Night Of Drunken Posts

So Fancy said for us to all bring beers and come over to his house, so that we can post beer reviews to that other site I do, edibleunknown.com. I guarantee you I will be plastered out of my fucking mind, much like your daddy, in four and a half seconds. So I will continue posting the things that happen, as they happen, right here in this blog, then make family friendly reviews on the other site.

I don't have the luxury of being able to go to ratebeer.com from my fancy richass elite iPhone, like Steve does, since he likes knowing whether a beer is rated 100 or not before he stuffs it into the vagina of some full-girlfriend experience hooker like he rents every Whoresday. Therefore, I bought two beers based entirely on name: Squatters Captain Bastard's Oatmeal Stout, and a beer that said PORTER all over it before I found out it was made by Michelob. I am drinking the Oatmeal Stout right now. It is only 4 percent alcohol, which is less alcohol than my spit has after a week in church. It tastes like you would assume the taste of blowing the Quaker Oats guy tastes, which is basically like rotten oatmeal from a blender. It is not good. I am not wasted. I hate Steve's iPhone.

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I slammed that last fucking beer because it was the weakest, most disgusting shit on the face of the planet. Steve is drinking it now, and praying to his god. Which is a box of tweezers he bought at Tesco's.

I am drinking PORTER, which is by Michelob. Compared to the last beer, this beer is 99% alcohol. Even though it doesn't say how much alcohol it has on the label. The neck-label says it was favored by Laborers, in England. Poor people beer is probably way better than rich people beer, because it doesn't have to have "notes" and "subtle undertones" of anything except for liquor. Steve's wife just left to go to work, which is what she does while we're drinking. She is way hotter after I've had beer that doesn't suck.

I will drink this one as fast as I can, for your entertainment, forever.

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I am now drinking Merry Christmas And Happy New Year Anchor Brewing Company 2008 Fuck You, which is a stupid beer name. My girlfriend just showed up, which means we can't eat a cake where Steve's wife pops out, which would be weird, because she is smaller than a cake. My girlfriend brought her sister Christina's daughter over. This is weird, because Christina has twelve daughters, and they are all from a vagina. This beer has a picture of a tree on it. I don't know what trees have to do with alcohol, but fuck trees. I am ahead of Fancy in beer drinking, for once, which is weird. I want to stay ahead, for bragging rights. Fancy wants to show my girlfriend his vasectomy scar, which he will say tastes like blueberries.

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This Christmas beer tastes like Christmas. Like a penis wrapped in holly. Who I hear is a whore. I need more beer. But not this Christmas beer. Holly is a bitch.

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I am now drinking Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale. This reminds me of Depeche Mode, Black Celabration, which is spelled retarded, at least in my MP3 folder. It's pretty bitter, like ashes. Steve hasn't yet showed my girlfriend his vasectomy scar. That's pretty sad, because I would assume it would involve Junk Adjusting, and that's a pretty fucking awesome skill. Steve is configuring his Mac, which means he's turning into an Apple user, which means Option+Shift+K all the way. Bitches. I want to put on a black-person bandanna, and go riding around in a car that is obviously from the seventies, and maybe point at someone coming out of their house and then everybody pours out of the car and does something. Fuck yes. Celebration Ale is awesome.

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Steve just poured some Kulmbacher, which is Deutschland Uber Alles. This is Nazi beer. I want to be at an Oktoberfest right now, with hot blonde bitches in leiderhosen, who will soon not be wearing leiderhosen. I am fucking smashed, and I haven't yet taken the pills I use to quash my sexuality. So fuck yes. Call me, bitches. I can probably burn through four or five before I need more of this shit. Which is called Kumbacher. Or something. Fuck you. I have beer.

I Didn't Realize This Was A No Hate Room

Krem

wasn't meant to be funny or insulting... steeev: as strong as my genes are (spitting image of my father), her genes are strong too... so the kid would be red head/blue eye and look more like her dad than mine..

teleolurian

haha

teleolurian

i can think of other reasons the baby would look like her dad

Krem

... that's wrong dood

San Diego Part Stop Talking About San Diego: The Fucking Zoo

So a long time ago, I complained about the Las Vegas Zoo, which is basically like going over to your poors' friends houses and seeing their kids being all hungry and dirty and shit while their idiot parents are smoking glasscock. Except, in the case of the Las Vegas Zoo, the kids are actually animals, and the shitass parents who should be sentenced to death, for life, are really just poor dumb college kids who took Environmental Sciences and then later realized that nobody will ever pay them a million dollars to save a whale.

I was all ready to see what a real big, nice zoo was like, so one morning we woke up in our Hotel Circle tourist room and drove over to the zoo, which was literally like 18cm away. (It's in metric, because San Diego is in Mexico.)

Instead of launching into a long-ass boring monologue of every step I took, complete with run-on sentences like this one that I love to do so much all the time forever, I will merely note down the things I learned and how I learned them.

1. Monkeys are really fucking awesome. They're like people, but without guilt. The monkey part of the zoo is right up front. I would go to the zoo just to stand there in the monkey hole all day and make up stories about them. It would be worth my money. Also, yours.

2. The far parts of the zoo are where they hide the shitty boring animals. Up front there's lizards and snakes and monkeys. There's probably a flamingo wearing an eyepatch that smokes crack right next to the front gate, greeting people. As you head towards the back of the zoo, using the middle route like we were, here are the animals you see: Kickass Crack Flamingo, Monkey, Parrots And Eagles And Shit, Pandas, Polar Bears, Camels, Sixty Species of Asian Ox, Nightcrawlers, Rocks, Especially Ugly Rocks, Sand.

3. The kids part of the zoo has a pissed off porcupine, right next to the petting zoo. This is the best place for a porcupine EVER.

4. San Diego Zoo is approximately the size of Earth. I was there all morning and I never saw the typical shit like elephants and zebras and giraffes because by the time it was noon I had walked my legs down to tiny nubs and was super angry because I'd just realized #2, above, about how all the stupid ugly things are in the back.

5. When I walked out of the zoo to go back to my hotel circle prison, there was a newspaper stand. Every newspaper was talking about the collapse of the American economy and massive unemployment, while I was on vacation. I have never felt so rich as I did right that minute.

A Friendly Reminder From General Motors

Dear American Consumers And Government People With Money:

Greetings.

I'd like to bring to your attention a recent study, completely unbiased and true even though it was funded and performed exclusively by extremely opinionated GM "scientists", that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that every single job in America is dependent entirely upon the success of General Motors and your continued funding and purchase of GM automobiles. In fact, our detailed tracking models prove conclusively that, if ever GM should cease to exist, every McDonald's on the planet would immediately become a Shawarma Mart and would only hire terrorists who plan on visiting New York.

It is obvious that we cannot let this happen. The recent worldwide credit crisis has struck, and has caused untold poverty both on and off Wall Street (but mostly on), in large part because when you think of a GM vehicle you think of the old white truck that sits in the most convenient parking space in your apartment complex and never, ever moves. In other words, had everyone used that credit to buy a Yukon or Hummer, we wouldn't have this problem. In fact, we're working on another extremely scientific research paper that proves indubitably that Hummers not only don't contribute to global warming, they actually exhaust ozone pixies that fly directly to the ozone layer and urinate RAM.

Did I mention that GM is short for "genetic modification"? It's an often quoted tale that getting a Hummer can increase the size of your genitals. Just sayin'.

Troy Clarke,

Defender of America

San Diego Vacation: Tourist Ghetto

Upon finally arriving in San Diego, I did what everybody does when they want to learn how to get around a city - I purposefully got myself hopelessly lost, downtown, because every city has a downtown and every downtown has the most retarded street layout ever. Case in point: Downtown Vegas is a mishmash of one-way streets and latina hookers with moustaches. Downtown San Diego, on the other hand, is a mishmash of one-way streets with no hookers. I think. I have to admit, I was mainly just looking for the moustaches (they cost extra).

My girlfriend was patiently allowing me to drive all over creation in my desperate attempt to "learn the city", mostly because of the Valium I put in her birth control thingy, so I drove until I finally got turned around in a hospital parking lot (note: you ALWAYS get lost in a hospital parking lot, they build the things in the middle of the road just to spite you). Eventually, I gave up and navigated back to the freeway, using my superhero power of Knowing How To Get Back To Where I Started, where I drove to Hotel Circle.

Let me tell you something fantastic that the San Diego Mexicans did, when they built San Diego, way back at the dawn of creation in 1977. They decided that tourists were stupid, and instead of building a huge boulevard of casinos like some retarded towns, they decided to segregate any and all tourists on a crummy circular road, behind a chain link fence. On this road are two extremely crappy restaurants, and a liquor store that also sells novelty condoms shaped like pinatas. Props, my Californian Mexican overlords. Hotel Circle is the traveller's Folsom, except if Johnny Cash had played here he'd have eventually evolved into the Man in Drag.

For the next three days, I was confined to the gulag, venturing out only to see what American Mexico had to offer. But for now, we had plans to go to the Beach.

San Diego Vacation: San Bernardino

Sooner or later, you have to take a vacation from doing the things you love (writing code) and spend time doing things you hate (not writing code). To this end, I used my accrued week of company-sponsored Get The Fuck Out Of Our Office Building time to go to San Diego. I forget why, but I'm pretty sure I just picked a place that sounded like it was too far away to get to, and then my girlfriend accidentally agreed and I was screwed.

Now, Fancy says that San Bernardino is awesome, because they make porn there, and because every millionth customer might even find drugs in their hotel room and not have to buy some from the people who live there. This is good, because everyone who lives in San Bernardino smells kind of like when you leave a slice of mushroom pizza on a paper plate under a pile of laundry for a couple months, then find it and take a bite. Of course, he said that after I went there, which is sad, because I would have left my girlfriend in Victorville with a train ticket. Then, I would have spent my vacation looking for drugs and maybe being in a Porn Movie about finding drugs in my hotel room and then finding the train ticket I thought I gave my girlfriend and oops.

Anyways, we stopped in San Bernardino because we were pretty sure we had no idea where San Diego was. I thought it was in Venezuela but my girlfriend said that was silly, it was in Mexican California, and I told her she was dumb and she started to cry and then I had to say Alright, Maybe It Is In Mexico Or Whatever and secretly thinking how stupid she'd feel when we had to learn to speak Venezuelan.

We were also pretty hungry, so we stopped at Del Taco and got some food. Then I went outside, and there was a dead rat outside, and I got all excited because it was the most awesome thing ever, to have a dead rat outside of a building that makes food. I wanted to take it inside and make them wrap it in a tortilla but my bossy girlfriend said No, It Is Covered With Pesticides And That Is Why It's Dead.

Then she got mad that I wanted to smoke it, for the Pesticides. Then she made us leave. And that is All About San Bernardino.

Crosstalk

What I always imagine other tables are talking about at the restaurant:

Elderly Gentleman: You know, old chap, I pulled out Swann's Way again over the weekend. I figured I'd give it a go and sort of power through to the end. (Pats pockets for pipe).

Less Elderly And Ruggedly Handsome Gentleman: (offers matchbook) You know, I was just thinking it's time to go over the Hemingways again. Match the descriptions to the themes of despair, that sort of thing.

Elderly Gentleman: We sure are distinguished.

LE&RHG: Quite so. Quite so.

Yeah. That's what I think every single table is doing at a restaurant. Instead, when I actually pick up the crosstalk, here is what I here:

Complete Moron: I hear Sarah Palin done fucked a moose. In a helicopter.

Douche Wife: Don't they have to make special helicopter beds for that?

Hickass Yokel: Nah! I seen 'em!!

Oh human race. How you manage to simultaneously astonish and disappoint, all at the same time. If only I had a valium for each passing moment.