dankpelt said what

Reading this means you're at least smart enough to go down to Kentucky, show them fire, and be their god.

8.04.2005

Drinking Deep From The Leg Of Life -OR- Polynesians Taste Like Shit




Daddy Drinks Because You Cry

Fucking cockmasters, I've been uninspired lately. Not necessarily uninspired, I suppose... more like distracted. Summer in Michigan has been in full swing, and all the hot, humid, and holy-shit-I-drank-too-much-last-night days have come with it. I have ideas kicking around in my head, but sitting very still and sweating while I listen to the swelling of the cicada's perpetual summer song always seems preferable to trying to type something that means anything. Went to Mac's Bar last night and saw some... interesting... bands. The openers were a band known as The Cartridge Family. They were probably one of the worst bands I've ever had the pleasure of seeing live - and somehow that made me like them. It's hard to explain. There were no less than 11 people on the "stage," which had actually been extended about 5 or 6 feet to allow room for all the chaos provided by the band members whose sole purpose seemed to be ripping their shirts off, getting oiled up, and jumping through mildly frightened audience members on weird trampoline/shoe hybrid footwear. I have no idea what the fuck they were singing about (and I do use the word singing in the loosest sense), but I noticed that part of their performance seemed to involve smashing tortilla chips on the floor and squirting each other with something that smelled vaguely of gasoline. I can honestly say that they're the only band I've ever seen that has had to clean up after their set. And I mean clean - they were fucking mopping and vacuuming that shithole tinderbox of a bar afterwards. Still shirtless and oily. For reals. Speaking of Mac's Bar, let me take a moment to talk to the guys with the "hip" chunky plastic-framed glasses - all fucking 40 of you. You're not special, you're not more artsy than anyone, your sideburns don't help you look more scene, I hate your buttons, and those vintage t-shirts you probably bought for 50 fucking dollars aren't helping either. So, you know - fuck you all. Fuck you all in your unspecial cookie-cutter asses. Ahem. I'm getting slightly off-track here... but I guess that's the Way of the Dank Fist - scattered at best, something I don't want my mom to read at worst. Hi, mom! Overall, it was a good night, The Shrew got what I hypothesized to be a stranger's pube in her contact lens, and PBR and High Life 10 ounce drafts were a modest 0.75 cents apiece. What all this means is I drank too much without realizing it until it was too late, and I think saying that The Shrew had a pube in her eye is pretty funny. Doubly so when I'm full of High Life. As I write this, I'm safely tucked away in my cubicle, mild headache ringing in my temples, with a belly full of strange meats. Why meats? Well, the office complex I work in had their annual "customer appreciation" luncheon today. This consists of throwing up a huge tent in the parking lot and warming some exotic meats in tinfoil tubs over cans of sterno. This year, it was actually catered by local food joints, one of which was some Hawaiian barbeque place. Judging from the gaminess of whatever flash-fried and breaded shit I ate, they're actually serving Hawaiians. How silly of me to assume that the food would be simply cooked in some Hawaiianese style. For the official record, Polynesians taste like shit. As I stood in the (of course!) too-long line to get some tepid meat, I had a chance to observe some of the other corporate fucks we share the building with. The ladies and men alike with their too-dark tans, the ladies with their Gucci, Fendi, and Prada bags proudly on display, the whisperings of "I got this from J. Crew," and the hollow, forced laughter at ridiculously feeble jokes about the odds of someone being able to cut in line as they walked by a coworker that was ahead of them... vapid comments about the weather, and HOW ABOUT that local sports team? Sometimes the plasticity of it all overwhelms me. Moreso when I drank enough beer to fill a hollowed-out human leg the night before. To paint a picture with a moderately obscure reference (that I will love you for getting), if I had had the sunglasses Rowdy Roddy Piper had given me on, I would have expected no less than 99% of the people standing with me in line to look like this:


OBEY

That's all I have for now. Stay tuned - maybe I'll update again in October or some shit. Maybe I'll even sound less jaded!

8 Comments:

  • At 2:15 PM, Anonymous Wezzul said…

    I like the PBR link. I swear you had a PBR last night, and when you took your first sip, you thought of a glasses modification project.... your frames just aren't thick enough...

    I'd like to say something poignant or important (or at least something to make me feel important), but I've got absolutely nothing. My head is swimming, either from last night, or the food today (which is sizing up to be a problem... as a moron would say "they are revolting in my stomach)..

    Update more. Don't worry if the writing is crappy.

    WEZ

     
  • At 2:25 PM, Blogger lefty said…

    That was very rant-y! You could be an emo kid yet...

     
  • At 2:28 PM, Blogger lefty said…

    Oh, sorry - you said sunglasses.

     
  • At 3:16 PM, Blogger dank said…

    I think Wezzul just consoled me for being a crappy writer, but I'm not sure.

     
  • At 4:36 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    shit man sound like you are ready to blow everyone away! Next time you go to the bar maybe you should see about getting laid!

     
  • At 11:34 PM, Blogger theweatherman said…

    I say amen, brother. Testify!

     
  • At 8:47 AM, Anonymous cesp said…

    Brother, lifes a bitch. And she's back in heat.

     
  • At 12:25 AM, Blogger Cleo said…

    Having recently hung out in a bar with a Slayer cover band... well.. I feel your pain...

     

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