'Red Bull' in german? Cocainenhausen.

As of this weekend the popular, and quite disgusting drink, Red Bull was banned in Germany for reportedly containing traces of cocaine. Little-known fact (Or perhaps not, and I'm feeling decidedly superior on this brisk tuesday afternoon): When Coca-Cola was launched back in 1886, it contained 2 main ingredients: caffeine... and cocaine. Had I known, I may have accidentally asked our office manager to order some 'supplies' for the kitchen, but given the drug habits of a certain office worker, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that's not the best idea.

Red Bull and vodka I know is a pretty popular combination, but while I love vodka, I just couldn't get past the ectoplasmic-like sludge that is Red Bull. I mean no disrespect to the Red Bull lovers out there. Really. Hey, if it did it for me, I'd have the cocaine-laced cans lining the bottom of my filing cabinet instead of the mini bottles of Captain Morgan and Absolute Mango. Anyway, it's an unusually busy tuesday afternoon here, so I need to get back to my duties. One of which is to reacquaint myself with Señor Bull.

If you'll excuse me....

TextsFromLastNight.com

Oh yes, we've all done it... and at some point, regretted it. Normally, I'm the one receiving the texts, but I've done my share of rum-induced texting. Hell, I've even woke up next to a phone that looked a lot like mine... only wasn't mine, and apparently "Rita's" husband was a little pissed that I had her phone. I don't know who Rita is, was, or even remember meeting any women at the bar that night. But I digress...

Check this site out, and be sure to submit your own as you send and/or receive them in the coming weeks:
textsfromlastnight.com

P.S. Sorry, Celia... I haven't deleted my text messages, so you're my first entry. Luv ya'!

"Fries?... Or some snake with that?"

I've been to my share of NYC restaurants and eaten my share of godawful food, but when it comes to a food chain I particularly enjoy eating from, I get a little concerned. I was at a restaurant (to hell with anonymity - it's called Café 82) with my coworker recently when she ordered a salad. I ordered a wrap and when our food came, I heard her gasp in horror just moments later. She was rummaging through her big leafy meal when she lifted her fork and showed me two live ladybugs that had apparently been hiking through her salad on the way back from the kitchen. I don't mind ladybugs. I hear they're supposed to bring good luck, though I haven't seen much of that in my 30th year of life, but I draw a fucking line when they're spotted backpacking through my food. She ended up getting a sandwich instead, and we haven't been back there since... or shall I say 'yet' - the BLT's are f*cking delicious.

Anyway, this past Sunday, one Jack Pendelton was frequenting a TGI Friday's upstate when he spotted a snake head (with the spine attached) resting alongside his broccoli. He snapped a photo of it with his cell phone and Friday's was nice enough to comp the meal. Apparently Jack has no plans to sue, and whether or not he should is something I really have no opinion on, but I will say this. If I ever walk into a Friday's and there's some sort of animal head in my meal, I'll be goddamned if all I get is a free chicken dinner. I want drinks. I want unlimited cocktails every time I walk into that establishment. I want scantily-clad wait staff fanning me with giant banana leaves and feeding me shrimp. Well... ok fine, I can compromise. I can do without the wait staff, but hell, If I'm brave enough to step foot inside that restaurant again, the least they can do is make sure I'm not paying them another dime post-incident. Luckily, I've learned how to make their Jack Daniel's sauce myself, so I don't have to worry about any turds floating in it or anything, but c'mon Friday's. Your food is to blame for ooooh about 10-15lbs of mine, so do us both a favor and make it worth my while.

As for Jack, if he doesn't show a little more initiative, I'm tempted to show up on his doorstep and smack him upside his enormous bald head. Have you seen that episode of Family Guy where Stewie finishes watching that horrible remake of "Bewitched" with Will Farrel? He then leaves the theather, hops on a plane to LA, stops at the hardware store to buy a ladder, gets to Will Farrel's house, rings the bell, positions the ladder at Will's eye-level, and when he opens the door, Stewie knocks him unconscious.

I'll free my schedule for this Sunday...

Click Here for the Daily News Article

Surprise, I'm a stripper!

Well... I'm not, but apparently one Andrea Wachner received a letter in the mail informing her of a 10-year high school reunion, and rather than attend herself, hired a stripper named Cricket to impersonate her and go in her place. Now, I remember getting my 10-year high school reunion email (not letter), and laughing out loud thinking, "Who the hell would I wanna' say hello to that I don't already know or have as a friend on some ridiculous internet site like Facebook?" I read about this comedy writer, Andrea, and thought "Wow... she's a fucking genius." If I could go back, I would do this in a heartbeat. Strippers are fun... they have issues... but they're fun! Like many other people out there, I despised high school. I hated it for about a hundred different reasons, but probably the biggest one was that I was in such a rush to get out of Port Jefferson, I would've done just about anything short of getting arrested to leave the godforsaken town.

Andrea had a film crew follow her impersonator, Cricket, throughout the reunion. As Cricket worked the room, she communicated with Andrea through an earpiece, allowing her not to miss a beat. Short of a blood sample, everyone was convinced it was Andrea. Cricket also went so far as to tell her fellow alumni that she had been in a horrible car crash after high school and since had reconstructive surgery, as well as a small bout of amnesia.

This woman is fucking brilliant. If I'd thought of this myself, I would have found the biggest beefiest black man I could find to go in my place, telling everyone that I was in porn. I don't even think half my classmates realized I was half puerto rican, so for all intents and purposes it would work. My stripper friend, we'll call him Mandingo, would try and recruit some of the more attractive men and women for my next film, maybe even give one of the older, now elderly, teachers a lapdance. Oh well - there's always the 20-year reunion...

The Golden Child

I feel like I've talked about this... man, my boss, for years and not everyone has had the opportunity to see the full picture in all its glory. Does he look a little familiar to you?

I'm just sayin'.....

Friendly Fire

John and I went to get a few drinks after work last friday night and I've encountered something I've never seen before. A grown-ass woman attempting to use a urinal because she was too drunk to realize she was in the wrong bathroom. It started like this...

We were enjoying our drinks and bullshitting about each other's day when this really obnoxious woman rolls in with her equally annoying posse. They're loud, and clearly stumbled in from some other bar and were about a drink away from being cut off. (Which is usually fun to watch - just not an entire group of them.) So as we always do at bars, we find the biggest, hottest mess in the place and continue to make fun of them till we've had our fill... then move on. It's not right, it's not 'nice', but when you're drunk, it sure as hell is fucking funny.

Anyway, I realize it's time for me to pay the bathroom a visit and don't realize I had lost track of Crazy and her crew. I walk into the men's bathroom, which is clearly on your left - door ajar and a line of urinals visible, and I see this woman with one leg hoisted up onto the tile and the other trying to place her crotch up and over the lip of the urinal... oh yes, coming as no surprise, it was her - 'Crazy'. Her male friend was with her laughing and telling her to get out, but she wasn't having it. They struggled for a bit and he managed to pull her out of the bathroom and shove her into the woman's, but not before she was cursing and shouting at all of the men in there for getting in her way and stumbled right into me. Luckily, I have good aim and this wasn't an issue for my Pumas.

Cut to a little while later, John and I have relocated to another side of the bar, when all of a sudden the wall of Crazy starts closing in. I can tell she's behind me at one point. Loud, obnoxious, a voice that could only belong to this hideous woman or some wild animal indigenous to a fucking rain forest. Then the smell hits. The long counter behind us is lit up by a series of votive candles and either someone had just let out the most godawful fart or there was hair burning. We turn around and sure enough two guys are smacking her back where apparently the candles had ignited the ends of her hair. We can only see her from the back until she tries to get someone's attention at the bar and turns around. As she turns, she reaches back and grabs a clump, though not quite a fistful, of hair from her back. Now THIS was fucking fantastic. The smell was terrible, but the pleasure I got in seeing the look on her face was priceless. FYI, she probably only lost 2-3 inches, tops, and there was no serious injury. Crazy immediately left the bar with her crew and my night had officially begun.

This just goes to show you... Ladies? (And gentleman, for that matter) If you ever walk into a bar a hot mess, start berating the people in the bar for being annoyed when you fall on them, scream in their ear, then have your hair set fire for the entire bar to see, chances are I will be laughing my ass off and you should probably take yourself home. My favorite moment was when one of the bartenders came from across the bar, squinting and waving his arm in front of him holding a can of Febreeze. Oh, I loved it.

Hey Crazy, if you're reading this - Karma's a bitch. ;)

We've Been Gassed

I've overcome a LOT of shit in this job, but this will no doubt go down as one of this company's 'finer' moments. I walked in this morning to a very odd smell. No, not the usual scent of my boss' Icy-Hot, the accountant's horrific urine-scented aftershave, or even the new girl's rancid fish and noodles that she brings every morning, but something I couldn't quite place. I decide to ignore the odor and go about my morning of reading through emails from manufacturers, sales, marketing, and a slew of other people put on this earth for the sole purpose of irritating me. Then at about 11:35am today it hit me. GAS. It wasn't the smell from when I walked in, but it hit everyone up front like a ton of bricks. The smell lasted for about 15 mins but that was enough to make me think "Hmmm... yeah, I'd rather NOT die in the presence of this fucking dirty hippie and his minions (yes, I'm one of them), but if it were up to me, I'd like to leave this wonderful planet the way I was probably intended to - asleep with a bottle of rum at my bedside. Anyway, I digress... the smell dissipates and it throws our germ-phobic accountant into a panic. He grabs his jacket and bolts out the door muttering something in his native language that sounded a little like "Yabba Dabba Do" to me.

A little while later, our fearless leader, Joe (the aforementioned dirty hippie), comes in and tries to assure us that he had called Con Edison to have the area tested last night, and therefor there was no reason for concern. He leaves the office just as the accountant walks back in with a large bag from Lee's Hardware. I'm currently writing this as I leave for lunch, but made sure to snap this photo for all to enjoy:



In the event that I don't make it out alive today, I wish you all good luck and best dishes... SHIT, *wishes (Damnit, I've been watching too much Paula Dean)