike cold shoulder. Now why are you apologizing to me, Tiger? I didn’t turn on the TV to watch you struggle over a pre-written apology, get your ass on the golf course and make the cut for the US Open. You’re not my role model, go play golf! It’s not as if your daughter is playing with Legos in one room and El Tigre is crushing sub-par ass in the next. If you’re a good enough parent, Tiger’s actions will never negatively impact your child’s development.

Now since the majority of these apologies are prewritten and edited for content, one could have easily opened a business on the web selling “apology” templates instead of resume and cover letter help.

Tracy Morgan issued an apology for his supposed “anti-gay” comments he made in reference to his son. No one in the media or from the Human Rights Campaign took the time to ask Tracy why he said what he said, whether it was a joke, or simply misunderstood; which is almost always the case. Instead the HRM immediately called for an apology from Tracy regardless of the fact that it was said onstage in front of a comedy crowd which is basically the last haven for free speech. My belief is that because of Tracy’s affiliation with NBC’s “30 Rock”, he was pushed to offer an apology in order to shut everyone up. If not for ’30 Rock’, all you would get from Tracy Morgan was a middle finger in your face.

How the mighty continue to fall under the corporate sword that gives way to anyone who deems something to be offensive-

Jay Mohr, Steve Martin, Daniel Tosh, Michael Richards, Jason Alexander, and Paula Deen who should maybe apologize for putting two sticks of butter into whatever pie she’s making. I’ll take two.

            Thankfully, there are the titans like Ricky Gervais and Louis C.K. who continue to stand strong and remind us that in a world full of death, starvation, inequality and political correctness, these few continue to do comedy and entertainment their way without the influence of some lobbying jackass who goes on social media to say how they are soooo offended by so&so’s comments. Comedian Gilbert Gottfried said rather simply, (para-phrasing) “If you’re watching a comic who works blue and says a joke that you don’t like or think is funny, don’t laugh at it and wait for the next joke.  If you don’t like the next joke, you can quietly leave.”

            Here’s some easy advice that everyone should put into their mental pocket effective immediately, if you see a headline about someone supposedly saying or doing something offensive, stop right there. Don’t continue reading or click on the headline, all you’re doing is feeding the beast. If these craptastic articles aren’t read or purchased, they will no longer be written.

            Finally, if you’re at a comedy club and the comic is working on new jokes that strike you as offensive, I beg of you not to heckle in any way shape or form. If you do, you may very well throw the comic off his rhythm and also you’re ruining the enjoyment of other people around you who paid good money to be there. Also comics are generally very intelligent so they are ready to deal with a heckler at a moment’s notice. If you still truly feel that your voice should be heard anyway, I have a social experiment for you. Make your way to the Comedy Cellar in NYC and throw a verbal jab at the likes of Nick DiPaolo, Bill Burr or Jim Norton, you’ll understand very quickly and disgracefully why political correctness is trying to tear our Constitutional right to free speech apart and comedy is the only glue holding it together.

            This sort of turned into a rant about political correctness but hey…deal with it, ass-clowns.

KAMA SUTRA-KAZE

“Kama Sutra” - Ancient Indian Hindu text widely considered to be the standard work on human sexual behavior. A portion of the work consists of practical advice on sexual intercourse.

“Kamikaze” – Suicide attacks by Japanese military pilots in the closing stages of World War II, designed to destroy warships more effectively than was possible with conventional attacks.

            Did you understand all that? Now go steal your partner’s undies and run around the house with a plastic bag tied around your head while pleasuring yourself to reruns of “The Flintstones”. WILMA, I’M HOME! NOW CHOKE ME!

            I understand. As a male, sex is wonderful, spiritual and life changing…until you’re done. Then you just want to lie down in front of the TV and cry. As a female, sex is supposed to be emotional, bonding, and stress relieving…until he’s done. Then you just want to cry and hit him over the head with the TV.

            Maybe your rebuttal to my statement is “well my sex life is great”, to which I reply, “I DON’T CARE” If you have a great sex life, I don’t want to hear about it. However, if your sex life isn’t great, you may end up like the actor David Carradine hanging naked dead in a closet in Bangkok; which in this case, I will most likely hear about it. Have you choked on your Panini yet?

            I understand that certain religions and cultures have specific sexual guidelines, and that there are limits to what a person is allowed to do with themselves and other parties. On the flipside of this groin-coin, the idea of having a sex life compared to the simple motion of a rocking chair has almost become an outdated thought process and like the immediate need for faster food, faster news, and faster overall gratification, our sexual balance is not maturing at a healthy pace and is therefore, mutating and spinning out of control to point of every time a new teen pop star debuts a new music video, we’re either grabbing the closest available lubricant and rubbing our junk against the screen or we’re fastening dildos to plug-in power drills. Please know that if your considering either action to grab a heart healthy lubricant such as olive or coconut oil and to always plug your power drill into a surge protector because most drills are not water proof.

            What I find funny in today’s world consisting of over six billion people and a few donkeys or sheep, is that the two things we strive for the most, money and sex, we have yet to find a healthy balance to either. A person is now either too poor or too rich, or having too much or not enough sex. I can’t just have that 40-foot yacht; I have to have one the size of a soccer field finished in stainless steel and shaped like the Delorean from “Back to the Future”. And of course you can’t just have the pretty blond with the perky C-cups who likes to have her hair pulled, nooooooo, you also have to have her church-going sister who’s practicing to become a nun!

            Isn’t an OREO cookie disgusting enough to where we hopefully won’t shove three of them inside of a triple cheeseburger with glazed donuts used as the bun? I can’t even enjoy the visceral beauty of a hurricane on the weather channel without looking at the ‘eye’ of it as another orifice to shove my proverbial boner into.

            Now if you believe the answer to avoid becoming a sexual deviant is finding god, don’t be surprised if you wake up the next day all battered and bruised from being beaten with a sex toy, because your religion may very well be a small part of the problem to begin with! There are many other factors to also consider, but the fact is that if you repress or suppress something for too long, the pressure will eventually mount to a Pompeian sexual catastrophe that will consume you and others around you. Learn to respect the power that is your libido and if treated properly thru a healthy “diet” we may very well stop the Sun from turning Planet Earth into it’s bitch.

            If you think I’m going to hell for I’ve said, guess what? Heaven has ‘lifetime’ and hell has ‘Cinemax’, I know where the parties at.

NEW YEARS EVE: THE JAGERNOTES

“Bartender, more receipt paper!” Yelling that four times while situated in the DJ booth can be a difficult task, but the writing never stopped until the time I left the event in the wee hours of that morning. I sit here deciphering five pages of notes covered in Jagermeister, originally written with the help of Jagermeister. I believe as a rule one cannot turn drunken thoughts into sober writing. So in order to relay what information I have available to you from that evening, I’ll have to crush a pot of coffee, down a couple servings of Don Julio Tequila, and watch J.J. Abrams ‘Cloverfield’ backwards. 

Do take note that the whole time I’m writing this information down, Chris B. in charge of the lights is on my left controlling the entire dance floor hitting buttons that make the lights change frequency/color, fire strobes off, and shoot off a snow machine that resembles exploding chickens.

On my right is DJ Danjah. His job consists of mixing the music, filtering requests, scratching records , informing me whenever something gets “f$&ked up” and landing planes at Logan Airport all at the same time, he also had the duty of screaming into microphone every 10 minutes, “Put your f%#in hands up!” As drunk as the whole bar was, everyone seemed to obey this simple request, even the girl on the dance podium who struggled to keep her erupting Z-Cups in check. I had a rooting interest in this as my JagerNotes clearly say “Tits Suspenders, Stop Staring”. Seriously, why is this busty broad destroying 16 ounce canned PBR’s? Isn’t there a law against this on New Years Eve? As she puts the drink back between her bing-bongs, I quickly notice that besides the dancing 4ft tall lesbian, filing into the club is enough USDA Prime Cut Ass to stop a Japanese Bullet Train.

          Hang on, DJ Danjah just grabbed the mic again, “PUT YOUR F#%$IN HANDS UP!” Heavy bass quickly follows this announcement as another chicken has clearly exploded over the dance floor, or was it that girl’s colossal cleavage? Obviously she crushed enough PBR to induce that pyroclastic flow.

          Let’s take a look at more of my Jagernotes. All the usual suspects are in play right on queue. We have the visually angry girl standing in the middle of the dance floor staring someone down, there’s the middle-aged Indian gentlemen who creeps at the club every Saturday night since 2007 and still has his retro flip phone attached to this belt loop as most cool people do. There’s the women who requests ‘Dancing Queen”, but wont get to hear until after the bar closes and everybody’s left except for her. There’s Billie Jean, who surprisingly, isn’t his lover. Well MJ if it’s not her then who? You never made a sequel to that song! There’s the random crotch grab that I never identified and probably won’t want to. There’s the two bored girls sitting in the corner with martini glasses not designed for a dance floor. And then of course there’s this; “PUT YOUR F%&#IN HANDS UP!”

          I’ve already ignored the fact that while being in the DJ booth, my ear plugs have disintegrated and so I will be hearing crystalware tuning for the next two weeks as my hearing recovers from the bass bullying my eardrums. It’s amazing the amount of stress the human body can absorb on one single evening, from the thumping bass of death, to the uncountable amount of voltage in the lightshow which was enough to black out the Superbowl.

          Here comes the ball drop, Countdown, 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. KABOOM! Dead Chickens everywhere! Her Tits explode! Some chick Hyper-belches in my direction, another successful wallet purging has taken place on December 31st.

As the New Year parades into our lives, I find myself noticing a lot of people as depressed as those suicidal balloons leaping to their deaths as they hit the dance floor.

I know 2014 may be a tough year coming for some folks, but I do reserve a generous amount of hope for myself and for others as well. I was fortunate enough to have seen every minute of it from the cockpit of the whole operation that evening. The lights, the music, the bartenders, it was a full blitz to end 2013 and as for the rest of the evening after leaving the club that night… well that’s none of your damn business J Just remember folks, it’s a new day, a new year, a chance to start something that could forever change your life.

One final thought to close this out…

 PUT YOUR F$&%IN HANDS UP!

Credits:

DJ Danjah

Chris B. “Lights”

World War Z-Cup

Indian Flip-Phone Guy

Tiny Dancer

Stiff Angry Chick

Phantom Crotch Grabber

Dancing Queen

Two Bored Girls

Jagermeister

Special Thanks to:

Arena Night Club & Sports Bar (Nashua, NH)

Charlie (Owner)

Matt (Manager)

Tanya, the bartender who kept giving me paper.

JAMES BOND, 00FENSIVE?

Unlike our favorite British Secret Agent, I sadly do not have a license to kill. However, I do have creative license to piss a few people off, so maybe this will draw some similarities to the infamous tuxedo wearing, gadget wielding, lady slayer that is one of the last few symbols of masculinity left in this world.

            Knowing fully well of his love for booze and bed wrecking, women since the cinematic debut of ‘Dr. No’ in 1962; still hold a certain James Bond close to their heart, and maybe a few other areas as well. But why in a time where news media and social media purposely over-inflate garbage news stories, which all conform to the restrictions of political correctness; does a mythical man like this still exist on the big screen? Sadly, he is a myth. Men of this coarse nature are becoming harder to find as every word, spoken or written, is captured, scrutinized, misinterpreted and read to the general public as something completely different. One could point the finger towards large corporations desiring to appeal to a larger fan-base in an effort to build up an already massive revenue stream. Maybe it’s the lobbying by a more aggressive feminist movement or TV shows like ‘The View’ spewing their caustic post-menopausal hate juice, but what could possibly be worse than a daytime show piloted by five overpaid, over-the-hill windbags? The answer is a society full of weak-minded males.

Now let’s be perfectly clear, I don’t condone slapping women’s asses in broad daylight as a form of career encouragement, unless it’s a company party and you’re looking to plow through a few cocktails and maybe a few coworkers as well. I do however take offense to the glairing popularity of a vanilla popsicle like Justin Bieber over, say, a Daniel Craig or a Michael Fassbender. Daniel Craig has a personality that in many ways reflects his martini sipping alter-ego; where as Bieber couldn’t crack a Triscuit with a pair of vice-grips. Stand him next to Miley Cyrus and we’ll see who’s a bigger pussy. They could be twins for all we know! If Adolf Hitler knew his master race would consist of Miley and Bieber look-a-likes, he might have just settled for opening a Bed ‘n’ Breakfast in East Berlin.

Was there a meeting of the genders that I missed? Was there a paragraph in the collective bargaining agreement stating we had to relinquish our balls? My sources indicate in the upcoming Bond Movie, 007 is tasked with saving a litter of puppies from an evil cigar smoking henchmen and along the way meets his life partner at a new-age church function over cookies ‘n’ fruit punch. I guess if it can compete in the box office against ‘Ice Age 7’ that’s all that matters right? As long as it doesn’t offend anyone, it will most likely get the green light. Awwww, puppies!

The simplicity of being a male is something I cherish very closely. I love the idea of making impulsive decisions and possibly regretting it later. This spontaneity can also lead to great things, like a first kiss, a new career, a cute baby. James Bond is arrogant, impulsive, womanizing, brash and mentally unstable. So he’s essentially perfect. So comparing 007’s decision making in today’s soft serve world, why do we always form a committee after a negative event occurs in order to remove liability from ourselves in fear of nay-sayers and attorneys with deep pockets? If Jimmy B had three henchmen standing in his way, one gets shot, the second is captured for interrogation and the third is thrown off a rooftop purely out of anger. Problem solved, job well done. We’re so focused on what everyone else is doing that we’re not paying attention to what we’re doing. James Bond isn’t checking his facebook feed to see how Money Penny’s handling her recent breakup. He’s busy doing guy stuff.

Do me a favor; there are roughly twenty-five James Bond movies. Take some time off from your busy blogging schedule and plow through these flicks, write down five things you find offensive about them, then loosely roll up that paper and shove it up your ass. No one should care about what you find offensive! Yet, our news is filled with it, our jobs are affected by it and now it’s drastically shaping the human race, for the worse. If James Bond dies, we as a species die with him. Our heroes in uniform look up to cinematic legends like him. By preserving and breaking through this age of over-coverage, there’s still a chance to turn things around, but it will take every man, woman and child to save ourselves from this snowball of s&#t we’ve created for humanity.

Happy F&#%ing New Year.

FIVE GUYS, ONE BURGER

Well, it’s official. I’ve caved in, given in to the sheer power… basically sold out. I told myself in the beginning that I wouldn’t write about these guys (five of them to be exact), because every foodie in North America has taken a crack at it, and I figured that FIVE GUYS has already received plenty of accolades, they wouldn’t need my input at this point…but then again, who really does? I write because I have to, it’s the only way my head doesn’t explode. The fact is that so many times I’ve been walking towards my car and the scent hits me; inevitably altering my course. The aroma wafts through the constantly opening front door past the mesmerized, conga line-sized mass of customers as they aggressively push each other almost over the counter while massaging themselves in burger grease, evoking images of Black Friday in the toy section.

                Okay, maybe it’s not that insane, large vats of grease aren’t available to the customers and nobody’s knocking each other out for the latest stuffed animal or video game, but I believe FIVE GUYS has a concrete reputation for satisfying your craving every time you order. You’re coaxed inside by the aroma and the promise of a caloric invasion that blitzes the palette, when in line you’re presented with a 50’s style menu consisting of more food toppings then actual food. However this is a smart idea, because it keeps the line moving and since everyone is ordering either a burger, fries or a hot dog, not only is the food coming out faster, but the food going in is noticeably fresher. Most holiday shoppers who prefer a sit down restaurant during the holiday rush will have higher chances of being plagued with aggravating wait times, rudeness whether it be from the wait staff or from the customer themselves, a sub-par meal and a wallet chaffing bill that may rival the amount that you spent on lil Timmy’s LEGO spaceship; which he’ll most certainly lose half of the parts to before he’s done unwrapping the damn gift.

                Christmas shopping can be annoying enough with all the traffic and mall Santa’s, but your lunch break doesn’t have to be. These deceptively filling bundles of saturated joy can make any person cry out of their naughty parts. Ordering the burger is easy, do you want one patty or two? The harder part for the first timers is what toppings would you like. Now they do have additional toppings that they charge extra for such as cheese, bacon and lap dances, but the friendly array of condiments and toppings like mayo, lettuce, ketchup, mustard, relish, tomatoes, grilled onions and grilled mushrooms can all be piled onto your burger for no cost at all. This combined with a side of gorgeous fries cooked in peanut oil and maybe a Coke will certainly help you forget about that fender bender you had in holiday traffic or that alimony payment you struggled to make the day before.

                Now if you’re wondering whether you have a FIVE GUYS in your area, the odds are on your side. They’re most likely ringing your door bell right now. Their little menu and lustful flavor have taken over the North American landscape and will soon be a branch of government.

                Well there it is, you finally got your way, FIVE GUYS. Another poor schmuck has taken time out of their day to kneel at your red and white checkered feet and will succumb to the scent that you heathens purposely pipe directly into traffic and the only way that I will boycott your franchise is if it was discovered your meat was made from ground puppies.

Happy Holidays you bastards.

Five Guys Burgers and Fries

www.fiveguys.com

THE BEST MAN

The Average cost for an American wedding is about 25 grand. The average cost for a divorce is about 15 grand. How much does the best man take out of his pocket to compensate either scenario after shooting his mouth off about the time the groom got loose at the “massage parlor”? The answer is zero. And yet he’s still hitting the open bar that you overpaid for in order to wash down his shrimp cocktail. Many terrible traditions still reign supreme in today’s wedding ceremony, and some new ground rules should be put in place to avoid these oncoming train wrecks, from bad jokes to family secrets, to all out fist fights. Let’s explore some of these situations and maybe save a few marriages in the process.

            Let’s of course, start with the selection of the best man and the maid of honor. The original concept was simple, yet sincere. Now it’s been reduced to obligatory and guilt-ridden. Do you always have to pick your underachieving sibling or alcoholic best friend from college? For one thing, you can’t trust these people to do your laundry let alone use discretion while giving a speech during the reception. You invite dozens, if not hundreds of people to this one (and hopefully only) most important event in your life, but you emotionally concede in giving the microphone over to your railed out jerk-off cousin who spills the beans about how you got drunk one night and made out with Tommy’s wife of 5 years? It was Tommy, right? How can you tell through the slurred speech as your bestie slobbers into the microphone while your 70 year-old parents are watching in horror, trying desperately not to have dual heart attacks? You as a couple were just getting over the maid of honor’s speech where she suddenly thought it was open-mic night at the Comedy Cellar as she fires off one poorly timed inside joke after another. The maid of honor’s job is simply to prevent the bride-to-be from falling onto another guy before the wedding starts, after the wedding it’s fair game. Instead she’s trying to do her best Jerry Seinfeld impression as the microphone slowly melts into her champagne-stained cleavage.

            Here’s some new rules to consider; no drinking or drugs before the speech, or how about no speech at all? Bad jokes, forgettable memories, and family-dividing confessions make that 25 thousand dollar center-cut steak taste like a drive-thru hamburger. We’ve all probably witnessed the best of luck speech that quickly turned into a sob-fest; which results in some people leaving before the first dance of the newly married, but soon to be divorced couple.

            I once witnessed a best man essentially “come out of the closet” at a Christian wedding in front of 200 people…also in attendance was his wife and child. I found it curious when he spoke about dancing in his room to Britney Spears while his brother crushed Black Sabbath; insert some crying, a few confessions about being “different” and BANG! You’re on the dance floor and the Bestie returns from the bathroom dressed as a Dragonfly…Dragonfly. It had wings and everything.

            Another thing, when people get angry at weddings, why is it immediately the bride’s responsibility to go and make everyone happy again? Isn’t it her day? She’s the one wearing the dress and who put the whole ceremony together. She’s the one who has to put up with bad sex for next 20 years until the hubby stops putting out altogether. Here’s a subtle nudge, if you’re at a wedding and you become upset about something or someone…leave. Go home. Stomping around the reception trying to get people’s attention about the fact that you don’t like your assigned seat is so immature and yet it happens so often. It’s the bride and grooms time to be in the spotlight and enjoy themselves, so do us all a favor, if you’re throwing a temper tantrum about something, go drive your head into a snow bank to cool off your childish behavior.

            Here’s another trashy, half-ass move that’s common at most weddings- the useless gift. In traditional Italian weddings, if you didn’t have any true gift ideas that would separate you from the pack, one would leave cash. Any amount is fine; the newlywed couple will appreciate your generosity. Nobody needs a stainless steel toaster oven that wasn’t on the gift registry, unless later that same evening it’s used as a projectile aimed at your car window. No excuses, step your game up. Booze and cash wins every time.

            I can’t wait for the wedding invitation to show up in my mailbox, so that I may possibly write a sequel to this, because this party bus takes all kinds of passengers and I guarantee someone you didn’t expect to come, has an off night and blows chunks right in the ice bucket.

            Enjoy your Honeymoon!

WRITER'S BLOCK

What’s “PS” going to write about next? Could it be about the tasty bagel place in Bedford? Will he riff on a subject currently trending in our subculture? Will he go off about the gay bashing bible thumpers out of Topeka, Kansas? Who’s he going to befriend or offend next!?!?!

            A while back, I spoke with Johnny V “Mr. Bassist” about writing articles on a regular basis, and when I mean “a while back”, when my heated seats were just for decoration and spinning out on the road was more intentional than accidental, Before Mr. Bassist and myself spoke about the Identity that is now ‘Positive Sarcasm’, I mentioned that if I could make it to ten articles, I’d have no problem reaching fifty…cough.

            Sure there are weekends where the subject matter is killer and the words roll off the tongue like a Latin lover stealing your partner like some kind of Don Juan DeManwhore. Other days, one is simply smashing their forehead against the keyboard in hopes of forming some kind of readable sentence. I’ll compare it to a guitar player sitting in a makeshift studio, flicking the same two chords over and over again in hopes of hitting something by accident and having that “EUREKA!” moment. Actually, have you ever heard a guitarist ever say “EUREKA!”? Have you ever heard ANYONE use the word after discovering something great? Besides those pretend Geeks on “The Big Bang Theory”, I think this word has seen its last days and will hopefully fade away into oblivion. Normally when a guitarist discovers a new riff, he turns to the producer and shouts, “F*#k, this is good dope!”

            It’s not that I’m out of ideas; it’s that, like a good hurricane, or typhoon if you live near the pacific, the subject matter needs the right environment to form into something stronger. Otherwise that category-5 sputters down to a warm fart in the shower. It needs the right  ambiance, music, tea, coffee, booze, or tobacco. But your tools can’t become a distraction during the process. You can write to the ‘The Eels’ on low volume with a small glass of green tea or a jigger of rum over ice. However, blasting ‘Nin Inch Nails’ after coating your intestines with Irish Car Bombs will quickly turn your thought-provoking piece of writing into random DNA finger painting.

            Thankfully, I’ve formed a rough plan to continue this politically incorrect bullet train well into the New Year. I’ve been fortunate at this point to know my ranting has NOT been politically, religiously or monetarily skewed or filtered in any way. Some articles will be better than others, some will be reviews, some will be rants, some more offensive or more perverted than others. But this isn’t going to be how you view the world; it’s going to be how I view it. However your thoughts on subjects or maybe your experiences are certainly welcome.

        So as the sticky notes begin to pile up about what could be my next article, I’m happy to say that I’ve somehow drawn a conclusion to this mess, at least in my head anyway. I continue to seek out what I find interesting and often delicious, like Anthony Bourdain, but on a much tighter budget…and no TV deal.

A VERY HIPSTER HOLIDAY

“Merry Christmas sweetheart, here’s the keys to a 1984 Volvo Station-Wagon, an iPad 7 that costs more than the Volvo, and a gift certificate to Starbucks so you can sit alone in the corner while sipping your 9 dollar vanilla frappa-dorko”.

            …It’s not fun getting your ass kicked in an overpriced argyle sweater vest.

If you’re confused, I’m referring to the loud life of the modern day hipster. If you’re really confused, I’ll backtrack even further…the world is round, woman can vote, and being gay is not a detainable offense, unless you live in Russia.

Now let us not confuse a hipster with any other group of moderately privileged white people. Grunge was not a hipster movement; this was a movement of anger and rebellion.  The 60’s were not a hipster movement, this was a media based changing of the times. Coffee Shops and Blogging had nothing to do with it. Hipsters can simply be compared to H.I.V.; they mutate rapidly and are nearly impossible to kill.

However, unlike “the HIV”, hipsters have a place in American Society and deservedly so. Yes someone who only watches Indie movies that never made it to theaters, buys ‘Death Cab For Cutie’ tickets on pre-sale, shows off to everyone their new overpriced black-framed eyeglasses to make themselves look more intelligent/geeky and when you see the glasses, you’re less likely to punch them in the face and go for a body blow instead; which probably will be cushioned by the thickness of their argyle sweater, the fact that their grammar is so overly correct and pronounced you just want to puke on their plastic boat shoes, or that…ok, I’ve veered off course too much this time. Let’s reset this before the “blogging hipster” takes an axe to my front door…oh I forgot, hipsters don’t have any muscles, and yet you can’t take one out while in traffic. Ever tried to t-bone a Volvo Wagon? Car has more protection on it than some of the Hum-V’s in Iraq.

Look I don’t hate hipsters, I just find them very easy to make fun of, because like Headline News or Locust, they tend to move from one craze to another without truly understanding the depth of it; they just consume it until its useless or doesn’t draw any further attention. Sadly, they ruined the appeal of boat shoes, but nobodies losing sleep over the appeal of Pabst Blue Ribbon. It’s a garbage beer, but someone has to drink it and it helps immensely when you’re constipated. So I guess instead of Locust, we’ll compare them to spiders, we don’t like them when they’re in our home, but they have a place in our world and they help get rid of the mosquitoes. Volvos are hideous cars, but hipsters are generally very safe drivers making the Volvo even safer than it already is. And no one despises The Kardashian’s more than the hipster population. I’m sure the hipsters have a plan to over-inflate her gigantic ass with hydrogen so when she rubs her sagging booty against Kanye’s overpriced leather pants, the static electricity created should hopefully create the explosive effect we’ve all been pining for as she goes down in flames like the Hindenburg after veering to close to that Radio Tower. Stupid Nazis.

Hipsters are simply prototype guinea pigs for the common man to sample from, whether it’s clothing, music, food, politics or art. They disgust us at times, but can also inspire us to where we can perfect our own style, our own thoughts, our own view on life as an individual. But don’t confuse kindness with weakness, as long as the hipster stays in their lane, trims their beard, hands over their wallet, girlfriend and ‘Modest Mouse’ tickets, I will with all my strength, defend their right to open up an Artisan Bagel Shoppe in Brooklyn.

They’re not frauds…they’re founders.

DEATH BY GRILLED CHEESE

What happened to the simpler times when things you say weren’t overcomplicated and put into a negative context? I say potato. They say famine. I say Cool-Ade. They say Jonestown Massacre. I say convertible. They say Zapruder film. However, you say grilled cheese. I say disgusting. Well that’s all about to change…at least the grilled cheese part is.

The thought of grilled cheese seems so lazy to me, wasn’t it only invented to shut little kids up for dinnertime? There are no culinary or dietary benefits to mass-produced fake cheese inside two pieces of boring white bread. It should belong with Polio, in the past. Well I was certainly schooled today in the arts of this simple creation, but I’m not here to apologize, I’m here to enlighten you on the art of a simple process that was made far better than some could imagine.

This week’s palatable fun brought me to the quickly growing area of Second Street in Manchester. I was hoping someone was up to the task of giving the grilled cheese sandwich a “Chip Fuse” like overhaul and I think I’ve found the business that is up to this challenge. I believe if Souper Melts were located in Brooklyn or Venice Beach, it would turn into a Hipster Phenomenon within a month. It’s Retro-Americana quality would have every office junkie flocking there like the Mega Herd in “The Walking Dead” There’s something about the look of this niche diner that represents the food they make, with the comfy table arrangement and small collection of bar stools.

It would be exciting to see this place packed with cheese-foodies while a war of toasted white bread and butter took place on the flat grill behind the counter. The wondrous butter scent would be illegal in at least three states.  Taking a common, yet boring staple like cheese with white bread and adding beloved ingredients like Artichoke Hearts or BBQ flavored potato chips can seriously make a blind man do a double take. Starting off with such heavy hitters like the Mediterranean and Baconcue sandwich can be risky, but I wanted to know immediately if Souper Melt had enough culinary balls to be worth my time and the readers money. Well let’s get past the obvious cheese ingredients and focus on the items that may give Panera Bread patrons a reason to rethink their holiday shopping lunch break preference.

An obvious winner is the Baconcue on butter-toasted white with BBQ potato chips and smoked bacon. Yes, there’s cheese on it as well, but did this question have to be explored? Moving on to the Mediterranean, the stuff in this sandwich is usually reserved for specialty “Artisan” pizzas. A tough task handled well with a macaroni side salad and a homemade pickle.

For a one-page menu, there was quite a bit that I wanted to try, from the buffalo chicken to the Mr. Stromboli. However if you’re a sandwich Nazi, a grilled cheese Super-Sandwich can be built specifically to your dictatorship. Just pick your two cheeses, your choice of bread, and your choice of extras or meats.

I’m happy to say there will certainly be another visit to this little pocket of promise, because I’m kicking myself for not trying the hot dogs, specifically the Cincinnati Chili Cheese dog. I’m horny just thinking about it. How can you just throw that on the menu like it’s a side note? If its that good, it deserves more font recognition on the menu. Matter of fact; if you’re in the area for holiday shopping and fistfights over children’s toys, you have to look past the larger franchises and give this spot a try. It may earn a place a place in your heart or if you’re perverted about food…a place in your pants. Offended now? Too bad, eat at Souper Melt.

Souper Melt

845 Second Street                                                             

Manchester, NH                                                                                        

www.soupermeltgrilledcheese.com 

603-935-7342

COMMANDO FRIDAY

For most nine to fivers, Friday’s aren’t as much fun as they used to be, now that people work more hours and suck from the corporate tit out of fear of losing their jobs. There is an epidemic sweeping our nation as we speak, the problem that mutates so often that it’s hard to pinpoint. It’s been referred to as “Crazy Hat Day” or “Halloween Costume Day” or “Pajama Day”. I know it better as “Soul-less Morale Day” or “Fake Fun Day”. It is without a doubt the most pathetic excuse for employee appreciation as any I’ve ever seen…and it’s spreading. It’s essentially “World War Z” with Doctor Seuss Hats. I guess the original method of pay increases and additional time off doesn’t work anymore according to the analysts at these giant corporations. Remember this; a med student who finishes last in their entire class is still referred to as “Doctor”. Bend over; here comes the C plus proctologist!

          Is there a cure for this plague? Not yet. Is there a treatment for the symptoms? I’ve conducted a few tests. Here are my results:

          Fridays were originally a day to essentially wrap up your weekly workload and transition over to the weekend where rest is well deserved and fun is in demand, but now the amount of crap that needs to be shoveled has spilled over into your Fridays.

          Now your weekend, which was originally filled with 80’s cover bands and one-night stands are now filled with running errands and putting in overtime.  “Goofy Shoes Day” will not fix this problem. It must be solved the old fashioned way.

Most men run out of clean underwear by Thursday and a recent trend shows that women who bend over in the workplace while wearing thongs tend to stick out like a bright light in the New Mexico Desert. And if it’s one of those days where granny panties are essential, the embarrassment of them bunching up above your waistline will almost certainly destroy any credibility you may have. So what undergarments should you consider to be workplace efficient? Better yet…should you consider any undergarments at all? Consider the upside, it’s cost-efficient because you save money on laundry in the long run, less wear and tear on your skivvies, but the most important point of going commando is it’s quietly exciting.

There is nothing more exhilarating than knowing all that separates you from your coworkers is a thin layer of corduroy, denim or for the serious players, silk. For the ladies that believe they can enjoy a commando Friday while wearing a dress, you’re referred to as Patriots for your constant bravery while maneuvering the workplace with such gravitas.

Now there are no baby steps for this, you just have to throw it all on the line and make sure your pants don’t have any holes in them. It truly is a dirty secret that you carry throughout your day at the office and every person you speak with; you quietly know that a party is downstairs…and you’re the first one invited! Now you don’t have to go stag to this event, if you’re a fun person and a careful planner, there may be others at the office willing to join you in this weekly adventure of fresh air and fun fabrics. It’s truly a secret club that doesn’t take away from your personal appearance but only adds that extra pep into your step. Be advised to take additional steps for weekly or monthly issues that may hinder your Friday work experience. And if you feel that additional steps should be taken to enhance your workplace on Commando Friday, I believe as long you weigh the pro’s and con’s carefully and monitor your “output” or “intake”, this experience will happily help you sail through the workday and into the weekend, where underwear is truly a foreign object. As far as the silly hat? Burn it.

YOU

How am I going to pile up the word count this week? I’m sitting here asking myself the same question. I want to talk about one of my favorite local Szechuan places, but I will offend 4.2 billion people in Asia. I want to talk about the current media fixation on bullying, but I will offend some soccer mom who coddles their child too much. I want to talk about…a lot of things. But I will offend someone, guaranteed. So what do I do? Better yet, what do YOU do? Imagine political correctness in every aspect of your life. How you wake up, what position you sleep in, how you shave, where you shave, how to eat, how to drink, how to fart (ladies included). You can’t say “hi”, it has to be “hello”. It’s like a bad network comedy. Am I drunk? Question is, are YOU drunk? And if you’re not, maybe you should be. Maybe you have eaten too many French fries, oops don’t want to offend the French! Maybe you could stand to gain a few pounds.

Reread that opening statement…go on, I’ll wait for you…

Okay, lets continue, how many times have you looked at your phone in the last twenty minutes, how long have you been on the computer besides reading my articles? How long have you been watching TV? You go to work for 9 hours and stare at a computer screen or a cash register, and then you go home and stare at a computer screen, TV screen or phone screen until you go sleep.

The overload of useless information and corporate guidelines will follow you home rather frequently where you can easily be consumed with the same issues. This leads me to my point…and it’s that I don’t have one.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing for you, I really do, but does there always have to be clear path with an honest message at the end? Ask yourself this question; what do you want to do right now at this very moment? Do you want to try that new pastry place down the street? Do you want to book a flight to San Francisco and see the sights? Do you want to try open mic night at your local comedy club? Do you want to bang that red-head with the little shorts at your gym? Why haven’t you? Are you afraid that you’ll miss an important email or a social media message? Are you afraid of the carbs from that food will make your ass jiggle a bit too much? Are you afraid you’ll bomb at the club or offend someone in the crowd? Are you afraid you’ll drink too much and throw up? Are you afraid that you can’t afford the plane ticket? Are you worried the redhead has a significant other and will turn you down?

Never stopped me and never will, why should it stop you? We only get one shot at this life, and no matter what point you're at in life, you still have at least one of these options available to you on any given day that you wake up and take a deep breath. Maybe your excuse is that you don’t have enough time in your day. If that’s the case, then I recommend the movie “Crank” with Jason Statham, you’ll learn time management awfully fast.

What the hell are you waiting for? Turn off that sad hipster music, track down that Ginger Broad and invite her out for some fruity cocktails. You’ll thank yourself later when she giggles about her days as a college gymnast and even though you have to work early tomorrow, she won’t mind bending your “clock”.

YOU are welcome, world.

THE ART OF BODYBUILDING

“I love the smell of bronzer in the morning.” –General George S. Patton

Clearly Ole Georgy Porgy was a fake baker and he wouldn’t be the last. Oh, before we begin, please spare me the Jersey shore jokes. At this point they’re low hanging fruit on the joke tree and I’m sure there is better material out there, especially considering if Snooki were to compete against these NPC physique ladies, they’d roll that loose pig off the stage in heckling defeat. Strolling through Boston Saturday after they cleaned up the Red Sox fans off the streets, some with handcuffs and some with shovels; I was excited to see what events would unfold during the evening. I’m glad I wore dress clothes, because every clown with half a bicep showed up in a “Smedium” to pack the 1100 seat John Hancock Theater in downtown Wicked-Pissaville. A source from behind the stage said it reeked of protein farts and body odor, because when you have competition tanner on; you can’t use deodorant/anti-perspirant for if you do, your armpits will turn green and the judges are opposed to any color that isn’t cocoa. Now I have to give these competitors props. The amount of training, mental and dietary discipline one has to endure on a daily basis in order to just get on stage and not be embarrassed is enough to bring every bodybuilder to tears near the end. It’s hard because the brain begins to play tricks on you after the amount water loss endured the week before the contest and then to have maintain certain poses for extended periods of time and flexing to the point of near physical collapse. One guy flexed is abs so forcefully; his pet gerbil Alfred briefly broke the sound barrier after being fired out of the contestant’s ass. This was no way for an audience member to lose an eye, but the SHOW MUST GO ON!

After the paramedics rushed the furry fart-ball to Mass General, the audience was joyfully introduced to the bikini section of the competition. Understand that it takes a lot more than rock hard abs and fake bing-bongs to win this event, u have to essentially ban all carbs and salt from your life for at least 90 days, not to mention monitor your water intake by the droplet. For the bikini, I recommend either a blue or a red color, but try to pick something that stands out. I have to state this because its chewing on my brain, if your man or woman doesn’t put as much effort on your wedding day as these people did at the competition, feel free to leave that idiot all champagned up at the alter and start anew. Criticize all you want, but at least I feel better.

Now the event lasts about 3 ½ hours, including several classes in the categories of Bodybuilding, figure, fitness, bikini, and physique. Now I originally thought this would be a little too long, because some of the women in the physique class would take to chewing on the pillars of the building. But all the female roid-rage moments were thankfully hidden behind the stage…the men not so much. One male physique poser (no names, we’ll just call him bitch-face) chose to bark insults at the sound guy while standing center stage after his music cut out in mid-pose. No matter what distractions may arrive at your doorstep, you NEVER lose your composure on stage, and that’s why bitch-face took third place in his class, instead of owning first. The judges do not like that and they made it known by where he ended up placing. You don’t go to a nice restaurant and shake salt n’ pepper on your 50 dollar steak and you don’t lose your cool on-stage in front of 1100 meatballs, lesson learned, bitch-face. Now 4-Time Mr. Olympia winner Jay Cutler was on hand to sign autographs, take photos, and pose on stage. The fun began when he walked off stage…into the audience…in his mankini. I swear women were going to start pulling out dollar bills as he climbed on the theater chairs and flexed his massive chest for every flashing bulb in the building, stopping in front of a wide-eyed 5 year old girl to shake hands, flash his tongue, and do a floor shaking chest pump dance as the two guys next to me went from six to midnight. Graphic? One could argue this point. Entertaining? I say its fun for the whole family!

I guess to wrap this mess up I would say, with all the health problems and dietary mis-information or lack thereof in this country, to see this type of physical perfection in all age groups where even the Monopoly Man Look-like had the crowd cheering and applauding his 60 year old physique as he passed GO again, was truly refreshing. So close this out, if you’re sitting here and reading this with one hand inside a bag of Cheetos, get up off your ass, wash your hands, and run as fast as you can through oncoming traffic, and if you make it thru without getting hit, sign up for the gym tomorrow morning and leave the cellulite behind. 

PROLOGUE

There is one constant that I believe to be always true; it’s that none of us have a clue. Some of us believe that true freedom is small government and choice without consequence; others believe that this theory leads to chaos and the breakdown of civilization. Some people believe in science and molecules; others believe in cloud people that fire lightning bolts. I’m not here to argue whether Star Trek is better than Star Wars (it is). I’m here to remind you that when you ask that monkey why he threw his feces at another monkey, it’s because he saw a human do it first.

I texted my manager wishing him good luck with his new regional gig in Our City Radio and he responded saying that he would continue to read my articles and that I should come up with a title for my rants that I write weekly. Hey, I have enough crap to do and now a bassist for a metal band is telling me how to present my articles?!?! Wait…Jon Paul Jones, Getty Lee, Les Claypool and Sting are all bassists…okay he might be on to something then. I guess in all that sarcasm lies a positive, Bass Guitarists are geniuses. Now when I write these articles, it’s usually late on a Saturday night and I could be filled with either green tea or cheap brandy. So there is a solid chance that what I write makes absolutely no goddamn sense to anyone including me, but that’s the beauty of it all, I‘m willing to take that risk. The message in my articles will always be positive, but you may have to cross some burning bridges and rocky terrain to get to that positivity.

            The world is filled with bash-happy bloggers and political agendas on all sides, that when you say you don’t like your pizza with pepperoni, someone will call you a racist. It is said that most jokes have a portion of truth behind them. Once again, if you have a common sense bell, feel free to ring it until your ears bleed. I do not push political agendas or complain that V12 Engines are bad for the environment, or that you shouldn’t eat veal. But if you ask me to side with a comedian who told a bad joke or the person who was offended by that bad joke, I will always side with the comedian, because in order to fail; there has to be an attempt. So what I ask from you the reader, is to let go of your hardline feelings and be open minded about what you have been and will hopefully continue to be reading in the coming weeks.

Also don’t drink diet soda, that’s the biggest joke of all.

BEING MICHAEL BAY

“Roll Tape…And ACTION!!! (Explosions) and CUT!!!” From start to finish, one can argue that a movie directed by Michael Bay is usually filled with this type of meat-headed simplicity. Sadly though, moviegoers are generally a very negative audience; which upsets me, because the last place I would choose to be in is a theater full of bratty bloggers all hopped up on Haterade. So let us take a stroll back down memory lane to identify the issue, if there is one.

            In Michael Bay’s first two movies, We saw Will Smith before he went on to become one of Hollywood’s highest paid actors, we also saw Sean Connery in arguably one of his best all time films, ‘The Rock’, a must watch for any action junky. At this point, why just blow up an island when you can blow up a whole planet…well Bay almost did in ‘Armageddon’; which he dropped on audiences only two years later. Now I’m not going to dissect every movie that Bay’s done in this article, you can look them up yourself. I’m here to quell the rage that people show when they hear his name attached to movie credits. Lets focus on his latest collection, The ‘Transformers’ trilogy. With three movies having a combined gross of almost $3 Billion dollars and a fourth movie due in summer of 2014, the arguments against these were that the plot was weak, the acting was cardboard, the jokes were offensive, the tone of the movies were uneven, and it was giant ball of noise with a side of Megan Fox’s ass.

            So we’re in agreement that a movie about giant fighting space robots is not an Oscar contender…No S%*t. IT’S A MOVIE ABOUT GIANT FIGHTING ROBOTS! That’s like complaining about a porn movie, because the characters aren’t believable enough or that the set looks too low budget, please, all you do is skip ahead twenty minutes to the money shot and pass out on your unwashed futon. I even doubt if you even made it through the previews, pervert. I think in today’s world, men have such a hard time showing their masculinity in front of women, they’d prefer to stand out by not flowing with the masses to go see these giant popcorn blockbusters, instead opting for more independent movies as a way to impress the ladies. That way of standing out and pronouncing “I don’t run with the masses, I march to a different tune” is as stupid as your plaid sweater and black-rimmed eyeglasses. What are you, the singer for ‘Kings of Leon’? What is so wrong with loving the slow motion action shots and dirty jokes? Just remember dudes; before there was Megan Fox, there was Optimus Prime. This is why we flock to these CGI filled blockbusters, to feel like a kid again, before responsibility was a word we could spell. Now don’t come away from this thinking that all I do is watch super over-hyped mega-flicks, I have seen some beautiful and heartfelt independent movies, I can certainly be a fan of an original flick by some no-name director who may never get another job in cinema again, but what Michael Bay does with slow moving bullets, walking away from explosions, and big budget action scenes is something I can only describe as beautiful. He’s delighted me, frightened me, offended me, and made me clap while laughing all in the same breath and when I leave the theater after 142 minutes of special effects and artificial noise, I know in my fast beating heart that the 15 bucks I just spent was a way better choice than just sitting at home and melting into YouTube. Michael Bay isn’t done yet, he’ll be back and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.

As far as M. Night Shymalan, let us hope he doesn’t return at all.

MEATLOAF, A LUST STORY

Meatloaf…no, not the fat-ass Ballad Rocker from ‘Fight Club’, I mean the culinary oddity that once delighted half the kids in America, and terrified the other half, blame mom.

            In my opinion, the idea of the Holy Grail is to find the pinnacle of whatever you happen to be seeking, whether it’s life, love or something your parents would force into a bread pan and bake for an hour. I suggest everyone should try BAD meatloaf, if you haven’t already. It is, without a doubt, the most brutal dish one could ever screw up, because if you mess it up, not only does it taste like potting soil, but also you can never clean the pan again. The loaf welds itself to the side of the bread pan and now your throwing away two things.

            In order to confirm that I’ve actually found GREAT meatloaf, I brought a couple friends along (yes I have friends) to sample what I’ve wanted to write about for quite a while. The British Beer Company is a new establishment in Manchester and I was curious to see how the food and hospitality was on a packed Friday evening. My friends were already seated when an absolute sweetheart of a server was already taking our beer orders, and since I was there for work reasons technically, I highly recommend drinking on the job, I wish congress would drink on the job…maybe they already do and this wouldn’t help further my argument. Maybe I’ll stick to cute servers and righteous meatloaf. Once Miss SmilyPants took off with our drink order, it wasn’t long before she returned with a hors d’oeuvre like plate of beer for my friends and little something for myself. Now during this very short and enjoyable process, the entire restaurant was packed, the bar didn’t have a single free stool and yet none of the staff seemed to miss a beat, the front of the house was polite, the serving staff were cruising around without any panic and the bar patrons were quite cheery as their B.A.C continued to rise. You wouldn’t have noticed a full house, things were running so smoothly, now maybe the kitchen staff was in “War of The Worlds” mode, but you couldn’t tell from the looks of the food that was passing by my table. Now I admit, I can be a little impatient on Friday afternoon; my buddies say I act like I blew 4 lines of coke and have the look of Walter White, but I was no match for the speed of the appetizers to our table and how fast the main courses soon followed.

            It’s now here, Mashed Potatoes…Fresh Vegetables…Meatloaf.

The sound of Coldplay’s “Fix You” stuck in my head, making the moment fairly emotional as I take my first bite into the moist, gravy covered, steaming…oh dear.

How can something so easily botched by domestic households everywhere be so done to perfection here? Why do I even care? They have a bar with every beer you would want on draft, they have servers that would melt Hitler’s heart, and all I can mentally process is this simple European staple? Well it’s why I came here in the first place. It is that good. I can’t get past it. And why would one want to? There are so many overdone, overrated and overcooked piles of garbage out there, that when something this enjoyable comes along, it deserves recognition. There are other entrée’s to choose from, like the Pot Roast; which is a beast of a dish, but tonight it’s all about the loaf. The BBC is a clear winner and deservedly so. They do it right and that’s all that matters.

British Beer Company

http://www.britishbeer.com/

603-282-0589 (Manchester, NH)

ANOTHER MILDLY SARCASTIC FOOD REVIEW…BUT WITH PIZZA

Writing about your choice of pizza places can be rather difficult, because that’s when the pie purists and deep dish dough-brains always want to throw in their opinions as to who makes the best circular piece of bread with cheese on it. Well my response to you is to simply keep it to yourself this time. This is about me, it’s always been about me, that’s what I told all my exes and that’s what I’m telling the readers now. I’m not here to crown the number one pizza joint in the world; it would take me months from Chicago to all five boroughs to establish the reigning champ. So let’s slow down and simply take in what this particular restaurant has to offer.

From the beginning, you’ll have my attention if you have outside seating, but its so hard to do up in the northeast, it’s either the temperature of the sun, it’s raining or there’s five feet of snow hindering your enjoyment of the patio furniture, so I guess we’ll just focus on the indoor ambiance…yeah, ambiance.

To picture it in your mind, huge ceilings, old school brick and wood decor, friendly on the eyes lighting, a nice bar with all the wines and spirits you either cant pronounce or can’t afford, and an open kitchen to entertain the lame couple that can’t entertain themselves. Now that brings up something that I should make note of while dining at 900 Degrees, this is not a fast paced culinary sweatshop. The pizza is wood grilled and prepared from scratch with fresh/correct ingredients that give you a feeling that effort was put into creating your food. So while you’re waiting twenty minutes for your pie to roll out, have a drink or an app, maybe strike up a conversation with that hopefully interesting person you brought along. If you expect everything immediately and at your fingertips, you may be quite disappointed when your lady friend shows up with makeup resembling a melted Crayola and smashing her face into a left out bag of potato flour while hastily running out the door and still smelling like another man’s sofa…wait a few extra minutes for your food.

            The menu may have your typical cheesy catchwords like ‘Tuscan’ or ‘Rustic’, but all that is quickly forgiven once you lay into the thin, sort of crunchy and aromatic ‘Bella Cosa’ pie that’s just been delivered to your table on an elevated serving dish so when you stare at the pizza, it stares back lovingly. You can create your own custom pie, but don’t bother; there are already enough awesome combinations on the menu to tie you over as soon as you open it. All the dish names are quite cozy and Italian, but I do take humorous offence with ‘Pompeii’. I’m so glad that the horrific death of thousands of Roman’s has inspired a jalapeno and hot sausage pizza. Bon-appetite, Lava Surfers! At least this volcano pizza is available in gluten-free dough. So it all evens out in the end.

            From before the pizza with mussels and Tuscan Spicy Wings, to after the pizza with Toasted Almond Cream Cake, it’s a good time out food-wise. But if your looking for a deal, because you’re a cheap bastard, well try to drag some friends out on a Tuesday for a buy one pizza, get another free, there’s also happy hour at the bar from 3-6pm.

            I like to rate my movies, but I don’t like to rate my food, all I know is that 900 Degrees is really tasty stuff and I think you should go there too. Check out their menu, specials and list of events at their website. My recommendation, try anything with artichokes or Kalamata olives on it. That could be the dessert, but I guess you won’t know until you go there.

www.900Degrees.com                                                                                 

50 Dow Street 

Manchester, NH                                                                                      

1-603-641-0900

My First Love

In the nighttime air, your lips moistening against the surface of a supple, juicy breast, your body tingling, hands nervously shaking with excitement, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Its now finally here, as you experience your first piece of…fried chicken.

            That’s right, folks, I went lowbrow this time, blame it on writers block, it’s the easy way out. Either way, we’re going down this road and I hope to hell this highway doesn’t have too many traffic jams…mmmmm jam.

            I’ve ranted about street food before, its purity, its simplicity…its fat content. This little gem of a food shop was the ABSOLUTE first of the new restaurants in Manchester to catch my attention, and if you look closely at just the chicken alone after your eyes adjust from being blinded by the giant neon sign outside, an exceptional amount of effort has gone into this poultrypalooza. All the excess fat is carefully removed from the meat so that just the crispiness of the thin skin will be left over the meat after being fried in a lightly spicy batter that will make you wanna eat the bones; which I have accomplished many times on the wings. You can tell when a chicken wing is cooked just right, to where you can bite off the tip of the wing and that crunchy fried goodness is like a little piece of candy before you dive into your actual meal.

            Now when you think of New Hampshire, you don’t think of deep fried chicken or Gyros or even beef kebabs (why kebab is spelled differently in the menu from the store name I don’t know). Hell, you don’t even think of food, you’re imagining over-priced antique shops, watery maple syrup, highway liquor stores and many other reasons to help you quit life. Yet some clowns would argue, “But this is New England! We have all four seasons and its beautiful watching the leaves change.” And my response to them would be…you’re an idiot, the first amendment doesn’t apply to you and you’re no longer allowed to communicate with any other Bi-Pedal mammals. Un-cuff your pant legs, get back in your Subaru with your Panini Sandwiches and don’t ever leave Burlington, Vermont again. Your plaid shirt is ugly and you’re afraid of your wife.

            Now let’s deal with facts at hand, the food selection is vast, it’s as if they jacked every street cart from midtown Manhattan and shoved them all into a four page brochure. Another thing I should mention is that USA Chicken doesn’t pretend to be something their not, they don’t appeal to new-age foodies, their not gluten-free, they don’t have a sob story…It’s simply food porn with a smile and I’m usually so stuffed with fried chicken and flaky meat pies, that I usually overlook their large assortment of desserts consisting of ice creams, milkshakes, pies and cakes. Plus the choice of eating there, taking it out or having it delivered (fat-ass) just gives me way more options than I probably deserve. Now as a true gym rat who tends to follow a more forgiving culinary regiment, this is more of a weekly cheat meal for someone like myself, but If you are one of those people that believe Diet Cola is good for you, I recommend either a Gyro Salad or the Kebab Salad as alternative to the fried food overkill.

            One more thing I wanna add before wrapping up this disaster piece of a food review, when its Friday night at 2 am and your stumbling out of the bars with some freckle-faced bimbo you just met, before sealing the deal and getting tested the next day for a STD, due note that USA Chicken is open until 3am on Friday and Saturday and is right across the street from that bar you just fell out of. This review will self-destruct in 5 seconds…

USA Chicken & Biscuit (Open 7 Days)

603-232-2934

}www.chickenonelm.com