The return of Captain Douchebag and the Fetus

Since I barely blog anymore it shouldn't be hard to remember my posts. For those who need reminding I wrote about the Douchebag and his Fetus not long ago.

So they are back. Douchebag (DB from now on) and his frau were at my bar the other night. DB ordered a half dozen drinks because clearly it's the only way he thinks anyone will endure his company. I suspect he's right but that's another story. The order is for several cocktails and four shots. I make the shots, set the drinks down and Frau Fetus points to one of the drinks and screams (I'm not being dramatic, he shrieked at me "OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT?" Now I was in the middle of a busy stretch and had about three drink orders in my head and so I said "It's a crown and coke, I'm sorry, is that not what you ordered" and I received an extremely haughty "No, I ordered a red bull and vodka!" I'm going to skip my obvious disdain for people who order their cocktails mixer first. My initial reaction was to grab Fetus by the sleek sleeveless shirt that covered his orphan waif thin chest and repeatedly slam his quickly balding head into the bar over and over and scream "EAT IT OR WEAR IT FUDGIE"! Instead I calmly said "Okay, let's all take a deep breath, starting with me. Now I will make you your drink and the heavens will have righted themselves". I think I'm growing as a person.

Really? Really?

Okay so it's been forever and a day since I have blogged and this one ain't going to be long. It's simple. I don't know jack diddily crap about sports. I bowl, I used to golf. I have never seen a live football game. The one football game I attended in high school I spent my time smoking behind the bleachers and making fun of people who actually gave a shit about the game. After saying all this I will tell you that I have been really enjoying watching the Olympics. Yes I am enjoying the soft core porn aspect of the men's gymnastics and diving and swimming (wasn't it so much better when they wore the speedos instead of those NASA inspired androgynous suits?) I have also enjoyed watching many of the other events like track and field, that sort of thing. My roommate and I cried when we were watching the US women's rowing team sing the Star Spangled Banner. I know, how jingoistic of me, right?

My blog has been used many times to rant and today's short entry is no different. I'm dumbfounded. Really dumbfounded. Badminton is a SPORT? I don't really care how fast that shuttlecock moves, badminton is not a real fucking sport. Ping Pong is not a real fucking sport. It's fucking hand eye coordination. Rhythmic Gymnastics, not a sport. BMX, not a sport. Really, seriously, I mean I know that the international Olympic committee has to balance these lesser sports as they are well known in underdeveloped countries (okay maybe not BMX) but it's really fucking annoying to turn on what I think are going to be athletes and see two people playing ping pong. If this is the case then I want you to look out London 2012, I'm coming to play Wii tennis and I'm taking home GOLD bitches!

The Totally True Story of a Douchebag and a Fetus.

Hey, just so you know; This is not the way to make your bartender happy.

Customer 1: Yeah give me four (insert name of inane shot here that is probably some regional crappy drink made up by the biggest douchebag bartender at the worst community college bar hangout where you spent your early drinking years).

Bartender: I have never heard of that shot...

Customer 1 Jerks head to Customer 2, some fetus on a stick he is trying to impress with his $200 dollar suit from Burlington Coat Factory.

Customer 1 to Fetus on stick: Hey, tell him what you want.

Fetus (Indignantly): SCREAMS ORDER (SEE ABOVE)

Bartender: Yeah, I still have never heard of that, what's in it?

Fetus (More indignant): Rattles off list of ingredients that are usually the same ingredients in a shot with seventeen other names except the name that it was just given by the fetus.

Bartender: Okay, sure, you wanted four of those?

Customer 1: Yeah, and (turns around to Fetus and his friends) What else did you guys want?

At this point the bartender, dis-interested in this pathology, has walked away and waited on another customer leaving Burlington Fetus Factory to stand there and wonder why his life is a miserable place...

I really need to get my hearing checked.

So over the weekend this customer says to me, "You're very splendid". Now first of all I can't imagine who uses the word "splendid" in every day conversation. I hear that word and I think of Paul Lynde saying "Oh Sammy..." but I digress. So the man tells me I am splendid and what is my reply?

"I don't have splenda, would you like some sweet and low?"

I really really should have my hearing checked.

Well the horrid Jazzfest is finally over. The first weekend it rained and rained and all the gross hippies sat in the mud and waited for Billy Joel to sing. There are a lot of artists I like and wouldn't mind seeing but I'm not standing in a thunderstorm to see anyone. Sorry, I'll buy your next CD. This weekend was sunny and nice but the field was still a muddy mess from what I'm told. I made my way out to Kenner yesterday for a crawfish boil but once again managed to avoid Jazzfest.

It's only a few weeks till vacation, I'm very excited. I haven't seen my friends or family in Indy for quite a while and then I'm off to Cali to see my sister and Mattie. The Ian is going to join me for the LA portion of the trip and I'm finally going to get to see the Broderick house in San Diego, the one where Betty shot her husband and his new wife.

Ciao for now!

I'm Counting On You!

Yes We Can! Yes We Can!

I smell that Jazz Fest is back in town...

I went for a walk today down to the river. Those of you who don't live in New Orleans may be unaware of the situation with the high water down here. All the rain in the north has pushed the water level up to new records. Several weeks ago I meandered down there and took some pictures. Here is the first one:



You can see at the left of this picture the chains going across the bottom to prevent people from walking into the river. (Another time when the river was running high this was the exact spot where I managed to fall in and grabbed those chains to keep myself from being washed away.) I went back a week later and took another picture of the same place:



You can see that the chains are under the water. Today the water is so high that there are only the second set of posts visible above the water. The city has recently opened the floodgates (as it were) to the Bonnet Carre spillway, pushing river water into the lake and eventually into the Gulf. In a related story the river levee near Touluse street has sprung a minor leak. They have sandbags and cement bags all stacked up. Another flood would likely destroy the city forever but there would be one good thing to come from that situation. You see, it's Jazz Fest time and that means one thing and one thing only to me, the invasion of the dirty rotten stinking hippies. Now I know as well as the next person that the water in the Mississippi is disgustingly dirty but even it is cleaner than most of these hippies. Anyone who knows me knows of my distaste for flip flops; these people don't even wear shoes. The raw stench of patchouli is already enveloping us like a fog. Everywhere you turn there are guitar carrying dred-locked white people laying about on sidewalks and thinking that I'm going to have the burning man spirit and give them a dollar. Forget it stinko. I threw twenty pennies in the swollen river, take a dip and find them.

Blech!

Dreams Do Come True

">