That Guy's Vein Is Kickin'

The other night a friend was saying he was throwing a party at a bar called Fat Pour, and I thought for all the world that he said fat porn.  This got me thinking that I have seen a couple of fan porns.  One night my buddiess from our high school track team decided to get together one night to watch a couple of these disgusting films.  One of our friends worked at a video store, and I think his morbid curiosity got the best of him, staring at those boxes in the little room behind the curtain all those times.  We settled in for a horrifying double feature: "Life in the Fat Lane" and "Fat Liners," both of which were equally gross.  They were just a series of big buff studs taking on really fat women, and one of them, the headliner, was around 800 pounds.  She looked like the Michelin Man.

Every ripple is like a new position in the Kamasutra!

Years later I ran into a guy from the track team who was there that fateful night.  He had long hair and would listen to Nine Inch Nails between races, which is of no consequence, but a fine choice for music, I think.  Anyway, he said, "Do you remember what you said that night that had us all laughing our asses off?"  I could not even wager a guess.  I was a much quieter and shy guy back then, believe it or not, so when I would finally say something, it was usually a doozy.  Apparently what I said when turning away from a close up on a big screen of a guy's wang was "Ugh, that guy's vein is kickin'."

That Time I Got Thrown Up Upon

A few weekends back we had a Chicago area bachelor party for a former roommate of mine who's formal bachelor party was a camping in the cold excursion (all Chicagoans took a pass on that one).  Being a long time drinking resident of the area, he asked me to be the point man on planning.  I said I could probably find a super cheap route where we could pay $15 to drink all we want for a few hours, to which he said, "I don't want to do an all-you-can-drink because that encourages binge drinking.  I really don't party much anymore."  That's actually what he said . . .

So he and all the guys arrive at my apartment, we're sipping some beers, and it was kind of sweet how Former Roomie was gushing over his bride to be, right down to the fact that he loved her big boobs.  He proceeded to show us a (fully clothed) picture.  Yup.  Big ones.  Then he makes an announcement: "Listen, guys.  No shots tonight.  I'm serious."  I had planned on doing maybe just one as a celebratory thing, but zero is just fine too.

Former Roomie said that inviting anyone was cool so Night Train met us out.  I forgot that Night Train orders shots nonstop so before I could think to tell him about the rule for the night, Night Train saddles over to us with a tray full of one ounce booze cups known as shots.  Former Roomie didn't even hesitate going against his own rule and immediately knocked down the shot of Jameson, or some other brown, vile liquid, and it wouldn't be his last of the night . . .

Oh yes, he did have one other rule: We had to end up at Liars Club before the end of the night.  This is a rule I liked even better than the first because, as long time readers will know, this is my favorite place on earth.  And this was the perfect night at Liars: Everyone was dancing, the music transitioned perfectly between Daft Punk and Motorhead, and all of us were having a ball.  Except Former Roomie who said that what he really wanted to do is go somewhere with a jukebox to use a phone application that he has to pick songs.  Despite the fact that my other good friend, James Douglas Morrison, and myself were dancing our faces off, we decided to do the right thing and accompany Former Roomie and his cousin to an after hours bar with a jukebox to play with.

Two more robots called in sick.

Former Roomie selects his songs, and while I was excited to hear a live version of "Roadhouse Blues," when I heard a different version of the same song back-to-back, I should have known that he had become powerfully drunk.  Suddenly, I look across the table at him, and his eyes are wide, he looks scared, and while looking right in my eyes, he spits what I thought was some beer onto the table.  I thought this was a joke until I saw that there were in fact some chunks on the table.  As well as on my shirt.  James Douglas Morrison and I just headed for the exits without saying a word to anyone, even each other, as we went in cabs to go our separate ways.

The next day I asked James Douglas what in the hell that was all about, and he texted back, "I saw puke come across the table, and I was worried I would be next, so I got outa' there like shit through a Goose Gossage."  He has a way with words, that guy . . .

Goose: "Whelp, that's a rap on the evening, gentlemen."

I got another text from Former Roomie, and he said, "Sorry I had to leave suddenly.  It was a long night.  hahaha.  Did you stay much longer after I left?"  Well, odds are if he doesn't remember that we left before him, he probably doesn't remember puking on me, and best to just keep it that way.  No need to make the guy feel bad about anything on his bachelor party.  Just head on back out of state, nuzzle in those big boobs, and go back to saying not to shot(s).

I was at a karaoke bar with a bunch of friends the other night, and I noticed a guy I remembered seeing the last time I was there so he is likely always there.  He looked to be in his upper 40's, had pro wresting hair (bald on top and long in the back), and he just hung out drinking Coors Lights and keeping the DJ company all night, off and on singing a song, usually by the Eagles.

At one point the DJ called for a guy to sing who was nowhere to be found, and my buddy, Choo Choo Train, said "That's karaoke abandonment!"  It was.  And that is high crime where Choo Choo and I come from . . .

After last call, wrestling hair guy went up to sing the last song of the evening, "Faithfully" by Journey.  Now, this is a rather cornball song, but on this particular evening it was the perfect one to play.  I remember playing that song on my sister's CD player because I didn't have one yet, reading along with the lyrics, and wondering how a little weasel like Steve Perry could sing like that.  The whole bar must have some fond memories because they were all singing along arm-in-arm, swaying back-and-forth the way drunks often do.  This particular song also hit me hard because as Steve sang about being apart not being easy on his love affair, I was reminded of the fact that I have been doing the long distance relationship thing for the last 2 years, still seeing each other around once a month, but with just 2 months to go until we're together for good, it's harder than ever.

Thanks for listening and for "stand (ing) by me" all these years, 7 Readers.

And now, an 8-year-old Filipino girl absolutely crushing "Faithfully" by Journey.

Latino Orville Redenbacher

I was at a bar a couple weekends ago, and I was randomly having beers with a guy who owned a pet store in the neighborhood.  He was funny as hell and talked a lot about playing on a men's hardball league three or four nights a week.  Another guy saddled up to the bar right between us in an old school suit, bow tie, and a mustache (I hate when people do that).  Pet Store Guy said to him, "Who the hell are you?  Latino Orville Redenbacher?"  I laughed my ass off because I just love it when people peg the exact person someone looks like, especially when it's a goofy mash up combo of people like this one.

Now just Latino-zize him, and you would see what I saw.

Also, I stole this game from over at Dr. Zibb's page (Check him out; he's funny.  We must hit it off because we're both blog doctors): What you do is post a band's photo and the readers say who all the guys look like.  I'll pick the best/funniest answers for each band member for a master list.  And here we go . . .

And you can't say they look like Journey.  Or they look like dorks.  

Friday afternoon was just about the nicest day of the year in Chicago, and I thought I would ride my bike down the lakefront to coach first base for a friend’s elementary boys softball game. The kids were all friendly and having a good time, but one thing was clear: there are a lot of city kids who don’t know the rules of baseball. As a child of suburbia, we had all the rules down pat by the end of the 2nd or 3rd grade. With these kids, it was nearly impossible to teach most of them that you can overrun first base, or run through the bag, as we used to say. They were slamming on the breaks and nearly falling down as a result. Taking a lead off was also confusing for them, and we were getting picked off of first like all day long. They would usually get back to the base on time when the pitcher threw over there, but sometimes they would start their lead off again while the first baseman still had the ball, and they would promptly get tagged out. One kid got out to a couple steps for his lead off, turned to ask me a question, and failed to see that the pitcher was throwing over there to pick him off, which he did. We were all having a laugh, but not at all at his expense, and the kid was laughing at himself too. More important than whether or not they look like the Yankees out there is that students are getting outside, they’re being exposed to a new game that they may end up enjoying, and they are part of a team.

I got talking to the other school’s coach, and he said they only have seven eighth graders in their entire school. They had to put a fifth grader in the lineup to round out the team, and he was small even for a fifth grader. I thought for sure he was a batboy until I saw him come up to the plate and beat out a pretty hard hit grounder. Most likely due to enrollment, they will be closed at the end of the year. Yes, if the numbers are way down than I’m sure in many ways it makes sense to move those kids into a neighboring school, but if it’s such a failing school in the eyes of the bureaucrats, than why is it that there was a parent spectator for just about every boy on that team, and meanwhile the school I was coaching had zero parents watching for a school over enrolled at close to fifteen hundred students? What I saw there did not appear to have the makings of a failing school; It was a loving and supportive community with terrific kids and coaches who really cared. Their coach told me that it took him four seasons to win their first game, so if that doesn’t show commitment, I don’t know what does. Hell, they beat us something like seventeen to six.

To put in all that time, energy, and hard work day after day as a member of that staff only to have it all suddenly shut down on you has got to be hard to take, especially considering that the people who make the decisions about that building don’t know the first thing about the staff, parents, or kids in it – they just know about the data. Their coach said that the school is across from Mayor Rahm Emanuel’s house. Chicago’s mayor seems big on closing down schools, but I think he should have taken in this ballgame on Friday to put a few faces to the numbers. After all, there are a lot of parents out there quite happy with their children’s public education, and they can’t all afford private schools, especially the ones Rahm’s kids attend.

For the last few weeks, I have been going to bed with this guy.  He isn't too good looking, rather ugly, actually, but he is charming in his own way and he never seems to run out of crazy stories to tell me.  Like the time his ex started dating a 17-year-old kid who blew his own head off playing Russian roulette.  Or all the times he went cold turkey off heroin, trying to climb through the walls thinking there would be dope on the other end.  Yeah, he has struggled with his addictions, and he still probably drinks too much, but he doesn't get drunk.  It's like he says, he can drink and drink, but it doesn't really do much - it's just something he does, like waking up or breathing.  Oh, then there was that time he and his friend Mick basically locked themselves in a kitchen together until they finished writing their first song.  

Okay, now you can probably tell that I'm talking about none other than Keith Richards, and when I say going to bed with, I mean reading his biography every night in bed.  I'm through all the good stuff now and well into the 80's, and it's been one heck of a ride.  I highly recommend you pick up "Life" by Keith Richards.  You might be picturing a bumbling drug addled buffoon just because he is hard to understand and has become such a caricature of himself, but in reality he is a bright and insightful man who just loves music and his good friends, like me.

Only at the Gancer: Another Edition To Song Lyric Analysis

I have done a number of these, either analyzing each and every lyric of a song I like, or in this case, having someone respond to what the singer says - with the singer only responding with actual lyrics.  Does that make sense?  Just read and find out what I'm trying to say here . . .

"We've Got Tonight" by Bob Seger

Bob Seger: I know it's late, I know you're weary 

I know your plans don't include me.

Drunk Girl: I never plan, per say, to have drunk dudes hitting on me.  I just always sorta happens . . .

BS: Still here we are, both of us lonely 

Longing for shelter from all that we see 

DG: Hey, you seem lonely, but don't assume I am.  Actually, I was trying to get back to my friends before you stepped in front of me on my way back from the ladies' room.

BS: Why should we worry, no one will care girl 

Look at the stars so far away 

DG: Oh, now he's going on about the stars.  This is a new one, actually.  And I know for a fact people will certainly care because I see my friends over there laughing at me for entertaining your proposal for this long.  

BS: We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow? 

We've got tonight, babe 
Why don' you stay? 

DG: We can't stay, Bob.  It's past last call and they've turned the lights on, and yeah, you're even less good looking as a result.  

BS: Deep in my soul, I've been so lonely 

All of my hopes, fading away 
I've longed for love, like everyone else does 

I know I'll keep searching, even after today

DG: If I could offer some advice, don't let a girl in on the fact that you're extremely lonely.  The pity approach rarely works.  Exude some confidence, Bob!  Trust me on this.  

BS: So there it is girl, I've said it all now 

And here we are babe, what do you say?

DG: No, I can't.  I seriously have to get up early and . . .

BS: We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow? 

We've got tonight, babe 

Why don't you stay?

BS: Ah, what the hell.  I have done a lot worse, and you make some solid points.  

(meanwhile, back at Bob's shitty apartment)      

BS: We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow? 

Let's make it last, let's find a way 
Turn out the light, come take my hand now 

DG: Yes.  Lights out.  This is for sure a light's out encounter.  Let's just get it done, okay?

fin