Thursday, August 27, 2009

This Beer Tastes Like Ass

There is no reason for a product in this day and age to be named "Bootie Beer." That is just bad marketing strapped to a rocket and shot into outer space. What, are the creators five years old and Belgian? Was this designed by aliens that watch a lot of mid-90s Jamie Foxx movies?
For shame, Bootie Beer... for shame.
NOTE: If it was the only thing available, I'd totally still drink it. I have a serious problem with alcohol!

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Searching for Meaning in Bathroom Graffiti

I stumbled on to some confounding graffiti the other night while drowning my myriad sorrows in a local bar called J. Gilligan's. I thought maybe you smart, with-it kids could help me suss out its meaning, if there's a meaning to be had at all. So... um... here it is:

Possible Meaning #1 - Maybe the author means it like, "I'll get you Dorothy, and your little dog, too!" Perhaps there's some sort of Supervillian running around Arlington, TX that goes by the moniker, "Pussyface," and maybe his arch-nemesis just happened to be pooping in the bathroom of J. Gilligan's and thought, hey, if Pussyface ever came in here to unload some brewskis, it would totally fucking blow his mind to see that I've been here too and that I was thinking about how I'd get him one of these days. Suffice to say, Pussyface's arch-nemesis had had a few brewskis of his own. And... yeah... I guess it could be the other way around. Maybe Pussyface is the hero and he had just foiled a Supervillian's dastardly deed (at J. Gilligan's, which I guess would amount to stealing someones Irish nachos and/or knocking over a pitcher of Miller Light) and as said agent of evil escaped into the night, he took a few seconds to pop into the men's room and scrawl out his final taunt. Why he wouldn't just scream it as he peeled out of the parking lot is a mystery, but I guess it does get kinda loud in there, especially on karaoke night.
Possible Meaning #2 - Maybe the author means it like, "Hey man, I'll get you some crack if you want to smoke lots of crack but don't know where to get the crack." But something tells me there's probably not a hard street drug out there called, "Pussyface." Just doesn't sound right. So the only logical conclusion one can arrive at is that there's a breed of mutants here in Arlington, TX that have vaginas on their faces and they cater to a very specific crowd of fetishists who enjoy fucking them on the down-low, which is why the suppliers can only communicate with the tricks via graffiti in the bathrooms of low-rent bars. Very Clive Barker, but with shots served in Dixie cups and an overwhelming feeling of sadness. Yeah, that's probably it.
Possible Meaning #3 - Some drunk guy wandered in with a Bic and thought it would be funny to write the phrase, "I'll get u pussyface" on the wall while he pissed on his Adidas and thought about how the waitress calling him "hon" probably means she wants to bang.
No, wait... that's ridiculous...

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Things We're All Done With

NOTE: As I'm sure you've noticed, there is WAY too much stuff in the world. It's not like it was even two decades ago, when there was only just some stuff and we could all breathe and move around and it was all good. Now, it's like trying to wade through a city dump, fucking always. So I did some research (haha, not really) and came up with six things we can totally get rid of. You're welcome.

The Martini - There was a time when the martini was this classy thing that you had to sport a monocle to drink properly, but now it's about a bunch of Sour Apple bullshit and fake tans and trying to impress deeply stupid girls who see the world only as a series of dollar signs. Plus, does anyone actually like martinis? I'll answer for us all... no. No one actually likes them. They taste like industrial floor cleaner served in a glass that was CLEARLY meant as a prank on all waiters. And speaking of waiters, when you order a martini specifically the way you want it... stirred, up, extra-dirty, with three olives, and just a kiss of vermouth... your waiter is watching your face slow turn from that of a human into a farting butthole that doesn't know what it's talking about. And that makes it all the more likely that your martini will at some point between the bar and your table have a waiter's ball sack dunked in it.

Haircuts - Such a hassle. Everything about them just reeks of a bad time, from the making small talk with a Vietnamese refugee who hates you, to having sharp objects flying around your ears, to getting little hairs down your collar so you feel like you're going to implode from itchiness. All of it just sucks. Sure, you might look a little neater, a little more "put together," but really... c'mon... it's 2009. Who gives a shit about looking nice anymore? This isn't Mad Men. We collectively are so over that metrosexual crap, it's like it was all just a reality show from a different time, a different place, when Carson Kressleys roamed the Earth. What's in now is letting your hair grow like nature intended. Sure we'll eventually end up in some sort of Clan of the Cave Bear world, or at the very least it'll be like Haight-Ashbury in the 60's, but that's okay too. Anything is better than having to drive to a haircut place and sit covered in a tarp and get a haircut. That is the worst.

Jeremy Piven - I don't know what happened. He used to be pretty great. PCU, am I right? So funny. Maybe it was the whole "dropped out of a Broadway show because I ate too much sushi" thing, but whatever the reason, he's now just totally unacceptable. Have you seen the trailer for that new movie, The Goods? It makes me want to punch through a bank of lockers like a football player that just got cut from the team because he flunked math. Also, that show Entourage is like cancer. It wasn't very funny when it first started, but now... several million years later... it's 30 minutes of the worst parts of humanity, every week. Watching all the prison rape on Oz all at once would be easier to take than even five minutes of Entourage. It's like Los Angeles kicking you square in the nuts, but in your brain.

Lying - What the fuck ever happened to just being honest about stuff? Why all the lies, man? If you're an undercover cop, just SAY you're an undercover cop and I'll walk away quietly like I was just coming up to ask the time. There's no need to make me run through a bunch of backyards and dive headlong into the bed of a pickup truck stopped at a light just because I happen to like the smooth, mellow flavors of high-grade Indonesian heroin. Just be straightforward with me, man. Also, if you're a dude dressed up like a fancy lady, wear a name tag that says so. It sucks pouring Pina Coladas into you all night only to be confronted by an angry dong at the finish line. That's a sorrow that takes five years off your life.

Babies - I know we have to make babies to propagate the species, but at the same time, who gives a shit? The world's going to end in 2012 anyways (The History Channel and John Cusack say so), so let's maybe just buy a global crate of condoms and fuck without reproducing for a few years. Because babies... though cute and adorable and an expression of your love in human form... are also smelly, loud, and they make it so you can't go to the movies or out to eat without everyone in the vicinity hating your stupid breeder guts (see: smelly, loud). Getting rid of babies would also cut out the tiny, ironic shirts that hipster parents slap on their kid because it's one more thing they can use as a billboard to let the world know how clever and smart they are. That would be a wonderful bonus.

TV Shows About Cops/Lawyers/Doctors - Everything that can possible be said about those subjects has now officially been said and that will hold true until forever. Unless you're going to do something really kooky with the concept... a cop that's also a sofa bed, or a lawyer that tours the world as part of the E Street Band, or a doctor that only treats leprechauns... then just fucking stop. Try some original ideas, for fucks sake! It's not that hard! Here... here's three original ideas that you can have for free: 1) A homeless guy has adventures with a Pegasus that's all in his mind (it's like a modern day Calvin & Hobbes)... 2) A chef opens a restaurant on the site of a horrible mass murder and has to fight off ghosts AND the nightly dinner rush. Wackiness ensues and also people get their faces ripped off by supernatural beings... 3) A circus clown tries every week to convince the local townspeople that he's not a serial killer. He is actually a serial killer and he kills all the townspeople every week. The last half hour of the show is him laughing hysterically in full make-up while cleaning the blood off his clown shoes. (I just freaked myself out a little)

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Creepy Products Available at Your Local Pharmacy

Zim's Crack Creme

Yeah, I get it. It's for cracked, dry skin. Which, by the way, ew. What are you, a komodo dragon? Do you come from a future world where the ozone layer is a myth and everyone fights the mutated sand people in the 150 degree heat while an evil overlord hoards the water? You leathery fuck.

But anyway, why call it "crack creme?" Sure it will stick out in the consumer's mind, but so will packing a cereal box full to the brim with live, pissed off spiders from the Congo and you don't see the good people at Lucky Charms doing THAT, do you? Because with "crack creme," you've got two options, neither of which are the thing it actually is. One, it's stuff you rub on your butt crack, which makes people think about butt cracks and only like 2% of all the butt cracks in the world are anything anyone would want to think about. Why play the odds that your product is going to make people think of, say, John Goodman's butt crack as opposed to Alexis Bledel's? Or two, it's a creme designed for crack addicts to rub on their lips when they get all burned from sucking on hot crack pipes all day. And thinking about crack addicts is a gigantic bummer, so much so that it's literally all you can do to not slit your wrists with your car keys right there in the pharmacy.

Also, this stuff was invented by a guy named Zim? From outer space? Or really Swedish? Either way, no thanks.

Mothers Friend

Can't you just see a lonely, 40ish guy with a carefully maintained side-part and a sweater vest carrying this with both hands as he slowly ascends a flight of stairs up to a dank room where his best friend in the whole world... his Mom... sits in a floral print nightgown slowly dying of tuberculosis? "Howard... bring me my Mothers Friend... oh please, Howard... (coughs for two minutes)... my skin is so dry and stretched and the 1970's box design will soothe my tired eyes as I wonder why you never married... also, what happened to all the neighborhood cats, Howard... why do I hear you crying late at night... oh yes, rub the Mothers Friend into my swollen belly... you're mama's little angel, Howard... why have you brought the carving knife out of the kitchen... why... why are you in my wedding dress... HOWARD, NO!!!"

Booty Goo

Oh, c'mon! You cannot call a product "Booty Goo" like it's this adorable thing about babies not AT ALL connected with hasty man-on-man encounters in a park bathroom. Do you think suburban stay-at-home parents have never watched Queer as Folk? No one is charmed by this, thinking, "oh for my precious baby's little tushy! How fun!" Everyone that sees this... from 18 year old mom's who got pregnant at a frat party to 90 year old priests just passing through the post-natal care aisle on the way to the rack where they hold the new canes... takes one look and goes, "well it's nice that the rough hustlers who hang out down by the docks have a new product to keep the wear n' tear to a minimum." Also, putting a baby on the tube basically qualifies you for a visit from the To Catch a Predator crew. Enjoy life in prison, Booty Goo ad execs! Make sure you bring lots of Booty Goo!

Friday, August 07, 2009

Eat Me

That's right! I got my own salsa up in here. TEXAS salsa, it should be noted, because I'm from Texas and I live in Texas and when you slit open my Texas veins, out pours a rich, hearty slurry of tomatoes and onion and jalapeno and garlic known as SALSA!!! So when you buy my salsa, know that you are drinking of my blood, much like Jesus.
Clint's Texas Salsa is spicy, my bitches. So very spicy. Eat one chip-ful and you'll think, "My, but there is some flavorful heat in this tasty salsa." Eat another chip-ful AND YOUR HEAD WILL EXPLODE!!! KER-SPLOOSH!!! Brains and salsa mixed together and splattered on the wall like a toddler's flung dinner.
Satan himself said my salsa made his butthole hurt for a week! It's true, prove it's not, you can't because you don't have Satan's cellphone number. I AM IN LEAGUE WITH SATAN AND HE LOVES MY SALSA!!!
My salsa retails for $6.66 because it is devilish!
BE WARNED: Only buy one jar of my salsa at a time. If you buy two jars, you will be arrested by the police for carrying a deadly weapon with intent to make nachos. Buy three jars and you will be thrown in a secret jail by the CIA because you're now a TERRORIST!!!
Clint's Texas Salsa... it will steal your motherfucking soul!!!"
That's our new slogan. It's 100% factual. My salsa is supernatural, you fucking freak. The secret ingredient IS FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE!!! The other secret ingredient is love.
Enjoy, won't you? (no, you won't... you'll be dead from salsawesomeness!)

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Warning: Melancholy Birthday Post Ahead

So today is my birthday. 29 years of not dying, but not exactly living either. Oh sure, I've had fun... I've partied quite hardy, I've loved and been loved back, I've lived in some of the most exciting cities the United States has to offer, I've been to a few foreign lands where, at one point, I'm pretty sure I ate part of a horse... but... the thing is... I don't feel like I've DONE anything.

I feel like, in general, my 20's have been a waste. Of money, of talent, of brain cells, of a liver that will be able to function properly well into my golden years, etc. It's just all slipped through my fingers like so many Skittles when you're trying to eat Skittles after a hard night's drinking and your hands are shaking so bad it's like they invented earthquakes. You can't hold on to those multi-colored bastards when your hands are shaking like that! But they're so delicious and after most of a bottle of cheap tequila, nothing sounds better than a sweet rainbow of flavor punching you in the mouth... oh man... I would slit a blind man's throat for some Skittles right now...

Anyway, I feel like shit is slip-slidin' away, to paraphrase Paul Simon, and with this... my 29th year on Earth... it is time to throw on the motherfucking breaks. Or at least get some shit accomplished, because I'm pretty sure you can't technically stop yourself from aging. Not without a lot of plastic surgery and that shit can get expensive. Plus I don't want to look like a happy burn victim or like I'm always dressed up as Katherine Helmond from Brazil.

So here's the list I've been working on... shit I want to do and see and accomplish before I turn 30 and burst into flames like vampires do.

My 20's Are Almost Over - A Bucket List

NOTE: Sorry for using the lame pop culture-y phrase "bucket list." I know it's weak sauce, but it's an easily recognizable shorthand for what I'm talking about, even if it DOES make us all think of supposedly wacky Jack Nicholson vehicles.

-I want to get out of Arlington, TX for at least a week and just hit the road. I want to end up in some small town on the border and meet a half-Mexican girl who works in a bar and is in trouble with the law. I want to buy here a couple of drinks. Then I want to beg her to take me to her grandmother's house where her grandmother will then make me real tacos, like from the old country. Old Mexican ladies make the BEST tacos.

-Maybe I could stop being such a fat ass this year. I mean, it's not super likely that it's going to happen... it's hard to get motivated to work out when you have nothing in your life but school and work and the unending void of loneliness that fills up most of your garage apartment, but... you know... it could happen. I could do a push-up every now and then.

-I'd like to start a writing project (that isn't a blog post!) and actually finish it. I have so many ideas cage-fighting in my brain right now... a few of them actually decent... it seems a shame that at least one of them hasn't been let out into the cold light of day. I don't expect to get famous or anything... this is just for myself, to show me that I can finish something creative.

-Oh who am I kidding, I'd like to get really, really famous from my writing. Or not from my writing... if I can grab a few minutes of precious, precious fame by getting punched in the nuts by an old grandma on YouTube, well then, so be it. My ego looks like a shriveled jack-o-lantern left on the porch of some guy's house after he died in a tragic Halloween-related stabbing. It needs some fluffin' and pumpin'.

-I'd like to be smooth with the ladies, even if it's only for like five minutes. I think I could get a lot of traction in five minutes. Of course, after the five minutes I'd go back to trying to impress them with my magic trick, or by making sarcastic comments about the spinach dip, or by clamming up and getting all scowly after five drinks so they think I'm half a tard. But for those five minutes... man... I would be smoother than a black guy!

-It would be really cool to ride in a helicopter. This isn't a life-changing event or anything, but I still think it would be neat. ZOOOM!!! Is what I would say if they let me ride in a helicopter. Oh, and I should preface this by saying that I *do not* want said helicopter to be a CareFlight air-lifting me to a hospital after a terrible car accident. I mean a fun helicopter ride where you get to sing songs with the pilot and then land on the roof of a Jack in the Box and go down a ladder to a room where they serve you tacos.

-Maybe laying off the tacos in general wouldn't be so bad and idea. I'm always so greasy...

-I guess really I just want to find my happy. Whatever that happy happens to be. If anyone knows where happiness hangs out, please feel free to let me know. Oh, and it's not at the bottom of a bottle, or embedded in the code of streaming internet porn. I've checked those places and have come up empty every time.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Movie Poster A Go-Go


I don't know, dudes... James Cameron doesn't make a movie since the Clinton Administration and the first image we get of it screams, basically, "we bought a lot of blue make-up on sale at this one make-up distribution center that was going out of business... so... hope you like blue chicks..." And don't get me wrong, I love blue chicks. They spice shit up nicely in the bedroom (blue boobs turn your horniness into a question mark, but in a good way). It's just that if Cameron is going to wait a million years to put out his next "masterpiece," it better have a lot more going for it than an obscure sexual kink. Also, what's an avatar? I feel like I know this... it has something to do with computers or something... but I really don't want to look it up. Oh wait, doesn't AIM have avatars? Motherfucker, if this is a movie about instant messaging with blue chicks, I am so out. I can do that on my internet at home for a monthly fee.

The Final Destination

Why are all the teens in these movies so pretty? Guys AND girls. They're just all really good looking individuals and that is SOOOOO not how it is in real life. There's no acne that defies all Oxy-cution, there's no crippling social phobias or back-braces or weird hair because they let their grandma cut their hair and now their hair looks like a limp mop that shows off a premature bald spot. Anyway, so death is coming back and throwing cars at Aeropostale catalogue models. Good for him, I guess. It is in 3D, though, and as I'm a big fan of all three dimensions (as well as the 5th Dimension, but that has no bearing on this discussion), I will probably see this. Have you seen the preview? That scene in the car wash looks kind of bonkers.

Oh, nearly forgot to mention... their faces reflected in the puddle are scary skull faces. That's creepy. If I looked into a puddle and saw a skull face over my real face, I'd have to use the puddle water to clean myself off. Fear pooping is real, you guys. So very real...

The Vampire's Assistant

Apparently it's a "saga." Heh... okay... sure you are. The Vampire's Assistant, followed by The Vampire's Cable Repair Guy, and The Vampire's Roomate's Brother Who's Sleeping On The Couch Right Now While He Looks For A Place, and finally, of course, The Vampire's Sleazy Attempt To Cash In On The Twilight Phenomenon. You know this movie is going to be like the inside of a Hot Topic's ass and holy shit do we not need another one of those farting on to screens nationwide. I would go see it, however, if it was actually about a nice college student named Mitch who ran errands for a vampire during the day. Picked up his capes at the dry cleaners, arranged to have some coffin polish delivered, organized the vampire's Fresh Direct orders, etc. THAT would be interesting. And the theaters wouldn't be filled with thousands of 14 year old girls going through simultaneous puberty, either.

Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time

I know it's not fair to assume that all of Jake Gyllenhaal's movies are totally gaybones JUST because he was in Brokeback Mountain... but... dude shows up in the poster wearing all the fetish-y leather and rocking a sword that looks suspiciously like a bendy wang... well... hey, whatever my man... do you and your "sands of time." Which I assume is code for something. YOU know what I'm talking about. Cleveland Steamer or something...

Jennifer's Body

You know, I was into Megan Fox at first... but then someone pointed out to me that in certain lights she sort of looks like a Filipino lady-boy. Now that's all I can think about when I see her. So, Megan, if you're listening, you're just going to have to get so very naked and prove to us all that you're not a herm. Get on that. Make Amanda Seyfreid undress you... oooh... yeah...

Oh, and the movie looks fine I guess. Horror, but funny. AND it's from Diablo Cody, so I guess I won't be understanding half of what's being said because I'm not so hip with the slang. I still say "homeboy" unironically to black guys and then demand a high five. And you know what? They give it to me because I am straight up STREET. Thug life!!!

A Nightmare on Elm Street

You'd think I would be totally pissed about this, given my past history of hating "reimaginings" and, well, I sorta am. But I'm also sorta not because I like that they cast looks-like-a-child-killing-monster-anyway Oscar nominee Jackie Earle Haley as Freddy. A bold choice. So I'm reserving judgement. Maybe they got their shit in one sack on this one. Besides, I'm way to busy right now being pissed about this...


You motherfuckers. If you hurt Fame I will beat you to death with one of my old tap shoes. This is one of my favorite movies of all time... for reasons too Gyllenhaal to get into publicly... and if there's not a sensitive kid with a red afro and the ghost of Gene Anthony Ray and a song called, not kidding, "Hot Lunch," then what is the FUCKING POINT of making this movie again? Also, they have to have a creepy topless scene or it doesn't work. And there needs to be dancing on cabs! Ugh, they should have just let me direct this. I would have done a shot-for-shot remake of the original like Gus Van Zant's Psycho and then I'd have burned the master print because THE ORIGINAL WAS PERFECT THE FIRST TIME!!! YOU HEAR ME, HOLLYWOOD???

Monday, August 03, 2009

Last night, my grandmother lost her long, slow battle with Alzheimer's. Though it was ugly and mean, we are fortunate that she was spared some of the truly horrible shit that comes even further down that particular road. She was one hell of a lady and she will be... and has been... sorely missed by all that know her.

For more info on Alzheimer's, or to donate to the cause that is currently trying to kick its ass, please click here.

Saturday, August 01, 2009

Mildly Amusing Waiter Story

So last night I had a 20-top come in and, as per usual when I get a large group of people in my section, I asked them what they were celebrating. Birthday, big softball win, etc. Turns out, one of their close friends had just died.

Oh... okay... well, can get anyone something from the bar...?

NOTE: It should be pointed out that, despite me shitting all over their tragedy, they did tip very decently. Wished they'd all been wearing black though.