The Worst Wine I Ever Drank

I was exchanging text messages with a friend recently, and topic of "conversation" hit the intersection of Eastern Europe and wine.  Don't ask how we got there--just know that we did.  It forced me to come to terms and deal with a very dark moment in my personal history.  The year was 1998 and I was on an oat-spreading tour of England.  "Study" Abroad at the University of Westminster, London, aka "The school you go to when you want to drink yourself half to fucking death and occasionally go to a class and bullshit about British loss of power in the post-war era".  They have university-sponsored pubs in the academic building lobby, for fucks sake.  It was a rollicking affair.  A photo exists of me, which assures that I will never be elected to political office (this photo only being line item #23 in a 50,000 item list of photos/quotes/videos damning me to hell and back should I make the mistake of running for anything), taking a short disco nap using Thanksgiving dinner as a pillow.  In all fairness, an esteemed colleague and I signed a non-negotiable contract to "Conduct a Thanksgiving Day bender in honor of our country (or some such wording)".  And what better way to honor the natives our forefathers slaughtered than to get pissed up to our tits in some other country that doesn't even celebrate the holiday?  There is no better way, so just quit thinking. 

Anyway, as Dre said "Back to the lecture at hand...".  It was a week night in the Hackney neighborhood that myself and several other unfortunate friends were buried in by the study abroad people.  Others were housed in lovely areas full of desirables.  Not so much us.  When we stepped off the bus on move-in day we convened looking for food.  We ended up in a kebab shop.  Mind you, this is within 2 hours of moving into our new neighborhood, which also happened to contain one of the biggest housing projects in the entire British Isles.  We ordered, and as we awaited our food, in walked a group of what would be considered white trash in the States, though I'm not sure what you call them in Jolly Old England.  Pikers?  They were fucked up six ways to Sunday and headed for a local football (read "soccer") venue for some hooliganism and bleacher finger-blasting of a similarly minded member of the opposite white trash sex.  One member of this high-society decided he didn't much care for immigrants, such as those owning and operating said kebab shop.  He began a show of taunting them, until they physically threw him out the door as he screamed that he was "Tony Fucking Montana" in a British accented version of Al Pacino's coat-hanger abortion of an attempt at a Cuban accent.  It was gorgeous.  He jumped over his wall of companions to punch one of the Kebabs in the head, and in the parlance of our times, "It's on".  The Kebabs began shouting some sort of shit that sounded like when you watch one of those CNN videos where they are pumping their fists as a group of dudes torches an American flag as other onlookers fire Kalashnikovs into the air (where do those bullets land, I've often wondered?).  They all came running out from behind their counter, some with metal rods that are used to affix the rotating kebab meat to the actual spinning disc, and one guy came storming out with a 9-inch knife, I shit you fucking not.  We were horrified but more or less trapped inside the kebab shop by the battle raging just outside the door.  For reasons which have never been clear to me, despite being 15 years younger on average and having no weapons save their own stupidity and drunkenness, the hooligans gained the upper hand and routed the Kebabs (yes, even the guy with the 9-inch blade).  Savvy as they were the young thugs knew enough to refrain from finishing them off and instead flee from the inevitable arrival of the bobbies.  As the Kebabs staggered back to their shop wailing in their native tongue, the main Kebab began walking towards me yelling something incomprehensible, but entirely menacing.  I was holding a soda I'd procured in the shop.  It seemed he thought I was part of the hooligan crew.  Thinking perhaps he was accusing me in Farsi of stealing the soda, I began to rummage in my pockets for money to throw at him.  It was at this moment that the head Piker, he of Tony Montana fame, came out of nowhere carrying a sewer grate of all things.  He said something to Kebab, who turned around just in time to catch the sewer grate square in the face.  Game, set, match to Piker.  Kebab went down like a Thai whore.  We knew this was the time to say our goodbyes and retreat to the housing complex.  I actually tossed some coins at the possibly dead Kebab on the ground and beat feet home.  This is where we lived.

So on the fall evening in question we wandered into a local bodega for libations.  They sold wine along with canned beans, Windex, 6 day old tubular meat, and the like.  Mind you this was wine in the purely academic sense.  It once had been grapes, it sat in a container somewhere, and it contained alcohol.  Given my status as both student and person who was fucking atrocious at managing his personal finances, I had with me approximately 7 pounds sterling as bartering chips.  My eyes alighted on the perfect junction of lack of funding and dire need to get fucked up: A bottle of Bulgarian Merlot at the very fair price of 2 pounds and 99 pence.  Beautiful, I'll take two my good man!  Why only one bottle of Bulgarian bliss when you have currency enough for two, I say?  We headed back to the aforementioned dorm flats to the common area kitchen that each shared.  By this time all the other international transfers knew that when the English-speaking students were in the common area, it was best to retreat to your own room and double-lock the door.  One amongst us, whose name I no longer recall, was the son of an Investment Banker from NYC.  Most of the rest of us were your average, run-of-the-mill 19 year olds looking to get fucked up for 4 months with no one to answer to.  So was he, but given his upbringing he knew enough that Bulgarian Merlot was not to be trusted and warned me as best he could.  I chose to ignore his advice and proceeded to pour myself a very tall wine glass full of the sweet elixir.  I recall the name of the wine translating loosely to "The blood of the bull".  Alas, if only it had been actual bull's blood I could have avoided much suffering.  When the corkscrew penetrated the cork it disintegrated as though it had been in a desert for 5,000 years.  This is a sure sign that you are about to drink wine of the finest quality.  At first sip I was acutely aware that it contained not only some sort of scrub-brush grape-like fruit from the hills of Bulgaria, but also motor fuel, ether, and the petrified screams of children.  In this epoch of my youth I did not let trifling matters like burning nostrils and stabbing pains in my abdomen stop me in my pursuit of a buzz.  So continue to drink this Eastern Bloc failure tonic, did I.  Needless to say the evening is not long on memories. 

I awoke the following morning, which is to say my short, labored breaths, heart palpitations, and blue-skinned cold sweating was interrupted by a period of painful wakefulness.  At this moment I knew what a recovering heroine addict felt like.  I realized at that very moment that failure was one possible outcome in life.  The room swayed like a boat in rough seas.  Though I have no proof and have never been certain if in fact this happened, I could have sworn there was an old Asian woman squatting in the corner, wafting incense in the direction of my soon-to-be corpse, reading chicken bones and chanting benedictions in an extinct language.  I am confident that during the remainder of that morning, as the skies blackened and the rain fell, Crom and Satan himself fought a pitched battle for my soul.  I like to think Crom won, but that is a matter for historians to decide.  The bards and minstrels still sing of the "The Night Of the Bull's Blood" at royal court banquets to this day, or so I've been told.

And that, my friends, is the worst wine I ever drank.   

GOOD NEWS!

Um, no.  Actually no fucking good news at all.  To be honest, what I got doesn't even qualify as "news" in any way, shape or form.  I was taking Scout out for his morning dump today when we were approached by two lovely and pleasant African American ladies.  We wished them good day and they reciprocated.  Then the most handsome of the two asked if I would like some good news?  Well obviously I want some good news.  Sign me the fuck up Senora.  My mind was spinning at the possibilities.  Did they just bake some kick assed cookies and were handing them out?  Did one of them just win the lottery?  Was my neighborhood being rezoned as a giant sports bar and chicken wing emporium and they were going to compensate us for the trouble and give me a lifetime discount on wings and beer?  Come the fuck on lady, I cannot bear the suspense for one more second.  And then she dropped a giant, poorly-formed, spinach-green turd in Scout and my morning punchbowl: A fucking Jesus newsletter.  Scout tried to lift his leg and piss on her on general principal, but I advised him against it.  Why is a pamphlet full of very poorly-written horseshit about a guy I never met, somehow good news for me?  That is really fucking far from good news lady.  Certainly not horrible news, like someone I love just got maimed or Kriser's discontinued selling Scout's preferred brand of sweet potato treats.  But good news it ain't.  Here are some examples of good news:

-The more-attractive-than-you girl you went home from the bar with at 2:15 a.m. after your 7th round of tequila shots wakes up in the morning and decides she actually wants to have sex with you again
-The office building you work in burnt down overnight (and no one was injured in any way)
-You just took a huge dump
-"Roadhouse" is going to start on TBS in 3 minutes, and your pizza has already been delivered
-Your team just scored it's 101th point of the game, which ensures you get a free Dunkin Donuts coffee in the morning
-WHAM! is getting back together

Here are some examples of bad news:

-Your HIV test came back "Inconclusive"
-You just sharted, and it is only the top of the first inning
-You are being audited by the IRS
-You find out the morning after a drunken blackout that you agreed to go to a Nickelback concert
-You think someone is about to tell you something really awesome, and instead they hand you a fucking pamphlet about a guy that died 1,979 years ago for your right to go hang out in a cloud village after you die and have ZERO fun because everything fun is outlawed there

Good news my left nut.  I felt so damn bad for Scout that I actually gave him some good news shortly thereafter, which was that I was adding a dollop of peanut butter to the top of his whitefish breakfast.  I don't want him to be disillusioned as well.  I told the ladies that next time they set foot in my fucking hood, they'd better be packing brownies, minimum. 

An Age-Old Question will be Answered this November

And that question is: Who do fundamentalist bible-thumping dipshits hate more; black people or people who don't believe in the same Jesus they believe in?  It is going to be a fascinating election in that we will know once and for all who the Jesus-loving, but black, Mexican, Jew, "liberal", equality hating bible-belt dislikes the most.  Who will their God tell them to go hate?  This is so exciting!  We're talking about a crowd who actually sent their menfolk to die for the right to enslave and beat the shit out of black people, but who also enslaved the blacks and killed the Indians because God told them it was cool if they did so.  The debate around the Baptist and Pentecostal dinner tables this fall should be absolutely electrifying.     

What is my gut telling me?  Well, here is my prediction: While they will no doubt be quite upset about the fact that Mitt believes in something that they have no concept of, but are pretty sure is some weird Northeasterer liberal-tainted horseshit, at the end of the day he believes in what they likely presume to be some sort of white, blue-eyed God somewhere.  And that might count for something to them.  And of course, he ain't "some Muslim fuckin' N%@#&R".  That is my bold prognostication.  There is just no way that a guy who is fighting to reform health care for the poorest people in the country, most notably bible-belt Southerners, can be trusted, when the guy in question is a fucking Muslim black guy whose name is obviously just a derivative of Osama bin Laden.  No fucking way.  They'll cast their lot with the weirdo religious freak they don't understand, know absolutely nothing about, and whose agenda is in direct opposition with anything that might make their lives even one cunt hair better, because hey, at least he's white.  That counts for something.  It is so damn sad for them that Santorum couldn't pull it out.  That is just the kind of low-IQ "family values" (family values of intolerance and hatred, of course) mutherfucker they would have loved to rally behind against this modern day Saladin. 

Tis the Season for Bubble Talk Nerds

The NCAA Tournament is fun.  The upsets, the fantastic finishes.  One-and-done at its best.  In my opinion it does no better job of pairing the two appropriate teams for the national title game than does the BCS system in college football.  I actually think it does a worse job.  But that isn't the point, nor does it mean I think it is any less exciting because of that fact.  What is the point today is that the lead-up to the actual tip-off of the first game of the NCAA Tournament is one of my very least favorite times of year.  It is when every hyper college hoops fan with way too much time on their hands starts screaming to anyone who will listen that a 19-11 Virginia Tech team that was left out of the field is getting totally fucked in the ass with a sandpaper reach-around, while a 21-13 Washington State team doesn't deserve to be there.  It is by far one of the most frivolous, pointless, meaningless and utter wastes of fucking time that exists in the world.  Who gives a flying fuck?  Unless you are in charge of the yearly sports budget for the university who didn't make it, then why do you care?  Neither the team left out, nor the team who took their place, has a snowball's chance in hell of winning the whole thing.  Instead of crybabying around like a bunch of pussies, the "left outs" should just look in the mirror and say, "You know what Larry, we shoulda won another game or two and we wouldn't be in this predicament".  "Yep Chuck, you nailed it.  If we hadn't stayed out late getting lap dances from Belorussian whores back in December and lost the next day to Shitbag Tech at the Holiday Tournament, we are in the field of 68.  Lesson learned.".  But no, asshats are going to be shouting through the idiot box at hot heads watching from their living rooms about how the committee needs to be audited because Georgia Tech's win over Drexel back in December should be weighted more heavily than Alabama's win over UNLV in November.  The time would be better spent masturbating to grainy 1970's big bush porn.  At least something happens at the end.  Nobody "on the bubble", whether in or out, could ever win anyway.  Go argue the existence of dinosaurs with the Creationist wingnut who hangs out on the corner next to 7-11.  You'll get more satisfaction. 

What Sucks Now Uber Alles!!!!! (Suck it, Komen)

In case you aren't multilingual like me (The extent of my German is basicaly "Ich sprechen ein bisschen Deutsche", which means I speak a little German.  But joke is on you, Nazi, because that is the only sentence I know), "Uber Alles" means "Over All", like we own you, bitch.  My last German instructor told us, however, that this phrase is not uttered in Germany anymore as its connotation is one of "Germany is the ethnic master of all on earth, and will bomb, shoot, gas, and inject you to prove the point".  Apparently that isn't kosher any more for some reason.  Other than a few neo-Nazi underground bars on Hitler's birthday, I guess you don't hear this.  But today you hear it from on high because WSN has struck a monumental blow for women's rights in America with it's latest coup.  That's right, WSN fucking killed Komen.  The twit who convinced Komen to become one of the most pathetic, hypocritical organizations in America has just decided to "Step down".  Apparently the shitstorm from this very blog, the same that has 26 followers globally, was too much for Komen to bear and someone's head had to roll.  And I'm pretty sure we are all bright enough to see through "step down".  There was no stepping down.  The brass called a meeting and told Karen Handel's Nazi ass to grab an empty printer paper box, put the pictures of her kids at Jesus Camp in it, and get the fuck out before they released the hounds.  As stated in the previous submission on this topic, in no way does this make me respect SGK.  They wanted to pull the plug on Planned Parenthood.  It was hypocrisy and stupidity of the highest order, but at least they stood for something.  Well, they supposedly stood for preventing/curing breast cancer.  But I guess by standing for pulling funding from an organization that tries to prevent--or detect early--breast cancer, I'm a bit confused as to what they actually stand for.  The flip-flop shows they have a yellow streak a mile wide and will do whatever the most loudly yelling group tells them.  But I digress as I'm wont to do.  The point is that Karen Handel now has plenty of free time to devote to her intolerant, angry moral agenda.  Forcing your own version of morality on others is a time-consuming endeavor so this might be a welcome reprieve for this harpy bitch.  I think the most confusing part of the ideology of the militantly pro-life is that they are also very likely to support other forms of death.  What I'm saying is that if polled (and they have been polled), there is an EXTREMELY high correllation between people who are willing to stand in the freezing fucking cold holding placards of aborted fetuses on them, and who also support the death penalty, vote for political candidates most likely to go to war for something noble like oil, and shout down war protesters as being "un-American" and not supporting the troops.  So they are absolutely FOR killing adults who commit crimes, some of them borderline to fully retarded (GO TEXAS!).  They are most assuredly FOR killing tons of adults in another country, a high percentage of whom are innocent non-combatants.  However, they are without reservation AGAINST people who are against killing adults in foreign countries.  And Goddamnit, they are not about to stand for people being killed before they ever breathe oxygen.  Terminating something before it has any experiences or consciousness = BAD.  Teminating something after years of collective experiences and multiple emotional attachments with other human beings = GOOD.  As you can see, the logic is crystal clear.

The most infuriating part of this shithouse rat crazy pro-life cult is that they have no understanding of Jesus, depite screaming from on high that they are doing his bidding and being "Christian".  Are you joking?  Rallying outside of women's health clinics and shouting down people who are already miserable does not seem like something Jesus would condone.  I admit that I do not believe Jesus was the son of a divine being.  That doesn't mean I don't know Jesus.  I've studied him enough to know a few things.  First, Jesus enjoyed hallucinagenic plants.  I'm not joking.  Do your research.  It will lead you to the undeniable fact that Jesus had a "Me Gusta Black Lotus" tattoo on his shoulder blade.  Jesus was also about love, tolerance, understanding others, and forgiveness.  How can you overlook the last?  He was a hip, hip dude who liked to get stoned sometimes and wax eloquent about love.  Sort of like Barry White.  If you think he is about hazing mostly poor and young women for making what will hopefully be the most difficult decision of their entire life, then you are an asshole.  And on the off chance that is what he is about, then fuck him.  I have no earthly desire to be a part of that.  I can't fathom that Jesus would be presented with women who got drunk for the first time at age 16 and got pregnant, or were raped by some esses, or just made a terrible judgment call that will saddle them with a child they cannot support nor are mature enough to care for, and say, "Well bitch, you're wearing that one....4EVA!".  He'd be the first to hug the person walking into or out of PP and tell them everything will be all right.  To stand up straight and don't let others tell you who you are.  Tell them while he may not 100% agree, he understands.  Then he'd look over his shoulder at the seething mass of protesters and radio in an air strike to the command center in the clouds.  "Dad, Jesus here.  Corner of Main and Elm Streets.  Send in the duck-a-duck." 

Gotten away from the point, per usual.  Bottom line, WSN causes shake-up at SGK corporate headquarters.  Go get your boobies goosed ladies, we here at the World Wide Web are making the world safe for early cancer detection. 

We are Finally Properly Honoring the Native Americans

I was touched beyond words while stairclimbing at the gym this morning.  I have--for most of my life--been burdened by a great sense of guilt in what our forefathers perpetrated against the native peoples of this land mass.  If anyone got fucked, it was these muchachos.  The natives did get a reach around, but with a sandpaper glove.  Our morally superior ancestors walked into the negotiating tent with these noble peoples who had never experienced hard drink, and bid them swill fire water.  For shame.  It would be like walking into a bedroom full of 11 year olds, pulling out a Marley joint, getting them stoned to their tits, and then demanding they give you all their Mickey Mantle rookie cards in exchange for your Billy Ripken "Fuck You" bat Fleer cards (Anyone who gets that joke was just as big a baseball card degenerate gambler as I was in my youth).  But now centuries later this country is finally, FINALLY, properly honoring the native tribes that we so ruthlessly obliterated from the face of the earth, largely under the banner of God.  That's right folks, Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY!  At the Kankakee fairgrounds come one, come all!  Bring the whole family to the indoor arena to watch Mohawk Chief as he crunches, crushes, drives up AND over the competition in a winner takes all monster truckathon!  If you're not there to see Mohawk Chief pitted against his mortal enemy Truckasaurus Rex, then you'd better be dead or in jail!  And if you're in jail, BREEEAAAAKKKK OOOUUUUTTTT!!!!!!!!

I can imagine no better way to celebrate the culture and history of an entire tribe of people than by painting their name and leader onto the side of a jacked up, customized, shit-stomping truck as it flies around an indoor rodeo ramming into shit to the delighted screams of white trash from Joliet to Gurnee.  No matter that the driver is not in fact a Mohawk and definitely Chief of nothing, but rather a white dude named Dale who's ethnicity is Scotch-Irish and who works at the Taste-E-Freeze during the day (but only 5/31-9/30).  That isn't the point.  The point is that the 7 Mohawks left in America that we haven't killed can proudly raise their bottles of government subsidy whiskey with pride as Dale conquers Truckasauras Rex once and for all (well, until the following month at the All Missouri Valley Demolition Derby).  All the marginable, non-human-life-sustaining scrubland in Nevada cannot compare to this level of cultural remembrance or thanksgiving.  The souls of Mohawk nation will weep tears of honor and respect as the Bud Light fueled, obese crowd imitates the tomahawk chop chant of Florida State Seminoles and Atlanta Braves fame.  They will sleep under teepees of dignity when the children go back to remedial reading on Monday morning sporting Mohawk Chief monster truck tee shirts. 

Go in peace once and for all Native Americans.  You've finally been made whole and can be at peace with the white man.  And to Dale, go in violence and stomp the fucking shit out of Truckasaurus Rex.  That son of a bitch has become arrogant and must be punished for his boastfulness.     

Susan G Komen Just Threw Up All Over Herself in Her Grave

I actually want to throw up all over myself too for having run in two of these dickhole's races in Chicago.  I want my name removed from the historical data, this despite one of them being the best race I've ever run in my life.  Due to pressure from completely right-wing hard-line religious wing nuts, Komen has pulled all funding from Planned Parenthood.  For breast cancer screenings.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Susan G Komen doesn't want PP screening women for breast cancer anymore, at least not on their dime.  Are you fucking kidding me?  It is barely complicated, but I'll take even the barely out for you here.  Group of marginally literate fucktards hijack the message in a 2,000 year old fiction novel with about 25 different authors writing off memory, many writing off memory of events they never even attended or were alive for.  Being they can barely read themselves, and have such pitifully awful fucking useless tit lives, they decide to take their interpretation of this novel to extremes and put heat on people.  Like these soulless pussies over at SGK.  So SGK agrees to pull it's $750K in funding to Planned Parenthood, because PP also does abortions.  And in classic PUSSY fashion, they are claiming it is because of some meaningless investigation going on about something unrelated.  Do you know who gets their breast cancer screenings done at PP?  It ain't Michelle Obama or Martha Fucking Stewart.  Which is to say if you can easily afford to get your breast cancer screening done at Northwestern University Hospital or the Mayo Clinic or the Cleveland Clinic, etc, you don't say, "Well, fuck it, Planned Parenthood is a little closer to my house, I'll just have it done there".  So not only is Komen cowardly denying women preventative cancer screening, they are denying it to those most in need of affordability.  Well played you sanctimonious twats.  You have shitloads of credibility now.  You know what is the most awesome part of this?  Abortions are 3% of PP's operation.  Yes, 3% OF THEIR BUSINESS IS ABORTIONS.  That is it.  We aren't talking about PP being the fucking McDonald's of fetus sucks here.  It is a small part of their extremely socially valuable operation.  And you are going to punish them for it.  Listen, I don't even give a half of one shit anymore about the abortion argument.  I just don't care.  Pro-life, Pro-choice, who is dead balls right and who is dead balls wrong?  It doesn't fucking matter.  It is a gray area and no one will ever be 100% right or wrong.  In actuality it is nothing more than a red herring thrown in front of people so they will get all red in the neck and miss the bigger picture issues that actually affect a lot of people.  I won't waste time with what side I'm on and why, because who gives a shit anyway?  Kudos to you "charity".  This doesn't mean poor women or really young women will stop having abortions.  It just means they will have them done in black market type facilities, or Tijuana, and they will have a lot more deaths and infections and complications. 

BREAKING NEWS (Reported by my wife): Komen has decided to reverse the decision to pull funding from PP!  Guess what, it doesn't change my opinion of your scumbag fucking organization, other than making me disrespect you even more.  Now I just think you are even bigger pussies who do whatever you are told by public opinion, even if you don't believe in it.  Please don't ever send me another request to participate in your shitheel race.

Also, how about Michael Bloomberg stepping up like a total fucking BOSS and pledging to fill some of the gap in funding left by the SGK void?  BOOM Mike B!  That is how it is done.  Yeah, I know he only pledged $250K per year, which for him is like me losing a dime out of my wallet.  But whatever.  That is how a baller rolls.